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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

Three for One 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: The ho-lidays are the daddies and the baddies.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You bob around to the tinkling of carols as they waft over the store. Unlike your coworkers, you enjoy the repetitive tunes. They are so fun and bright and help the time pass between customers and stocking. Not that there isn't more than enough to keep you busy.

In the rare moment where you aren't distracted, you let yourself browse the colourful lipsticks and shining perfume bottles all around. You don't have anyone to shop for, not even yourself. You have your dollar store glosses and discount nail polishes. You don't see the need to spend too much on those things. Or maybe you just prefer what you know. Simple and cheap.

Around lunchtime, traffic really picks up. Several customers ignore your approach and brush by you before you can entice them into buying some Chanel. You've already hit your sales targets but you never really think of numbers.

A woman stops you and asks for a very specific palette. You know just the one. You think it's cute, it looks like a cupcake, and while you adore the aesthetic, it isn't worth the price tag. It's just powder!

You show her where it is and Luanne comes over to take the reins. She's the makeup genius, her flawless contour is proof enough. You turn to float back to your zone and see a man watching you. You recognise him! Vaguely. You see a lot of people in a day.

"Good afternoon," you sing as you near him, "anything I can help you with?"

His throat bobs as he cheek ticks, "uh, yeah, er..." he pushes back his gray jacket, tucking his hands in his pants pockets, "you remember me?"

You smile as you try not to show your cluelessness, "I think..."

"I came in last week," he says.

You think, scrunching up your face as you tap your chin, "yes! You bought Liz Taylor for you mother."

"Mother-in-law," he corrects you, not unkindly.

"Yes, that's it," you jab your finger upwards, "you complimented my sweater."

"Yeah, that was me," He finally smiles, "anyway, I was thinking of getting a gift for my wife. Just a little stocking stuffer."

"Oh, that sounds so cute," you nearly squee. You get so excited to help people shop for a loved one. At the same time, you feel that void. Maybe one day you'll have a husband thinking of you. "We have some great gift sets, actually. They come with different scents so you're wife can figure out which one she likes best." You direct him over to a shelf, "oh, and if she has a favourite, you can get her a full bottle for Valentine's!"

He gives you a look. His eyes narrow just a bit and his cheeks round, "that's a good idea."

He glances over the shelf and you wait patiently. He turns back to you, his eyes flitting over your name tag as he reads it out, "do you have a suggestion?"

"Me?" You perk up, "well, I actually like the Coach. It's not too expensive and it's nice and subtle."

"Is that what you wear?" He asks.

"I don't... I use some cherry blossom body spray but I usually smell like the whole store by the end of the day," you shrug.

"Cherry blossom," he nods, "oh, by the way, I'm Andy."

He offers his hand in an overly formal way. You giggle but take it nonetheless. You don't really get that often.

"Sorry," he squeezes your hand firmly before letting go, "lawyer, habit."

"No, it's fine," you assure him, "I'm just a perfume salesman, is all."

"Well, you're really good at your job," he praises.

"How do you know?" You say.

"You're friendly and helpful. I have no complaints," he reaches past you and claims the Coach pack, "she's going to love this. I owe you."

"No problem. Do you need me to ring you up?"

"Actually," he sighs, "she has this idea. Christmas card. I'm supposed to find a sweater. So, I need to look around some more."

"Oh, that's so cool. A Christmas card? The sweaters are just over in the men's, right near the east entrance," you point, "they have some really cute Charlie Brown ones."

"Charlie Brown," he repeats.

"Anyway, I'll let you go," you clutch your hands together, "I hope your wife likes the perfume."

"I'm sure she will," he agrees, hesitantly clapping the kit between his hands, "uh, thanks. Again." He leans back on his heel, "oh and, that's a really nice colour on you."

"Uh," you look down at your gem green blouse, "thank you, sir."

"Andy," he insists, walking backwards, "again, you're a life saver."

You grin proudly and he spins on his heel, nearly knocking into Luanne as she comes over. He apologises as he side steps her and continues on. She gives you a strange look.

"Geez," she grumbles, "people. This time of year makes everyone so crazy."

"Well, he was nice," you say.

"Kinda cute, too," she intones.

"He was shopping for his wife."

"Lucky lady," she scoffs, "so, you wanna go on lunch first? I'm dying for a latte."

"You can go, I don't mind," you say, "I'm not very hungry."

"Deal," she winks, "I'll get you a hot chocolate for your trouble."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to, I want to, sweetie," she preens.

"Fine, fine, I accept your coerced hot chocolate.”

🎀

Another day close to complete. It's like checking off items on a list. Each evening seems to darken sooner than the last, every morning rising too soon.

You yawn at the empty fragrance section as it’s only you left for the last hour. There isn't much to do except balance the till. Your headset keeps you entertained as electronics calls out possible shrink and home goods argue about their numbers.

“We need a body at returns,” Lucille cuts through the chatter. “Now.”

No answer comes and you slowly slide your hand up the wire. Before you can hit the button, your name is snarled from the other end. You're ordered up to cash to assist with the hordes.

You leave the ghost town that is beauty and as good as skip up to the front. You calm your step as you see Lucille sneering at you from behind a machine. You give a tiny smile and claim the extra screen behind returns.

“I can help the next person,” you call and wave your hand in the air.

You stand back and wait for your first customer. A man comes up and throws a torn open package on the counter, the item bouncing out of the plastic. You flinch and barely catch it before it can slide off the other edge.

“Hello, sir,” you bat your lashes, “how are you today?”

“Not fucking well,” the man snarls. His mustache tickles your memory; do you know him? “It’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, okay,” you look down at the trimmer and examine it, “you’d like to do a return?”

“Yes, I’d like to do a return,” he snaps, “are you dim?”

“Of course, sir,” you punch in your ID and passcode, “I’ll just get you going. Do you have your receipt?”

“A receipt? I bought the damn thing here, look it up.”

“Ah, alright, when did you buy it?”

“You don’t remember, little trigger finger,” he sneers.

“What do you mean?”

“Pfft, right, you think spraying people with skunk spray is fun?”

“Um, no?” Your cheeks tremor as you withhold a frown; you think you know him now as you’re hit by a sudden wave of Gucci cologne, the scent of a memory. “Did you have the card you purchased this with?”

“You don’t think I have money?”

Everything he says is aggressive. Your questions bounce off him like accusations. You don’t know what to say that won’t agitate him further, He huffs and kicks a foot out, leaning on his back heel as he reaches in his back pocket.

He flicks a black card onto the counter, “put it back on this.”

You nod and take the card, examining the nameless front. You turn it over and swipe it in the machine instead to search the number. He scoffs, “bet you never seen one of those up close.”

“Sir,” you smile bigger, letting the insult ping off of you. All the money in the world and he has no manners.

You find the purchase with the same sku and put his card back on the counter. He snatches it up as you start the return. You scan the barcode and continue on to the next screen, “what’s your name, sir?”

“Lloyd,” he answers curtly. You type, waiting, then look up at him, “Hansen.” He finishes sharply, “with an E, got it?”

“Yes, sir, and the reason for return?”

He rolls his eyes, “it doesn’t fucking work.”

“Alright. So it doesn’t cut the hair or–”

“It won’t turn on,” he growls.

“Right,” you take the trimmer and turn it over. It looks fine enough, even after he threw it. You slip the door of the battery compartment off. It’s empty, “and you had double As in it?”

“Double As?” He repeats.

“It needs batteries, sir.”

He pauses, eyes flaring, nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m stupid? That I don’t fucking know that? You’re not getting free fucking batteries from me.”

“Of course, sir, of course,” you rarely feel this addled, even this time of year, “I’ll get you your money back on a gift card–”

“Gift card? I want my money,” he holds up his card between two fingers.

“Yes, sir, I understand. As per our return policy, personal care items, once opened, are only eligible for a store credit return. Or you can exchange for another item. Would you like to look at our other trimmers? I can put this aside while–”

“What? How would I know that?” He hisses.

“It says on the receipt, sir.”

“I don’t have the goddamn receipt,” he barks.

“I know, sir, sorry. I can only refund this amount on a gift card. I can’t override the option.”

“I want a manager. NOW!” He demands as you jump in your shoes.

“I… I’ll see if she’s avail–”

Lucille has you jumping even more as she appears beside you, no doubt drawn by the raging man in front of you. She elbows you out of the way, not even acknowledging you as she puts on her mask. She leans on the counter just slightly.

“Sir, is there something I can help with? I’m the manager,” she says.

“I want my money,” he echoes once more. “I bought a defective product and I don’t want store credit. I drove out here twice for this bullshit.”

“Oh, certainly sir,” she brushes you with her hip, further edging you out, “right back on that black card, right?”

She scans her keycard, overriding the safeguard, and proceeds to the refund screen.

“Yes, exactly,” he snorts, “not like I don’t have even more money to spend here. Even if the customer service is lacking.”

You back away, unsure what to do. Do you just stand there for the transaction or do you go back to your department? You twiddle your fingers and bob on your heels.

Your eyes meet that man’s and he smirks smugly, wiggly his credit card at you. It’s fine, you won’t let him ruin your day. He’s already ruined his own getting so worked up.

🎀

It’s another busy shift. Your hot chocolate has gone cold from your neglect and you long to sneak away and shove it in the break room microwave. You can’t mourn the lukewarm drink as the line before you stretches on. You’re only a week from Christmas.

You finish wrapping the Prada bottle and hand it over the iron-haired woman with her cute curls. You wish her a good day as she waddles off. The next customer comes up, slamming down a cup so hard, the foam of the drink spits through the slot in the lid.

“Hello, sir,” you croon, “how are you today?”

“Here for a pickup,” he ignores your question.

“Right, can I get a name?”

“Why?” He challenges.

“For… for the package,” you sputter.

“Oh, uh, Drysdale,” he sniffs.

“I saw that earlier. I’m the one who called,” you brighten up.

“So you’re the annoying songbird,” he grabs his drink again, “took you fucking long enough. Line’s a mile long.”

“It’s very busy, yes. Everyone’s catching up on their Christmas shopping,” you bounce, “are you almost done yours?”

“Yeah, I bought myself cologne. So, chop chop, sweetheart.”

You nod and quickly spin. People get so impatient. You go into the small back room housed behind the shelves of lockup and you search the shelves. Drysdale. You pluck up the box and hurry back out.

“Right here,” you announce, “I have good news, too.”

“Tell me you’re gonna stop yammering,” he snickers.

“Um, no, the uh… the cologne is currently on markdown so I can do a price match and give you your money back.”

“Why would you do that?” He asks.

“Er, because… it’s policy?”

“You think I can’t afford it?”

“N-no, I didn’t say–”

“Look, I don’t need some department store busy bee to judge me, got it? This scarf costs more than your whole wardrobe,” he touches the patterned scarf around his neck.

“It’s a very nice scarf,” you agree.

He narrows his eyes, “you’re mocking me.”

You shake your head, “no, sir, I like the colours–”

“Give my goddamn package," he reaches and rips the box out of your hands, “and a tip, shut up and do your job. Maybe then you won’t have half the city waiting to get their shit.”

“Thanks,” you swallow down his anger. “Have a great day, sir.”

He doesn’t reply as he takes his cologne and storms away. You watch him and notice his cup still beside your till. It’s too late to call him back. You’ll just put it aside, you’re sure he’ll come back for it.

You move it to the other end of the counter and face the next customer, “hello, how are you?”

“Good,” the blonde woman answers with a gentle smile, “some people…” she tuts, “don’t let the grinches get to you, honey.”

“Thanks,” you feel the ice melt away, “I won’t.”

“Adorable cardigan,” she adds, “I really love the collar.”

“Oh, thank you,” you trill, “is this everything for today?” You gesture to the bottle of Calvin Klein on the counter.

“That will be it. And I’d love to have it gift-wrapped, thank you, hon.”

497 notes · View notes

broooooo · 11 months

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Dronehood

____________________

In today's world , the world has been slowly taken over by drones, whether it was by force, choice or persuasion, men are being converted, covered in a shiny black latex, a second skin, a well built muscled body, constantly aroused and hard. The mind does seem to remain keeping the hosts personality, but there's a big focus of obeying the master and the pleasure of dronehood

At first the world was scared, but as the drone army expanded, it slowly became normal, as if it's a rite of passage for teenage, adult men. It's even become a kind of entertainment to watch a conversion happen, could inspire others , or worn them.

Then there's me

I am Aaron, 21, regular build, living in an apartment, IV never been opposed to the drone movement. It's interesting to watch.

Deep down I wouldn't mind becoming a drone myself, it genuinely sounds fun.

Iv watched my childhood friend, Jason, become one before my eyes, he had wanted it for a while, and decided to get a slow conversion, he wanted to experience all the feelings grow and build.

The conversion itself is simple, intercourse with a drone, you may or may not include leather articles of clothing such as gloves or boots for extra pleasure. When it's done, the new drone is given a serial number name, but can keep their human name for interactions with others, plus they can take off their head mask for easy identification.

I myself don't leave my room a lot, i just watch from my TV or the window, hearing it through my walls too at times. Jason's my roommate, but he's never home, he's busy converting others or just hanging out with other drones.

Somewhat makes me jealous, before his conversion , we were the same, locked in your rooms not doing much, it honestly is a better life for him, and I'm happy,

It's possible to request a drone conversion, many have done it, Idk why I haven't done it yet, I guess I want to keep my peace for a little while, but ik at some point it will get too much to bear and then I will know I'm ready.

_________________

It was a normal day for me, watching my conversions , and contemplating life. When suddenly I hear the front door open, I rush out to see him, Jason standing in the door way, his heavy leather boots stomping on the floor as he closes the door. He looks at me, I haven't seen his have a week's.

JASON!?* ITS been so long, how.. have you been?*

He smiles and embraces me in a hug

*Iv been well, I missed you*

My face goes flush red, as I hug him back.

His latex skin is soft and shiny , the feel of hard muscles, it makes my heart race.

We pull away and I ask*

What are you doing here Jason?* Don't you have missions ?*

Jason laughs and says * well I do live here, plus even drones need rest.*

I answer back"

Well that makes sense , yeah*

Jason goes sit on the couch to watch TV.

*mind getting me a sparkling lemon water Aaron?.

Oh? Ok sure , I'll make us both one *

I go the kitchen, fill two cups with soda and prepare to cut lemons, during all this my mind races with thoughts, the sudden appearance of Jason and the feeling of his skin, it felt great. I feel hot, almost dreaming of it

As I'm cutting lemons the knife slips and cuts my hand, breaking me out of my dream like state

GAH*

Jason turns and runs up to me concerned

Are you ok?*

I'm fine just cut my self.

I go to clean up the blood and find a bandage, but problem, we where out of bandages

*darn we're out of bandaids.

Well I have a suggestion*

I turn around to see Jason's bear hand outstretched holding a latex glove.

You took it off? Isn't that yours?

Don't worry, I get a new one, my body can create it naturally.

I look at the glove as I hold it, it's soft,

The glove has a healing effect to it, it protects us drones from major injuries.

Huh, convenient , as I smile* thanks

I put the glove over my disinfected hand, I move my fingers about feeling it, it was soft, silky and comfortable.

So this is how it feels?* I say

Yeah, it's quite the sensation isn't it?,

Very much so, no wonder many ppl become drones.

Jason helps me finish the drinks and we go sit on the couch together.

Have you thought about dronehood much Aaron?

I turn to him and choke a little ,

Have I thought about it? It's ALL I can think about xd* I say with laughter, I observe it happen from my room, since your never hear.

And before you ask, no, I don't think I'm ready yet.

Jason looks into this drink and back up to me, he leans a hand over to touch my shoulder,

He smiles and says, * when you're ready then, no force, I want you to enjoy it as much as possible.

I peek up, *I KNEW IT, you planned this, laughing.

You were always a trickster you, we both laugh

Well Aaron , I. Do hope you enjoy that glove, it will help you decide, I'm sure of it.

I turn to look out the window and smiles

*thanks, i-, will definitely have an answer soon I'm sure.

___________

Afterwards we hang out the rest of day, it was a fun reunion, full of talk and catching up untill sun down

We both go to bed , crashing instantly as I'd been so tired after today.

The next day Jason and I bid farewell as he leaves for a mission.

I'm left alone and go to my room , sitting on my bedroom couch

_____

Hm, planed or not, I'm happy I have this glove. I turn on the TV to watch some more conversions

I feel hot and steamy imagining it, before I know it I'm rubbing my bulge with the gloved hand , my dick getting erect from what pleasure I can muster,

And idea popped into my head, I head over to Jason's room, and my mind was validated when I saw them, an extra pair of leather boots,

*planned this too Jason? Well idc, thanks*

We happen to be the same size, even so is force my feet into them, the boots go up to my kne, tall and shiny, sliding my feet in, my heart and mind are racing , my dick is rock hard , the sensations are over powering, I lace them up tight, whist I remove my clothing.

I stand up to look to the mirror, naked with only a latex glove and leather boots on, the weight of the boots and the tightness, protecting me, I go to my bed,I start to edge off slowly, aroused to high heavens and enjoying it all. Whilst the sounds of conversions from the TV hum in the background.

I never realized it but the dream like state I was in of edging and leaking lasted 3 days, I was covered in pre, drooling and gooing out, the latex glove and boots has started to spread up my legs and arm, then came Jason, he stood in my bedroom doorway, smiling, he comes over and jumps on top of me, squeezing my nipples hard

I moan hard and leak over me

*ready Aaron?*

Laughing through the intense pleasure ,

*hehe yeah. Convert me friend* I'm ready*

Jason's glowing purple eyes look into mine,

___________

Jason's hard latex dick at the ready, and with a passionate kiss it commences, what felt like a. Eternity, lasted a week of slow intense sex and conversion. As I expected it all

By the end of it, we and the bed were wet in pre, drool and juices, through the days, the latex nanites from Jason's dick slowly transformed my body, spreading the latex all over whist giving my muscle to fit, the climax of the conversion was then.

Jason fucking my tight ass, we both prepared for it , cum

It was a screech of intense pleasure, black nantite filled cum sprayed in ropes out our dicks, lasting 69 minutes of constant cumming, fucking and kissing, and the cum pool around us and soak back up into our bodies, , strengthening the conversion.

When it was all over , we lay there together tired and in love

My eyes start to glow to an intense blue. My mind was reshaped and ready,

Looking to Jason's eyes I say.

* I am ready to obey , ready to spread , ready to cum alongside you *

Jason smiles and kisses me, *ik.. drone 6923..*

My eyes flash, * yes... My new name.. thank you..

Drone 8696..*

___________

In the end we two drones, continued to make out intensely, passionately, never running out of cum

Untill the next mission is handed to us, and. I join Jason on my first crusade, We will enjoy each other forever.

______

: D

I enjoyed this one , genuinely think it's one of my best works yet

Hope you enjoy it, fellow drones

631 notes · View notes

marthawrites · 1 year

Note

"don't shut me out. please"

I hope it is not too late for me to join the celebration ☺️ Congratulations! 💕👏🏼

Thank you sooososo much! You are such a gem and I appreciate all of your fandom love more than you know! I did my best to include a (one shot appropriate) slow burn, angst, and a happy ending. I hope you enjoy this ride MWAH!

Summer's End, Autumn's Beginning

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word Count: 6.3k+

About: A chance encounter with Aemond leads to a whirlwind of emotions. Over the next few months you both fail, in yourselves and in the relationship, and learn from the mistakes.

Includes: Chance encounter, age difference (references to Aemond x Alys) mentions of cheating, allusions to cheating, angst, second chance romance, and smut featuring vaginal fingering, possessive sex, and unprotected protected vaginal sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! This is the longest piece I've wrote in quite awhile - whew! I also feel like it's one of the more ambitious one-shot fics I've worked on/completed. Reader is non-descript. As always, please, enjoy!

read part 2 Between the Covers here

There were two things tied for number one on your five-year goal list.

First, be out of your city apartment (preferably as a home owner and not a renter)

Second, have a dog.

They went hand in hand. One couldn’t happen without the other. So, it was a hard tie and you weren’t willing to budge on either. Until then, to take the edge off your self-proclaimed animal loneliness, you volunteered at a local shelter two nights a week. Mondays and Wednesdays.

While your day job wasn’t a doctor, lawyer, or professional athlete – ones that your family pushed you to have while growing up – it still paid decently and had the potential for career advancement. And! You were able to live on your own. Not having a roommate was worth the dry job description. Besides, your boss was fair and most of your co-workers were friendly; a win win, really.

Tonight, Monday, you finished your shift, went home to change, then headed out to the shelter. Even though it was all volunteer hours you valued punctuality and did your best to get there around the same time each night.

“Hey! You made it!” Arryk called out to you when you stepped inside the building. Chaos sparked all around. He did a great job running and maintaining the schedule, and with the help of volunteers alongside regular staff, it was, more often than not, smooth sailing. Tonight, however, it appeared quite the opposite.

“Hey! Yeah, a few minutes later than usual, sorry!” You said as you walked over to him.

He waved a hand brushing off your apology. “No worries. We had a few people call in today. So, since being short staffed we’re definitely running behind. I know you normally help bathe the dogs with Baela tonight, but can I ask you to do something else instead?” He winced slightly with his question, unsure of your answer. He knew how much you loved Baela and cleaning the dogs!

You squinted at him suspiciously. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, crossing your arms. “You know I won’t administer shots. If I could get over my fear of needles I’d be a veterinarian and not an office worker like I am!” You scrunched your brows before one, all on its own accord, arched up dubiously.

“Ha!” He laughed. “No no no, I know. We have six dogs that need walking tonight. And I don’t think Targaryen can handle all of ‘em.”

“Helaena? She’s back?” You asked, eyes bright with surprise.

“She’s still away for that college trip. It’s her younger brother, Aemond. Have you met him before?”

You’d heard Helaena talk about him, of course, but you’d never met him. Shaking your head, you peered around the shelter looking for anyone else with the Targaryen tell-tale silver-blonde hair. No one caught your eye. “I haven’t. But, I don’t mind.”

“You are a lifesaver!” He praised. “He’s down the west hall getting them ready. Depending on how long you're here afterward, there might be another couple who could use a second walk. Terriers. You know how they are.”

“Happy to help, Arryk!” He was a good guy. You’d always liked him.

“Aemond’s tall, towheaded as the rest of his family, and has an eyepatch. You can’t miss him.” And with that Cargyll switched tasks and got right back to work.

Turning and walking down the west hall, you were happy to say, chaos began to fizzle out. This hall had the larger dogs; no wonder Aemond wouldn’t be able to walk all six at once. Even with the slow turn of summer to autumn sunset wouldn’t be for another three hours. Assuming all went well you’d be able to walk the second batch of dogs, too.

Down the aisle were five opened doors with each respective dog ready for their walk. Their leashes were hooked onto the door so they couldn’t run amuck. You patted and scratched them, earning yourself more wagging tails, a few happy barks, and some excited licks. Looking to the end of the hall you saw someone who you assumed was your evening walking partner. He was kneeling, talking soothingly to a great big senior hound, while clasping the final buckle of their harness. “Hello, uh-, Aemond?” You called out feeling slightly self-conscious.

Still kneeling, he turned his head to look up at you. Any softness in his single eye quickly hardened to match the rest of his sharp features. “Hey,” he said, caught off guard by your presence; someone he’d never seen calling him out by name. “Is there something I can help you with?” Slowly, in a single fluid motion, he stood up and the aged dog kept his eyes on him the whole time, panting happily.

Whoa. He was tall. And, at first sight, incredibly good looking: dressed in casual black clothes, long silver hair tied into a braid, with a scar along the left side of his face that you had to tell yourself not to stare at. His mouth was a unique shape, too, and you weren’t sure if he was merely waiting for a response or if he was smirking the tiniest pout at you. “Hi,” you said again with a nervous laugh. You told him your name. “Arryk sent me. Said you could use some help with the walk tonight?” ‘Play it cool, dummy. He’s really handsome, so what? He could be a huge asshole. Play. It. Cool,’ your inner voice said.

Did he have a mechanical eye beneath his patch? The way he looked at you, then, made you feel like he read your thoughts. “Ah. I could certainly use the help,” he said smoothly with a small curve of lip, turning his attention to the three dogs at the front of the hallway. “Wanna take those three?” He asked, looping the big dog’s leash around his wrist. “I mean, you can have any of them as long as I get this guy. He’s my favorite.”

Your pulse raced a little too fast. Clearing your throat, you smiled in an attempt to ease the butterflies in your belly. “I don’t mind. Why is he your favorite?” You turned and began to unclasp leashes from their doors; happy tips and taps of claws growing louder at the pups’ excitement.

“Reminds me of my girl at home,” Aemond replied, adoration clear in his voice. “Big and old, a little stinky, a little slobbery. The best kind, really.”

“Aw, that’s very sweet. I don’t have any pets. I get my fix here,” you laughed. Holding all three dogs in one hand, you pulled the door open with the other. Except, it didn’t open. On instinct, you tried again hoping Aemond didn’t notice.

He strode up next to you with the rest of the dogs in tow, smirking at you for real this time, as he said, “it’s a push door.”

You knew it was a push door. Fuck. He gave you a knowing glance over his shoulder as he walked out, waiting for you to follow along.

II.

You didn’t see Aemond on Wednesday and you couldn’t deny your disappointment when you left for the night. Come to find out you two had been volunteering at the same place for months – only on different days. He tended to be there Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Monday had been a chance encounter. One you couldn’t shake out of your head.

Before leaving tonight, however, you took a selfie with Aemond’s favorite old hound. You’d exchanged numbers but hadn’t an excuse to strike up a conversation. Yet. Now, with the selfie as an excuse, you opened a fresh text thread and sent him the photo along with:

Someone missed you tonight!

While buckling up in your car and getting ready to reverse out of your parking spot, your phone dinged with an incoming message:

Very cute. Will you be there on Monday? Maybe Cargyll will assign up walking duties again.

Your belly flipped. Truthfully, you weren’t expecting him to message back – especially so quickly. Before you could stop yourself you sent back:

Yup! See you then?

And he sent:

I’ll find another excuse to be there.

Feeling a little bold, you replied:

Excited to see you again! You have these adorable dimples when you smile. Maybe I’ll see those, too?

When nothing came through for a few minutes, you feared you might have gone too far. It was just a little innocent flirting, right? Nothing bad? And then:

Maybe so. See you Monday.

Smiling, you didn’t send anything back. It’d be your luck to say something dumb and rub him the wrong way.

During your first walk, as soon as the ice broke, you both clicked really well. Hopefully – just maybe – things would flow like that again. The connection you felt, something akin to a liveware, couldn’t have been one-sided. He had to feel a spark of it, too; even if just a little.

You drove home, made dinner while facetiming one of your friends from uni, and when she asked about the spark in your eye you told her about your friend Helaena’s younger brother.

III.

“I seriously cannot believe you’ve never seen The Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit trilogy was a little silly, but watchable. But you haven’t even seen that?” Aemond asked clearly aghast at your lack of understanding his reference.

Tonight, you both got walking duty again and neither of you complained. And, this time, he regarded you with a softer look in his eye than his original sharp glance. He was dressed in dark casuals again and you hated (loved?) how good he made them look. His hair was in a bun and his eyepatch stayed firmly in place. You wanted to ask him about it but weren’t sure if you should try it yet. Instead, you rolled your eyes and laughed. “You’re making it sound better and better the more you talk about it.”

“That’s because it’s the best.” The dogs pulled both of you along and you had to walk brisker than normal to keep up with them and Aemond’s longer legs. He seemed unaffected by it.

“So, you recommend I watch it?” You asked playfully.

“No,” he started, very serious. “I recommend you read it first and then watch the movies.”

If you had more breath in your lungs you’d have giggled – not laughed, but giggled. Something about the way he said it, and the totally serious look on his face, tickled you. “Will you watch them with me?”

The question appeared to catch Aemond off guard. He looked at you, lingering over your pinkened cheeks and smirking lips, before finally making it back to your eyes. Just when he opened his mouth to say something in reply, a completely unrelated thing stole his attention. Sometime during your bantering you’d made it back to the shelter, and a tall dark-haired woman called out, “there’s my sweet Aemond. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you and you haven’t been answering your phone.”

If you thought Aemond attractive, this woman made him look like any regular ol' Joe. She was elegant, warmed by a late summer tan, and had raven dark hair cascading down her back; truly a vision of enchantment. When she sauntered to him and pressed her body to his, you felt like a voyeur watching the embrace.

“Alys,” Aemond breathed quietly. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” she answered as she trailed manicured fingers across the front of his chest.

She had a timeless look to her, the kind that concealed her age. She could have been anywhere from twenty-five to fifty, you thought. You really hadn’t a clue. All you knew, now, is that you should finish your task alone.

Aemond’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Posture tense. “I told you I was busy tonight–”

Before you could stop yourself you cut him off with an awkward wave. “See you later, Aemond.” And, with that, you walked inside before you overheard anything else they might be saying to each other. Turning to glance over your shoulder one last time, you were met with a look of deliberate triumph from Alys; she had the greenest eye you’d ever seen.

It was haunting.

Driving home, you felt stupid. Aemond was just a guy you just met. It was silly to think someone like him would be single and even sillier to think your innocent flirtations would be working on him. You had half a mind to delete his number. Or, at the very least to delete the short message thread of your texts.

Instead of making dinner like you normally did, you called in delivery and facetimed with your friend as you waited. She immediately knew something was off and you were quick to tell her everything that happened.

Twenty minutes passed and you were starting to feel better. It’s not like you two hooked up or even kissed. It was just a chance meeting with playful banter. Nothing to get shook up about. “Food’s here. Thanks for listening to me. I’ll talk to you later. Love you!” You said as you got up to answer the door.

When all else failed, your favorite food could always make you feel better.

Turning the tv on and sitting down amongst your couch pillows and blankets, you were getting ready to dig in when your phone rang.

Aemond.

Your insides did a weird flip and hunger disappeared entirely from your mind and belly. Should you answer? Let it go to voicemail? Turn the stupid thing off and completely ignore him? Right before the final ring, you decided. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he said, immediately sounding relieved. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t yet ready to call it a night with you.”

“It’s no biggie,” you replied. Lying. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything–,” you paused, searching for something else to say to soften the edge of your voice, “–the dogs were getting tired anyway.” God. It sounded stupid even to your own ears.

Aemond sighed through the phone. You wondered if he slid his hand down his face or through his hair. It sounded like he did. “No. Alys is… it’s complicated. She’s my ex and–”

“ –you don’t have to explain anything to me,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s fine.” Despite it being a phone call, you tried to smile as if it would blunt the dismissal of your tone.

“I mean it,” he said. “I really wasn’t ready to say bye yet. What do you say you skip your regular Wednesday night plans and grab a milkshake or something with me?”

Your insides flipped again but for an entirely different reason this time. You knew it: the sparks definitely weren’t one sided. The firm set of Aemond’s jaw and the rigidness of his shoulders flashed once more in your mind’s eye. Since your break up with your long-term boyfriend you’d been on a few dates, but none of them lead to anything worthwhile. With how you and Aemond clicked, however? This date might lead to something more than a hook-up (or, attempt at a hook-up. Some men truly had no game). “Are you sure…?” You asked after a moment. “You and Alys looked pretty comfortable–,”

“ –I’m sure,” it was his turn to cut you off.

“Alright then. Let’s do it.”

IV.

It'd been two months since your first milkshake date with Aemond – the first of many dates. It was a guilty pleasure of yours and apparently one of his, too!

Your first kiss, first time meeting his elder dog, Vhagar, and first time meeting his family were all memories you cherished.

The more you learned about Aemond’s relationship with Alys, the more you understood it "complicated". Including Targaryen drama, Targaryen business, and a list of other things you had a hard time following. It didn’t matter anymore, though, Aemond reassured you. Things were done between them and he only wanted you; proving it to you with fingers and mouth until you begged for a break.

A lesson you learned from your last relationship – one Aemond learned from his, too – was to be careful with love. As much as you genuinely enjoyed him and his company, a barrier stood between you that neither dared yet to cross.

Love.

Each day you fell for him a little more; you were scared to admit it. The scar of heartbreak healed slowly. Could you truly trust Aemond with that part of yourself? With the very essence of your heart? It’d been two months and you still weren’t entirely sure.

If he felt the same he’d say something, right?

Autumn blanketed the lands with brisk air, rainy days, and rolling fog. As days grew short and nights long, you and Aemond spent more time at your apartment or his quarter at the Targaryen estate. Your apartment was the clear favorite. Living alone had its perks: never having to worry about nosy family or friends who showed up unannounced.

And thank God you didn’t live with anyone else.

"Mmh… fuck, baby, I've been thinking about this all day. I can't get enough of you. Let me make my girl feel good," he said against your mouth as one of his hands moved up the inside of your thigh. "Are you wet already? I bet you are," he chuckled, fingertips tracing your slit. "Mmm… I knew it. Your clit is sooo needy, isn't it?"

Shit. Those hushed words, the glint in his eye, his rasped tone… you happily indulged him in whatever way he wanted. And him, you. Fingers, mouth, cock, he quickly learned what tricks made you melt.

As much as he loved having you ride him, or bending you over, his absolute favorite was fucking you into the mattress. You sprawled out beneath him, hair messy and fanned out around your head, legs wrapped tight around his waist, fingernails on his body… he could never get enough of your blushed face beneath him, trembling and arching as he pushed you to peak after peak.

Your sheets had never been cleaned so often in your entire life.

It was particularly rainy today and you were both finished with everything on your to-do list. Aemond sat on the floor in front of you as you lounged in your overstuffed chair. You told him you'd read the Lord of the Rings as long as he read it to you. He didn't even pretend to be annoyed by your bargain. He read to you from his own collection, claiming he liked the worn feeling of the pages better than a new book's pages.

Like any proper reader Aemond started with The Hobbit. You enjoyed it more than you thought you would. More so than the story, however, you enjoyed him reading aloud to you – he had the loveliest voice. You were about half way through The Fellowship of the Ring and the story continued to get better.

But, all afternoon, Aemond's phone never stopped going off. It seemed like every few minutes it would ping with some kind of notification. "Who's blowing you up?" You asked, annoyance creeping into your tone.

Stopping mid sentence, he looked. "Alys," he sighed as he scrolled through the various messages.

You tried to not look over his shoulder to the texts. You really did. But there was something about Aemond's shift in posture, and the air around him, that made you suspicious. "What's going on?" You asked in your best nonchalant manner.

"She's asking if I have some of her clothes at my place still," he answered and you swore you saw pink spread atop his cheeks.

That caught you off guard. "Why would she have clothes–"

And whatever else you were going to say was abruptly cut off.

There, in a new string of messages, was the single text line, "I miss you, baby boy," followed by at least three photographs of Alys in lingerie and various stages of undress.

"What the fuck Aemond!?" You asked, anger and hurt instantly warming your blood. "What the hell were those? Are you fucking joking?"

"I have no idea why she sent–"

" –is that why she left clothes at your place? Couldn't let her go for real? Jesus Christ I can't believe you." Anger flushed your face and bittered your words.

"Listen, please. Hear me out, bab–"

" –oh fuck off, Aemond, you don't get to 'babe' me around anymore. In fact, just leave."

He looked as hurt as you. And shocked. A hundred emotions played across his chiseled features. "No, really. Let me explain," he pleaded with eye and tone.

You weren't having it. You were cheated on before and he knew it. It made your own hurt cleave even deeper. You really fucking liked him. Maybe even loved him. And this whole time he had you and Alys? "I'm seriously about to get really fucking angry. Leave. Now."

He stood and left. Silent fury screamed around him like a whirlwind. He didn't even give you one final look over his shoulder.

He shut your door with a deliberate click.

You curled up in your blanket alone as fat ugly tears streamed down your face. You couldn't be bothered to grab a tissue for your snotty nose.

Aemond's leather jacket was still draped over the back of your couch and his book still lay on the floor. Your crying somehow turned uglier at the realization.

Eventually you dozed off. With Aemond, you always had your phone on silent so you didn't hear all his missed calls and texts.

The following month went by in a blur; you drowned yourself in work. You also stopped volunteering because you didn't want to give Aemond the opportunity to meet you there. By some feat of strength you ignored all his attempts at talking – and by proxy, apologizing.

The only thing you said to him was a single text:

I need time. Please understand

Part of you wondered how it affected him. His calls and texts became sparse until they eventually stopped.

Helaena asked where you'd been and you felt horrible lying to her. So, you didn't. After telling her the story she sighed and asked if you'd want to grab tea. You agreed. Meeting her at a local cafe allowed you to air out your feelings; laughs and tears alike. She was kind, and sweet, and supportive without being passive. She loved her brother but knew he had many of his own issues. You'd been friends for over a year and this was the first true heart to heart you shared.

Upon returning home you picked up the Fellowship and tried to read from where Aemond left off. But, it wasn’t the same without him and it only made you cry. Again.

VI.

The following morning, despite your car's newer model, it barely wanted to start for your drive to work. By a stroke of luck you made it there fine. And, made it back home that evening, too. But that was the end of your luck. It needed to be picked up and taken to a shop until a mechanic could see it.

Carless, you had to rely on Uber or public transportation. Yuck.

A few days of stress passed and now you were done for the week. Thank God for weekends. Unfortunately your groceries were extremely low and you would need to make a trip in the morning. You sighed and used it as an excuse to order pizza.

After waking up and a breakfast of (the last, and past its sell-by date) packet oatmeal you got around to make the walk to the nearest grocery store. Knowing you'd be walking home, too, the list was small. Carrying bags up two flights of stairs was hard enough, much less carrying them home a mile!

On the way back it started sprinkling. Great. Just great. You started walking faster with hopes of making quicker time than your leisurely stroll to the store. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, you heard your name called. Was that…? Stopping in your tracks you looked across your shoulder to the side of the road and saw none other than Aemond. You knew his car and voice anywhere. You didn't have to see yourself to know a dozen emotions played across your face.

"Hey," he said gently, his own features a mirror of yours.

"Hi," you said.

"Why are you walking in the rain with groceries?"

Slumping your unintentionally scrunched up shoulders, you sighed. "Stupid car died on me and it's been with the mechanic for almost a week."

He smiled softly. So soft. The outside of his seeing eye crinkled and emotion rushed to your chest. Your gut. "You're way too good to be walking alone. Let me drive you home at least?"

You didn't resist. How could you? "Alright. Sure. Just dropping me off though, okay?" Guilt panged your chest. Did he feel it too? Could he read it on your face he knew so well?

"Alright," he answered, expression falling just slight. You might as well have stomped on his foot with how it affected you.

I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. Can we try it again? Can I hold your hand? God I love your hair in a ponytail. You smell good. Did you see the trailer for that new horror movie? I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. It all turned around your head like a fucking rotisserie chicken. It shouldn't be so hard to say any of those things to him. But it was.

You didn't say anything on the short ride home. Neither did he. His right hand flexed a few times and you wondered if he was having a hard time, too.

"Can you get it all upstairs?" He asked as he pulled into an empty spot and parked, looking across to you with horribly concealed emotion.

"Yes, but…," you trailed off momentarily, trying to read his face. "I still have your book and jacket. Wanna come up and grab them?" You asked hopefully.

He killed the engine faster than you could blink. "Yes! So that's where they've been. You could have mentioned it sooner," he said slightly accusingly, grinning at you with a spark of playfulness.

Leading the way upstairs to your apartment, you unlocked the door and disappeared inside. After placing your items down and grabbing Aemond's, you turned to look at him standing in the doorway. He leaned against it. Waiting. Quiet. He glanced around with a wistfulness that made your throat tight. You watched him watching you and your home until the air became awkward – was it half a second, a few seconds, longer? You weren't sure.

Slowly you walked over to him. Your gaze flickered up at him as you handed his things back. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?" You asked. "Did you think I really wouldn't find out? Why did you stick around if I wasn't good enough?"

He blinked. Taken back. "You never even gave me the chance to explain." His jaw feathered before it tightened. His eye hardened.

You grabbed the door, fixing to close it on him. Now that you started talking – unloading pent up questions which kept you tossing and turning at night – you couldn't decide if you wanted to slam it on his face or yell. "I told you how I was cheated on! And you did it anyway! I trusted you, Aemond." Your voice thinned, sounding shrill even to your own ears.

One of his hands braced on the door so you couldn't close it on him. "So this is your revenge then, huh? Punishing both of us? Why don't you trust me?" Hurt and fury simmered in the lovely hue of his eye. A storm. No, a hurricane. "Alys and I have been done for months. Months. Even before you and I met. I'm sorry for what she did but I can’t control what she does. She was playing her wicked games trying to sabotage us– you and me. Don't shut me out. Please."

He pleaded, every pore and line of his face begging for forgiveness. As each word came off his tongue they clicked into place in your head. He meant it. He was telling the truth. Before you could stop yourself your fists balled into the front of his shirt, pulling him down so your mouth crashed up to his. "You mean it?" You asked through the kiss.

Instantly he leaned down into you, and instantly he held onto your waist pulling you deeper against him. His other hand cradled the side of your face daring to curve along the shape of your skull. "I mean it. Yes I fucking mean it," he answered against the kiss; breath stealing yours away until it left you in a little moan.

You pulled him inside and shut the door, locking it. You moaned as he nipped and bit at your neck. Your heart thumped wildly. He sucked at the sensitive skin, again and again, pulling away just before leaving a mark. "God, Aem,” you whimpered. Goosebumps covered your body. The only thing on your mind was him.

"Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much." His hands were somehow all over you all at once. His mouth trailed, and dragged, and kissed over any exposed portion of your skin. He happily pulled off layers of your clothing to expose more and more of your soft, warm, saccharine flesh; intoxicating him. After weeks of your separation the last thing he wanted to do was to push too far too fast. “Can I take this off?” He asked before taking your shirt off.

“Yes,” you replied breathily. “Fuck it. Take all of it off. I missed you too. So much,” you said as you helped pull his clothes off, too. He pushed you against a wall. You kissed. Heavier, and hotter, and hungrier. You pushed him against a wall.

He gasped as he smirked. “I love when you act all tough when we both know I can have you squirming under me in minutes,” he growled, pupil swelling. The dimples at the very corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement, however, as he once again pushed you against the wall. You were both only in your underwear, now, and his lean body on yours had you aching. “My tough girl… how quickly do you think it’ll last when my fingers are in you?”

“Why don’t we find out?” You asked defiantly, knowing damn well it wouldn’t last long at all. By now you were both down the hallway and your bedroom was only a couple feet away. You needed him. Now. And judging by how fucking hard he was he needed you too.

The next moment went by in a blur and before you could catch yourself you were sprawled out on your back atop your bed. Aemond made quick work of moving you both inside, and made quicker work of pulling your panties down. He groaned as your thighs immediately spilled open for him. He dragged two fingers up your slit and circled your clit with your arousal. “Shit–,” he hissed. “Never make me wait so long to have this pussy again. Do you understand me? Never,” he said as he worked your already swollen clit. He played with it just how he knew you liked it and your cunt’s tiny wet sounds sent his cock throbbing. “Answer me.”

Tension built in the low muscles of your belly. Your legs began to tighten already – one of the tell-tale signs of your approaching climax. How the hell could he push you there so quickly? “N-never! Ahh-h never again!” You replied, voice light, and sweet, and tantalizing as any sin Aemond ever knew. “Please, Aemond, I want to cum…!”

He shoved those same two fingers into you. “Good girl,” he said as he curled those fingers. “This pussy is mine. All fucking mine. Give it to me,” he said huskily as he worked them in and out of you. It was sloppy and wet. Borderline obscene. Each time he slammed his hand against you he was mindful to press the heel of his palm against your clit and your mound, knowing how the extra pressure sent your pretty toes curling.

You cried out his name as your eyes clenched shut. The tension in your belly snapped and a wave of glorious bliss washed over you. Sweat sheened between your breasts and along your lip. You arched, quivered, shuddering in the aftermath of his intensity.

Aemond’s mouth crashed to yours and you threaded your fingers through the roots of his hair. It was still in a ponytail and you had no mind to take it out, you just had to pull him deeper into the kiss. He tasted the salt of your sweat and groaned. “Relax your pussy, baby, you’re clenching me really hard. It feels amazing but I don’t wanna hurt you pulling out,” he said tenderly, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “Just feels too good.” You tried to steady your breath and relax as he laid beside you, continuing to kiss your neck and shoulders. When your spongy walls finally eased around him you were sad to feel him withdraw. Stress melted away from your subconscious and you wanted to thank him for the pleasure. You wondered if your eyes said it while he looked at you.

Leaning up, he discarded the final piece of his clothing and sighed in relief as his cock sprang free. He got between your thighs and looked down at you hungerily. “Look at you all doe eyed already. See? I knew you couldn’t stay tough for long,” he said, smug, as he lined up with your drenched cunt. He held one of your legs up against him, and you pressed the other against his side.

When you left for the store this morning you had no idea your afternoon would go in this direction.

He pushed into you. Inch by inch he sunk into you and soon he was as deep as he could be. A moan escaped both of you, and a throatier one left him when his free hand tugged at your bra. It was one that clipped in the front. He popped it open and rocked into you as soon as your tits spilled free. "You're so sexy like this."

With your body already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now with Aemond building a rhythm between your thighs, you weren't going to last long. "You feel so good," you purred, eyelids heavy. "Fuck I missed you."

Another sound left his chest and when you wrapped your legs around his slim waist you swore you felt goosebumps pebble all along his skin. Or, maybe those were your goosebumps on your legs. Whatever the case, Aemond leaned forward and kissed you again. "I missed you too," he rumbled. "Gonna let me fill this pretty pussy with my cum again?"

You two made good use of your birth control and you weren't about to deny him – or yourself – the pleasure of being thoroughly fucked and stuffed. "Y-yeah," you stammered, smiling.

Aemond mumbled something incoherent into your neck, and if your brain wasn't foggy from his perfect fucking cock you might have caught what he said.

He leaned up and supported himself on his forearms, pressing his forehead to yours. "You're my girl. You're my fucking girl. You're my fucking girl," he repeated again and again until the pace of his thrusts grew sloppy. Somehow the sloppiness of it, the neediness and urgency of his voice, sent emotion swelling in all of you.

Heat collected and grew out from your spine, webbing throughout your entire body. You clung to him desperately. You rolled your hips up into him and shamelessly grinded your clit against his pelvis as he drove in and out of you. It was all too much. You crumbled beneath him and let orgasm take control of you. The depths of your body squeezed and convulsed around him, holding him tight and soaking the fullness of his length with your slick. He never stopped or paused his thrusts.

His own peak followed. Once he was as deep as he could be he released everything he had into you. He stayed there, both of you panting through little moans, until he no longer twitched between your stretched walls. Slowly, he pulled out, and slowly, his seed dribbled out of you. Grinning, he rolled onto his back and scooped you against him.

"Let's stay here like this all day," you mumbled happily, fingertips trailing up and down his abdomen and chest.

"You'll get no argument from me," he said.

Quiet minutes passed and the sound of his heart nearly put you into a trance. "I'm sorry for how I acted," you finally admitted.

All the while he'd been petting and trailing his fingers through your hair. He didn't stop as he answered, "and I'm sorry for not trying harder." He kissed your forehead and held you tighter.

"Let's try it again. For real this time. With the titles and commitment and everything."

"Are you asking or telling me to be your boyfriend?"

You smirked. "I'm suggesting."

Returning your smirk, he pulled you atop him so you could straddle him. "You're all mine," he said with a dark eye. "My perfect girl."

Leaning down, you kissed and nipped his bottom lip. "Are you already hard again, Aemond Targaryen?"

A chuckle rumbled somewhere in his chest as his touch dented into your hips to hold you at just the right angle. With a roll of his hips he pushed himself up inside you again. "Whose cock is this?"

You gasped, eyes darkening with another round of lust. "Mine."

"That's right. Yours. Not anyone else's. It's fucking yours."

You rode him until your tits were covered in fresh hickies and you were filled with another load of him.

Yours. His. The second chance you both needed.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @dreamsofoldvalyria @chompchompluke @fan-goddess

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @sahvlren @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @okfashionista @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @evermorre

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #modern aemond #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond imagine #request

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daisybianca · 1 year

Text

pairing: lewis hamilton x femalereader

summary: lewis gives you secretly his number. you're hesitant to call him at first, but when you do, things get a little much more interesting.

warning: mentions of sexual activities, cursing words

(a/n): this is part one. Here's part two and part three.

YOU WERE STANDING in the loud crowd of people. Each one of them holding out a shirt, a picture, or a shirt to sign, including you.

You held out a white hat with a Mercedes emblem on it, hoping Lewis would notice it.

When he finally reached you, he looked at you for a few seconds and smiled.

What the...?!

He signed the hat and moved into the next person.

And when you turned around ready to leave, you looked down at your hat, seeing a phone number written on it.

Fuck.

"My best friend is a total idiot," your best friend shouted from the balcony of your apartment.

"Stop calling me an idiot!" You climbed out of bed. "Or at least try to be discreet with your very generous opinions about me and get your ass inside! I've got some deliciously hot neighbors who don't particularly need to know everything about me."

"Have you even been listening to me this whole time that I've been lecturing you about matters of life and death?" She sighed dramatically.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "A random guy giving me his number isn't a matter of life a death, if you ask me."

"Did you just call Lewis Hamilton a random guy? My husband of nine years?"

"Oh, stop acting like a blushing schoolgirl," You brought your fingers to your temple and massaged the flesh there as if the movement could erase the brutal headache. "Besides, you dragged me to that race. Maybe it's your chance to hook up with your crush-since-for-ever!"

Your best friend's eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting, filthy woman?"

"You shoukd call him. I'll give you his number right away." You strolled to find your back, but a habd found your wrist, stopping you.

"You're a mad woman. That's a fact."

You fake smiled. "Stop complimenting me that much. I don't think red suits on my cheeks."

"I swear, you're insane. The only reason I'm still by your side is because until 11th grade, you had my back when I sneaked out for parties, hooking up with whoever had a penis and a 6 pack."

You turned to face your best friend, hands in your hips and lips tightly shut together.

"You're seriously going to turn down this offer?" She asked.

"I wouldn't exactly call it an offer."

Your best friend rolled her eyes. "Yes. I'd call it stupidity, actually!" She waved her hands dramatically in the air. "THE Lewis Hamilton flirted with you, and you didn't even notice. Then he gave you secretly his number, and you're freaking going to ignore it?!"

"And what am I supposed to do about it? He's just a normal guy. Don't make him look like he's some God himself."

"First of all, yeah. Lewis is a God himself. He's mouth-watering hot, almost an 8 times champion, has a very cute dog, an 8 pack to stare at all day long, and much, much money," your best friend explained. "You should definitely call him. At least try to figure out why he gave you his number." She added in a calmer tone.

You exhaled and grabbed the white hat curled up under the sheets of your king sized bed. Gazing at the number, you then bit your lips. "Fine," you gave in. "But I'll call him tomorrow so that I don't seem much desperate, okay?"

"He was the one to make a very, very bold first move, and now you're afraid of embarrassment?!" She growled. "Come on! We only live once. Live some adventure, have some great sex, and experience a true love! I haven't seen you going head over heels for someone except that John guy in college."

"It hasn't been a long time since college," you said, contemplating whether you should count the years or not. You choose the second one. "I'll call him tonight. But don't think I'm doing it because I'm actually interested! I'm doing it exclusively for you." You explained, playing with the hem of your summer blue dress. "He probably is an attention freak who only dates supermodels."

"Baby, I assure you," your best friend came and sat next to you, her hand wrapping around you and caressing your cheek. "Supermodels would kill to look like you."

A smile appeared on your lips, and you gazed at your best friend. She always had a special eay about cheering you up and getting you out of your moody and grumpy vibe.

"Tonight." You said.

This has many potential to go wrong, you thought.

You didn't like wrong. You like safe and steady. But what if your best friend was actually right? (For the very first time of your 20 years old friendship.)

"Tonight." She repeated and smirked.

You turned your head and analyzed the hat with the calligraphic black numbers on it.

This couldn't get any more embarrassing.

***

You let out a long, deep, and shaky breath, then dialed the number.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Three beebs later, a male voice answered the call. "Hello?" The tone was familiar and harsh, but you couldn't be entirely sure that it was him.

"Hey," your voice came out steady, much to your surprise.

"Who is it?" The man replied and now you were sure it was him.

The British accent.

"Um, I noticed a number written on my hat that you signed and--"

"You're the girl from the race?" He interrupted you very much, complicated thoughts that would sooner turn into much more complicated words.

"Yes," you replied hesitantly. "Maybe one of them, at least. In case you gave your number to a few more girls for fun."

A laughter sounded. It was bried but somehow contagious. "I assure you, love, I don't usually spread my number across my fans' hats and shirts."

Your senses kicked in, and the temperature rised in your body.

Love.

"So, why was I the chosen one?" You asked.

"Oh," Lewis growled. "Maybe I could answer that question face to face." He said and then added a few moments later, "Join me for dinner tonight, will you, love?"

You laughed. "Isn't it kind of early for us to meet?"

"I'm not going to kidnap you, I promise." You could basixally hear him smile on the other line. "You can bring a friend of your for more safety." He suggested.

"So that it could be two of us to be kidnapped, right?"

There was a moment of silence. "Not sure about that." He spoke a few seconds later. "I only want you to be honest."

You smiled.

Is he flirting with me?

Of course he's flirting with you, you idiot!

"Are you asking me out on a date?" You asked.

"Yes." He replied instantly. "I couldn't wait another torturing hour, anticipating a call or a text from you."

"Okay. I'm in then."

"What about tonight at 9 pm?" He asked.

It was about 7, so you guessed there was plenty of time to get ready.

"Yes, that'd be great." You smiled.

"Perfect. May I pick you up myself at nine?"

"I'm surely capable of driving my own car, don't you think?" You laughed.

"Maybe," he said. "But why actually do it if I can drive for you? I'll come pick you up myself, I promise."

"No cops, no kidnappers?" You joked.

"I promise."

Lewis Hamilton would drive for you...?

"Okay, then." You spoke. "See you tonight, Lewis. I'll text you the address."

You went to end the call, but he stopped you before tapping the red button. "Wait, wait--"

"Hmm?"

"What's your name, love?"

Your heart roared in your chest and your cheeks reddened.

You adored that nickname.

"Actually, this was the first thing that I would mention to a guy, but love sounds much better, don't you think?"

Lewis laughed. "Tell me your name, and I promise I'll use love every single time instead of it."

"Okay," you said. "I'm (y/n)."

A moment of silence occurred again. "Prettier than love, honestly."

"Maybe, but not when you're the one to say it." You smiled. "You know, that British accent can actually kill."

"Hmm," his voice sounded from the other line. "Weird thing. That is exactly what I could tell about your eyes, as well."

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jimblejamblewritings · 6 months

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An Observation of Humankind [thinkpiece number: 1]

Every girlie (nonbinary, women and men of all orientations included) is a type of Marauder and their partners are marauder love interest — fandom version included.

James Girlies:

either like sports or play sports, especially soccer/football or rugby

bad eyesight

defends everyone

himbo and ditzy but we love them for that

fanfiction reader/sharer

have had several short-term but very intense crushes

surprisingly not always high school sweethearts (which yeah odd cause of Lily)

nature bros

calls their journal a diary with no shame

are always outside and can't sit their ass at home for too long

love bouquets

own at least one pair of converse

loves pop music and Hozier

have scaled a fence before

might be able to play the guitar

handwriting could be nicer if they tried

didn't get their drivers' license right away

take their coffee any way that isn't straight black coffee

definitely think all people are hot even if they don't swing that way (think lesbians love Thor)

loved Merlin the tv show

James Girlies love Regulus and Lily people, which means:

cold people, smart people, black cat people, painters, polite people, readers, homebody people, gothic people, hippie people, people with beautiful handwriting, black coffee drinkers, whisky lovers

Sirius Girlies:

dog people and cat people equally

doc martens

loves coffee and tea equally

fanfiction writer/reader

gorgeous handwriting, probably cursive

might know or has had an interest in calligraphy

an astrology and/or astronomy girl

speaks at least two languages

plays an instrument, any instrument... but their parents definitely suggested piano

leather jackets

denim jackets

wears way less black than people think

fantasy nerd and has played dungeons and dragons

was a superwholockian

usually the only child or older child

doesn't smoke but everyone thinks they might

cocktails or whiskey and beer, no in between

virgin till like freshman year of college or later, to everyone's shock

looks like a black cat but is actually a golden retriever

however they could kill you don't get it twisted

has trauma but won't trauma bond

crooked smile and not perfect teeth but gorgeous anyway

perfect hair that is deliberately messed with

motorcycles and vespas and small cars

listens to every genre of music

tattoos (even if just one small one)

journal person

can quote certain movies by heart

unfortunately turned on by sweater vests

fashion girlie

Sirius Girlies love Marlene, Remus, and other Sirius people, which means:

warm people, confident people, tall people, flirty people, musicians, readers, intellectual people, fancy people

Remus Girlies:

sweets lover

probably likes dark chocolate the most as well as hot chocolate

owns sweaters, probably vintage, some handmade by their Sirius girlies

plays chess

can draw

mismatched socks

waits till the last minute to do laundry

is more of a cat person but also loves dogs

didn't have strict parents and ended up giving themselves curfews and discipline and only late realized the reverse psychology

keeps a notebook about everything their partner likes

messy cook in the kitchen

loves tea a bit over coffee

is probably the actual smoker of the group

doesn't make their bed

good kissers

always carries a jacket or wears a shirt under their sweater so they can give it to their partner

can hold their liquor a bit too well perhaps

has trauma and might trauma bond

great fashion sense but will wear literally whatever is clean

Remus Girlies love Sirius, Pandora, and Dorcas (hear me out) people, which means:

black cat looks and golden retriever personality, weird people, people that pour their pain and emotions into their art whether music or painting or drawing, people that take time to care for themselves in the morning, witchy people, smiley people

Peter Girlies (pretend there was no betrayal):

underestimated

asks the most off-putting questions without realizing it

takes a camera everywhere

loves board games

tea drinker all day every day

baker

sends selfies at literally any angle because they don't care

always pays attention to everyone

loves breakfast food eaten not at breakfast

had a ukelele phase

cleanest of their friend group

Peter Girlies love Mary people, which means:

sunshine people, almost always happy, excitable people, pda lovers, carefree topeople

#mara #marauders #james potter #peter pettigrew x reader #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #marauders fluff #peter pettigrew

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astarion-dekarios · 3 months

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I did a live transcription of the Dragon Age: the Veilguard dev Q&A session today.

UPDATE/EDIT: I made a second pass of this and cleaned it up into a full/complete transcript.

Q: If you could belong to any of the main factions, which would you choose?

Corinne: Listen Katie, you say softball but this is hard. I'm gonna cheat and I’m gonna give you two. So for fashion, the Antivan Crows all day long. their threads, you're gonna love it. For vibes though, the ones that capture my vibe, Mournwatch. Gimme those necromancers.

John: Those are good answers. I have one for fashion and for just general faction that I’d like to be a part of. Veil jumpers - who doesn't like a nice walk in the forest, you know, even if that forest is filled with horrifying monsters and terrifying anomalies, but uh, yeah.

Matt: For me it’s definitely the Lords of Fortune. I’ve had a chance to try out a bunch of them, and I think I’ve finally settled on them, and I think it’s just because pirate barbarian is just such a great combination of elements. Treasure hunting, plus beaches and palm trees and all that stuff, it’s a really good mix, so that’s kind of my default.

Q: I’ve seen a lot of talk about only having two companions in your party instead of three for this game. What is the reasoning this and will we get the same companion conversations and banter as seen in the previous Dragon Age Games??

Corinne: Such a good question. Thank you to whoever submitted this one. I'll start and then turn it over to John Epler. As you saw in the gameplay reveal, this is a much more intimate experience. We pulled the camera in. For those that aren't aware, the reason why is we want you to feel like you actually are in this world, like you’re walking these the city streets of Minrathous, you’re looking up at the buildings all around you. You're a part of this place. It's much more intimate, and we believe as the narrative unfolds that this creates a lot more immersion. Now how this relates to the companions is in doing this, we went back and forth on it a lot, but we actually found that having two companions allows them more visibility and presence. We've talked about the incredible depth and focus we’ve put on fleshing out these companions, they're very fully realized, so here you really get to see them more clearly, you get to see them shine. When you see Lace Harding jump into the air and release a volley of arrows, you can only get that because of this more intimate view. So I love the spotlight that’s been put on them. But I think in addition to the banter, one of the things people are wondering about is, ok but what about gameplay. Again, this has come about from our testing, working with the internal team and also our lovely our council of players. We just found that in the combat system, when you're planning your strategies, two felt like the right number to manage. Keep in mind, Rook has a lot of different types of actions: abilities, individual attacks that are more fleshed out than ever before. Timing and positioning matter a lot, so this really felt like the right balance. The number of inputs and actions we’re asking you as a player to take, including directing your companions, is higher than ever before. And I will also say that I engage with the companions, I actively control what they're doing more than I ever have before in any of the other three games. But John, I’ll toss it over to you for the banter.

John: So banter, honestly I don't think you could stop the writers from writing banters. I will say for myself, it's one of the more light but fun things to do. You get to write little stories, little arcs between the characters, and Veilguard is no different. Banter is still absolutely a core part of it. We've got global banter, you know the general stuff that you get in all spaces, as well as mission specific stuff. But yeah. It's definitely still a big thing, if anything it's the most we've ever done for pairings of companions. Beyond that, we’ve also made sure—and I mean, I’ve been on Dragon Age for a while, and I know there’s been an issue, you know, things like, “well, I don’t wanna miss this banter.” So we've even added stuff like interruptable and resumable banter as well, just to make sure that—because again, it’s a core part of the experience. Everyone loves hearing these companions talk to each other. Everyone loves hearing these little stories and relationships develop over the course of the game, and as mentioned before, companions are the heart of this experience. So we still have it, if anything like I said, you could not stop the writers from doing it, even if you tried.

Corinne: Well John, listening to you speak, one thing that comes to mind, maybe people are wondering, with two companions in the field, do I get less interaction? Like do I get a scene with my companions interacting with a broader group more often? And the way you'll gather them around the kitchen table, there's just so many of those moments where they're all interacting with each other. Those are some of my favorite parts.

John: Yeah, and that’s a good callout, because I think the other side of it is, we aren’t talking too much about your home, but we also wanna make sure that they feel like they have relationships and a life outside of just the times you take a certain pair of companions out on the field, so we made sure that they have interactions there as well.

Q: How customizable is the backstory of Rook? Will we get to determine their past in the character creator?

John: Absolutely. So Rook has six different backgrounds that you can choose from. Each one is tied to one of the major factions in the Veilguard, and each one sets out who Rook was before they were recruited by Varric. While that sets up the broad events, as you go through the game and have conversations either with members of your faction, other characters, you can define not just what those events were but what they meant to you – what was your motivation, what was the kind of person you are as you build up Rook, because again, we wanna make sure that roleplaying is at the heart of this experience, and taking Rook, giving them a background in the world but letting you decide what that means and what that says about you is also a big part of it. And again, there are six different factions in this game. Two which anyone who’s played Dragon Age for a while would remember, you’ve got the Gray Wardens and Antivan Crows. We also have, in addition to them, four new ones because we’re in Northern Thedas. We’ve got the Veil Jumpers, Mournwatch, Shadow Dragons, and Lords of Fortune. A lot of different options, a lot of different backgrounds, and a lot of opportunities to define who your Rook was and who they are now.

Q: Will crafting return and has it been improved since Inquisition?

Corinne: Will crafting return? You can absolutely improve and customize your gear, yes. That is a big part of RPG progression, so yes you can improve and customize it. I will say though, it's different this time around, and it does get into spoiler territory so I'm gonna be a little cagey about it, but there might be a mysterious entity that assists you with that that will be an important part of the narrative.

Q: Can we kiss or romance Manfred the skeleton?

John: I would say, not that skeleton, but we're not saying no skeletons.

Q: What were some of the development considerations that you had to take into account to ensure this game flows & functions with prior games & dragon age keep, if keep is being utilized?

Corinne: We did an interview with IGN that goes into some of the details there. To summarize, we have taken a different approach on how you import your decisions this time around. It's now fully integrated into the character creator and serves a dual purpose, to be honest. It’s not called this in game, but I playfully think of it as "last time on dragon age". When I talk about its dual purpose, it's been 10 years since the last dragon age game release, so it serves as a refresher on critical events as well as allowing you to remake those decisions that are critical to you. The thing I love about it is it's very highly visual, it uses the familiar tarot card aesthetic, so it's actually a very visual and playful experience as you go through it. It is very much important to us that it's built into the client, though. You can play this game entirely offline, no connection, you don’t have to link to your EA accounts. That's been a really big request, so the refresher plus make those decisions in client, I think we're all pretty happy about that. I don't wanna spoil anything by revealing what decisions you can import. Y'all don't want the spoilers. But it's been a really interesting creative intersection for us. Because on the one hand, this is a whole new adventure. You're in northern thedas, these locations you've literally never been to before, so that affects what will matter and what we’re not using this time around as far as decisions. But obviously there’s some very very clear connections to existing characters. It’s no secret that the Inquisitor, our dear Inky, is gonna show up, so that's a factor.

Q: Will this next game be an open world game or is it just confined to Tevinter?

John: Yeah, so you are in northern Thedas, but the game only begins in Minrathous. It doesn't stay there. I think one of the most exciting things for me, and again, I don’t wanna get into too much spoiler detail, but getting to go to and work with the art team, the narrative, the design team to build out these locations we've talked about, places that character have referred to as where they’ve come from, places that characters obviously in previous games have hailed from, has been absolutely exciting. So you do start in Tevinter, you do start in Minrathous, but again that’s not the entire game by any stretch.

Corinne: And the first half of it is, is it an open world game? We've gone back to what we believe delivers the best, most curated, intense narratives. So this is a hand crafted experience, it's mission based. Now these locations can open up, you can go back, solve mysteries, do some really great side content - not fetch quests, not grind quests, some really great side content. But I wanna be clear, it's a really curated, hand crafted experience.

John: Just to bounce off of that very quickly, the most important thing for us and what Corinne was saying about hand crafted, obviously we’ve talked about how characters, story, narrative are critical to us, and this has allowed us to build those experiences in a way that emphasized that really well while still tying it into the story threads and story beats.

Q: Will the companions have unique specializations like DA2 or the same as player?

Corinne: I think the best way for me to describe this is that yes, our companions will have abilities that are truly unique to them, but also the companions do fall into the archetypes of mage, rogue, and warrior. For instance, you might be surprised to hear, because she has a bow, but Bellara is in fact a mage, and I love that. Some of the abilities, the bulk of the abilities of the companions, are based on their own unique personalities. Neve is the only mage that is an ice mage, so you get distinct abilities for her. But because she's a mage, she does have access to abilities that all mages share, like Time Slow. We really like the balance there. It’s a good mix of representing their archetype, their class, and also their distinct specialization or personality or whatever you wanna call it.

John: Yeah actually, I would say the word personality is a great one, because all of these characters exist, have a story, have a history of how they became who they were, and part of that was finding that intersection between narrative and gameplay and making sure that again, we serve the needs of gameplay, but also allow these characters to exist as their own people, not just in conversation but out of conversations as well.

Corinne: I would also say that as part of that core mage kit, healing spells are there. So if your mages, you wanna make ‘em a healer, yeah.

Q: Will the Veilguard have tactical combat still?

Corinne: Yes. Combat gets quite tactical. Obviously this is an evolution of the combat system. I talked about immersion, wanting to put you in the world like you’re actually living and existing in it, but it is very tactical and I will say we have a robust difficulty system. The tactics are increasingly important the higher difficulty that you go. So if you’re showing up for a highly tactical experience, I would crank that difficulty in particular. But I wanna make sure I’m super clear in my answer. You saw the gameplay reveal. Our pause time tactical mode is not overhead. It stays close to Rook. It does allow you to cycle between targets in and out of combat, there’s a reason for that. As the game progresses, you didn’t see this in that opening hour of the game, but it will display strategic information on the enemies, so what are their vulnerabilities, what are their elemental weaknesses, their enhancements, what are they resistant to, so your type of abilities, leaning into elemental gameplay matters a lot.

I would also say, this is a long answer because it’s such a great question, tactical decision making also takes the form, I would say this is front and center, of coordinating your ability usage between Rook and your companions to create synergies and or really devastating, we call them detonation combos. So let me give you a couple of examples, because it can be really hard to visualize, so hopefully this helps. One of the tactics that I personally enjoy in my own builds, I just recently played as a veil ranger, I love it, it’s one of my favorites. if I'm fighting fade touched enemies in Artlathan, I like to use Bellara's galvanized tear to pull enemies together, it’s like a gravity well. You then Slow Time with Neve – Slow Time affects the world around you, but it does not affect you, so you clump them up, you slow time -- and then with Rook I come in and do a devastating AOE or damage over time spell or ability. And it’s even better if it's a lightning based ability, because the fade touched in Arlathan are vulnerable to that. So there’s so many layers of coordination and strategies and tactics. We did talk about the devastating detonation combos, that's one of my favorite features, because that’s when you’re really leaning into explicit teamwork between your companions and Rook or the companions together. When I build out my team and I'm going into a mission, I try to ensure that I have at least a couple possible synergies, detonation combo synergies, between my team. It might be between Harding and Neve, Neve and me, or both. So here, I'd go into battle, pause time, open the ability wheel, get information on the enemy – and the wheel will actually tell you that there is a synergy combo, you might have seen a screenshot that says “combo available” – it will remind you of synergies between companions, you can queue both of those abilities up at the same time, close out of the pause time menu, they’ll both execute, both abilities will happen. Then the detonation AOE happens, applies debuffs to all the enemies in a radius of it. It's so satisfying. I can’t wait for yall to see it, but the interesting thing is that too is a tactical choice. I’m choosing to use my companions to do that, and that means I’m not using them to heal me, or to give me that defense bonus, or to knock an enemy off a ledge, so it’s about the opportunity costs. I could spend the rest of the session talking about this, apologies for being long winded, but this is one of my favorite parts of the game.

Q: Can you choose rook's pronouns? If yes, is being non-binary an option? How detailed is the character creator?

Corinne: Well yeah you can select your pronouns. Absolutely. You can actually select your pronouns and your gender, because those are related concepts, but they’re not actually the exact same thing. Yeah, you can be non-binary, we have he/him, she/her, they/them. Yes. Emphatic yes. How detailed is the character creator? Oh my goodness, yall. Very. I don't wanna give away too much just yet but it's very very deep. It has been revealed, it’s out there in a couple articles about the focus on hair, the focus on skin tones that are done respectfully, full body customization, hell yeah, we love to see it. But we’re gonna come back, we’re gonna show you a lot more on character creator, but we wanna make sure we have the time and space to do that.

Q: Will there be a photo mode in game?

Corinne: That is something we’re actively looking into, we know there’s a ton of interest, so stay tuned on that one, but we are very much looking into it.

John: I can add too, that is a feature that we like, we like the idea of, and it’s not just player facing, but internally it’s a really helpful thing to have that as we’re building things out, so we’ll let you know.

Corinne: Yes, yeah, absolutely. We are as geeked on that possibility as you all are.

Q: A lot of people were asking about abilities. Are we going to be limited in how many abilities we can pick from the wheel?

Corinne: Ability wheel does have a capacity. You have to choose which three abilities you wanna bring for Rook, which three for a companion, and which three for another companion. What I like about this is there is kind of an emergent gameplay depending on who you and your companions are coming into a mission with. Now the reason for that is it actually creates a really interesting balance between strategizing, having to do that strategy about your combat kit before the mission, and then the tactical decisions once you're in the field deciding what to do. I want to clear one thing up, while there are three ability slots for Rook, there's so much more than that - other actions that you can perform directly from the wheel like you’ll have an ultimate ability associated with your class or your specialization, so there’s variants there. There’s a type of items you can get that function like abilities, they’re typically like buffs and enhancements, in the form of runes, so you’ll control that for Rook and/or the team from the wheel. You may have also seen that you can direct which targets your companions can focus on, but what you might not know is that a lot of the companion gear really synergizes with that directing with your companions. When you issue those commands, that too will proc depending on the gear they have equipped, really interesting and strategic effects. They can be more ability like, more like proc’d effects, there’s just so much from the wheel that once you get in and see everything working together, becomes more and more apparent.

Q: Will fireball and cone of cold be back as spells in Dragon Age: the Veilguard?

Corinne: All these combat questions, really good. Fireball and Cone of Cold aren't specifically back, however their successors are, frost nova and meteor. These serve the exact same combat role and function as those other abilities. I would also say it gives them quite the glow up. Meteor in particular, so satisfying nuking a group of darkspawn with a well placed meteor. It’s wonderful

Q: What accessibility features are available? Arachnophobia mode? Mod support?

Corinne: Oh my goodness, arachnophobia. I am wicked afraid of spiders too. My partner always laughs at me, I’m just terrified of them. That said, that's one we're going to save for a little bit closer to launch before we’ll go into full details about accessibility features. But I do wanna assure you we have spent a lot of time thinking about this topic, so that you can play the game in a way that really works for you. I'm excited to share that with you when the time is right.

Q: How long is the time skip from Inquisition to the Veilguard?

John: Anyone who's paid attention to Dragon Age, and I can say as somebody who’s been on Dragon Age since Origins, timelines are always a little iffy. They change and they morph over development as we see how longs things are taking, but for Veilguard we were actually pretty consistent from the start that it's been about 10 years since trespasser, as you may or may not have noticed, Varric's become a bit of a silver fox. I’ve seen a lot of comments about that on social media. Yeah, 10 years. Solas's ritual has taken time to set up and you’re kinda coming in at the end of that hunt.

Q: Is Solas still bald?

Matt: Yeah. I mean if you’ve watched the gameplay thing, we can all confirm that Solas is still bald, Solas is still Solas. I really like how Solas has turned out this time around. I will say, here’s a comment on this specific question that’s gonna sound like a non-sequitor, but once you get a chance to play a little bit more, maybe you’ll – In Thedas, ancient elves go bald when they are millenia old, so Solas wasn't always bald. So if you end up seeing what Solas looked like in the past, things might be a little different. Now that said, I’m sure some of you are wondering what happened to Solas’s wig from Tevinter Nights. I’m sure he still has it somewhere, so… It’s his most important possession.

Corinne: Some pride there, huh.

Q: Will we be able to change companions appearances and outfits or are they fixed, similar to Dragon Age 2?

Matt: Dragon Age 2 was, we loved how the followers turned out in that, but it was sad given our constraints that we had to keep them with just one basic outfit. We really tried to make some space for them this time around. They have iconic color palettes and things like that, but they do have a wider range of appearances that you can find for them, some are just cool but then there are some that are tied to directly to their narrative and just kind of what’s happening in their life.

Q: Will we be seeing or visiting Kal’Sharok?

Matt: What’s been really cool, so in previous games, we’ve kind of alluded to this before, it was a lot of fun to hint at the locations that were off the map, the mysterious places you were not going, and so you could just bring in some props, some characters, a piece of art, things like that. Even Tevinter was only vaguely hinted at and we’d just add drips and bits and pieces, so that stuff was really fun. In the Veilguard we’re actually getting to visit a whole lot of those locations that had only been hinted at for real, so you do actually run around Tevinter and a bunch of the other locations that we’ve revealed. But this also means that we're not completely filling out the map, and that there are new things we can start hinting at and we can start drip feeding. It’s kinda fun, I’d say for what we can show of Kal’Sharok and other locations, there’s more to do.

Q: Will the dialogue wheel/options be similar to Inquisition and Andromeda in the sense that it's more tone based?

John: We have a number of different types of wheels in our game. All the dialogue wheels are based off the same principle, anyone who’s played a dragon age game and remembers what they look like. In Dragon Age: the Veilguard, we have tone wheels which are roleplaying your character picking consistent tone. We also have emotion wheels where you can pick specific emotional reactions, and choice wheels which are, I don’t have a strong emotional or tone tie here, but I do want to make a choice based on what I do. Investigate’s obviously return as well. We want players to understand as much as possible what it is they are going to be picking, we want the choice to be clear even if one of the best things about consequence is making sure that’s not entirely clear.

Q: How extensive are Rook’s dialogue decision trees?

John: Huge. Again, it’s a Dragon Age game. We wanna make sure you have choices, we wanna make sure you can choose your roleplaying, but also choose outcomes of conversations, choose how events unfold. Again it’s a Dragon Age game, we wanna make sure we also react to decisions you’ve made. So for example, you may be talking to a follower who is an elf, and if you yourself are an elf, obviously you'll have a different perspective on events than someone who’s not an elf. Sometimes that means different conversation options, sometimes that’s going to be entirely new dialogue trees, as well as based off decisions you’ve made throughout the game, so again, making sure the game feels like it notices what you’re doing is a huge part of how we’ve written out the dialogue wheel and dialogue trees in this game.

Q: All companions romanceable by all player characters regardless of race and gender?

Corinne: Yeah, yeah. We have talked about this in some of the interviews, I’ve seen a few articles about it, so I'd recommend everyone check out those articles, but let me just give you a quick interview. Each of the seven companions has full romance arcs and they are romanceable by all genders. Absolutely. But something that’s really important to us on the team, and so I just wanna make sure and double down on, that doesn't mean playersexual. If anyone’s unaware of what we mean by that, it doesn’t mean they conform or twist their identities to who you the player are. They won’t suddenly have a preference for men or women based on what you’re playing. Instead they have their own fully fleshed out identities. They are true and authentic to that. So in this game they are all pansexuals, they all have histories and romances, sometimes you’ll hear about preferences and things of that nature. And what I really love is if you don’t pursue a romance with them, they’ll actually build their own romances with each other. So in one of the interviews I talked about Lace Harding and Taash getting together. I give that example because it’s one of my favorites. I’m gonna put a question back to the community though. I’ve heard we’re going with Laash for that ship name? You tell me what is that ship name?

Q: What are the markings on the faces of the elven warden and veil hopper?

John: So there’s quite a few, I think more than we’ve done before, tattoos from various cultures. We're bringing the vallaslin back of course but there's a ton of different options, especially when we’re going into these new regions. Each area has its own kind of visual language for that. We are bringing the vallaslin back and a couple characters have them, but we've customized them a bit. They’re a bit more specific to their personality.

Q: What are you as a developer most proud of and excited for players to experience?

Corinne: I suspect for most of us, myself included, it's the depths and authenticity of the companions journey along with on their arcs, learning about their hardships, what they care about, being by their side. That authenticity is just so good, they all feel like my dear friends. But I have to say, the closest runner up for me has to be the character creator. Has to be. That character creator, the makeup options, the range of sliders... I'm a Qunari fan, so even just the way you customize the horns and combine that with the really great looking hair. Character creator has to be my very close runner up.

Matt: As far as what I can say I’m most proud of on this one, I can speak for the art team, we worked incredible hard to make the story more visible than ever. Games are a visual medium, but sometimes it's easier to do things in text format or written in a codex somewhere or alluded to off screen, but we really leaned into trying to make sure that every design, prop, character, environment, that the effects we’re choosing, all these choices were putting the story on screen so you can see it unfold, and I think having worked on all the dragon age games, I'd say Veilguard represents one of the best attempts at that we’ve made yet.

John: I’m gonna cheat and kind of combine both Corinne’s and Matt’s answers. Honestly the companions for me are the absolute highlight. Just being able to work across all the disciplines, building characters who look and sound and behave in very specific and characterful ways. These are the deepest companion arcs we've ever done, not just on Dragon Age but in BioWare in general. Each companion has their own story arc you can go through, decisions you can make. They really do take center stage. As you play through them, you see the care and love that the team has put into each and every one. I mean, there’s moments in each arc that make you cry, make you angry, make you excited, and the way they integrate into the story as a whole for me is something that’s been really fun. Finding ways to bring these characters together, ways to bring this story, this narrative, of you know, you need to put together a team and stop the end of the world, has been absolutely exciting and thrilling. And again, you see the team's love in every single piece of it. As for what I’m most excited, Dragon Age has been part of my career and part of my life for literally the last decade and a half, I’ve worked on it since Origins, and there's something about the Veilguard that feels an amazing mix of novelty and familiarity, it’s like coming home in a way that I feel is going to be very exciting for people who are existing Dragon Age players, but there’s also so much here that’s just new and exciting for people, new players and old players alike. Going to parts of the world, seeing things we’ve never seen before, and just getting to take this amazing world and series and expand on it and build on it in ways that I’ve just been, honestly an absolute thrill, the best part of my career, and I’ve been in games for 17 years now and this has been the absolute highlight for me, so that’s what I’m excited about.

Corinne: I just wanna yes and that. I so completely agree with you. There’ve been times in companion arcs where even knowing what's going to happen, we work on the game, with some of these decisions, I've had to set down the controller, let out a heavy sigh, and go “oh my god, what am I gonna do here?” The depth of them is wonderful. I do wanna put this out there, when we talk about as a developer what we are most proud of, can we just give a big shout out to the dev team? I am so proud of them. This team has poured their hearts into this. Anyone from BioWare who’s listening in, thank you so much. Y’all are just the best.

Q: Why does Varric have dark hair now?

Matt: He's been adventuring for a while now. His hair is more gray, but he's been in very dark scenes so far, so we’ll see him in some more contexts.

Q: Will the Inquisitor be appearing in the flesh or are we just choosing their major DAI decisions?

Corinne: Yes they will. The Inky does appear. We've know how attached y’all are to the Inquisitor, we’ve seen the love for your OC. Yes, the Inquisitor shows up. We'd already confirmed that a few places, so let me just say you can also customize them and it includes some of our new customization options. Yeah they’re gonna show up and they’re gonna be your Inquisitor.

John: And I think beyond that, the story of Solas and the story of the Inquisitor obviously are tied together as much as any story, so it would have been strange for us not to bring them in for this one. They’re gonna be a part of this story.

Q: Will there be any planned DLCs and transmog armor?

Corinne: Right now our focus is entirely on the quality of the game, it's so important at this stage for us to be all in, all attention on finishing this game and delivering on the quality and the promise of it. So that's all I can really say on it, we're 100% focused on this being the most complete game we can make it. I wanna emphasize, there's not gonna be any microtransactions or battle passes, you don't have to connect online. Our focus is making this the most complete single player we possibly can. Now this was kind of a twofer question. Will there be transmog? Hell yeah. I’m the kind of player that believes fashion is the real endgames. Yeah there’s a transmog system, absolutely. It’s sick.

Q: Will any of the characters be asexual?

Corinne: Such a good question. So, look I'm gonna be really forthcoming with yall and a little bit vulnerable, I'm ace. I'm a gray ace, I don't mind sharing that, I’m kind of public with it. I will say though that none of our companions this time around are explicitly ace. We look at the characters, their motivations, who they are, we always assess is this the right time. This time it wasn't. What I will say for everyone on the ace spectrum on there, I would love to represent an ace relationship sometime in the future when it feels like the most authentic fit for a companion, when we can do it best. And I do see some questions, what do we mean by ace? Asexuality. We often refer to it as the ace spectrum.

Q: Can mage Rook do blood magic? Will blood magic be a skill tree separate from regular magic?

Corinne: OK, this gets a bit spoilery, so let me just say, Rook has some pretty good reasons to avoid blood magic. Rook is not gonna wanna be interested in that. But I will say, the mage skill tree is packed with all kinds of spells, traits, and perks to give you a ton of flexibility in your magic. Gonna go off script just a little bit because I’ve seen “just tell us about the specializations”. I’m not gonna tell you the deets, but there is a necromancer one. There is an elemental one, and there is one that’s actually more of like a combat mage. It’s my favorite.

Q: Can we name the griffon? We also have a griffon emoji in this Discord server.

John: Excellent. So, someone in your party, again, spoilers, may have already named the baby griffon, but don’t worry, Assan is a very good boy.

Corinne: All these griffon emojis, y’all are killing me.

Q: Will we have a camp/home/headquarters that we’ll be able to customize?

Matt: Well this time around, in Inquisition you had Skyhold. In this case you have a headquarters called the Lighthouse. More to be seen on that, but narratively it serves kind of a different purpose, but also the same purpose. As far as customization goes, there are elements of it that change over time and some things you can adjust. I don’t know how much we’re really going into that at the moment. One thing I like about it is that it definitely does start to feel very much like home over time.

Q: We need to know, does pasta and noodles exist in Thedas?

Matt: I’ll take it as a chance just to geek out about worldbuilding. Again, the Veilguard for us is a really kind of dream opportunity to go to places we've only ever heard reference to or we’ve seen in set. In going through the world building process, and trying to build these things out not just as neat things from the IP, but also as, if you’ve read about this stuff, you've got your own version in your head, you’ve imagined what it might be like and you're probably hoping for something spectacular, and our brains are always far better at creating this stuff than any game developer or any artist can really do justice to, so you really have to swing for the fences to make something very satisfying and exciting. That can be everything as big as architecture and landscape and biomes and ecosystems, but it does get into things like art and culture and costume design, and also food. This time around that was one of the many things we did look into to try to catch the character and feel of a place to make it feel believable and lived in. So that’s my really long answer for yeah, I'm sure at least one place does have pasta.

Q: Are we getting a mabari?

Matt: Ooh, that’s a good question. I will say you’re spending most of the game in the north of Thedas. Mabari are not nearly as big of a thing up there, so in this particular instance, no, you will not get a mabari, sadly.

Q: Can we pet the griffon?

John: You, I’m really sorry to have to be the one to tell you—Nah, I’m kidding, yes you can. It's not even just petting the griffon, I've actually hugged the griffon, so that feels like even there a step up.

Matt: There’s lots of opportunities to interact with the griffon.

Corinne: Can we see Assan in chat if we wanna see him in the Lighthouse hanging out? And hey, y’all, this was so important to the team, too. Like this is the team’s like, just huge support for this feature, so props to them.

Q: Will we get to see any of the character creator before the game releases?

Corinne: Yes. Yes you will. You've probably seen we are laying out a roadmap for what we're gonna show and when we’re gonna talk about it. You will see it as we get a little closer to launch.

Q: Will we be able to play as a qunari dwarf elf or human?

Corinne: hell yeah you will. All 4. And all 4 have that full body customization. I already talked a little bit about, I’ve always loved the qunari, I will say in Dragon Age: Inquisition it was hard to get a good looking qunari hairstyle. So yes you can play as them, you can customize them, the horn options are rad, the hair options are rad. And also related to this, your lineage gives you a lot of really unique dialogue options. So that’s really one aspect of choosing your lineage as well.

John: So actually just to bounce off that, earlier questions about backgrouds. Each lineage, depending on the lineage you choose and the background you choose, there are some specific callouts to, for example, if it’s a Mournwatch, Mournwatch being from Nevarra and mages, if you play as a dwarf, obviously your experiences in that faction is going to be different from, say, a human or an elf, so there are also specific callouts tailored to those combinations and, with the intention of giving each lineage a little flavor as to how they fit into that faction as a whole.

Q: Where is barkspawn and is he ok?

John: Barkspawn is safely gnawing on a bone next to a fireplace somewhere in Ferelden. Don’t worry, he’s fine. You may ask yourself, “but John, it’s been so long.” To which I say, Mabari live exactly as long as they need to.

Q: Will Rook have a set of default name?

John: Yeah, so Rook’s last name is defined based on their faction, again we wanted to tie that into your backstory, but also there's a name generator that can give you a selection of first names, obviously if you wanted to make your own first name, that’s definitely something we support as well. If you’re somebody who maybe has a little more difficulty coming up with a name, so for example you name every single character Bob because that’s the only name you can think of, we also give that opportunity for that generation.

Q: When will the voice acting cast be announced?

John: We worked with a lot of very talented actors on this one. I am super excited to talk about the voice acting cast, we’ll be talking about it more over the summer, we’re not quite ready to announce names yet.

Same answer for collectors editions and preorders, and required PC specs.

Q: Any special musical guests? Tavern songs?

Corinne: Yeah there are tavern songs and a huge credit to the audio team and performance teams, because they’re pretty great. There’s one at a little tavern in Minrathous called the Swan, and the song you hear there might just be my favorite of the tavern songs.

Q: DA2's main theme brought back motifs from DAO main theme. Can we expect DAV to recall more or less of that original thematic material than inquisition?

John: We are not quite ready to talk about music yet in specifics. But in broad strokes I can say that the process for us is always the same. Working with the composer, figuring out themes, figuring out what kinds of elements we want to keep, tying specific elements to maybe specific characters, it's very in depth process and a very collaborative process. We have some fantastic audio people on our team that have done some fantastic work, that have done an amazing job working with composers and with the team as a whole to make sure that again, we said earlier about cohesiveness, making sure that the music feels like a cohesive part of the experience.

Q: When writing the overall story of this game, what themes did you want to have as the prominent focus?

John: Again, it’s interesting. When writing these games, and this has been true on every Dragon Age I’ve been a part of, what you start with and where you end up aren't always necessarily the same. Sometimes you start writing a theme, you realize actually it’s more interesting if you attack it from this angle, or maybe it ends up twisted a little bit. I will say for Dragon Age: the Veilguard, from the beginning one of the biggest themes has been regret. How regret shapes people’s lives, how they deal with their regrets, how maybe people move past regrets. Each of the characters and the story as a whole have elements of these. We wanted to have that thematic, that cohesiveness to the game’s story and the game’s writing.

Q: Can you play a dwarf and does the world react to your race and backstory?

John: Yes, you can play as a dwarf. Yes, the world does react to your race and backstory. And again you’ll have unique dialogues or unique conversations based on that backstory as well as that race.

Corinne: And to give you a little nugget here because I saw it scrolling through real quickly, you have beards. So when I think of dwarves, I think about glorious, fantastic beards. Hell yeah we do.

John: Yeah I can say, as somebody who plays a lot of games, the character creator—I don’t know what magic they did, but the beards, they feel like a beard should feel like, it’s great, they look awesome.

Q: Will our heroes and companions leave us if we go against their wishes?

Corinne: Do y’all just love pain? Do you want us to make you cry? Um... if you go against their wishes and make decisions they don't like, I will tell you, you can piss them off, they might not agree with you, and they will take some time away. That said this is the biggest threat to Thedas we've ever seen, so they will always be willing to defend Thedas, but yeah you can piss them off and they’ll leave for a minute. As it relates to them showing up to defend Thedas, well yeah they will, UNLESS…

John: No spoilers, Corinne. No spoilers.

Corinne: Alright, alright. But they want it!

Q: Did any songs, books, movies, or anything inspire character writing?

John: Art is always a synthesis of your own experiences both in the real world but also the art you consume, the art you pay attention. I don't think that any characters have a direct reference or inspiration, but yeah, they're all inspired by the things we do both in the real world and in the media we consume. And you’re gonna see elements of characters that yeah. The things that we’ve enjoyed show up in these characters. For me it comes down to, writing can be a deeply personal experience, so even if you don't intend for it to be the case, parts of you will show up in the characters. I think that’s true for all the characters in the Veilguard. Sometimes it's exploring things about yourself that you may like or may not like, and sometimes exploring things about characters you like or don't like. So that’s my longwinded way of saying yes, it’s impossible to not have that happen when you’re creating art, but I don’t think there’s one where you can say, “oh this is this character, this is this character.”

Q: What was the thinking process behind making Harding a companion this time around?

John: When we released Inquisition, it was impossible not to see the love that people had for our murderous girl next door dwarf. She has always been a fan favorite obviously. But I think beyond that, it's something that Harding's writer wanted to explore, there was more of a story to tell there and more perspective. And beyond that Harding also has a strong connection to Solas, to Varric, and the events of the last 10 years. So I wouldn’t say it’s always been but I’d say Harding’s probably one of the first ones we settled on as like yes, this is a character we want, and the writer had a story that they wanted to tell with her, so it just made sense.

Matt: You know, actually, to piggy back on that, that’s something I hadn’t even thought about that much and it’s not a huge part of her character, but she tends to be one of the people that have the most insight into who he was.

John: Yeah that’s exactly—that’s a great way of looking at it, too, it also provides you with a little bit of perspective, for players who’ve been around for previous Dragon Age games, but also for new ones, who was Solas? What kind of character was he? Yeah it’s a great, using characters to provide windows into the world is honestly one of my favorite things.

Matt: And when I say was, I just mean in Inquisition.

John: Yes, that’s exactly, yes. Thank you for correcting that.

Q: What approach are you taking to quest and world design in the Veilguard?

John: I think for us it just comes down to relevance and narrative heft. We wanna make sure that each quest provides either a perspective on the world, a perspective on the characters, or it feels immediately and obviously relevant to what you’re doing here. You’re here to save the world. At the end of the day, one of the things that we heard loud and clear was the feedback about how relevant, or in our case not relevant, previous quests have felt, so for Veilguard, we really wanted all quests to feel like something somebody faced with the end of the world would believe was necessary and important. So again, there’s quests of all sorts and sizes, but all of them share that same feeling of, this is the kind of thing that the Veilguard would do. This is the kind of thing that my hero would do. Especially faced with the end of the world.

Corinne: That’s really good, John. That’s so right. I would just again double down on how hand crafted all the quests are. Whether you’re doing the main story or you’re journeying with your companions or you’re out exploring and you encounter a mystery, everything's hand crafted, intentional, we spend a lot of time listening to what yall said, and of course everyone has slightly different tastes, but you're not gonna be gathering shards in the Hinterlands. Everything is built with intention and they’re lovingly handcrafting the experience.

Q: Are there any locations in the game that can only be accessed by making specific story choices?

John: So I don’t wanna get too much into spoilers here, but I will say that locations can fundamentally change based on decisions you make. Some of the parts of the world that you go to, you can have, the choices you make have an impact on how these spaces exist and develop.

Q: Will we be able to control companions in combat?

Corinne: If Rook gets KO'd, the player character gets knocked out, this time around it is time to reload your save, or better yet, the companions have really interesting progression. You can spec them out to be able to revive you, but that’s if you’ve invested in their progression and what they can do. And that said, I mentioned this earlier but I personally spend more time in the nature of this combat system when everything comes together, interacting and directing the companions than I have in any of the other games. So like that’s interactivity between them. Once you play it you’ll see just how engaged the scene is.

Q: Will Solas still occasionally or dramatically speak in iambic pentameter?

John: I actually spent a little bit of time trying to figure out if I wanted to answer this question in iambic pentameter, and then I very quickly gave up. Massive kudos to Patrick who always writes Solas so well. Again, Solas is a returning character. It's the same Solas you know and love or hate depending on who you are. The same writer. So I think this is, the answer is yeah, it's Solas.

Q: Will our decision of who was left in the fade be important?

John: While that decision does not show up—not for the Veilguard, now that said, that doesn’t mean that’s not a decision that won’t ever be important in the future. Not for this one.

Matt: I’m glad to hear you say that, John, because one of my favorite stories was Bob getting stuck in the web in Reboot.

John: That’s a deep cut! The sound of my childhood.

Q: Will we have mounts again?

Matt: No, mounts were, they addressed a need in Inquisition that we don't have in Veilguard, and you’ll see why when you get to play.

Q: How is the side quest design? Will they be mostly story based or will there be a lot of radiant and quests for power like in Inquisition?

John: We talked about this a bit earlier, but they are all hand crafted and story focused. The narrative, the companions, not just the companions but the characters and the world as a whole, are so much at the core of the Veilguard that anything other than handcrafting quests just felt like it would be a disservice to the game we were building.

Corinne: And maybe we can clarify as well, because with power was such a devisive mechanic in Inquisition, there’s no mechanic like that that blocks your progression until you fill a bar. That’s just not a thing in this. You have the autonomy to engage in these quests as you like, there’s no grind out gates before you can progress.

John: That’s right. Again we want to make sure that doing this content feels as natural and part of the logical flow of the story as possible.

Q: Will there be a similar system to war table?

Corinne: We haven't talked much about the player's base, the Lighthouse, and we're gonna save that, but what I will say is that the Lighthouse, your headquarters so to speak, it has its own unique purposes and functions this time. So that's an area that we'll leave for you when we talk more about the Lighthouse and when you have a chance to hop in, you’ll be able to see what those unique purposes are.

Q: If there is dual wield for warriors, is it dex or str?

Corinne: So we did wanna bring dual wielding back. It is part of the rogue kit this time, warriors are really focused on mighty two handed weapons, I can’t wait until you see, when you swing those weapons there's a real heft to it, and then of course sword and shield. So we’re leaving the dual wielding to the rogues, but you can see, the amount of hits you can get in in rapid succession dual wielding as a rogue is really satisfying.

Q: What have been some of the challenges and advantages of working on a single game for so many years?

John: That is a fantastic question. I have often joked, and I don’t know how much of a joke it is, that when this game is out and I suddenly don't have to keep all these pieces of game and lore and story and everything straight in my head, I'm suddenly gonna be able to speak Latin or something because there’s gonna be a ton of brain power freed up. But for me it’s just, the thing that keeps me sustained is just knowing the game we're building is the right one. Knowing that the pieces are coming together, and knowing just how much people care about this franchise, care about these games, and how excited people are going to be when they get to see the fantastic work the team has been doing. I’ve been on this project since the start, and even today I see things on a daily basis that I’m like holy smokes I can't believe what the team is doing, I can’t believe how good this looks. It's a huge game and I don't see every piece every day, so I get pleasantly surprised on a daily basis. Sometimes if I’m having a particularly long day, I'll spend about an hour late at night just watching cutscenes come in, watching the work coming together, and just sitting back and being like, holy smokes, I can’t wait for someone who hasn’t seen this every day as I have, to see this and just be blown away by the work.

Corinne: It's been very real, hasn’t it? I will just say speaking on behalf of the dev team, everyone's working so hard and putting so much passion, so much of themselves into it. This is a franchise they truly love and seeing your support cheering us on has meant a lot to them. So let me just say thank you to all of you.

#dragon age #dav #dragon age: the veilguard #da4

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robot-roadtrip-rants · 4 months

Text

My Headcanon for Why Emps Banned Religion

I have read none of the books with a heavy Emps focus but I have read a lot about them, including various excerpts, and obviously that's enough to qualify me for making headcanons about him. So here's my big theory:

The religion ban had nothing to do with Chaos, and everything to do with the Emperor himself.

Listen. Listen. We have three facts:

The Emperor is a 38,000-year-old psyker created to defend humanity against Chaos who has dealt directly with the gods. There is no way he doesn't understand how they work.

The Emperor made a deal with Chaos but failed to keep his end of the bargain. This bargain allowed him to create the primarchs, but it also empowered him personally.

The Emperor is the entity prophesied to become the Dark King, the fifth Chaos God.

I think the Emperor was trying to prevent his own ascension by banning religion.

Humanity has a fairly strong connection to the Warp; it's slowly evolving into a psyker species. A single, non-psyker human won't have much effect, but if billions and billions of humans believe the same thing, it will affect the Warp.

Now, pause for a moment and think about what it would be like to encounter the Emperor. I don't just mean walking up to the guy and shaking his hand, I mean just seeing him and being in his vicinity. You're gonna get knocked on your ass by the most intense Warp aura you will ever feel in your life. To put things in perspective, in one of the HH books, Lion makes an entire room of men kneel just by walking in the room. The Emperor is exponentially more powerful than any of the primarchs. The dude hangs out with blanks because they're just too weak to hurt him.

A lot of people are going to process that encounter as a religious experience.

Now, obviously the vast majority of the Imperium's population are never going to see the Emperor. But millions and millions of people will still go through this experience. We don't see much of this because the HH series takes place when the Emperor retreats to Terra to work on the Webway. Prior to that, he would have been a public figure--giving speeches, holding triumphs, leading armies, going to summits, etc etc etc. There would be a steady stream of people walking away shaken to the core because they decided to go to a big parade or whatever.

Now, add to that his utopian mission (the Imperium will unify the galaxy and create a golden age of humanity! yay!), the cult of personality, and the fact that some planets really would have greeted the Imperium's arrival with joy...

Look, someone's gonna start a new religion. Maybe multiple someones. And you had better believe it's gonna spread because "huh that there is some kind of divine being" is a pretty understandable response to Big E and his Slightly Less Big Sons.

Thing is, the Big E in question knows about the Dark King prophecy, knows how the warp works, and knows he's as much a Warp entity as he is human. If increasing number of humans believe that he's a god, all that belief is gonna pour into the Warp, and eventually it's gonna affect the very nature of his being. Him, who already has prophecies about a divine ascension floating around. GEE WOW COULD THESE THINGS BE RELATED, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN NEXT.

The Emperor really, really doesn't want to become a Chaos god. The Emperor is extremely anti-Chaos. So it is absolutely vital that no one starts worshipping him because the risk is too great, and too much is at stake.

The solution? Ban religion.

See, he can't just allow freedom of religion because statistically speaking, someone's gonna start worshipping him. And he can't start a state religion, because that associates his person with the official religion, and then he'll get turned into a saint or a minor god or something. For fucks sake, the Catherics still venerate St. Vladimir and they don't even know what Russia is! Yeah, official religion is straight out. Honestly, the big problem here is the whole tendency to worship giant miracle-working people with overwhelming Warp signatures. That's what really needs to be targeted. A vigorous program of rationality combined with a strict ban on religion will discourage both the practices and the thought processes that lead to Emperor worship. Humanity will learn to trust SCIENCE and FACTS rather than seeking comfort from silly old superstitions. That is definitely how human psychology works.

The downside of this policy is that he cannot acknowledge Chaos. Acknowledging that big spooky supernatural entities with godlike powers exist severely undermines the whole premise. But the aftershocks of Slaanesh's birth have mostly worn off by now, the Warp is pretty quiet these days, and frankly speaking there is so much Weird Shit in the Materium that the occasional daemon can be written off as wacky xenos hijinks. Plus, the general drive away from religion will also drive humanity away from Chaos worship. It's a bit of a gamble to deny Chaos, but all things considered it's a safe one.

So Emps bans religion and starts his totally-not-a-religious Crusade to unify the galaxy and find his sons. Everything is going great! Chaos has barely made a peep and rationality is blossoming on all the human planets. The way things are going, Emps might even get a head start on that Webway--

Uhhhhhhh. That's. That's a nice religion you invented there, newly-found son. You know it's gonna have to go in the trash, right? Atheism is kind of our thing.

what is this what are you writing about

LORGAR WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?

Yeah so Emps flips the fuck out. This is literally what he was trying to avoid, and it is the worst case scenario. Not only has an Emperor-worshipping religion sprung up, but one of his sons--y'know, the insanely charismatic monstrosities with crazy Warp signatures that he made--is the one who started it! This has to be stopped, and it has to be stopped HARD. Breaking Lorgar isn't enough. Emps has to break his religion.

And you know the rest.

************************************************************************

LINGERING QUESTIONS:

Q: If Emps was so hellbent on preventing a religion from springing up around him, why did he build a cult of personality?

A: He's an authoritarian dick, of course he's going to build a cult of personality. And of course he's going to convince himself that the cult of personality is necessary, and that it won't conflict with his anti-religion agenda. That's how authoritarian dicks think.

Q: Then why was he ready to become the Dark Lord in TEatD II?

A: Damage control. Emps didn't have the power to take on All Of Chaos Wearing Horus. So if he didn't ascend, he'd be consigning humanity to subservience at best to extremely hostile entities. But if he did ascend, then he might still be able protect humanity even as a horrifying Warp monstrosity. The Emperor will always choose the option that (he thinks) is best for humanity even at the cost of himself. But that's a whole other post.

LAST TIME: Emps has a really fucked up sense of time.

NEXT TIME: Why is the Emperor Like That?

#warhammer 40k #the emperor 40k #i am hellbent on giving emps more characterization #he's so often reduced to Bad Dad #but if you're willing to accept that the primarchs are complicated people with interesting motivations #then you should be open to the Emperor being the same

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breakfastteatime · 4 months

Text

Today's Survivor request is for @noire610 - Don't go.

Cere is the first to leave. Cal can barely look at her, his anger, his disappointment, choking him into silence. He finds her in her cabin, packing up her belongings. Well, she’s missing one, and he holds it out to her; her lightsaber hilt, his crystal removed from it.

She takes it, as mute as he is. He’s not sure what the gesture truly means.

It’s yours, it belongs with you, take it back. It feels right.

I can make my own lightsaber. I’ll find my own way without you.

Thank you, Cere, for everything.

Cere shoulders her pack and heads for the exit. Her final words?

“Be safe, all of you.”

Greez sobs.

Merrin returns her well wishes.

BD accepts a final pat on the head.

Cal says nothing.

Don’t go.

He can’t say it. He’s not sure he means it.

(He does. He does mean it. Don’t go, Cere. Don’t leave – )

Merrin is the next to leave. Like Cere, she takes everything she has, packing it all into a backpack she shoulders without complaint. She gives Greez a hug, accepts one from BD, and takes one of Cal’s hands in her own.

“I will see you again,” she tells him.

Don’t go.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice so harsh he’ll be lucky if Merrin ever looks his way again, let alone speaks to him. “Be safe.”

He can sense her need to say more, a need maybe to explain herself, but even if she screamed it directly into his ears, he wouldn’t be able to understand it.

Don’t go.

They drop her off on Ord Mantell. She doesn’t look back, and Cal doesn’t watch her go.

It’s no surprise when Greez says he’s going too, it’s too much for him, he’s lost his touch, literally, and all this flying from one warzone to the next isn’t doing him any good. He tells Cal to leave him on Nar Shaddaa, he’ll figure it out from there, and yeah, kid, the Mantis is yours, take care of her until I ask for her back, because she’s still mine, don’t you forget it, and by the way –

Don’t go.

But Greez goes too. He goes, and then it’s just Cal, BD, and the Mantis. It’s too big for the two of them. It doesn’t matter than Cal can walk around barefoot or leave dirty plates, cups and spoons all over the galley without reprimand. It doesn’t matter that he can leave laundry wherever he wants. It doesn’t matter if he fails to wipe down the decks. Who cares if he takes caf into the cockpit? No one’s there to yell at him.

Don’t go.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me with all your echoes.

Greez in the cockpit, checking landing coordinates.

Cere, reading in the lounge.

Merrin, making potions in the galley.

All three of them, living ghosts all over the ship.

He sits in the pilot’s seat, adjusted for his height and number of arms, staring out at space, BD beside him on the dash. He swallows, throat dry, belly empty because he’s forgotten to eat. He’s forgotten a lot of things, including how long he’s been staring out at the stars.

Alone, again.

Adrift, again.

“BD?”

BD looks over.

“If you’re waiting for the time to tell me you’re going to, this would be it.”

Outraged, BD squawks and launches himself into Cal’s arms. He’s not going anywhere. Where Cal goes, BD goes.

“You’re sure?” Cal hears a crack in his voice.

Sure? Is he sure? BD thumps his head against Cal’s chest.

“Thanks, buddy. For everything.”

BD suggests they get back to the mission, after Cal’s had some dinner.

“You up for it?”

Of course BD’s up for it! “Great, because I know where Saw Gerrera’s at, and he’ll have a mission for us.”

#fic requests 2024 #star wars jedi: survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #jedi survivor headcanon #jedi survivor minific #the mantis crew #cal kestis #cere junda #merrin #greez dritus #bd 1 #angst #oh the angst #this one hurt #it hurt a lot

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tonberry-yoda · 1 year

Text

Who's That Guy? - Trafalgar D. Water Law

notes - HERE IT IS! The Law fic as promised from my poll! I have been WAITING to write for this man, as I am so so so so in love with him tbh. He is SO FINE! I'm actually thinking about making a part 2 to this when I watch Dressrosa because this would be hella cute. I hope you all enjoy and I hope you're all staying hydrated :) word count - 1,868 summary - you're lost and can't find your crew. but luckily, you make an unexpected friend who helps you find your way back WARNINGS - spoilers for Sabaody?, implied f!reader (one use of she pronouns)

You were lost. Would you admit this to anyone? No. HELL NO. Zoro was the one who always got lost and you were usually the one to help him out.

But this island was a total mess. The Sabaody Archipelago was straight up awful. The numbers were helpful, sure, but finding your way to the next number was pure horror. Not to mention that you had to avoid any and all celestial dragons if you didn't to, oh, I don't know, DIE.

How did you lose your crew that easily?

You sighed and scratched your head as you stared at the numbers above you.

"Do you need help?" someone asked you.

You turned to them with a smile. "That would be great."

That part earlier, about you not admitting that you were lost, you were talking about your crew. You really needed some help and anyone would do to be honest.

They helped point you in the right direction, but as you were walking through alleyways and streets, you just felt yourself getting more lost.

"Oh my god," you muttered under your breath, pulling out your map again.

Not looking where you were walking, you kept the map in front of you, praying that it would magically tell you where to go.

That's when you felt someone crash into you. And of course, they hit the floor.

God, you were an idiot.

You quickly pulled your map away from you and apologized profusely, not even getting a look at who you knocked to the ground.

When you went to go help whoever it was you knocked over, a group of people, including a giant white bear stood in front of you, protecting whoever was behind them, weapons in hand.

You stepped back with embarrassment painting your face. You looked at the group and bowed apologetically. "Sorry." you said quickly.

"Guys, guys," the bear started talking. "I don't think she wants to hurt our captain! Put the weapons down!"

The group took a step back, lowering their weapons.

You knocked down their captain?? Oh yeah, you were screwed.

"I'm fine, Bepo." You heard the voice of the man who you knocked the the ground, his hand appearing on the Bear's shoulder. You saw the word "DEATH" tattooed over his knuckles.

"Oh, thank goodness, boss!" The bear turned to his captain and pulled him into his giant arms. You couldn't help but smile.

"Bepo, seriously, let go." the captain said.

Bepo took a step back, saluting. You giggled.

And that's when you finally saw the man who ate shit because of you. He was tall. Really tall. Really skinny as well, with long and lanky features. He was wearing a big hat that looked like it had cow print almost. He had black hair that included a small goatee on his chin. He had dark eyes, clearly wearing eyeliner and dressed like a high school boy.

"I'm sorry for knocking you down," you stammered. "I'm lost and I wasn't paying attention and-"

He raised his hand to you. "It's fine."

His crew looked shocked. One of the men quickly spoke up to try to show you the severity of what you had done. "Do you even know who our captain is? This is Trafalgar D. Water Law! He's got a 200 million berry bounty on his head!"

You let out a long whistle. "Not bad!" you said, looking at the captain.

The crew looked at you in surprise.

You looked around at them and smiled. "My captain's bounty may not be that high yet, but I guarantee it's gonna get there sooner rather than later."

"You're a pirate?" the bear asked, tilting his head.

"Sure am!"

"Who's your captain?" the man, Law, asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Monkey D. Luffy." you bragged. Even if the whole ocean didn't know him yet, they would soon enough. You loved your captain and were proud to call him just that.

"Damn, really?" Law asked, a look of surprise on his face.

"Yup."

"So he's here then?"

Your face went pale. You were supposed to be on the down-low and now you just told some pirate with a higher bounty than Luffy's that Luffy was here. Good job, y/n.

"I-" There really was no saving yourself.

"You said you were lost." said Law. "Need help?"

"That would be nice." you said.

"Where do you need to go?" he walked next to you, peeking at the map you had over your shoulder. He was warm, even if he was inches away.

"See, that's the problem. I can't remember what number we parked the boat at."

"Oh, I see. I can help. There's a pirate docking station. That's probably where your boat is now." He turned to his crew. "You guys can go screw around at some bar or something. You can take a break. I'll be back."

They all saluted their captain and look off like children in a candy store.

You laughed. "Do you like your crew?" you asked.

"I would hope so." he laughed. "Do you like yours?"

"Is that even a question? I have probably the best crew in the world."

"What's it like to have Luffy as a captain? I heard he was some crazy kid."

"Oh, he is," you chuckled. "But that's what makes him great. He's willing to do some pretty stupid shit to get what he wants, so there's always adventure, even out in the middle of the ocean."

"Oh, I bet. I could never go to any extremes if it meant putting my crew on the line."

"Luffy knows we can take it." you said without thinking. "Oh, shit, uh... I'm not saying your method's wrong. That's actually very sweet, I-"

Law laughed, raising his hand. "It's fine. I understand."

The two of you walked in a little bit of silence for a while, just appreciating how pretty Sabaody actually was. Sure, it was an island that made you feel uncomfortable with the acts the celestial dragons were pulling, but it was also pretty and had a lot of very kind people.

"When do you need to be back at the boat?"

"I don't know." you admitted. "We just kinda ran off from each other, but I want to be back there just to be safe."

"Gotcha." Law stretched and you could totally see him eyeing a churro stand. You ran over there quickly and bought two, bringing one to Law.

"You didn't have to." he said.

"You're helping me. It's the least I could do."

The two of you sat down to eat your churros, taking a mini break from walking. This island sure was huge.

"What's with the bear?" you asked.

"Don't you have a talking raccoon dog?"

"Reindeer, but okay."

He laughed. You laughed.

The sun felt good and the reflection off of the bubbles made you smile.

"So, you got a girlfriend?" you teasingly asked. You were just doing it for some good play, but at the same time, you totally did find him hot.

"Do you usually flirt with guys trying to help you out?"

"Sometimes."

He chuckled, throwing away a napkin he had. "No, I don't have a girlfriend. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Do you usually flirt with people you help?"

His face went red. "I'm not flirting, I was just asking."

"I'm teasing." You stood up and threw away your trash. "Of course I don't have a boyfriend."

"What do you mean, 'of course?' " The two of you began walking again.

"I asked you if you had a girlfriend. Why would I ask that if I had a boyfriend?"

His face went red again. "I'm stupid." he chuckled.

"A little." you said playfully, bumping into his arm.

The rest of the walk went off with little jokes here and there, but mostly in silence. You would occasionally bump hands with him, feeling a little embarrassed, but even as you stepped away, it would still happen. You didn't mind it though. Something great about being a strawhat pirate was knowing that you could become friends with anybody, even in a short period of time.

When you two finally got to the area where all the boats were parked, you saw the Sunny, smiling straight at you.

"That's my boat." you said, pointing to the smiling Lion.

"Damn," Law said. "Big boat."

"Wait here, I wanna see if my crew's on board." You ran up to the Sunny and saw Law waiting patiently below.

As you ran around, you didn't see a single soul. You could've sworn at least somebody was protecting the boat, but you were wrong. No one was there. Odd.

You jumped off the boat with a look of confusion.

"Everything okay?" Law asked.

You turned to him. "No one's there."

"Knowing your captain, not like I do or anything, but there's an auction. There's bad people there. Putting that together, I think Luffy would want to take part in ass kicking there."

You sighed. "Yeah, that sounds like a Luffy thing."

"I can take you." he said. "I was heading there anyway."

"Thank you, Law. You've really been a lot of help today."

"Don't mention it."

"Handsome and sweet. How cute." you giggled.

He turned to you with not only shock, but a bright red face as well. "Shut up."

"It's true."

"No, it's not."

"Do you not think you're the hottest guy on the island right now?"

"Okay, now you're just being too much." he laughed and playfully pushed your shoulder.

You pushed him back and the rest of the walk was spent teasing him.

When you got to the auction house, it was relatively empty, you and Law being the only few people there first.

You could feel the bad energy just dripping off of the place.

"I hate this." you whispered, sitting next to Law.

"Tell me about it." he whispered back, putting his arm over your seat.

"So," you started in a joking tone. You could already see him smiling. "After this, how does a date sound?"

"Shut up."

"We could visit the celestial dragons and eat all their fine food." you said, still in a whisper, but in a joking refined tone.

"No way." he was holding back loud laughter.

"Not even a visit to the amusement park? You look like a guy who loves rollercoasters."

"Hate 'em."

"Really?" you asked seriously.

"Yeah. They make me uncomfortable. Same with any ride really."

You laughed and noticed something that brought a giant smile to your face. Your crew had walked through the front door.

"Law, thank you for everything." You grabbed both of his hands. "Today was super fun."

He looked behind him and saw your crew. "I had fun too."

"Seriously though, you're the best." You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before hopping up and running to your crew.

Law watched you with a bright red face and pulled his hat over his eyes.

"Hey guys!" you said to your crew.

Nami pulled you into her arms with a smile. "Hey, y/n!"

You waved at Law and turned back to Nami. "I've been looking for you guys all day." you sighed.

Nami smiled. "Who's that guy?"

~~~~~

one piece masterlist | pinned post | ko-fi

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

#i hope you all enjoy #slow burn but hella cute #:)#writing #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #op #op x reader #law #law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d water law x reader #<3

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utilitycaster · 5 months

Note

I just want to say, that I agree with almost all of your Critical Role takes and you have 1000% better and more nuanced takes than all of Twitter and I greatly appreciate it! The takes over there regarding Liliana and the gods are just wild and you bring some much needed sanity to the content I see

Thanks! I hope you don't mind because I've been thinking about this re: the Twitter takes but the thing about Twitter and Liliana specifically that I've seen is that there's this really bizarre fetishization of like, the fact that she is a (white) southerner (this also weirdly happened for Birdie though to a much lesser extent, and the person who spearheaded that wasn't even American so I have to assume this is a specific corner of Twitter Culture At Large). And like, here's the thing. It's true that fantasy tends to be very British in its accents, and it's also true that accents in a fantasy world are used to convey the same things we'd assume in our world - RP British for educated, southern American for rural, Cockney for rougher types, etc.

It's also true that laying the exact socioeconomic parallels from our world onto, say, Liliana and Orym (who reads to me as non-regional but I, like Liam, am from the Northeast originally) is a recipe for disaster. Or rather, it's not, but it is going to reaffirm your own biases, some of which are dangerous to reaffirm.

There was a popular post on Tumblr a while back, probably not long after Trump was elected, of someone talking about how they were convincing a relative with the confederate flag towards socialism by appealing to the idea of "isn't in unfair how uneven wealth distribution is and how a small group has so much control" and a number of people were rightfully like "uh, maybe you should focus on the racism" or "hey OP ask your relative who they think that small group in control is because I'm getting a really bad feeling they're going to say it's The Jews." And I feel that a lot of the empathy for Liliana from those spaces feels like that OP. Or in other words: I get that you see your relatives in Liliana. Unfortunately, I cannot help but see me and mine in Orym.

You see someone trapped by circumstance and desperation in a dangerous ideology. I see the fact that I haven't gone to a synagogue in easily 6-7 years without there being a security guard present and usually, the doors locked with someone looking through the window to let you in, and then in the sanctuary there's been an installation so that you can quickly bar all the doors in case an alarm goes off or you hear shots in the lobby.

I think there's a great case for seeing yourself in Imogen, who is in a painful struggle with the fact that her mother does love her very much but is in dangerously deep and has done a number of incredibly terrible and harmful things. That latter point is important, incidentally; I get that cult members sometimes rise through the ranks but all but the leader are being manipulated. But the fact remains that a brainwashed person can still commit atrocities, and in this story, they have, many times over. It's especially true because like...sure, plenty of people are like "I lost my relative to a cult and I just want them back and I couldn't harm them," but also, as we've seen, this cult can and will harm Imogen! Plenty of people are also like "yeah I gotta cut them off, it hurts but unfortunately my horribly bigoted and violent relative, while a victim of brainwashing, is a threat to me too." It's not even the full picture of the Temult side of things, let alone the picture that includes the Vanguard's victims.

I also think the Southern gatekeeping is unhinged because it's like. guys there's QAnon members and other cults across the country; the Confederate flag example above was actually notable in that OP wasn't even Southern so you couldn't even write the flag off as deeply misguided heritage but rather was explicitly being used as a hate symbol. It's awfully presumptive to assume all southerners have the same experience (especially since the Temults are portrayed, physically and in accents, as white southerners, not that the experiences of white southerners aren't also incredibly varied). It's awfully presumptive to assume that people find Liliana threatening because they have no personal experience with people like her; often, it's because they have all too real experience with people like her, and it says something even worse about you if you can say "but you guys, I see me and my family in Liliana" when people are telling you that they see them and their families in Orym. I would not, personally, publicly admit that one's empathy extends to the people who remind you of your family but runs out before it reaches their victims. Nor would I publicly admit that I assume everyone who disagrees with me clearly has never had personal experience with this topic.

I should also note that, as I've noted a number of times before, that these are fictional characters and not real people. Twitter seems to be really fucking bad at grasping that. Like, yes, this is the other thing; I do not think that OP should kill their Confederate flag-toting relative, whereas if Imogen did so to Liliana I'd be like "hell yeah." The former is a real person who I do hope gets deprogrammed, just, you know, maybe adjust those priorities; the latter is a fictional character in a story.

#answered #anonymous #if steel had a southern accent do you think people would feel differently about her? sound off in the comments i guess.#cr spoilers #it really is like. with the people who can't separate characters from real people...there's this assumption #that everyone who doesn't agree with them lacks the same experiences or is bigoted #don't like liliana? well it's because you're not southern. don't like laudna? it's because you're neurotypical and straight and hate women.#notice how none of these carry within them any argument within the text? notice how they just rely on the assumption #that you can only understand things through direct personal experience and not like...thought and empathy?#that if you fit certain demographics you obviously Will hold these exact opinions bc clearly all nd people or wlw are a monolith?#it's like. yeah man i see why you have more sympathy for the vanguard than their victims...you think like a cultist even if you're not one #you say There's Those Who Understand And Have The Mandate of Heaven Because We're (southern or nd or queer or whatever)#and then there's Them The Ones Who Don't Get It And Never Will Bc They're Not Like Us (even though plenty of times...they are)#anyway. as always i am sorry that twitter sucking hurts the careers of countless creatives #but i think it does foster this sort of no-nuance no-argument Me First thinking so. can't be too sorry.#long post

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thestruidora · 1 year

Text

Sweetheart

Supernatural Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Yandere, Borderline Personality Disorder, Stalker, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Therapy, Miscommunication, Plot With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink

Category: F/M

Pairings: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Summary: Dean has borderline personality disorder and the reader is his favorite person.

Chapter Updates: Masterlist

Author's notes: I don't even what to write in here at this point. All I can say is that I really hope you guys enjoy because it took me fucking forever to write.

Chapter Four

The Tower

“The Tower is about sudden, shocking change. Change that can knock you off your feet and alter your future as you thought you knew it.”

“Alright, everyone, good work today. See you ladies tomorrow!” George, the construction site’s foreman, yelled out to the workers the second the clock struck 5 p.m.

“Fucking finally.” Dean murmured to himself, putting down the sledgehammer he was holding and taking off his safety gloves, hands free at last to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“That eager to come home to the wife, huh?” Sid asked him with a knowing smirk, and Dean smiled in return, amused at just how far off his colleague was.

“Oh, you don’t know how much.” He said it with ease, taking off his goggles and patting away the fine dust from his hair.

“I would be too if I had a great gal like Lisa to come home to.” Sid winked at Dean, hands busy with removing his own safety gear.

“Yeah, she’s… She’s great.” The Winchester nodded and looked to the side, the fake smile dying on his lips. “Anyways, I’mma head out. Talk to you tomorrow, Sid.” He bids his farewell, feet moving towards the parking lot, not wanting to prolong the conversation.

“See ya.” Sid waves him off, even though Dean's back was already to him.

Once he's inside his monstrosity of a car — the respectful family minivan —, he lets out a long, deep-rooted sigh.

Out of the windshield, he can see the beginning of sunset, the light blue sky seamlessly turning to a burning orange. If you ask him, the end of his shift couldn't have come fast enough. The days have been longer than usual, each one stretching itself out more than the one before. The hours drag by, and it sure doesn't help that he's been counting them.

But he can't help it, he hasn't seen you in a long time. Too long. Almost two weeks. Twelve excruciating days.

He'll have his session with you in a couple of days, and you'll finally be face-to-face with him again. ‘Cause it's not like he hasn't seen you from afar this whole time, that'd be crazy. He has to keep an eye on you, right? To protect you.

That's what he's been doing. Protecting you. Ever since the very first time he set foot in your office and you told him that the two of you could no longer be friends, he dedicated himself to reverting the situation, but to no avail since you could be so stubborn.

His line of communication with you became thinner and thinner and it felt like the more he tried to reach for you, the more he risked breaking it altogether.

He no longer saw you at the dog park, since your friend with terrible timing had decided to come back from her vacation and get Loki back from you.

You had never officially given your personal phone number to him, even though he has had it for a while now. It couldn't have been easier to obtain, he just saved the contact after seeing your open phone bill atop the table in your living room on one of the many occasions in which he had let himself into your apartment.

So he couldn't just call you out of nowhere, it would be weird and it would raise questions.

He couldn't do it.

It didn't matter that you had canceled his last appointment and that had set him off into a panic attack, which he had never had before.

It didn't matter that he couldn't stop thinking that you had grown tired of him and his stupid problems and his endless daddy issues.

That he literally could not breathe at the thought of how worthless and pathetic you must think he is.

Even though your receptionist had assured him that she made a mistake and overbooked you that week, he couldn't believe that.

You were sick of him, that's what it was.

It had to be.

And even as he sits in the driver's seat of his revolting minivan, knowing full well that he's only a couple of days away from being with you in person, he can't help but want to be near you right now. Just so he can fix it. Whatever it was about him that made you loathe him and despise him, he can change.

He has to see you at that very instant.

It's all he can think about as he turns on the vehicle's engine and drives exactly at the speed limit from the construction site all the way to your house, parking on the other side of the street as he always does.

The big glass windows of your apartment allow for ample observation of whatever occurs inside, giving Dean a privileged view of your form as you turn on the lights on your way from your living room to the kitchen. Your silhouette is bathed in the warm glow of the lamps that shine through its surroundings and light up the space now that the sun has set and night has fallen.

He can see your fingers moving nimbly as you wash whatever dishes you find in the sink, bringing your damp hand to your forehead and then moving to rub at your nape with a sigh when you’re finished.

He can tell you still have your work clothes on as you must have just come home. And it’s not difficult to imagine how tired you are from the frown creasing in the middle of your eyebrows. He can visualize it so clearly now, his own fingers moving delicately across your skin to smooth that frown away.

He has watched you from this exact vantage point for months and it still feels like the first time with the way his heart aches with the need to be closer. The way his hand closes in a fist as though to contain the desire to reach out and touch you in some way.

But alas, he can’t. Because you would turn him away. You would be scared of him. He knows you would, so he just leans back in the car seat, attempting to control the flurrying in his chest, and watches.

You untie your hair from the ponytail you had it in as you move back to the living room and it falls around your face, caressing your neck. Something catches your attention and you walk to your discarded purse on top of the coffee table, retrieving your phone from it. Whatever it is that flashes through the screen causes a smile to appear on your lips before you raise the device to your ear and start to talk.

Dean fidgets in his seat with the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing who is on the other end of the line, but he tries not to let his mind wander to dangerous places. Your sister, perhaps?

You use your shoulder to secure your phone to your ear as you bring your hands down to your shirt and begin to unbutton it. He sucks in a breath at the sight, unsure of what to do with himself as your fingers work their way down till the top is completely unbuttoned, your bare skin peeking through as well as the fabric of your bra.

He notices your mouth moving to form words he can't decipher while you pull your shirt completely off, throwing it on the spacious couch in the middle of your living room before your legs take you back to the kitchen, where you open the fridge to get a glass of water for yourself.

The refrigerator light illuminates the contours of your exposed stomach and collarbone, the supple flesh of your cleavage lightly bouncing up and down with the way your bust is confined tightly by your bra cups.

Dean thinks he might be on the verge of an aneurysm as he witnesses you drink from the once full glass till the water is entirely gone, a couple of drops escaping from your lips in your haste to quench your thirst, running down your jaw to your neck and disappearing in the space between your breasts.

Suddenly his own mouth is dry and he feels as if he's been lost in a desert for ages, those sinful droplets of water that are lucky enough to travel through the valleys of your body being the only source of hydration that can placate his craving.

Once you're satisfied, you leave the empty glass on the sink and go to the living room yet again, this time stopping by the wall adjacent to your flat-screen TV and bending down to freshen up the bowl of kibble for your cat, taking your time to shake the dish side to side till the shorthaired black Bombay saunters into the common area with a regal air about itself, tail swinging lazily and big golden eyes staring affectionately at you as it meows over and over.

You put down the food bowl on its original place on the floor and stretch your arms out to pet the head of the animal, a loving expression taking over your face, more words pouring out from you to meet the phone's receiver, whatever is being said by the other person causing you to laugh unreservedly, the content of the exchange still an unfortunate mystery to Dean.

The cat advances on its dinner and you observe it for a second, before getting up from your crouched down position and moving to stand directly in front of the perfectly transparent glass window from where he can see you.

Instead of making an attempt to hide, Dean props himself forward in your direction, the darkness of nightfall in your poorly lit neighborhood keeping him undetected by your eyes that scan the landscape through the window, seemingly not finding interest in anything in particular.

He gulps incredulously at what follows; you, phone once again glued to your ear with the help of your shoulder, taking your hands south to your pants, unzipping and unbuttoning it, tugging down the waist of the garment until the top of your panties is showing.

He's now a thousand percent sure that he's in absolute perfect health, because if that weren't the case, his heart would've given out by now. He can hear the organ rapidly beating in his ears, blood pumping fiercely, bringing heat to his face as a mixture of shame and excitement overtakes his mind.

He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be there. A better man would've turned on his car and driven away, and an even greater man wouldn't have come here at all. But Dean proves to be neither of those while he sits there and observes you languidly remove your pants and sigh contently once you've stripped yourself down to your underwear.

You stretch your neck to the left and then to the right, your torso accompanying the movement. Whoever is on the other line appears to say something that you appreciate thoroughly, with the way a wishful smile dances in the corners of your lips, and uneasiness builds inside of Dean at the sight.

He has never been a particularly jealous guy, not with his material possessions — except for Baby —, nor with his romantic partners which, to be fair, had been few in between. Countless one-night stands, sure. But only one or two real ‘girlfriends’ were all the relationships he had to draw reference from. Very short-lived relationships, not to mention.

Of course, there was Lisa, but he never really dated Lisa. They skipped that part and went straight into living together and a marriage proposal, with a kid and a dog in tow. And through it all, he had never experienced the burning feeling of insecurity that he’s feeling right about now.

Who are you talking to at the end of your day? Are these regular calls or just a singular, uncustomary thing? Is the caller an important person to you? Do they play a crucial role in your life? Do they fill a space that Dean could not?

That’s an ominous notion that he’s not sure he can bear. An ugly and twisted, unexpected emotion that Dean hadn’t been previously introduced to takes hold of him as those thoughts ruminate in his mind.

You walk away from the window and make your way towards the couch. A deep exhale leaving you as you sink down onto the soft cushions, a sense of comfort and relaxation appearing to wash over you.

While engrossed in your conversation, the pads of your fingers patter down the expanse of your neck, where they land just below your collar, ending up playing with the strap of your bra.

You tug and readjust the thin piece of material, your eyes unfocused as they stare at the far wall in front of you, blinking slowly while your mouth takes its sweet time to form the words as they come out, the way your lips shape around the unintelligible sounds rendering Dean utterly hypnotized.

There’s something wicked about this.

The fact that he can see you so clearly from the outside of your home, the place where you feel safe, the space where you can allow yourself to be your utmost true, surrounded only by the privacy of your walls.

The reality that he has pierced that barrier and infiltrated a moment that would otherwise be shared with nobody but you.

The position that you are in, so exposed without even knowing, so much of your smooth skin, bare only for his eyes in the quiet of the night.

The way a pleasant tingle spreads between his legs, blood rushing south, filling his cock inside his pants.

There’s something sinister about it, but Dean can’t will himself to care. Quite the opposite, he almost likes it.

His pupils dilate when you switch the phone to your other ear so that your right hand is free and you stretch it behind your back, your arm contorted in a tugging and twisting gesture till finally something snaps open, literally.

The hook of your bra comes undone and you pull the right strap, the same one you were playing with only mere moments ago, off your shoulder and then repeat the process on the other side.

There’s a second of anticipation, a breath that Dean holds in while he leans forward in the car seat as much as humanly possible so that he won’t miss what’s unfolding before him, and then you remove the cups that laid atop your breasts, uncovering the pert nipples that grow into peaks when subjected to the chill air of the evening.

“Holy shit.” His tongue instinctively pokes out to wet his parched lips, since he seems to have forgotten how to breathe through his nose, taking big gulps of air, mouth agape.

You throw the item of clothing aside unceremoniously, not caring where it lands, a noise so full of content escaping you that it reaches him all the way across the street. You rub at the indents the underwire left where it had been held tightly, your hand massaging the skin around your tits, cupping them from the side, and then letting go, the mounds jiggling freely in the most enticing of motions.

He didn’t think he would get to see you like this one day. Maybe never. He wished for it, longed for it, but he couldn't honestlyenvision it happening. He didn’t think he deserved it. He has daydreamed about it, sure, but not once in this scenario, not with him so far away where he can’t touch you, where he can only look.

The light coming from the lamp in the ceiling shone down on you, highlighting the dips and curves of your physique as you sat on your sofa. Like something out of a fantasy book, you cross and uncross your legs, perched on the pliant pad like a mythical creature, dressed only in your underpants. Like a dream.

The person you were talking to must make some sort of funny remark then, due to the way you proceed to throw your head back in laughter and twirl a finger in your hair, Dean’s eyes following the action frame by frame, entranced in the show. To gaze upon you naked like this is arousing in a whole new way.

It’s uncharted territory.

It’s different from porn.

It’s intimate and real.

Because he knows you. He’s seen you in your casual, everyday clothes, and in your stuffy work attire as well. But to be able to spy on what’s underneath.

To get a glimpse of the lovely, overly polite girl from the dog park; the shrewd, excessively serious therapist that leans back in her armchair and analyzes his every move, his every word.

To see you stripped down to your plain cotton panties and nothing more. There’s a vulnerability to it.

He’s forced to palm his dick through the tough material of his jeans when it stiffens and twitches inside his boxers.

Your hand leaves your hair and falls to your mouth, both index and middle fingers kneading the plump flesh of your lips, countenance lost in thought even as you nod and hum to the individual who called you. The same hand travels to your chest, just above the mass of your breasts, where you draw featherlight circles with the tips of your nails.

You seem to really enjoy the sensation, eyelids dropping till they’re closed, slumping down on the furniture that supports you.

Even as you relax in your seat, your fingers don’t quit their journey downwards, anchoring themselves on a particular patch of skin on the side of your boob. A saucy smile breaks from you, teeth showing while your eyes remain shut and you say something Dean can’t make out.

He has never once seen that look on your face, an impish, mischievous air that he wouldn't have expected from you.

Your arm moves just slightly and you grab your nipple, caressing the tumid, puffy bud with gentle, barely-there touches that become bold and confident once you hear something from the other end that encourages you, that shameless smirk widening on your lips.

Dean feels his entire body tense up, from the ends of his hair to the toes of his feet. A sudden jolt of adrenaline causes his heart to race as he watches in disbelief and confusion. And it takes a while, a little too long, for him to begin processing what is happening.

You are fondling your breast, teasing the tip, letting out a small gasp when a wave of ecstasy clearly hits you and your eyes snap open. You can hardly contain your enthusiastic laugh at whatever your mystery caller tells you and then you move to pinch and tug at your neglected nipple, wiggling on the couch, biting on your bottom lip.

You’re… Giddy. Acting naughty and unabashed, toying with yourself while on the phone with someone.

‘Cause you’re definitely not talking to your sister.

But then who? Who’s the motherfucker you give your time to? Your attention? Your carefree attitude? Your sexed-up, wild side?

Because you’d barely even muster a fucking genuine smile to Dean the last few times you saw him, and for a while, he tried to convince himself that you were not disinterested in him, you simply weren’t interested in anybody.

Well, that’s obviously not the case.

You don’t want him, specifically.

But you do want some other guy. Some other idiot who could never understand you the way Dean does. Never comprehend what it feels like to lose your family, to lose a brother. They could never share that bond with you.

Whoever that asshole is to you, Dean can be more. He’s sure of it.

But they’re the one you’re sighing wantonly for. Breathing accelerating as you let go of your left tit and run your hand down your stomach, inching closer to the waistband of your underwear. Your legs part to give way to your obscene exploration and you rub at your center, fingers carefully contouring the outline of your pussy over the cloth of your panties.

A head-spinning mixture of anger and excitement hits Dean so strongly it gives him whiplash. He has to blink a couple of times to try and wear off his shock, vision shifting from blurry and then to clear again as he fights off this dazed feeling that attempts to consume him.

He just couldn't believe it.

You are pawing at your clit, patting the sensitive button, drawing tight circles through the material of your underwear till a wet spot darkened the shade of the fabric. A puff of hot air leaves your parted lips at the sensations you’re bringing out of yourself.The corners of your mouth rise as you whisper some dirty secret into the receiver.

You are so lewd and indecent, without any inhibitions. All for someone else.

And for how long? Did you know them for a considerable amount of time or were they a random hookup, the type you can flirt and have phone sex with but no emotional connection to?

Either way, you must like them. You must find them alluring and attractive. Probably way more than you found Dean to be since you never so much as gave him a once-over.

Were they good-looking?

Were they interesting or charming?

Were they worthy of you?

No. Of course not.

How could they possibly be worthy of you? How could they possibly deserve your impatient, feverish expression or the broken sob that erupts from your throat as you continue to stroke your pleasure point side to side?

How could they have earned the bucking of your hips when you can’t take the feeling of your damp panties clinging to your throbbing core any longer and your hand makes a move to the hem of your underwear, with the intention of touching under the fabric?

He can’t conceive of it. He can’t wrap his head around this being fair. You can’t choose them over him. You just can’t.

Dean reaches for the cell phone in his pocket with trembling fingers, mind fuzzy with too many emotions that he isn’t able to put in order. Jealousy and envy swirling into an interchangeable spiral. Lust and frustration biting each other’s tails. Disappointment and hope swaying to an eerie ballad as his thumb shakes while it presses your name and then the call button.

He takes note of the moment your device starts ringing, the way you react by pulling your arm away from between your legs, frowning at the unknown number flashing across your screen, and interrupting your ongoing connection.

You exhale deeply only to take a calming breath in, looking irritated, saying something of little importance to the bastard you were conversing with, and then suddenly the tone by Dean’s ear stops, there’s a soft click when you pick up, and the Winchester is overwhelmed by the sound of your voice as it envelops him after what felt like forever.

“Hello?” You greet, putting a hair strand behind your ear.

There’s a pause when all of Dean’s blood rushes to his brain, causing an intense dizziness, and he has to contain the need to gasp audibly for air.

He didn’t think this through.

He didn’t think at all.

He just acted.

The idea of losing you bringing a suffocating pang of despair, a feeling that proved itself to be entirely too great to withstand, and Dean just… Moved, without taking the time to consider the consequences of his actions.

But he had to do something. He couldn't just stand idly by while you were being taken from him. Not that you were ever his, to begin with, but he can still change that. You just need to give him a chance. Which seems unlikely to happen now that he has called your number, the one he isn’t supposed to have.

“Eh…” He doesn’t know what to say.

He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t have a game plan or a strategy on how to conduct himself. He hadn’t mapped out how this exchange would go in his head, as he typically does. He hadn’t devised a way to take control of the situation.

“Hey, Y/N.” Was all he could come up with.

You appear to be unsettled for a moment, blinking a few times while you search for a name amongst your friends and family that would match the deep, gruff timbre that addressed you and then you ask.

“Who’s this?” You don’t recognize his voice, and it stings to know that you think of him so little, when he thinks of you sooften.

“It’s, uh- Dean.” Should he disclose his last name, as well?

You knit your brows, and he has to convince himself that is not disapproval nor displeasure that he sees flickering across your face.

“Oh, hi, Dean. How are you?” You fix yourself in your seat, choosing to recline your head on the back of the sofa, elongating your neck, and bending your spine. Your chest sticks out as a result, the artificial light coming from above reflecting on the dewy skin of your exposed breasts, and Dean is rendered speechless for a split second.

“I’m alright. How are you?” He manages to respond.

“Fine.” Your eyes roam the space of your living room in confusion, as if him calling you was the strangest of developments. “Hmm, how can I help you?” That’s a great question. You can stop having phone sex with other people, for starters.

“Y-you know, it’s been a while since we had our last session and I just thought that it might be good to have a chat like, before, just to catch up on everything.” It’s his reply.

He can hear the way he sounds, voice faltering, words coming out rushed. It fills the inside of the car and bounces against the walls before entering his ears, the uncertainty so raw that he cringes at what you, a psychologist, might be able to read between the lines.

“Okay…” You stretch out the last syllable, absolutely not buying what he was selling. “But we only had to reschedule one of your appointments, right?” It sure felt like longer than that.

“Yeah, just the one.” He runs a rough hand down his cheek, rubbing at his mouth in a soothing gesture, his palm meeting the prickly stubble lining his jaw in the process. “I think it’s because it’s been a while since we talked without it being in that setting, and I thought we could have a more relaxed conversation, like the ones we had before.”

“I see.” Your features wilt, expression taking on an exasperated look and you turn your head towards the opposite side of the window, hindering Dean’s view of you, but he could swear he caught a slight row of your eyes. “Dean, I was under the impression that we had already discussed this, and why it’s simply not… Viable.”

“I know.” He said it way too loud, having to make an effort to bring the volume of his next sentences down. “And I get it, I’m a patient and that’s all that I can be, but I just wish that we-” You raise your fingers to eye level, checking your nails for imperfections, not particularly displaying much enthusiasm in your demeanor. He puffs out a breath through his nose, completely out of his element. “That we could go back to being friends.”

“I understand.” You let out an annoyed sigh. “But I need to be perfectly clear with you. Once I became your therapist, there was no ‘going back’. Even if we stopped having our sessions, we still couldn't regain the relationship we had before. You’ve shared deep, extremely personal information about yourself with me, and I have analyzed you as a psychologist. There’s no possibility of me ever not seeing you as a patient.”

Dean takes in everything you say, each statement feeling like a stab in the chest. The little world he had built inside his head, for you and him only, crumbles to the ground as if it was made of sand. Disillusion wraps around his throat and he grips the steering wheel till his knuckles turn white.

“Well, fuck.” You make a displeased sound at the curse word he blurts out, almost making it seem like you weren’t sitting on your couch only in your underpants, but he’s quick to rectify anyway. “I’m sorry. There’s probably no good reason for me to ask what you’re doing Saturday night, then?” He chuckles, making a poor attempt at a joke.

Why did he say that? He knew what your response would be. He isn’t some utterly delusional, socially oblivious, lovesick teenager. At least, he never was before. He used to be the complete opposite. A confident, self-assured lady-killer that wouldn’t be caught dead pining over a clearly uninterested woman.

And now look at him.

Why must he humiliate himself like this? When did he turn into that kind of guy? No wonder you find him pathetic.

“No.” You answered, curtly, and even though you’re unaware that he can see you, you shake your head side to side, only to reinforce the refusal. “I mean, you can ask, but I’m just going to give you a deflective answer.”

A toe-curling embarrassment hangs in the air around the two of you, resembling a strong, overly sweet perfume that refuses to dissipate, and all Dean can think to do is retreat, go home to lick his wounds from this lost battle.

Why did you need to be so difficult?

“Whelp, guess I finally got the message. Loud and clear.” A deafening silence extends itself and he clears his throat, the awkwardness building with it. “See you in a couple days in your office, Y/N.”

“Sure.” You agree, and he’s about to hang up before you stop him. “Wait, Dean-”

“Yes?” There’s so much in that one question. It’s just three small letters, but they mean a lot more.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘Did you change your mind?’

‘One word from you, and I’m yours.’

“How did you get this number?” Is what actually comes out of your mouth and Dean deflates, face scrunching up as he murmurs a quiet ‘shit’. Of fucking course that’s what you would say.

“You gave it to me.” He offers, clean and simple. In his opinion, it’s always best to deliver a short, detail-free lie that can be molded and shaped into whatever fits his narrative.

“I…” You think long and hard for a bit, bringing your right knee up, resting your arm on it. “I don’t remember doing that. Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure. How else would I have it?” He tightens his lips, praying to God that you’ll fall for that.

“Um…” You pause, considering what would be the alternative. If he managed to get a hold of your contact without it coming from you, that would mean that he’s some sort of creep, psycho stalker, and surely, you wouldn't make that low of a judgment about him. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I did, then. It’s just that this is my personal number, so if you ever feel the need to reach me again, I would appreciate it if you did it through the business one.”

Ouch. You weren’t pulling any punches today, were you?

“Of course.” Dean agrees through gritted teeth, his ego more bruised than his face after a whole round with the Devil. “My mistake.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You crack your knuckles in the same way he often does and the corners of his mouth lift involuntarily. You were made for him. You just don’t know it yet, and he can’t be mad at you for that. “Have a good night, Dean.” You wish, at last.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” It’s the last thing he says before you hang up and the line disconnects.

He stays for a while longer, resting the back of his head in the driver’s seat, fingers anxiously tapping on the dashboard while he waits to see if you’ll call that son of a bitch again. But you only fidget with your phone for a minute or two before you put it down, coaxing a sigh of relief out of Dean’s lungs.

You get up from the couch and make a beeline for your bedroom then, taking time to lightly scratch at your scalp with the ends of your nails in circular motions, finding the sensation relaxing if your hum of delight was anything to go by.

You stop in front of your closet, opening it to fetch a towel from inside. Once you have it in your grasp, you leave your bedroom and walk the short path to your bathroom, closing the door behind you, the wooden barrier blocking Dean’s field of vision.

Dean can’t hear the shower running, but he can see the vapor escaping from under the entrance and decides it’s time to go. He turns the key and the engine sparks to life, the drive to his house in the picture-perfect suburbs filled solely with thoughts of you. He fixates on whether or not you’re accepting of hot showers only, since he can’t stand them. Maybe the two of you could find a happy medium whenever you choose to shower together.

With that image in mind, he can’t fight the smile that creeps on his lips as he parks and exits the minivan after reaching his destination, the first thing he hears upon crossing the entryway being Thor’s excited barks and the familiar sound of his paws on the foyer’s floor when he runs to welcome Dean back home.

“Hey, buddy.” The Winchester kneels down to pat the German Sheppard’s soft coat, allowing a few affectionate licks from the dog to land on the side of his face before getting up again.

“You’re here.” Lisa’s voice announces as she enters the space, eyeing Dean up and down, inspecting him for something that she doesn’t seem to find. “I didn’t know if you were coming home.” He scoffs at her choice of words.

“What is that supposed to mean?” It’s a challenge. He wants her to say what she’s really thinking. He wants her to yell at him, hit him if that’s what she wants to do.

“Ben was asking for you at dinner.” She averts her gaze, a looming melancholy painted on her pretty brown eyes and Dean’s vexation dwindles.

“Where is he?” He asks.

“Playing video games in his room.” She still doesn’t look at him, preferring to find a nondescript spot on the wall to the right of them to focus on.

“I’ll talk to him before it’s time to go to bed.” He tells her, earning a soft ‘hmm’ in response. He waits to make sure the conversation has come to an end, and she folds her arms, hugging her own waist and remaining quiet.

With nothing left to say, he leaves her where she stands, slow-moving feet taking him to the garage. He closes and locks the door behind him, staring for too long at the outline of the Impala that rests in the room, cloaked by a large tarp.

There are wall-mounted shelves littered with all types of tools and forgotten items, and hidden behind all the paraphernalia, he uncovers the box he came looking for.

He plucks it from its secret place and cradles it in his hands, as if it contained a precious treasure. He then sits in the old recliner they put out of service and moved into the garage a few months back, laying the box on his lap and getting comfortable against the upholstered leather.

He lifts the lid of the box, finding his prized collection in the same way he left it. The dainty necklace with a shiny pendant hanging from its chain. The body lotion that emanated a refreshing and pure smell. A pair of your panties, the off-white lacy one that made his head spin. Those were the souvenirs he took from your apartment and now keeps with him.

Prior to tonight, he had only stared at them in fear and wonder. He feared his actions, how far he was willing to go just to maintain even some small pieces of you close to him. But at the same time, he couldn't help but admire the objects with an awe-inspired twinkle in his eyes.

His right hand moved towards your underwear, fingers lightly brushing the delicate cloth, learning how it feels to the touch. The tactile sensation of rubbing the pads of his fingers against the crotch panel of the garment caused Dean’s skin to prickle with an unnerving heat.

You had been wearing plain cotton panties that night, and yet they looked so appealing as they clutched you by your hips and hugged your ass. Dean brought the piece of clothing he was holding closer, inspecting it carefully, raking over the tiny intricacies with his fingertips.

He imagined you in front of him, dressed only in this flimsy little thing. Would you wear lace for him the first time you let him fuck you? Would the material cling to your pussy lips when he got you wet like you were tonight?

No, he could get you wetter. He could ruin you.

He found himself taking the bottle of lotion and setting the box to the side of him, ragged breaths echoing in the quiet of the room. There’s a fire spreading through his lower abdomen, a burst of need he hasn’t felt this intensely in a long while.

His penis twitches in his pants, begging for attention and Dean gropes it with the hand that is still holding your underwear, just grazing it instead of giving it the friction it demands.

He shuts his eyes, and behind his closed eyelids, he envisions you so clearly. Knelt down between his legs, your smaller, soft hand being the one to scrape the surface of the bulge inside his jeans, teasing him mercilessly.

“Look at how dirty you are.” You’d say, an amused smile plastered on your lips. “Dick half-hard and growing while you finger my stolen panties.”

Dean wouldn't dare touch you, lest you disappear before him like a mirage, so he’d busy his hand by bringing the fine lacy fabric he had been caressing to his face, putting it against his nose and, inhaling deeply. Nothing other than a faint smell of laundry detergent fills his senses, but in his mind’s eye, it’s the sweet scent of your dripping cunt that permeates the space around him and makes his mouth water.

“Want you so bad.” He’d pant, whiny and desperate.

“I know.” Your tone would be so condescending, grinning a cruel grin whilst you’d line the span of his member with the edge of your nails and blow a puff of hot air on it, letting your pouty lips ghost over the swelling organ. “You’re such a pervert.”

You’d look up at him with a lascivious glint darkening the color of your irises, weightless fingers working to undo the zipper of his pants before your hand would delve inside his boxers and takes hold of his pulsating length.

Dean would bite into the cloth of your underwear in a laughable attempt to hold in the hopeless moan that you’d coax out of him as you’d pull out his manhood, now fully erect and needy.

“Your cock is so pretty.” You’d utter under your breath, more to yourself than to him. A fascinated look on your face as you’d stare at it from base to glans, eyes glazing over. “I love how flushed you’re at the tip.”

You’d use your thumb to press at the opening of the urethra as your other fingers wrapped around the mushroom head, and Dean would buck his hips and whimper when you’d smear the precum that had gathered there.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re weeping.” You’d coo and suckle at your thumb, eagerly lapping at the taste, releasing the digit with a pop once it was stripped clean of his essence.

Dean’s eyes would widen at how depraved you could be, how absolutely filthy and debauched you were just for him, and his heart would swell with pride and his brain would swim in endorphins.

“Do you want me to suck it? Put it in the back of my throat?” You’d ask without any intention of gaining a response from him, half of your words coming out muffled since you’d try to speak with your mouth full, alternating your attention between laving your tongue on the tender intersection where Dean’s foreskin would be if he hadn’t been circumcised, and stubbornly seeking to close your lips around the middle of his shaft, head leaned horizontally as you’d litter him with wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“I- I can’t.” He’d cry out, the sodden material of your lace underpants becoming saturated in his saliva, falling through his teeth, and landing on the floor when he couldn’t keep his shameful sobs in any longer. “I need you to come here.”

“I am here, silly.” You’d giggle with no real humor and, like the vixen you are, you’d place both your hands on each of his knees and prop yourself up just enough that the divine softness of your tits would rub up against his member, taut nipples grazing the sensitive flesh and causing Dean to grunt, on the verge of overstimulation.

You would've barely touched him, and he would have been reduced to a puddle in your grasp, every nerve ending in his body feeling raw and overexposed.

“No, come up here. Sit on my face.” He’d beg and you would laugh at the broken state of his voice, but still oblige him.

You’d stand up slowly, your bare tits shaking tantalizingly with the movement and catching his eyes, the way your cunny would still be hidden by the same pair of tight, plain panties driving Dean mad.

You’d move closer then, placing one of your knees on each of his thighs and climbing over him with the help of his arms as they moved to grab a handful of your ass cheeks, the soft mewl that you’d try to keep in stealing his breath away.

“This is what you wanted?” Your timbre would be pure venom once both your legs straddled his shoulders and you held on to the shelves on the wall for support, you’re clothed pussy hovering mere inches from his mouth. “This is what you dreamed of, you freak?”

“Yes.” He’d confess and try to force you to sit down properly by pulling at your flanks, but you’d swat his hands away with a condemning ‘tsk’ and he’d crane his neck up, tongue sticking out to get a taste of the cloth that concealed your lower lips but only being capable of brushing against it with the tip of the muscle. “Please.”

“Oh, my goodness, you’re such a brat.” You’d mock his restlessness, holding firmly onto the wooden shelves as a way to prevent him from making further contact with your center. “All whiny and needy for me.”

Dean would moan in ecstasy when you’d gradually lower your hips by a tiny fraction, allowing him to moisten the fabric of your underwear with kitten licks, giving out a lament as he failed to fully wrap his lips on the sweet spot between your legs.i

He would pinch at the skin of your inner thighs, using his big hands to knead the flesh around your vulva, wordlessly imploring you to give him what he craved.

“Drop your weight on my face.” His voice would come out all raspy with yearning, and yet he wouldn’t care. “Please, Y/N.”

As if you were a goddess tired of the constant prayers and supplications that he laid at your altar, you’d take pity on his poor soul and finally sink yourself down completely against him.

The heat of his mouth would immediately envelop your middle as a sob escaped from deep in his chest, and he would start to suck on your clit through the cotton of your panties like a man possessed.

“What a crybaby.” You’d snicker and his ears would heat up in embarrassment, but he would ignore it in favor of nipping at the fabric that would stick to your pussy due to the mixture of your wetness and his spit.

Dean would gorge himself on you like a starving animal, feasting on your addicting flavor as your slick juices overflowed from you. The sloppy suction noises would reverberate in the room, a continuous frantic slurping that went over the line of pornographic and bordered on offensive.

Even through your taunting, he would hear the soft sounds of pleasure that you would try to control. Your whimpering when his tongue would hit your bundle of nerves just right, and your wailing when he would rake the blunt ends of his teeth over the swollen bud.

“Always wanted to do this.” He’d mumble in between the persistent licks of his tongue on you and his dick would throb as a result of its neglect.

With one hand planted securely on the fat of your right thigh, Dean would let the other move to his deprived manhood, taking hold of it from the base and working his way to the leaking head.

At first contact, The Winchester would feel a shock pass through him, a literal electric pulse that would overtake him with a sensation so strong that he’d be forced to cease his ministrations, the skin of his shaft too sensitive with how hard he had been for so long.

“Can’t even jerk yourself off right, can you?” You’d jeer at him, pressing your gushing cunt to his face, grinding back and forth against his open mouth, and rubbing your stiff clit on his nose, cutting off his air. “Should I get over there so I can spit on that dick, make it really wet?” You wouldn't allow him to answer, using a hand to tug on the short hairs in the back of his head just to hear him moan, the vibrations landing directly on your soaked underwear. “Do you think that would even help or you’re just being an attention whore?”

Your cutting words would only serve to make his member grow even harder, pointing straight at the ceiling, length heavy with rushing blood and balls full of cum, spasming with pent-up readiness, standing perfectly vertical and sullying the shirt that covered the skin below his belly button.

He didn’t even know he could feel pleasure this deep, this piercing, so overwhelming that it blended into pain. And he certainly didn’t know that he would like it, that he would enjoy the overstimulation as much as he did the humiliation. Your scornful remarks causing a fire to spread under his collar, your insolence riling him up to a point where all he could think about was taking whatever you so generously gave him.

Yes, he was a dirty pervert and a freak for you, now would you please shut up and cream on his tongue so that he could form a single coherent thought?

Furthermore, the idea of losing the feeling of your sitting on his face — with the ripe smell of your arousal filling his nostrils at every labored inhale, and the heady taste of your wetness that runs down his jaw —, is so unappealing to Dean that his nails would clamp down on the flesh of your thigh where he held it, so that you couldn't move away.

“Please, let me-” He’d mutter and bob his head up and down on your pussy, the grip you had on his hair tightening and eliciting a groan from him at the sting.

He’d take the forgotten bottle of body lotion, using his thumbnail to pry the lid open. Without being able to see what he was doing, he’d blindly coat a considerable amount of the balmy substance on the leaking head of his dick, the cream mixing with his pre as he gently massaged it down the shaft.

With the moisturizer lubing him up, the rough friction of his calloused hand on the delicate tissue of his massive hard-on would be pleasantly reduced, and an animalistic whine would get caught in his throat from the relief that came with stroking his needy length properly, the rumble of it reaching your center and making more of your molten honey to ooze out of you.

“You’re fucking delicious.” He’d tell you, delirious from the unmatched satisfaction of savoring you ceaselessly, watching you undulate your hips when he sucked you just right while he milked the meat of his penis.

“Yeah? You like it that bad? Eating me out just like this?” You’d ask, all breathy and hoarse, eyes crossing and tongue lolling out to wet your dry lips. “You’re are so sick, fisting your cock while your therapist sits on your face.”

Your filthy mouth would spur him on, the flicks of his wrist getting faster and erratic, the obscene wet noises becoming louder as he drank from you, the clean scent of your lotion pervading the air.

“Uggh!” He’d grunt, suckling on your clit in a wild frenzy, hand flapping up and down the shaft of his quivering dick, the two of you tangled in a mess of limbs and fluids, and it still wouldn't seem to be enough.

He’d want more, he’d want all of you. He’d want to mark you in love bites and paint you with his seed. On your pretty face, on your soft tits, on your lovely cunny.

God, he wanted to cum inside you, stuff you so full of him that you’d forget your own name. He’s sure you’d be tight, but he’d stretch you out, mold you to the shape of him. Plant his sticky essence so deep into you that you could never rinse it off, never rid yourself of him.

He would hear you cry out when you reached your peak, euphoria weighing down your bones and turning your brain to mush. That elastic band of tension would finally snap, and Dean would groan as the first ropes of his release would spurt out of him, landing on his lower abdomen and soiling his clothes. He wouldn't stop pumping the span of his cock, nor would he stop lapping at the dripping fabric of your covered pussy, extending your orgasms till the muscles of your calves began to shake.

Once he was thoroughly spent, he opens his eyes to find no trace of your presence. Only the ticklish sensation of the lace adorning your off-white underpants that he’d been pressing to his face, and the light, enchanting notes of your body lotion that he had used as lube.

It had all felt so real that he takes a while to find his bearings, lungs burning as he gasps for air, never once having experienced this intensity of rapture.

He feels damp with sweat, mingled with the smell of sex, and his hands tremble as they rearrange everything back where it belongs. The leather recliner chair, the now wrinkled clothes he wore, and the priceless box of mementos he kept of you.

After all of it is put back in its proper place, he attempts to fix his disheveled hair before unlocking the door of the garage and tiptoeing around the house.

The wooden floors creak under his feet as he walks to the bathroom, passing through the ajar door of Ben’s bedroom and catching the boy fast asleep in his bed. He hears the clinking of glass coming from the living room and he can assume Lisa is downing her daily bottle of wine.

He goes to bed after taking a relaxing shower, the once tense muscles of his back appearing to be loose and reinvigorated. The soft mattress sinks below his weight, even though his body feels like a flowing feather, and by the time he drifts off to sleep, he dreams only of you.

The next morning, he wakes up early, silently getting ready so as not to disturb the sleep of the brunette who occupies her side of the bed. His breakfast is quick, serving as fuel for the busy day ahead, and the drive to work proves to be uneventful.

It’s tedious labor to go about his business on the construction site, with time seeming to stand still as his mind wanders to more exciting places. A vampire’s nest in Manning, Colorado. A zombie case in Greenville, Illinois. Under your sheets, in your warm embrace.

What a shame wishful thinking doesn’t get him anywhere, though. He will never hunt again, the thrill of the job forever lost, traded by the adrenaline rush of endless sawing and drilling. And as far as spending his time anywhere near the strong pull of your magnetic field goes, Dean refuses to give up. He won’t quit that calling.

“Hey, George, can I talk to you for a sec?” As soon as his watch marks 4 p.m., he marches up to his supervisor and asks the question.

“Sure, what’s up?” The balding man looks up at Dean from his clipboard, ceasing his scribbly writing to give him his full attention.

“I’m gonna need to leave a little early, if that’s okay.” In all honesty, Dean would probably go even if it wasn’t okay. He can always get another gig, but what he had to do today couldn't wait.

“Again? It’s the second time this week alone.” George informed him, putting his pen behind his ear with a furrowed brow.

“I know, but Lisa’s mom has been sick and she’s taking care of her, so sometimes I need to pick Ben up from school.” Dean’s face didn’t twitch by a single millimeter, his gaze never wavering as the lies poured easily from him. “You understand, right?”

George flattened his lips in thought, considering the Winchester’s words.

“Okay, but you owe me.” He said eventually, waggling his index finger at his work colleague.

“You got it.” Dean agreed, smiling contently as he removed his safety gear, patting the foreman on the shoulder before making his exit.

He had the route of your apartment committed to memory, parking in that same spot across your street feeling like the most natural thing to do. Only this time, he had no intention of seeing you perform your daily, mundane tasks, having arrived earlier in the afternoon so that you’d still be in your office.

Your place would be free for him to explore, perhaps succeeding in his search for an object that might be linking the ghost to your home. Once he got that, it was a simple salt and burn and it would be done, you’d be safe. This would mean that, technically, you’d have no need for Dean’s protection, for his watchful eye, or his proximity. He could conclude his therapy sessions with you and go back to his life as if you had never crossed his path.

Everything would be the same as it was before, and Dean could busy himself with dog walks where he’d meet no beautiful women, Ben’s little league softball games, silently having dinner with Lisa, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum.

Yeah, no. Now that he thought of it, he wasn’t going to do that. He was not about to shield himself from your light or deprive himself of your incandescent glow. He was like a moth to a flame, and he had no intention of forsaking your heat. He wasn’t that much of a masochist.

With that issue settled in his mind, he turns off his car’s engine, ready to let himself into your space so that he could rid you from not only this danger, but any others that might present themselves in the future, ‘cause he wasn’t going anywhere. Except that before he can leave his vehicle, he catches a glimpse of a shadow moving inside your apartment.

He squints, trying to get a better look at the figure. As it approaches your living room window, the image of a man becomes clear to Dean’s eyes. He had an average build, not particularly tall. Wavy dark brown hair and clear pale skin, apparently also smoker’s breath from the lit cigarette he was holding.

“The fuck?” Dean curses, whispering to himself, utterly confused by who that man was and what he was doing in your place while you were not there. Did you have a stalker or something?

The guy moves around calmly, taking a puff of nicotine from time to time, checking out the portraits on your wall and the family pictures scattered here and there. He puts out his cigarette when he’s done, preferring to throw it out the window than in a bin, which Dean deduces to be because he doesn’t want you to know he smokes. He then pops a mint into his mouth, as if on cue.

He walks to your bedroom, seeing a lonely stuffed animal on top of your dresser and smiling at it, probably finding the fact that you have it as cute as the Winchester does. He opens your underwear drawer and Dean wants to kill him, gaze at the fear in his eyes before they go dark.

How dare he defile your privacy in this manner? Crudely going through your intimate possessions as if he was inspecting an exhibit in a museum. He shouldn't be allowed to set foot in the room where you lay your head at night, where you are at your most vulnerable. The more time passes with Dean evaluating the situation, the more he wants to go in there and permanently remove that piece of shit from your area.

The man lets out a low whistle when he plucks an especially tiny pair of your panties from the drawer, but before he could do anything more, his phone begins to ring.

“Hi, Y/N.” Dean can read his lips when he picks up, clear as day.

He lets go of the garment, putting it back where he found it and closing the drawer, a stupid smile on his lips as he starts to talk to you, but Dean doesn’t pay attention any longer, completely tuning out after that.

His world seemed to collapse around him. The revelation hit him like a tidal wave, engulfing his heart in a hurricane of seething emotions.

So he was the ‘them’ you were masturbating to last night.

Was he your boyfriend? Fiancé? Dean knew you weren’t married and nothing that remotely inferred that you were in a romantic relationship ever came up. Not during his extensive research on you or when he was the one scouring your apartment. Definitely not during the talks the two of you shared.

Or maybe you simply didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t feel the need to. After all, he was nothing but a patient to you. You certainly had no intention of disclosing personal details of your life, let alone invite him to be a part of it.

The guy talks to you for at least twenty minutes, settling at the edge of your bed. He’s all goofy grins and heart eyes, nervously running his hands through his hair every five seconds, as if he was chatting with his high school crush.

Seriously, this is your type? A wimpy little boy that can’t even handle holding a conversation with you? Has he ever even fucked you properly, or did he just whisper some lines he took off the internet in your ear, and had you take care of yourself?

The mere thought of you, the one he yearns for so deeply, involved with that mouth breather sends waves of uncontrollable rage surging through Dean’s body.

No, this can’t be right. You can’t be wasting your time with someone like this. You could do so much better. He will prove it to you.

Eventually, Fuckface says his goodbye and hangs up, pocketing his cell and getting up from your bed. He straightens the coverings and goes to the kitchen, opening your fridge and taking his sweet time examining the items within.

Dean’s eyes drift out of focus, vaguely aware of what was taking place inside your apartment through his peripheral vision, his brain getting caught in a ruminating spiral.

His head becomes a cauldron of uncontrollable dark thoughts, envisioning what he would have to do to set this right. A chilling torrent of murderous jealousy consumed him, coursing through his veins, demanding satisfaction with a dangerous force.

How could you do this to him? Surely you knew you’re the object of his affections by now, he had made that clear to a point where it was just ridiculous, so why let him burn in fury from the agony of betrayal?

Was this what you wanted, to push him perilously close to the edge?

Maybe it was.

Maybe that was exactly what you intended.

Maybe you were just playing a game of cat and mouse, filling his days with your wonderful, radiating aura and then tugging the rug from under him. Removing your sweet smiles, and your dazzling eyes, and your addictive perfume.

Was this your idea of foreplay?

Fuckface decides on sparkling water — of course he does —, retrieving it from the refrigerator and then moving to explore the contents of the cabinets, searching for a glass.

You need this parasite out of your life. Maybe Dean should exterminate it for you.

He’s so lost in that cyclical headspace that he doesn’t see what was happening at first, the sudden appearance of a flashing shape, the sound of glass shattering and a guttural scream snapping him back to reality.

“Help!” The man begs, voice crackling from sheer terror, a grey-skinned specter rushing at him.

Dean doesn’t even blink, instincts kicking in as he spurs into action, grabbing his salt-loaded shotgun and concealing it in his waistband the best way he can. He leaves his car, sprinting across the street and entering your building, running up the stairs to your floor, climbing two steps at a time.

He bursts through your front door, and he would've for sure broken it off its hinges if it hadn’t been unlocked. He walks forward into your living room, the open-concept layout of your kitchen permitting him to see the gruesome scene as it unfolds.

The ghost of Judith McCook, rotting corpse completely naked, long auburn hair caked to her face with endless dripping water, skin unnaturally grey. She hunches over the guy, snarling like a rabid dog and holding him by his neck with superhuman strength.

Water rushes out the kitchen sink faucet, overflowing it entirely, Judith’s death grip keeping his head submerged. He yells, gurgling under the water, thrashing and flailing helplessly. He pushes against the sides of the sink, arms straining as he attempts to get back up with all of his might.

Dean pulls out his shotgun, aiming at the spirit, salt-loaded cartridges at the ready. He has her in his sights, less than five feet of distance between them. One shot and she would dissipate harmlessly for a short time, enough for the man’s life to be spared.

But… He hesitates.

As he stands there, witnessing the life being drained from a man, a moment of bitter truth pierces through the air. The gravity of the situation was palpable, as fate had placed him at a crossroads. His whole existence had been defined by taking down monsters, saving people, but now conflicting emotions churned within him, tearing at his conscience.

The choice before him was agonizingly clear. Prevent the killing of the one who stood in the way of his own happiness, or let him perish and secure his own desires.

In that fleeting moment, he makes his decision.

The allure of you, of his need to have you all to himself, overwhelms any flicker of empathy or compassion that may have remained and Dean lowers his weapon. He doesn’t look away or closes his eyes, not even flinches, a cruel and calculated resolve settled upon him as he just watches.

The guy’s struggle continued for what felt like forever, desperation rooted deep in his bones while his limbs flapped about, moving erratically. With a cold detachment, Dean waited, till eventually it was over. The moment the man died, body standing still, the ghost vanished, flickering lights accompanying her exit.

The weight of Dean’s ruling, having acted as judge and jury, descends heavily on his soul, forever altering his perception of himself and the darkness he didn’t know resided within.

There are no long sighs or second guesses, he just puts his gun back in his waistband, face unreadable as he gets to work. He rolls up his sleeves, careful not to let the water get on his clothes when he moves to turn off the faucet, pushing the limp body to the floor with a thud.

Under the sink, he unscrews the shutoff valve, allowing a steady stream of water to flow from it. Hopefully, when you come home, which should be soon, you’ll conclude that the soaked floors were due to a plumbing problem. Your apartment already has so many issues, according to you, what’s one more?

The sole of his boots crunch some of the broken glass beneath him, and he goes on to methodically clean it all up, flushing it down the toilet once he’s done.

Back in the kitchen, Dean stares at the cadaver with a tut. He’s lying on his back, lifeless eyes perpetually open and mouth agape.

“Dammit.” The Winchester murmurs to himself, mildly annoyed. It has been a long time since he last had to conceal a body and he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Oh, well. I knew the minivan had to be good for something.”

In less than thirty minutes, he has the corpse in the back of his car and is driving away, thankful that you hadn’t arrived home yet. He crosses state lines, leaving Michigan in favor of disposing of the dead guy as far away from home as possible.

He imagines you’ll wonder about the man, maybe even miss him, but it’ll pass. Dean broke his phone and the SIM card, so soon you’ll come to believe that he simply ghosted you, which makes him chuckle at the irony.

Then, you’ll forget about his existence, free to occupy yourself with what really matters, which is building your relationship with Dean. Because that will happen, whether you like it or not.

It’s past seven at night when he comes home, digging graves not being as easy as he remembered. By the time he crosses the threshold of his house, Thor is at his feet, sniffing instead of barking happily, probably smelling death and dirt on him.

“Finally!” Lisa’s steps are hard and so is her voice when she greets him at the foyer, holding a mysterious bag in her hands, rage taking over her expression.

“I know, you’re pissed about something I did or didn’t do, but can you cut me some slack? I had to work late today. I’m gonna take a shower.” Dean rubs the bridge of his nose as he says it, trying to move around her in the hallway to get to the bathroom, but she blocks his passage.

“I sent Ben to sleep at a friend’s house, we need to talk.” Her gaze doesn’t cower under his like it did last night, her grip tightening on the bag she’s holding.

“For the love of God, now, really? You wanna talk right now?” If there were a contest for world’s worst timing he’s sure she’dwin. All he wants to do at this moment is get in the shower and then drag himself to bed, he has to be rested for his appointment with you tomorrow, after all.

“Yes, I want to talk about the fact that you say you had to work late, but I ran into George at the supermarket an hour ago and he told me that he hopes my mom is feeling better?” She answers without skipping a beat, and Dean curses George and his blabber mouth under his breath. “Yeah, he said that you told him you had to leave work early ‘cause she’s been ill, which surprised me, since that’s the first I heard of it.”

“Okay, that sounds suspicious but I-” He begins to try to explain, not exactly sure where he was going with it.

“Suspicious? It sounds like you’ve been lying to my face, Dean.” She interrupts him, her eyes filling with tears, and Dean can’t pinpoint if it’s from anger or hurt, perhaps both. “You know what? I thought that you were going through a rough patch, that you were missing your brother, I even thought that you started hunting again.”

“Lisa-” He tries once more, but she raises her hand for him to stop.

“And to be honest, I would've understood if it was any of those things.” Her voice cracks and fat tears begin to fall down her cheeks. “But then I find this.” She pulls a box out of the bag she’d been holding, and Dean takes a step forward in her direction when he realizes it’s the box.

“What the fuck is this?” She shouts.

End notes: Yeah, Dean, what the fuck is this?? Also, I do not know who might be interested to know this, but the thing that inspired this story the most was a song by Sleeping At Last called Two, I visualized the plot unfolding after hearing it for the first time, which was years ago. Anyway, the chapters are getting way longer and heavier and that makes them a lot harder to revise, so I was wondering if any of you would be so kind to offer your services as a beta to this fic, it would a great help. Just putting it out there.

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