#do. make sure to read the tags there is uh stuff in there

[chardama]

Adding on to this, because it's fun.

Tim doesn't start showing VISIBLE traits until he's maybe 13 or 14 ish. The first one? Night vision. It comes slowly. It starts when Tim's eyes turn a frosty blue instead of their regular colors. At night his eyes kind of reflect light (similar to predators, ya know.)

Tim does not recognize the build up. However other people do. The first to realise it is Jason during a sleep over. In this AU the waynes and the Drakes are pretty close (even though tim has tried his hardest to keep Bruce away from finding Jack's identity).

So, during a sleepover, Jason and tim are sneaking into the kitchen one night for a midnight snack. Jason opens the fridge, turns to tim, and nearly has a heart attack when he sees Tim's eyes. They're kinda glowing and tim is staring directly at him. It makes Jason's fight or flight. He slams the fridge shut and nearly crushes the yogurt sticks he manages to swipe.

"Jason!" Tim hisses, "we're supposed to be quiet."

Jason blinks. Tim's eyes aren't glowing anymore. He's definitely telling Bruce about this so the man can add it to the list Jason knows is in the batcomputer. "Uh huh, sure tim tam. Is anything new happening?"

Tim, completely oblivious, "no why?"

Also, someone mentioned in the tags about body snatching. I think it a interesting add on. Bruce taking notes of Jack's drastic behavior change and the fact that he has new abilities. Something HAD to have happened between the dig and the hospital. Jack Drake wasn't known to be this wacky guy before the incident. Yet here he is, loud and proud. Taking care and showing off his son. Making generous contributions to Gotham's museums and schools. Even being way more social and taking less trips (though that was recommended by medical professionals to take it easy.)

So the Drakes has started to mingle with the waynes. Danny taking notes for Bruce in how to be a socialite. He takes tim over there to hang out with Jason and Dick while Danny asks for pointers on how to raise tim.

"So when they start growing into their abilities, who do you go to for training?" Danny asks as Dick shows Tim and Jason just how far he can contort his body with an acrobatic show. Danny has only seen the dead move like that.

Bruce, blinking, "Excuse me?"

"Timmy's about to go through it.. I think puberty. I'm not sure who to go to. He's been very clingy, too, and I think it's because of the divorce a while ago. At least that's what I read could be a factor.." Jack frowns. "Tim has been staying up late at night, being grouchy. He had a recent growth spurt as well. Tim's eyes were developing, and that meant it wouldn't be long before the fangs came in. "

Bruce, taking this all in nonchalantly and comparing notes mentally. "I S e e."

Tim is beyond overworked because he's trying to keep his dad's identity a secret. "You are the reason im like this."

I think by the time Damian arrives, Tim's liminal side is in full swing. He needs ectoplasm, not a lot, but it keeps him at peak health. He doesn't make much noise. He doesn’t have footsteps because he's unconsciously floating sometimes. Like just walking on air. Sometimes, he forgets to blink. And sometimes he can stand really still. He has night vision, too. The only thing he can't really do is the hard-core stuff. Like turning invisible, phasing through walls and energy blasts.

Sorry for all the errors BTW this was done on my phone.

Jackson Drake? Yeah, he ain't human. Bruce is sure the man is a meta. Maybe a poor alien in disguise because Bruce knows he's a disaster sometimes but Jack takes the cake. 

The Drakes were their neighbors. Archeologists. Famous for bringing rare artifacts home and are the largest donors to the Gotham Museum. 

Then the accident happened.  

Jackson Drake had a serious fall while getting their latest artifact. A certain ring and crown that belong to an ancient king. He was rushed to the on-site medics and had to be air lifted to the nearest hospital. He had been in a coma for two weeks. A nasty bruise to the head and when he had woken up it was as if he was a different man. The media was all over it. It got worse when the change in attitude resulted in the divorce. 

Timothy Drake ends in the custody of Jack Drake.  Timothy knows that the man that woke up from the coma is not his father. But the new jack treats him so much better than old jack. The new jack actually listens to Tim. Actually helps him out with homework. Doesn't yell. Doesn't hit Tim. He lets time babble about everything. He even FEEDS Tim. He NEVER leaves him home alone. 

Tim knows that the new ring on his father's hand (that he had never taken off since that expedition) is the cause of it. Or maybe it's the floating crown that sometimes appears when new Jack shows him a ‘trick.’ he likes New Jack. He doesn't want New Jack to go away. 

Which is why he has to keep Bruce Wayne- (THE batman) away from his new father. The detective would suss new jack out immediately.  Because new jack treats Timothy well but he sucks at being human. 

It would help… if New Jack would stop calling the Waynes for every minor inconvenience that happened to Timothy that a regular person should know. 

Ex. 

Jack: tim is sick. 

Bruce, handing the phone to Alfred. : any symptoms-

Jack: he's green, but thats normal because im green sometimes.  But he's not doing all the things I do when im green-

Alfred: such as…?

Jack: well he hasn't learned to walk through walls yet. And he hasn't gotten ice breath though he is a bit cold. His hair isn't white yet.

Bruce, overhearing this: what-

Alfred: nausea perhaps? Has he eaten anything to make his stomach turn?

Jack: we did have some seafood from that new place by Mr.Freeze

Bruce, louder: W H A T

Alfred, writing down a list of supplies and recipes: we'll be there in a moment. 

[shouldhavebeenpersephone]

Me? Writing about Harrow going through it?? Writing about love and grief and guilt??? Me committing to a 12 chapter fic?????? It's more likely than you think.

Sales pitch: local catholic girl loses cousin who was more of a father figure to her and reunites with the hot blonde from her childhood nightmares. also agonizingly loses her faith and stabs a hot girl while trying to be her friend. meanwhile hot girl's cousin is making friendship bracelets for all of them.

[woniedarlin]

can you, perhaps, do an idol! jungwon x reader fanfic? the setting would be reader accidentally texting jungwon and the reader is an engene as well, actually, but then reader and won keep talking but he doesn't reveal he is an idol until later!! reader could be in the industry as like a staff or smth!

Sent, Delivered, Loved

pairing: idol! Jungwon x staff! reader

synopsis: As a hardworking staff member at HYBE, the last thing you expected was to accidentally text the wrong number in the middle of a busy day. But instead of a confused reply, the person on the other end kept the conversation going. He was funny, easy to talk to, and somehow, you found yourself looking forward to his messages. You didn’t know his name, his face, or even his voice but you liked him. Which was ridiculous, right?

Oh, and the person you were texting? Yeah. It was Jungwon. THE Jungwon from enhypen.

author's note: Thank you for the amazing request, Anonie! I must say, it took me a whole month to finish this, but it was definitely worth it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Happy reading, everyone! 💖

warning: This is just for the plot and should never be taken seriously. Do NOT text random strangers 😭 and don’t ever fall for someone just through texting. Mentions of cursing and also slight angst.

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy

You: bro wtf where r u???

You angrily jabbed at your screen. It was late, you were exhausted, and your friend, your so-called reliable colleague, was missing in action when you needed them most.

You: i swear to god if u left me to deal with this alone i’m blocking u forever.

A few seconds passed, and then-

Unknown Number: uh… hi??

You frowned. That wasn’t the reaction you were expecting.

You: ???

You: don’t play dumb. u know what u did.

Unknown Number: i actually don’t. i think u have the wrong number??

Your eyes widened.

Oh.

OH.

You immediately scrolled up, checking the number you had just texted, only to realize that you had completely messed up one digit in your rush.

You: …omg wait. ur not Jiho?

Unknown Number: pretty sure i’m not.

You: oh my god kill me now. i’m so sorry.

Unknown Number: lmao it’s cool. what did this guy do to deserve ur wrath tho??

You sighed and debated whether or not to answer. But at this point, you’d already embarrassed yourself. Might as well go all in.

You: he bailed on me. we were supposed to finish this event setup for work but guess who’s suddenly “busy” 🙄

Unknown Number: damn. fake friend behavior.

You: RIGHT?? like i love him but i will fight him.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Then, it appeared again.

Unknown Number: sounds like a rough job. must be intense working in the industry.

You blinked at your screen. That was… a little specific.

You: wait, how’d u know it’s the industry??

Unknown Number: u mentioned an event setup. unless ur hosting birthday parties on a tuesday night, i figured.

You: touché.

Unknown Number: so what do u do?

You hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t like this was confidential information, but still…should you be talking about work with a total stranger? Then again, you had already gone on a rant about your missing-in-action coworker, so what harm would a little more do?

You: just staff stuff. event coordination, assisting with schedules, making sure idols don’t get lost on the way to their own stages. u know. the usual.

Unknown Number: sounds like a nightmare.

You: it is <3

You chuckled, shaking your head at how easy it was to talk to this person.

Unknown Number: u must meet a lot of idols then.

You sighed.

You: yeah but it’s not as exciting as u think. they’re just people. some r nice, some r annoying, some act like they don’t know what a clock is.

Unknown Number: LOL. any favorites?

You raised an eyebrow at that.

You: what, r u an idol fan?

Unknown Number: maybe.

You: ok mysterious.

Unknown Number: u didn’t answer tho.

You hummed and think.

You: idk. if i had to pick… maybe enhypen? they’re cool.

A beat of silence. Then,

Unknown Number: good taste.

Weird. Before you could think too much about it, another message popped up.

Unknown Number: anyway, u still mad at ur friend or did u forgive him?

You rolled your eyes.

You: still mad. he better buy me food.

Unknown Number: solid plan. u deserve compensation.

You: exactly!! u get it.

And just like that, the conversation flowed on, stretching far past the frustration that started it. You didn’t know who this person was, but they were easy to talk to, and for some reason, you didn’t mind keeping the conversation going.

🫐

Over the next few weeks, your accidental text became a daily habit. You didn’t know why, but talking to this stranger was easy. Maybe it was because he had no expectations of you. He wasn’t a coworker, a superior, or an idol to impress. He was just some guy who sent back sarcastic texts and asked surprisingly thoughtful questions.

And for Jungwon, it was the opposite.

For the first time in a long while, he got to be a normal person. Not Jungwon, leader of Enhypen. Just some random guy in your messages. He didn’t have to worry about his image or if he was saying the right thing. You didn’t treat him differently. You teased him, called him bro, and sent blurry dinner photos.

And he liked it.

Maybe he never corrected you when you called him a nobody. Perhaps he looked forward to your messages more than he should.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you the truth.

🫐

You groaned as you dropped onto a chair in the break room. You are completely drained, and the past few hours have been horrible. Running back and forth between different rooms, handling last-minute requests, and nearly getting run over by a staff member pushing a cart too fast. At this point, your legs were made of jelly, your back ached, and your only source of comfort was-

You: listen here, u lil gremlin. i am suffering.

Unknown Number: ???

Unknown Number: what did i do this time 😭

You: EXIST. why am i here working my ass off while u get to sit there and breathe??

Unknown Number: maybe bc u have a job and i’m just a mysterious, incredibly cool stranger on the internet

You: mysterious, incredibly cool GREMLIN.

You: actually no. goblin. u give goblin energy.

Jungwon almost choked on his water. Goblin??

Unknown Number: EXCUSE ME.

Unknown Number: what part of me gives goblin energy???

You: idk. just a vibe. like a smug little goblin who laughs at my suffering.

Jungwon did, in fact, laugh at that. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

Unknown Number: ok but real talk. what’s making u suffer this time

You: running around hybe like a headless chicken. setting up for another event. also why do idols need so many rooms. just share a table or smth smh.

Jungwon raised a brow.

Hybe.

So, you worked at Hybe. That confirmed it. You were in the same building as him, probably passing by his team without even realizing it.

Unknown Number: sounds rough. u need a raise tbh.

You: RIGHT?? finally someone with common sense.

Unknown Number: goblin says u should go get a snack or smth before u pass out.

You sighed before standing up and walking toward the nearest vending machine.

You: fine. but only bc goblin said so.

Jungwon grinned. He could get used to this nickname.

🫐

You still didn’t know his real name, and he still hadn’t told you what he did for a living. But weirdly enough, you didn’t mind.

One evening, after another long day of work, you flopped onto your bed and grabbed your phone.

You: goblin. tell me something random about u.

Unknown Number: hmm. i like cats.

You: ok well that’s basic. try again.

Unknown Number: wow ok. rude.

Unknown Number: fine. i used to do taekwondo when i was younger.

You: woah. that’s kinda cool. do u still remember any moves?

Unknown Number: maybe. depends. why? u planning to fight me?

You: depends. are u annoying today?

Unknown Number: always.

You rolled your eyes and smiled to yourself.

Unknown Number: ok my turn. tell me something random about u.

You: hmm. i can survive on just ramen and coffee for a whole week.

Unknown Number: that is not something to brag about.

You: shh. survival skills.

Unknown Number: more like self-destruction skills.

You laughed.

It was weird how easy it was to talk to him. Even without knowing what he looked like or what he did, you felt like you could tell him anything.

And somehow, you got the feeling that he felt the same way.

As you continued texting, an idea popped into your head.

You: btw. i’m giving u a nickname.

Unknown Number: oh? should i be concerned?

You: yes. but it’s happening anyway.

You changed his contact name and took a screenshot.

You: congrats. ur now “goblin” in my phone. [image attached]

Goblin: goblin again???? why.

You: idk u give me goblin vibes.

Goblin: i don’t know if i should be honored or offended.

You: both.

Goblin: …fair.

You grinned to yourself. Yeah, “Goblin” suited him just fine.

🫐

It was ridiculous.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. This was getting out of control and liking someone you’d never seen. Someone you only knew through text? It was wild. But talking to Goblin had somehow become the best part of your day.

It wasn’t just his humor or the way he matched your sarcasm. It was the way he listened. The way he remembered small details. He never made you feel like you were talking too much, even when you went on long-winded rants about work.

And that was the problem.

Because now, you were catching feelings for someone who was like a ghost. What the fuck?

You sighed and stared at your phone.

You: goblin. tell me something.

Goblin: what kind of something?

You: something about you. anything.

Goblin: hmm. okay. i like late-night drives.

You: oh? fancy. what else?

Goblin: i sing a lot, but only when i’m alone.

You smiled.

You: what if ur actually really good but no one knows?

Goblin: oh, people know.

You paused, eyebrows furrowing.

You: ?? do u perform or smth?

There was a long pause.

Goblin: nah… let’s say i’ve had some practice.

You stared at the screen. You felt an odd feeling. But before you could ask more, he changed the subject.

And this was the pattern.

You’d ask about him, he’d give vague answers. It wasn’t like he was lying. He wasn’t telling you everything.

Meanwhile, Jungwon was losing his mind.

He liked you. Way more than he should.

He knew he should tell you the truth…that he wasn’t just some random guy but an idol, an Enhypen member, someone you admired without realizing he was the same person you texted every day.

But how was he supposed to do that without making you feel betrayed?

It didn’t help that you unknowingly talked about him all the time.

You: work was chaos today. my team had to set up for an engene event, and guess what? i had to carry a life-sized jungwon cutout.

Goblin: oh? lucky u. he’s pretty cool.

You: pls. i had to carry his smug face up three flights of stairs. not fun.

Goblin: bet he was judging u the whole way.

You: EXACTLY. i could hear him in my head like “hurry up, bitch.”

Jungwon nearly choked on his drink.

You: i mean, i love him, but he def gives rich, spoiled cat vibes.

Goblin: wow. tell me how u really feel.

You: LMAO SORRY. no but fr, i respect him a lot. he works so hard.

Goblin: yeah… he really does.

Jungwon smiled to himself.

But the longer he kept the truth from you, the worse it felt.

One day, he was going to have to tell you.

He just didn’t know how.

🫐

You had one job. Just one.

Don’t freak out. Don’t stare. Be professional.

Yet, here you were, standing in the same hallway as enhypen. Your heart was racing.

You hadn’t even meant to run into them. You were trying to deliver some documents to another department when you turned a corner, and bam! almost crashed straight into Jungwon himself.

“Ah, sorry!” You quickly stepped back and bowed.

“It’s okay,” he replied casually.

You kept your head down, gripping the files in your hands. You knew the rules. Staff weren’t supposed to interact too much with idols unless necessary. So, you did what you always did. You kept moving, not making eye contact.

But the moment you were out of sight, you whipped out your phone.

You: BRO WTF I JUST BUMPED INTO ENHYPEN HELP

Goblin: oh? ur alive?

You: BARELY. I almost DIED. I ran straight into Jungwon.

Goblin: sounds like a skill issue tbh.

You: SHUT UP. Anyway, I had to act normal and not fangirl. Pain.

Goblin: so u saw Jungwon up close, huh? thoughts?

You: he’s… really handsome actually like stupidly handsome.

Jungwon, reading the text, blinked.

Wait.

Something clicked in his head.

You just said you bumped into Enhypen.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he thought back to earlier.

A staff member had walked past them, avoiding eye contact. He hadn’t paid much attention, but now that he thought about it…

That had been you.

Jungwon’s breath hitched.

Holy shit.

You were the staff member he had occasionally seen around the company. He’d thought you were pretty before, but it never crossed his mind that you were you.

Now, everything made sense. The things you ranted about, your schedule, and the way you always seemed to know too much about his events.

He grinned to himself.

Goblin: so… if u had to rank the members by looks, where would jungwon be?

You: pls don’t expose me but top 1 actually. his visuals are insane irl.

Jungwon nearly dropped his phone.

🫐

Ever since Jungwon pieced together your identity, he couldn’t help but pay more attention whenever he saw you at the company.

It wasn’t full-on stalking. No, he wasn’t that creepy. But he started noticing little things.

Like how you always ran around, papers in hand, sometimes looking stressed and sometimes smiling at your coworkers. How you always carried an energy drink in the morning, eyes barely open as you dragged yourself through the halls. How you always pulled out your phone at random moments to text him.

And, most of all, how you never once looked at him.

Jungwon found it amusing. You had no idea that the same person you were texting as “Goblin” was now actively looking for you in a crowd.

He casually walked by your usual routes, trying to confirm his suspicions. If you were near, he’d glance discreetly, watching your reactions. You were always professional, always busy, always avoiding unnecessary attention.

But then, one day, he decided to test his theory.

Exhausted, you were standing near the entrance, rubbing your temples as another staff member spoke to you. You were frustrated, probably from another long day of work.

Jungwon, a few steps away, discreetly pulled out his phone and typed.

Goblin: u alive?

A second later, your phone vibrated in your pocket.

Jungwon didn’t even need to guess. The way your entire demeanor changed was all the confirmation he needed. Your tired frown softened. Your lips curled into a small smile.

Bingo.

Now he knew it was 100% you.

Later that night, he picked up his phone again.

Goblin: so, when’s ur funeral?

You: idk but work is definitely killing me first.

Goblin: want me to fight ur boss?

You: pls. throw hands.

Jungwon chuckled to himself. Oh, if only you knew.

🫐

It was late. You sat on your bed, staring at your phone screen. Without thinking too much about it, you opened your messages.

You: Goblin, you up?

A few seconds passed before the typing bubble appeared.

Goblin: For you? Always. What’s up?

You hesitated. You weren’t usually the type to unload your emotions onto others, but something about him…about this…felt safe.

You: I’m just tired. Really tired.

You: Sometimes I feel like no matter how hard I work, no one actually sees it.

You: Like, I put in all this effort, and it’s just… expected. Nothing special. And if I mess up even a little, suddenly it’s a big deal.

You stared at your screen, debating if you should delete the message, but a reply came in before you could.

Goblin: I know exactly how that feels.

That made you pause.

You: You do?

Goblin: Yeah.

Goblin: It’s like… the pressure never stops. People only see the results, not the work behind it. And when you succeed, it’s just “as expected.” But when you fail? That’s when they notice.

That was oddly specific.

You: Exactly. Like, can someone just acknowledge how exhausting it is??

Goblin: You deserve that acknowledgment. Even if no one else says it, I will: You’re doing amazing. And I mean that.

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the frustration.

You: Thanks, Goblin. That means a lot.

Goblin: Anytime.

A comfortable silence settled between you two. Then,

Goblin: Can I tell you something too?

You sat up a little straighter.

You: Of course.

A few seconds passed before he responded.

Goblin: Sometimes I feel like people don’t actually know me. They see what they want to see. They have all these expectations, and I try to meet them, but at the end of the day… I wonder if anyone would still like me if I wasn’t what they expected.

You stared at the message, something about it making your heart ache a little.

You: That sounds lonely.

Goblin: It is. But I guess I’ve gotten used to it.

Your fingers hovered over the screen keyboard before you started typing.

You: Well, I don’t know about them, but I like you. Just as you are. Even if you’re secretly a weirdo who texts strangers in the middle of the night.

There was a pause, then-

Goblin: Wow. I was about to be all deep and emotional, and you just had to call me a weirdo.

You laughed softly.

You: I’m just saying, you’re pretty cool. Whoever you are.

You didn’t realize it, but on the other side of the screen, Jungwon stared at your message for a long time. He felt something that was terrifying.

Because for the first time in a long while, he felt seen. And he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

🫐

It’s late at night again, and you’re sitting at home, exhausted after another grueling day at work. Your feet ache, and your body feels heavy, but despite your exhaustion, you’re still awake because of him.

Your phone is open to your messages with Goblin, and you hesitate before typing.

You: be honest. do you ever think about what it’d be like if we met irl?

Jungwon, who was lying in bed, staring at his screen, felt his stomach drop.

Oh no.

Jungwon’s fingers hovered over his screen. His heart pounded as he read your message over and over again. Of course, he had thought about it every single day since realizing who you were. But if you knew who he really was… would you still want to meet?

After a long pause, he finally replied.

Goblin: hmm, maybe… but what if we meet and you’re disappointed?

He winced after sending it. That was a cowardly response, dodging the real issue.

Your reply came almost instantly.

You: lmao please. i bet ur like a middle-aged man with a receding hairline

You: but honestly. i do wonder. it’s weird, right? liking someone u never met??

Jungwon’s stomach flipped. Liking?

Before he could stop himself, his lips curled into a small smile. Did you really mean that? Or was it just a casual way of speaking? He needed to be careful.

Goblin: do u? like me, i mean

The second he sent it, he regretted it. It felt too direct. What if you got weirded out? He considered sending a follow-up message to downplay it, but before he could, his phone vibrated.

You: idk. maybe?

Jungwon stared at the screen, his ears burning. You liked him? But you didn’t even know who he was.

And that was the problem.

He couldn’t keep lying to you.

Taking a deep breath, Jungwon sat up in bed. His fingers moved over his keyboard, hesitating for a long moment before he typed-

Goblin: Hey, can I call you?

🫐

Your phone buzzed in your hand. An incoming call. From Goblin.

Your stomach flipped. He had never called before. Hesitating for a second, you stared at the screen before finally answering.

“Hello?”

There was a pause, then-

“Hey.”

Your breath hitched. His voice was… smooth. Gentle. Familiar in a way. You sat up straighter.

“Wow. So you do have a voice,” you teased trying to mask your nervousness.

He let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah… I figured it was time.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, this time more serious.

“I have to tell you something.”

Your heart pounded. “What is it?”

Jungwon took a deep breath on the other end. His hands clenched into fists, but this was it. No more hiding.

“I know who you are.”

Your brows furrowed. “Huh?”

“we’ve met before. A lot of times.”

“Wait—what are you saying?”

Jungwon hesitated. “I’m not just some random guy.”

“I’m Jungwon.”

Silence.

Your mind raced. Jungwon? Only one Jungwon immediately came to mind, but that was impossible.

“Jungwon…?” Your voice came out weaker than you wanted.

“Yeah.” Another pause. “Yang Jungwon.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

No.

No way.

The leader of Enhypen. The same Jungwon you had bumped into at the company a few times. The same Jungwon whose songs you had on your playlist.

The same Jungwon you had been texting for months.

You felt your whole world tilt.

“You’re kidding.” You whispered.

“I’m not.” His voice was cautious. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but I was scared. I liked talking to you like this. Just as… me.”

Your grip on the phone tightened. You were shocked, confused, and something dangerously close to betrayal.

You had confided in him and talked about your job, talked about him, without knowing it was actually him.

Your mind was spinning.

“I—” You swallowed hard. “I need a minute.”

Jungwon’s heart sank. He could hear the sadness in your voice.

“I get it.” His voice was soft. “Take your time.”

But as the call ended, a heavy silence settled between you.

And Jungwon could only hope he hadn’t just lost you forever.

🫐

You had deleted his contact the second you found out the truth. It was impulsive, but even now, you felt guilty.

You never gave him a chance to explain.

Not that you owed him one. He had lied to you for months. He let you vent about work, about idols, about him. All while hiding that he was the person you were unknowingly talking about. Still, a small part of you wondered what he would have said if you had stayed long enough to hear him out. But it was too late now. You had cut him off, and life had to move on.

So you threw yourself into work, acting like nothing happened. But something felt… different.

For one, your workload, usually overwhelming, had mysteriously lightened. Tasks you had been dreading were suddenly reassigned. Even the small mistakes you made generally earned you a scolding and seemed to go unnoticed.

At first, you thought it was just luck. But then, little things started to stand out.

One evening, after a long day, you dragged yourself into a break room, exhausted. You had been assigned to help with an event that had left you completely drained. As you slumped into a chair, your coworker sighed beside you.

“Lucky you,” she muttered and stretched her arms. “I heard you were supposed to be on cleanup duty tonight, but someone switched it at the last minute.”

You blinked. “Wait… what?”

Your coworker shrugged. “Dunno. Some higher-up pulled some strings, I guess. Maybe you’ve got a guardian angel or something.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. A guardian angel? Yeah, right.

Meanwhile, Jungwon watched from the shadows, unseen. He knew he had no right to interfere. Not after what he had done, but he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

So he helped in the only way he could.

He stayed silent and watched from a distance. Making sure you were okay. Doing whatever he could to ease your burden, even if you never found out.

Because if he couldn’t have you back in his life… this was the least he could do.

🫐

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand just as you were about to go to bed.

You groaned, rolling over to grab it, eyes squinting at the screen. Unknown Number.

For a second, you debated letting it ring, but curiosity got the better of you. With a sigh, you swiped to accept the call and pressed the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

Silence.

You frowned. “Uh… hello?”

Finally, a voice. “Hey… it’s me.”

You pulled the phone away, staring at the number. It was definitely not saved in your contacts.

“…Sorry, who is this?” you asked cautiously.

A pause. Then, a chuckle. “Did you delete my number that fast?”

Your stomach dropped.

That laugh. That tone.

It hit you all at once.

Your fingers clenched around the phone. “Jungwon.”

Another silence. Then, softly-“Yeah.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t breathe.

Your brain scrambled to find something to say, but you could only stare blankly at your ceiling.

“I—What do you want?” Your voice came out smaller than you intended.

Jungwon exhaled as if he had been holding his breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I just needed to hear your voice.”

Your grip on the phone tightened.

“You shouldn’t have called,” you muttered. “You shouldn’t—”

“I know,” he cut in. “I know, and I’m sorry. But I couldn’t help it.”

You shut your eyes. “Jungwon, I—”

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he rushed out. “I should’ve told you a lot of things.”

Your chest ached.

“I knew it was you,” he continued. “I figured it out early. But I didn’t say anything because I was selfish. I didn’t want you to treat me differently. I didn’t want to lose what we had. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” he said softer now. “Everything I said to you was real.”

You pressed your palm against your forehead. You were overwhelmed.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but…” Jungwon hesitated. “Can I see you?”

Your heart pounded.

Could you face him? After everything?

🫐

You didn’t know why you said yes.

Maybe it was curiosity. Perhaps because you missed the feeling of something that had once felt so real. Or perhaps you weren’t as ready to let him go as you told yourself. So now, here you were. Your jacket covered your pj’s underneath. The air was cold, but not nearly as cold as the tension between you and the boy standing a few feet away. For a moment, neither of you spoke. He was wearing a hoodie, hands tucked into the pockets, eyes looking from you to the ground because he didn’t know where to start.

Seeing him now, after everything, felt surreal.

You swallowed. “So… you changed your number just to call me?”

Jungwon let out a soft laugh. “Yeah.”

You shook your head. “That’s insane.”

“I know.” His lips quirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I tried to leave you alone. I did. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You clenched your jaw, “You lied to me.”

Jungwon’s expression fell. “I know.”

“You let me embarrass myself. You let me tell you things…things I wouldn’t have said if I knew who you were.” Your voice was with frustration and hurt. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”

“I do,” Jungwon said quietly. “And I hate myself for it.”

There was silence again. Then, Jungwon decided to take a slow step closer.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said. “I swear. I liked talking to you. I liked that you didn’t see me as an idol. You treated me like a normal person. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like one.”

You exhaled sharply and looked away.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Jungwon continued. “But if any part of you still wants this, still wants me, then I’ll do anything to fix this.”

Your fingers tightened around the sleeves of your jacket.

Do you still want this?

Did you still want him?

You let out a bitter laugh while shaking your head. “You know what’s funny?”

Jungwon stayed quiet.

“I used to think it was ridiculous,” you admitted. “Liking someone you’ve never even met. Someone you only talked to through a screen.” You let out a breath. “But then… it happened.”

Jungwon’s expression softened, but he didn’t say anything.

“I told myself it wasn’t real,” you continued. “That it was just the comfort of having someone to talk to. It was easy to fall for someone when all you had were words and late-night conversations.” You swallowed. “But it felt real. And when everything came crashing down, it hurt like it was real.”

“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” you admitted. “But I did.”

Jungwon’s breath hitched. “You…”

“I liked you,” you said firmly this time. “I liked Goblin. Not Jungwon, not an idol. Just you.”

His hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he held himself back.

“I ruined it,” he murmured. “Didn’t I?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”

It was the truth.

Jungwon was bracing himself for the worst.

You sighed and looked down at your feet. “I forgive you.”

He sucked in a breath. “You do?”

You nodded, “But…”

The relief that had started to settle in his features quickly faded.

“I want to take it slow,” you said carefully. “I want to learn more about you. You, not just the person I texted late at night.” You exhaled. “And I don’t know what to do, Jungwon. Even just meeting you here feels like I’m walking on thin ice.”

Jungwon pressed his lips together. He understood.

“If anyone finds out…” you hesitated as you glanced around as if someone could be listening. “I could lose my job. You could ruin everything you’ve worked for.”

“I know,” he murmured.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, “Then why are you even here?”

“Because you’re worth the risk.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he said. “But I also don’t want to rush you. If you want to take it slow, we will.” He smiled. “I can wait. I mean, we already spent months texting. I think I can handle a little more patience.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Then let’s take it slow

🫐

Months Later

You were swamped with work, running from one task to another, barely catching a break. The office was hectic as usual, with staff members moving in and out, handling schedules, coordinating events, and making sure everything for the idols ran smoothly. You had settled into a routine again, though now and then, you’d catch yourself glancing at your phone, wondering if he would first text.

Your relationship with Jungwon had been… complicated. Ever since that night, you had both taken slow but careful texts, occasional calls, and a few fleeting encounters in the company's hallways. He was still an idol, and you were still a staff member. Even though no one knew about the two of you, there was always a risk.

As you finished organizing some paperwork, your phone vibrated in your pocket.

Goblin: Come outside.

Your brows furrowed.

You: I’m working??

Goblin: Just for a second.

You sighed. But curiosity got the best of you, and you slipped out of the office, making your way toward the quieter side of the building. As soon as you stepped outside, you spotted him. Jungwon, standing near one of the company vans, dressed in casual clothes, a cap pulled low over his face. Even with his attempt to stay hidden, you could still recognize him.`

“What are you doing here?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Jungwon smiled, “I wanted to see you.”

You rolled your eyes. “We texted last night.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same,” he replied smoothly. “And I figured you could use a little break.”

You sighed. “Jungwon—”

Before you could argue, he held up a small bag. “I got you coffee.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And a snack.” He grinned, holding it out to you. “Figured you’d be too busy to get one yourself.”

You took the coffee from his hands, fingers brushing his for a fleeting second. “…Thanks, Goblin.”

Jungwon smirked. “You really won’t change that nickname, huh?”

“Nope,” you said and took a sip.

He huffed out a laugh.

You gave him a look. “What? You don’t like it?”

Jungwon stepped closer. “I don’t hate it,” he admitted before he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your mouth.

You barely had time to process it before he pulled away, grinning. “But I’d rather you call me something else.”

Your brain is short-circuited. “Like what?”

He shrugged, walking away with a smug face. “I don’t know. Maybe boyfriend?”

Your face burned as you gaped at him. “Jungwon!”

He only laughed, waving over his shoulder. “See you later, pretty.”

And just like that, he left you standing there, speechless.

You stared after him, then scoffed to yourself with a small smile.

“Guess ‘Goblin’ wasn’t so bad after all.”

[livwritesstuff]

i went on a deep dive of the Steve & Hopper ao3 tag yesterday and and it got me thinking about what would happen if Chief of Police Hopper ran into Steve and Eddie while he was on patrol after pseudo-adopting Steve, and it’s been long enough that Hopper is sort of a safe-person for Steve so Steve goes into full-fledged bitch mode when Hopper tries to pull cop stuff on them, and Eddie (who knew about none of this because Steve is a chronic under-sharer) is so totally baffled.

He’d spent years watching Steve sweet-talk his way out of trouble. Even before they started hooking up it used to drive Eddie goddamn insane, because if (when) Eddie pulled any of this shit Steve gets away with, he’d be totally screwed, but all Steve has to do is flash a sheepish grin and run a hand through his hair once or twice and say, all baleful, “I really didn’t mean any trouble,” and he’s home free.

It has its perks though, or so he's learned during his last few months of hanging around with Steve, so when Steve and Eddie’s make-out session is interrupted by the tell-tale red and blue lights of a cop car pulling up behind where Steve parked the Beemer a few hundred yards down a maintenance road, Eddie’s not all that worried. In fact, he’s got a pretty good amount of faith in Steve’s ability to spin up some story to keep them out of any real trouble, and as Chief Hopper ambles over to them, Eddie prepares himself for a whole show of, “Yes Chief, sorry Chief, it won’t happen again Chief.”

So imagine Eddie's complete and utter surprise when Hopper barks, “Hey, morons! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” and Steve only rolls his eyes and says, “What’s it to you?”

Eddie feels his jaw drop.

“Steve,” he mutters through gritted teeth. He tries to elbow Steve into shutting the hell up, but he misses because Steve has already taken several steps forward to meet Hopper, his face turned up in a kind of defiance Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him before.

“What’s it to me?” Hopper repeats, glowering at Steve, “It’s midnight. I’m on patrol. You’ve got one of the most recognizable cars in this entire damn town parked in a restricted-access zone with this idiot–” Hopper gestures at Eddie (Eddie didn’t think the pointing or the idiot were necessary, but clearly, clearly, he’s missing something here), “–who’s been dragged into my station more times than I could count.”

“The town line, Hop, is over there,” Steve says, pointing at an indiscriminate spot over Hop’s shoulder that may or may not be part of the Hawkins town line, “We’re not even in Hawkins anymore. You’re totally out of your jurisdiction.”

“You wanna know something about jurisdiction, smart-ass?” Hopper asks, “If my report says shit happened in my jurisdiction, it happened in my jurisdiction.”

“Wow,” Steve deadpans, “Way to not sound totally corrupt. Nice work, Chief.”

Hopper’s jaw twitches for a second, and he’s clearly debating if he wants to keep arguing with Steve who, to Steve’s credit, looks like he’s got debate in him for days. Ultimately though, Hopper decides against it and stalks back over to his squad car.

“If you’re not home by one there’s gonna be hell to pay. You hear me, Harrington?” Hopper yells, “One AM. Hell to pay.”

“Oh, sure,” Steve rolls his eyes, “Totally hear you. One AM. Loud and clear or whatever.”

Steve flips the cruiser both birds as it peels away, which Hopper only flashes his high beams at a couple times before he’s gone, kicking up a bunch of dirt and mulch and leaves in his wake, and Steve is wearing an exasperated expression as he turns to face Eddie again.

“God, he’s so annoying. Let’s just go to my house.”

Eddie gapes at him.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Huh?”

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie repeated, gesturing wildly towards where Hopper’s car had just been.

“Wha– you mean with Hop?”

“Uh, yeah?!?”

Steve just brushed him off, “Whatever, just ignore him. He’s basically my dad.”

“What?”

EDIT: read the expanded fic on AO3 :)

[mullermilkshake]

I'll look after myself, first

Part 2 <- Part 3 -> Part 4

Jinwoo agree's to take care of you, so just let him.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - Smut, porn with plot? mentions of preganancy/preganancy sex, Jinwoo definitely has a breeding kink, breast play, nipple licking, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, p in v sex, mentions of premature ejaculation, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, manipulation, mentions of swallowing/blowjob/facial

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

“Jin-Jinwoo, wait.”

There was no way you were thinking of backing out. There couldn’t be, Jinwoo handled you as delicately as possible when laying you down on the freshly made bed, you couldn't be backing out now.

“What’s wrong?” He said, practically on top of you already.

“Uh…” He couldn’t see your expression from the darkness of the purposely drawn curtains. “Well, I want to ask you something, before we…”

His cock throbbed in his pants, aching and twitching to escape, eagerly sitting to put forward its usefulness. Even so, he sucked in his breath and played with the hem of your shirt.

“Of course.”

“Well… why were you spying on me and Hae-In earlier today?”

Crap.

“You noticed me, huh?�� Jinwoo played it off as something less creepy than how it left your lips. He just chuckled it away. “Your perception is higher than I thought… I wasn’t spying, I came around that way and Hae-In looked sad. I kinda panicked and disappeared in hopes you wouldn’t see when you looked over. But I guess you saw me anyway… but the reason I left the boardroom so close after you was because-” 

He stopped himself and waited for you to take the bait. “Because what, Jinwoo?”

The weight on the bed shifted, his body still over yours and he could tell you were propped up onto your elbows to get a better look in the dark. 

Should he tell you now? Tell you how his love for you grew from one pinnacle moment when before he never had much to do with you? Jinwoo could tell by the tone of your voice that if he came clean wholeheartedly, you would be sure to bolt. And it would take ages to claim you back and reel you in again without the association’s help.

If he came clean, you could make things difficult or try your hardest to pull from the programme all together. That would prove difficult, but the stress alone wouldn’t be adequate for getting you pregnant.

He had to get you pregnant.

“Well,” he didn’t remove his position from over you, but pulled away a fraction to make it look like he did. “I uh…. I’ve had feelings for you ever since we met and- well, I just- I mean, I wanted to reassure you that this was just sex… if you didn’t feel anything like that.”

You were speechless for what felt like an hour, but in reality, it was merely a few seconds. “You… you do? But- but what about Hae-In? She really likes you, like really likes you- if she found out that you…”

And then the news hit you, like Jinwoo’s lips did. Slowly, but with supportive tendencies to keep your confidence in check. “You- you feel that way about me?”

“I do, but I never said anything because I thought you and Jong-In were-”

“We're not together, we’re just good friends. I know he doesn’t feel that way about me. To be honest, I was happy for him because I think he has a thing for Hae-In. But she has the biggest crush on you. Oh my god this is so confusing-”

Jinwoo kissed you again, and this time he lingered his lips on yours as a sign of his own affection. “Don’t overthink it, we’re adults here. We can talk about that stuff later. But I promised that I’d look after you, right?”

“Fuck- this is so wrong.” Now you were breathlessly whispering to him. Did you want him to fuck you mercilessly for as long as you were conscious? That could be a tantalising end result.

“Maybe, but it’s just sex. No boundaries crossed.” Yet. 

While it stung to hear that spill from his own lips any time he said it, the term ‘it’s just sex’ only settled you into a more textured depth of security he assumed you needed. Because eventually, it wouldn’t just be sex. Jinwoo worked so hard to level up, he could wait a little while longer before edging himself in hearing you say I love you back,

Though for now, he wanted to lap up the warmth of your breath tickling his lips, bite them and suck until your bottom lip turned purple, swollen and sore. To fondle and pinch your breasts and leave the most stunning love bites so broken on the surface, the blood vessels never calmed down.

Like marking you permanently.

But Jinwoo was a patient man, a calm being to wait out the storm for the fresh rain smell and wet grass under his feet before the main event of sitting out for the rainbow. The longer he waited, though despite his darker side never wanting to, Jinwoo could get a fantastic view of that pretty rainbow and ensure that one never faded.

Your chest rose and fell, you never said anything in the lingering pause. But, you pulled him in first before Jinwoo could get close to you himself. It set his senses alight when your fingers slid up the back of his neck and through his hair, tugging at it with little pinches.

You’d definitely done this before.

Jinwoo wrapped his arm around you, lifting you up a fraction just so your back arched and your legs spread wider for him. Fuck, he wanted to see you like this with the lights on, take note of the fucked out gaze you were going to have when he was through with you and keep it in his mind for eternity.

When Jinwoo’s hips pressed tight against yours, that little sensual gasp sent him over the edge, driving him to run his free hand up your shirt with his fingertips. Each touch, every inch, all spaces he’d never touched until now.

A space that Jong-In had never touched, and wouldn’t ever touch for as long as Jinwoo was alive. So soft, velvety and as supple as he fantasied over, tickling dainty drags over your rib cage and up to your bra.

His thoughtful caresses did not go unnoticed, not at all. Before Jinwoo could fiddle with your shirt or think of unclasping your bra, you slipped your shirt off yourself and tossed it on the floor before kissing him again, even slipping your tongue inside. 

Maybe getting you on side would be easier than Jinwoo initially thought. Either that or you were getting far more into character than needed.

Either way, you were getting it tonight. And you were getting it good.

An example? When he ground his cock against you, you moaned, right into his mouth.

When Jinwoo removed his lips from yours to which you tried chasing back, he left them for your nipple, he exposed it with his long fingers so that your breast spilled out and made you writhe. He kneaded the plush of it, squeezing it in his fingers so that it bulged between them and ramped up the sensitivity. He flicked his tongue delicately over your nipple so that pussy he was grinding on had no choice but to gush before he even got a chance to slide a finger or two into.

After he ground against you again for another second, you bucked your hip as indecently as you could with your back arched the way it was. Your grip on his shoulders spurred him on to do more, to take your nipple right into his mouth and make a seal around his lips.

He could imagine your tits already swollen and full before this future hypothetical baby was even a possibility. Those hormones making you horny just for a quick fuck and tumble in the covers and that meant the many times you’d be on top, grinding yourself on Jinwoo’s cock and milk it for everything you possibly had.

The filthy thought of filling you up with his come made his cock weep, he took the forward thinking notion under the cover of darkness and undone the zipper of his pants. Gently so as to not startle you, but if his cock went any longer without attention and breathing room, he’d burst before he could shoot it inside you.

Unless it was in your mouth or face, Jinwoo wasn’t wasting a drop.

“J-Jinwoo…” You were so breathless.

“Mhm?” He never unlatched his mouth.

“I- I… give me more. Please. Please.”

Already begging for me? A good example of how he was going to train you.

With time, he’d programme you to only enjoy his cock.

His fingers, his huge loads.

His encouraging words.

And his tendency to push boundaries until you couldn’t stand anymore.

In the end, he would mold you to his expectations and nothing less.

And if anyone got in the way of that? Simple. They’d cease to exist anymore. Because this aura you gave to him was too intoxicating to kick the habit.

“You want more?” He said, leaving a wet from his lips over your skin that would have glistened beautifully had you allowed the moonlight in from the window.

“Yes.”

“If you need to stop, tell me.” Later down the line, that wasn’t an option, but he’d give you that stop valve for now.

All in the name of gaining trust, though when push came to shove and if Jinwoo had his way, you wouldn’t dare question his actions in the slightest when he was done with you.

His cock was already out, twitching in his free hand with a quick jerk while sitting up and back on his knees so he could paw and tug off your clothes and remove the barrier between you and him. When you were eventually pregnant, there was no need for underwear and pants like this. Jinwoo wanted you in those cute summer dresses that drove him insane, easy flowing and perfect for fucking you in, right over that kitchen counter for comfort and convenience.

No silly bras either.

If Jinwoo had it his way, what he obsessed over whilst testing the waters with his finger slipping inside your pussy, he’d ensure whenever you were in this apartment, you were full of his bodily fluids until they dripped out and trickled down your thighs.

One finger turned into two, then three. You took three of his thick fingers and whined, clenching your legs despite him keeping them open with his knees.

“Is that more you were thinking of? Or is this just a necessary step to that part?”

“I… I want more, I want you to fuck me, Jinwoo.” It must have been a long time since your last assisted orgasm that wasn’t ran on batteries if you were trembling like this and you hadn’t even come yet.

Though Jinwoo refused to think of who else you had slept with. He’d ask, but later down the line. But what did interest him was your quick turn around of doing the right thing for Hae-In, quite the change to his liking.

Guess he already had a hold on you.

“There’s that attitude I was looking for.” He chuckled and played with your clit by the pad of his calloused thumb. “I can definitely do that, are you ready for me?”

A little forward, but it slipped so easily from his lips and you responded so beautifully. “Yes. I’m ready- just fuck me already. Please.”

“Then stop holding back and come on my hand before I do that. It has to be really hard to hold it in.”

Your legs trembled beside him like your breaths had dramatically decreased in depth, like a shallow winded gasp. Jinwoo had eternity to figure out your body, yet you were an open book to him just like that. He knew you were close and by the way you grasped his wrist, the same wrist his fingers were attached to currently deep inside you, he could tell you were about to come.

“Come for me.”

“Fuck.”

You became rigid, legs shaking and convulsing by his knees with a held breath. Jinwoo waited for that breath to escape and continued to fuck you with his fingers, the only sound of the wet squelching from the gushing of your pussy all over him. And then you let that breath go, fuck he was so hard and he never waited for you to gather your thoughts before lining his cock up.

For all the time he touched himself and masturbated any chance he had after seeing you train or command a room with the likes of the other S-Ranks, he never thought he’d have you like this under him, at least not this soon.

He was never letting you go, not when your pulsing pussy sucked him in this good.

“Damn.” This next year, and all the others after this were truly going to be fantastic.

But at this rate, Jinwoo would come too quickly. Though in this state, would you really care? Probably not, but the man had a reputation to uphold. One that never involved premature ejaculation.

So he bit his lip and moved his hips, jerking closer than he realised when your legs wrapped around hip and yanked him towards you.

You absolutely filthy girl. 

Maybe it wouldn’t matter if he came inside you right now, bucking his hips with no protection under the promise of knocking you up turned him on more than anything ever had. Then, he’d not only have your body, but that permanent ownership over you, a hidden agenda disguised as hard work for the association.

A baby. He’d fuck a baby into you and watch you become his for good.

His.

His.

Jinwoo laid down as close as he could to you, nipping at your bottom lip and sucking it, masking his own groans under your helpless ones.

“J-Jinwoo- I’m close-”

“Me too-”

Just to give you something else on your plate to think about so that it didn’t add insult to injury of his quick and incoming orgasm, he held you again so that your back arched more than before, he ran his tongue up your neck and grazed his teeth over the skin. Jinwoo held onto the headboard and fucked you with everything he had.

Who cared if he came quickly, he was coming inside you.

And when you were most vocal, coming around his cock, he quite graciously emptied his cock inside you, shooting his come where it belonged. Deep inside your pussy. He rode that orgasm out with every cell in his body until he was certain that there was nothing left in his balls to give you.

Though he never pulled out. The first load of many.

Now you had to follow the association's tips and lay there for a moment so that none of it leaked out. Jinwoo’s cock being the most useful tool in securing two pink lines on that pregnancy test.

He doubted it would take long to get you pregnant, but maybe a few more times to be sure.

Having the weight of the association’s future on his shoulders, Jinwoo gladly accepted the stress relief.

Part 2 <- Part 3 -> Part 4

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️ Also sorry! I didn't realise I had to space the tagged blogs out 🫠 I'm sorting it now

Tag list - @bubera974,@snowy-violet,@sky2lar,@starrynights23x,@minh907

@yessirr7,@aussie-boys-wife,@yihona-san06,@mashiromochi,@daiyanomochi,

@justatimidcreator,@alia-17,@otomegamesforlife@m00n-estelle,@towomatos

@stormnightingale,

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[meteorella]

Nerdgasmic Rhapsody

pairings: loser!dom!ellie x popular!sub!reader

cw: flufff!! ellie's an absolute cutie pie. cursing (obv), oral! (r receiving), tribbing (maybe?), nipple play, after caree!!, pet names: sweetheart, baby, princess, that's all i think!

wc: 511

a/n: (intentional lowercase!!!) first ever ficcc omg🥹 i have never ever in my life written a fanfic before so pleaseee don't judge and also feel free to point out some mistakes and stuff!! I take criticisms as i'm sure it'll help me a lot throughout my writing journey :))) can't promise I'll post consistently considering I'm insanely dumped with school works but I'll definitely find time to do so. anyways i hope u guys enjoy this one!! Feel free to hit me w some ideaaasss :3

after you had made it official with the biggest dork on campus—ellie—people would randomly come up to you in the hallways and tease you, not believing how sweet she actually is. after all of your previous relationships, ellie is the only one who genuinely cared for you. despite her shy and nerdy demeanor, she's really fun to hang out with. she'd continuously yap about space, the comic books she's read—savage starlight—and drop all of its lore to you. the whole fucking lore. although you hardly cared. she was too adorable. most of the time, you would find yourself just looking at her sparkling green eyes, topped by her matte, black glasses, her hand gestures, and the soft smile plastered on her lips while she speaks. she's even more beautiful up close. how could others not see that? whilst ellie can be a total cutie pie, you cant deny how fucking insane she can be in bed.

when eating you out, she'd flick her tongue out relentlessly on your leaking hole. firmly gripping on to your thighs, she already knows your next motive. "nuh-uh, sweetheart. keep them open for me." she shoots you a knowing glare before diving back into your drenched core, keeping eye contact all the while. her gaze roamed over your appearance, hair disheveled, eyes rolled back, and completely fucked out. "s-sorry, baby–fuck." you moaned as you clutched onto her dino-printed sheets. so fucking cute. after you'd climaxed for the 3rd time, she'd climb on top of you and slip her tongue down your throat, allowing you to taste yourself as she grinded her own throbbing cunt against yours. your soaking wet pussies rubbing, and creating the most delicious rhythm together. she absolutely loved your boobs. she adored how it just bounces up and down as she rolled her hips above you. she took your nipple in between her thumb and her index finger and pinched them, making you flinch at the feeling. her glasses were all fogged up and crooked, but she couldn't care less. she was too engrossed on drawing out more of those angelic sounds that slips past your lips as she pleases you. "doing s–so good f'me, princess... fuck–so hot." when you had both finally reached your peak, she'd lean down and gently clean up all your juices from between your thighs with her tongue.

she gives absolutely the best aftercare imaginable. the routine would start with cleaning you up with a wet towel, swiping it's soft material across your face, your breasts, your legs, your inner thighs—she had always taken care of you in the most tender and loving way. she loved hearing your soft, exhausted sighs of relief, as you watch her with a smile on your face all while savoring the chocolate she so graciously offered you. after ellie finishes cleaning you up, she would settle beside you, enveloping you in her arms as she wrapped them around your waist. her lips showering your neck with gentle kisses as she whispered heartfelt words of affection. "i'm going to marry you one day."

YAAALLLL OMG I HOPE THIS DIDN'T SUCK TOO HARD😣😣😣🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 i hope u guys enjoyed this one, i really enjoyed writing thisss!!

tags: @ellstronaut

dividers: @khaer @plutism

[gyuswhore]

Grease (the tragedy)

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.”

jeon wonwoo x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut [minors DNI], fluff, angst, mechanic!wonu, annoyances to lovers, blind date gone wrong but then gone right, kissing, clit stuff, oral (f. rec), thigh fucking (oop), this all happens at a desk LMAO, title is a what I thought was a funny spin on how people say "grease (the musical)"....has nothing to do with the musical though but lots to do with actual grease!!!

synopsis: In which you have to sit through one of the worst dates of your life, followed by the insistent tug of fate and compulsion that lead you straight back to where you'd sworn you'd never go.

[a/n]: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE CAMOTHY @highvern everyone go say happy birthday to cam or ill appear in your room at night 🔫 anygays HAVE FUN READING THIS I hope this is all the sexy wonu content you wanted, I cant wait for your reaction hehehhehe

and also bigbigbigbig thank you to jessifer @the-boy-meets-evil for proofing this for me!!! ily heh

and and to everyone reading this who is not cam, I hope you enjoy reading mechanic!wonu as much as I liked writing him heheh PLS REMEMBER TO REBLOG AND TELL ME UR THOTS it could be in the tags, replies, an ask literally anything!!!! id love to hear what you guys think!!!!

masterlist

 [You]: do you think he died on the way [Liv]: hes still not there??? [You]: what do you think????? [Liv]: let me ask Amelia [You]: dont bother [You]: he can show up whenever he wants im leaving in 5 [Liv]: you promised you’d sit thru this!! [You]: sit thru what? an empty seat across from me???

Liv doesn’t respond immediately, and you immediately know she’s buggered off to ask her cousin why your date still wasn’t here. 

It’s not like you couldn’t have asked him yourself, the sparse textbox sitting just under Liv’s contact. You open it to inspect the contents. 

[liv’s cousin’s something]: Amelia gave me your number [liv’s cousin’s something]: friday night at the sage&salt at 7  [liv’s cousin’s something]: is that okay [You]: uh hey [You]: yeah that’s fine

Today 7:20 PM

[You]: im here?

The first thread of texts were enough to make you feel like this was some cold business meeting instead of a date, knowing wherever this would lead would be either the city dump or off a cliff. Liv was hearing none of it, taking the guilt tripping route, saying she’d already committed and her cousin was irritating enough even without a scuffle.

So when Friday evening came around you’d pulled on the first dress your fingers could find, took all of ten minutes fighting with your makeup to make it look like you did something and left the house with zero expectations. 

Despite that, as you see a man walk into the establishment dressed like he’d gotten into a fight with a squid and a paper shredder, you feel the stone in your chest tank into the abyss. Zero expectations, and he’s somehow managed to strike out anyway. 

The jacket looks like he’s put it on as a weak cover for the grime stains on his shirt and trousers, a couple jet black splatters across the outfit to really pull the whole thing together. It’s not like he looked homeless or anything, his face surprisingly handsome with his hair pushed away from his forehead. Although he remains looking like he’d been playing football in some neighbourhood parking lot before remembering he had an adult appointment too. 

You’d never seen the man in your life, but your gut told you this was the shit texter who’d kept you waiting for nearly an hour. He seems to notice too, eyes locking from across the restaurant as the waitress leads him to your table. 

“Wonwoo,” you greet with a difficult smile, half sure it came out as a grimace. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he huffs as he practically slams back down on the chair, and you wonder for a moment how the legs didn’t give out. He says your name and you nod. “Sorry I’m late, I got a call in the parking lot.”

He’s been in the parking lot this entire time?!

It’s like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, yet somehow needing to give him a shaky reply anyway. 

“O–oh, I see.”

The waitress saves you from spitting in his face when she asks if you were ready to order. 

Dinner was off the table, as you discussed with Liv who forwarded it to her cousin to her–whoever it was that set up this god awful date–and agreed on dessert and perhaps a drink. 

“I’ll have the chocolate cake,” you request in an attempt to make this somewhat better. You consider for a moment before asking for a drink as well, “And a dry gin martini, please.”

“Um,” he staggers as he barely skims the menu, ultimately flipping it closed. “I’ll have the same, I guess.”

Deep voice. You might’ve liked that if you weren’t already so peeved. 

The waitress disappears with the menus, leaving you two alone for the first time. 

“So,” you start with an exhale. “How do you know Amelia?”

“Her husband.”

“I see.”

Silence. 

“How do you know her husband?”

He sighs like this is all inconveniencing him, and it irks you to an irrespective degree. Like you wanted to be here either. 

“He brings his car to the workshop alot, became friends somewhere along the line.”

“Workshop?”

He looks a little startled, cocking his head to the side. “I’m a mechanic? Did Olivia–was it–not tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

It’s silent yet again as the man across from you refuses to elaborate. You curse as you ask him a follow up question. If there was anything you hated more than shouldering a dead conversation, it was sitting through an awkward silence. 

One hour. You’d sit through this for one more hour and then you’d leave. 

“What kind of cars do you work on?”

“Expensive ones,” he answers. You might’ve kicked yourself if he’d ended it at that, but he continues with a purse of his lips. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it. Vintage pieces too.”

“Have I heard of it?”

“The cars?”

“No, I mean,” you let out a breath. “Your workshop.”

“Jeon Motors, just a couple streets down actually.”

You did know what he was talking about, not expecting to recognise it through the empty question, passing by it on multiple occasions in this part of the city.

“Oh, I’ve seen it a few times.”

“Yeah, we’ve been there for a while.”

“Family business?”

“Uh–sort of.” 

“Okay,” you sigh in an irritated laugh. This was going to be a very difficult hour. “Keep that to yourself too.”

“Is there a problem?”

Just as you lift your eyes to lock with his, a ready yes, there is actually a problem on your tongue, there’s an intrusion. 

“Here are your chocolate cakes,” the waitress places the cakes down, and then the drinks. “And your dry gin martinis. Do you guys need anything else?” By the time the waitress is gone you’ve somewhat forced yourself to put that sudden surge of flames out, to a degree at least. 

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing his glass and downing nearly half the contents. He emerges, wiping a bit of a spill from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get this out of the way.”

“Hm?” He’s speaking to you with a very weird surge of intensity, and it confuses you.

“Neither of us wanna be here. You’re clearly trying to be hospitable but I’d really rather you not, especially when we’re both doing this to get our respective ticks off our hides.”

There isn’t much you can do but stare at him. 

“Have I misjudged your advances?” he asks over his glass, sharp eyes piercing. 

“No!” you yelp, reaching for your drink yourself, taking big sips only to emerge sputtering and heaving. 

Your date looks like he’s rising out of his chair when you raise a hand to stop him. 

“No,” you repeat, less jumpy this time. “I guess we could’ve cleared that out from before.”

Did he…snort?

“Sorry.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he composes himself. 

“What?” you ask, remaining annoyed as ever. 

“Nothing.”

That does it. You slam your now empty glass down on the table, slipping your fork out of the napkin a little forcefully, the metal glinting in the light of the restaurant. You dig into a corner of the cake and shove it in your mouth. 

If he was gonna be rude, you could be too. 

“I don’t know about hospitable.” You swallow. “But I assumed not being an ass was kind of an unwritten rule for any situation really. Including the ones you’d rather not be in.”

Wonwoo stares at you with a blank face, his cake untouched. “I’m being an ass. My laugh couldn’t have offended you that much.”

“So you did pick that up,” you comment. “With the way this conversation’s going I would’ve thought it flew right over your engine.”

“I’d argue your laugh was the least offensive thing you’ve done tonight.” You plunge your fork into your cake again. “But clearly we’re in different realms of etiquette.”

Your eyes meet the rough stains on his attire, and then his own that bore into yours like a challenge. The cake isn’t too sweet, rich just the right amount and texturally sound. Maybe something good did come out of this fiasco. 

“Okay fine,” he announces, sitting up straighter. “I apologise.”

“For laughing?”

“And for being obscenely late.”

“And?”

“And…” he genuinely looks like he’s struggling to figure it out, but catches your eyes flickering to his tattered and stained outfit. “And for my entirely inappropriate dressing sense. You’ll have to forgive me for that one, oil and grime are my spoils of war.”

“Wear it like a badge, mister mechanic, but perhaps somewhere it’s appreciated.” 

Wonwoo has already finished his drink, his cake remaining untouched. “You’re quite adamant on disliking me.”

“And you’re quite adamant on being a horrid conversationalist.”

The corners of his mouth lift the slightest bit. Opening his mouth to respond, you cut him off. “Cars don’t talk? Or perhaps, machines are easier to understand?”

“More like I don’t care to be personable.”

“That can’t be good for business.”

“The cars speak for themselves.”

He’s a weird one. Even more so when he offers to pay the entire bill, promising you he wasn’t lying when he said he was good at what he does, and to “make up for lost personality points.” You manage to pay your half anyway, considering the circumstances. 

“Can you at least let me drive you home?” Wonwoo asks as you both step out of the establishment soon after. 

“Depends.” You fix the strap of your bag. “Will it fall apart on the highway?”

The blaring white of the restaurant's outdoor lights backlight Wonwoo to make him look like some sad angel. He turns to you, the same slight smirk that seems to be plastered on his face. “Why don’t you find out?”

“What do you mean sell it? I got this thing a year ago!” 

There isn’t much you can do but sigh loudly as you listen to Olivia talk about the state of her car, the one that cost too much to justify but she seemed to use and abuse like a very replaceable toy truck. 

Leaning against the hood of the darn thing, you talk to her. “The dealership is giving you a shit deal to take it off your hands, you might as well try your luck.”

The look on her face is easy to read as she silences. Not convinced in the slightest, waiting for the conversation to end just so she could figure it out on her own. Sighing loudly, you look back to the dark beauty with a crate of issues that make it spit and sputter to a stop every few weeks. 

“How much did you say the repairs cost again?”

“Enough to put me on food stamps,” she whines through her frustration, tears pricking against her eyes as they glisten under the neighbourhood streetlights. “Why are you smirking like that?!”

“It’s just,” you pause as you consider your next words, pressing your lips together. “This is a little bit your fault.”

Lies, it was entirely her fault. 

Liv stares like you’ve just offended her, which you’re sure you have.

“Care to share how this possible bankruptcy could be my fault?"

“Because you drive the thing like you have a secret reserve buried somewhere in Tenerife.”

“My apologies for making a habit of not being a public nuisance and going forty on a national highway.”

“Your speed-o-metre is not the issue here.”

“Yes, of course, everything’s my fault.”

“Liv, please!” You groan loudly. “Just…let’s try putting up a listing tomorrow. Consider the prospects and you can decide from there.”

Sagging her shoulders and stretching her neck, Liv decides to simply trudge back indoors in silence. You take it as a begrudging yes, and follow her inside. 

That very night, when you were at the very cusp of falling into the dark space of sleep, your brain re-awakens before your eyes do. A jolt as the memory comes back to you of the many months ago, sitting in that restaurant across from a man who was too handsome for the personality he seemed to sire. 

“Expensive ones,” he had said. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it.”

How fitting. 

“Are you going to explain or should I explode instead?” 

You’d mentally prepared for the bombardment of accusations from Liv, her questioning perfectly right as you yourself cringed at the thought of showing your face here of all places. The one last one that’d officially banned her from ever setting you up with an individual of her choosing ever again. 

Hearing only silence as her answer, she appeals; “I thought he was the worst date of your life.”

“Nothing to do with his skills as a mechanic,” you mumble, refusing to make eye contact. 

“And everything to do with this being a horrible idea anyway!” Liv stares up at the sign on top of the garage. Jeon Motors. “What makes you think this guy can fix my car?”

What did make you think he could fix Liv’s car? If you’d known you might have given her an answer, but as you stare at the giant signboard that you’ve driven past for longer than you can remember, you can’t help but feel this place has been haunting you. Just a little. 

You can’t help but feel the tingle of goosebumps rise on your skin, the hairs across the expanse standing up at the thought of walking inside. There was no way you could differentiate the reaction from plain nerves or from the cringing drills that sound all the way outside the establishment. Regardless, you make an attempt to look confident as you make your strides into the pungent of the workshop. 

The first thing you note is how…clean everything is. Cleaner than any other workshop you’ve walked into anyway. 

The interior is bigger than it looks from the outside, the ginormous hall hosting about a dozen cars within your eyeshot alone. One side of the great hall holds an array of parked cars in different stages of dismantled and deconstructed, while the other side is lined with contraptions that look like stripped and enlarged elevators. 

Once you’ve inhaled a beyond recommended amount of smoke fumes and listened past all of the clanging, banging and sparks, you register the people that are elbow deep in the hoods of the vehicle they’re working on, enough to leave you and Liv standing at the entrance of an establishment that you can barely make sense of. 

“Can I help you?” A man in stained beige overalls approaches your wide eyed pair, face half covered in his baseball hat and hands occupied with a rag. 

To your slightest dismay, it isn’t the man you’re looking for.

“Uh– is Wonwoo here?” you ask. 

“He’s in a meeting right now. Are you a friend?” 

No, just a failed love interest.

“He,” you falter. If you weren’t a friend…then what were you? “He gave me his card.”

“Do you need help with your car?”

“Mine, actually,” Liv pipes. “It’s outside if you wanna take a look first.”

With one sweeping look across the warehouse, your eyes land on one of the few doors on the left. You register the plain look of it for barely a moment before joining Liv outside. 

By the time her car has been rolled and parked inside for a more thorough inspection, it’s taken you every last grain of your willpower to not stalk back out and wait in your car. For whatever reason, you can’t help but feel a very familiar spasm of irritation spark through you. Here you are, left anxiously waiting for the same man for a second time, merely feet away but remaining occupied with more important things. 

At the very least, the multiple hands prodding around the car’s engine were being somewhat of use, attempting to survey the same issues that had been looked at about a dozen times before. You silently promise to be a better person if this trip wouldn’t be for vain.  

“Am I late for something again?” 

Your throat is suddenly clogged as you open your mouth and no sound graces your presence. The face that meets you has his eyebrows raised as he stares at you in expectation, a ghost of a smile on his face. 

“W–Wonwoo, hi, um.” You clear your throat loudly, heat cursing your cheeks. “No, of course not.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure after…four months?” he asks, hands on his hips and his back straightened.

“I…my friend’s car needed to be looked at so…”

“Ah, of course!” He turns to where you’ve motioned, looking at the popped hood of the car his employees are working on. “I’ll take a look at it myself, don’t worry about it.”

He’s already walking away, towards the car and leaving you a ways away from the action. You stare at his back; the overalls tied at the waist and the stained white T-shirt that clings to his form from the humidity.

Wonwoo remains a man of a few words, and you remain at wits end about it all. 

A loud honk gives you something to do as you jump at the sound so up close, scrambling to move away from the smack centre as another car pulls into the garage. 

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.” Wonwoo snickers from his place hunched over the hood as he cranes his neck to look at you. 

You walk over to where he is to get out of the way. “Was that meant to sound like an innuendo?”

“I was talking about the occasional running over someone’s foot,” he answers. “Not sure what you were thinking.” 

Ignoring the jab, you note that it was now only you and him crowding the car, “Where’s Olivia?”

“Went to look at spare parts.” You watch him as his gloved hands reach further into the enclave and yank at something hard.��

“So you can fix it?” 

“The car? It’ll take a couple days but it’s not really an issue.”

Furrowing your brows, you press on, “But the dealership—”

“Dealerships are the spawn of the devil,” he grunts as he finally wrenches out a spare nut or bolt or something that’s covered in oil. “Let me guess, they wanted her to sell it back to them?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Yes. They tried fixing it, but it'd just stop again.”

“Because they’ve been fixing the symptoms.” He raises his eyes to meet yours, hands occupied with rubbing the part in his hands relatively clean with a rag. “They haven’t bothered to do anything about the actual problem.” 

“Because that’s gonna cost…?”

“Couple hundred, give or take,” he announces nonchalantly, turning his focus back to the engine. 

“But—” That’s it?

“Fifty extra for every question I have to answer after this.” You briefly wonder if Wonwoo’s eyes were always this piercing, boring into your soul like he didn’t need words to know what was going on with you. 

“Fine,” you huff, moving to drag a chair over, mostly just so you could have reason to break eye contact, and plop down as you watch him work. 

The more you think about it, the more you can find yourself unbothered by his strange behaviour. He wasn’t bleak, but nowhere near one of the more interesting people you’ve met. Taking the opportunity to really scan the man head to toe, you can’t say you find anything truly concrete to be this put off by him. 

Not much of a talker, but with the times you’ve prayed for a man that knew when to shut up sometimes, you wonder how much you can actually complain about this boon in particular. 

Besides, he was a looker, and you were completely content shutting your trap if it meant you got to shamelessly ogle at him from this close. 

“You know, this place looks bigger than it does from the outside.”

Wonwoo stares pointedly. 

You raise a shoulder in nonchalance, “Wasn’t a question!”

He simply huffs as he mumbles, “More length than breadth I suppose.”

“What are those things called?” you ask as you watch a sedan get lifted into the on some platform on the other end of the row. 

Glancing back, he answers, “Post lift, car lift, whatever you wanna call it.”

“What does it do?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Touché.” 

Glancing back at him, you catch sight of his stained shirt once again. “Is that the same thing you wore to our date?”

Chin to chest, he registers what he’s wearing, hands still working on pulling bolts and boxes out of the hood. “Have about twenty of the same shirt, I can never be too sure.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks, “Touché.” 

You questioned if this was a mistake. 

Olivia could pick up her car herself, so why did you insist to be the one that did it? As you pay the taxi driver, you feel your ankles lock for a moment as you move to slip out of the cab. Frozen, you hear the driver ask you if everything was alright, to which your legs seem to work again, finally foot to gravel in front of the dreaded workshop.

The Jeon Motors sign blares the same as it always has in the afternoon light, glinting as it encourages you to walk in and do one of the stupider things you’ve done in life. Other than the ridiculous outfit you’ve put on, of course. 

But alas, as you hand over your slip to one of the many mechanics in the workshop, you find yourself praying he wasn’t here after all, that perhaps you could miss him as you leave and never have to see him again. 

Somebody yells out his name, and the dream drifts away like smoke. 

Finding the courage, you look up to where the man shouted for him, and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

Wonwoo remains in his overalls, the same ones that he had tied to his waist the last time you saw him. His undershirt however…

The tank top is revealing too much for you to pretend you don’t care, his hair remaining pushed back and away from his forehead as he walks over to you in what feels like slow motion. He takes the slip that he does not need, smiling at you as he says his hellos. 

“Car’s all fixed up, just need some papers that need signing and you’re all set.”

“Oh, but Liv isn’t here today.”

“That’s alright, you can sign them too,” he reassures, motioning for you to walk with him towards the car. “The car was alright in the test drives, revving hasn’t caused any problems either.”

He halts in front of the now (supposedly) fixed black sedan and pats the hood lightly, “If anything happens tell her to bring it straight here, although it shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“What’s your rate of return on customers?” you ask, a slight smirk on your face.

He thinks for a moment, “Pretty crap. But I guess that means I’m doing something right.”

You consider yourself something of a helicopter parent when it comes to your own car, but perhaps you’d change that if it meant you’d get to come here a little more often. 

Goodness, what’s gotten into you.

Wonwoo’s smiling too, and for a brief moment the silence is nearly awkward. A pause before he proposes leaving. 

“Shall we go to the office then?” 

Nodding eagerly, you trail behind him as he leads you towards the other end of the workshop, passing by even more cars in all their stripped or constructed glory. Glancing in front, you catch sight of Wonwoo’s back, ensnared for a moment before you snap your head away, reciting every curse word you know like a mantra. 

“It’s less hot in here too, keep the air on all the time.” Wonwoo stands in front of the plain doors, hands on the handle to wrench it open. You recognise it as the same door you had noted a few days ago. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Um, just water is fine, thanks.”

It’s quite plain, beige and leather against cream walls and unfittingly white lights. There’s a desk on one corner that’s beyond cluttered with more papers than you can register, pens and other office supplies mixed into the disorganised chaos of the large tabletop.

“Sorry about the mess, I can never find time to sort through it.” To your surprise, the light tinge of his cheeks suggest he might actually feel a little embarrassed. 

Cute. 

There’s cabinets that line on one of the far walls, and you watch him take his gloves off to open it and reach for a cup. The white porcelain emerges stained with an ashy grey as his fingers betray him. He looks flustered, glancing at his hands and back up to the cabinet. 

You can’t help but laugh a little, moving forward to help. “It’s alright, let me.”

“Sorry,” he apologised again, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll, um, wash this off.”

“Go on, I’m here,” you reassure as you move towards the water dispenser in the corner to fill your clean cup. 

He returns with significantly cleaner hands and apologises one last time. “Seems all I do around you is apologise.”

You have the good humour to chuckle, “So I’ve noticed.”

He does well to clear out most of the clutter that’s on his desk, leaving enough room to set down a few pieces of paper as you take a seat on the opposite side. 

As you scan through the papers, he attempts to make sober conversation. “You should…bring your car around for inspections if you want.”

“Oh? Even if I ask a million questions?”

“I can make an exception or two,” he grins. 

“And if you charge me double?”

“Might not charge you at all.”

“Might?” you question as you lift the pen he’d given you to sign the first space. 

“Might.”

“And what’re the conditions for that?” 

He doesn’t answer as he ponders and you fill in the second blank. “I’ll have to think about that.”

You snort before you can help it, your last signature coming out a little wonky as your hands shake. Turning the papers over to him, you continue, “Well then, let me know when you figure it out.”

He stares pointedly as he accepts the papers before dropping his eyes again, “Can I?”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Let you know?” 

It’s like you’ve been frozen over, the typewriter in your mind jamming as it punches out the implications of what he’s saying. 

“It seems, at least to me, that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he continues. 

You hesitate. “I think so too.”

“I…I don’t want to put anything like pressure on you but–” 

“Would you like to try the new gelato place downtown this week?” you ask finally as you save him from his misery. “If…you’d like.”

He looks stunned for a moment before he’s scrambling, “Oh–of course! Yes, anytime is fine with me.”

“Great,” you smile, lifting from your seat. “It’s a date.”

“I’ll promise to wash my hands this time…and my shirt. And I won’t be late.” 

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep,” you tease. 

You’re nearing the door as he follows behind, and just as you’re about to pull down on the handle, you hear him say your name. 

Turning around, almost too eagerly, you look up at him in expectation. He’s close, almost right behind you as he looks like he’s debating whether opening his mouth is a good idea. 

“Are you doing anything else today?” 

“Um,” you stutter for a moment. “I don’t have to drop off the car till later tonight, that’s all really.”

He swallows. “Do you wanna stay? Just a little while. We can stay in here, nobody comes in anyway.”

You aren’t entirely sure why you said yes, because you did actually have dinner plans with Liv later tonight, but the teeny tiny voice in your mind egged you on anyway. Besides, Liv wouldn’t mind, not if you were cancelling for this.

This entailed the very friendly contact of Wonwoo’s tongue in your mouth, and the extremely cordial way it seemed to caress your insides. If somebody asked you how it led to this, you don’t think you’d have an answer. Not that you care, especially when his hands are grabbing your waist and hips like that.

He’s already locked the door, reassuring you that nobody would find their boss and client in the smack dab middle of the devil’s tango. You take his word for it, relishing in the way his hot breath hits your skin below your ears, his mouth sucking under your earlobes as you whimper ever so quietly. 

Your hands are on his exposed biceps, feeling him up all to your heart's content. “Do you–Do you always wear stuff like this?”

He emerges, wet lipped and eyes trained. “So I wasn’t imagining it.”

“Imagining what?” you ask as you let him unbuckle your trousers.

“Please. Like you weren’t stripping me with your eyes.”

If you were warm before you, you're boiling up now. Were you being so obvious?

“It’s alright,” he reassures as you feel his fingers make contact with the crotch of your panties, pushing in to put pressure on your clit. “Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t picked up on it.”

You feel his fingers push the dampening fabric away as his fingers make contact with your hole, coating his fingers in the arousal that’s made itself known. It’s hard to not hiss at the way he begins to circle it, thanking the universe that the loud noises of the workshop outside were masking whatever evidence of the heinous crime you were committing inside. 

Back against the couch in his office, you settle into the cushions once you feel him rub at your clit, one hand spreading your lips apart as he continues to massage your own wetness onto your throbbing cunt. 

When he retreats you almost cry out, but are smothered when he plunges two fingers into your hole instead, curling them almost immediately inside you. The consistent brush of the tips of his fingers on your walls are making it difficult to keep your eyes open, and absolutely impossible to keep your moans at bay. 

“Wonwoo, that’s so good, fuck.”

Through your closed eyes, you don’t note when Wonwoo gets on his knees. But you do feel him yank your trousers off entirely, and you definitely feel him place his wet mouth flush on your lower lips, sucking at your clit as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you mercilessly. 

That’s all it takes for your noises to become increasingly high pitched, hands buried in his beautiful hair as he continues to pleasure you beyond imagination. 

“I’m so close, keep going, please, it feels so–”

He somehow buries his face in deeper, sucking harder, licking faster, and it’s enough for you to finally feel yourself collapsing on the inside, your composure dissolving as you moan so loud you’re sure they can hear it outside, even through all the clanging and revs of cars. 

There’s no way for you to know how long you lay there slumped against the couch cushions, but when you hear Wonwoo speak to you in your ear, you answer. 

“Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you say as you grab his face and pull his lips to yours, tasting the tang in his mouth from your arousal. “Do you have a condom?”

“I–fuck,” he thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I do.”

You try not to feel too disappointed, but you sigh into his mouth anyway. 

“Can I fuck your thighs?” you hear him ask, and you might have just orgasmed again, untouched. 

“Fuck, yes you can.” 

With a yelp, you feel yourself lifted off the couch as you wrap your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, letting him guide you to his desk. “Wonwoo!”

You hear a loud crash of the desk being stripped of all its inhabitants, and your back hitting the cool of the table top. 

Wonwoo unties the arms of his overalls around his waist, letting the legs pool to the floor before slipping his hard cock out of his boxers. 

You don’t see it as you feel him lock your knees together and lift both your calves to rest on one of his shoulders. But you do feel it as he pushes the head into the seam of your thighs, watching the indent as the pink of his dick appears before you through the skin of your thighs. 

Wonwoo’s face is contorted as he pulls back and pushes back through again, this time brushing against your still sensitive clit. You gasp at contact, and immediately feel him thrusting faster. 

“Wonwoo,” you grunt. “Lower.”

He obliges, pushing his dick lower so it can rub flush against your clit as he begins to roughen up his pace. 

You moan as you feel his free hand that isn’t holding your legs trail to the ends of your shirt, caressing over your stomach to pull it up and reveal your bra clad tits. He pushes his hands under the nearest cup and begins to grope you so wonderfully with his big, warm hands. Rolling the bud between his fingers, you can only grasp onto his wrists as a handheld to keep you down on earth. 

The desk beneath you is rattling with noise, the full drawers making themselves known as Wonwoo pounds into your thighs like he would die if he stopped, mouth coming in contact with whatever skin of your legs he could reach, his breath fanning the side of your knees. 

You’re close again, and you know he is too with the way his thrusts are beginning to grow sloppy. 

“There,” he pants. “Almost.”

You orgasm for the second time, the throb your clit beyond comprehension as the rough of his dick slides across your clit mercilessly. 

“Cum like this, Wonwoo please I need to see you cum.”

And he does, shooting the heft of his load to cover your already wet cunt and thighs, landing on your stomach as he continues to ride out his high between your legs. 

The back of your head hits the table as you take in gulps of air through the aftermath of it all. Wonwoo is putting his weight on the back of your thighs, holding onto the table for support. 

“Oh, Liv is never gonna let me live this down,” you pant, lolling your head to one side as you register him. 

He peers up at you through his hair, the stupid smirk on his face, “Do you care?”

You’re smiling a little too when you answer, “Not really.”

And then your legs are off his shoulders as he nestles between them instead, diving in to lift your head and kiss you. 

And you let him, although you wouldn’t really call it too much of a kiss—not when the both of you were smiling like idiots through the clash. 

[toruro]

— ✧ back to december

a part of flower me with love ... an hhu unit x flowers collection !

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), fluff, angst (resolved!), best friends to strangers to lovers

description: it's been four months and twenty-two days since you've last talked to mingyu, however your mother still thinks you two are friends. you don't have the heart to tell her what really happened, and now you think it's time for you to move on. (un?)fortunately for you though, mingyu seems to have other plans.

inspired by back to december by taylor swift!

tags: miscommunication, unrequited love (not fr though), big dick mingyu, sex in a car >_<, riding, fingering, pet names (angel, pretty), creampie :3

w/c: 4.3k

a/n: happy birthday @gyuswhore!!! this fic is for em but if not em and ur reading it i hope u enjoy too. this is like 2/3 plot and 1/3 smut if anyone cares

Normality is bliss.

That’s what you used to tell yourself. That’s what you used to believe.

Normality was bright mornings, crisp air, slow walking down the main street, inhaling the ambrosial scent of freshly roasted coffee beans, and slipping under the fairy lights that hang over the door. It was the warm sound of the overhead bell ringing, permeating laughter in the cafe from all customers, and daisies in a pot by the entrance.

Normality was Mingyu. His bright laugh as you approach the counter, sweet voice as he playfully asks you what drink you’d like, to which you roll your eyes and respond with, “You already know, don’t you?” It was the chuckle he would let out, the wink he flashed at you, murmuring the words, “It’s on the house” (because with Mingyu, it was always on the house), the thanks you give him before stepping back.

Normality was the latte he handed you, rough yet ginger fingers brushing over your palm as he warned you, “Careful, it’s hot,” and the giggle you let out when you stepped back and asked how his morning was going. It was Mingyu telling you nothing special happened yet. It was Mingyu suggesting that you two hang out at the field after he’s done with work. It was you grinning and agreeing in an instant, but only under the condition that he picks you up after your class.

Normality was bliss until four months and twenty-two days ago.

Now, normality hurts like a bitch.

Your mother glances at you from the corner of her vision as you rummage through the fridge. “What’re you looking for?”

“Some bread,” you murmur. “Was really craving a tomato sandwich … Damn, we’re seriously out of white bread?” you ask, giving up with a sigh as you close the door and face her.

She shrugs. “If it’s not in the fridge then I guess so. We’re low on produce too actually … I’d be surprised if you find tomatoes in there too,” she says. You purse your lip, shuffling through the different rows of cabinets to find something to throw together to take for lunch as your mother continues to speak. “You think you could stop by the grocery store after class today and pick up some stuff?”

“Yeah sure,” you reply casually.

“Ah, I wish Mingyu still stopped by with the groceries,” your mother says, and the sudden mention of his name has you halting your movements as you reach for a croissant, before you inhale deeply and go back to doing your own thing.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, clearing your throat after the word comes out horsley.

“You know why he stopped doing that?”

You try not to think about how you still haven’t told your mother that you and Mingyu don’t talk anymore.

“Uhh, I guess uni’s been getting to be a lot of work,” you tell her. “We’re both taking way harder classes so, uh, I guess he doesn’t have the time.”

“Hmm, yeah makes sense. You’re always swamped up in that room of yours ‘cause of work too … haven’t seen you two hang out in a while actually.”

You chew on your lip, staring down at your little bag for lunch and the croissant that sits inside. You wonder if you’ll even have the appetite to eat anything today after this conversation.

“We’re just busy. It’s harder to talk now.” It’s not entirely a lie. Grabbing the bag and picking up your backpack, you turn to face your mother who’s scrolling on her phone. “I’m gonna go now. My first class is starting soon.”

Now, normality is huffing as you get into your car, wishing you had a coffee next to you, but being too full of cowardice to head over to the cafe.

(“Go to a different cafe!” is what common sense would tell you, but common sense doesn’t listen to a love that has been betrayed. No other latte tastes the same, but you know that’s only because no other latte has been made by Mingyu.)

You pick up groceries on the way home.

Now, normality is staring at the daisies that are on display as you walk through the front doors of the store and reminiscing. It’s wondering what once was, and what could have been, if you decided to keep your silly feelings to yourself.

Normality is regretting. Regretting ever opening your mouth and telling Mingyu four months and twenty-two days ago that you loved him, and that you had loved him for not one, not two, not five, but ten damn years, because that was when you two met, and you always loved Kim Mingyu, but you should have known that not once did he love you back. Not how you would’ve wanted anyways.

Normality is wondering. Wondering if Mingyu would still be dropping off groceries if you hadn’t told him that you loved him, if he hadn’t told you he didn’t know what to tell you. Wondering if he thinks of you now. Wondering if he has any regrets. Wondering if he’s okay, but you lost the chance to know the answer to that question four months and twenty-two days ago. Wondering if—

Tomatoes. You need to buy the tomatoes, and the bread, some green beans, spinach, bell pepper, and more cheese, milk, maybe some butter, and—what was it that your mother told you to get? Oh, some strawberries.

You need to get all of these things, but there were no daisies on the list, so how did a bouquet full of them end up in your cart? You tell yourself you picked them up because they’re on sale, but you know the real reason is because you miss Mingyu.

Directing your attention back to the list you were sent on your phone, you hum lowly to yourself as you push your cart through the aisles. Checking items off your notes app, you exist with just yourself, your tomatoes, and fresh daisies as you try and finish these groceries before it gets too late into the evening.

Staring at your screen, you almost don’t notice that the dairy aisle isn’t empty until you bump into someone. “Sorry,” you mutter quickly, “I—” The words get caught in your throat when you see just exactly who you’ve hit.

Averting your gaze quickly, you wonder if Mingyu will respond, but you choose to scurry away quickly instead, because as cowardly as it sounds, you’re not sure if you’re ready to hear his voice again.

You’re not sure why your heart beats so fast when you escape into another aisle. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t read the look on his face for the brief second that your eyes met.

(Ten years of being best friends and you somehow don’t know what he’s thinking. Can four months and twenty-two days really change a person that much? Or did you never know Kim Mingyu in the first place?)

When you get home, your mother asks you where you got the daisies from. You tell her Mingyu gave them to you, because you want to convince her that you two are still best friends, and maybe—just maybe—you’re trying to convince yourself of it too.

You decide to buy a latte five days later. Mingyu never worked the evening shifts, so you’re confident you’ll get one of the other’s as the barista if you walk in past 6pm. Seokmin’s always nice. He doesn’t make the latte’s as sweet as you like—more specifically, as sweet as Mingyu made them—but he’s kind and always cheery.

When you walk in today, the pot by the door is empty. There are no more daisies, and you wonder if this is what has become of normality.

Your eyes glaze over the familiar setting, breathing in the sweet, rusty smell of coffee, and you smile watching all the cafe-goers laugh along with each other in their seats. All is going well, and you’re telling yourself that maybe this new normal isn’t too bad. That you’ve lived with it for four months and twenty-seven days, and so you can live with it longer and—

Your heart plummets when you see who's working the register today.

Maybe you really never knew Kim Mingyu, because you swore he hated the evening shifts, but here he is with a neatly tied apron, smiling while he talks to some girl across the counter. And his toothy grin is so bright and you aren’t sure if you’re seeing things correctly because everything sound has turned to a white rush in your ears and your vision blurs because you are once again awarded the painful reminder that you are in love with Kim Mingyu.

You thought your heart broke right in two back in December, but you hear it crack in this moment and realize that this was the final blow.

There are tears in your eyes, and you don’t know how long you stand there, until you hear your name. Seokmin is calling for you, and when you look up there’s no girl at the counter and it’s just Mingyu and Seokmin staring at you.

And you wonder briefly if you should be glad that Mingyu looks concerned but you don’t have time to dwell on the fact because Seokmin calls for you again—“Hey, are you okay? You—you’re crying”—and fuck, you’ve just humiliated yourself, so with fat tears hitting the dark wood ground you turn on your heel and rush out the door.

You keep thinking and wondering and regretting and you hate it all because regret has become normality, but regret is not a bliss.

You walk down the street, and you keep walking and walking and walking until you realize you forgot where you parked the car but none of that matters because all you’re thinking about is Mingyu’s smile, and how he doesn’t smile at you anymore. And so you walk faster and cry a bit harder until you’re so far down the street you don’t even know where you are anymore but it doesn’t matter because you don’t know who you’ve become.

And there’s footsteps thudding behind you—are you going to get kidnapped now? Fuck, you’ve already had the most horrendous sequence of events that could possibly happen to you in the span of five minutes, and now it’s going to get worse? If this goddamn kidnapper could just target you any other day, then maybe you wouldn’t whip around with tearful eyes, shouting into the dark: “Please don’t kidnap me! I’ll go with you any other day but—Mingyu!?”

His tall figure is hunched over, hands over his thighs as he heaves for breath, craning his neck to look up at you. “Kidnap you? Why in the world would I kidnap you?” he asks through harsh breaths. “Fuck, you walk so fast,” he groans, finally standing up as you furiously wipe your tears away in an attempt to actually make sense of this situation.

“I—” You want to reply, but then it hits you that this is the first time Mingyu has spoken to you in four months and twenty-seven days, and the thought is dizzying. “I don’t know,” you tell him, because you really don’t know. You don’t know a damn thing.

Mingyu looks at you with a look that you, once again, can’t seem to read. “Sorry, I—I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, and anyone would be able to see through the lie but you’re hoping that Mingyu doesn’t pry any further. He doesn’t move, nor does he say anything. “You can, uh, go back now,” you add, rubbing the back of your neck as you stare at the ground. “I’m okay.”

“You—you were crying.”

Opening your mouth to protest, you realize you can’t refute him now. Not when it was so painfully obvious. You choose silence instead, hoping that your apprehension will be enough to drive him away, although it only seems to egg Mingyu on.

You don’t expect the words he blurts out after a few moments of thickness.

“You don’t know how much I wish I could go back to December and change things.”

“Please don’t lie to me Mingyu,” you tell him, and he can just hear from the way you say his name that you are desperately pleading with him. When you finally look up at him with glossy eyes, he wonders how in the world he let things get this far.

“I’m not lying, I—I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“What do you mean by this, Mingyu? What is this?” You cover your face and begin to sob, but not without gasping out words between heavy breaths. “Please don’t do this to me, not again.”

And when you uncover your face and look at him again, he’s got some bewildered look on his face, and you can’t tell what he’s going to say next.

“The girl,” Mingyu starts to say. “That’s my cousin. She was visiting me at work and—”

“It’s not about the girl, Mingyu!” And that’s a bit of a lie because some part of it is about the girl but it’s mainly about you and it’s mainly about Mingyu—mainly about the two of you.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and speaks. “Sorry, I—you’re right.”

Silence once more, before you calm your breaths and shake your head. “You should head back, Mingyu.”

“No I—wait, I just—I’m not lying. I regret everything I did in December.”

“Ming—”

“No, please listen to me. I regret not telling you how I actually felt, but I was so confused,” he tells you, repeating your name. “I was confused and fucking terrified because if things didn’t work out for some reason, then I would’ve lost my best friend but—but I was fucking stupid and lost you anyways. And you know, I wanted to reach out. I wanted to talk to you so bad but then like last week, when I saw you in the grocery store, and—daisies.”

“Daisies?” You furrow your brows.

“Daisies. You had a bouquet of them in your cart,” Mingyu tells you, taking a step forward. “And I know how much you love daisies. Your favorite flowers in the world. I saw them in your cart and thought to myself, fuck, I missed my chance, because I thought you had them for someone else and—”

“They weren’t,” you blurt out. “I-I even told my mom you got me them,” you add bashfully, “because she doesn’t know we stopped … yeah.”

There’s a silence that sits between you two, but you’re starting to realize that silence has become normality and you are no longer content with that.

“Mingyu, do you love me?”

He doesn’t hesitate to respond. “More than you love daisies.”

You laugh through your drying tears. You laugh so hard it makes you cry no longer because of pain but because of happiness, and you shake your head and throw your arms around him. “Kim Mingyu, that is a bold statement.”

“What can I say?” he grins. “I’m a bold man.”

“Where was that bold man for the past four months and twenty-seven days?” you snort.

Mingyu raises a brow. “You’ve been counting?” For a moment your expression falls but then he shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t worry—I’ve been too.”

You two are quick to head back, Mingyu begging Seokmin to hold the first alone for the weekend before taking the wheel of your car and driving you both to your favorite field of daisies.

“Are we going to have sex for the first time in your car?” Mingyu asks with a chuckle, climbing into the backseat from one end while you pile in from the other.

Giggling, you meet his lips for a kiss as soon as the door shuts behind him, arms winding around his thick neck to bring him close. “The way you said that insinuates there we’ll be having more sex after this,” you tell him with a smile before diving back into another tongue twisting kiss.

“Hell yeah,” Mingyu groans against your tongue as you adjust to situate yourself over his lap, hips pressing dangerously close to his. “Gonna fuck you every day if I can. If you can handle that,” he adds.

You roll your eyes, pulling back to help yourself out of the cardigan and shirt you’re wearing. “What makes you think I can’t handle it?”

He only flashes you a toothy grin and quickly glances down at his groin area before winking at you. “You’ll see.”

“Kim Mingyu, you are a little shit,” you conclude despite the way your tummy churns at his insinuation, throwing off your shirt as Mingyu helps you out of a bra.

“I’m not little, that’s for sure … fuck, you’ve got the prettiest tits in the world,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your torso to pull you closer so he can plant his lips on the soft flesh. His mouth is warm, tongue tracing constellations over our skin before enclosing one of your nipples with his lips.

Slowly, his tongue traces circles around the stiffened nipple, teeth grazing over it ever so gently before biting down with slight force. “Ah!” you moan out, head thrown back as your hands travel up his neck and into his hair, fisting the thick, dark locks. “‘m sensitive, ‘gyu,” you tell him, shaky-breathed as he pulls his mouth off your tits with a slip popping sound.

“Sorry,” he says with a lazy smile. “Your tits are so nice,” Mingyu murmurs, bringing a hand up to squeeze over your other breast, tweaking the nipple in one hand as your hands begin to play with the hem of his tight fit shirt. “Fuck, can’t believe we didn’t fuck earlier. You know how much time we could’ve saved?” he says, pulling away just for a moment to peel the shirt off his body, revealing his firm, thick torso.

“I wonder whose fault that is?” You roll your eyes.

Mingyu frowns in response. “Don’t remind me … angel, take off your pants. Wanna finger you.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, because in an instant your hands are at the waistband of your pants as heat rises to your cheeks upon hearing his words. Just the thought of Mingyu’s thick, longer fingers inside your aching cunt is enough for it to pulse around nothing as you throw your pants to the side and shove your panties to reveal your core.

“Atta girl,”  he murmurs under his breath as you readjust yourself over his lap so that he can have better access between your legs. Slowly, he brings one hand up to your exposed cunt, bringing his middle finger to circle around your gaping hole. “Shit, you’re so wet, angel … so wet for me.”

“Just for you ‘gyu, just for you” you gasp out when he sinks one finger in, rough pads rubbing against your warm, gummy walls.

Now Mingyu occasionally entertains the outrageous idea that he’s well composed, but he’d be a fool to deny that, even though he can turn you to mush in the palm of his hand, you also have him wrapped around your little finger.

You only have to beg him once or twice for a second finger before he’s giving in, wanting nothing more than to spoil you until you can’t even remember what you were asking for in the first place. And naturally, when you finally tell him that you’re ready for more—ready for his cock—he can’t help but grin and comply.

“You think you’re ready?” he asks, slipping his fingers out and shoving them into your mouth so you can taste yourself.

“You think I’m not?” you mumble around his fingers. You pout a little and Mingyu chuckles, leaning in to give you a wet and sloppy kiss before lifting his hips a little.

“You’ll see angel … help me take this all off,” he tells you, and you’re quick to grab at his waistband and yank his pants and boxers down at the same time.

“What are you talking ab—oh.” The words dry on your tongue when you see his cock spring out, from underneath his boxers, the thickness slapping against Mingyu’s abdomen.

It’s fat and long and veiny in all the right places, heavy balls resting at the base of it, the reddish-pink tip smeared all over with his shiny, translucent white precum.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says with yet another chuckle, watching your face as you gaze down at his cock in awe.

“I-is it gonna fit?” you ask incredulously, eyes glancing back and forth between the smirk on Mingyu’s lips and the long length of his cock. Mingyu just shrugs and smooths his hands over your hips, your stomach, and then your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss.

Your stomach flutters, cunt growing more and more needy and wet as the seconds tick by, and the way Mingyu’s tongue flicks against yours only heightens the feeling. When he pulls away, he settles his hands over your waist and directs you right over his cock, and something in you swells with pure arousal with the next words he says.

“Don’t worry angel, I’ll make it fit. You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you breath out, steadying your position as Mingyu uses one hand to guide his heavy length so that the tip points upwards and presses right against you.

“Fuck yeah,” he hisses, and you moan as you feel him sliding against your folds in a slippery, sticky mess. “old onto me, yeah angel? If you want to stop just—”

“Say the word,” you finish for him, placing your hands on Mingyu’s bare shoulders as an attempt to steady yourself, breath hitching as his length pushes into your entrance. “Oh shit, ‘gyu!" you cry out as you begin to sink down on him.

Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes—you can’t even fathom how, even after all his prep, Mingyu still feels like he’s nearly splitting you in half.

“Fuck, pretty—you’re so fucking tight,” Mingyu grunts, helping you nearly impale yourself on his cock. “Fucking fitting inside you so well,” he praises as he bottoms out inside of you, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder as you take deep breath.

Mingyu knows he’s big—knows it’s hard to fit him inside of you—and he’s feels so fucking lucky that he has you—so willing to take all that he’s giving—sucking him in and whining for more. He waits a few moments, only listening to the way your heavy breaths start to grow lighter, until you’re whimpering a soft, “‘gyu.”

He wastes no time in jerking his hips upward, shifting inside of you and battering the inside of your soft walls. You bite down on his shoulder as you push your hips down to meet his thrusts, choking back soft sobs as you feel his cock kiss your cervix with each movement.

“Holy shit,” Mingyu grunts as you begin to bounce on his lap, his length slipping out of you halfway before being plunged right back in with a sopping mess growing on his thighs.

You whine loudly at the overwhelming pleasure that takes over your body, lifting your head up so you could look at Mingyu with your mouth agape and hair stuck all over your burning face, a sheer layer of sweat starting to envelope both your bodies.

Soon, both of your movements begin to grow erratic and sloppy, hips jamming into each other so hard you’d be surprised if you even have the ability to walk tomorrow. You now know why Mingyu was concerned about fucking every day.

“You g’na cum soon pretty? Cum all over my cock? I can feel it angel, can feel your pretty cunt squeezing me.”

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you manage to gasp out, “Yeah, ’m gonna cum—feels so good, so full, so—fuck!”

Mingyu’s cock pulses inside of you and that’s when every detail seems to be heightened to a thousand—as your orgasm racks through you, you seem to feel every curve, every vein, dragging in and out of you to such detail that it has your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you scream out his name.

Mingyu watches you fall apart, surrendering to bliss, and the way your hips are sporadically swiveling over his, your pussy’s wetness coating and creaming his cock has him going into a frenzy. Frantically, he begins to snap his hips faster up into you, your soft moans of overstimulation pushing him to his end faster than he can ever imagine. Watching the way he slides in and out of you is enough to have him cumming, shooting his hot, sticky load inside your warm cunt.

Riding out the last of his orgasm with soft rolls of his hips, Mingyu sighs contently at the feeling of you milking him dry, the both of you looking down at the wet, dirty mess you’ve made where the two of you connect, his cock still throbbing inside of you.

Both of you finally look up at the same time, grinning at each other, and you flop forward resting your head on his chest as he slowly combs his fingers through your hair, other hand running up and down your back.

“Why’d you start working the evening shifts?” you ask Mingyu after your breath has finally leveled. “I thought you hated those.”

“I did, but you stopped coming in the mornings, and I figured it was because of me. I hoped that maybe you would start coming in the evenings so I asked my boss to change my regular shifts just in case.”

“Oh wow, you really do love me.”

“I already told you I do! Even more than you love daisies, remember?”

[fbfh]

makey makeover - rodrick x hyperfeminine reader

wc: 1.5k

pairing: rodrick x gn hyperfeminine!reader

warnings: rodrick isn't used to being taken care of but only briefly mentioned at the end, rodrick does not know what hyaluronic acid is

summary: rodrick can never say no to you, but if it means having you straddle his lap while you use all your skincare products on him and listen to music together, he wouldn't want to say no anyway.

song recs: makey makeover - crazy ex girlfriend cast, jesus of suburbia - green day, perfect day - hoku

a/n: I started writing a kids book yesterday?? like I finished the first chapter and outline in one sitting???? it wasn't at all planned but when the muse strikes yk. Anyway I don't think it will take me as long to write so if you wanna read a chapter book about magic and girlhood and unicorns and other mythical creatures with bella sara vibes that's probs gonna be ready reasonably soon lol

tags: @yesv01 @magcon7280 @dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @kiara7777 @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @followingthefanfiction @2220825 @Maggzsworld @xiaos_crustytoenails @ionlymadethisaccountbcihadto @strawberryjen124 @Isaentremundos @hxnbah

Rodrick likes to think he's a pretty tough guy. Between being born and raised on the rebellious messages of pop punk music, and the nonconforming ideologies of emo and other alt subcultures, Rodrick knows in his bones that he'll never let the man break his spirit. He'll never bow down to someone just because they want him to do something. He's had countless opportunities to stand by these beliefs at school and at home, and he has never - not once - come close to doing anything for someone simply because they want him to. Rodrick has been confident in his ability to never give into other people’s orders, no matter how much they demand of him. 

Until now.

“Pretty please, Roddy…?” You pout your glossy lips at him, blinking up at him and batting your doll like eyelashes, and that’s all it takes to make him fold.

“...I guess, if you really-” He’s cut off by an excited squeal from you, and he’s glad that you’re too distracted to notice him blush. Rodrick has never felt his willpower give in so fast, but as he watches you rush around your room and smile, delighted that he’d agreed, he realizes that he’d do pretty much anything you tell him too. Ben and Chris would call him a pussywhipped simp, but… no, that’s pretty much it. He chuckles a little at the thought, watching the pile of stuff grow. He recognizes nail polish and tweezers, but that’s about it.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” You say, rambling happily as you settle down on your bed across from him. “I’ve been wanting to do self care stuff but I’ve done so many everything showers and self care nights there’s nothing left for me to do on myself. But you…”

You take his face in your manicured hands, moving him around to inspect more closely.

“You are in serious need of a facial.”

Rodrick doesn’t really process what you’re saying, he just loves when you touch his face like that. 

“...Uh, yeah totally.” He mutters absentmindedly, distracted by your sweet smell. After a moment, he processes what you said, and chuckles, leaning back into your silky pink pillows. “Babe, you can do anything to me, anywhere, anytime.” 

You giggle, feeling your face flush a little as you get all your stuff organized. Rodrick runs his hands up and down your waist, fidgeting with your soft fluffy pajama shorts and big loded diper shirt you wear all the time. He sees the little burn marks and worn out hems and realizes it’s the one you stole from him. He smiles softly, loving the way you look in it even more now. His attention is pulled back to you when you push something over his face, brushing his hair back. You adjust the fluffy cat ears on the headband, making sure you have access to his whole face. Rodrick giggles a little, knowing he must look a little out of place wearing a pierce the veil shirt and fluffy kitty cat headband. 

“I don’t think my forehead has been this exposed since like, 4th grade…” he chuckles.

“That’s good, you’ll have less sun damage that way.” You smile, putting some micellar water on a cotton pad. It’s a little cold to the touch, but after a moment, the feeling of you gently wiping over his face and neck ends up being way more relaxing than he had expected it to. You throw it away, and he hears it land in your trash can with a crinkle. 

“I’m gonna mist your face now, okay?” You say, and he nods. You spray rose water on his face, and Rodrick can’t get over how considerate you are to give him a heads up like that. Rodrick smiles a little as he adjusts to the subtle floral smelling facial spray he’s used to smelling on you. He basks in the quietness of your room, opening his eyes as he watches you sitting on his stomach and looking for the next product. You hesitate for a moment. You feel like something’s missing, but you can’t put your finger on it.

“Oh,” you say, reaching for your phone as you remember. You open up Spotify, and put your favorite playlist on shuffle - the one you and Roddy share. It’s full of both your favorite songs, mostly boiling down to early 2000’s pop punk and trashy pop. It’s chaotic but really does suit you both perfectly.  Rodrick smiles suddenly as he instantly recognizes the opening notes of Jesus of Suburbia begin to play. You take out your favorite serum, jasmine and blackberry hydrating jelly, and place a few drops around his face. 

“What’s that one?” Rodrick asks, picking up another bottle. 

“Hyaluronic acid.”

Rodrick looks at the little dropper bottle.

“Does it, like, melt the flesh right off your bones?” 

“No…?” You chuckle, massaging his cheekbones and jawline with your fingertips.

“Then why is it called hydroponic acid?” He asks rhetorically, “Acid is supposed to melt shit.”

You laugh again, and he makes a mental note to sample your laughter for a song at some point in the future. He doesn’t know which one yet, but he knows it will be his best one yet. 

You rub some cooling aloe vera gel into his skin, then take out your rose quartz gua sha stone. You tap your fingertips against his chest, and he looks at you with an amused smile.

“What does that do?”

He watches you work, eyes locked on you. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and peaceful. 

“I’m prepping your lymphatic drainage system.” 

That clarified absolutely nothing for Rodrick, but he trusts you implicitly. You’re so good at so many things, but Christ, you could write a book on all that girly beauty stuff. It’s way more hardcore than people think it is. You know about all these acids and drainage systems and the pink rock thing, and even though he’s impressed, he’s not at all surprised by how good you are at all this stuff.

You begin gently gliding your gua sha over Roddy’s skin, working from his forehead down to his neck and jawline. He stops talking as you work, and it’s like you melt all of the stress out of his body through his face. He could fall asleep with you touching him so gently like this. After a while you rub some more cream into his face, then place something under his eyes that feels like thinly sliced jello.

“What the fuck?” He asks, bringing another laugh out of you. He watches you take two more of the weird jelly things and put them under your own eyes.

“They’re under eye masks.” You answer with a chuckle. “They hydrate your skin, depuff, and get rid of dark circles.”

“Huh…” he hums in response, playing with the patches as they sit on his face. 

Once you’ve used half your arsenal of skincare products on him, you peel off his sheet mask and let him sit up. You hand him a mirror, and as he sits up and stretches a little, kind of wishing you had more to do, he feels like he just woke up from the best sleep of his life. 

“So? What do you think?” You ask excitedly. He can’t help but crack a smile at how cute you are. Rodrick takes the mirror you offer him. When he sees his reflection, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. 

“Oh my god…” he says with a soft smile. He’s glowing. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this soft and moisturized and… cared for before. He doesn’t even have any crusty eyeliner from yesterday smudged around his eyes. He can never get it off all the way, but one wave of your magic wand, and it’s gone. He laughs again, touching his cheek. He looks up at you in surprise.

“My face is so smooth…” “I know!” You exclaim in delight. “So, do you like facials after all?”

You have a feeling you already know the answer, but Rodrick looks up at you anyway.

“Yeah,” he states, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips soft and exfoliated, topped with your favorite strawberry lip balm. You think Rodrick is right, it does taste better in a kiss. After he pulls away, it takes him a minute for his brain to stop short circuiting. 

“So… uh, are we doing this again next weekend?” 

You laugh at his hopeful tone of voice, how he raises his eyebrows a little. 

“Yeah.” You nod, taking him in for another kiss. You take his hands in yours, looking at the stick and poke tattoo he got of the heart you drew on his hand in chemistry class, his little calluses from drumming. “Next week I can do something about your cuticles.”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome to my favorite part of any slow burn: horny

Chapter Title from Vertigo by Griff

Word Count: 18.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A very special valentine’s episode. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

Read on A03!

They hadn’t talked about it. 

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. He didn’t know where that conversation led. 

It could be simple. He could corner Her in Bobby kitchen, ask Her what it meant to Her, and they’d have to have The Conversation. And Dean—for once in his life—might get pretty damn lucky, and She’d say it meant the same to Her that it had meant to him.

Everything. 

The kiss had meant everything. It what most of what he was made of, now. The memory of it playing on a heavy loop in his head, the taste of Her lingered on his tongue—he was starting to develop a small habit of licking his lips every single freaking second, trying to gather up whatever little bits of Her remained like some sort of creep—and his hands were itching to touch Her again. 

He didn’t have a goddamn clue how he’d managed to go so long without touching Her. Kissing Her. Trying to find out every single way She could possibly moan his name, because son of a bitch, that was the best thing he’d ever heard.

She was the best thing Dean had ever had. 

And he didn’t even know if it had meant anything to Her.

There were a lot of ways that conversation could go, and Dean had played out most of them in his head already. It was a like planning for a hunt. He’d grab her in the kitchen, because that would give Her more of a warning than if he started The Conversation in Her bedroom, and a better place for him to escape than if he used to Impala.

In some versions, he started The Conversation, then pussied out and ran away. He was a fucking coward. Dean knew how to talk to ladies. He was good at talking to ladies. He was good at talking to Her.

But not about this. 

“Why’re you up, Princess?”

Dean had woken up a few days ago, and She hadn’t been in bed. The only thing that kept him from freaking out was how he could still smell Her on the sheets. And She wouldn’t have just left. She’d pinky promised him She wouldn’t just leave.

He’d found Her in the library. Of course he had. Absentmindedly scratching notes on a small piece of paper as she read, Her brow furrowed in the cuter, less painful version of Her little wrinkle, not even flinching or starting as Dean made himself known.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She’d muttered, and Dean had shrugged.

“You’re not gonna sleep, if you’re down here.”

“I’ll be fine.” She’d written down another note that—when Dean had craned his neck—was obviously in Enochian. She’d been doing that more lately, and Dean didn’t really want to think about why. “Go back to bed, De.”

He could’ve. But that would mean leaving Her, and Dean had promised not to do that. And this had been the perfect time. For The Conversation. No Bobby to try and shoot him, no Sammy to tease him, no Jo to make little jokes about it. Just Her and Dean, in the dead hours of the night.

In the moment, he’d really thought he could do this. 

“So, uh,” He’d cleared his throat, and She’d glanced up from Her book. “Angels.”

She’d frowned. “What about them? I- Nothing has tried to break through the wards, right? Because a lot of those sigils are experimental, but they should start like, glowing, if something is coming-“

“Nothing’s coming.” Dean had mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just. You know. Lotta stuff happening.”

“Like…” She raised Her brows, and Dean wasn’t sure how She always managed to look so perfectly put together. “Angels?”

“Yeah.”

She’d hummed, scanning over Dean with an unreadable expression, and he’d felt like She was looking right into his soul-

Son of a bitch, She probably was. She could see Dean’s soul, and if Hell somehow hadn’t made Her run, this was going to. He didn’t know how it worked, but the want in his body for Her wasn’t pure, and if She saw it and hated it, Dean would end up alone-

“Are you feeling okay?” Her voice had been soft as She cut off Dean’s thoughts, and he’d blinked. “De, you- You’re really red.”

“‘M fine.” He’d mumbled, and She’d shaken Her head.

“Did you get sunburned or something? I know it’s winter, but you’re outside all the time, and I have aloe if it hurts-“

“Nothing hurts.” He’d thrown Her his best, widest, most charming smile, and moved to drop at Her side. “What are we reading?”

She’d smiled slightly, pulling Her book away from Dean’s gaze. “We’re not reading anything.”

“I can read-“

“Not this.”

“But-“

“It’s a girl book, De.” 

He hadn’t known what a girl book was. He still wasn’t entirely sure. 

He’d stayed anyway.

“C’mon, I did those face masks with you and Jo. I can read your girl book.” He’d reached out a hand, and Her eyes had widened.

“Dean-“

“I’m not going back to bed.”

She’d stared at him, and Dean had known She’d heard the silent words. 

Without you. I’m not going back to bed if you’re not there.

“Do you…” She’d swallowed, Her eyes never leaving Dean’s, and maybe he should’ve damned it all and kissed Her again there. “I’m hungry. Are you-“

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean had grinned, and offered Her his hand. “Gas station?”

She’d given him a small smile and nod, The Conversation hadn’t happened, and Dean had decided that bringing it up naturally—which had, somehow, been the plan in the library—had to be taken off the table as an option.

But he didn’t know how to do it otherwise. 

Hey, Princess, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and if you want to kiss me again, I won’t stop you. Wrong. She was beautiful being that was above goddamn heaven, Dean couldn’t ask Her out like it was a suggestion to get him more pie. Like this wasn’t the most important thing he’d ever done. 

I’m a piece of shit, sweetheart, but I want you, so I’m sorry about that, but could you please fucking kiss me again before I lose my mind. Wrong again. She shouldn’t have to. It didn’t mean anything if She kissed Dean to keep him from losing his mind. She had to want it.

I think you’re fucking awesome. She knew that. It had never gotten Her to kiss him before.

Every single time I dream, it’s about you- 

He wasn’t a teenage girl.

Do you have any idea how fucking hard I get whenever you smile at me? How many times I’ve imagined grabbing you and pinning you to the wall, or bending you over the table, or getting on my knees and-

Bobby would shoot him. He’d deserve it.

You’re like the universe, and I’m sorta like the stars, so how this should work is I fill you up-

He was going to shoot himself.

And there were too many variables for what She might say. Maybe it really had meant nothing to Her, and She’d tell Dean that, and he’d just have to fucking live with that. 

Worse, maybe it had meant everything to Her. Maybe Dean really, fully had Her if he wanted Her, and now he could lose Her. Break Her. Maybe She’d say Deano, of course I’m the universe, but you’re somehow the best thing that happened to me too, and climb on his lap and kiss him again, and he’d get to hold Her, but know angels were hunting Her and Alistair might try to take Her away.

Even if that was the case, even if She did—against all odds and reason—want Dean, he had to have The Conversation about it, first. 

He still didn’t know how to do that. Because it was exactly like planning for a hunt. And the number one rule of making plans for hunts was that you were going to have to improvise. Move on instinct, and stay alive. Speak on instinct, and keep Her by his side.

Dean did not know how to speak on instinct. And if he stumbled or tripped in a hunt—he didn’t, really, ever, as killing monsters was a whole lot easier than trying to tell Her that he’d kill and die to kiss Her just one more fucking time—the only thing it would cost Dean was himself. He never hesitated, when it was Her or Sammy on the line, so the only person that ever ended up hurt because of Dean fucking a hunt up was himself. And that was acceptable.

He didn’t know how to do that for The Conversation. How to find his way with all the right words should he lose them. He could say something horrible, say something wrong, fuck it up and lose Her forever. There were no bullets or blades to jump in front of, if She started to get upset.

Son of a bitch, what if She started to get upset.

What if She started to cry, and Dean wasn’t allowed to calm Her down because he’d fucked it all up. He couldn’t live with himself, if that was how it played out. Dean could barely tolerate himself now, when he’d down and swear that there was blood on his hands once more. She’d stayed when She knew about the blood. If Dean lost Her now, because of his words, there would be no one else to blame but himself.

He was supposed to be Her shadow. And this was part of being Her shadow, but the most important part was keep Her safe and never let anything hurt Her.

Dean could have hurt Her.

But She’d kissed him back. Over the past few weeks, whenever Dean would roll over and look at Her in bed, he’d remind himself that She’d kissed him back. She’d wanted it. He was a piece of shit, but not that low and ugly in the mud. He’d never do that to anyone.

But he was still fantasizing about Her. And it was wrong, so fucking wrong to look over Her in the night and brush hair from Her face because he was allowed to, only to turn around and shuffle into the shower in the morning, and replay the kiss over and over in his head until his cock was raw in his hand.

Even now, sitting in the dark of a parking lot with Her at his side, Dean was having too many fantasies.

They’d been doing it every other night, since the library. Going out to the gas station in the dead of night, just them, together, whenever one of them couldn’t sleep. Tonight She’d even woken Dean up with big glossy eyes and a sad little furrow on Her brow. 

“I- I’m sorry.” She’d whispered, looking a little too much like the exact image that had been in Dean’s head only seconds before. Where She was hovering above him, but his hands were on Her hips, and his mouth was wrapped around one of Her nipples as She rode his cock and screamed his-

He'd been dangerously close to getting hard, and forced himself to focus on the soft nervousness of Her voice—obviously distressed and, for reasons he'd never understand, seeking his comfort—to calm down.

"You can go back to bed, if you want, but-"

"No, 's alright." Dean had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, holding Her against him before she decided to run away. "I was up anyway."

That was a lie. They both knew that was a lie, but She smiled, and it was worth the consequence of another sin added to his roster. 

"You need a ride?" He'd asked, and She'd flushed, giving him a small nod.

"I- Um, yes. Please."

It hadn't been until they were in the car that Dean caught his own wording. Or the fact that holding Her to make sure she stayed had meant grabbing Her by waist and pinning her to his body.

That would be a good way to start The Conversation.

Baby, if I had kissed you right there, would you have stabbed me for real this time, or let me take care of you.

Dean wasn't brave enough to say it. But he could think it, over and over until he drove himself insane. And he could stare at Her in the soft shadows and lights of the parking lot, and know that he'd never be able to have The Conversation. 

He couldn't afford to push his luck. When he didn't dream about kissing Her, he dreamt about Hell. And She'd started to infect those dreams too, since Boston. Since Dean found out She'd been there, and still hadn't left him. He would've left him, if that was an option. Shit, Sammy and Bobby still didn't know, and he dreaded the day they looked at him and saw him. Saw that vast fucking pit that had been in Dean his whole life, ripped open into a chasm by his own hand, and knew what he was.

Worse than a monster. Lower than the mud. 

Never fucking worthy of anything, let alone Her. The drop-dead gorgeous, ethereal, literally fucking magical woman made of stars, who could see him, and was staying.

Dean couldn’t take more from Her than she was already offering, just by staying and letting him care for Her at least like this. He'd gotten to kiss Her once, and that was more than he deserved. He got to be the one She came to in the dead of night for comfort and company. She wasn't leaning against anyone else in the car. Wasn't holding their hand like it was a lifeline as they wandered through the gas station. Didn't stand on Her toes to whisper in anyone's ear but Dean's, because he was Her shadow. No one else.

She'd asked if they could get ice cream. Asked it like Dean wouldn't give Her the fucking Sun if he could figure out how to grab it.

And now She was curled up at his side, a little bit of it stuck on Her nose, and Dean would be fine never kissing Her again, as long as he got to be the one who wiped the splotch away with his thumb and licked it clean. 

“Do you want some?” She held the tub out with raised brows, and Dean gave Her a small grin. 

“Nah, I got my pie.”

“But you gave me some of yours-“

“Cause you were staring, Princess, and I’m a-“ Dean paused, frowning at the air. “What do you call those guys who give people all their things?”

A small, soft smile covered Her features. Dean had never seen anything prettier. “Samaritans?”

“Yeah, that. I’m one of those.”

She giggled, leaning Her head back on the bench. “You know, Sam told me you threatened to exorcise Ruby if she tried to take your ice last week.”

“Well, the bitch didn’t fucking pay for it.” Dean grumbled. “And it is Ruby. You’d have threatened worse.”

“Touché.” She turned Her head to the side, watching Dean through the dark, and he knew She could see it. If She could see his soul, She had to see the chasm as well.

And She was still looking at him. Staying at his side. He didn’t fucking understand why.

“Dean?”

He grunted, fiddling with his jerky bag. She’d grabbed it before anything else. They’d barely been in the store for ten seconds before She’d shoved it into Dean’s hands, the same way he’d grabbed a root beer and passed it to Her without a thought. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. 

“I’m worried about Sam. He’s- You know I don’t trust Ruby, and they’ve been hanging out a lot-“

“I know.” Dean muttered. “I am too, but- I don’t know, sweetheart. He’s not listening to me about it anymore. Says I’m blinded about-“

He cut himself off, because the end of that sentence was Her. That Dean was blinded in his worry about Her, and how because She and Ruby didn’t like each other, they couldn’t bring Her on the seal cases. 

They’d gotten in a fight about it, last week. On the drive back, Dean had grumbled something about missing Her, wanting to bring Her on the next one because She’d fucking nail it—these were Her exact types of cases, weird and impossible to understand until she gave it a once over and got it in ten seconds—and thinking it was unfair that Sam got to bring his untrustworthy demon everywhere, but Dean couldn’t bring his awesome, brilliant, perfect Her.

Sam had sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want her here, Dean, you know I do, but- Ruby’s worried she’ll kill her-“

“Good.” Dean had muttered. “She will.”

“She shouldn’t! Ruby’s the only demon we’ve got completely on our side-“

Dean had snorted. “Jesus, Sammy, I really thought you were smarter than thinking a demon would ever be on our side-“

“Ruby is, she’s proved over and over that she is-“

“Proved to you.”

“She’s tried to prove to you as well, man, but you’re just never wrong about people, I guess-“

“I am wrong about people! I know I’ve been wrong about people, but you know who’s never fucking wrong about people?” Dean had spat Her name, and Sam’s mouth had snapped shut. “I don’t need Ruby to prove herself to me, she needs to prove herself to-“

“The woman who wants to kill her?” Sam had mumbled, watching Dean carefully, and he’d been damn near close to strangling the wheel.

“To the woman who can see fucking souls. She’s not wrong. And I want her on the next seal.”

Sam had sighed. “Dude, if you just want to stay with her, you can skip the next case. I- It’s not just about Ruby.” Sam had said Her name gently, giving Dean a sympathetic look he didn’t fucking want. “If we put her on a seal case, the angels will notice. It won’t be safe for her-“

“I’d protect her.” 

“But what if you can’t, Dean.” Sam’s voice had been too fucking soft. “It’s- The seals are a lot, but all the Magdalene stuff is… different. You told me Cas doesn’t understand it, and Ruby-“

“Don’t.” Dean had pushed the words through his teeth. He was done with the conversation, because he would protect Her. That was the whole point of being Her shadow. If he couldn’t touch Her, at least he could protect Her. And if He couldn’t do that, he might as well just be another asshole in the mud. 

“Dean-“

“No. Don’t tell me what Ruby thinks of my-“ Dean had snapped Her name, and if Sam caught his slip, he didn’t say anything. “Ruby called her a bitch. You know that, Sam? Ruby called her a self-important bitch.”

Sam had—wisely—looked down at his hands with a shameful expression. “I- Dean, I’m not trying to-“

“I don’t care. You know she’s better than Ruby.” She was better than all of them. “And I want her. On the case. Got it?”

Sam had nodded, and that had been the end of it. If She wanted, they’d bring Her on the next seal case. 

If She wanted.

Dean hadn’t asked yet. He hadn’t found a time for it. She was already dealing with enough. 

Yet was another reason they hadn’t had The Conversation. Between the seals, his fights with Sam about Ruby, and the whole dangerous bringer of change thing Cas had dropped on them, this was simply not a good time to start begging Her to tell him what he meant to Her, like he was some kind of pathetic little yipping dog. Trying to get Her attention and affection, when she needed to be working. 

They all needed to be working. 

Dean still spent too much time staring at Her lips, and wondering if just licking them would let him taste the fruit again. 

He’d been staring at Her for too long now. Where She could see it. She’d asked him a genuine question, Dean had been a piece of shit and lost himself in thoughts of licking Her. 

“I, uh- At least you’re coming with us. Instead of Ruby.”

She frowned at him. “What?”

“Next seal case. You’re-“

“Dean,” She sighed, and he’d done something wrong. She was pouting at him a little, and rubbing the scar on Her palm—She’d never actually told him how She got it, but it would once again be far too greedy to take more—so Dean had done something wrong.

“If you want.” He added, trying to keep his voice perfectly even and natural. “They’re just a lot of weird, crazy shit, and you love that stuff-“

“It’s not that.” She whispers, giving him a sad smile. “You remember what Cas said. I- Sam’s right, keeping me away from the seals. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Dean had a lot of issues with that. To start, Sam was not right. She should not be kept away from anything. Second, and more importantly- “What are you worried about, then?”

“I- I think she’s doing something to him.”

“Ruby? To Sammy?” Dean frowned. Sam was the same. A little angrier, and more exhausted, but the same. 

But She nodded, the movement nervous. “I- I don’t know how. Or what. But I’m really worried about him, Dean, I shouldn’t have run when you-“ She swallowed, and Dean hadn’t missed how She’d been doing that. Aside from their fight in Texas, She never said dead, or died, or death. And Her lips were being chewed raw by her teeth, and Her eyes were a little glazed as she stared at Dean, and- 

There was the wrinkle.

Dean pulled Her fully into his arms without thinking about it. If She wanted to shove him away, She could, and he wouldn’t fight it. But she just dropped Her head into his chest with a long breath, shaking Her head against his body.

“We’re past that, Princess.” He murmured, not sure what else to say. “You’re not running anymore. Remember, I’ll catch you if you try.”

She sighed, the sound a little shaky. “You still need to explain that, Winchester.“

“I’m good.” He shrugged, smiling a little into the air. “I’m not blaming you for what Sam did while I was gone, same as I’m not blaming Sam for you.”

That was a little bit of a lie. But it made Her relax, and She didn’t need to know that he’d shouted at Sam and Bobby for losing Her, so he let it go. 

“Sammy’ll be fine. He’s an idiot, but he’s the smartest little idiot on the planet-“

“He is not little.” She mumbled, and Dean chuckled.

“His soul is little.”

“No, it isn’t.” She buried Her face a little further in Dean’s body. He couldn’t think about it. “It’s big and shiny.”

“Huh.” Dean frowned down at Her. “What about-“

“You’re big and shiny too.”

Warmth inflated in his chest, and that shouldn’t have made him as proud as it did. He was big and shiny. Even if She was obviously hitting the point of sleepy where Dean would think She was drunk if he didn’t know better, She’d called him big and shiny.

And golden. She’d said Dean was golden, and no matter what She could see on his body after Hell, she hadn’t taken it back. 

“What are you?” He asked, running his fingers through Her hair and making his voice soft, and She shrugged. 

“‘M not anything.”

“You-“

“But I can feel it. Everything.” 

“Oh. Of course.” Dean smiled down at Her. “You ready to go home, b- Princess?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Her fingers curled into his shirt. “What about the next case?”

Dean sighed. He wanted Her there, so fucking much. 

Almost as much as he wanted Her to get what She wanted.

“You don’t have to go-“

“I want to go!” Her voice was almost a whine, and Dean couldn’t let himself think too hard about it as She leaned back, looking up at him with big eyes and shiny hair falling around Her face. “I wanna go Dean, but I- What if the angels don’t want me there?”

“Who gives a shit what they think?”

“I do.” She whispered. “What if they put you back in Hell?”

Dean didn’t know if they could do that. “They won’t.” He hoped he sounded more confident in that than he felt. “They need me for all the seal stuff, and you’re gonna be great at it, so they need you.”

She shook Her head. “They don’t need me. They don’t want me interfering. Cas said they’d take precautions.”

“I don’t care.”

“Dean, I care. I- I’m not already pushing it just by staying with you at Bobby’s, I don’t want to-“ She took a shaking breath, staring at Her hands on Dean’s chest. “We still don’t really know what I am. And if the Magdalene who brought the Roman Empire was barely even five percent…”

“Magic?” Dean offered as She trailed off, and she nodded.

“What am I going to do?”

They hadn’t really talked about this either. The Magdalene thing. Dean didn’t really have anything to say about, because it really hadn’t been an actual answer. They had a name, but no matter how many books She and Sammy read, how many contacts Bobby and Ellen reached out to, nobody had ever even damn heard of it. And angels and demons freaking out about Her wasn’t anything new, and nothing had shifted where She was suddenly some sort of lamb to be sacrificed, or monster to be caged.

She was still just Her. As far as Dean cared, no matter how they framed it, She was Herself, and nothing else really fucking mattered. He’d keep looking for answers because She wanted them, but for Dean, She was enough all on her own. 

“You’ll do whatever you want.” He muttered, holding Her gaze. “And if you want to come on this next one, that’s it.”

She sighed. “Dean-“

He hummed Her name back, and grinned at Her glare.

“What if I’m a seal?” She grumbled. “Have you thought of that?”

“Nope.” Dean slid Her back into her place, pressing a greedy kiss to her brow at the last second. “And I’ll have you however, arfing or not.”

She giggled, shaking Her head. 

It was resting back on his shoulder.

He’s not allowed to think about it.

“That’s not funny.”

“You laughed.”

“I’m tired-“

“And I’m trying to get you to bed.” Dean started Baby’s engine, and She let out a soft hum. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, Princess. Let’s get you some rest.” 

She didn’t fight it. When Dean pulled Her out of the car, she slumped into his side. He got to all but carry Her up the stairs, and help her back into bed, before crawling in right beside Her. And that was more than anyone else got.

It would have to be enough. For Her to let Dean touch Her at all, when she’d seen what he’d done. For Her to listen to him at all, and agree to go on the case, when all She’d have to say was no, Dean, and he’d drop it. He’d suck it up and deal with Ruby for another week, forcing himself not to grab his phone and call Her every ten minutes. 

But She’d agree. 

She was going on the case. Dean wouldn’t have to deal with Ruby, and—more importantly—he’d get to see Her. All week. In the rearview mirror on the car ride and on the other side of his motel bed, across from him in the diner and next to him at the bar. 

“It’s good we know this is a seal going in.” Sam said, watching Her draw on a paper napkin. 

She’d been doing that a lot, lately. In Enochian, without bothering to tell Sam and Dean what she was doing.

Dean really wasn’t sure how he’d ask. The best he could offer himself was pressing right into Her side and staring over Her shoulder, only half listening as Sam tried to talk about the case.

In his defense, none of them were really paying attention. Dean was staring at Her, She was focused on her napkin, and Sammy kept getting distracted by a redhead making fuck-me eyes at him. Then he’d make the eyes back, before coughing and trying to continue the conversation whenever Dean glanced over and caught him.

She paused, glancing up with a small frown. “Do you usually not know?”

“Sometimes Cas drops in and gives us a heads up,” Dean leaned a little further forward. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He wasn’t magic, and he definitely couldn’t speak angel. “Told us that heaven knows Lilith’s making moves in Florida, and whatever she’s starting, we need to squash.”

She gave Dean an amused look. “Cas did not say making moves.”

“You can’t prove that, sweetheart.” Dean winked at Her, and Sam cleared his throat. 

“We also know what she’s doing-“

“What moves she’s making-“

“Shut up, Dean. A lot of couples have been murdered at the resort we’re headed to.” Sam wrinkled his nose. “Like, a lot. Too many to be normal.”

She hummed, looking back to Her paper. “How many is a lot?”

“Eight.”

“That’s not a lot.”

Sam frowned at Her. “What number would be a lot?”

“I dunno. Fifteen?” 

“That is not a-“

“Yes, it is.” She looked up to Dean. “Fifteen’s a lot, right Deano?”

Sam scoffed. “You can’t ask Dean, he’s just going to agree with you.”

Dean scowled. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are, dude-“

“Well, you’re not giving him a chance to answer, Sam-“

���And I wasn’t going to agree with her-“

She turned to give Dean a pretty, wide-eyed look, and son of a bitch, his cock twitched in his pants. “You weren’t?”

“I- Uh.” Dean coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t really think about it! You and Sam started yelling and shit, I wasn’t really paying attention-“

“Why?” Sam raised his brows, suddenly looking a hell of a lot more smug than earlier. “What were you looking at instead, Dean?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Shut up, Sammy. Go flirt with the redhead who’s been making eyes at you and leave us alone.”

Sam sighed. “We’re in the middle of a case, Dean-“

“Technically the case hasn’t started,” She hummed. “And we get it. Dying couple, resort, Lilith, figure out exactly what the seal is and stop it from being broken. Easy.”

“It’s not easy, and you haven’t even heard the actual plan yet-“

“We’ll go undercover,” She refocused on Her napkin, voice smooth and bored. “We’ll need a patron, a bartender, and a staff member. Optimized access to the facility, a lot of good reasons to talk to people, none of us too out of place for talking to each other.”

Sam frowned. “How would staff and patrons talking not be conspicuous-“

“Staff could be work friends. Patron could be just nosing their way into the conversation. As long as we’re careful, it’ll be fine. The patron will have to stay in their room, to keep appearances, but I doubt Lilith is wire-tapping phones.”

Sam’s mouth opened and closed, and he finally gave in with a sigh. It was a good plan. Of course it was. It was Her plan.

Dean let that show all over his face, as he shot Sammy a smug look. They hadn’t even gotten to the seal yet, and his girl was already killing it. Ruby would’ve talked about sneaking around and breaking in and other stupid shit. She was smarter than that. 

“Go flirt with the redhead, Sam.” She didn’t look up from Her napkin, and Sam sighed.

“I’m not- It’s almost valentine’s day, guys, I’m not trying to be. You know. The guy.”

She looked up. “The guy? What’s the guy?”

“You- Dean knows. He’s been the guy-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted. “Shut it. Go flirt.”

She shook Her head, frowning between them. “I- Sam, what’s the guy-“

“It’s a dude thing.” Dean snapped, and She scoffed.

“I thought we were breaking gender barriers, Winchester. You did me and Jo’s girl things-“

Sam grinned. “What girl things?”

“Nothing. Both of you, shut the fuck up. Sam,” Dean pointed firmly at the red-head with the fuck-me eyes. “Flirt. And you,” Dean turned his glower down to Her, and she covered his mouth with a hand.

That shouldn’t have been as effective as it was. Dean was suddenly too consumed by Her hand—warm and soft and over his mouth—to keep protesting.

“Sam, what’s the guy.”

At least Dean got an apologetic look first. “It’s, uh- The valentine’s day bar guy. Who sleeps with lonely women, because he knows that’s all they want. And,” Sam was still talking. Why the hell was Sam still talking. “Dean hasn’t been that guy in a long time, I promise, I was just making fun of him.”

“Oh.” Dean couldn’t read the expression on Her face. “Okay. Go.”

Sam frowned. “Go-“

“Redhead, Sam.” Her hand dropped from Dean’s mouth. He wanted it to come back. He could kiss Her knuckles, then pin her arms over her head and-

Dean could not get another boner in public, just from thinking about Her. He needed to pull it together.

“But, uh-“ Sam was still protesting, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not-“

“Maybe she’ll be your soulmate or something.” She shrugged, looking back to the napkin. Dean couldn’t read that tone either. “Go.”

“I, I haven’t done that,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down the bar. “In a while. What if-“

“You’ve got this, Buddy.” She gave Sam a thumbs up, and Her voice was bubbly. Dean’s never heard Her be bubbly before. “Go.”

Sam nodded slowly, scooted out of his chair, and the moment Sam was out of earshot, she sighed and rolled Her eyes at Dean.

“Thank god. I could like, fucking feel her.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

“The redhead.” She nodded to where Sam had disappeared in the crowd, Her attention back on the napkin. “She’s been staring at him all night, and god, she’s horny, Dean. It’s like, all over the table.”

She wasn’t tired. She’d actually slept really well last night. And She still didn’t drink, so Dean didn’t need to be worried about that.

He still didn’t have a clue what She was talking about.

“What.”

She sighed, looking up to Dean. He couldn’t breathe. “Her soul. When someone want companionship, they put out like, pheromones. Kind of. It’s hard to explain when you can’t see them.”

“Oh.” Dean paused, then tensed as it hit him. She could tell when people were horny.

Dean was horny all the fucking time.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Are you-“

“Yeah, Princess I’m-“ He swallowed. “Can you just like, see it? When people are, uh. Lookin’ for action?”

“No. It’s, like- It’s not a smell, but it’s not not a smell, and they’re kinda like tentacles-“ 

“Tentacles-“

“No, but yes, and-“ She sighed, shaking Her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain it-“

“Hey,” Dean grabbed Her hand before he could second think it, and Her lips parted. Hitched breath. 

Shit.

“You’re fine.” He muttered. “I was just wondering. Don’t hurt yourself, Princess.”

She nodded slowly, still staring at him, and Dean could feel the heat on his face. This was getting too close to something that might cause The Conversation. Dean was not ready for The Conversation.

“Uh, since when can you see that shit?”

She let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know. Being around people is doing… A lot.” She frowned at the napkin. “It’s kind of messy.”

“Messy-“

“Colorful.”

Dean nodded slowly. He didn’t really fucking understand—with Her, he never did—but he knew what mattered. “It’s it too much?” He tried to keep his voice soft, and he was rewarded with a small nod. 

“Too much.”

“Alright.” Dean pushed off his stool, moving his hand to Her lower back. “Let’s go. We’ll pick up Sammy in the morning.”

She blinked at him in adorable confusion. “Dean-“

“C’mon, we’re going back to the motel.” Dean smirked over at where the redhead was half in Sam lap. “Think we’re done here anyway.”

Dean was certainly done here. He was done anywhere that would make Her curl up into Herself, and there was nothing else for him to do—in this bar or anywhere in the world—but care for Her. 

Sammy seemed happy with his fuck-me-eyes redhead, but Dean was going to have to punch him later for bringing up how Dean used to be one of those guys. It didn’t matter that he had been. Dean had—very purposefully, for a long time—been one of those guys, and he’d been pretty fucking good at it. He wasn’t such a fucking asshole to deny that he had very much thrived on being one of those guys. It had kept him satiated in the dark, the brief touches and lies of permanence and possession. It may have been an artificial light—leaving him hungrier and lonelier than before, once the effects wore off—bur it had worked. He’d done it. And he wouldn’t take it back, because the pit might have swallowed him otherwise. 

But Dean wasn’t one of those guys now.

He really hadn’t been for a while. He hadn’t been that guy on Valentine’s day, but he also hadn’t been that guy at random bars, or the roadhouse, or on the cases. And he didn’t know when it had stopped all together-

That was a fucking lie. 

He knew exactly when it stopped.

It was sooner than he’d ever admit to anyone. It wasn’t after he got back from hell, or he found out about Her magic stuff, or when she learned about the deal and stayed. It wasn’t even when he’d started sharing Her bed.

She’d settled into the backseat of his car like She belonged there, decided to stay for the first time after those witches in Utah—when they’d been looking for Jo and found Her—and Dean had been done with bars and fuck-me eyes. Done with artificial light to keep him from falling into the pit.

And She’d told him about photosynthesis, a while ago. He didn’t know how the hell that had worked itself into a conversation, but She said it’s how plants eat, Deano. They absorb the sunlight and turn it into energy. 

Dean might be a plant. 

She might be the sun. 

And he couldn’t go back to artificial light if he tried.

He did still make fuck-me eyes, though. As he stood alone in the shower—Her long asleep in their bed—Dean could admit he made fuck-me eyes a lot. At Her.

She never seemed to see them, though. Even when they’d been obvious, and he’d been so fucking worried he’d been caught, nothing on Her features had ever shifted. 

Other people made fuck-me eyes at Her, as well. They have to be insane and blind and stupid not to. Everyone should want Her. Dean just didn’t want anyone else to have Her. Not like that. Not less than She deserved, without complete fucking devotion and a feral kind of feeling in their bodies Dean knew he had. And he wouldn’t have any logical reason to stop Her if she took up their offers—he could try no, I’m yours, take me instead, but he didn’t think it would work—and he’d gotten really good at not destroying himself about the idea, because She never did.

Dean had never seen Her fuck-me eyes, now that he thought about it. Not where he could see. 

But he knew She did give him the fluttering, blinding wouldn’t it be good to die for me eyes. 

She might not know she does that.

She can’t know the way that just picturing them is making him so hard it’s a little painful. Just like She can’t know that, before he crawled into bed at Her side, he’d beat his cock into his hands until he came with a groan of Her name.

Dean shouldn’t have kissed Her. 

The knowledge of how She tasted, felt, sounded—gasping his name like She wanted him—was making his decade long practice of best friend, don’t think about Her like that in the daylight, because you don’t deserve it and could never have it a little fucking impossible.

But he was hiding it well.

Dean was pretty fucking sure he was hiding it well.

“There’s no fucking way she’s being the patron, Sammy.” 

She glared at him in the rearview mirror, and Sam looked really fucking amused and pleased for a guy that had stumbled back twenty minture late without underpants.

Dean would’ve ever been proud of him—if he had to be stuck in the orbit of some sort of fucking Goddess he couldn’t touch, at least Sammy was getting some—if he hadn’t just suggested something fucking insane. 

“I can be the patron.” She snapped, Her eyes narrowing. “I’d be a great fucking patron. I can wear a swimsuit, and order stupid drinks, and- and I can act ditzy! And sit on the beach!”

Son of a bitch, She was adorable. Glaring at Dean, mumbling about how She could be ditzy—ditzy people didn’t use the word ditzy—and completely fucking missing the point. Dean knew She’d be a good patron. Between the three of them, She’d be the best patron. She already looked the better and fancier than everyone else part, all the time. She already carried Herself like an angel fallen to Earth—better, actually, because the angels tended to walk all stiff and angry—and She already spoke like if She told the ocean to stay at low tide forever, it would. She’d just need to lose all the softer light in Her eyes and blinding smile that told people She was crafted only from good things, to stop using Her manners, and be a whole lot less adorable and caring, and they’d have their perfect patron.

But Dean was, once again, a selfish piece of shit. 

The patron would have to sleep in the resort. Alone.

Away from the other two.

She’d have to sleep away from Dean.

“I’m not worried about your talents, Princess.” He muttered. “Sammy’ll be a good patron, I can tend bar, and you can be staff.”

Sam raised his hand. “I’m not going to be a good patron. There are like, different forks I’ll have to use, and I never learned those-“

“I did!” She leaned forward, almost propping Her chin on Dean’s should. It wasn’t helping. “I took etiquette lessons until, um- Well, until I made all the cups explode because I needed to pee and no one would let me, but I remember all the forks!”

God fucking damnit. Of course She knew all the forks. “You’re not going to a gala, Sammy. You don’t need to know about the forks.”

Dean’s grip on Baby’s wheel was white, and his last plea for this to end in his favor failed.

He lost the argument. Sam wasn’t comfortable trying to act all fancy,  She had what Sam called a sort of scary pretty face that important people have—She’d flushed and mumbled a thanks, but Dean agreed with Sam’s assessment—and Dean wasn’t allowed to just shout that he couldn’t sleep without Her. 

He fucking couldn’t. He didn’t know how anymore. At least not useful sleep, where he woke up alert and rested the next morning.

Sleep where he woke up panting and swinging at the air came just fine without Her. 

It thrived on the lack of Her, actually. It festered and spread over Dean’s skull, when he didn’t know She was across the mattress, safe and sound.

He somehow made it through the first night. The day had been filled with quick set-up—this resort didn’t seem to be run all that well, given how Sam and Dean didn’t even have to lie that hard about why they needed jobs right now—and recon, and it meant Dean collapsed on the bed barely a moment after he and Sammy returned to the motel. 

But then the morning came. And Dean turned to look and check that She was there and peaceful, because he did that every morning, only to find Her missing. 

He panicked.

Sam said he panicked.

Dean didn’t really remember it at all. There was a blur of ripping up the motel room and grabbing his gun, Alistair’s voice muttering in his ear that he’d find her, Dean’s lovely little Princess, and make Her beg for death ringing in his ears. It didn’t help that all he could really see was an image of Her from Texas, with ragged hair and hollow features and dark stain on Her stomach, red markings imprinted on Her wrists and a skeletal expression on Her face that made Dean want to dice and carve whoever the hell had done that to Her. 

He couldn’t scrape that image from behind his eyes. Sammy had brought him down—reminding him that She was fine, and at the resort, and had literally texted Dean twenty minutes before he woke up that she was going to try and sneak him some good coffee—but he couldn’t fucking relax because all he could see was Her. In pain.

When She’d needed Dean, and he hadn’t been there.

The day was long. Sam stopped by on his breaks, saying that he’d been looking for signs of demons everywhere but found nothing, and She gave by at random points through the day, giving Dean a bright smile from across the bar and making something to the right of his heart fucking howl. 

“Sam slipped me all the vics reservation records.” She said, eyes focused on Her little paper umbrella as Dean cleaned a glass. “And he says he can’t find any demons.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I heard. You seeing anything?”

“Nothing.”

Dean risked a glance over. Her lip was between Her teeth.

He had to rip his gaze back away.

“We looked at the files last night.” He muttered, trying to pretend he didn’t want to grab Her over the bar and kiss Her until she moaned his name. “None of them had the same last name. Not married couples.”

She paused. “That’s- huh. I was eavesdropping-“

Dean couldn’t stop himself from shooting Her a grin. “That’s pretty freakin’ rude, Princess-“

“Shut up. There were these two old ladies, and they were saying one of those poor girls had such a bright future, too. They mentioned finding the ring on the beach, and, you know, how big and shiny it was.” 

Dean frowned. “The ring?”

“Yep. So not married, but-“

“Engaged.” He muttered, glaring down at his well-polished glass. “Shit, I’ll pass it to Sammy later.”

She nodded, and was gone before Dean could say anything else. . 

Night fell, Dean left Her at the resort, and the nightmares were back in full fucking force. 

This time She was sitting on the edge of the bed in Boston, Dean rose up to kiss Her, and she turned into ugly mold and dirty water, seeping into the bed, then down, down, down into the floor. Vanishing like She’d never been there at all.

That one was going to be reoccurring. Dean had been getting a lot of new nightmares lately, and he’d gotten really good at telling which ones were going to haunt him for a long, long time. 

It kept going like that for a few days. Valentine’s Day itself was creeping up, and they hadn’t found any evidence that it was itself important to the seal, but they hadn’t really found any evidence at all. 

Sammy still hadn’t found any demons, but he had heard rumors from the other staff that some of the girls had been see cheating, hours before their deaths. And after She heard similar rumors, they decided to focus their energy there.

“Maybe it’s like…” Sam had trailed off at the motel table that night, frowning at his laptop. “The seal opens if enough girls cheat on their partners.”

Dean scowled, turning his beer bottle between his hands. She’d smiled at him today, and Her lips had looked glossy, and he couldn’t tell if his head was fuzzy from want or drinking. “That doesn’t make sense, Sammy.”

“No.” Sam had sighed. “It doesn’t.”

Dean’s next nightmare was another frequent flyer. One where Azazel flayed Her and Bobby alive, and but it kept flicking between Azazel and Dad, then it ended with Her broken body in Dean’s hands and Azazel-Dad telling him that it was for his own good.

They still had fucking nothing.

Dean’s job sucked. They found another set of bodies, but he was stuck behind the bar. He had chicks making the fuck-me-eyes at him, but whenever She’d stop by for their briefings, She barely met his gaze. 

It was for their cover. In case something was watching that even Her magic shit couldn’t detect. 

It still made his stupid heart whine. 

And at least Dean got to see Her. Got to chance quick, assessing scans over Her body, just to make sure She was still okay. There was no dried blood on Her lips or caking her nails, and no scratch marks visible on Her arms. Her wrists looked a little odd, but that might be sunburn, or chafing. She was wearing Her jacket, which meant she had Her knife.

It also meant he needed to be worried about Her getting heatstroke.

“You need some ice, sweetheart?” It was an acceptable thing to ask. Sometimes Shirley temples needed ice, and Dean was a bartender.

“No, thank you. If I eat ice, my fingers will get cold. And I won’t be able to hold my pencil.” She gave him a small, pretty smile under Her fluttering lashes. “Thank you, though.”

He couldn’t help himself. “You already thanked me, Princess.”

“Eat my fucking balls.”

Dean had to cough to cover his snort. 

At least he got to hear Her voice in something other than a fantasy or nightmare. 

“I got confirmation about the cheating.” She continued like nothing had happened, although it felt a little more like she was telling Her napkin rather than Dean. “I talked to a woman who was friends with one of the vics, and apparently she’d been talking about leaving her fiancée for some random new guy.”

Dean frowned. He’d been doing that a lot this week. “And this lady is still on her vacation?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging on Her lips. “Get your money’s worth, I guess.”

That was all he was getting, it seemed. Maybe all She had.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh-“

“Text me.” She gave Dean a soft, dark smile that made his knees weak, and slid Her napkin across the counter. 

Those weren’t Her fuck-me eyes. They were a cover, so She could tell him not now, call me later. The napkin didn’t even have one of Her burner phone numbers. It was just a bunch of Enochian, with one specific word-thing repeated over and over.

That night, Dean had one of the older nightmares. A green demon grabbing Her, driving it’s knife right into Her stomach, and Dean unable to move or do anything as She bled out on the motel floor. Then Bobby would burst through the door shouting things that Dean couldn’t hear, but still hurt, before pulling out his shotgun, aiming it at Dean’s head and never pulling the trigger.

The nightmare never ended with Bobby pulling the trigger. Usually they’d just stare at each other for a long time, and Dean would see all his own pain and devastation from Her loss reflected on Bobby’s face, and then—after an eternity—he’d wake up. 

And he’d been right.

Dean made the mistake of falling back asleep after hour, and the kiss-death nightmare returned.

This day was the slowest yet. Dean hadn’t seen Sam since they split up this morning, and he hadn’t seen Her all day. He’d been doing nothing but turning over the case in his head, and he didn’t even have anyone to tell his ideas.

He missed Her. He didn’t know how he was going to go another fucking night without Her, he didn’t know how he’d ever gone a night without Her, no wonder Bobby had told him he looked like shit every single day She’d been gone, he wasn’t fucking sleeping-

“Hey.” She dropped onto the stool across from him, almost conjured—maybe they should revisit that angels thing, because what Dean had been doing did feel a little too close to prayer—and Her hair falling over her eyes. “Anything?”

Her voice was a little shaky, but the bar was loud, so Dean pressed on. “Yeah, uh- I was thinking about how they’ve all been cheaters, right? But it’s only been the chicks.”

“That’s… right.” She paused. She still wouldn’t look Dean in the eyes. “Shit.”

“Yeah, and you know the girl that died second day we were here?” He picked up a new glass. He’d gotten better at pretending to be busy. “All her friends were gossiping about stuff, and one of them said that it was real sad she died a virgin.”

She sat up at that. He had Her attention. “What?”

Her voice was definitely shaky. And a little smaller.

Dean would ask Her about it after. “And you told Sam that those ladies said they couldn’t believe the other mister and missus corpse waited so long, and we thought they were taking about like, engagement-“

“But they were talking about sex.” She muttered. “Fuck.”

“Is that, uh, that’s a good fuck, right?”

“Dean.” She whispered, and he wished She would fucking look at him. “I know what we’re hunting. Fuck, it’s, one shouldn’t even be here but maybe that’s the seal, maybe she gamed it and there aren’t any demons or angels because- but I’ve been- Fuck-“

Dean grunted Her name, throwing cover out the window. “Breathe. You’re fine, you’ve got it, and we’ll gank it and go home-“

“No, Dean, it’s-“ She had started to shake Her head, the movement almost frantic, and She was rubbing her wrists like she was trying to scrub something away. “Fuck- It’s a Pink Boto- I should’ve known, they lure in young women and seduce them, then kill their- Fuck-“

This was getting away from them too fast. Dean damned it further, and grabbed Her face between his hands over the bar. She stopped shaking Her head. Her breathing didn’t slow. “Listen, you’re gonna be fine-“

“I can’t remember, Dean, I- Fuck- I don’t know what to do- I need to know what to do- Why can’t I fucking-“

“Cause you’re tired, Sweetheart, we’re all tired-“

“But I- No-“

“Hey.” Dean made his tone firm, and She froze. “Look at me, Princess. Please.”

She slowly glanced up, and Her eyes were a little glossy. Puffed. Red.

She’d been crying. 

Dean moved faster than he thought.

He tangled his fingers in Her’s, abandoned the bar—it was a shitty bar anyway, and all their whiskey that Dean wasn’t supposed to be drinking tasted like piss—and pulled Her into a small backroom he’d found on one of his breaks. 

“What happened.” He grabbed Her face between his hands, trying to gently angle it so he could find the damage. It was probably on Her body. “Where’s- Shit, I didn’t grab the rubbing alcohol- Stay here and keep it elevated-“

“No- Dean-“ She grabbed his arm before he could move out of the closet, Her eyes wide. “I’m not hurt. It’s just-“ She let out a long, slow breath, and Dean’s heart might have stilled in his chest. “It’s been a long day.”

He nodded slowly. “You gonna tell me about it?”

“I- I can’t.” She whispered. “It’s not that bad, Dean, it’s stupid- I shouldn’t have even, and Sam-“

Dean’s jaw clenched. Sam wouldn’t hurt Her. Even if they lived in a world where Sam didn’t like Her—which he did, the kid fucking adored Her—he cared about Dean too much to hurt Her. They might be fighting about Ruby and the seals, but Sammy was his brother and wouldn’t fucking hurt the only person Dean-

“Sam was trying to help.” She sniffed, and Dean’s fists relaxed. Of course he was. That was good. “But I- Dean, I’m so tired-“

“I know. ” He muttered, letting his hands move back up to frame Her face. “We’re almost done, sweetheart. Then we’ll go home.”

And it was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. They weren’t going to be done. Even if they stopped this seal, there were more. Lilith didn’t seem like the type to roll over and go quietly, and Ruby was still a fucking problem, and She was still something the angels were hunting for insane and cryptic reasons.

Dean hadn’t forgotten what Cas told them. 

Her existence heralded danger. Change. Something big, that they’d have to deal with after this.

But they’d deal with it, and She’d still be here.

And Dean would stay at Her side, all the way down. Her shadow however She wanted it, running his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until She relaxed into his arms. 

“It’ll be okay, Princess.” Dean muttered, and for Her, he’d believe it. 

Even though they had to pull apart, and separate once more. At least they had a name. A better idea of what they were dealing with, so this fight could be done.

But this nightmare was the worst one yet. It was another new one, and Dean didn’t even know what was happening for most of it. There was just a lot of noise, a big crowd, and everything was so fucking colorful. It was like a hurricane, and he was screaming Her name but he couldn’t find Her. She screamed back, but it always echoed around and Dean couldn’t figure out where She was, where did She go, She needed him but he couldn’t find Her-

He burst onto an invisible edge, and started to fall.

Everything was big. Too big. Dean could see a whole lot of the sky, and not much else, and son of a bitch it felt like something was watching him, but She still wasn’t there-

Dean woke up in another cold sweat, and She wasn’t there. 

His phone found it’s away into his hand, and he couldn’t stop staring at the little letters of Her name, a promise on his screen. She was just on the other side of a button. 

It would be dangerous to call Her. Dean couldn’t call Her. He couldn’t risk it.  

He couldn’t take another night of this, and they were always safer together, but the case-

Dean nearly chucked his phone into the wall when it started to buzz. 

It was a good thing he didn’t.

Because She’d called him first.

He’d have to have lost his mind to not answer

“Dean?” Her voice was soft over the phone, and he muttered Her name in response.

“Are you-“

“I’m okay. I, um- Can you…” She trailed off, and for a moment it was only static through the phone. 

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk for me-“

“I don’t want to- This room is really big.”

Dean froze, shooting a quick look over to Sammy. Dead asleep and comfortable. “It is, huh?”

“Yes.” She whispered. “There’s- I have a minibar. It has the chocolate you like. If you’re hungry.” 

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean grinned into the dark. “Parking lot?”

She hummed, Her voice still so soft. “Thank you, De.” 

“I know.”

“Say you’re welcome.”

“Bossy-“

“Dean-“

Dean bit down his snort as he pulled on his shoes. “I’m not saying it. I’m not doing this for the thanks,” He drawled Her name, and he could almost hear Her frown.

“Then what-“

“I’m doing it for you.” Dean didn’t let Her respond. He’d said it for himself, and so She’d know. All She needed to do for him was know. “See you soon.”

They didn’t talk about it, when She grabbed his hand in the parking lot and pulled him into the resort hotel. They didn’t speak at all in the elevator, when She wrapped her arms around his body and pressed Her face to his chest. And when Dean moved Her into bed, dropped on the impossibly soft mattress at Her side, he let out a groan that made Her smile.

He could see it in the dark. 

Same as he could see Her crawl slowly over to his side, drape Herself cautiously over his body, and settle down like the fanciest, smartest, hottest cat in the world.

Dean could be Her shadow like this. Holding Her through the night without a word, drowning in the smell of fruit, and sleeping easy because She was there. With him. 

They never had to talk about it. 

As long as She was with Dean, he could make it into enough.

——————

It’s been a weird week.

You might not have been fully yours for half of it. You’ve been the anxiety of all the guns in Bobby’s house, and the exhaustion of all the roads and bridges you drove over, and the heaviness of the ocean right out your window. The Silver is growing and infecting everything, and you can’t control when it decides to want to become the whole fucking universe, or when it slams back into your body.  For almost every waking moment you’ve been suffocating in it, the fear that it will hurt something and the terror that—as you rub your wrists and try to just focus the Silver, even without pain—something will hurt you.

You really haven’t been yours at all. All the time.

Almost all the time.

You’ve been yours with Dean.

In the Impala at midnight, bumping his knee and shooting you small grins across diner tables, all but carrying you out of the bar when you get exhausted and your brain starts to get fuzzy. Whenever he’s slept next to you in bed, even if he wasn’t touching you.

And you get that.

You wouldn’t touch you either.

It doesn’t matter how much you want Dean to touch you. How you can’t stop thinking about his lips against yours, about how he tasted a little like coffee and the apple you’d made him eat that morning, but he mostly just tasted like Dean. Salt and spice, sort of earthy, and Dean.

He’d been warm above you. You remember him being so fucking warm and safe above you, and he had touched you like he wanted you—with a lot of rough hands on your skin and soft groans and all his weight pressed over you—but he hasn’t touched you since. Not like that. His hand still rests on your lower back when he guides you around, and sometimes you’ll wake up with his fingers tracing over your stomach like he’s worried your long-gone stitches are going to rip, but he hasn’t touched you.

But it really doesn’t fucking matter how much you want to tackle him and kiss him until you’re both just sunken down to the floor, you can’t.

Rule one is this isn’t about you. Kissing Dean would be about you, not him. Rule two is you can’t overindulge. He thought you were dying, and he kissed you, and you didn’t break anything because Dean kissed you, but you’re not allowed to grab that and run with it. He hasn’t kissed you since, and you’re not allowed to kiss him, so now you’re here.

Loving him. Silently.

And fucking hating this stupid fucking case that’s going to make you fucking stab someone.

You shouldn’t have let Dean talk you into this. But you’d missed him, whenever he and Sam went off on a case without you and you were stuck at home. And it’s not about you if Dean asked you to come.

Plus, you were getting what Bobby called hunter fever.

“That’s not a thing.” You’d muttered when he’d brought it up, and he’d scoffed.

“I ain’t just makin’ it up for shits and giggles, kiddo. It’s real and you’ve got it.”

“I feel fine-“

“No, you fuckin’ don’t.” Bobby had given you a flat look. “You been runnin’ around like a headless dog all week-“

“That’s not the saying.”

Bobby had ignored your mumble, pushing on with narrowed eyes. “You’ve started readin’ on the floor again. You only do that when you’re losin’ your damn mind.“

“I am not losing my mind.” You’d snapped. “I’m trying to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now that we know. What if I start the end of the fucking world? What if my thing is like, the sun explodes, or the moon decides it want to be part of earth again, or- Fuck, what if I kill God-“

“God ain’t real,” Bobby had said your name firmly, dropping down at your side. “And if he is, you’re not killin’ him.”

“But Cas said that Lilith was a Magdalene, and she started demons, and- shit, what if I start something worse than demons? What if I start super-demons?”

Bobby had sighed. “You ain’t gonna start super-demons. We don’t know what your thing is gonna be, but we’ll work it out when it gets here-“

“But what if it’s really bad.” You’d whispered. “He called me the Magdalene. That- I don’t know what that means-“

“I don’t either. And it sounds like Cas don’t have that big a clue either.” Bobby had run a hand over his face, letting out a long breath. “You’re not helpin’ anything by worrying about it. Or doin’ this.”

He’d tapped the papers scattered over the table, all covered in Enochian, and you’d swallowed.  

Some of it was just the soul exercise. Trying to map out Bobby’s soul, watching Sam and Dean when they were home and trying to figure out what the hell they were made of. A lot of it was new rituals or attempts to figure out who other Magdalene witches could’ve been—Cas had made it sound like they could be born anywhere in the world, which really didn’t narrow down anything—and an embarrassing amount of it was just trying to figure out how to write Dean’s name. 

Your excuse was that writing something on purpose would help you distinguish Enochian in your head. 

The real reason was that you loved him, and needed at way to show it where no one else could see. 

“When was the last time you went this long without a hunt.” Bobby’s voice had been soft. Cautious. 

And you’d sighed. “I’ve never gone this long. You know that.”

“Hunter fever. You’re gettin’ sick of being still and not doin’ shit, and it’s makin’ all this,” Bobby had tapped one of the notes. “Worse.”

“That’s so fucking stupid.”

“Hey,” Bobby had given you a glare, the expression massively undercut by the small smile he was failing to fight. “Don’t be rude, kiddo. Raised you better than that.”

“No you didn’t-“

“Tried to.” He’d shrugged, moving back to his feet. “Not my fault it didn’t take.”

You’d rolled your eyes, glanced down at your chewed up pencil—another new habit, because apparently if you couldn’t bite yourself you had to bite something—and you might have had hunter fever. Between the notes, and the restless itch. settling over your bones, sinking deep and deeper every second, it makes sense. You’ve always been moving until the pain made you drop. Now you can’t move, and goddamnit Bobby really was right.

Hunter fever. 

That was a stupid name. You’d told Bobby that, and he’d said that if you come up with a better one he’s all ears, but until then he invented it, so he gets naming rights. 

And the hunter fever had only gotten worse, the longer Sam and Dean were on that case. You’d gone to the library and checked out so many history books you’d had to make two trips to get them all in the Firebird. You’ve been watching so many documentaries that Bobby set a three per day rule, and started making you stop between them so you remembered to eat and use the bathroom. You’ve run out of paper to write on, so you’ve switched to pen and started drawing on yourself. It pricks your skin, but it’s better than carving with your knife or nails when the Silver gets set off by nothing and you can’t reign it back in. 

And you’ve started to keep track of all the times Dean could’ve kissed you and didn’t. 

Every night in the Impala. Whenever he’s been a little drunk and you’ve helped him to bed, letting him hang around your body before pouring the rest of his beer down the toilet. When he’s grinned up at you from the couch, and any time he’s called you Princess, and every waking second where you’re in the same room, and he could grab you and do whatever the hell he wanted to you, and you’d be fine with it because it’s Dean.

It’s most likely for the best that he doesn’t. For so many reasons. You’re dangerous. You’re a Magdalene, and knowing is better than not knowing, but you still don’t fucking know a lot. You’re not exactly stable, and neither is Dean, but letting yourself crash into him isn’t going to make him more stable. It would only make the Spiderweb glow, and fully consume you with Gold, and this isn’t about you. It can’t be about you.

And only a few days before you left for Florida—when Dean was still gone and your room was colder and lonelier—Cas appeared in the middle of your room, the only warning of a glowing sigil on the wall.

He’d said your name with a deep, serious tone, and you’d sighed.

“Hi, Cas.”

“You told me we needed to speak again. About my timing.” He glanced around your room, a small frown pulling at his features. “I am here to do that.”

“I don’t care about your timing.” You’d sighed, moving to lie flat on your back. “That was a cover.”

“A cover over what?”

“Over why I needed to talk to you. It’s a phrase.”

“Oh.” You’d craned your neck up, and Cas blinked at you. “What talk are we covering?”

You’d rubbed at your wrists, lying back down. “Can you sit, please?”

“This body can sit, yes-“ Cas had cut himself off, and you’d let him work through that one himself. “You are… asking me to sit.”

“Yep.”

“I do not need to-“

“Cas. Please.”

You’d expected more resistance. Instead he’d just dropped awkwardly at your side, shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress. “This is... better. Thank you.”

You’d hummed an acknowledgment, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me.”

“I cannot promise-“

“You have to.” You hadn’t cared if he could hear the desperation in your tone. “Please.”

Cas had paused for a long moment that was tight over your lungs, then sighed. “Alright.”

He’d folded with such little resistance, again.

That didn’t really feel like a good sign.

“Thanks.” You’d mumbled. “Ready?”

You glanced over to see him staring at you, giving a small nod, and you’d taken a long breath.

“You said I could be what you’ve been waiting for.” You’d muttered, running your thumb over your palm as you spoke. “What does that mean.”

Cas had been silent for a long second, only staring, and you’d briefly wondered if this was what it felt like for everyone else, when you’d look at them and see their souls.

It was a little unnerving. 

“When I said that.” He starts, his words slow and measured. “I was not aware of what you were. However, I am… not sure that matters.”

You’d frowned. “What, that I’m a Magdalene? I thought that was the whole thing-“

“You are the Magdalene.” Cas had corrected. “But that is not the… reason, I guess. I was not considering that, when we spoke before.”

“So am I not whatever you’ve been waiting for?”

“No.”

“No, I’m not, or-“

“You are.”

You’d sighed, pushing up on your palms to fully meet his gaze. “Cas. What have you been waiting for.”

“God.”

Maybe you should’ve had a bigger reaction to that. Cas must have noticed the complete neutrality on your face. But even in the safety of your room, where the Sky couldn’t see you, you’d still been able to feel it. The Silver had started to seep out, and you had been the fear of the vines on Bobby’s house, and they had felt the Sky watching them.

So you’d just swallowed, and taken a long, slow breath.

Why not. Between angels and Dean rising from the dead and the Sky, why not have God be a fun, new problem too. 

“There will be consequences. For you being the Magdalene. And I do not think even my superiors fully understand them.” Cas paused, holding your gaze. “From what I have found, you have long been thought to be a lie. A sort of… myth, is what you might call it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about how my kind aren’t real-“

Cas had shaken his head. “Not the Magdalenes. You.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed, and Cas had sighed.

“That is what I meant, before. It is not the Magdalene in you. It is you.” He’d said your name, still watching you so carefully. “There is something… holy.”

You’d blinked at him. “About me?”

Cas had nodded. “It is more than an angel grace. Or a soul. I have only seen it once, a long, long time ago.”

You’d had a pretty good sense of where this was going, and you really hadn’t wanted to hear it, but you were so tired of not knowing. Of only ever having more questions. “Where did you see it?”

“The only time I met my father.” Cas had muttered, frowning down at you, and maybe he’d been able to see it then. In the dark of your bedroom, at midnight, there was an impossibly high chance that Cas looked at you and saw something holy. 

That was more terrifying than anything in the world.

You aren’t holy. You’re barely more than a monster. You’re sick and in pain and exhausted, and you don’t know what looking at you and seeing holy means, but you know it can’t be good.

Nothing you ever do leads to something good. 

Dean will never get to know it, but you’re starting to think John really should’ve saved everyone a whole lot of trouble and put a bullet in your brain. You’re making everything harder. You’re not good for anything but hunting, and you can’t even really do that anymore. You’re going to hurt or break or infect something, because that’s what you do, and just because the Darkness is gone doesn’t mean you’re cured. If anything it means you’ve evolved, like a pathogen or bacteria, and now you can press further and further into the world without resistance. 

You’re not good for Dean. John was right about that, too. You just take from him—his time and sleep and attention—and you’re not going to leave because you promised, but one day Dean’s going to find someone better for him, who never makes him yell or cry or worry, and they’re going to demand you’ll leave.

It’s another reason you fucking hate this case. It’s full of sweet, pretty women with no scars and toothy smiles, humming syrupy words to Dean, right in-front of you.

And they have no way of knowing that you even know Dean. And he doesn’t even look at them. 

But one day he will. 

Then you’ll have to live with that. 

For now you can cling to how Dean brushes off the better women in favor of giving you small, cocky grins. You can feel the bright, colorful rush of the Spiderweb glowing under his attention. You’re addicted to it. 

And God, it’s going to kill you when he finds the woman that makes you leave. Who makes Dean happy, but gets uncomfortable about the weird freak who keeps following him around like they don’t know what else to do—you don’t—and then you’ll have to leave, because Dean loves her and not you. 

You already hate her, and it’s not even her fault. She’s not real. She didn’t do anything to you except not be you. You can’t blame her for not having scars littered in odd places across her body, for having the type of softness and experience and ease that Dean deserves. It not her fault she never makes him kill things for her, or forces him to carry her to safety when she loses her mind like some weak fucking problem. 

And she won’t depend on him. Not like you do. She won’t be a parasite or leech that wants to wrap around Dean and drench herself in gold. She’ll be able to sleep without him, because she’ll be kind and normal and stable. She’ll never draw her own blood or vomit from grief, because Dean will settle down in a simple, white-picket life with her and forget all about how he ever even considered wanting you. 

She won’t be a sickness that’s not strong enough to cure itself. She won’t try to get better, just to make everything so much fucking worse. 

Things won’t be complicated with her. She’ll deserve Dean, and all his Gold.

You don’t. You’re not even close to deserving Dean. He never fucking falters, even under all the crushing weight of everything. All the blood on his hands he had to shed, and every worse thing he’s done was because he had to. 

Dean was pushed into everything. It wasn’t his fault that John made him hunt. He made that deal to save Sam because he’s a good, selfless man. He broke in hell because anyone would’ve broken in hell, and he’d still held on for so fucking long before he gave in, because he was strong.

You’re not.

You’re just like this. 

The first day without him is the worst. You’re alone for most of it, save for when Sam finds you and hands you a towel, the vic records folded into them. He mutters that there’s been no sulfur or temperature drops, and you nod, mumbling an agreement.

You see Dean once. Smiling at a one of those better women from behind the bar.

And his grins goes wide and boyish, the moment he spots you, and it sets off fireworks over the Spiderweb, but you can’t get addicted to that. It’s not going to be permanent. 

But it’s not overindulging if Dean’s grinning at you.

So you smile back.

And that night, you try not to think about it too much. About Sam’s words at the bar, when he’d called Dean one of those guys.

You’d known that. You’ve never been bothered by it. He’s never done it in front of you—where it would’ve ripped you in half—and you’d never had a claim over him that could’ve made him stop. It hadn’t mattered that you’d follow him all the way down, or that you love him, or that there’s a whole part of you that just for Dean. You’d never thought there was even a chance of him wanting you like that until that amazing, stupid fucking kiss, so you’d simply forced yourself not to think about it.

It’s all you can think about now. Dean sliding a woman that’s not you his motel card, telling Sam to find somewhere else to hang out for a while, then kissing her. And she’d kiss him back without any fear or anxiety, because she’d know how. She’d have an idea of what could drive him crazy, and he’d fall on his knees for her with only joy on his pretty face, and then they’d-

This is torture. The whole night is fucking torture, because all you can wallow and sink into it the loneliness, and the reminder that Dean deserves better. Someone who will match him.

Not someone he’ll have to take care of and guide through everything. 

The morning breaks, and you’re not sure you slept at all. 

The second day is worse. You don’t see Dean at all, and there are so many fucking people, everywhere,  all the time. You hadn’t realized how fucking horrible that would be until you were in it. There had been a lot of people, on the lich case with Jo. But the only time they’d all been in one, loud place was the last night, and you’d been more focused on Dean. On keeping him safe and alive. You’d almost tethered yourself to him, because as long as he was there and Golden, there hadn’t really been much else to look at. 

But then you’d spent those weeks between cases letting the Silver grow and grow, letting Dean soothe it into something easy you didn’t want to fight, and it seems to have bloomed. 

You’ve lost control. You can’t remember the world ever being like this in your life—so loud and consuming and overwhelming—and you barely been able to handle it when you were a child, and it was just single colors lined with quickly fading imprints. 

Now it’s so much. You’re a little bit everything all the time and there’s so much. Why is there so fucking much. This is worse than the bar, when souls had simply been loud and amplified by the drinks and emotions. At least there you’d still be able to cling to Dean’s Gold, to breathe in the smell of spice and try not to think about how a whole lot of desire was blaring out from all the souls in the bar, directed to where you and Dean had been sitting.

It was a new trick. It had started after the kiss. You can see souls creeping and drifting out of their bodies, trying to latch onto other people. Trying to sink into them. You’d been able to see the redhead’s hot pink, almost bubblegummy-ness aiming over Sam, and it had been fucking sickening and pungent. Not for Sam—all the parts of him that were still purple had been vibrating from the attention—but for you, and you’d needed to get it away from you. 

And this is so much fucking worse. There are so many people, so many souls, and twining and burning and washing over each other, and you can still smell Dean’s spice when he’s not here, and you’re going fucking insane.

They found another body, that morning. You didn’t see it, but Sam did, and he said it was ugly. Looked like they got beat up by the ocean, and that some of the staff were whispering about how the girl had been seen cheating before her death.

“I’ll ask around.” You mumble, pretending to be busy with the coffee while Sam takes an impossibly long time to grab the trash. “There’s this group of ladies who have been trying to talk me into going to the beach with them, and I think they knew the vic.”

Sam nods. “I’ll pass it onto Dean.”

You swallow, and the Spiderweb whines. “Tell him I say hi.”

Sam gives you an odd look and his mouth opens, but you walk away before he can speak. You don’t want to hear it. You know Dean wants you, at least enough to kiss you once, but he hasn’t kissed you since.

Maybe it was horrible for him. It was perfect for you, but he’s not in love with you, and he probably has a higher standard for good kisses. He’s hasn’t changed since the kiss, but he hasn’t tried to do it again. 

There’s a chance he’s waiting for you to kiss him, to make the scores even. He kisses you once and puts it on the table. You kiss him again and then you get to have him.

You don’t deserve to have him. And you’re not allowed to kiss him first. 

“What about you?” One of the women—the ones you’d told Sam about, with long nails you really wish it would be practical for you to have—says your name, and you blink at her.

They’d already confirmed that the girl had cheated, and you’d mostly been tuning out the rest of the gossip after that. It was too colorful, and thinking about Dean was better than drowning in the vastness of the Silver, so you’d just focused on that.

But now you had to participate. You hadn’t been ready to participate.

“What about me?” You ask, throwing on a small, nervous smile and slipping back into your role. Ditzy. You’d told Dean you’d be ditzy. 

“A man.” A second woman—Monica? You’re pretty sure her name is Monica—grins at you, leaning back in her chair. “You have one?”

Pretty green eyes and soft hair and full lips and Gold- “No.”

“Oh, come on.” The first woman—Halle? That sounds right—rolls her eyes. “You’re so pretty, babe, you’ve gotta have someone, or there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

“I- I don’t-“

“Is it a girl?” Monica whispers, leaning forward. “It’s okay, you can tell us. We’re like, super chill about that.”

You sigh. “It’s not a girl.”

The last girl—Karen, that one’s easy to remember—grins at you. “So there is someone?”

“No, it’s not- It’s complicated-“

Halle scoffs. “If it’s complicated, he’s an idiot.”

You scowl at that. “No, he’s not-“

“Ha!” Karen grins, and this was a mistake. You should’ve just eavesdropped on their conversation like a normal person. “There is someone! What’s his name?”

“I- I’m not-“ You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to find a way out. “It’s really complicated. There’s like, a lot of moving parts, and we’ve known each other a really long time-“

“Awww.” Monica gives you a sweet smile. “Childhood friends? That’s so cute!”

“No- It’s more-“ You choke on the word complicated. “I have to go.”

Halle shakes her head as you stand up. “No, wait, we’re sorry, you’re just cool and we thought there had to be someone-“

She’s still talking. Still apologizing. 

But she grabbed your wrist to stop you from leaving. Right where Ketch had tied you up. Right where the lich grabbed you. 

You can’t breathe. The Silver is bursting and burning through the world because no, no, you’re so tired and it hurts and no-

Something shatters, an impossibly large wave sweeps over half the beach, and the wind picks up, ripping through the air like you’re at the top of a mountain.

The women are shrieking in fear, because this shouldn’t be happening, and you run. Not forever. Just until you’re back in your room, staring at your phone and forcing yourself not to call Dean. 

Half of that had been you. The shattering and wave had been you.

The wind had been the Sky. It had been watching. And the cold had bitten your skin, and it had been more of a warning to you than a defense for you. 

And you’re falling apart. You miss Dean, and it’s worse than when he’d been on a case, and you’d been at Bobby’s. At least you’d been a little useful, there. At least you’d had company, and could think about things that were better women, touching Dean in the dark while you were alone in bed. 

Here, you’re useless. You can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be hunting—which is supposed—to be something you’re good at—because it’s all so loud and colorful and you’re not sleeping, and you miss Dean.

Maybe he’s spending this night with another better woman, again. There are plenty to choose from, this luxury resort filled with people to know how to have something and not infect it. And it’s almost Valentine’s day, so they’ll want company, and anyone—whether they can see the Gold or not—should want Dean. Will want Dean. 

You torture yourself with that for another night. The idea of Dean in bed with someone else, touching someone else, kissing them the same way he’d kissed you, but this time they go further, and then the next day you’ll see that the rivers of silver had been painted over with another color.

Embedded. Cas had said you were embedded in Dean, and that couldn’t go away easy, but what if it does. What if only a gentle, knowing touch cures Dean of you forever, and it’s that easy, and he leaves. 

You’d promised you’d stay, but he didn’t. You both said all the way down, but that was before he kissed you. 

It would be smart to want to take it back. To go back to never thinking about that, because you didn’t think it was an option. To not be getting withdrawals from something you never even fucking had, not really.

You know that.

Knowing never helped.

And at least you still have the Gold lingering on your lips. It’s never been there before, and it makes you feel a little like that holy thing Cas had called you. 

You really are fucking useless. Staring at mirrors and trying to write Dean’s name in Enochian and imaging that he’ll burst through your door and sweep you away. 

It doesn’t help that the wrist thing is looking like it’s here to stay.

The next morning, Sam pulls you into an abandoned room for a meeting.

But he grabs you by the wrist.

And you can’t stop yourself from swinging.

Blind, frantic punches thrown into the air, uncoordinated from exhaustion and landing on nothing, someone is shouting your name but there’s a lot of red in them—red like blood, red like poison—and the fists aren’t enough so you grab your knife and start slashing-

Sam shouts your name, and the blur fade enough for you to know it’s Sam, but then he grabs your wrist to stop the fall of your knife, and the Silver explodes.

There’s a crash, and a ringing in your ears, and-

“Holy- Ow.” Sam stumbles up from the floor, his hands raised in the air and the wall a little dented behind him. “What the hell was that?”

You blink at him, the blur fading, and all that’s in its wake is pain. Pain and a gnawing fucking guilt, because you hurt Sam, why the fuck did you hurt Sam, what’s wrong with you and why can’t you control this without trying to kill yourself-

Sam frowns at you, something softening in his gaze. You don’t deserve how gently he says your name. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, drawing yourself up tall and forcing your voice to stay even. “I’m sorry. You startled me. Is your back-“

“It’s fine. I mean, it hurts, but I’ve have worse.” Sam pauses. “Are you sure-“

“What do you need, Sam.”

He stares at you and—in a small mercy—doesn’t push it. Whatever Sam can see on your face, he’s able to work out that now is not the time to talk about how he just touched you, and you tried to kill him. 

Sam only sighs, and moves on. 

“I think we’re dealing with some sort of sex demon.” He says, shuffling back to your side. “All the vics have been cheating, but every single thing I’ve heard about them makes it sound like they were really in love. There has to be some kind of manipulation going on.”

You nod slowly, letting out a long breath. “How do you know they were really in love? Just online snooping?”

“They did all just get engaged. And I mean, people make mistakes with that sometimes, but it’s usually a sign of… you know.” Sam shrugs. “A future. Together.”

“Okay.” You frown at the air. “You pass it onto Dean, and I’ll keep looking for what the seal actually is, so we can stop it.”

Sam shakes his head. “I, uh- I’ve actually got the seal, too. Bobby called me.”

“Oh.”

“He would’ve called you.” Sam rubs at the back of his neck, and suddenly the air is wired. “But this is- Um, it’s sort of better to have in person.”

You narrow your eyes. He’s being weird. “Sam. What’s the seal.”

“Bobby thinks.” Sam won’t meet your eyes. “Based on some old texts that be found, some of yours, actually-“

“Samuel-“

“It’s making a true love stray.” Sam mumbles, his gaze locked on the floor. “And Bobby’s theory for the murders that none of them have been a true love, so after they strayed, they got.” Sam winces. “You know.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s- It makes sense.” You pause. “Why does that need to be said in person?”

Sam glances up, something cautious in his eyes. “Because you and Dean need to be careful.”

The world stills a little, like a heart murmur, but you must have just heard him wrong. “What.”

“You and Dean.” Sam mumbles. “Any two people with, um, strong emotions are in danger.”

“Sam.” You keep your words slow and careful. You can’t really hear them over the ringing in your ears. “They’ve been targeting engaged couples. Dean and I are-“

“You’re really obvious!” Sam almost shouts, and you flinch like he’d stabbed you.

“No.” You whisper, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and the Silver isn’t even growing. This isn’t a danger to it. 

It should be. You’re a danger to Dean.

“Sam, we’re just- I’ve told you-“

“Jo told me about the kiss.” Sam’s voice is gentle. You’re going to claw out your own eyes. “And I know you guys are dealing with other things, but you’re not just friends. And I- I’m sorry,” he mutters your name, and a little bile creeps up your throat. “But I knew a long time before that. You guys are obvious, and I’m not trying to tell you want to, you know, do about it. But you have to be careful.”

No. You don’t. Dean doesn’t love you, but you’ve never even looked anywhere but him and the Gold and that deep life in his eyes, so not only is Sam wrong, he’s cruel.

Dean doesn’t want you like that, and if he loves you, it’s not the truest love. It can’t be. You’re you, and you’re a danger, and you’ve never brought him anything but extra work, screams of his name, and your own tears for him to eat. 

You can’t live on tear and names. You could—you could conquer the world if Dean offered you tear and your name from his lips—but nobody sane and easy can. Dean will live off of good food from a better woman.

And you’ll die with the Sky watching you, alone in that high, cold, lonely place it had promised you when you were young.

“Sam.” You whisper, your hand wrapping around your throat on an old instinct, but the Silver still dormant in your body, because it’s lined with the Spiderweb, and the Spiderweb loves the idea of Dean’s love. “Please don’t say that.”

He says your name, and it’s gentle again. You think you’re choking on the air.

“Don’t-“

“I’m really not trying to push you guys to do anything.” Sam’s voice is almost desperate. “I just- I can’t lose you both again. This demon is taking the couples-“

You make a weak sobbing sound, and Sam catches his mistake.

“Pairs, it’s taking the pairs and if you both go, I don’t know- Shit-“ Sam pleas your name, moving to reach for you, and you take a step back.

“I- I’m going to go tell Dean.” Your voice is strained, and you don’t care about the irony of your own words. “Bye.”

You’d promised Dean you wouldn’t run. 

You haven’t promised Sam fucking shit.

And you were running to Dean. You didn’t care if that made you a hypocrite, or liar, or a whore. You needed to see him, because it made the Silver feel good, and the world manage because you could cling to Dean’s Gold, and know it was going to be okay.

Then you break twice. Once at the bar, when you were supposed to be working, but Dean needed to calm you down because it was all too fucking much and you’re useless. Then again when you caved and called him, just to hear his voice—overindulging—and ended with him wrapped around you in bed.

You’d slept. Well. Easily. And Dean looks peaceful, in the shifting light of dawn, starting to break through the windows. 

He’s perfect. The newer, stronger Gold seems like molten lava in the morning light, but it’s still not fire. And it’s moving rapidly through his body like air, but it’s not. And there a power to it like water, and strength to it like earth, but it’s never enough of one and far too much of the others for you to pin it down.

You don’t really need to pin it down. 

It’s Dean.

You love him all the same.

He tries to hold onto you, when you twist to get out of bed. He makes a cute, disgruntled sound, and tugs you right back into his body before you know what’s happening.

It takes ten minutes for you to slowly swap yourself with one of the pillows. And you don’t want to leave—it might be a dream, to just stay where Dean is holding you for the rest of your life—but you need to think. And you can’t do that when a big, warm hand is spread over your stomach again, and Dean’s breath is hot on your neck.

Your thoughts had kicked back into gear, after Dean calmed you down yesterday. And you’d made some connections.

Connections you’re going to have to tell Sam and Dean about, because they mean you’re good. You can gank the Boto Monster and fuck off. Go home. You don’t even have a seal to deal with.

And you’re going to have to find a way to convince them of that without the truth.

Because under no fucking circumstances can you actually say the truth.

Dean had said the first vic was a virgin, and it had hit you in small, fragmented pieces you’d strung together in the hours after.

Sam had been wrong about the sex demon. This has to be a Pink Boto. You’d hunted one, while you were in Brazil, and this is their exact MO. Make a young, virgin woman cheat on her partner. Then kill them both, with symptoms similar to drowning. You’d remember how to spot one, too. They’d be in a human form of their choice, designed to lure the woman in, but they’d always wear a hat. Their true forms were pink dolphins—botos—and they could shift however they wanted, but they could never get rid of their, so they’d have to cover it. With a hat.

And that was great. Simple. 

It also wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that Lilith brought the boto here, to make the true love stray.

True. Not pure. 

The seal won’t care about any virgins. But the boto will. It will target them, smell it on them, fucking see it. The same way that they can sense when humans have emotional bonds, so they can sniff out couples.

At least, that was how it had been explained to you, in Brazil. 

It was how they’d assured you.

You were single. 

You wouldn’t be a target.

And this is where Sam was right. You and Dean were in danger. You were the target. Lilith brought the boto here because she needs the seal broken, and she knows about your love for Dean, and she probably fucking knows about you. The other deaths haven’t been about the seal. It’s just been the boto feeding. You and Dean have been the endgame from the start.

The good news, you decide as you sit alone on the beach, your toe right on the edge of the water as the sun climbs into the sky, is that Lilith is fucked. You’ve really never even thought about anyone but Dean. Not like that. You missed the window of experimentation in your teens, met Dean at eighteen, and then there was just no fucking point to anyone else. It was Dean. It’s always been Dean. All the way down.

It’s not saving yourself, because that makes you sound fucking pathetic, like a midwestern church girl who won’t show Her ankles because Jesus will get mad. You just don’t think about it, if it’s not Dean. And it’s not like anyone else has ever really looked at you.

That was your first kiss. 

You are never going to fucking tell Dean that.

And you’re staring down at the sand—at the water slowly climbing over your ankles—when you hear him clear his throat behind you. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, not looking up from the sand. “I should’ve texted. I just needed to- you know.”

“Yeah. I do.” You hear the sand shift at your side. He’s sitting down. “Just got worried. I mean, woke up. You weren’t there. Damn near ripped up the room looking for you.”

That gets a small smile. “You think I was going to be under the couch, Deano?”

“No. I’m just saying I was worried. Don’t run off like that.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, and something is wrong. The air is wired and tense, and it’s never like that with Dean. And the Silver isn’t exploding, but it’s not soothed. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters suddenly, and it really sounds like Dean, but you’re still staring at the sand. “I just got worried, you know? You shouldn’t be out here, the sun is barely even up.”

Dean would be worried. But he wouldn’t say it like… that. 

You suddenly really don’t want to look at him. He’s rubbing strong circles on your back but they’re only making your breathing labored. He’s right at your side, but you don’t feel any of Dean’s gravity.

But it sounds like Dean.

And you’re frozen. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” Dean’s voice hums, close to your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel fucking sick. “You know I love you, baby. Let’s go back to bed.”

Baby.

Dean only calls his car Baby. 

But that was his voice. Calling you Baby. It’s echoing around in your head, and you can’t fucking breathe, and you have to open your eyes.

It looks like Dean, too. Pretty features and a boyish grin and green eyes, it’s skin a little more tanned, but only in a way that’s noticeable to someone who’s insane and in love with him.

You don’t need to rip its stupid baseball cap to know it’s not Dean.

It’s not Golden.

And you can still hear it, as you explode.

Baby. You know I love you, baby.

You’re scrambling back, as the Silver presses into the boto. And it not killing it. Not simply sucking up its life and throwing its soul into wherever monsters go after they die.

You’re eliminating it. The same way you’ve eliminated Hell’s Assassin’s.

But you’ve never done it to something with a functioning soul again. A soul you can see. Sense.

Hear.

Those aren’t the screams of the boto, when it’s turned into pure fucking nothing. 

It’s the soul. Begging you for mercy.

Baby.

There’s a last, weak sound, and then the boto is gone.

You fall flat on your back, and stare at the Sky.

It stares back. 

You can’t fucking breathe. The tide is starting to rise, but you can’t fucking move, and you can’t tell what salt is your own tears and what’s the ocean.

And the Sky is just fucking watching.

Dean roars your name, somewhere down the beach. And that’s how your Dean roars your name, and the Spiderweb is glowing, and he’s Golden when he appears over you like some sort of knight, sent to save you from the monster in the water.

You’re the monster in the water. If Dean’s a hero—and he is—he should let you fucking drown.

But he doesn’t. He’s perfect, so he scoops you into his arms with only a grunt and carries you away from the beach. 

When you look over his shoulder, there’s not even a fucking body. It’s like the boto never even existed at all.

“You’re okay.” Dean’s muttering in your ear as he sets you down somewhere with flowers and a small marble waterfall. “Son of a bitch, Princess, you can’t just fucking disappear. I- You weren’t there and I fucking thought- Godamnit-“

Dean grabs your face between his hands, starting to wipe the linger saltwater from your cheeks. You’re blinking at him. In a firm pattern on once, over and over, trying to tell him everything is wrong. But he’s too focused on checking you for injury to see. And that’s how your Dean would be worried. 

Touching you so carefully while shouting at you with a distress you can hear.

You sob before you can stop yourself, and Dean’s eyes widen.

“Fuck, wait-“ He pulls you right back against his body, walking backwards until his back is pressed to a white-brick wall, and you’re still held in his arms.

He wants to be able to see anything coming. He’s trying to keep you safe.

Your tears start to flow.

“No- shit- Don’t cry, Princess, you’re okay, it’s okay, you’re- Fuck-“

Dean’s thumb starts to run down the bridge of your nose, over and over until you’re almost slumped against him. 

It’s peaceful here. Against Dean. Warm and safe. Home. 

And exhaustion is already starting to pull you down, but you can still hear it.

Baby.

“Talk,” Dean mutters your name, brushing away the hair that’s been stuck to your brow. “Shit, I- I need you to talk, I can’t fucking do anything if you don’t tell me what happened, why the hell were you drowning yourself-“

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Dean stares at you.

He thinks you’re sorry because of the vanishing act and state he’d found you in.

He’s wrong.

You need to know. Just in case this is a more sophisticated trick, or a dream, or the last chance you ever get. Just in case the angels swoop down and try to take you, or the earth opens up and Dean’s dragged back to Hell, you need to know. It’s selfish and unforgivable, but you need it. You need Dean. 

Baby. I love you, baby.

“You’re-“

Dean words are cut off as your hands fist in his shirt, and you yank him down into a kiss. 

He responds immediately. Dean deepens the kiss in half a second, pulling you somehow closer. Like there wasn’t ever a question of if he would.

And you know.

But you don’t hate yourself enough to pull away.

This isn’t like the first kiss. You’d both been moving through that like you were afraid it would be ripped away at any moment. 

Now you’re both moving like you know it’s going to be ripped away, and you refuse to waste one fucking second.

It’s violent. Heavy and hot and wet, open-mouthed with Dean’s tongue down your throat and his lip between your teeth. Your nails scratch at his back and shoulders as he flips you around, pinning you between his body and the wall. And he’s still touching you so carefully—like he’s afraid you’ll break—but there’s no hesitation when one hand grips your waist hard enough to bruise, before trailing down and under your shirt-

A million fucking sparks set off when Dean’s knuckles touch the bare skin of your hips. Your back arches as he groans and massages your waist, and you’ve stared to grind up into him without thought, because he’s Golden and made of gravity and you want him to devour you. To touch you wherever he wants until you’re painted in Gold, to kiss you until you’re just putty like this, forever. Tended to and touched and without any fucking pain, there’s no fucking pain because Dean’s too good to have pain. 

There can’t be pain when you’re safe against his body. Nothing can exist but Dean kneading at your skin under your shirt, and moaning your name against your lips when you press against something big and hard, poking right at your hip-

Dean pulls away with a grunt, both of you gasping for breath, and your brow drops to his shoulder.

He just smells like spice, now. And you can taste it, too. 

You love him. 

You’re not allowed to say it.

So instead you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him like there won’t be any consequences. Any prices to be paid.

There will be.

You’ll live with them.

“Dean?” You whisper in his ear, and his hum of response rolls through your whole body. “I- I took care of it. Can we please go home?”

You’re ready for him to push back. To ask what took care of it means, and tell you that you need to be sure, and consult Sam, and you can sit the rest of it out, but you can’t leave just yet.

Instead Dean just sighs, running his fingers through your hair, and nods.

“We can do whatever you want, Princess.”

You want him. You’ve only ever wanted Dean.

But it doesn’t matter what you want. 

You’ll have whatever the fuck Dean offers you. 

And if it’s love, you’ll rip the Sky in half to keep it.

End Note: Okay so I made her a virgin because let’s be so fr, she’s impressively oblivious about that stuff, AND she was not about to get laid when big emotions made things blow up. We’re lucky Dean didn’t kiss her when she was still suppressing her powers. Girlie would’ve blown up the moon about it.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 4

Word Count: 11.9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation, attempted rape, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglamela, @connorsui @iluvmewwwww75 , @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer @mysssticc @babygirl-panda19 @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1

AN: Bit of a late upload for you night owls and a nice surprise for my early risers! Someone tell me to stop making the chapters longer, thank you LOL. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys enjoy! This is on AO3 as usual! :D

"So… uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert. "Dog? What dog?" he said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question. "You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

Read Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.5

Xavier drummed his fingers rhythmically on the glass counter, each tap growing more impatient as the seconds stretched on. His eyes darted around the cluttered store, scanning the shelves filled with everything from worn-out sneakers to high-end dress shoes. The store clerk had disappeared into the back room several minutes ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Xavier wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to find here.

He had strolled in with nothing more than a photo of a shoe print—a faint clue at best—but it felt more productive than sitting idly by, doing nothing while the answers to your disappearance slipped further out of reach. At least this was action, however uncertain.

Was this even a tangible way to find you? Was he grasping at straws, wasting precious time on a hopeless lead?

And the most haunting question of all—were you even still alive?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing them tightly enough could block out the flood of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind go there, not now. Pushing the fear and uncertainty away, he tried to focus on the faint glimmer of hope that had brought him here in the first place. Anything was better than surrendering to despair.

"This is all I could find on it. It's certainly a unique pair," the shop clerk continued, offering a slight smile. "I'm not as technologically advanced as most shops around here, so sorry to disappoint. But, may I ask—why come to my little shop instead of one of those fancy places downtown?"

Xavier took the pamphlet, glancing over the information quickly before shifting his gaze back to the clerk. "Well," he began, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I heard you were the kind of guy who could identify a pair of shoes just by its print."

The clerk chuckled softly, his weathered face creasing with the effort. "You've been a great help, actually," Xavier added, sliding the pamphlet into his jacket pocket with a nod of appreciation.

The clerk gave an approving nod, the lines of his face softening in quiet satisfaction before he turned his back again, settling into the familiar rhythm of his work. Xavier headed toward the door, the faint creak of floorboards beneath his boots echoing through the small, dimly lit shop. His hand hovered over the door handle, but just as his fingers brushed the cool metal, a nagging thought rooted him in place. He paused, heart pounding slightly as the question formed in his mind.

He turned back, the weight of uncertainty pulling at his voice. "Say... you wouldn’t happen to know where this shoe was originally made, would you?"

The clerk stopped, mid-motion, his hands faltering over a pile of worn soles. The question seemed to hang in the air, drawing out a moment of silence as the man stared down, his brow furrowing. It was clear he hadn’t thought about it in some time. Xavier felt a flicker of hope, unsure if it would lead him anywhere, but desperately clinging to the possibility.

The clerk finally turned, his face thoughtful, his voice quieter now. "Yeah..." he said slowly, as if pulling the memory from a fog. "Last I saw of that shoe, it came from a company based in the... er, N1—no, wait..." His brow furrowed deeper as he worked to piece it together. "N109 Zone. Yeah, that’s the one."

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight Xavier couldn’t ignore. The clerk’s tone wasn’t just casual recollection—it was tinged with something more, like the memory of that particular shoe stirred something deeper. Xavier felt the knot of tension in his chest tighten.

Xavier felt his breath catch in his throat. N109 Zone. The name alone sent a chill down his spine. He had heard plenty about that place—mostly rumors, but enough to know that it was a dangerous, lawless sector. Few dared to go there unless they had no other choice, and even fewer came back with stories worth telling. It was a no-man’s-land, a forgotten corner of land where control was lost long ago. The kind of place where people disappeared without a trace.

His mind raced, piecing it together. If the shoe had come from there... Did that mean you were there too? His stomach churned at the thought. The faint hope he had clung to started to blur with the creeping dread of what fate could have fallen upon you in the N109 Zone.

"You’re sure about that?" he asked, his voice betraying the slight anxiety creeping in around the edges. The clerk glanced up from his work, noticing the shift in Xavier’s tone.

"Yeah," the clerk said, more firmly this time. "I’m sure. That shoe—rare brand—hard to forget. The company folded years ago, but they used to operate out of the N109 Zone. Only place I’ve ever seen them sold."

Xavier swallowed hard, the words sinking deep. If the shoe came from N109, it could be a clue—a dangerous one, but still the only lead he had. He felt the urgency building inside him, a gnawing sense that time was running out, but also the undeniable question of what he might find if he went there.

Could you really be in a place like that? His mind struggled to fill in the gaps, but there were too many unknowns. Were you okay?

"I...appreciate your help," Xavier muttered, his voice thick with tension. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to steady his breathing.

"You're not actually thinking of going there, are you?" the store clerk asked, his voice edged with disbelief as he raised an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward over the counter, studying Xavier with a mixture of concern and amusement. "No offense, but a pretty fella like you doesn’t exactly look like the type who could survive in a place like that. Not really worth the hassle for a pair of shoes don't you think?"

Xavier paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t turn around immediately, letting the weight of the clerk’s words linger for a moment. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm, almost casual. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice steady, though the tension in his body remained. "I've dealt with much worse."

The clerk blinked, surprised by Xavier's calm demeanor, but said nothing more.

Xavier turned to face the door once again, his hand resting on the handle as he prepared to step out into the cold streets. "Thanks again," he added, his tone carrying a finality that didn’t invite more questions.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the door and walked out, leaving the shop behind. His heart pounded a little harder now, not just from the looming threat of the N109 Zone, but from the resolve building inside him. There was no turning back now.

He had a tangible clue—a real, solid lead to your whereabouts. For the first time in weeks, the haze of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly. But now that he knew you were possibly in one of the most dangerous areas anyone could imagine, time was no longer on his side. Every second that ticked by felt heavier, pulling him deeper into the urgency of the situation. The N109 Zone wasn’t just dangerous; it was a place where people vanished, a place where hope died. He had no time to waste, but rushing in blindly would be suicide. He needed a plan.

Stepping into the cold evening air, Xavier pulled the pamphlet from his jacket pocket, its crinkled edges soft from being handled. His eyes scanned over the contents carefully. Make and model—simple enough, not much help now. A detailed diagram of the shoe—useful for recognition, maybe, but not a lifeline. Then his eyes caught something else—a faint address printed near the top. It was partially worn, barely legible, but there.

His heart skipped a beat. An address? Could this be where the shoe was made? Or where it was sold? Either way, it was another piece of the puzzle, and right now, it was the closest thing to a breadcrumb trail he had. He squinted at the faded letters, trying to make out every detail.

If this address was in the N109 Zone, it could lead him right into the heart of the danger. But it could also lead him to you.

His mind raced. First, he needed to confirm the location. Then he needed a plan—something better than just walking straight into the N109 Zone and hoping for the best.

Pulling out his hunter’s watch, Xavier quickly scanned the address printed on the pamphlet. The small device whirred to life, its holographic screen flickering as it worked to process the faint, worn-out text. A soft ding echoed in the quiet street as it started searching for the location. Xavier watched the screen intently, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

The map on the watch blinked, the dot moving erratically across an unmarked, shadowy area. It drifted back and forth, as though even the advanced technology in his hands was confused, struggling to pin down an exact location. Xavier frowned, watching the dot jitter across the screen. His stomach tightened with frustration. Was the address too old? Was it leading him nowhere?

Just when he thought the device might give up entirely, the dot paused. The holographic screen flickered once more, and with a soft chime, it glowed green in confirmation. The hunter's watch had finally locked on to a spot. Xavier stared at it, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The place it had marked was deep within N109 Zone, tucked away in the heart of the most dangerous, uncharted part of the city.

He exhaled slowly, his mind running through a million possibilities. The watch’s confirmation meant something tangible, something real—but what waited for him there? He couldn’t shake the thought that this could be a trap, a place where the trail might lead to nothing, or worse, to more danger than he could anticipate. But it was also the only clue he had to your whereabouts.

Xavier closed his hand around the watch, feeling its faint warmth through his fingers. He knew what he had to do, but the enormity of it settled on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a simple lead anymore—it was a beacon, calling him into the depths of the N109 Zone. And whatever waited for him there, he would face it.

Because finding you was all that mattered.

As Xavier made his way through the still, empty streets back to his apartment, the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a faint, orange glow across the sky. His mind was already racing, formulating a plan. Gear, weapons,—he’d need everything ready before venturing into the N109 Zone.

But just as he turned the corner, his phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the early morning quiet. Xavier stopped, his brow furrowing as he fished the phone out of his pocket. It was a jarring sound—no one should be calling him at this early hour.

He glanced at the screen, squinting in confusion. The number was unknown, unfamiliar. His immediate thought was Captain Jenna—she was the only one who’d be up this early, possibly reaching out with new intel—but this wasn’t her number.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Unknown number. His instincts screamed caution. In his line of work, random calls at odd hours rarely led to anything good. The number could belong to anyone—a lead, a warning, or worse, a trap.

But then again, it could be something important—something connected to you. He couldn't ignore the possibility.

Should he answer? The phone rang again, and with each buzz, the knot of uncertainty in his stomach tightened. Whoever it was, they wanted to reach him badly enough to call at this ungodly hour.

With a deep breath, Xavier made a decision and swiped to answer the call. "Hello?" His voice was guarded, careful.

For a moment, all Xavier could hear was silence, a thick void that made his pulse quicken. Then, suddenly, the sound of crackling static filled his ears, distorting the line. He frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. The static grew louder, chaotic, until it was abruptly interrupted by a voice—scared, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Xavier? Is that you??"

His heart nearly stopped.

You kept running until your legs gave out, your breath ragged and chest burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not yet. An hour ago, you had been trapped, bound in your captor's suffocating bedroom, that thick invisible leash tightening around your neck with each passing day, stealing your hope, your strength. Every second felt like eternity in that room, but somehow, with some luck of a power outage of all things, you’d broken out of your cage. You’d ran—bolted into the cold night without looking back.

And now, you were almost free.

But “freedom” wasn’t what you had imagined. The streets stretched out before you, bleak and lifeless. It felt wrong. There was no joy in the air, no welcoming breeze to assure you of safety—only the gnawing sense that you had escaped one cage just to enter another. You recalled something Sylus, your captor, had mentioned in passing.

"Its always 'night' here", he'd said with a small smile, and now you truly realized he hadn’t been lying.

Darkness swallowed the entire area, a thick, unnatural veil over everything. Even though your eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, the eerie, half-flickering streetlights cast only dim pools of sickly yellow across the cracked pavement. The shadows loomed, stretching too far, hiding too much. You shivered, not just from the cold but from the haunting silence that wrapped around you.

The air itself felt thick, as if it was suffocating under the weight of secrets too dark, too dangerous to be spoken aloud. Each alley you passed felt like it was watching you, whispering silent threats from the shadows. Exhaustion clung to your limbs, and you had finally stopped, collapsing onto a broken bench under one of the few flickering streetlights that still worked. The cold metal dug into your skin, but you barely noticed. You were too busy trying to catch your breath, to steady your thoughts.

Where do you go now? You scanned your surroundings again, looking for anything that could offer direction, but the streets were as desolate as before. The same cracked pavement, the same looming shadows. No signs. No people. Just an eerie quiet.

A fleeting thought entered your mind—maybe there’s a train station nearby? The idea seemed almost laughable. Would it even take you to Linkon? And would you even make it to a station without getting caught?

You shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for the thought. Hitchhiking was another idea that crossed your mind—no way, you scolded yourself, brushing off the notion as quickly as it came. You probably couldn't trust anyone here. Not in a place like this. Here, trusting a stranger was as reckless as running blind into the dark.

But what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay still for long; resting too much would make you an easy target. With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand again. Your legs trembled beneath you, but you kept moving, hoping—praying—you’d find someone who wasn’t out to harm you. Something that could help guide you out of this nightmare. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of fear pressing harder on your chest.

As your bare feet dragged across the cracked concrete, the desperation gnawed at you more fiercely. You were lost—physically and mentally. Each street looked the same, the darkness playing tricks on your eyes. Panic swelled in your throat. How long could you keep going like this? How much longer could you walk before your legs gave out? Before someone found you?

Your breaths came quicker, shallow with fear. You needed a way out, but the deeper you walked into the N109 Zone, the more it felt like the place was swallowing you whole. You were running out of time. Running out of hope.

And then finally, as if the cruel universe had decided to grant you another fleeting moment of mercy, you saw it—a faint glow of lights in the distance. Squinting, you could just make out a corner store, its soft, artificial light spilling onto the cracked sidewalk. A few people were loitering outside, giving the place a rare sense of life. A tired-looking woman clutched her child's hand tightly, and a man stood by, lazily smoking a cigar, his eyes scanning the street in disinterest. A couple of others hovered nearby, exchanging quiet words under the dim streetlight.

You couldn't believe your eyes. A store? Here? In the N109 Zone? It seemed almost surreal, like it had been plucked from another world and dropped into this forgotten wasteland. But it made sense in a grim way. Even in a place like this, people have to eat. Make a living.

With a rush of desperate energy, you hurried toward the store, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The people outside cast looks in your direction, but don't say anything. You stopped just short of the entrance, glancing down at yourself for the first time. You must look insane. A nightgown hung loosely around your body, dirty and torn at the edges. No shoes. No socks. Your hair was tangled and wild from the running. The sight of yourself made you wince in embarrassment, but there was no time to care about that now.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a dimly lit but surprisingly ordinary scene. The inside of the corner store looked like any other—aisles of candy, snacks, cheap knick knacks and toys stacked high. It was a stark contrast to the dangerous, shadowy streets just outside. But one sight caught your attention above all: the food.

Your stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger. You hadn’t eaten since the chicken dinner Sylus had provided before your “outburst.” You hadn't been able to finish it, and now the exhaustion from running had made the hunger almost unbearable. Your mouth watered at the thought of eating, but there was one major problem—you had no gold.

Your heart sank as you stared at the rows of candy bars and instant noodles. How were you going to get anything?

Anxiously, you shuffled toward the front counter, your nerves jangling with every step. When you reached it, you hesitated for a moment, staring at the small bell. With trembling fingers, you tapped it.

A disheveled-looking man, his hair sticking out in uneven tufts, glanced up from behind the counter. He had been glued to his phone, and the interruption clearly annoyed him. His eyes landed on you, and for a brief second, he just stared, taking in your disarrayed appearance before rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Can I...help you?" he asked, dragging out the words as if the very act of speaking was a burden.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but your mind raced with too many conflicting emotions—fear, embarrassment, hunger. What could you even say?

"I've been kidnapped," you blurt out, your voice shaky and desperate. You opened your mouth to explain further, to tell him everything—how you had escaped, how you were on the run, how you needed help—but before you could get another word out, the man snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," he said dismissively, leaning back on his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Who hasn't been kidnapped at least once around here?"

His casual tone hit you like a slap. The raw urgency in your voice was met with nothing but apathy. Your heart sank. He wasn’t going to take you seriously. You were just another story in a place like this, another desperate face with nowhere to go. You stood there, frozen, trying to comprehend how someone could be so indifferent to your situation.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the frustration welling up inside you. "Please, I'm serious. I just need—"

"Look," the man interrupted, cutting you off again, his eyes barely lifting from his phone. "You want something, buy it. Otherwise, move along. I’m not here for charity cases."

You glanced at the counter, the rows of candy, snacks, and drinks just inches away, knowing you had nothing to pay with. Desperation clawed at your insides. You were exhausted, starving, and running out of options.

"I don't have any gold... do you ha-have a phone?" you asked again, your voice trembling as you blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill. How could someone be so indifferent to the obvious suffering staring him in the face?

"Broken," he said flatly, still not bothering to look up from his phone. His disinterest was like a physical blow. "And… gold? What are you, some Linkcunt citizen?"

The venom in his words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Linkcunt citizen? The insult was harsh, dripping with disdain, and it sent a sudden wave of anger rushing through you.

"Yes, I’m from Linkon," you correct, the frustration and fear bubbling over into your voice. "What’s with the attitude? What did I do to you? I'm asking for help!"

He finally looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking.

"What did you do? Nothing. That’s the problem. Linkon folk come down here thinking they’re better than everyone, tossing around their fancy gold and expecting the world to hand them everything." He shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and contempt.

"You want help? Then you’d better figure out how things work around here real fast, princess. No one's gonna hand you anything for free."

You felt your fists clench at his words, the anger mixing with a deeper sense of helplessness. You hadn’t asked to be here. You hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet, standing in this grimy corner store in the depths of the N109 Zone, it was clear that no one cared about your suffering. Not here. You weren’t in Linkon anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to calm down, swallowing the anger rising in your throat. Getting into a fight with this clerk wouldn’t help you, not now. But the bitterness of his words lingered, and you realized just how alone you truly were in this place.

Silently, you turned your back to the greasy man behind the counter, his words still echoing in your mind as you began to walk up and down the aisles. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of hunger, thirst, and sheer exhaustion pulling at you. Your stomach growled, gnawing at your insides, reminding you just how long it had been since you'd eaten.

But something else gnawed at you too—something that made your skin crawl with discomfort. You hadn't changed your pad for hours, and now the sticky, damp feeling clung uncomfortably between your legs. The sudden realization hit you, a wave of disgust washing over you as you winced.

Swallowing hard, you glanced over toward the feminine hygiene aisle. Rows of necessities lined the shelves—pads, tampons, basic supplies—just out of reach. You stared at them, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't just food you needed now. You couldn’t go on like this.

But you had no credit cards. No way to purchase anything. Nothing.

Your eyes flicked back toward the front of the store, where the disinterested clerk sat, still engrossed in his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to you. He didn’t care. Nobody here did.

You felt a knot tighten in your throat as the harsh reality of the situation settled in. You had to steal. There was no other choice. You hated the thought of it—hated how low it made you feel—but survival wasn’t a matter of pride. Not here. Not now.

Your fingers trembled as you looked back at the shelves. You knew what you had to do.

The clerk still wasn’t paying attention, his face lit by the glow of his phone. His indifference might be your only saving grace. You could do this—quickly, quietly, and then you’d be gone.

With shaky hands you reach for a plastic bag that had fallen on the ground. The bag felt like a shield, something to hide the weight of what you were about to do. You didn’t think twice as you moved toward the feminine hygiene aisle, knowing you couldn’t walk any further in your current state. You reached for a pack of pads, your movements slow and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that it felt like the entire store could hear it.

Next, you hurried down the snack aisle, grabbing a few protein bars, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of water, all of which disappeared into the bag as your pulse raced in your ears.

You glanced toward the counter, your body tense with anxiety. The clerk still hadn’t looked up, completely absorbed in his phone. The faint, unmistakable sound of pornography drifted from his speakers, making your stomach churn in disgust. You twisted your face, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you, but you couldn’t afford to stop now.

He was utterly oblivious to your frantic movements, his attention locked on the screen, but that didn't ease the gnawing sensation in your gut. Every step felt like you were tiptoeing across a minefield, a ticking clock counting down to disaster. Even though he wasn’t watching, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was.

With the bag now heavy in your hands, you made your way toward the exit, each step carefully measured, your breath shallow as you fought to keep calm. The distance between you and the door seemed endless, as if every inch stretched into miles. But finally, your trembling hand closed around the cold metal of the handle.

Your heart raced as you crossed the threshold, bracing yourself for the inevitable—a shrill, deafening alarm that would shatter the silence and expose your crime to the world. You waited for it, your breath caught in your throat, ready to bolt at the first sound.

But nothing came.

No alarm. No piercing siren. The only thing you could hear was the frantic beating of your own heart as the door swung shut behind you with a quiet click.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen in place, not daring to move. The cool night air brushed against your skin, grounding you in the eerie quiet. The world outside the store felt impossibly still. It took a few seconds for your brain to register that you had made it out—unseen, unheard.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down as you hurried past the few patrons lingering near the store. Their eyes followed your every step, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you, judging, curious. Did they happen to care, or did you just look that insane?

The woman with the child pulled her daughter closer as you passed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The man smoking his cigar gave you a long, leering stare, as if trying to figure out what your story was. The others whispered quietly among themselves, but you couldn’t make out the words, nor did you want to. You kept walking, willing yourself to be invisible, but the tension in the air made your skin prickle.

Once you were a safe distance away from the store, you ducked down an empty alley, the shadows wrapping around you like a cloak. The world outside was still bleak, the flickering streetlights casting only the faintest glow, but here in the quiet, you finally had a moment to breathe.

You found a relatively clean spot, tucked behind an old dumpster, and set the bag down beside you. Your hands shook as you reached into the bag for the pack of pads. The discomfort and itch between your legs had grown unbearable, and the relief of changing, even in such a grim place, was something you couldn't put off any longer.

Quickly, you adjusted yourself, wincing at the feeling of the old pad peeling away. You worked fast, knowing you couldn’t linger here for long. Once you were done, you felt a small sense of relief—at least one problem had been solved.

Next, you pulled out the snacks. The hunger was still clawing at you, and the sight of the protein bars and chips made your stomach ache even more. Tearing into a protein bar, you ate quickly, barely tasting the food as you devoured it, desperate to fuel your exhausted body. The bottle of water came next, and you drank it down in large, gulping swallows.

For the first time since you had escaped, you felt a flicker of calm. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t last, but here in this dark corner, with food in your stomach and a small bit of comfort, you allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe.

But the quiet didn’t last. You knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. You had to get moving at some point or Sylus would find you. This place was unforgiving, and survival demanded more than just temporary refuge.

Tucking the remaining items back into the bag, you sigh in satisfaction, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. The streets were still empty. For now, you were alone. You had survived one more step in this nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t over yet.

Some time passes and you can slowly feel yourself falling asleep against the dumpster.

As you crouched in the dim alley, trying to fight off exhaustion and gather your thoughts, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Slow, steady, and casual, accompanied by a faint, off-key whistling. You stiffened, instinctively pulling the bag closer to your chest.

The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then came the voice—low, cautious, but curious.

"Hey, you okay?"

You glanced up warily, your eyes landing on the figure standing at the mouth of the alley. He was tall, maybe in his mid-thirties, with shaggy, unkempt brown hair that fell just above his eyes. His clothes were worn—faded jeans and a jacket that had seen better days—but he didn’t look like the rough types you usually imagined when you thought of the N109 Zone. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but his sharp, dark eyes were fixed on you, a flicker of concern—or maybe something else—dancing behind them.

His face was hard to read. He had a slight stubble covering his jaw, giving him a rugged, almost tired appearance. His lips quirked in what might’ve been a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you—like he was curious, but also sizing you up. Not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made you wonder why he’d stopped to talk to you at all.

"Are you... lost?" he asked, stepping forward slowly, the whistling tune dying in the air. His voice was softer now, almost as if he was trying to be gentle, but his presence made the space around you feel even smaller.

"What happened to your arm?"

You swallowed hard, trying your best to keep your gaze on him. You had honestly completely forgotten about the scar on you arm. As much as you wanted to explain, every instinct screamed to stay wary. This wasn’t a place where strangers helped out of kindness, and you knew better than to trust easily. But as exhausted and desperate as you were, you weren’t sure if you could afford to push away help, even from someone who might have their own agenda.

"I—I need help," you stammered, your voice shaky, barely managing to push the words past your tightening throat. Your body trembled, a mix of nerves and exhaustion leaving you on edge. You hugged the bag tighter to your chest, every muscle in your body tense. "But... don't come any closer just yet."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting, though he made no move forward. He stayed where he was, his hands still in his pockets, the dim streetlight casting long shadows on his face. For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with tension as he watched you.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice calm and even, though the curiosity in his eyes never wavered. He tilted his head, taking in your ragged appearance with a deeper interest. "No problem. I’m not here to scare you. Just trying to figure out what you're doing out here all alone."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. You needed help, but trust was a dangerous thing in a place like this. Still, you were running out of options. Your mind raced as you tried to decide what to say next.

You hesitated, your mind racing as you weighed the risks. Could you trust him? Telling the truth might make you vulnerable, but lying wouldn’t get you far either. You had to say something—anything—to explain why you were here.

"I was kidnapped," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, a tremor of fear running through you as you spoke. "I escaped… I don’t know where I am. I just need to get somewhere safe and rest so I can get home later."

The man’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He studied you, eyes narrowing as if trying to assess whether or not you were telling the truth. His silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, making your heart pound faster in your chest.

"You’re serious?" he finally asked, his tone more subdued now, almost disbelieving but not dismissive. He took a small step back, showing that he wasn’t going to invade your space. "You really got away from someone?"

You nodded, the tension in your body still coiled tight, waiting for his reaction. You couldn't tell if he believed you, but you hoped—desperately—that he wouldn’t press too hard or turn you away.

The man stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture softening just slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you're telling the truth... then you’ve got bigger problems than just being lost."

He glanced around, checking the street behind him as if making sure no one else was nearby, then he looked back at you, his face more serious now. "You can’t stay out here. This place— the N109 Zone—it’s not somewhere you want to be wandering around alone, especially if someone’s looking for you."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You already knew the N109 Zone was dangerous, but hearing it from him made it feel even more real.

"Look," he continued, his voice softening. "I’m not gonna hurt you. If you need help, I can take you somewhere safer. But you’ve gotta trust me, and you’ve gotta move quick. If they’re after you, it’s only a matter of time before they find you out here."

He waited, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to see if you’d accept his offer—or run.

You hesitated for a long moment, scanning the man’s face for any sign of deceit. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, but something about his demeanor made you feel that, for now, you didn’t have much of a choice. If he meant harm, he could’ve acted already. Swallowing hard, you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded in return, offering nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment before turning and motioning for you to follow. "My place isn’t far. You can rest there, maybe clean up a bit. It’ll give you a few hours before you have to figure out what’s next."

You fell in step behind him, your bare feet quiet against the cracked pavement. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional distant hum of passing cars. You hugged the bag closer to your chest, still tense but too tired to think about running. As you walked through the dim streets, a question lingered in the back of your mind.

"I'm surprised you stopped to help me," you finally said, your voice tentative. "Most people here…they wouldn’t have even looked twice."

He glanced back at you, barely breaking stride, and shrugged. "I’ve seen worse things in this place. Trust me, a girl lost in an alley isn't the strangest thing I’ve come across." His tone was casual, almost detached, as if this was just another day in the chaotic world of the N109 Zone.

His nonchalance unnerved you. Why was he so calm? Your anxiety spiked for a moment, thoughts racing. Maybe you had made the wrong choice. Maybe he had his own agenda, like everyone else in this place. But then again, he hadn’t tried to harm you. If he wanted to, he would've done so. You weighed your options, feeling the tug of paranoia, but exhaustion and desperation had their hold. You pushed the doubt aside. For now, you decided to trust him, even if only for a few hours.

As you walked in silence, the two of you eventually came across something you hadn’t expected to see: an old, grimy phone booth, its glass cracked but still intact, standing at the edge of a corner. A relic from another time, long since forgotten by most.

Your heart skipped a beat. A phone. You might be able to call Xavier.

"Do you have any… uh, quarters?" you asked, your voice tight with desperation. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now it seemed obvious. Linkon City had long left behind the need for such old currency—everything there was digital, clean, modern. But here, in the N109 Zone, where everything felt stuck in time, of course they still used quarters. It made sense in this broken-down world.

He stopped, watching you for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, hang on." He fumbled in his pockets for a few seconds, fishing around with a slight look of annoyance. After a bit of clattering, he pulled out a few quarters, handing them over to you without a word.

Your hands trembled as you took them. This could be your chance—your lifeline. You stepped inside the booth, hoping that the old machine would still work, and stared at the dirty receiver.

You stared at the old rotary dial for a moment, panic rising in your chest. You tried to remember how it worked as you slipped the coins in the slot. It had been so long since you’d read about one of these—everything in Linkon was sleek, touch-based, connected by the web. But here, in this forgotten part of the world, you were holding a piece of the past. The process felt foreign, archaic.

Your mind raced, desperately trying to recall Xavier’s number. What was it? You racked your brain, images of his scribbled phone number from messages, fragments of conversations, all blurred together. The numbers danced in your head as you tried to piece them together.

Your heart pounded louder, matching the beat of the seconds slipping away. You were running out of time. With a trembling hand, you began dialing the numbers, trying to focus on every movement, praying you’d gotten it right.

The dial clicked as it spun back after each number, the mechanical sound unnervingly slow. The receiver crackled in your ear as the phone began to ring.

Please, Xavier... please pick up.

The ringing felt endless, each second a heavier weight pressing on your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the receiver tight. The noise around you seemed to fade into the background as you waited, hoping, praying that on the other end of the line, he’d be there—ready to hear you, ready to help.

The phone rang again... and again.

Your breath caught in your throat, a prayer hanging on the edge of each ring.

"Hello?" A timid, cautious male voice came through the receiver, muffled by the crackling static, but it was unmistakable.

Relief crashed over you like a wave, and you nearly collapsed right there in the grimy phone booth, your knees buckling as the sound of Xavier's voice reached your ears. After everything—you finally had a connection to him. Tears welled up in your eyes, your breath shaky as you clutched the receiver tighter.

"Xavier!! Xavier, thank god!" you cried, your voice raw with desperation. "I don't even know where to start..."

But after your outburst, only silence greeted you. The line crackled, sputtering with age, the static drowning out whatever response might have come. Frustration surged through you as you gripped the receiver, shaking it in a vain attempt to clear the line. You banged the phone against the booth, biting back a sob as the interference persisted. This thing must be older than you thought. How could it fail you now?

Finally, the crackling stopped, leaving only a tense, quiet hum on the other end.

"Xavier? Is that you??" you asked, your voice trembling, barely holding back the panic. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing this fragile connection—this one thin lifeline.

The line crackled for a moment before Xavier’s voice came through, steady and calm, but with a layer of unmistakable relief.

"It’s you…," Xavier said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d been holding onto hope for so long that hearing your voice felt like a lifeline. "I’m so glad you’re alive. Are you okay? Where are you?"

The sound of his voice sent another wave of emotion crashing over you. You sob, your body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone. He had been looking for you, and now, he was coming.

"Xavier…I was kidnapped," you sobbed, the words finally breaking free, the fear and terror of the last few days pouring out. "I escaped. I’m cold, hurt and scared..."

His response was immediate, his tone both calming and steady, as if he was trying to comfort you even from miles away. "I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? I’m coming for you. I just need a better idea of where you are."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together, but the tears threatened to spill over. "I don’t know where exactly… all I know is I’m in the N109 Zone. I found a phone booth near a corner store. Everything around here looks abandoned."

There was a brief pause on the other end as Xavier processed the information. "Alright," he said firmly. "Stay there, I'll try and track the location of the phone booth. I’m on my way. Just… hold on a little longer, okay?"

"I—" you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the man who had helped you. "I actually found a really nice man. He’s letting me rest at his place. He hasn’t hurt me at all, so don’t worry. He says his place isn’t far from here. I’ll come back to the phone and give you the details after I see it."

Xavier’s voice tightened slightly, the concern clear. "I don’t like the sound of that. Just… be careful. I’m coming as fast as I can. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright? If anything feels wrong, leave. Fight like hell if you need to."

"I will," you whispered, gripping the receiver tightly. "Just hurry, please."

"I promise I’m coming," Xavier said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He paused, just for a second, before continuing. "One more thing though—do you remember who took you? I’ll need a name, in case…in case I don't find you when I arrive. I don’t want to lose you again."

Your heart raced as memories of your captor flashed in your mind. "Yeah! His name is S—"

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for an additional 3 minutes," the automated voice cut in sharply, drowning out your words.

Panic surged through you. The call had abruptly ended, the receiver in your hand now silent except for the monotonous prompt asking for more coins. You frantically searched your pockets, but you had no more quarters.

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for—"

You screamed, the frustration boiling over as you kicked the phone, the clanging metal reverberating through the phone booth. Your hand gripped the receiver so tightly your knuckles lost circulation, and with a final surge of anger, you thrashed against the booth, the tears you’d been holding back now streaming down your face.

"Xavier!?" you yelled into the dead line, your voice cracking with desperation. He had to hear you. He had to. But all that came through was the cold, indifferent tone of the automated voice, endlessly repeating its demand for more quarters, as if mocking your panic.

You slammed the receiver down, the booth suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Every second that ticked by was a second lost, a moment Xavier might not know who had taken you, might not know how to find you.

With a deep, shaky breath, you stepped out of the booth, blinking away the tears.

"Do...you have any more quarters?" you ask, more tears threatening to spill from your face at any moment now.

The man outside the phone booth shifted awkwardly and shook his head, his eyes flickering between you and the dark street. He had watched you from the moment you’d rushed into the booth, but now, as you sobbed, his discomfort was clear. He took a slow step forward, clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything at first, unsure of what to do.

"You, uh... you okay?" he asked finally, his voice soft but uneasy. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around as if he wasn’t used to being in such an emotional situation.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to calm your breathing, but the tears kept coming. The overwhelming frustration of losing the connection with Xavier left you feeling exposed and helpless. You didn’t know what to say to the man, couldn’t find the words to explain the weight of everything crashing down on you at once.

He hesitated, then sighed, taking another step closer. "Look, uh… if it’s about the call, I’m sure your guy’s coming. Sounds like he cares. You just... you know, gotta hang in there. We’ll get to my place soon, and you can rest."

His words, though clumsy, were an attempt at comfort. But even as he tried to reassure you, his uncertainty showed in the way he avoided your gaze, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle someone breaking down in front of him.

You sniffed, nodding slightly, feeling drained from the outburst. "Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine," you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your nightgown, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

The two of you resumed walking, your steps slow and heavy as you sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill. The man walked beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing at you now and then with an awkwardness that was hard to miss. He wasn’t saying much, just occasionally looking around as if he wished there was something more he could do, but he seemed completely out of his depth when it came to comforting anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of breaking down.

"You’ll, uh, feel better once we get there," he mumbled, his voice low and sheepish. "It’s not much, but at least you can get some sleep. Maybe eat something."

You nodded, biting your lip as you fought to compose yourself, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you again. The air between you felt thick, filled with unspoken words and awkward tension. He kept glancing at you as if he wanted to say something more, but each time, he swallowed the words, guiding you quietly through the darkened streets.

The city around you was eerily quiet, the desolation of the N109 Zone even more pronounced in the silence. The flickering streetlights barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. You hugged your arms close to your body, your mind still reeling from the failed call, but you focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The man cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "I’m… not really good at this kind of thing, you know," he admitted, his tone awkward, almost apologetic. "But you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. His words were clumsy, but there was a strange sincerity in them. Despite his unease, it seemed like he really was trying to help, even if he didn’t quite know how to do it.

As the silence stretched on, the weight of everything hanging between you, you glanced at him through the dim light. His awkwardness, his uncertainty—it was all so clear. But despite everything, he had helped you. He had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. Given you the last of his quarters. You swallowed, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

"I didn’t catch your name, by the way," you said softly, your voice still a little shaky.

He blinked, as if surprised you’d asked. His steps slowed for a moment before he gave a small, awkward shrug. "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t say." He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the ground as he seemed to search for the right words. "It’s Reese," he finally muttered. "Not much of a name, but it’s mine."

You offered a small, tired smile, your voice soft. "Reese… thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You stopped yourself, the weight of your situation pressing on your chest again.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah, well… I’m no hero. Just didn’t seem right to leave you out there. Not in a place like this."

As the two of you walked in silence, Reese cleared his throat, glancing over at you with a bit more confidence than before. "So… what’s your name? Figured if we’re gonna be walking together, I should know who I’m helping."

You hesitated, your heart racing slightly. Trust wasn’t something you could afford so easily, not here, not now. Despite his awkward attempts to help, you weren’t ready to give him your real name. Better to be cautious, you reminded yourself. You forced a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It’s...Mephisto," you said, the lie rolling off your tongue before you could second-guess it. You had vaguely remembered Sylus calling out the name to someone from outside the door, to who you weren't sure. One of his men probably.

Reese nodded, seemingly taking your answer at face value, no suspicion in his expression. "Alright," he said, giving a half-smile. "Nice to meet you Miss Mephisto, despite the strange name."

You nodded back, feeling the weight of the lie settle inside you. It wasn’t much, but it gave you a small layer of protection—just in case. You still didn’t know Reese’s full intentions, and trust here could be a dangerous thing.

"Nice to meet you too, Reese," you replied softly, glancing around the darkened street.

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the dark, desolate streets of the N109 Zone, you and Reese finally reached his place. The house stood at the end of a narrow alley, tucked between two crumbling, abandoned buildings. It wasn’t much to look at—dingy, with peeling paint and windows that seemed to have long lost their clarity. The front door sagged slightly on its hinges, the wood scuffed and weathered, as if it had seen better days a long time ago.

Reese unlocked the door with a bit of effort, pushing it open with a low creak. Inside, the air was stale but warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The place was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single overhead bulb. The furnishings were old, mismatched, and worn—a threadbare couch sat in the corner, covered in a faded blanket. The walls were bare except for a few crooked picture frames, and the carpet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Still, despite its grimy appearance, there was a strange sense of comfort to the place, like someone had lived here for a long time and had made it home in their own way.

"You can sit over there if you want," Reese said, motioning to the couch. "It’s not much, but it’s better than the streets."

You nodded, stepping inside cautiously. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details—the scuffed coffee table with a few empty bottles on it, the stack of old magazines piled up against one wall. It didn’t scream danger, but you couldn’t shake the wary feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Something about the whole situation made you uneasy. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the smell of old dust, or just the lingering doubt about trusting someone so easily in a place like this.

Still, exhaustion weighed heavily on your body, and the promise of rest—any rest—was too tempting to ignore. You sat down on the couch, the worn cushions sinking under you, and pulled the bag of pads closer to your chest. Reese seemed harmless enough, but you reminded yourself to stay on guard. You weren’t out of danger yet.

Reese busied himself, tossing a few items around to clear space, but the house remained eerily quiet.

As you settled into the couch, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible, a sudden noise from the backyard broke the uneasy silence. It was faint, but distinct—a thud, followed by the faint sound of something shuffling or dragging. Your heart leapt, and you sat up a little straighter, your eyes darting toward the back of the house.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice tense as you turned to look at Reese.

He froze for a split second, the calm, awkward demeanor you’d come to expect from him faltering. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that?" he said, his voice higher than usual. "It’s just… my dog. Yeah, he’s in the shed out back. I forgot to mention him earlier."

You watched him closely, feeling the tension spike in the room. There was something off about the way he said it, the quickness in his tone as if he were scrambling to come up with an explanation.

"Your dog?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady, though doubt gnawed at the back of your mind.

"Yeah," he said, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "He’s old, doesn’t like people much, so I keep him out there. No big deal."

His words didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing his response, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. The uneasy feeling from earlier returned, stronger this time, creeping up your spine.

"Right," you muttered, still watching him carefully, but you decided not to push further. Not yet.

"Um... coffee?" Reese blurted out suddenly, his voice still laced with that nervous edge. He offered a forced smile, clearly trying to redirect the tension hanging thick in the air. He rubbed his hands together, glancing toward the small, cluttered kitchen. "I could make us some. Might help, you know, after everything you’ve been through."

You hesitated, still on edge from the strange noise outside and his quick, jittery explanation. Something didn’t feel right, but you weren’t sure if pushing him now would help or only make things worse. You forced a smile of your own, your mind still racing with questions.

"Sure," you said quietly, your voice flat as you tried to calm your nerves. "Coffee sounds good."

Reese nodded, too eagerly, and moved toward the kitchen, fumbling with an old coffee pot. The clattering of cups and the rush of water filled the silence, but your mind was still focused on that noise outside. A dog in the shed? It seemed like a weak excuse, but you didn’t know him well enough to push it.

You leaned back into the couch, the worn fabric sinking beneath you as your eyes drifted toward the back door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe Reese wasn’t telling you everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were exhausted, but you couldn't let your guard down.

Reese finished brewing the coffee after a few moments, bringing it over to you in a green, cracked mug. You took it from him with a polite smile, setting it down on the coffee table untouched. The steam curled up from the cup, filling the small room with the faint scent of stale coffee. Reese sat across from you, sipping from his own mug, but you couldn’t help but notice how distracted he seemed.

He kept glancing toward the window, then back at his watch, over and over. Each time, his face tensed a little more, as though he were expecting something—or someone. Your wariness only grew.

What is he looking for?

The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the noise in the backyard wasn’t as innocent as he’d made it sound.

"So…uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert.

"Dog? What dog?" Reese said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question.

"You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, and then you saw it—realization hit him like a brick. His eyes widened as he turned to look at you, panic flickering across his face.

You sat up straighter, your heart starting to race. He’d lied. And now he knew you knew.

"Uh, I mean—" he stammered, his voice shaky, "I meant, uh, Rex. Yeah, his name’s Rex. Sorry, I’m just… distracted." He forced a weak smile, but the panic was still there, clear as day. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

You shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the room thickening with every second that passed after Reese's panicked slip. His eyes kept darting between you and the window, as if something outside demanded his attention. Your pulse quickened as the uneasy feeling deepened. Something wasn’t right, and you knew you had to get out of there.

"I should…go," you said, forcing a smile as you slowly stood up, trying to keep your voice casual. "Y'know... Xavier’s probably found the phone booth by now. I should go back and meet him."

Reese blinked, his expression tightening for a split second. The forced calm he'd been trying to maintain wavered as he set his mug down on the table a little too quickly, the clink of the ceramic against wood echoing in the silence. "Go? Already?" He scratched the back of his neck again, his voice strained. "I mean, it’s cold, and it’s not safe out there… Maybe you should wait a little longer."

You swallowed hard, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. Every instinct told you to get out, but you had to keep your cool. "Thanks for the coffee and everything, but I don’t want Xavier to worry," you replied, taking a step toward the door. "I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse, remember?"

Reese stood up as well, his movements stiff, like he was trying to decide whether to stop you. His gaze flickered toward the window again, and his voice dropped. "Yeah, I get it. But, uh… maybe just a few more minutes. You don’t want to be out there alone, do you?"

You glanced toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The unease that had been lurking beneath the surface now felt like a solid weight pressing down on you. Something was very wrong, and you needed to leave—now.

"No, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything, but I need to go," you said, your voice steady despite the panic bubbling under the surface. You tried to move past Reese, your eyes focused on the door, your heart pounding with the hope of reaching it before things got worse.

But then Reese stepped in front of you, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. "No," he said flatly, his voice suddenly devoid of the awkwardness and sheepishness he’d shown before. His tone was cold, almost emotionless, as he closed the distance between you with startling speed.

Before you could react, you felt it—the cold press of metal against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body froze as the unmistakable sensation of a gun pressed hard into your skin.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. His earlier nervousness was completely gone, replaced by something dark and dangerous. "Sit back down."

Your heart raced, your mind scrambling for a way out, but all you could feel was the sharp edge of fear coursing through you. You swallowed hard, trying not to move too quickly, knowing that with one wrong step, things could spiral even further out of control.

"Reese… please," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking. "You don’t have to do this."

His eyes flickered with something—anger, desperation—but his grip on the gun didn’t waver. "Just sit down, and no one has to get hurt."

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but for now, all you could do was comply and hope that Xavier was still coming for you.

"I promised them a girl..." Reese muttered, his voice trembling slightly, though the gun still pressed firmly against your neck as you looked up at him from the couch. He glanced away from you, his guilt briefly flickering in his eyes. "Then you just... happened to be there. Right place, wrong time, I guess. So...this is how it has to be."

His words hung in the air, cold and final.

"I’m sorry," he added, though there was no comfort in his apology—just a hollow attempt at easing his own conscience.

Your breath hitched as you tried to process his words, the full weight of the situation crushing down on you. He wasn’t just some awkward guy helping you out of kindness. He had been waiting for someone—anyone—to fill a promise. And you had walked right into it.

As you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your neck, the door creaked open. Another man stepped into the room. He was taller than Reese, with a thick, rough appearance—his face shadowed by the dim light. His eyes swept the room, landing on you, taking in the situation with a detached indifference.

"Is this the girl you promised?" the man asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he’d been through this kind of scene too many times to be surprised by it. His gaze shifted briefly to Reese, then back to you, narrowing with interest.

You felt a chill run down your spine as his question hung in the air.

Reese didn’t move the gun from your neck, but you could feel the tension in his body shift as he glanced over at the man, clearly nervous about his arrival. "Yeah, this is her," Reese replied, his voice tight. "I just… need a few more minutes to get her to cooperate."

The other man stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. His eyes raked over you, cold and calculating. "No time for that," he said flatly. "Get her in the basement. You know how this works, Reese."

Your pulse quickened, fear gripping you tighter as you looked from one man to the other, your mind spinning with panic. What were they planning? You needed to find a way out, and fast, before things escalated even further.

"You’re making a mistake," you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "Someone’s coming for me. If you don’t let me go, it’s going to get a lot worse for both of you."

As the weight of your words hung in the air, you weren’t even sure who you were referring to in that moment—Sylus, the man who had kidnapped you in the first place, or Xavier, the one coming to save you. Both names were tangled up in your desperation, your mind too frantic to distinguish between them. All you could do was hope that the threat would ring true, that it would be enough to make Reese think twice.

The taller man smirked, clearly unimpressed. "We’ll see about that," he muttered, turning his back toward the door to pull up the carpet, leaving you alone with Reese and the gun still pressed to your neck. You watch as a metal trap door with a handle is revealed to have been hidden under the carpet and you gasp.

Instinct kicked in, and without thinking, you twisted suddenly, using the brief distraction in Reese’s hesitation to try and break free. You shoved his arm away with everything you had, knocking the gun off balance. For a moment, you thought you had a chance, adrenaline flooding your body as you fought with all the strength you could muster.

"Let go of me!" you screamed, thrashing and kicking as hard as you could. Your elbow connected with Reese's side, and he let out a sharp grunt, but his grip tightened. His face twisted in a mixture of frustration and fear, and he fought back, grabbing your arm and wrenching you toward him.

"Stop it!" Reese growled, struggling to maintain control, but you weren’t going down without a fight. You kicked at his legs, but his hold on you only grew stronger.

The door to the basement creaked open, and before you could react, the taller man reappeared, grabbing you by the other arm. His grip was like iron, and between the two of them, they overpowered you. Your heart pounded as you screamed and clawed, your feet scraping against the floor, but the force of their combined strength was too much.

"No! Please—" you gasped, trying to twist free, but they dragged you toward the open door.

The tall man grunted with effort as they forced you toward the dark, looming stairwell. "Get her down there already," he growled, his tone sharp and impatient.

You struggled even harder, but your muscles were weakening, the adrenaline starting to fade as fear took over. They shoved you roughly down the narrow staircase, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the damp wall. The dimness of the basement swallowed you whole, the air cold and musty. You could feel the fear wrapping around you, tighter with each step they forced you to take.

The taller man was close behind, his heavy footsteps echoing in the cold, damp basement. You felt his rough hand grab the bottom of your nightgown, his fingers curling into the fabric. Panic surged through you as his cold hand snaked across your belly, the touch sending a shiver of disgust up your spine.

You screamed, thrashing wildly against his grip, but his strength overpowered you. The man leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Wouldn't hurt to try her out before the boss gets here..." His voice was thick with lust, and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that turned your stomach.

His hand slid lower, his fingers beginning to snake inside your underwear. You could feel his hard on pressed against your backside. Fear and revulsion took over, and you knew you had to do something—anything—to stop him.

Thinking fast, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, your voice desperate and shaking. "I'm bleeding! I'm on my period!"

The words seemed to stop him in his tracks. His hand paused, the twisted hunger in his eyes faltering for a moment as confusion flickered across his face.

"You’re what?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. His grip loosened just slightly, enough for you to take a sharp breath, your heart still racing.

"I’m on my period," you repeated, your voice trembling. "It’s—it’s bad. You don’t want to do this right now."

For a brief second, his disgusted expression told you that he was weighing his options. The thought of period blood clearly repulsed him, and his hand slowly pulled away from your underwear, his lips curling in frustration.

"You’re lucky," he growled, wiping his hand on his pants, his face twisted with disdain. "But don’t think that saves you."

His hand shot up before you could react, grabbing a fistful of your hair and dragging you across the rough concrete floor toward the makeshift shower installed in the corner of the basement. Your scalp throbbed with each pull, the pain sharpening with every step, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry out.

He threw you against the cold, damp wall, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You barely had time to catch your breath before he twisted the rusty shower handle. Water burst from the nozzle, freezing and unforgiving.

“So filthy,” he sneered, standing over you as the icy water soaked your clothes, plastering them to your skin. “Maybe this will help?"

The cold bit into your bones, and you hugged yourself, trembling, struggling to stay upright as the water pounded down. He stood there a moment longer, watching with twisted satisfaction, before finally turning away, leaving you shivering on the cold, wet floor of the basement.

Sobbing on the cold, unforgiving basement floor, you shiver, your body pressed against the damp concrete, each breath heavy with despair. The chill seeps into your skin, a numbing cold that echoes the hollow ache inside you. Your tears fall, silent and unnoticed, merging with the grime beneath you as exhaustion pulls you deeper into its grip. In the silence, a desperate wish slips through your mind for someone to save you—anyone, even him.

Though Sylus had stolen you away, his presence now haunts you like a ghost. In this unbearable solitude, even the memory of him feels like a twisted solace. You long for his shadow, for those red, gleaming eyes that once pierced through the darkness, and his stark white hair, a glimmer against the void.

At least he gave you warm baths.

The thought slips through your mind, shame twisting in your chest. How could you even think of Sylus now, when poor Xavier was likely out there, rushing to save you, unaware of the torment you’re enduring? Guilt coils around you, tightening with every heartbeat, yet you can’t shake the cruel comfort of that memory. Sylus, for all the wrong he had done, had never left you to freeze, never left you to shiver and break alone.

Your vision blurs as the weight of everything crushes you, and you can almost see him—an apparition of salvation in your mind. His image flickers, vivid and sharp, as your consciousness begins to fray at the edges. The world slips away, piece by piece, and the cold wraps tighter around you.

The cold water finally stops.

In this fading moment, you cling to that impossible hope, that he, with his red eyes and cold hands, might come for you—if only to save you from a fate worse than death.

[freds-chocolate-starfish]

lacrosse practice and love notes <3

check out my stiles stilinski masterlist ☆

pairing: buzzcut!stiles x gn!reader

warnings: no use of y/n, mild fluff, awkward teenage crushes, mentions of school stress, lowercase writing style

summary: you start tutoring stiles to help him stay on the team. he’s terrible at focusing—unless you’re the one talking. he starts writing you cheesy notes in class, thinking you’ll never see them… until you do.

word count: 646

you were halfway through explaining what a dangling modifier was when stiles dropped his pencil and groaned dramatically into the table.

“why does english hate me?” he mumbled, forehead pressed to the library desk.

you tried not to laugh, flipping the workbook around so he could see your notes. “english doesn’t hate you. you just keep mixing up your metaphors. you literally said ‘the boy ran down the street in a pair of sneakers screaming.’”

he looked up. “i mean, the sneakers could scream.”

you raised a brow. “do you hear yourself?”

he grinned. “all the time. it’s exhausting.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. somehow, despite his inability to focus, your study sessions had become the best part of your week. maybe it was the way he lit up when he did understand something. or the fact that he always remembered your favorite snacks and made weird little jokes just to make you laugh.

or maybe it was just stiles.

you looked down at his notebook, ready to redirect him again, when you noticed something strange. tucked between the pages, hidden like a secret, was a folded sheet of lined paper. your name was scribbled on the outside in messy handwriting.

“what’s this?” you asked, holding it up.

his eyes went wide. “nothing. it’s—nope, that’s nothing, just a... um, vocab list.”

you gave him a look and opened it before he could grab it.

inside, in barely-legible but sincere writing, were a few lines:

you’re really smart. like, scary smart.

and you’re nice. and funny.

and you smell really good, which is weird to write down, but i do notice it.

i like you. okay. that’s it. goodbye.

you blinked. slowly. twice.

stiles looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. “okay, in my defense, i wasn’t going to actually give you that. it was just... a brain dump. you know, like journaling. healthy outlet. teenage stuff. definitely not for reading. and you read it. cool, cool, cool...”

you looked up at him. “you like the way i smell?”

“that’s the takeaway?”

you smiled, shy but sure. “well, also the part where you like me.”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “so, uh. how do you feel about, like, maybe going to the diner after practice sometime? not as a vocab tutor. just... you and me. fries. milkshakes. possibly some awkward small talk.”

you nodded. “i’d like that.”

his face lit up, and he grabbed his pencil again like he had just won the lottery. “okay. cool. vocab can wait. i’m officially invested.”

you laughed. “in english?”

“in you.”

tags: @megmc161 @wickedhexedwitch @blondegoth @jelly-rei

© freds-chocolate-starfish 2025. do not steal, reupload, remix, or reuse my work in any way without my permission. please tag me in whatever you have taken from me as inspiration. respect the writer and their work.

[touchme-teezme]

Why Me?

PAIRINGS | collegeboy!yeosang x fab!reader

TAGS | plot with some porn, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex, angsty & high tension dialogues bcs reader and yeosang are in situationship & figuring it out, reader is a player and avoidant, yeosang gets attached too easily. oopsie.

RATING | NSFW 21+ (Minors pls DNI/if it makes you uncomfortable don’t read thx)

SUMMARY | Yeosang realized he had feelings for you at the worst possible moment—now he’s spiralling and needs an outlet. Lucky for you, you’re here. Unlucky for you, it comes with a cost.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | oK this was plot heavy. lowkey in my feelings when i wrote it and i didn’t rlly want smut to be the focal point of all the stories — especially if i didn’t think it fit the members. so we’re trying something new out with yeo’s part. i hope you like it hehe enjoy freaks (complimentary). if you catch any mistakes, no you didn’t. i proofread with vibes not scrutiny.

💌 click here to see my Love Interrupted series masterlist [ot8] — check out the other parts!

inspired by pink matter & bad religion by frank ocean

(frank come home pls i can’t do this anymore.)

Yeosang wasn’t the nosy type—he liked to think he was above that.

Normally, he’d get himself to stop missing you by scrolling through your posts or replaying your story highlights like a perfectly chill (totally not obsessed) person. But today curiosity dragged him into the abyss that was your tagged photos.

And that’s where he saw it. Them.

The two others you were seeing on the side. He’d heard rumours but didn’t believe them until he saw Lee Chan’s hands on your ass as you were hugging him or a selfie where you were a little too close to Choi Yeonjun.

Even he never had a photo with you where your cheeks were squished against each others.

“Relax,” Wooyoung had told him that night he confided in his friend, “It’s normal. They’re probably just on her roster. You guys aren’t exclusive anyway.”

Now, every time he lay flat on his back, staring at a ceiling, his mind went into the same place:

How did you meet them? How long have you been seeing them? Do they know what you like? Or worse—did you touch them the same way you’re touching him right now?

And seriously, how the fuck did you and Yeonjun even meet?

“Yeosang, i’m talking to you.”

“Huh?” His head jerked up at the sound of your voice, only to find you staring up at him from between his legs, mouth hovering just shy of the fabric of his underwear.

His pants were bunched at his ankles, and he was sprawled out with his knees hanging off the bed—one hand casually tucked under his head.

The angle was doing the most to show off how much gym time he and San had clearly been clocking lately.

“I asked if I can—“

“Uh… Y-Yeah, yeah go ahead.”

You sighed, rising from your knees to gracefully mount his body. Straddling him with elegance, you leaned down, your face inches from his clearly preoccupied gaze.

Speaking of gazes, his eyes were your favourite. Your knuckles grazed his birthmark, then you casually swept his hair back.

"What's going on?"

He reacted instantly, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply as he leaned in. You felt his hands glide down your spine, past the hooks of your bra. He shook his head, "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Something’s definitely going on because I was about to suck you off and you haven’t looked at me once.”

Yeosang gently placed his hand on the back of your head and flipped you over, landing you on your side.

He then adjusted himself, kicking off his jeans with a nonchalant flick of his ankle. Scooting closer to your flushed face, his silence was starting to make you a tad more nervous than usual.

“Is everything okay?” You shifted closer to his body.

“I wanted to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

“Oh. Sure.” Your eyebrows rose. “But maybe we save the serious talk for after, you know, the fun stuff?” You started trailing your fingers along the faint ridges of his abs.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his as he stared down at your joined hands. “Do you…” He trailed off, recalibrating mid-sentence. “How long are we going to keep having fun?”

“Well,” you said, blinking like it was the most obvious answer in the world, “A few rounds, a few hours—though if you do that thing I like, I might have to keep you here a bit longer.”

You leaned in for a kiss, slow and deliberate, your lips skimming his bottom lip. His hand slipped to your ass like muscle memory, but instead of diving in, his brain just had to keep working.

“No, not this,” he mumbled between kisses before pulling away with all the self-control and focus in the world. “I mean… this—as in, us. How much longer are we going to keep this going?”

“Oh.” You paused, your eyes darted between his face and the diminishing gap between your bodies. “I don’t know… as long as we want to?”

His jaw tightened, his expression unreadable.

“Do you not want to anymore?” You asked.

“It’s not that,” he sighed. “I’m starting my internship next semester. I just… I needed to know if I have a reason to turn down that offer in Busan.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could hear was the faint hum of the city beyond your creaked window.

“Well,” you said. “I told you…if you want to, you should.”

“So you think I should go?”

“I think you should do whatever makes you happiest.”

“And what if what I want doesn’t make you happy?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a shrug. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“But it does. It matters to me.” His voice dipped, tinged with frustration, though his gaze softened into something you hadn’t seen before.

“So… what do you want me to say?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” His voice cracked just enough to make your chest tighten. “That you want me to stay. That this is something important to hold on to or that…” He gestured vaguely to himself, as if it physically pained him. “…that I’m not just someone you fuck when everyone else is busy.”

Oh.

You sighed, sitting up to rake your fingers through your hair while pulling your knees to your chest.

Maybe it was one of the guys you’d been seeing who ran his mouth. Word gets around campus pretty easily when you have mutual friends. It’s also not like you were deliberately hiding it, but you somehow still felt a little ashamed for him to find out.

Yeosang, on the other hand, looked like he’d rather dissolve into thin air. Maybe insecurity had sucker-punched him or he was catching feelings and scared you’d bolt the moment he brought it up.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he muttered, voice soft and far away. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” He shifted to sit next to you, his posture mirroring yours.

“It’s fine,” You tried to sound reassuring, but the weight of his question hung in the air.

You glanced at him, and damn his side profile wasn’t helping you think straight. “So, what is it? You don’t want me seeing anyone else?”

His sharp inhale said it all. “I can’t tell you what to do, but just so you know, I’m not seeing anyone else,” his voice was rough, like he was trying to swallow the words before they came out. “I don’t even want anyone else. I don’t know how you do it, how you can… be with anyone else.”

Yeosang turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “I just… I want to know if it could ever be… just me.”

He’d meant it when he swore off relationships — especially after what happened to San, he believed that was more than enough to convince him that relationships weren’t worth it.

But the more he saw you, the more his wishes began to crack. The more he wanted it to be only him you came back to.

“What am I to you?” he asked finally, the question breaking the silence.

You swallowed, searching for words that felt like truth but wouldn’t cut too deep. “You’re…” The answer wavered, unsure even as it left your lips. “You’re someone I care about. A lot.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to kiss him, trying to drown out the conversation in the only way you knew how.

His fingers gripped your hips tightly, grounding you against him, and you felt a flicker of guilt at the way you were avoiding his question but it melted away when you felt his tongue slip in.

When you pulled back, he was breathless and flushed, his chest heaving as if he’d just surfaced from underwater. His hands stayed firmly on your love handles, and his forehead leaned against yours.

“For fuck’s sake…” he muttered, the frustration thick in his voice. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair like that would somehow untangle the mess in his brain. “Why me?”

“Yeosang?”

He realised right then and there, there was no changing your mind.

He snapped back to reality, his grip tightening as his hands slid down to your thighs. In one smooth move, you were on your back and he was settling himself right on top of you.

Yeosang settled between your thighs. He rocked his hips, grinding himself against you, seeking friction and relief as your lips wouldn’t leave his alone.

You cupped the side of his face, looking up at him between breaks of the kiss to slide a gentle slow finger into his mouth for him to suck as he held your stare.

Your other hand pushed away the curtain of hair falling from his face, admiring his bare beauty in your touch.

You liked how he reacted to your touches, how at a single command he kneels, he’d do anything for you if you’d ask — maybe that’s what scared you in return but you’d never tell him that.

You both eventually fell on your sides, not a single word besides the usual moans and gasps of “yes”, “like that”, and yeosang’s personal favourite: “i need you right now.”

Before you knew it, your back faced him and you were both entirely undressed.

He held you tight, pressing his face into the sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder. His lips trailed kisses there as his hands explored your familiar curves. Your hips ground back against him, rubbing your ass over his erection.

His fingers danced across your stomach before slipping lower. You groaned, feeling his fingers open to a ‘V’ to graze the sides of your entrance with light strokes.

His focus on you was primal and hungry as he started circling the your folds in a distinct pattern. He sunk two fingers deep inside your slick clenching heat, earning a breathy whine that was turning him on relentlessly. Your breath was hot against his ear as you watched him work, your inner muscles clenching greedily.

Yeosang knew your body the best out of the others. He always paid attention to your physical reactions to what you really like and what hurt you. After a while, he got the hang of it pretty damn quick.

Between the gentle caresses and firmer strokes, he was driving you higher, teasing you mercilessly—and yet, he hadn’t even gone all the way. But holding out much longer wasn’t an option; the things you were saying were wrecking his focus, leaving his restraint hanging by a thread.

You’re the only one I want.

You make me feel so good.

I want you so bad.

Don’t get him wrong, the sex was great — but even with you naked in his arms, swearing he was the one you wanted, he didn’t feel it. Because desiring him wasn’t the same as making him yours—and you never would.

You held his face behind you, anchoring your hand on the nape of his neck as he pounded into you with his hard throbbing cock into you at an angle that was blurring your vision.

He was eagerly grabbing a handful of your breast, teasing your nipple between his fingers as he sucked onto your neck, whining against your skin.

He pushed your knee higher. Gripping your side like he was holding on for dear life, he thrust into you with the determination, only to pull out slowly, and savouring the moment.

The increasing pace turned your moans into a symphony of pleasure, loud enough to give the neighbors an unsolicited introduction to Yeosang’s name. They might not have seen him, but they sure knew who he was now.

The sound of skin meeting skin, punctuated by the occasional slap of his hand against your ass made you grin.

“Fuck! Yeosang!” You exclaimed.

“I know baby, I know,” he replied, his voice a low, reassuring rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

His focus unwavering. It was as if he had a singular mission: to bring you to the peak of pleasure and join you there.

He eventually sent you over the edge. You bit down on your lip as he showered you with open-mouthed kisses on one side of your face.

“Shit… Yeosang, that was— you felt so fucking good.” You barely caught your breath.

You held his face over your shoulder and he smiled back, feeling your thumb stroke the side of his face before coming in for a rewarding kiss.

Yeosang had it all—looks, charm, the perfect height for you, and you always had a soft spot for the shy types. Sure, his borderline obsession with video games wasn’t exactly your favorite thing, but hey, at least it wasn’t destructive.

Still, no matter how great he was, Yeosang realised the truth you’d never admit: a relationship wasn’t exactly your thing.

Still, his visit to your neighbourhood didn’t end on that note.

After a few rounds of small talk and a necessary bathroom breaks, you were back to your usual routine — with a few new surprises.

It included him kneeling before your parted legs as you sat on the edge of the bed, watching him savour, and lick up your core. It wasn't long before your leg found its way over his shoulder, trembling and quivering as you held onto the back of his head.

Then came the moment when he held your wrists behind your back, taking you from behind. Fucking. Hell. The spanking returned, accompanied by a string of praises in that low voice of his and it turned you on more than anything else he’d ever tried.

You were so caught up in the bliss and pleasure of the moment, reveling in how he truly outdid himself tonight, that you missed two things:

Yeosang had whispered "I love you" at the peak of his final climax.

And this was going to be the last time.

Yeosang was so haunted by the painful realization that if he ever walked away, you wouldn't miss him.

After all, there were plenty of others ready to take his place by your side, as if he were just another face in the crowd.

He knew you were never going to change your mind, even when he was the one on the line.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, you were fast asleep. Yeosang watched the steady rise and fall of your bare back, the room quiet except for your soft breathing. The faint jingle of his belt buckle broke the stillness as he slipped into his jeans.

He caught sight of himself in your full-length mirror in the corner, you sound asleep behind him, and all he felt was emptiness. The faint marks on his neck and chest—your handiwork—didn’t even draw the usual smirk.

He slipped his shirt back on and crept out of your place, the same way he’d done countless times before.

Standing on the corner of your street, he pulled out his phone and fired off an email accepting the position. One press of “send”, he raised his arm, hailing a taxi without a second glance back.

A yellow coloured taxi pulled up just as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. He climbed in, saying the name of his street and sinking into his seat, completely worn out.

The driver nodded without saying much from the rearview mirror where a string of beads with a tassel hung. The car pulled away from that street.

He stole another glance at Yeosang, whose watery eyes and faraway stare made it seem like the weight of the world was crushing his shoulders.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang muttered, leaning against the glass. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket, and his gaze dropped to the screen—Wooyoung’s name lighting up, accompanied by that dumb photo he’d set as his own contact picture.

He’d hoped that by the sixth missed call—during the time Yeosang had your arms pinned behind your back—Wooyoung would finally give it a rest.

But if there was one thing everyone knew about Wooyoung, it was that his commitment to annoying his friends was unmatched.

“Fucking finally, where are you?” Wooyoung’s voice came through, loud and chaotic, with the telltale background noise of a busy restaurant.

“Home,” Yeosang lied, voice barely above a mumble and cleared his throat. “Why?”

“Perfect, so you’re close. Everyone’s already here—your roommate, Hwa, the usual. San and Mingi bailed though. Typical. Anyway, you promised you’d show up tonight, so—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Yeosang cut him off, not in the mood for one of Wooyoung’s endless rambles.

Wooyoung, sharp as ever, caught the attitude immediately. “Don’t be a dick. We’ll just see you at the club if you’re gonna take forever.”

“Yeah, sure. Bye.” Yeosang ended the call before Wooyoung could get another word in. He didn’t even flinch when he heard Wooyoung start to curse—cutting him off mid-sentence was the point.

The driver glanced at him as they pulled to a stop at a red light, an eyebrow quirking in silent judgment. “A lot going on, huh?”

Yeosang’s eyes stayed fixed on the city lights, streaking and blurring as they sped past. “You have no idea.”

The driver shrugged, settling back into his seat. “Well, it’s a long drive to where you’re headed. I’ve got time.”

[harrywavycurly]

Worth the Fight: Disagreement

Masterlist: Here

CW: Pregnancy stuff, minor jealous Harry (him and Patrick have an issue lol), smut (fingering, thigh fucking and dirty talk).

Word Count: 5.8K

A/N: We are getting closer to the twins arriving and I’m so excited, there’s only 2 parts left after this! Also if you don’t want to read the smut just skip the last section, you won’t be missing any details just the spice!✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca @behindmygreyeyes @mads3502 @tpwkdpr @unfuckwitablenarry @itscoucouharry @latedirectionerera @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cumuluscranium @donutsandpalmtrees @silastylesswift @prettygurl-2009 @blueleonor @daphnesutton @angeldavis777 @harryssunflower17 @blckburd @tinawritesstuff @inlikea-coolway @mothersversiononly

Summary: Harry asks you a question, feelings are discussed and the two of you spend a day in bed✨

There’s a silence in your apartment that has you feeling on edge as you sit at your kitchen table rubbing your lips together as your mind begins to shuffle through all the check lists you have full of things you need to finish preparing and buy before the twins arrive. You flick your eyes over towards your kitchen where Harry is standing with a hand on your counter and the other holding a green apple that’s placed on the same cutting board he’s been using ever since he started making your juices months ago. You can tell by the way his eyes are looking straight ahead and not at the fruit in his hand that he is lost in his thoughts, probably thoughts very similar to the ones racing through your own mind so you just allow the silence to linger for a few minutes longer before you decide to break it.

“What’s the first thing on your list?” You ask as your hands rest on top of your very big pregnancy belly that has you not able to do much of anything without assistance these days. Harry blinks a few times before shaking his head as if to clear his mind before turning his head to look over at you.

“Sorry did-what did you ask me?” You let out a chuckle at his confused expression as his grip on the apple tightens ever so slightly.

“Your list of things you feel like you need to get done before the twins get here.” You look down at your belly and give it a gentle rub with both hands before looking back at him. “What’s the number one thing you-”

“Figure out where you’ll be staying once they’re here.”

“What do you mean? I’ll be staying here. In my house.”

“Okay.” You watch him as he carefully decides how he wants to articulate his next question as he lets go of the apple and turns around so he can lean his back against the counter. “And uh am I allowed to-uhm possibly also stay here with you?” He doesn’t look at you as he fumbles his way through asking the question, instead his eyes are glued to a spot on the tile floor near your refrigerator.

“Gee let me think about this.” You tilt your head to the side and tap your chin with your pointer finger as Harry lifts his head to look at you with a quirked brow at your playful tone because he is on the verge of a panic induced sweat while you seem very calm. “Can my boyfriend who also happens to be my baby daddy who doesn’t really let me get more then five feet away from him without him shouting my name to see where I’m at stay with me after our twins are born?” You question as you act as if you’re mulling the idea over in your mind but the slight upturn of your lips tells Harry you’re trying to hold off a smile and that can only mean one thing. “Yes Harry. Of course you can stay here because I’m sure as hell not going to your house right away with all those-”

“Stairs. I know love.” He says with a smile as he walks over to where you’re sat at the table. “I’d like to point out I let you get at least ten feet away from me before I’m shouting for you.” You roll your eyes as he holds his hands out for you to take so he can help you out of the chair.

“I was right behind you the other day and you shouted-”

“Baby I couldn’t see you I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.”

“You still shouted-in a library of all places.”

“It wasn’t even a real shout it was just a loud whisper.” You glare at him while his hands rub the sides of your belly as the two of you stand in the middle of your kitchen. “That lady didn’t need to be so mean about it.” The moment the words leave his mouth he knows he has royally messed up, so he just braces himself for you to let him have it as his hands continue to rub at your belly, lightly scratching it through the fabric of your t shirt since he knows you’ve been a bit itchy lately.

“That lady? You mean the librarian who was just trying to do her job of keeping it nice and peaceful in a place people come to read and learn?” You let out a huff as you swat his hands away from your bump making him frown at bit at the loss of contact. “You’re dating one of those ladies Harry and you’re lucky she just gave you a harsh shush and didn’t kick you out.” Harry knows you wish so badly that you could just storm off and leave him standing in the kitchen to think about what he just said but you can’t, you haven’t had your juice yet and you can’t exactly get around very easy and have been relying on Harry’s annoyingly toned arms for support so you’re stuck in the small space with him, annoyed and dangerously on the verge of becoming hangry.

“I’m sorry love it won’t happen again.”

“I would’ve kicked you out.” You mumble in a half annoyed and half serious tone, not ready to acknowledge his apology you keep your eyes focused on your bump making Harry bite down on his bottom lip in order to fight off the smile that wants to form on his face at your stubbornness. “And ban you from ever being able to step foot in any public library in the country.” You add making a scoff slip out of Harry’s mouth as he tries to sneak his hands back to the sides of your bump without you noticing.

“Now sweetheart that’s a bit much don’t you think?” You just shrug as you try to shove his hands away but this time he doesn’t let you, keeping them firmly on the sides of your belly making you huff in annoyance. “That would mean I’d never be able to bring you lunch at work or take the twins to story time or-”

“They wouldn’t be banned.” You correct him, finally looking him in his eyes that are a soft shade of green that has you wanting to let out a soft sigh but you don’t because there’s a point to be made here and you refuse to be distracted by his big dumb eyes. “Just you.” Harry lets out a chuckle as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well good thing you weren’t the librarian on duty then.” You roll your eyes as he leans in, and when you go to turn your head so his lips land on your cheek he pauses. “Come on Cranky gimme a kiss so I can get back to making your juice before you get really upset.” You let out a sigh as you turn your head allowing him to press his lips against yours for a quick and sweet kiss.

“I really would’ve kicked you out.” You mumble with a small pout as he pulls away with a smile on his face.

“I know.” He states as he leans in to press his lips to your forehead. “I love you.” You freeze as the words slip past his lips making him immediately pull away and take a step back from you with wide eyes and red cheeks, embarrassed he just accidentally let those words tumble out of his mouth so easily.

“You-”

“I uhm I meant I love them like-the twins yeah yeah I uh love them.”

“That’s not what you meant and that’s so not okay to say in the middle of an argument Harry that’s-that’s cheating.”

“What? How is that cheating? This wasn’t even an argument?”

“If it wasn’t an argument then why were you apologizing?”

“Because that’s-uh well that’s a good question.” You stare at him as he runs a hand through his hair as you try to come to terms with the fact he just casually admitted he loves you while in the middle of your kitchen. “So maybe this was just a disagreement over how I handled a situation in the library and also for me rudely referring to the librarian as just some lady so-so that’s why I was apologizing.”

“But do you know you were wrong?”

“I know you feel like I was wrong. Yes.”

“Harry.”

“Okay fine. Yes I know I was wrong and that’s why I was apologizing. I shouldn’t have shouted in the library and I should have more respect for librarians because I just so happen to be in love with one.” You feel your eyes well up as a lump forms in your throat as Harry stares back at you with a hopeful expression on his face.

“Does your therapist know you’re a cheater as well as a narcissist?” Harry lets out a chuckle and shrugs a shoulder as he reaches his hand out to grab yours that’s resting on top of your bump.

“I’m sure he’s well aware of all my flaws but I’ll ask when I talk to him next week.”

“Good.” You feel his hand cup the side of your face just as the first few tears fall from your eyes. “You really love me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’re panicking over the fact we have five weeks until the twins are here and-and we haven’t even packed a hospital bag or-”

“Hey sweetheart look at me okay?” You swallow thickly as your eyes meet his. “I love you and I’m not telling you this because I’m in pre twin arrival induced panic.” He gives you a smile as you sniffle and try to blink back a new wave of tears. “I’m telling you this because it’s how I feel or- how I’ve felt ever since you let me take you on that horrible first date a month ago and you know I’ve always been bad with timing and-”

“I love you too Harry.” Your voice is watery and the tiniest bit squeaky as it cuts off his rambling but Harry doesn’t mind, all he can focus on is the fact you’re saying it back.

“Yeah? You’re not just saying that so I’ll go and make your juice?” He teases as a grin spreads across his face making his dimples pop out.

“No I’m saying it because it’s how I feel. Besides I can make my own juice.”

“You can?”

“Yes I’ve done it before.”

“What? When?” His eyebrow raise as he looks over at the relatively large knife resting on the cutting board next to the apple he left on it. “I don’t like the idea of you using knives when I’m not around. I know that sounds-”

“Harry.” He turns to look back over at you as you reach over and cup his face with both of your hands. “Don’t ruin the moment.” He smiles as you pull him down for a kiss as his hands fall to your hips.

“Won’t happen again love.”

“Oh I’m sure it will.” You joke as you give his cheeks a small squeeze before dropping your hands from his face. “Also that was quite a declaration of love you just made- have you been reading my romance novels?” You ask making him roll his eyes as he turns to head back into your kitchen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laugh as you watch him grab the knife and begin cutting up the apple.

“Whatever you say.” You stand there for a moment, looking over your shoulder to the chair you were just sat in and then through the doorway of your kitchen towards your couch.

“Harry can-” before you can finish your sentence Harry is by your side with his arm out for you to grab onto so you can begin walking towards the living room.

“Comfy?” He asks after helping you get situated on the couch. You just nod making him smile as Paris walks into the room causing his bell the jingle having woken up from his mid morning nap he no doubt took in his new favorite spot, the middle of the rug in the twin’s nursery.

“Paris your stepdad told me he loves me in the middle of an argument.” Harry playfully rolls his eyes as he leans over and presses his lips to the top of your head before turning to go back into the kitchen.

“Wasn’t an argument Paris it was a disagreement.” He corrects, Paris pauses to watch Harry disappear into the kitchen before he turns to walk over to where your feet are propped up on the coffee table with a pillow underneath them.

“Want to snuggle with your mom?” You asks the orange colored cat who just purrs as he leaps onto the couch and instantly plops down next to you so his back is firmly pressed against your hip. “Oh Paris things are about to get a little crazy around here.” You tell him with a sigh as the sound of Harry chopping fruit and the gentle purrs of your cat start to gently lull you to sleep.

This is something Harry has gotten quite used to, you just randomly dozing off for a quick Power Nap while he’s off doing something in another room. So he just smiles and places a kiss to your forehead when he walks back into the living room a few minutes later with your juice in one hand and a bowl of grapes in the other, not wanting to disturb your morning nap so he just puts your goodies on the table next to the armrest of the couch and picks up Paris so he can place him in his lap after sitting down next to you.

“Your mom loves me too mate so that means no more biting.” He whispers to the orange ball of fur currently curled up in his lap. “Or at least start biting my other ankle.”

“Love?” You turn your head at the sound of Harry entering your bedroom, when you get a good look at the sweatshirt he has on you bring a hand up to cover your mouth to hide your laughter. “What’re you giggling at over there?” He asks as he walks over to what has now become his side of the bed, the one closest to the door claiming it’s so he can rush off and go grab whatever you need in the middle of the night but you know it’s one of his safety things.

“Nothing I just really like your shirt that’s all.”

“Do you really? I picked it myself.”

“Oh that much is very obvious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He questions with a quirked brow as he looks down at the front of his sweatshirt. “It says daddy.” You just nod as you try to get comfortable, Harry looks over at you as you roll over so you’re facing his side of the bed.

“I’m aware of what it says Harry I do know how to read thank you very much.” You say with a huff as you fluff your pregnancy pillow a bit before resting your head on it.

“I don’t get why it had you in a giggle fit? It says daddy and I’m going to be a daddy.” You let out another round of giggles as he gets on the bed after kicking off his shoes.

“I’m just curious have you been wearing that all day?” You wonder as he scoots over so his arm is resting on the side of your pregnancy pillow.

“Yes because you keep it bloody freezing in the house thanks to your-”

“You’re the reason I’m dealing with hot flashes so don’t be sassy about how cold it is in here.”

“Right. Of course.” He gives you an apologetic look as you reach over and flick him in the shoulder. “But yes I wore it to run a few errands and went to see Niall at the studio.” He answers making you just rub your lips together as his hand finds your wrist and begins tracing little circles on it with his thumb while he holds his phone in his other hand and is scrolling through his emails.

“You ran errands and went to the studio in a sweatshirt that says daddy on it?”

“Yes now can you tell me why that’s an issue?”

“It’s not an issue but does Mr. Popular really not understand how funny it is that he was seen walking around in a shirt that just says the word daddy on it in big block letters? I mean come on you-”

“Oh.” You watch Harry place his phone down on his chest as the realization hits him. “Well I mean-I can’t help what people call me and-and the sweatshirt is soft and I’m not ashamed to wear it.” You just give him a smile when he looks over at you.

“It’s cute.” You tell him making him smile as he leans over to place a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re cute.”

“Thank you-oh guess what I finally got today.” Harry’s thumb pauses its tracing on your wrist as he takes a quick look around the bedroom for any signs of what you could’ve gotten while he was out running errands.

“Uh did you pick their coming home outfits?”

“Without the opinion of their ultra fashionable daddy? I’d never.” The glare he sends you makes you laugh. “But it does have to do with the twins.” You tell him as he gives the room another subtle scan and his eyes go wide when he sees it, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room is a black backpack with the name “Styles” embroidered in white on it in a pretty cursive font.

“Holy shit.” He says out of shock making you reach down with your free hand and place it over your bump as you playfully glare at Harry.

“Harry Styles watch your language in front of the children.”

“Sorry but you finally picked a diaper bag? You’ve been looking for one for months.”

“I just wanted to make sure it was going to something that I could use for years and wasn’t too bulky.”

“You mean like that monstrosity you call a purse?” He questions as he leans over to place his phone on his nightstand.

“You’re the only one who hates my-”

“Nope not even close to being true my love because tons of people hate your purse I’m just the only one willing to be honest with you about it.”

“Whatever.” You huff making Harry lean over to he can place little kisses to your cheek until you let out a giggle. “You’re lucky I like you because I got you one too.” He smiles against your cheek as you tilt your head so his lips are now hovering above yours.

“Oh come on sweetheart we both know you love me.” He murmurs against your lips before capturing them in a sweet kiss.

“Sorry it doesn’t say daddy though.” You say with a smile when he pulls away making him let out a groan as he rests his forehead against yours.

“M’never gonna hear the end of this am I?”

“Nope.”

Harry sits up and crosses his arms over his chest as he turns and glares at your side of the bed, not at you but at the plush object you’re currently cuddling with as you lay on your side with a book in your hand. Your pregnancy pillow has somehow worked its way onto Harry’s list of things he can’t stand, now he’s happy you’re comfortable he wants you to be as comfortable as possible but he hates how the soft plush pillow gets in the way when he tries to snuggle with you. He can’t even fully get his hand on your bump when laying on his side at night before going to sleep, the pillow wedged between the two of you. Now he knows he’s being a tad bit silly and dramatic but in this moment when all he wants to do is cuddle up with you while you read your new book, he doesn’t really care how dramatic he seems.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Harry lets out a sigh as you turn the page of your book, not bothering to look over at him.

“Do you really need this right now?” He asks as he pokes the side of your pillow making your eyes glance down to the spot his finger just jabbed.

“Yes I need him.” You answer as you go back to reading while Harry just stares at you with a raised brow.

“Him? Your pillow is a him? Tell me you didn’t name him.”

“I did. His name is Patrick.”

“Patrick? Why-why would you name it?”

“Because it felt weird to cuddle with something and it not have a name so I named him Patrick the pillow but you can just call him Patrick.” You explain once again without looking up from your book, you just snuggle deeper into the pillow making Harry let out a huff.

“Well isn’t Patrick for sleeping? You’re not sleeping.”

“Keep talking and that’ll change in a few minutes.” You tease dryly causing Harry to send you a glare that you don’t even notice due to how intently you’re focusing on the book in your hand that you checked out from the library a few days ago and sent Harry to go pick up for you.

“Baby.” He doesn’t mean to sound so whiny as he leans his head back so it’s resting against the headboard of the bed. “I just want to cuddle and he gets in the way and you don’t even seem to care.”

“You’re the one who bought him for me.”

“Well yes but-”

“But now you want me to kick him out? That’s rude.”

“He was bought before we started sleeping together-as uhm as in we sleep in the same bed together not that we sleep together even though we-we have done that as well but the point is Patrick has got to fucking go.” About halfway through his little rant you lift your head and close your book sliding it to the middle of the bed, you look at him with a small smile on your face as he fumbles his way through explaining his frustrations with your pregnancy pillow.

“You really don’t like Patrick?” Harry looks over at you as you begin to try and sit up.

“I don’t like how he gets in the way when I’m trying to cuddle you and now you’ve gone and named him so it’s-it’s weird having Patrick in the middle of us when I’m trying to-”

“Spoon me?” He lets out a huff and sends you a playful glare that makes you laugh as you reach your hand out for him to take. “And is that what you’re wanting to do right now?”

“Is it so wrong that I want to spend a day in bed cuddling my girlfriend?” He asks as he takes your hand so you can give it a little squeeze.

“Of course not.” You say with a smile as you let go of Harry’s hand so you can maneuver yourself to where your feet are dangling off the side of the bed. “Now help me up so I can go get a snack while you get rid of Patrick.” Harry is already getting out of bed and walking to your side by the time you’re done talking.

“No more grapes okay? You’ll give yourself a tummy ache.” He tells you as he helps you up, you just roll your eyes as your hands rub the top of your belly.

“So bossy.” You mumble on your way out the door making Harry chuckle as he hears the sound of Paris’s bell jingling letting him know the cat is following you to the kitchen, leaving his napping spot in the rocking chair in twin’s nursery.

“Sorry Patrick.” Harry tells the pregnancy pillow as he grabs it off your side of the bed. “But you’ve gotta go mate.” He says as he tosses it in the closet before shutting the door.

What feels like half an hour later but is really just ten minutes later Harry’s face breaks out into a grin when you waddle your way back into the bedroom licking your lips and carrying your water bottle. He is laying on his side of the bed, now in just a tank top and athletic shorts having ditched his sweatshirt since he knows you tend to always run a little hot and he doesn’t enjoy sweating while trying to get some quality cuddle time with you. You give him a smile as you place your water bottle on your nightstand and sit down on the edge of the bed with a small huff.

“And what did you three agree on for a snack?” He asks as you swing one leg at a time onto the bed, Harry has to practically hold his hands together to stop himself from reaching over and helping you but he knows if you want his help you’ll ask or simply look at him with that dramatically adorable pout. He knows you’re trying to still be as independent as possible without pushing yourself too far so even though it nearly kills him, he will politely sit and watch you take a few minutes to get comfortable on the bed.

“A slice of watermelon and two bites of cantaloupe.” You answer as you roll over to your side so you’re facing your nightstand. Harry takes your queue and wastes no time in scooting over and laying down next to you on his side.

“I thought you didn’t like the cantaloupe? Said it was too sweet?”

“I forgot.” You admit making Harry let out a chuckle as one of his arms slides under the pillow your head is on and his other wraps around your middle so his hand is resting on your belly. “But that’s why I only had two bites and not the whole container.” You explain with a yawn as Harry places a kiss to the top of your shoulder.

“I love you.” He whispers into your ear as he moves so your back is up against his front earning him a soft sigh of content from you.

“I love you too.” He knows by the way your voice sounds that you’re only a few minutes away from falling asleep so before he gets too comfortable he reaches towards the end of the bed and grabs the thin throw blanket and tosses it over the lower half of the two of you because he knows your feet and legs will get cold since you’re just in maternity bike shorts and an oversized t shirt. And even though it might not look it given how he tossed Patrick in the closet for the afternoon, he still wants you to be as comfortable as possible while cuddled up in his arms.

Harry is curled up behind you, his hand gripping your hip keeping you pressed together, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. It’s not that he tries to intentionally wake you up, but he has his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck and he can’t help himself when he places a kiss to the spot below your ear earning him a small giggle from you. He smiles against your sensitive skin and it’s not until you begin to stir and arch your back making your backside press against him that he realizes just how much he’s been enjoying having your warm body pressed against him during your mid day nap.

He knows you can feel him begin to harden as you unconsciously press yourself against him again as you stretch your limbs. The breathy sigh he lets slip passed his lips has you pausing as his hand on your hip tightens its grip ever so slightly. He’s prepared to slide out of the bed and head to the bathroom to deal with his growing issue, not wanting to disturb your post nap bliss. But when you place a hand over his on your hip and slowly drag it up to slide under the waistband of your bike shorts his hips jerk making him let out a moan that’s muffled by his face still being nestled in the crook of your neck at the pleasant friction he gets from his shorts against his now fully hardened length.

“You’re so warm.” He says softly, his breath hot against your neck as his hand slowly travels down over your hip and under the band of your panties letting him feel your skin against his fingers. “And soft.” He mumbles as his hips grind against your backside causing a tiny gasp to leave your lips.

“Harry.” You say with a sigh, voice still slightly thick with sleep but now mixed with a burning need that has you instinctively pressing yourself back against him.

“Can I take these off baby?” He asks, breathing into your ear, when you just nod he doesn’t waste any time before he’s sliding your shorts and panties down your legs until you can kick them off letting them land on the floor. You reach a hand behind you and give the band of his athletic shorts a small tug letting him know you want them off which he quickly does and soon you’re letting out a soft breathy moan when you feel him gently lift your top leg so he can slide himself between your thighs.

“God you feel so good.” He lets out a moan at how good the friction of being nestled snuggly between your warm soft thighs feels against his length.

Slowly he begins to move his hips, gliding against the silky heat of your skin. The friction sends waves of pleasure pulsing through his body, each thrust is slow and deliberate, as if he doesn’t want the intimate moment between the two of you to end too soon.

“Fuck baby- I love feeling you like this.” He moans, his voice strained as his hips maintain their rhythmic pace, his cock sliding smoothly between your thighs.

His grip gently tightens on your hip as he pulls you closer against him, intensifying the sensation. He hears your breath hitch as his fingers slip down until his thumb is gently circling your sensitive bud, matching the slow pace of his thrusts.

“Harry please.” You beg as you press yourself firmly against his hand, seeking more of his touch. He knows what you need from him so he moves his hips faster and adds a bit more pressure to your clit. “Need-oh god.” He doesn’t let you get the rest of your request out before he’s slipping two fingers inside your warm center making a deep moan of pleasure bubble up from his chest when you grind down hard onto his hand, your backside meeting his hips.

“That’s what you needed isn’t it baby?” He whispers breathlessly before placing a kiss to the side of your neck, nipping at the spot below your ear. “Fuck-you’re so wet and-shit so warm I can feel you squeezing my fingers.” Your thighs clench tighter around him as he thrusts his fingers deeper inside your wetness while he continues giving your clit gentle circles with his thumb.

Harry lets out a groan as his hips begin moving faster, losing himself in the intoxicating rhythm, his fingers matching the pace making your eyes shut as he feels you tighten around his digits that are tucked inside of you.

“H-Harry I’m so-oh I’m close.” Your words have his thrusts becoming urgent and fervent, driven by pure instinct and passion. He pumps his fingers in and out of you with a new found determination, needing you to get your release before he can get his own.

“Just let go for me sweetheart. Make a mess all over my fingers.” He urges tenderly before his lips attach to your neck.

When his thumb adds more pressure to your clit you begin moaning his name as you let the pleasure overtake you in waves, your body is arching into Harry’s embrace as your climax leaves you slightly overwhelmed. The tightening of your thighs and the way you’re clenching around his fingers sends Harry spiraling over the edge, his release spilling warmly onto your thighs as his body shudders with an intense wave of pleasure.

“Shit.” He breaths heavily as your hand wraps around his wrist to stop his thumb from rubbing at your sensitive bundle, he slowly removes his fingers from inside you making you let out a soft sigh. He lifts his head just enough so he can bring his glistening digits up to his mouth, he can’t help the moan that leaves him as he tastes you on his tongue.

“You’re so dramatic.” You say with a giggle as you turn your head so you can get a better view of Harry’s face just as he takes his fingers from his mouth with a pop.

“Can’t help it I like the way you taste.” He tells you with a smile as he leans down to place a kiss to your lips.

“You made a mess.”

“Oh I made a mess? I think you meant to say we made a mess.”

“Now we need a shower and new sheets.” Harry just lets out a chuckle as his hand goes to the hem of your t shirt, slowly sliding under it letting him feel the softness of your belly.

“Might as well finish getting undressed then.” He whispers against your lips, his hand going higher until he’s cupping one of your bra covered breasts.

“Did you have another sex dream about me or something? What’s got you all horned up?” You tease as he gives your breast a soft squeeze when you turn your head to look over at the clock on your nightstand that lets you know your nap was a little over an hour.

“You’re just-so fucking sexy I can’t help it.” He answers as his lips kiss their way down your neck. “But let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll change the sheets.” He gives your shoulder a kiss over the fabric of your t shirt before he slides his hand out from underneath it, he sits up as you roll over to your back.

“I love you.” Harry grins as you stare up at him with a smile on your face, when his eyes meet yours he finds himself almost getting lost in them.

“I love you too.” He says as he leans over so he can place a kiss to the top of your head. “Now come on let’s get you in the shower before you start to get cranky from missing your post nap snack.” This has you rolling your eyes but the smile doesn’t fall from your face and Harry knows it’s because you know he’s right. And in someway it has your heart wanting to melt because he knows you so well and despite all your little moody moments and the need to have eight snacks a day, he still loves you and you love him just as much.

[doiliedaze]

Intertwined, Sewn Together

Butch mechanic! Vi x Bimbo flower shop owner! reader

Warnings: Vi courting reader very obviously, flirt Vi, tooth-rooting fluff, reader is a perv a little (implied she has masturbated to the thought of Vi before), reader is such a botanical nerd and rambly mess, reader lacks common sense just a little bit, reader is whipped for Vi bad (I feel you girl), sweet to heavy make out session but nothing too major, butch bulge 😵‍💫

Genre: fluff

A/N: a lot of Adrianne Lenker songs remind me of Vi but especially not a lot, just forever! The songs that inspired this fic are crush, not a lot just forever, heavy and Constant Craving!! I typically think of bimbos to have confidence but I want this bimbo to have a more shy nature or like a quiet confident like flowers because they are so dainty but they hold so much energy and meaning! I also know nothing about mechanical stuff so bare with me…I gotta stop not knowing things in my Vi fics😅

Language of flowers guide: carnations= fascination, distinction and love | peonies= love, romance and purity | baby’s breath= everlasting love, purity, innocence | iris’s= affection and devotion | violets= everlasting love, lesbian courting, faithfulness and modesty | lavender= love and devotion gardenias= protection, hope, love and trust

These are the meanings with romantic connotations it can differ based on the connotations. Can also differ based on color!!

───────┈ · ·

“Stupid fucking car! Stupid fucking auto shops!” You mutter to yourself as you walk into the auto repair shop. Your pink bug has been in the shop for two weeks now, something about an engine? You aren’t sure but you felt like it should be done by now! You also spaced everytime you talked to your mechanic because she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen!

“Excuse me?” You say with a wobble in your voice as you tap the mechanics shoulder. She is as handsome as ever and her gaze is electric!

Her floppy pink hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Vi her name tag read but it never seems to leave your lips…well at least in public.

“Hey sweet thing, more questions ‘bout the car?” She says smoothly as she rubs some oil on her overalls.

The lump in your throat thickens when she calls you that. Gosh she makes you squirm internally well you hope she doesn’t notice too much.

“Hi…uh yes please!” You follow her mindlessly and as soon as she updates you, you focus on the scar on her top lip or the freckles sprinkled across her cheeks or the way she cocks her eyebrow when she’s explaining car stuff to you or-

“Lost?” Her voice mellows out from excited to enchanting. “No! I didn’t mean to stare I was tryna listen.” This technically isn’t a complete lie!

With a nod you can tell she was trying to think of a way to explain it to you instead of getting mad at you. That’s a constant in your life, if you’re confused you’re use to being yelled at.

When she breaks it down for you, it all comes together! Before you could say thank you she says, “y’know it’s nice when you stop by.” Her hands nonchalantly slide into her pockets. “Oh I don’t do much when I’m here?”

“You don’t need to do much sweet thing.” She took a curt step forward. “A woman like you is enchanting to breathe next to.” Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. Not a husk of lust no, a husk of admiration.

Flustered you look away not exactly knowing how to respond. So you choose to flee like the fleeting honeybee you can be. “Wow look at the time! I have to be on my way-”

“Wait! I mean…may I have your number before you go?” This time she didn’t step any closer giving you some room to breathe not wanting to come off any stronger than she already is. You can tell she had to mentally work up to it, the tips of her pierced ears were red.

Excited but trying to keep calm you give her your number…well your work number. You accidentally made your business number your personal number and never went back after you printed out 500 business cards, which was also too many business cards!

Since that day you haven’t talked to Vi…traditionally at least. She’s been ordering bouquets from your shop and shipping it to meet you in the morning. The meanings behind each are beautiful and unique!

This bouquet had carnations, peonies and baby’s breath! Which confused you when you first saw them, typically she’s put some violet or lavender in there…

Maybe it was a signal to call her, or her affections has changed?

You were going to call truly but your nerves got the best of you! So when your car was ready you were going to surprise her!

Vi is under the impression you weren’t interested in her advances until she could hear the click of your heels as you try to walk as quietly as possible. It’s hard for someone as radiant as you to go unnoticed.

“Hey sweet thing, ready for your car?” She says softly mustering her small smile.

Before she could go on you hand her a bouquet that was behind your back. It was filled with violets, iris’s, lavender, gardenias and peonies with some sticks to add a rustic flare to it.

“I know I haven’t called nor given any action to your affections but I don’t want you to think they go unnoticed! Especially after you started to stop sending violets and lavenders I knew I had to do something. I would be naive to act as though I’m not attracted to you but-”

Vi cuts you off by waving her hand in the air, “thank you, y/n I appreciate it and you don’t have to explain yourself. I’m a woman of action and you babe are showing out.” She smiles as she takes the boquete. “Y’know I’ve never been given flowers? I…thank you.” She holds them closer to her chest.

Ever since then y’all have been spending your free time together. The workers at your shop love when Vi comes by. She’s always bringing snacks and good conversation! At first the guys at the shop were slightly annoyed by your presence but when you brought baked goods along with flowers for Vi, you were welcomed.

Vi pulled up to your shop after hours knowing you were closing. “Sweet thing you ready?” She smirks as she revs her motorcycle. Although she looks so hot on it you hate being on it with her but she always takes you home.

“Course pretty” you say with a smile and sway in your hips as you get on the back.

You two have a spot. It’s a cozy cliff on this mountain. It’s a bit of a drive but y’all don’t mind. The two of you set up blankets and food as you lay back and gaze at the stars…well you were. Vi was too busy staring your face off. Realizing she hasn’t been replying to your rambling you turn to her and stare back going to caress her cheek.

She’s at home with you. You validate her butchness as she to your femmeness. No one has ever been all that interested in her work, especially to the extent of helping her fix her dream car. You’re there for her and she’s here for you.

Vi has always been described as a courageous woman but when it comes to you? She’s a fucking wimp! The two of you have been taking it slow due to the courting process but she knew tonight was the night. The night she’d ask you to be hers…to try not to say that she loves you because she does. She can feel it in her gut.

“You okay Violet?” She melts when you say her name, the only person she wants to hear say it. She rolls on top of you, somewhat putting her weight on you, more her chest.

“Can you feel that? That’s how my heart beats everytime I’m around you. Which is concerning because I’m around you a lot!” She snorts causing you to laugh a little. You nuzzle your face into hers and you let her fingers entangle into yours.

“Be mine. I can’t live another second without you as mine, my counterpart, my femme, just mine.” She breathed as if she was letting a weight off her shoulders she didn’t know she had.

If she’d was quicker to open her eyes she’d see how excited you are. Impatient as you are you kiss her. The kiss starts off slow, just your lips pressed together awkwardly as you try to stop smiling.

Vi grips your hands tighter as she presses closer, biting your lip. She doesn’t want to make the kiss sloppy but she can’t help but explore you.

Her tongue presses and wraps itself around yours. You mumble her name and her breathe hicks. Her bulge presses against your thigh softly rutting as she kisses you.

You wrap a leg around her causing your skirt to fall some and she moves a hand to grip your thigh. Even though this kiss is moving fast there’s restraint from both end.

You break away to breathe a string of saliva following. “Should we go?” You whisper as she nuzzles into your neck groaning a yes.

The two of you are new to peace, especially a peace you two could provide each other. However you’re willing to get tangled into each other.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: i got nervous writing it teehee!! I hope you enjoyed @milanyas <3 I’m definitely going to expand on this idea because I lowkey feel like it could’ve been longer but I didn’t know how and I didn’t really want smut? I’ll probably make an imagine for you dolls!

Taglist- @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss

Dividers- @8bbitbunni

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I've Got You Under My Skin 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Summary: your husband is a very demanding man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The keys jingle loudly as you rush out the door with your purse in your other hand. You just need to get out of the house. Sometimes, it feels like a prison. Especially lately. Since the fight.

You feel horrid for what you did. You made a mistake, sure, but you think Steve is right. You weren't paying attention to what he said. Now that you think of it, you may have misinterpreted your conversation based entirely on your own doubts.

Still, you're going to show him that you can do this. You've been reading up on it all night. Researching everything you need.

As you hit the button on the key tag, the car beeps and unlocks. The SUV is a bit bigger than what you would pick but Steve thought it was a good family vehicle. Besides, it's his money.

"Hey," he startles you as he appears from beside the garage. You blink and drop the keys.

"Hi, Stevie," you blanch and bend to pick up the keys as he approaches.

"You're running out," he doesn't sound impressed.

"Um, yes, um, doing some errands. Groceries."

"You could order."

You gulp, "I'm sorry. I was only... wanting to get out."

"Alone?" He inquires.

"Yeah, what--"

"You're not meeting up with Natasha for one of those sugary coffees?" He challenges.

You wince. "No, Captain. I'm not drinking caffeine anymore. It's not good... for conception."

He tilts his head and his cheek dimples, "ah, good girl."

"Do you want to come with me?" You offer.

His shoulders ease, "no. You can go. Grab some more protein. The banana stuff?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Drive safe," he girds.

"I always do."

He nods and turns back, "I'm gonna finish up the weeds."

You stare after him as he marches away. What does he mean? You just dealt with the garden. Once again, not good enough.

You get in the car and adjust the wheel and the seat. You buckle up and set your feet on the pedals. You flip the engine and put it in reverse.

You back out through the gate and onto the street. You drive, jaw locked, fingers cramped, tense in anticipation. You just want to make this better. You just don't know if it's too late.

You go to the grocery store first. You get the few items on your list. You have a lot of the staples still in the cupboards. You check out and use Steve's card. You don't have one anymore. He's a lot better with money than you.

Your next adventure makes you nervous. You stop outside the shop and stare through the window at the stuffed bunnies and the onesies. The maternity shop makes it all so real. You still feel so young. But you can do this. With Steve. He knows what he's doing.

You enter and the air rushes from your chest. Oh. Okay. That breast pump makes you nervous.

"Hi, how can I help you?" A woman chimes an approaches in a bubbly bounce. Her blond ringlets are perfect.

"Ummmm..." you fidget with your phone. "I looked online. Um, for prenatal supplements."

"Ah, yes, we have a whole aisle," she waves her arm and turns to stand beside you. "Do you have questions?"

"A lot," you admit.

"How long have you been trying? Oh, are you already expecting?" She wonders.

The questions feel too personal. Still, it's not like you came here without a purpose. You follow her to the far wall lined with bottles and vials of tablets.

"We're trying. Right now. Starting to. I just want to be healthy." You explain.

"Uh, huh, wonderful," she rubs her hands together. "Some of these you won't need until you're expecting but we can get you a few things. Maybe just have a look around for some inspiration, huh?"

"Sure, that sounds... good."

She explains to you all the organic supplements and even recommends some aphrodisiacs. Thing is, Steve doesn't need those. You pick a few and follow her around as she shows you mobiles and blankies. There's a little Cap squishee even. You pick it up and smile. He'll love that.

You take your goods to the counter and she rings you up. You dig in your purse and hand your card to her. She reads it passingly then pauses. 

"I thought you were familiar. Your Mr. Rogers. The Mrs. Rogers."

You squirm. Oh no. You forget how famous Steve is. Well, it's fine. It's not like she would tell anyone you know, right?

You just nod, "do you have bags?"

"Oh yes, I'll put this all away for you," she unfolds a paper bag and loads it up. "Anything else, Mrs. Rogers."

"Yeah," you choke. "My name's..." you correct her. Sometimes, you just feel like a part of Steve. Not your own person. "Thanks."

You take the bag and your card and leave. You sniff as you get to car and climb into the front seat. You put your purchase in front of the passenger's and sit there a while. You feel weird about this.

Just nerves. You start the car and head home. The trip is too quick. You're not ready.

You get out with the small paper bag and go around the trunk to get the reusable one with the T-bone steak and protein powder. You hit the button to close the hatch and go inside. You'd love to stay out in the sun but you couldn't relax if you tried.

"Stevie?" You call as you reach the kitchen. "Hello?"

He doesn't answer. You wonder if he's outside. You set to putting everything away.

"You're back." He greets, once more frightening you. You hate that.

"I got steak for supper. For you. I'll have some turkey."

"Great," it's not a happy remark. "You didn't come straight home."

You look away guiltily and shake your head. You're so stupid. You know he must have a tracker on the car. You grab the white paper bag.

"I was getting surprises." You offer him the bag. "Stevie, please, I'm sorry. And I meant it. I am trying."

You hold it out and he reaches inside with a scowl. His brows move in curiosity and he pulls out the Captain America plush. His expression softens and he peeks into the bag.

"Supplements. To get ready. And I'll go back for iron pills once I'm ready," you explain. "And I've been reading all night about how to get a baby. I should lay on my back and stay after for a bit. And-- and I ordered a book."

He tosses the plush and grabs you. His hands frame your face as you drop the bag and he pushes you back into the counter. His mouth covers yours as he growls.

You whine and touch his chest, overcome by his force. You were so afraid he wouldn't forgive you, that you're entirely unprepared for this. You manage to pull back.

"I-- Stevie, it won't happen now. But I threw everything out."

"I don't care," he snarls and drops his hands to your hips, "I need you right now." 

He lifts you onto the counter and you squeal. Your stomach flips but you ignore that flicker of fear. How you feel doesn't matter, as long as the Captain's happy.