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smusherina · 13 days

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yard work - chapter 13 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warning(s): derogatory slurs! several of them!

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 14

It was Friday. The last day of school, the night of the talent show, and just a few days before Christmas. They'd be passing out the candy cane-grams. There'd be some assembly, probably.

Your leg jittered restlessly while you tried to focus on your bio paper. What kind of sadistic fuck assigned an essay on the last day before break? The biology teacher, apparently. He had a superiority complex, you were sure. Allergic to happiness.

Your mind kept drifting back to the photo album. Surely, Regina had it. You'd put it in her locker on Wednesday, so she'd have found it first thing Thursday morning. You hadn't dared to take a peek in her locker, afraid Gretchen would sniff you out again.

Something had clearly gone down between them. Gretchen didn't sit with them at lunch, instead opting for her boyfriend's clique. She didn't seem to fit in too well and Jason didn't seem too pleased to have her there. Karen and Regina sat by themselves, conversing casually.

Cady had been banished somewhere. You'd heard talk Aaron had dumped her. You knew Janis and Damien weren't talking to her after she turned her back on them. Since the whole Kälteen bar shebang and the subsequent smear campaign Regina had doled out, she hadn't been exactly welcome at any table. From what you understood, Gretchen and Cady were on speaking terms, but Karen and Gretchen weren't, but Cady and Karen were. It was all terribly confusing.

You had a table for yourself. Some of your old friends crowded the ones nearby, quite pointedly not sitting with you. You were no longer cool, it seemed. Easier to focus on your paper, you told yourself. The cafeteria was serving chilli today. The slop was slightly too watery and the meat was a mystery, but it'd do. You'd run out of food at home. You'd wanted a goddamn Christmas dinner and a good slab of ham got pricy. Couldn't rely on Mrs George for a feast this time around.

"Hey," Someone called near you. You looked up, surprised somebody was talking to you. A boy, more specifically a jock judging by the varsity jacket. "You good?"

"What?" Your brows furrowed. "Yeah?"

He smiled smarmily. "Cool."

And he walked away. You kept looking as he went, staring after his back. His buddies were looking your way, the same kinds of grins on their faces. That was odd. Didn't bode well.

It didn't take long for you to find out why. The period following lunch was when Damien would be visiting classrooms as Santa Claus, handing out candy canes.

He walked right up to you with a grin hidden under the fake Santa beard, wiggling his eyebrows all the while.

"The whole bag..." He drawled. "Impressive."

Confused, you peered into the sack. A couple dozen candy canes filled it, apparently all for you. You picked one out, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as well as the snickering of the boys in the back rows.

Dyke. The message was just one word. It was clearly assigned to you, your whole name displayed proudly. Your body went numb, hands holding the candy limply. There was no signature to show who they were from. People were staring at you. Damien had lingered awhile to see what'd been written to you. The grin behind his beard had turned into a shocked scowl.

"What... What do they say?" Cady, of all people, the nerve of her, asked. She was seated a few rows from you.

"Alright, Mr Leigh, thanks for-" Ms Norbury tried to intervene.

"Dyke." You read out loud. Then you pulled out another. "Lesbo." And another. "Carpet muncher." The boys had trouble holding in their laughs. Another. "Queer." There were others you didn't deign to read out loud. Freak. Pervert. Degenerate. Homo.

If not for a few people finding all this amusing, it would've been dead silent in the classroom.

"These were supposed to be checked before handing out." Ms Norbury strode up to you and promptly confiscated the candies. Her face was set, expression severe, as she regarded Damien sternly.

"I- that wasn't my job. I don't know how, how they would've..." You watched Damien try to put it together.

"Well, is it really offensive if it's true?" Dylan, if you remembered correctly, piped up. He was a sporty guy, decently popular but nothing special. Now, though, he might as well have been an A-lister with how utterly low you'd plummeted.

Murmurs spread out around you. Damien and Ms Norbury retreated to a corner of the classroom to figure out how in the hell this had happened. People were looking at you. Your skin was crawling. It couldn't be Janis who told. She was in the same boat as you and she didn't have the power to do something like this. To make the committee ignore hateful messages meant some strings had been pulled. The only other person that knew, that could realistically do this, was Regina.

You bit your lip, closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Okay. You got the message. The album had been too much. This was a sign to stay away, to forget all the sentimentalities you'd had.

"Hey, calm down now, we'll figure this out- hey!" You didn't pause to listen to Ms Norbury when you booked it out of the stifling classroom. You couldn't bear to be there any longer.

You hid in the bathroom. Both hands held against your mouth so you wouldn't make a noise, you cried long and hard. Your breathing was choppy and laboured, and in no time at all your nose was blocked off entirely. Your eyes stung and your vision blurred.

The bell rang and pretty soon people came into the bathroom. You refused to get out, pretending to take the longest shit ever. It didn't take very long for the people coming in to discuss what had gone down in one of the junior calc classes.

It spread like wildfire. You were pretty sure the boys had nicked some of the candy canes from Ms Norbury since you could hear people reading the notes out loud, the rustling of the plastic covering.

"Who even is that?"

"Who cares? A total freak is what she is. Oh my gosh, Steph, do you think..."

"What?"

"Do you think she used the girls' bathroom? She's probably spread her diseases all over the seats! We're all gonna have gonorrhoea!"

You wanted to sink into the ground and never see daylight again. By the time the bell rang again, signalling the start of the next period, the rumours had inflated and grown disproportionately in severity.

Apparently, you were riddled with sexually transmitted diseases, preyed on freshmen and sold them hard drugs, behaved creepily in locker rooms, and had had a stint with Cady Heron while she was still with Aaron Samuels. You guessed that last one had to do with the time you'd dragged her into the janitor's closet to yell at her about the Kälteen bars.

In short, you were fucked. Your life was fucked. You'd hoped, so hoped, that even if you wouldn't get everything you wanted, you'd get some. You wouldn't get a high school girlfriend, wouldn't have slumber parties, wouldn't be normal. You wouldn't be Regina's friend. Fine. At least you could've had a quiet life, gone to community college and worked at the shop, had some buddies, and maybe lost your virginity one day. Not even that now. Not even a little bit of that. Your future in this town was just no longer there. You had nothing. You were nothing.

You skulked out of the bathroom once you were sure there'd be nobody in the halls. You got into your car and drove home. Just as you'd slumped down onto the couch, the house phone rang. Groaning, you went to answer. If it was your dad, missing it would mean there'd be hell to pay.

"Hello?" Your voice was croaky. It hurt to talk.

"Hi, sweetie! You don't sound too good." Mrs George's chirp greeted you. "I assume you had to leave school 'cause of that. I just happened to see you drive by. Rick got called to work last minute and Kylie's got tutoring till late. Come keep me company?"

"I'm not feeling too well, I'm sorry..." You said, holding the phone to your ear while your other arm wrapped around your body. You tried to breathe deep and not burst out crying, again. Your eyes felt swollen shut.

"Oh, I'll come by with some soup, then," She sounded so genuinely concerned.

You bit your lip. Tummy rumbling in its emptiness, you decided now would be as good of a time as any to bite the bullet.

"Actually, uh, if it's not too much to ask, and um- I-" You took in a shuddering breath. "You don't have to say yes, it's totally okay and I'm sorry if this is, like, too much-"

"Sweetpea, just ask." She chuckled.

"I don't have any food. Or, like, I have ingredients for Christmas 'cause I wanted to make dinner for myself, but I guess I forgot I have to eat before then too?" You tried to laugh, but the sound was strained. "Um, could you take me to the soup kitchen downtown?"

You could've driven yourself. You could've, in that you were capable of driving yourself, but with how your vision was impaired, how your body ached with loneliness, and how you weren't sure you wouldn't just impulsively drive into oncoming traffic, you doubted you would've survived the trip.

"No." She said bluntly. You flinched, feeling the refusal like a knife to the gut. "No, absolutely not. We are going grocery shopping and getting you food to last the rest of the damn year. I'm picking you up."

"Mrs George, I don't have money-"

"You shouldn't be spending your hard-earned money like that. Doesn't your dad send you enough to cover utilities?"

"He sends me grocery money. I gotta pay for gas and stuff on my own."

Mrs George's resounding silence spoke volumes of her opinion on that. "I'm coming to get you. I'm buying you groceries and then we're gonna meal prep. Okay?"

"Okay."

When Mrs George saw you, her determined attitude shifted to that of maternal worry. You fought hard not to break down, though all you really wanted to do was curl into her and cry your little heart out.

She drove you to Whole Foods, a place way out of your budget. But she insisted, so there was little you could do. She took you from aisle to aisle, prattling on and on, chatting about this and that. You listened mostly silently, humming here and there.

She picked out a lot of canned stuff, like beans and tomato purée. All that stuff was made to last forever, so you wouldn't always have to buy fresh ingredients. She bought all your favourite snacks, which she somehow remembered. When you commented on that, she just pointed at her temple with a knowing grin. Mothers never forget, she'd said.

Once you were all done, the cart was quite literally overflowing. The total nearly made your stomach drop out of your ass. Mrs Geoge simply flashed her black card and, without even a wince, paid the price. The receipt was, like, three feet long.

Carrying it all to her car was a daunting task, but a worker did come to help you. A young man, probably home from college, was all too eager to carry the bags for Mrs George.

The way he was blushing all the way up to his ears, the way she was amused by him but not receptive, made you think about what Regina had said months ago. You'd been on your way to her nail appointment and she'd gone on a tangent about how women died at menopause.

Mrs George was thriving. She was above it all. Her worth, or mortality, wasn't determined by the men around her. She'd been cheated on, continuously neglected by her husband, and put down by her teenage daughter, and still, she was beautiful. She existed independently.

In short, you were right and Regina was wrong. You saw things how they really were. She saw things tilted to the left, through a warped lens. The confirming of this brought you no comfort, she'd already ruined you and there was no redeeming herself after this, at least not for you.

"Phew, what a trip, right?" She nudged you with her elbow as she buckled her seatbelt.

You nodded along, voice still weak. You buckled in as well.

"I'll pick you up for the talent show." She said as she turned away from the parking lot. "Oooh, we should have a night in. Order some pizzas and slob around the couch. How's that sound?"

"I don't think I should go to the talent show."

"Oh, why's that?"

"Just... Something happened at school. I don't wanna go."

Mrs George frowned and glanced at you. "Honey, you know you can tell me anything. I still think you should come."

"Everybody hates me." You faced the window and crossed your arms. Very mature.

"I'm sure that's not true." She sighed. "I'm not supposed to tell you, but Regina's got something prepared for you. I think you should go see her at least."

Your face twisted in anger. "Something prepared for me- like she prepared something for me today? I don't fucking think so."

"Language." She said and you grumbled. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." You rubbed your hands down your jeans. "It's not gonna be good. She's gonna humiliate me."

"It's supposed to be a surprise, but I can guarantee that she's not going to humiliate you."

"What do you know?" You turned to her with narrowed eyes.

"I've been hearing her practice, is all." She responded, tone much too light.

You studied her face carefully. "Fine."

She smiled, seemingly relieved. Then, as if to cut the tension in the car, said:

"Oh, and by the way, I'm filing for divorce." With a giddy smile on her face, she blurted it out. You just stared for a while, almost suffering whiplash from the sudden change in topic.

"Uh... Finally." You laughed a little as you said that.

"Yeah!" She laughed with you. "It's been a long time coming. I just needed to sort some things out. Emotionally and financially. I had to get rid of some investments so I wouldn't have to pay alimony."

Your jaw dropped. The Georges were, like, filthy rich. Rich beyond reason, excess income to a ridiculous degree. You'd always assumed it was Mr George's money. How archaic of you.

"I... I kinda wished you'd done it sooner." You looked forward again. She was driving carefully since the snow made the roads prone to ice.

"Me too. The girls... They... I thought that having two parents would be the most stable, safe environment for them. I was wrong."

"Yeah." You swallowed. "Um. Since we're, like, just saying things. I'm, by the way, gay. Like, a lesbian."

"That's wonderful, honey!"

"Yeah." You couldn't say you agreed.

"Should we go get you a haircut?"

"I don't need to look any more butch than I do."

"I don't know, I think you'd look dashing." She feigned light-hearted. "Regina might like it."

"Mrs George!"

Notes: More drama! Yay! Do y'all think Regina did it?

Taglist posted separately. Please comment on the taglist post to be added on there :)

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #mean girls x reader #lesbian regina george #wlw #fic: yard work

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stardustizuku · 3 months

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Unfortunately I came across a very strange and misinformed video about Black Butler.

It’s not good. Don’t watch it. Unless you wanna ruin your day, in which case have fun.

Despite it all, I watched it. What left me wondering, however, was how off the mark the person who made the video was on, well, everything.

From their insistence that the Book of Circus Arc theme or point is non existent, to reading Ciel’s character so badly they genuinely thought the Green Witch Arc did nothing for his character development.

While baffled, it also made me think on how someone could read Black Butler so badly.

Sure, you can say that there’s no real way to read or interpret something “in the wrong way” but interpreting The Hunger Games as a pure battle-royale action story would make you believe it’s bad.

“Why are we focusing so much on how the capitol preps them?” Or “Why isn’t Katniss winning everything?” Or “I wanna know more about the rebellion” All questions that miss the actual point of the story - which is criticizing (not solving or ignoring) the way that media distracts us from violence via spectacle.

The same thing applies here. While there is no “right” way to consume media, there’s things that the author makes clear they wanna focus when creating a story. Things that, if you understand, make the story you’re reading actually make sense.

And in Black Butler there’s three things that you have to understand to properly get what Yana is saying.

Sebastian is the protagonist

Ciel and Sebastian’s relationship IS the story.

And that relationship is, fundamentally, a positive one.

A quicker version of it would be:

Black Butler is a love story from the POV of Sebastian, and you have to ship it to get it

- but that’s not entirely true.

You can still look at it as a complex but ultimately positive rship and get in broad strokes of what it’s conveying. It doesn’t have to be romantic. Although, it helps much more than a platonic framing.

(That said, interpreting their rship as father and son, still isn’t the best way to go about it. Mostly because by its very nature of “soul consuming” their relationship is extremely sexually charged. And hey, if you’re into that I don’t judge. However, if you’re desperately trying to interpret their rship as NOT romantic to the point you fall back on heteronormative patriarchal ideals of nuclear familiar as framing device, I don’t think this interpretation bodes with you)

Now, having all that ground work:

Why do I say these are the key components to understand BB?

Okay so, first,

1. Sebastian is the Main Character. The protagonist.

There’s a lot of people who wanna argue against it, claiming he’s either the villain or the antagonist. Both wrong.

He does not function as an antagonist. Even if, and an emphasis on if, you consider Ciel to the protagonist, Sebastian isn’t a narrative antagonist.

If you wanna go back to Creative Writing 101, be my guest. An antagonist is directly defined by the protagonist. It’s the opposing force. If the protagonist wants A, the antagonist wants to stop them from getting A.

Sebastian’s catchphrase is “Yes, my Lord”. He never opposes Ciel, in fact quite the contrary. By the mere fact they’ve created contract, it means that they’ve both agreed in the inevitable outcome.

People want to frame Sebastian as the villain, because Ciel having his soul taken by a demon, would be a BAD END in the context of their moral compass. They see Ciel as a frail victim of abuse, who’s being tricked by Sebastian, who wants Ciel’s soul.

Which is an. Interpretation. A bad one. But still one.

The narrative (and whether the narrative fits your personal moral compass and lack of critical thinking is irrelevant) treats Ciel as an agent in his own destiny. The abuse he suffered was the moment in which he had no control. It’s only after he meets Sebastian that he can rid of both his guilt and his despair, and do what he wants.

In this case though, it’s revenge.

The famous “Asthma” scene shows this. If Ciel is taken back to his past, he becomes helpless. Swarmed with pain and memories that make it so that he can’t even react. Sebastian is his saving grace. If Ciel didn’t have him, and the power he wields to rebuilt what’s broken, he would crumble once more.

If Ciel has a panic attack, because of all the pain he has, Sebastian picks him up and says “you are not a helpless child anymore, you are not a victim anymore, you have the power to do anything. So, what do you wanna do?”

Ciel’s answer is to kill them.

A proper analogy would be to say that, if Sebastian offers a gun, Ciel pulls the trigger. They are both at fault. Sebastian, strictly speaking, is not here to directly cause Ciel’s downfall, but as a tool Ciel uses to plunge into the abyss.

If, again if, you were to frame Ciel as a protagonist, Sebastian falls closer to the “Voice of reason” character. Not a literal voice of reason, but a literary one. If you have a protagonist and an antagonist exchanging ideals, the Voice of Reason serves to engage with the protagonist on their own ideals.

That said, Ciel isn’t the protagonist. The story quickly falls apart if you interpret it as such.

Things such as Ciel’s character arc being…shall I say odd?

It’s not that his character arc isn’t there, but it’s never lineal. His goals stay the same, the only thing that happens is that we start to peel back the “why”s of his goals. Throughout the series it’s never about Ciel understanding himself better, he knows who he is, he knows what he wants, he knows why he wants it. He doesn’t ever need to uncover these, but simply remember them. Because it’s always about the audience understanding Ciel.

He knows he wants revenge.

In the Circus Arc: He knows that he needs Sebastian because without him, the pain of the abuse he suffered would be too much to bear. But WE are introduced to it.

In the Book of Atlantis: He knows that with this new lease he does not want happiness and peace, he wants revenge. The one being told this is the audience.

In Green Witch Arc: He knows that their revenge isn’t for his family, the real Ciel or guilt. It’s because he wants it. He’s angry, he’s upset, and this is entirely for him. The one being told this is the audience.

Except. Not really. The one either discovering or remembering these key moments - is always Sebastian.

Sebastian is the one who reassures him that he now holds the power of a demon to override the pain. Sebastian is the one who remembers that to override that pain, Ciel wants revenge. And Sebastian is the one who discovers that that revenge isn’t built out of grief or guilt, but for himself.

We are witnessing it all, through the eyes of Sebastian.

This is why we have an extremely vague idea of who Ciel is, Sebastian does not have the whole picture.

If you haven’t been reading this manga with your eyes closed, you’ll realize we have a better grasp at Sebastian’s character than that of Ciel. We get a lot of insight on how he thinks and what he values through light hearted dialogue he has with the servants. You even see the character development in these little interactions.

Think about how when he first arrived to the mansion he magically created food with no regards to taste, but when he meets Bard he states that food is created to see whoever will eat it, smile.

That is character development, more than you will be able to see from Ciel.

Because Ciel’s character, while not static, doesn’t go from point A to point B. Mostly, cause it doesn’t need to. He went through that when he lost the real Ciel and got Sebastian. Everything we are watching is the falling out.

Now, given the fact that I’ve told you that it makes more sense for Sebastian to be the protagonist/main character, and that he 100% isn’t either a villain or antagonist in ANY of the interpretations you can get:

Do you believe me?

If you don’t, you’ll probably believe Yana herself.

This is from the first Volume, where Yana herself describes the process of making Black Butler. The primary idea behind the creation of BB was a butler as a “hero”.

If you go back to the introductory chapter, you notice that Ciel is barely mentioned. He’s simply the one to give Sebastian impossible tasks and standards that Sebastian must find how to overcome.

Ciel is properly introduced until the NEXT chapter. The second chapter has this formula too, introducing Lizzie as a problem to overcome. Although, to Sebastian the best way to “get rid of the problem” is simply to indulge her.

The issue here being that the problem isn’t as simple as a business meeting but something directly tied to Ciel and Ciel’s past. Each time that Sebastian has to solve a problem, it chips away at Ciel. While with Lizzie he shows a persona, once he’s alone with Sebastian he acknowledges the toll it took on him. It serves to build Ciel as Sebastian’s master, and how some problems aren’t as simple as discarding a tablecloth.

The third and the fourth, are a unified narrative, with a similar premise to the first chapter. Ciel gets kidnapped and Sebastian must find a way to retrieve him without raising suspicions.

If the first chapter is to set up what Sebastian must do as a butler, the third and the fourth serve to set up what he must do as a demon.

The entirety of the volume, and up to Book of Circus Arc, is about how Sebastian tries to follow the increasingly absurd orders that Ciel has - it is not about Ciel trying to solve them.

That’s how they work, we follow Sebastian for the most part, because he’s the one having to come up with the solutions.

If anything, in early Kuro, where the emphasis was more on a slice of life conflict, Ciel is the antagonist. He’s the one creating problems for Sebastian to solve.

What’s more, in the second volume, the very first chapter is one from Sebastian’s POV. So far, we hadn’t gotten an entire chapter from Ciel’s POV. In fact, I would find it hard to point to a single chapter where Ciel is the POV throughout. The reveal of real Ciel and the flashback is the closest contender.

But once we move past early Kuro, and into Book of Circus, this set up changes.

It’s fairly easy to assume that Ciel is the main character, because from this point on the conflict of the plot sorta surrounded him. We spend a lot of time with him and with his story. The enemies start being people directly tied to Ciel and Ciel’s trauma. Rarely, if at all, we get to see Sebastian before he met Ciel.The framing device for the story, is Ciel.

This is where point 2 gets intertwined.

2.- Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship IS the story.

The story begins at the point where Sebastian and Ciel met. Who Ciel was before he met Sebastian, informs why he’s the way he is when he does. You have to know all he went through to understand why he’s a brat, why he lashes out. However Sebastian’s past doesn’t matter…because Sebastian himself doesn’t care much for who he was, before he was “Sebastian”. That’s also part of the narrative.

Unlike Ciel, he doesn’t seem opposed to revealing information from before the contract. He talks about how pets from where he is from are gross, he talks about how he knows how to dance because of other places he’s been to, and alludes to the life he's lived before.

Just that, to him, they're footnotes.

He makes allusions to a very bland, uninteresting life, up to the point he meets Ciel.

That’s why we don’t know more about his past.

As for why we focus on Ciel’s story…okay maybe we need Creative Writing lessons 102

I studied Dramaturgy for about 3 to 4 years. And something you notice is how play-writing is the quintessential story telling. It’s making it work with the bare bones of a story.

Some other mediums have more finesse, more depth, or more spectacle - all amazing things that work for whatever they’re created for. But understanding a play, how and why it works, helps understand the fundamentals of any derivative story telling medium.

Particularly, conflict.

Conflict is dialogue and dialogue can take many forms. A story, in its essence, is a dialogue between two opposing ideas.

Take Batman, for example, who embodies the ideas of justice and order. On his own, he’s not a well rounded character.

If you ONLY present him, in a vaccum with nothing else, you don’t have a character. You have a list of characteristics that you’re supposed to know.

You only know who he is when you have dialogue with another character.

I say Dialogue, but it doesn’t necessarily mean spoken language at one another. Dialogue can mean fist fighting, playing tabletop games, talking to other people about the other, or even just a competition. The idea is to simply to compare and contrast both ideas.

If you want an example on how tabletop games serve as dialogue, watch the video “Well, Someone Had to Explain the Liar’s Dice Scene” by Lord Ravecraft

Another example, were we to retake Batman, you have him fight Joker. Who’s the embodiment of chaos and randomness.

In the following picture, you get far more information than the one previously shown. While the Joke fights with daggers and fake guns, Batman only uses his fists. He doesn’t use the tricks that Joker does. His serious demeanor, contrasted with Joker’s glee at the dangerous situation. The fact that Batman has a deathly grip on Joker’s shirt, while the Joker doesn’t, which shows a desperation to catch him.

You are being shown, through a dialogue, who Batman is.

It’s so much easier and much more effective to explore a character through another character.

This is the reason why Shonen has a tendency to make incredibly good gay ships. If you want to explore Naruto’s personality, and his feelings of inferiority, you HAVE to have him interact with Sasuke.

If you wanna understand Hinata’s passion for volleyball, you have him enjoy himself the most with the only other crazy motherfucker who’s as obsessed with volleyball - Kageyama.

And I think that originally, Yana had this problem.

Sebastian was the protagonist, but she had little room to develop him as a character in the confines of the manor, dealing with random enemies.

She likely tried to create Grell as someone of the same stature as Sebastian. Someone who could be this other person to engage dialogue with and show or allude to his past a bit more.

The problem being that Sebastian didn’t care for his past. Or really, engaging with anyone. He sees everyone as below him, but when confronted with Grell who isn’t below him, he doesn’t wanna talk to her.

So you’re stuck in conundrum.

How do you have dialogue with a character, that as a character trait, doesn’t really wanna have dialogue?

Well, Grell also solves the problem. Because only the moment she gets him to start any semblance of a dialogue - is questioning why he’s serving Ciel.

And this is the moment when it’s perfectly cemented that the focus of the story is their relationship.

Why is Sebastian here? Why does he stay? What did he see in Ciel that made him want this extremely convoluted contract?

THATS the dialogue.

THATS the conversation we’re having in Black Butler.

We need to know Ciel because understanding who he is, let’s us know WHY /Sebastian/ is here.

Then slowly, with the introduction with the Undertaker, we find out Sebastian’s conflict.

Which is…

He’s scared of losing Ciel. It becomes apparent with the constant imagery of the Undertaker taking away Ciel and at some point even obtaining r!Ciel’s body, that he’s worried it might happen.

But he can only be worried that Ciel might be taken away if he wants to stay near Ciel.

And that’s his character arc.

Realizing that he actually likes Ciel, cares for him and the role he plays a butler that he doesn’t want this to end.

In the first chapters, he doesn’t feel a need to protect Ciel anymore than what’s strictly necessary. Just don’t die, that’s about as deep as his involvement in chapter 4 gets.

But by the Green Witch Arc, he feels a need to protect Ciel from ANY harm.

This is why I also said

3.- Their relationship is fundamentally a positive one.

In broad strokes, Sebastian to Ciel is the person who allows him to survive. He’s not worried about giving up his soul since he’s already dead. While Ciel to Sebastian, is someone who’s making him have fun. He’s slowly becoming more and more attached to Ciel and the life he has with Ciel.

Their relationship is not that of just a predator and prey, but also of master and pet.

In the terms that Black Butler itself would call: Sebastian is a wild wolf acting like a collared dog.

Ciel is aware that the wild beast will eat him at the end of the day, but if he clings hard to leash for now, he might just be able to have Sebastian maul his abusers.

Sebastian as a dog, currently finds that he enjoys being a chained dog.

(This is demonstrated in the Green Witch arc where he quite literally says, he doesn’t wanna be a wild beast and prefers to be a butler)

And much like the actual DOG Sebastian, Ciel constantly interprets his attempts to get close and protect him, as an act of aggression.

This push and pull of Ciel’s perception of Sebastian and Sebastian’s true motives is what feeds the story.

And the briefs interludes were that isn’t the case (what other people call the “plot”, but I would refer to as the connective tissue) such as Sullivan and Wolfram, the other servant’s past, the grim reapers and the like, serve as a parallel to Ciel and Sebastian relationship. Either to signify how they care for each other, highlight their weaknesses or fears, or explore how they feel.

It’s no surprise that Sullivan and Wolfram are parallels to Ciel and Sebastian. A sheltered sickly child who seeks the protection of a cold hearted machine that only knew how to kill, but who eventually found he cared for her genuinely.

Undertaker and Claudia’s relationship being heavily paralleled with them, even though we aren’t 109% sure what they had but heavily implied it was a romantic attraction from the undead supernatural creature and a Phantomhive.

Everything is a parallel.

That’s why, like the approach of the terrible original video, is flawed.

Trying to interpret Black Butler as action scene after action scene, with mystery after mystery with the only connective tissue being the mystery of who burned down the mansion - is missing the trees for the forest.

That’s not the point.

And if you’re too much of a prude to engage with gothic horror in its gothic horror game, I see little point as to why you even bother to engage with it at all.

A lot of people, including the person who create the video, simply refuse to acknowledge Black Butler IS the story of Sebastian and Ciel as a close and positive relationship, romantically and sexually charged. The reason for it being that they’re “put off” by it.

Part of me wonders how much that is genuinely true, and how much is just performative outrage. It’s like ignoring the fact that Cersei and Jami are in an incestous relationship and try to frame it as “platonic love”, because the idea of it is THAT off putting.

But regardless of that, if you don’t like the fact that it’s as canon as canon can get, I would reccomend you don’t engage with the story at all.

As I’ve explained, the entirety of the series is about them. If you refuse to see Sebastian and Ciel as, at the very least, a duo that cares deeply for the other - you aren’t reading Black Butler.

I have no idea what you’re reading.Perhaps your own biases and subconscious stigma with British aesthetic. At that point, watch the fucking British Royalty Gossip Magazine. You’d find more substance there.

Just don’t be like the person in the video, please? Don’t play dumb. Don’t ignore the fact that Yana is a Shotacon, don’t ignore the fact Sebastian is a hero, don’t ignore the fact that the entirety of the story is based on Sebastian and Ciel’s dynamic.

Because if you do, you are ashamed. You are ashamed of what this story is about. You don’t wanna engage with the text, you want to engage with yourself. You wanna project into Ciel whatever traumas and experiences you have, for the sake a vanity project, where you come out as the morally superior.

You don’t wanna talk about Black Butler, you wanna talk about how good YOU are. How you “don’t sin” by watching it “without all the gross unholy stuff”.

Which is the exact opposite of what BB is about.

So, if you don’t want to, save us all the humiliation fetish and leave.

#Kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebaciel #essay #loli speaks

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scribble-dribble-writes · 11 months

Text

One kiss

---

Pairing: Miguel o'hara x female reader

Word count: 3400

Warnings: none, mentions of wound and blood

Content: hurt comfort, he's been pining for you forever, angst

---

It stung with every step you took, the wound on the top of your thigh had begun to seep through your suit and with the only energy you had left, you tapped on your gadget and entered the spider society.

Your vision began to blur and it was hard to keep your wits about you. But the vibrant entrance you knew well was not what greeted you, instead it was a dark room lit up by glowing monitors.

A chill ran down your spin, you were never permitted here except for meetings. As you blinked twice and held your head in your hand unable to to stand, you caught sight of him. He stood on his podium, with his back arched over lost in thought. He lacked spider sense, so he remained oblivious to your presence.

If you could get to your room or transport yourself to the med bay, you could access the help you needed. It wouldn’t bode well to disturb him. Your perception of him was quite clear, you had seen him in action once and that was all that was needed to know who he was.

He was aggressive and feral, he dug his blades into the ground as he gave an anomaly a chase, climbing on buildings with nothing but his own strength, choosing to intimidate and brood. He had the final say, you knew what it felt like to stand still in his gaze, you feared he could read your thoughts. Because if he did, he would come to know you thought of him often.

But as you pushed yourself up with support from a nearby table, you fell back and tripped over laboratory equipment which in turn toppled glass beakers making it crash onto the floor.

You began to breathe heavily, not knowing how he was going to react and watched as his head whipped around to see you.

“I wasn’t supposed to transport here. Have to get my gadget fixed.”, you heaved a breath, but he moved towards you with such force and urgency.

“I was wondering why you were running late from your mission.”, he glanced at the mess around you.

“I’m sorry, Miguel.”, you huffed.

But his gaze darkened when he realized that a trail of blood glistened amidst the debris. His eyes now pinned on your hand that remained clutched over the wound.

“You’re bleeding all over my floor.”, he stated but in your hazy vision it almost looked like he had frozen at the very sight of you looking like this.

“I know.”, you said quietly.

“I can’t seem to get up.”, you gave him a dry laugh.

“If not I would have been on my way and saved you the mess.”, you gestured but his reaction was what silenced you.

He slipped his hands under your calves and your arms to carry you. His eyes roaming over your body in search of other damages or gashes. His touch felt foreign but you craved it, his fingers curved over the side your chest in a protective stance. You felt like you could slip away into a slumber, but he didn’t let you.

“I need you to stay awake.”, he ordered, his eyes now looking like black marbles. Your eyes began to flutter.

“Hey, look at me.”, he sounded much softer now, his calloused fingertips tilting your face towards him and it surprised you, how your imaginations could never come close to how it really felt to be in his arms.

If only the circumstances were different, he was doing this because he led this team, a team in which you were merely an invisible member. He cared deeply, that was his true nature, far beneath his animosity and stone cold exterior. The people of Nueva York respected him as their protector, so you being held close like this such that your cheek rested on his chest, was merely for precaution’s sake nothing else.

“I’m tired, Miguel.”, you whispered, his name rolled off your tongue so easily in dire situations.

“And you can sleep later, ahora no. Look at me.”, it sounded like a plea.

“Please.”, he said quietly and whispered your name.

Now that woke you up, your eyes found his because you felt the tingle in your soul hearing your name on his lips. He said it effortlessly, like he had it memorized.

If only the circumstances were different.

“Ok.”, you mouthed and the corners of his mouth tipped up.

“Bueno.”, he responded and turned to call for LYLA

“Cancel all her upcoming missions.”, he commanded and fear stung your bones.

“No.”, you clutched the top of his suit.

He paused to look at you when LYLA asked for confirmation.

“Yes.”, he said looking away.

Cancelled missions mean he was going to send you home. You were going to be suspended, barred out of spider society for awhile.

“Miguel, you can’t do that. I just need a few days.”, you protested as he walked out towards the med bay.

“No. In your current condition, you are a liability.”, he said and you stilled in his hold.

A liability.

That was how he viewed you. Now that hurt more than the suspension. When you turned your attention to your surroundings, you came to realize you were no where near the med bay.

“This is your suite.”, you stated.

“An astute observation.”, he remarked.

“Not the med bay.”, you continued.

“Another stellar observation.”, he replied as the door opened for him sensing his genetic profile.

Glancing towards you once he sensed your confusion and silence, he said, “I have a couple med packs that heal faster.”

You nodded in response but it was unreal, hearing him speak in a soft cadence as though you were his friend. This was a side, he never displayed to everyone.

So why you? Why now?

He placed you gently on top of an observation table and turned away to gather the supplies he needed. His home retained the same frigid temperature as his lab. It felt lifeless, almost certain he lived in his office more rather than here.

“Nice place.”, you remarked sarcastically to which he chuckled, turning to face you with his hands full of bandages and medication.

“Not really a fan of cozy houses.”, he mumbled as he inspected your wound. It struck you then, his past or the life he lost was rooted in him being a single parent.

The man who now stood before you had once lived in a place that had walls covered in crayon scribbles and toys scattered on the floor. Denying himself of a comfortable home meant it was a reminder of everything he had lost. Everyday he was punishing himself

The suit had dried blood over it making it hard to assess the damage and so he dosed a cloth with saline solution.

“This is going to hurt.”, he warned you.

You braved yourself as he dabbed the open wound but it burned beyond your pain tolerance making you squirm in discomfort as you bit down on your bottom lip, your hand reaching out to hold his for a moment of comfort.

Your eyes widened on what you had done, he was stunned too, his eyes looking up at yours before he moved away clearing his throat.

Why was it easy to seek comfort from him?

“The tear is too deep and wide for me to stitch it up with your suit on.”, he said, his face hidden from your view.

“Oh”, you replied.

“I don’t have the tool to cut through it.”, he stated next, turning to see you from over his shoulder.

Your suit had a special quality that made it impervious to most weapons except for a certain kind of lasers but as you thought about what he was saying, the more your cheeks grew warm.

“Oh, you want me to –

“remove your suit, yes.”, he finished your sentence and it was clear both of your were nervous about this.

He turned away to give you privacy as he braced himself against the counter top. You pulled all your hair to the side to get a feel for the top of the zipper behind your neck. Finding the tail end of it, you pulled it down, the sound filling the silence between the two of you. But you could only pull in halfway before it got stuck.

You breathed out a frustrated curse word as you continued to pull on it, your leg convulsing in pain when you almost gave up until you felt warm fingers touch yours. He stood behind you, his soft breath running over the escape of your back. He pulled the zipper done the whole way but his hands were too big to execute this without touching you. As he dragged the zipped, his knuckle pressed into your tender skin, he inhaled sharply and you held your arms to prevent the spread of goosebumps.

Your inner wear and short tights gave you a little cover as you peeled away your suit thanking him for his help. He took it from you and sent it away to be washed and fixed. Every interaction only increased your curiosity over this gentleness he had kept well hidden. Any second in his gaze now burned your skin. He set to work quickly, as though if he didn’t, he might end up doing something else.

He kept his gestures short as he set up an IV and heart monitor but ever so often his fingers would graze your body. He pulled up a seat and sat by the table, ready to stitch the clean anesthetized wound. He retracted his claws and his suit unravelled till his forearms, allowing him to pick up the needle with his bare hands.

He got closer, one hand holding your thigh steady while the other worked the stitch. The image you had concocted about him had broken. This was who he truly was beneath that tough façade. You leaned closer to inspect his work.

“You’re good at this.”, you commented but didn’t expect him to look up, causing your faces to be away from each other by an inch.

“Ive had a bit of practice.”, he swallowed hard and sat back, moving away from you.

“I wasn’t used to having the claws at first. I wouldn’t retract it and it would tear open my skin when I did mundane events.”, he kept the conversation flowing while his attention remained on the needle and thread.

He was letting you into some aspects of his life. He stood tall and intimidated anyone who was around him, you never would have guessed he had trouble with his mutations.

“And now?”, you asked.

“Now,”, he paused to look at you.

“I do it when I please.”, he smirked holding his index finger to you, the moment he said it, his claws protruded out like tiny knives.

Your eyes widened and that reaction seemed to send him back into his shell again. You reached forward to touch the tip of his claw but he pulled away his hand.

“You can say it.”, he stated as he tied the knot to his stitch.

“What?”, you asked confused.

“That I’m a monster.”, he held the needle high such that the string was held taut by tension. You remained quiet when his eyes landed on yours, he was baiting you, to get you to tell him what you really thought. And as he maintained eye contact, he leaned forward towards your thigh to snap the thread with the end of his fang.

“How would you know what I think?”, you cocked your eyebrow and folded your arms to portray that what he did didn’t affect you but truth be told, you felt weak in the knees.

He studied your expression as he stood up, he braced his arms against the edge of the table, ever so slightly leaning towards you.

“What is it then, that you think of me?”, he asked and although he wanted to be scare you away, you could tell by the way his eyes turned lighter that he was actually vulnerable.

Why was it that your opinion mattered?

But you chose to tell him the truth.

“I think you are kind, loyal and entirely impressive, claws and all. I don’t get why you sell yourself short.”, the tip of your pinky touched his where he had rested his hand and the very spark that you felt made all this feel too risky.

His eyes sunk low to your lips and you were certain he was going to kiss you, his eyes were relaxed as though your statement was a confirmation of whatever it was he had thought of.

“Why am I bestowed with beautiful thing when everything I touch, breaks.”, he whispered.

You were entranced by this that you didn’t want to pratice better judgement, maybe it was the meds that was giving you blind courage to sit here and face him or maybe it was all real.

But just when he was about to place his lips on yours, he blinked and his face contorted into one of regret and worry.

“You should go.”, he said as he moved away. You sunk back, the rush leaving your system.

What were you thinking?

Scratching the edge of his jaw almost in a way he was asking the same question, he put a great deal of distance between you and himself.

“Right.”, you remarked as you watched him hang his head low, he looked like he was unravelling.

“Could I get my suit back?”, you asked and his demeanor looked different now, very different to the one who was with this a few seconds ago.

“I need you to leave. Now.”, his voice was coarse, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Miguel, I can’t just walk out looking like this.”, you gestured to yourself but his thoughts were elsewhere. When he turned away from you, you caught a glimpse of the eyes that now flashed red.

He groaned as he opened all the cabinets in a hurry, then pushing away the contents on the counter as though he was in searching for something.

But with every second, you could tell he was loosing control over his own body, his claws were out, tearing into anything he touched. He hissed and you could see the gleam of his fangs.

“Dónde está?”, he yelled as he trashed around.

You spotted a couple vials tucked away in the corner that contained a green liquid inside it. He took those often and you pieced together that it was what he was looking for. You took a step forward and he whipped around towards you. His back hunched over, he looked menacing. He barred his teeth at you, but you stood your ground. But more that looking animalistic, he only looked like he was in pain.

You stepped towards him slowly and you could see the corner of his eyes glimmer, as thou he was one who was afraid of himself.

“Don’t come close.”, he shouted.

“Don’t look at me.”, he looked hurt.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”, another warning but you flung your web to grab a vial and an injector.

“Are you looking for this?”, you held up the item and he scrambled for it, grabbing it in a desperation you had never seen before.

He suppressed the pain as he injected the liquid straight onto his skin. The the silence flooded back in, he dropped the empty vial to the floor and he sunk low, his knees hitting the tiles floor in a soft thump.

It was the most heartbreaking few seconds you had ever witnessed. He had no choice, he lived like this, the most inhuman way to torture someone, to curse them to be a beast their whole life.

He was breathing calmly now but his head was hidden in his hands as you looked down at him. His hair was a tousled mess when he said, “Gracias.”

“Anyone else would have done the same.”, you told him as you contemplated on the two options that were present before you. To kneel down to meet his gaze again or turn back a leave.

“They would have run straight to the door.”, he pushed back his hair as he inhaled deeply. His eyes now returned to soft golden hue. You placed your knees on the cold tiles to match his eye level, his gaze never left yours.

“Why won’t you turn your back and run?”, he questioned you.

“I’m stubborn that way.”, you managed to smile and he sighed, dropping his hands to his side.

“Dios mío, esta mujer.”, he mumbled.

“Can't you see I have a tendency to break things?”, he gestured to the mess around him and you huffed a laugh. It mirrored the same mess you had made an hour ago in his lab. But it was there that he chose to pull you out of it rather let you revel in it.

“Some elements are cursed to be left alone and I am one of them.”, he continued.

“How can you be alone if I’m keeping you company?”, you tilted your head and smiled

“Precisely, so I need you to leave.”, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is that what you want?”, you ask letting go of the playful tone.

You had to know now, if that almost kiss was imagined or if he harboured anything at all for you.

He remained quite. He didn’t give you answer and maybe in the end all this was futile. So you turned to leave and you felt his fingers gently grab your wrist. It wasn’t covered in his suit, his fingers were rough and calloused but his touch ebbed with the comfort you were seeking.

“You are the brightest star in my barren sky and as much as I desire you, I can't have you, I can never continue to exist if I was the one to extinguish your light.”, he said eloquently.

He reeled you in and you followed, “Then I’ll shine brighter for you.”, you placed you palm on his cheek and he leaned into your touch. Like he was soft clay in your potter hands.

“I can never offer you peace, Querida.”, he said quietly.

“You deserve someone who would spend less time worrying about losing you and instead would enjoy every second of your presence.”, he said as you sat down in front of him.

“Peace is overrated if you’re part of spider society. Sacrifice, is all I know and because of it we’re more alike that you think.”, you told him.

He was at the edge, he wanted to hold you close, to have a life he had always yearned for.

But was he worthy of it?

He pulled you closer to him.

This was a lot more intense than keeping the spiderverse together. His heart was on fire for you, burning secretly, but maybe today, just this once he would indulge in it. To ease his soul.

As you drew closer, his suit peeled away, exposing his warm skin, his legs covered in black tights.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt, would it?”, he asked, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“I guess not.”, you murmured, entranced by his beauty in the soft pale light.

“And if ever I crave more?”, you asked, he was waiting for you to take the first step. Your lips hovered over his.

“Then you only have to ask.”, he whispered and with that, you kissed him.

His lips lush and soft as his hands found your waist. The frigid temperature had now thawed, as you remained seated on the floor, lost in a world of your own as he pulled on the ends of your long hair that he had entangled his hands in. His fire had met it’s match in the spark of your spirit.

You pulled away to catch your breath before losing yourself in placing kisses along his neck as he held you steady, as though he never wanted you to leave. This was where the chaos of your lives made sense, in each other’s arms.

There was no going back now.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman 2099 #spiderverse

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thewulf · 1 year

Text

Cross || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: The four times you captured Jake Seresin’s attention and the one time he did something about it.

A/N: A request from a friend. Enjoy!

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 6,500+

TW: Abuse (Physical)

One

From an early age you learned how to sit down, shut up and do what you were told. Growing up on the south side of Chicago didn’t bode well for the greatest childhood. Your parents, if you could even call them that, gave you a shelter and sometimes some food but other than that? You were on your own from a very early age with your older brothers. Who quite frankly didn’t give a shit about you either.

You wished and prayed that your parents would snap out of it and start taking care of their children, but they never did. You gave up praying on your eighth birthday when your mom picked the pills over her own babies. Classic drug addicts. You gave up trying to form a relationship on your tenth birthday when you had to call an ambulance because your dad was unresponsive. He lived, somehow.

Things often got violent in the household. You learned how to protect yourself, learning how to fight back against two methed out parents by the age of twelve. Realizing quickly you had to learn how to defend yourself or you’d likely end up dead. You did just that. You wished your parents were alcoholics like every other parent on the south side. But no, they had to be hard drug users. They were so terribly unpredictable. Sometimes they’d treat you like gold but the very next day you could be getting beat on, you just never knew. You had to be ready at all times. It was exhausting being in constant fight or flight mode.

On your eighteenth birthday you left without saying a word. You didn’t have a plan nor a cent to your name but you sure were scrappy. You’d found weird jobs across the country for a few years before landing in San Diego and meeting Penny Benjamin.

You liked to think Penny saved your life from spiraling even further than it had. She was desperate for a bartender, and you were desperate for a stable job. You ended up falling in love with the job and the area. Most days were great, but some days were awful. And today? Today was one of those awful days.

“Hey sweetie, how about another beer?” A lovely patron of the Hard Deck clinked his empty beer glass against the wood countertop eyeing you up and down. Disgusting. You’d gotten used to brazen men checking you out, but it never ceased to amaze you just how gross they could get. Especially with a little beer in their system.

Rolling your eyes, you simply ignored him deciding to focus your attention elsewhere. Not giving the creepy old man who couldn’t seem to stop eye fucking you any satisfaction. You greeted a younger couple happily chatting away with them trying to ignore the creep as best as you could.

“Baby, I’m talking to you.” He yelled from across the bar interrupting you from the conversation. Penny gave you a look asking if you could handle it. You could. You dealt with these gross drunks all the time. It still didn’t make it pleasant though.

Giving her a quick nod, you turned back to the couple.

You were so tempted to ring that damn bell, but it was more effort than it was worth tonight. See, it was a Friday night at the hard deck and a bunch of Top Gun pilots were back making it even busier than you were used to. You didn’t have time to think let alone serve this entire bar another round. So, you decided against it instead finishing up the order you were already working on.

Once you finished serving the couple you turned your attention back to the man knowing you’d have to confront him eventually. You decided to serve everybody around him first making sure to pay him no attention.

“Baby is playing hard to get.”

Snapping your eyes up at him you swore your nostrils were flaring, “Don’t you fucking baby me.” You were tired. So damn tired of men thinking they could speak to you like you were nothing. Like your only purpose on this god forsaken planet is to serve them beer and look pretty.

“Feisty little one.” He winked as he slid his empty glass in front of you.

“Get the fuck out of this bar.” You stared at him with icy eyes. Any friendliness in your tone completely gone.

You noticed him pause at your words. Taking a second to see if you were being serious. It didn’t work though, he continued to press on, “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t have a mouth like that.” He slurred his words this time.

“Get the fuck out. Now.” Nearly growling you turned away. You were far too busy to be dealing with this shit right now. Another bartender called off and it was just you and Penny trying to serve hundreds of impatient people.

You didn’t make it too far feeling a cold hand wrap around your wrist.

Fuck it. He started it.

Turning around quickly you made a fist out of your hand like it was second nature. Not putting much thought into it you used all your might as your hand collided with his right eye. He dropped to the floor almost instantly with a thud sending the bar into an almost eerie silence.

“Fuck.” You groaned shaking your wrist out. You had forgotten just how bad it hurt to make direct contact like that. Penny flew over to you making sure you were okay.

It suddenly hit you how silent the bar had gotten after you threw that nasty punch. Only hearing a few whistles from the aviators over in the corner who were all eagerly watching in anticipation. Looking up at them you saw them all nodding and smiling. Simply thrilled this had happened while they were there.

“You okay?” Penny asked as she wrapped some ice in a towel for you.

“Perfectly fine.” You smiled graciously accepting the ice. Your knuckles were already turning purple from the impact.

She leaned over the bar to assess the damage you had inflicted, “Damn girl. You knocked him out cold.” Penny gave you a wide eyed expression as she turned back to you.

Smiling awkwardly at the customers who were still a little shocked you decked someone right in the face, you mimicked Penny leaning over the bar taking a peek. Nodding to yourself you were quite proud of that hit. Not that you necessarily condoned violence but sometimes it was necessary, like right now.

Penny rang the bell trying to liven the crowd back up and trying to signal for the young pilots to come over, “Seresin! Fitch! Throw him out will you?” She yelled to the two closest aviators who couldn’t seem to get enough of what was going on.

“Yes ma’am.” The pretty blond pilot answered her grinning from ear to ear. He looked like he loved this shit. You’d never seen him before. You were sure you would’ve remembered that face. That smile.

“Thank you.” Penny smiled at him before turning back to you. Eyeing your hand, she looked at you curiously, “Can you still serve or …” She trailed off not sure what to say. It wasn’t that often that a young female bartender straight decked a customer and knocked him out cold. Of course, it was you who had to break the mold. It was always you doing something you shouldn’t have.

You weren’t a bad kid. Quite the opposite really. A bit naïve if anything, you simply wanted the best for everyone. But you also weren’t a pushover. You’d given him a few warnings and he was the one that touched you first. You felt every justification in knocking the old creep out.

You always seemed to end up in these situations though. Your trash life just seemed to follow you everywhere like a curse you couldn’t break.

Shaking your head you dropped the ice, “I’m good!”

“That was one hell of a punch.” The blond pilot spoke up drawing your eyes back towards his. Damn, he was pretty. He was even more handsome when he was a few feet from you.

“Thanks.” You laughed grabbing a glass to fill up with a draft, “Guess my dad was good for something.” Smiling brightly at him you attempted to crack a joke. It might’ve been a defense mechanism, but it was true. Your dad was a low life good for nothing fuck who would’ve sold you if he knew he could. He was far too dumb to pull anything like that off though.

His smile dropped slightly being a bit taken aback by your casual statement, “You otta teach our friend Bobby over there how to throw a punch.”

The other pilot laughed at the blonds remark as he began to pick up the unconscious man.

“I’m sure Bobby can throw a punch just fine.” You halfway returned the smile. He was trouble and you could sniff that out a mile away. Growing up like you did gave you a sort of superpower to sniff out bullshit. Being able to read people like a book surely had its advantages.

“I beg to differ.” He threw you a wink before helping his friend out. Taking a breath, you were sure this was just the first of many encounters with the blond pilot. You weren’t sure if that excited you or made you want to quit on the spot.

Two

The next few days had slowed down quite a bit at the Hard Deck. You sure did love the money you made on Friday, especially after throwing that punch, but you were thankful it was slower. Finally, being able to catch your breath after the busy weekend shift.

You were distracted serving a few customers at the bar or you would’ve seen the blonde pilot enter with a few friends. You didn’t see his face perking up ever so slightly when he saw you behind the bar. He considered himself increasingly intrigued by you. He had surely never seen any woman handle herself like that. He simply loved it.

Of course, he offered to get the first round. He wanted to talk to you, even for a moment. Payback and Coyote teased him before he walked over to you. The two of them noticed how he kept bringing you up in conversation even though he knew nothing about you.

“I have a nickname for you.” A silky smooth southern voice from behind you spoke up. Turning around you bit your cheek to hide the stupid smile that wanted to grace your face. There he was… trouble.

“And that is?”

“Cross.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, “You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”

“You’ve got an amazing cross shot.” He grinned before continuing, “And I wouldn’t want to cross you.”

“The punch, really?” You grabbed him a few domestics from the fridge sliding them over after popping the tops.

He shrugged taking a slow sip from the glass, “What can I say? It was hot.”

You laughed shaking your head, “Noted…” You trailed off waiting for him to properly introduce himself.

“Hangman.”

“I’m not calling you Hangman. I’m Y/N.” Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a rag wiping down the counter next to him. Making sure to do anything to avoid eye contact with the pretty man.

“And why not? That’s a beautiful name, Y/N.”

“It’s weird.” You rebutted almost instantly ignoring his second comment. Terribly flirty this man was.

This time he let out a hearty laugh. He was enjoying himself all too much. The effortless back and forth between the two of you made him giddy. He could see how sharp you were, how witty you are.

“It’s not weird if I give you permission.”

You continued to clean, “I don’t need your permission. It’s still weird.”

He didn’t stop the smile that formed on his face, “Call me Jake then. I’m still calling you Cross though.”

You looked up to him now, “And if I don’t give you permission?”

“Like you said, I don’t need it.” He countered using your own words against you.

“Fair.” You narrowed your eyes in on him. He got you there, you couldn’t deny that one.

“So, where are you from doll?” You knew he was just being polite, no ill will towards the term of endearment. But you hated it. Your childhood really truly traumatized you. When you were far too young you’d have men catcalling you on the streets calling you sugar, sweetie, honey, or baby. It made your skin crawl. You hated that simple terms of endearment were traumatizing to you. Those sweet nothings were taken from you. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Don’t call me that.” You harshly spoke back to him. Your eyes softened seeing his confused expression, “Please.” You added trying to soften the blow.

“I thought I didn’t need permission.” He smirked, testing your boundaries.

You bit your lip thinking hard about how you wanted to respond to him, “Please.” You smiled softly, opting to go the easiest route of begging him not to.

He nodded sharply understanding your near desperation in your ask. Taking another long sip of the beer he hesitated to leave even though his fellow aviators were so patiently waiting on their own.

“Yes ma’am.” He smiled before sauntering off back towards the pool table.

You spent your night relatively busy as the Hard Deck picked up. Sending glances Jake’s way, you couldn’t seem to keep yourself from looking at him. Maybe it was the way he presented himself so surely, but no man had ever treated you with the respect he had already shown.

The bar was literally in hell, yes, but here you were also intrigued with the pretty blond pilot.

Three

It had not been a good few days. Your piece of shit ex-boyfriend had shown up at your doorstep begging you to forgive him. You had called off the shitty relationship a month ago after you caught him cheating. Trash life, trash men.

You really did think he was different until you walked in on him hooking up with a neighbor.

Long story short he wouldn’t leave. The cops had to come. Once they left he had decorated your cheek with a nice little back slap which split your lip right open. He ended up leaving after telling you just how worthless he thought you were.

You sat there crying to yourself wondering why you couldn’t get out of this shitty spiral that your life always seemed to be in. You’d escaped Chicago just to end up in the same situation that you’d grown accustomed to. Being abused by the people that should love you.

You told Penny the truth, not wanting to lie to her. Sure, she was your boss, but she was also one of your better friends here. The two of you got along like peas in a pod and you sure did suffer through enough long nights at the bar together.

She let you take the night off, understanding you would likely not be up for it.

However, she did invite you down to the beach the next day. She mentioned that shirtless pilots running around playing football might cheer you up. Not being one to pass up on such an opportunity you sped on down to the beach sitting next to Penny just outside the Hard Deck.

“Damn. You were right Penny.” You whistled lowly admiring the scene before you, “This really does help.”

She was smiling until she saw your lip, “You alright?”

“Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle. Just caught me by surprise is all.”

She was frowning now, “Did he do that before?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Shrugging you smiled as you found Jake in the swarm of men. Damn, he looked even better shirtless. That just wasn’t fair.

“I’m used to it Penny. Can’t seem to escape it.” You laughed softly accepting your fate. It’s all you really could do. Laugh. What else could you do?

She shook her head, “Don’t say that Y/N. Nobody deserves that.”

“Sure.” You smiled towards her trying to comfort her more than yourself. She looked so worried for you.

She broke the eye contact the two of you were holding first, “Looks like you’ve got a visitor. I need to talk to Pete anyway.” She laughed after seeing your shocked expression. She was just up and leaving you to deal with the handsome stranger?

He immediately noticed your bruised cheek and busted lip. Making sure to brush the frown away quickly he plopped down next to you. Closer than you would’ve, not that you were complaining.

“Another fight there Cross?” Jake grinned hoping to extract something from the closed book that you were.

Huffing to yourself you looked up to him, “Something like that.” You kept it vague as you turned your attention to the waves rolling before you. That’s what you loved about this place. You lived mere minutes from the beach.

He nudged you with his shoulder, “Should I see the other guy?”

Blinking rapidly, you kept your attention away from him suddenly feeling awfully vulnerable as he kept his attention trained on you, “Yeah.” You whispered

“You okay?” He mimicked your whisper. Almost afraid he might spook you if he spoke too loudly.

That question knocked you back into reality, “I’m perfectly fine Jake.” You flashed him your most genuine smile careful not to bust open your lip again. You had finally gotten it to stop bleeding.

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You returned his question with one of your own.

“You seem a little spacey and you have a split lip. Just checking that’s all.” Throwing his hands up in defense he refused to look away. He kept his eyes trained on your face.

You were quickly becoming an enigma to him. The two of you seemed to talk frequently but he didn’t know a damn thing about you. He knew your first name and that you bartended at the Hard Deck. That’s all he could seem to get out of you.

You nodded along noticing how defensive you had become, “Volleyball accident. Took a hit right to the chin.” Lying as casually as you could you found the courage to look back over to him.

He clearly didn’t believe you eyeing you curiously, “If that’s the story you’re sticking to. So be it I guess.”

You frowned knowing he wasn’t going to let you get away with it. He was just too confrontational, “Well, it’s the story so.”

“Bullshit.” He countered clearly ready to get into whatever this situation was.

Rolling your eyes, you turned your body away from him slightly. He was annoying. You really didn’t want anybody digging into your life. It was already embarrassing enough to come from where you did. Having to explain that to Jake sounded downright mortifying.

“Does it matter?” You replied refusing to look at him.

He scoffed this time not sure how you weren’t understanding him, “Yes it matters Y/N. Of course, it matters.”

“I slipped in the shower.” You attempted to lie again.

“Why are you lying?” He too seemed to have a mega bullshit detector just like you.

You shrugged, “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He frowned seeing you look so utterly defeated, “Are you at least safe?”

“I think so.”

His eyes were nearly bugging out of his head now. He couldn’t understand you. How you so utterly nonchalant about whatever situation you were in he couldn’t grasp, “You think?”

Nodding your head you turned back to him, “I should be fine. I can handle him.”

“Him?” He jumped from his seat standing in front of placing his hands gently on your shoulders. You really hadn’t meant to let that one slip, but it was far too late to try and backtrack now.

Sighing you looked up to him, “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m safe. I can handle it.”

Narrowing his eyes in on you it didn’t look like he quite believed you. But what could he do? He didn’t know you and you sure weren’t planning on sharing, “Are you sure.”

You nodded, “Quite.”

He dropped his hands from your shoulders, “Alright. I should get back?” He pointed to the group almost questioning if he should go or not.

You smiled, “Sure. I’ll see you around Jake.”

“You sure will.” He winked before jogging off back to the group of aviators not able to shake the sinking feeling he had in his gut.

Four

You were in fact able to handle him the second time around. It did come at a cost though. A pretty black eye, a bruised rib and a potentially sprained wrist didn’t stop you from putting him in his place.

Completely forgetting to lock the deadbolt he was able to get in with a copy of your housekey.

The sheer rage your ex had laced in his eyes eerily reminded you of your parents when they were cracked out of their minds. Shuddering at the thought you were able to get the upper hand. You didn’t think he’d be so brazen but then again you couldn’t tell if he was high out of his mind or not.’

Of course, you realized he was a shitty dude at the end of the relationship, but this was completely out of the ordinary from him. He hadn’t laid a hand on you prior to smacking you across the face. But now? The look of sheer rage horrified you, looking like he wanted to seriously hurt you.

Being terribly confused by the whole situation didn’t help either. You just couldn’t understand why he wanted to hurt you. Why he couldn’t have just left the relationship and moved on? He was the one that cheated anyway. It’s not the two of you were terribly in love either. You were only together for a few months. You simply just chalked it up to having the world’s worst luck.

After forcing him out by hitting him with a frying pan a few times you ended up calling the cops, unsure of what to do. They weren’t much help, telling you to find a different place to stay and they’d start a document for a restraining order. It was all bullshit, and you knew it. It wasn’t worth the cost to follow through.

Deciding to call Penny instead of risking staying in the house she let you come sleep on the couch at her place. She let the small gasp come out when she saw your state. You groaned realizing just how bad you probably looked. But true to your words you didn’t really feel that bad. You were used to being roughed up.

She got you some ice for your eye and wrist letting you pick out a movie as she did so. You settled on Step Brothers hoping to take your mind off of everything.

“Thanks Penny.” You yawned beginning to feel exhaustion creep up over you.

“Anytime kid. Get some sleep kid.” She patted your head before departing to her room upstairs. You snuggled in hoping to fall into a dreamless sleep.

Penny let you stay there that day as you searched for new locks, knowing you couldn’t go back until those were changed. She also let you skip your shift that night much to Jake’s dissatisfaction. He was really looking forward to seeing you, you always worked on Thursday’s.

Penny may have let it slip that you were staying at her place just up the road and that you were ‘sick’ after Jake complained that you weren’t there.

Immediately understanding what she was putting down Jake grabbed his keys and walked out of the bar. Shooting a text to his friends letting them know he’d be right back. But he needed to see you, make sure that you were okay.

Softly knocking on Penny’s door, he anxiously waited for you to answer.

You took a peek out the window cursing when you saw Jake standing there. Your face looked even worse than yesterday but there wasn’t enough time to try and hide it.

Sighing you opted to just open the door.

“Jesus Christ Y/N.” Jake frowned examining your black eye and bruised nose.

You smiled softly, “You should see the other guy.”

He grumbled not taking his eyes off your broken face, “Not really a time for jokes Y/N.”

“It’s always time for joking Jake.” You countered knowing it’d drive him mad. Something you enjoyed doing all too much as of late. The simple back and forth the two of you had grown accustomed to gave you so much joy throughout your stay in San Diego.

“Are you okay?” He pushed you back out of the doorway with his own body, inviting himself right on in.

“What are you doing here?” You asked after moving out of his way, not protesting in the slightest.

“I’m checking in.” He gave you the most obvious look, as if it was clear what he was doing here, “Penny told me what happened.”

“That little snake.”

“Well to be fair she just said you were sick. I kind of just assumed after seeing you a few days ago.” He frowned again grabbing some more ice from the freezer for you, “You need to keep ice on it.”

“Okay.” You simply nodded taking the ice pack from him gingerly knowing he was entirely right.

“What? No witty remark? No comeback?”

You giggled for the first time in a while. Feeling lighter and freer with the man standing in front of you. Having an odd sense of trust in him, “No. I don’t argue everything Jake.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He smiled before guiding you to the couch wanting you to sit down.

Obliging you took a seat at one end, “Pot calling the kettle black.”

He laughed taking a seat at the opposite end, giving you some needed space, “But seriously, are you alright.”

You nodded, “I’m fine. Just need to change my locks and then I’m good.”

“You said that last time.” He deadpanned.

“I was being serious earlier. He took a cast iron pan to the forehead, multiple times. I think he’ll think twice.” You smiled remembering your victory over the weak man.

He looked you over while he nodded, somewhat impressed, “Can’t be too careful though.” He studied you yet again not being able to hide his upset expression. He really couldn’t believe that somebody would ever dare lay a hand on you let alone leave such a mark on your eye. He might’ve only known you for a brief time, but he felt protective over you. So oddly protective.

You shrugged, “I’ll sleep with my pan at night.”

He laughed taking you in. He was fully enamored with you now. How you could make such light out of the seriousness of the situation and manage to calm him down was something magical. Truly unlike anyone he’d ever met, “That’s a start. I’ll tell you what. I have the day off tomorrow, why don’t I help you change those locks then?”

You smiled nodding at him, “I’ll happily take some help.”

“Great.” He smiled, “10 AM work?”

You nodded feeling a burst of excitement at the prospect of Jake helping you out, “Works great.”

“Perfect, see you then. Gotta get back to the bar though, just wanted to check in. Have to go beat Rooster’s ass in a round of darks”

Nodding you didn’t stop the smile that come over you, “See you tomorrow Jake.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Night.”

Five

Another busy night at the Hard Deck had you focusing on everything but watching the front door. After changing your locks your ex didn’t attempt anything, thankfully. You thought he had gotten the hint. Being terribly nervous about the whole situation had you on edge, head on a swivel at all times.

Your heart dropped when you heard that voice from behind you, sitting at the bar as if nothing had happened between the two of you, “Baby, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Gulping you refused to turn around instead searching for Penny. But just as you looked up you saw her run off to the back. Sighing you opted to simply keep serving the guests on the opposite side of the bar instead of confronting him. You had the advantage of the bar being particularly busy this night.

“Y/N.” You heard your name called sharply from behind you.

“I’m busy.” You shouted still refusing to turn around moving on to the next customer.

He wouldn’t take no for an answer though. He simply just moved around the bar, dodging, and weaving in between everyone making sure he was in your line of sight. When you saw what he was doing you simply turned around to serve the other side of the bar. Simply not in the mood to indulge in whatever fantasy this dude has. You were prepared to avoid as long as needed.

“Y/N.” There it was again. That damn voice. For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why he was not taking the hint.

“I said, I’m busy.” You snapped back focusing on washing the racks of dirty beer glasses in front of you

“You’re not getting rid of me like this, Y/N. We need to talk about this!”

Rolling your eyes, you kept moving down the bar, strategically avoiding him. The gull on the piece of shit was baffling to you. He was the one that cheated on you. You were pretty damn sure that wasn’t the first time either.

What you also didn’t notice was how Jake was observing you every now and then. Often doing so, he wanted to make sure that you were okay. He caught flack from his fellow aviators for treating you so differently, they didn’t have a clue though. Not a damn clue.

He noticed your relaxed and easy going attitude change drastically throughout the night. You were usually so cheery and happy to talk to people. Tonight, you looked agitated and a little stressed out. For the life of him Jake couldn’t pinpoint what was causing you to feel so distressed.

He didn’t want to bother you when you were so busy, so he hung back for a while. As soon as it began to die down though he found a barstool and waited patiently until you noticed him.

The utter relief you felt when you spotted Jake sitting there was unlike any other. Your ex was still at it getting rather agitated at you dodging him for the last two hours. Relaxing just a little when you spotted him you quickly walked over to where he was sitting, “Jake. What can I get for you?”

“The usual.” He grinned leaning towards you.

“Sure thing.” You returned his smile with a half-hearted one of your own.

“Are you okay?” He asked as you returned with his beer.

Nodding your head you leaned into the counter, “You ask that a lot.”

“You seem to get yourself into very precarious situations.”

Laughing at his comment you realized he didn’t know the half of it. He couldn’t understand because you refused to tell him, “I do, don’t I?”

“Yes ma’am. Now answer the question.” His eyes darkened over slightly letting you know he wasn’t playing around.

You shrugged, “I have a small issue.”

Eyebrows raised he was a little taken aback you were actually going to tell him something. Not that he didn’t enjoy the banter between the two of you, but this was different, more serious, “And what’s that?”

“Don’t look. But my ex is sitting on the opposite side of the bar right now. He’s been following me around all night.” Sighing you leaned in even closer, “I’m so sorry. He’s probably going to confront you now that I’ve been talking to you for more than a minute.”

Jake returned your shrug almost getting a kick out of it, “I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you right now. Which one is he?”

Smiling softly at his bluntness you continued, “Red hoodie almost right behind me.”

The moment he spotted him Jake’s eyes darkened a few shades. His cheery smile with the dimples was immediately replaced with a straight line running across his face. If you didn’t know any better of him that look would have absolutely petrified you.

“Just keep your eyes on me Y/N.” Jake spoke quietly as he watched your ex eye you as you served customers.

Nodding softly, you kept your eyes trained near Jake not daring to serve that side of the bar. Another bartender noticed and kept that side locked down, “Thanks Jake.”

“Nothing to thank me for Y/N.” He gave you a serious look to let you know he wasn’t kidding. Jake could never accept a thank you for doing what he was raised to do, protect women. You couldn’t grow up in Texas and not think the world of all women. It always baffled Jake that other men didn’t think the same. That other men could even think of harming a woman.

Jake eventually caught the eye of your ex. He threw in a smirk for good measure. Jake made sure to look back to you to piss him off. And it worked. Almost instantly Jake noticed his red hoodie begin to walk around the bar. He knew this was going to be too good now.

“You fucking my girl?”

Jake grinned, loving every second of this, “Don’t think she’s your girl anymore.”

“Yes she is.” His nostrils flared in an attempt to intimidate Jake, you knew that wasn’t going to happen though.

Shaking his head casually Jake stood from his bar stool finally getting a good look at him. You knew Jake was taller than him, but you didn’t realize just how much. Taking a defensive stance, he eyed the man up and down cracking a smile when he met his eyes again, “Not according to Y/N, you’re not.”

“And you believe the little bitch?” He puffed his chest out not backing down from Jake. You had to hand it to the stupid man, he sure didn’t know when to call it quits.

Jake slowly shook his head, “I reckon you apologize to her.”

He laughed, a full on belly laugh. Getting a kick out of that one. You couldn’t rip your eyes from the scene unfolding before you, neither could the other aviators who had grown quiet observing the interaction between the two men. It was still busy enough that nobody paid them any mind, yet.

“For what?”

Jake didn’t break his stare down on the coward, “You know what for.”

He smirked somehow feeling like he had the upper hand in this argument, “I’m just putting my girl back in her place. Mind your own damn business.”

Realizing this was likely going to escalate you waved down Penny to try and figure out what to do. She waved you off letting you know that it was okay. She didn’t mind a fight in her bar.

“No, see I have a problem with that. Where I’m from a man never lays a hand on a woman.” Jake spoke as coolly as you’ve ever seen him. You just knew you were about to witness some shit go down.

He laughed, “And where I’m from she’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Eyes widening at that you actually felt fear from the man for the first time. Had he manipulated you that bad in the relationship that you couldn’t see what a true monster he was? Sure, it was only a few months but at one point you genuinely liked the guy. Now he was sitting here threating to hurt you even further.

Jake saw your fear in his peripherals. He took a step back towards you letting you know that he’s got you covered. He wouldn’t let this so called man hurt you again.

“Touch her again and you’ll understand just how nice we treat men like you.”

“I will do whatever the fuck I want to do to her. She’s mine.”

Your skin was crawling now, breaking out into chills all throughout your body. You definitely had to have missed some big red flags in the relationship.

The other aviators noticed the altercation wasn’t dying down but firing up. You noticed the one that helped him drag the unconscious man out of the bar last week was slowly making his way over to Jake.

“That’s just not going to happen.”

He then placed his pointer finger on Jakes chest, “Like I said. You don’t tell me what the fuck I can do.”

“You have 2 seconds to remove your hand.” He glared coldly.

“One.” Payback spoke up stepping closer to the scene crossing his arms over his chest. Having Jake’s back, “Two.”

Your stupid ex didn’t have a clue apparently because he smugly stood there. How he could be so cocky was beyond you, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jake spoke. Catching a faint grin, he cocked his head to the side giving him one last chance to step back.

“What are you going to do?”

Jake sighed, “This.”

With his left hand he quickly grabbed his finger bending it back until he head the snap. Your ex wailed in pain at the broken finger. That wasn’t enough for Jake though. He knew he needed to really drive this lesson home for him.

So, as he was crying in pain Jake took his right arm and punched him right under the chin sending him to the floor instantly.

For the second time in a few days another patron was knocked unconscious. Penny sighed while shaking her head opting not to worry about it. Letting the two aviators handle it.

Payback snickered, “You did warn him.”

Jake nodded, “I did. Many times.”

“Damn.” You grinned, “That was one hell of a punch.”

Jake spun on his heels smiling from ear to ear, “I took notes from the best.”

He studied you again noticing just how much more relaxed your demeanor had become when he wasn’t a direct threat anymore, “Let me see your phone.” He demanded more than asked as he walked back closer to the bar.

“What for?” You asked while handing it to him.

“If that motherfucker even looks at you weird again, you call me. Okay?” He quickly added his name to your contacts before handing it back to you.

“Okay. Thank you Jake. Really, thank you.” You leaned over the counter taking it back from him. Pausing when you realized just how close your faces were together.

“Anytime. And if you just want to talk or hang out you can call me too.”

“Really?” Your smile grew at his statement.

Nodding his head he scanned your face again, “Please do. I’m looking forward to it.” He winked before pulling back away from you.

You watched, a little speechless, as the two aviators dragged your good for nothing ex out of the bar and hopefully far away from your life.

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zepskies · 7 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 6

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,000 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort

Part 6: “Just Casual”

A few days after the house fire that claimed the life of Paul Richardson, father of two, Chief Bobby Singer was joined in his office by Detectives Winchester and Novak, along with his resident Squad Captain and Truck Lieutenant, Benny and Dean.

“The Richardson fire has officially been determined an arson,” Bobby revealed.

“They found a time-delay incendiary device hidden in the attic. No fingerprints. But that’s not even the odd thing,” he said. “The medical examiner found a brand mark on his wrist that was inconsistent with his other burns. Which is why you’re here, I reckon.”

Bobby directed his gaze at both John and Cas, who didn’t look surprised to hear this news.

Dean raised a brow. His gaze shifted to his father, but John only met his stare for a moment before he answered Bobby’s unspoken question.

“We’ve been investigating a series of murders in the area over the past six months,” John said. “Each victim died in their home, with the same brand somewhere on their body. Typically the wrist, or the back of the neck.”

“So we officially have a serial killer turned arsonist on our hands,” Bobby concluded. His attention shifted to Benny and Dean. “Keep this close to the vest, but keep your eyes open.”

“Arsonists are hard to catch,” Dean said, looking to the detectives. “What do you know about this guy?”

Cas glanced at John. The older man could feel his stare, but had to ignore it for now.

“Not much as of yet,” John said. “Right now he’s a coil of smoke, if you’ll pardon the phrase. Our psychologist says he’s most likely a white male, statistically speaking. College educated, or at the very least intelligent, efficient, and so far, he thinks every step through. Like he said, no prints. But the brand is a message.”

“To who, and why, is what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Cas added. “We think that’s the key to pinpointing a suspect.”

“Really,” Dean said. He raised a brow and crossed his arms. “Six months, and that’s all you’ve got?”

“Dean,” John started, but the Lieutenant shook his head.

“Come on, Dad. I know you. Who is this guy?”

“Dean, this is the best I can give you right now, but believe me, we’re working on it,” John said, that tone that boded no further argument.

Bullshit, Dean wanted to shoot back. But he held his tongue for now. He knew that John wouldn’t budge. Instinct still told Dean that his father was holding something back though.

As the men filtered out of Bobby’s office, Dean held Cas back for a moment.

“Watch the old man’s back, all right,” Dean said. “He’s got a penchant for being reckless.”

Cas gave him a wry, pointed look. “I’m doing my best. Winchesters are a stubborn lot.”

Dean smirked and walked out with him. Meg was headed inside, having just come in from an ambulance call. She smiled when she saw her boyfriend.

“Hey, lover,” she greeted. And she smacked his ass in front of God and the entire Rescue Squad, who liked to sit outside the firehouse and play cards at their table.

Ramirez and the others smirked and called out their customary whoops and cat calls. Dean smirked at the actual blushing discomfort that tightened up Cas’s face and shoulders.

“Dinner tonight at Casablanca’s, right?” Meg asked, unfazed by the catcalling peanut gallery.

“Right,” Cas said stiffly. But he still brushed her cheek with his thumb in affection. “See you later.”

“Yep,” she nodded, though she shot Dean a wry brow. “What? I stole your boyfriend. Get over it.”

She continued on her path back inside the firehouse, leaving Dean and Cas to stare after her in annoyance and begrudging fondness, respectively.

Dean turned to his friend and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good luck and Godspeed, my friend. That woman’s fuckin’ terrifying.”

Cas gave him a lazy salute as he walked away. He found that John had already started up their police car. He was in the driver’s seat, as always, with a hand resting casually on the steering wheel.

Dean typically sat in much the same way. Cas thought both men were more comfortable in a car than anywhere else in life. Except, maybe, the precinct and the firehouse.

Cas slid into the passenger seat and gave his partner a knowing look.

“I still think you should tell Sam and Dean what’s really happening here,” he said.

John looked over at him with an almost unreadable expression. But they had been partners for a few years now; long enough for Cas to get a read on the older veteran.

“I understand why you want to keep them out of this, but now this guy is starting fires. Here, in Dean’s district,” Cas pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be safer for him if he had clearer eyes walking into the next one?”

If, God forbid, something should go wrong on the next call Dean responded to, John would never forgive himself. Both he and Cas knew this, but John never answered his partner’s question. He didn’t want his sons getting their noses in this just yet, even if it meant the worry he saw in Dean’s eyes.

So he put the car in “drive” and peeled away from the firehouse.

Trying to match your schedule with Dean’s was a challenge you two were trying to figure out. Though you’d fallen into a pattern of talking on the phone to fill the void when you two couldn’t meet.

Even after almost two more weeks and a third date, you were pleasantly surprised that you and Dean still had plenty to talk about. You told him more about your childhood with your grandparents, while he told you funny stories about him and Sam growing up with their dad, though he was often gone while working on cases.

It was family friend and Fire Chief, Bobby Singer who looked after them whenever John couldn’t, or his old partner Jody Mills, or even Ellen Harvelle, owner of the Roadhouse.

The more you learned about Dean, the more invested you became. And he listened to you when you went on tangents about new recipes you wanted to try out (as long as he got to be your official Taste Tester).

You two argued, playfully and fervently, about music. And you’d been creating a list of old shows the other hadn’t seen, but absolutely needed to.

Dean had suggested Dukes of Hazzard, for example, while you suggested Smallville. You each only agreed to put up with this list if you two watched it together. (Needless to say, there would be some marathon binge watching in your future.)

You particularly took notice though, when Dean invited you to join him at the Roadhouse to meet Cas, one of his best friends, and his girlfriend Meg. You’d invited Andréa to come along, and even Dean’s friend Benny, who she’d also been seeing ever since that night at the Roadhouse.

Apparently, the couple had their own plans.

You tried not to feel some type of way about her brush-off, but your friend had been increasingly distant since she met Benny Lafitte. However, you supposed you couldn’t judge. You hadn’t been calling her as much either, ever since you met Dean.

You knew that if you kept dating him, some adjustments would have to come in your life. You also promised yourself that you’d never be someone who forgot your friends for a man…even for a man like Dean Winchester.

Tonight, however, you’d come directly from work to meet him at the bar. It made more sense than to make him come pick you up from your house, so you sat with a ginger ale while you waited. He’d promised you via text that he was on the way, just stuck in traffic.

Okay, drive safe. 😘 Don’t speed, please.

You knew how he liked floor the Impala with that damn lead foot of his.

No promises. 🏎️

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you were smiling unconsciously as you read his reply.

You were soon knocked out of your thoughts when a smooth voice said your name. You looked up and to your right, and there stood a familiar face. The man greeted you with an easy smile as he sat down next to you.

“I thought that was you,” he said. He reached out his hand and re-introduced himself. “Gordon Walker. Not sure if you remember me.”

“Oh, yes! Of course I do, Gordon,” you smiled and shook his hand.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said. His dark eyes subtly took you in from head to toe in your skirt, heels, and blouse. “Though I’ve gotta admit, I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Ah, right,” you said. “Well—”

Before you could explain, Gordon held up a finger as he noticed your drink of choice.

“Oh, wait a sec. Let me get you something stronger than soda,” he said. He started to flag down Jo, but you shook your head and made a cutting motion with your hand.

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” you said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“What?” Gordon asked.

It was getting busy in the bar, making it loud enough that you could understand why he hadn’t heard you. You leaned over towards his ear.

“I’m good for now, thanks,” you said, raising your voice a bit. Gordon leaned in even closer and chanced resting a hand above your knee.

“You sure?” he asked. He gave you a smile that was all smooth sex appeal and confidence, without being arrogant.

It was undoubtedly attractive, but you were more shocked than charmed in your blush. You instinctively leaned back when you felt his hand on your thigh. Your hand clenched on the counter.

While your brain scrambled to figure out a response that would successfully remove it (without snapping rudely like you were itching to), a hand slipped along your lower back.

You jolted a bit in your seat with a flare of unease, until you turned your head and found Dean.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, and dropped a kiss at your hairline. He also clapped a heavy hand on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezed. The other man graciously got the hint and leaned back, withdrawing his hand from your thigh.

“Hi,” you said, finally able to breathe a bit easier. You gave Dean a smile, and he returned it.

He looked over at his friend with a sharper smile. “Hey, Gord. How’s your night goin’?”

“Good.” Gordon nodded, now with a knowing gleam in his eye. “Though I’m sure your night’s gonna go better.”

You weren’t sure how to take that remark, considering the way Dean reacted with a tighter expression and pursed lips. Then, they flickered at a smile.

“Well, we’re meeting up with Meg and Cas in a minute. You should join us,” Dean said. Even though his tone wasn’t so very inviting. The two men seemed to have a wordless conversation between the lines that you couldn’t decipher.

Gordon shook his head, but raised his drink. “No worries, you guys hang. I’m leaving in a few.”

“All right. Let us know if you change your mind,” Dean said. He thumped Gordon once more on the back, more friendly this time.

Dean’s other hand slipped around your waist. He tapped you on the side.

“Come on, I’ve got us a table. It’s quieter,” he said.

You nodded and slid out of your seat. You offered Gordon a polite smile, even if you’d rather not.

“Have a good night,” you said.

The other man’s smile was less flirtatious and more polite this time as well.

“You too,” he said.

Dean helped you onto your feet, like the gentleman he was, and he continued to lead you away from the bar with a hand on the small of your back. You instinctively pressed against his side to squeeze past the throng of patrons.

When you reached a high-top table in the corner, he pulled out your chair and held your hand as you climbed up in your skirt. You thanked him with a more genuine smile. Though once he was seated next to you, you leaned towards him and laid a hand on his arm, which rested on the table.

“I tried to tell him I was waiting for you. He took me by surprise,” you whispered.

Dean’s brows rose, but his face soon evened out with a smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t worry about it. He didn’t know about us,” he said. “He was shootin’ his shot…a bit aggressively. Sorry about that.”

“Oh…it’s okay. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” you replied. Though butterflies ran through your belly when you considered what us meant.

You noted his frown at what you’d said though, and so you aimed to change the subject.

“But Cas and Meg know, right?” you asked.

Dean nodded. His frown started to lift. “Yeah. Cas is one of my best friends. Meg is…well. She’s the little sister I wish I didn’t have.”

You shook your head in amusement. Then you let out a squeal as Dean hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and brought you closer. He stopped you from becoming too unbalanced by wrapping an arm around your waist. You clenched your hands into the open panels of his plaid shirt, and his charming smile greeted you.

“Hi,” he said.

You laughed. “Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”

“Well, I’m doing it right this time,” he said. And he dipped down for a lingering kiss.

Across the bar was Jo Harvelle, doing her job behind the counter. She poured five shots in succession and doled them out to a party of frat bros without even looking.

Her eyes were drawn to the back corner of the bar, where you and Dean sat closely together, exchanging whispers and the occasional steamy kiss.

“Mind your business,” came Ellen’s whisper in her ear.

Jo whipped her head to glare softly at her mother, but she saw Ellen’s point. It was both obvious and pathetic of her to stare.

Despite the unease making her feel a bit sick to her stomach, Jo went over to Gordon down at the end. His sympathetic smile bothered her; she knew then she hadn’t just been caught by her mother.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” he remarked.

“What?” Jo said. She began wiping down his area of the counter. “Would it kill you to keep it in the glass?”

Gordon gave her an amused look as he sat back in his seat. His tumbler of whiskey was drained.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” he said.

Both of them knew he wasn’t apologizing for the spill.

Jo’s brows knitted together, mostly in annoyance. “Again, for what?”

“I know it’s gotta be hard to see him actually moving on,” he replied.

Her lips pursed, and her eyes darted to the back of the room again. She stared for a moment at the side of your face.

“Knowing him, whatever it is won’t last,” she muttered.

Gordon hissed at the "burn," with a deep chuckle. She knew her words weren’t kind, but it was how she felt.

“That may be,” he allowed. “But he’s not just chasing tail anymore. That’s what scares you.”

Gordon dropped a nice tip for her next to his glass. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and left Jo with the churning in her gut.

Cas and Meg finally arrived a few minutes later.

Dean knew you’d been to the Roadhouse before, but this was different. You were meeting some of his friends, and he realized how much he wanted you to. He felt…comfortable around you. And he wanted his friends to know you, and to like you.

“As you know, Meg’s our Paramedic in Charge over at 25,” he began, gesturing at the woman as she got settled in her seat.

You admired her long brown hair, tall boots, and black leather jacket. She seemed to ooze confidence and dark charisma as she tossed you a smirk.

“Guilty,” she said.

You smiled back. Dean gestured at her boyfriend next, clad in a beige trench coat, slacks, and blazer.

“And Cas, who bravely suffers being my dad’s partner on the job.”

Cas nodded wryly at the introduction. His dark hair and blue eyes were striking, you could admit. His tie was loose and slightly rumpled. Along with the stubble coating his face, he was handsome, if a bit scruffy. It was hard for you to believe he’d earned the top scores his year in the Police Academy, but you supposed that looks could be deceiving.

“What’s that like?” you asked with a smirk. “From what I’ve heard about John Winchester, he sounds like he’s a bit of a hard-ass.”

Dean barked with a dry laugh. “An understatement.”

“He has a crab-like shell,” Cas agreed. “But he has a soft center where it counts, not unlike his sons.”

You turned to Dean with a more teasing smile. “Aww…”

He rolled his eyes, even though his arm, which had been draped across the back your chair, now dropped to curl around your waist.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Columbo,” he remarked at his blue-eyed friend.

Always had to get the last dig in, it seemed, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little along with Meg at Cas’s expense.

“You guys all seem really close,” you said. It was nice for you to see.

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal. Or rather, like it was commonplace.

“Well, maybe family ain’t just about blood,” he said.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Ugh. What a friggin’ sap.”

“You love it,” Dean grinned. She smiled, begrudgingly.

Family ain’t just about blood.

You liked that sentiment as well. It seemed to be true here.

Even Ellen Harvelle treated Dean like a son when she came over to greet your table. She kissed his cheek and gave Meg and Cas’s shoulders a squeeze. Even you got a warm hand on your shoulder when she introduced herself.

“Welcome, hun. I understand it’s not your first time here, but if you got any questions on the menu, you let me know,” she said.

Dean shot you a conspiratorial smile, and it got you wondering what he was about to do.

“I mean, I don’t know why you don’t put the order in for chili fries the second you see me come through the door,” he teased. “Come on, Ellen. How long’ve I been coming here? Since before I had a license?”

Ellen narrowed her eyes and flicked the side of Dean’s head, regardless of his flinching protest.

“Don’t you go sayin’ that so damn loud,” she reproached. “You never drank underage at my bar.”

His eyes averted with a smile, in a way that told you Ellen was a damn liar. You bit your lip to try and hide your smile.

“Anyway, I’ll get your damn fries—”

“And a beer,” Dean interjected. She rolled her eyes.

“And a beer. Four?” she pointed at the rest of you, and you, Cas, and Meg nodded in agreement.

“All right, four beers. Anything else, darlin’?” She looked at you with a mother’s charm.

You looked up from the menu and unconsciously smiled.

“Um, sure. Can I get the chicken sandwich?”

She patted your shoulder. “You sure can.”

Ellen then took the rest of their orders without writing a thing down. You were impressed by her memory. At the end though, Dean didn’t let her go without a hand on her arm.

“Thanks, Ellen,” he said with a more sincere smile.

“A-huh,” she replied, with all due sarcasm. But there was a fondness in her eyes that was hard to miss when she playfully grabbed the back of his neck. “Knucklehead.”

A giggle escaped you, and Ellen tossed you a wink before she went to put in the orders and get the drinks.

Conversation flowed easier when the alcohol came. One beer became two, and even three (four, for Meg). By then, you were sure it was one beer too many for yourself, but you didn’t want to be the odd one out. You were mostly listening to the three of them bounce back and forth between reminiscing with old stories and roasting one another mercilessly.

It was hilarious and entertaining, but you were trying not to get caught in the crosshairs of the volleying. Inevitably though, Meg’s attention turned to you with a certain sly smile.

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Meg,” Dean’s voice cut like a warning.

Your eyes widened as you took in the change, his deeper voice, his more serious gaze, versus Meg’s nonchalance. Even Cas gave her a chiding look.

“Not sure I want to know what that means,” you tried to joke.

But you could guess. It was fairly obvious.

You glanced over at Dean, whose lips pursed. Before either of you could say anything more, Meg chimed in.

“Oooh, is this gonna be your first fight?” she teased.

Dean’s brows furrowed with a glare. “That’s enough.”

“And that’s our cue,” Cas nodded. He’d already slipped out his wallet as soon as his girlfriend started talking. He left a generous few bills to cover their half of the night, plus tip, and got up out of his seat. He claimed his coat and then encouraged Meg off her chair.

“What? I’m not done with my beer,” she protested.

“I think you are,” Cas said.

Meg scoffed, but she allowed his manhandling as he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist.

“You’re not the boss of me, Clarence,” she snipped.

“Certainly not,” he agreed. “But you’re a lightweight. Time to go home, before you insult the entire bar.”

“You’re no fucking fair,” she groused, hitting his chest over his jacket. Cas leveled you and Dean with a long-suffering look of apology.

Dean waved him off with a “no sweat it” look and a shake of his head. Meg annoyed the shit out of him sometimes, especially when she was drunk. He turned to you with a sigh.

“Again, sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d have to apologize for my friends more than once tonight,” he said.

You shook your head. “It’s...okay. Overall, they were really fun.”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t think Cas has been called fun even once in his life.”

You smiled in amusement, but Meg’s words still swirled around in your head like heady wine.

“Dean,” you began, but your attempt to broach the issue was cut off by his cell phone ringing. He gave you an apologetic look and fished in his pocket for his phone. His brows rose when he saw the caller ID.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I gotta take this,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay—” You’d barely nodded when Dean was up and out of his chair, heading out of the bar. You could still see him through one of the faded glass doors as he held the phone up to his ear.

It was late, and quieter now. A blonde server came to take your plates, and you actually remembered her.

“Oh, hi! Jo, right?” you asked. She hesitated when you spoke, but she bobbed her head.

“That’s me,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” you said with a smile. “I met your mom. She’s really nice.”

Jo uttered a wry laugh as she stacked the plates and silverware. You helped her collect the silverware and empty beer bottles.

“Yeah, when you get her good side,” she replied.

You smirked at that, remembering how Ellen snapped back and forth with Dean. You had no doubt that woman could be a pistol if you pissed her off.

“Well, it's nice here,” you admitted, once again taking stock of the décor. The music, the warm lighting, the good food… “It’s cozy.”

Jo’s smile quirked to one side as she paused.

“Well, it’s been in my family for three generations of Harvelles,” she said. “This was my father’s favorite place in the world.”

You caught the note of melancholy in her words, in her eyes.

“Was?” you echoed. She met your gaze and nodded.

“He was a firefighter,” she said. “He died on the job.”

You dimmed considerably. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jo only nodded.

“How did he…” Your curiosity got the best of you, but you soon shook your head and backtracked. “Never mind, you don’t have to explain.”

“It was a fire that wasn’t properly vented,” Jo answered your half-spoken question. Her blue eyes were heavier. “He got caught in an updraft…but he actually worked at Firehouse 25. He was their brother. That’s why this’ll always be their place.”

You processed that with a slow nod of wonder.

“It’s good that you and your mom will always have that support,” you said eventually. “Even though…it might be hard too, to always be reminded.”

Jo’s lips quirked again. “It’s more the first one, but…sometimes the second one. A lot of these guys have known me since I had braces. It’s hard to shake that perpetual little sister thing.”

You smiled at that. “Yeah, I’d imagine that gets old real quick. A bunch of over-protective older brothers.”

“Overbearing, more like,” she scoffed. You laughed.

Unconsciously, you glanced over to the front of the bar, where you saw Dean still on the phone. You remembered the second date you were meant to have, when he was late due to a five-car pileup his team responded to.

You remembered that night he called you for the first time, after a long day he didn’t want to tell you about. He’d let you distract him instead. All the while, it had you wondering what he’d seen. What he’d responded to that day.

Had it been another car accident? A fire? What made someone as upbeat and funny and smooth as Dean seem to lose all the life in his voice?

Though while you were lost in your thoughts, Jo was watching you.

Jealousy roiled inside her, unbidden. She didn’t want to hate you, because unlike the girls Dean usually messed around with, you had some self-respect. Jo heard Meg’s snide clips at you earlier, and no one could fake the surprise in your eyes. Unless you were just that good a damn actor…

But no, she didn’t get that vibe from you.

It didn’t mean she had to like you though.

“You’re right to think twice,” Jo said, earning your attention back with a swivel of your head. “What Meg said…she wasn’t wrong. Dean’s broken a few hearts, if you catch my drift.”

Just a few well-placed words, Jo thought. She realized then that she had the power to twist the wrench here, widening the gap between you and Dean. Feed your doubts.

She didn’t have to feel bad about it if it was the truth.

And yet…she saw the way your gaze fell. The disappointment setting in, the anxious clench of your hands on the table. You glanced over at Dean again out of the corner of your eye.

Jo realized then just what she was doing, not just to Dean, but to herself.

You’re not some petty bitch, she dully reminded herself.

“But,” she found herself adding. You raised your gaze back to her. Jo let out a subtle breath.

“It’s not always his fault,” she admitted. And maybe she was speaking a bit too much from experience. “The job demands a lot from him.”

Slowly, you nodded. You looked pensive, but not like you’d made up your mind.

Fine, Jo thought, as she collected the dishes and left your table.

She didn’t know if she wanted to sway you one way or the other on taking a chance on Dean Winchester.

While you were talking to Jo, Dean was taking his father’s unexpected call.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” he said.

“Hey, son. How are ya?” John’s voice was gruff and tired. Dean frowned to hear it.

“I’m good. I’m out right now, but did you need something?”

“Have you responded to any fires lately?”

“You mean like the Richardson fire?” Dean asked pointedly. “No, haven’t had one since. And no cattle prod brandings either.”

“All right, good. Just checking in.”

Good? Dean thought. John would be chomping at the bit for a new arson. If he was “just checking in,” then he was worried about something. Is he worried about me?

“What’s going on? Is there something I need to know?” Dean asked in suspicion. This was why he had taken the call. “Seriously, you can tell me. I’m not even gonna bitch at you like Sam does.”

John chuckled. But then he hesitated. Dean knew he’d hit on something.

“Dad?” he pressed.

John’s sigh was a heavy one. “Okay. What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in trepidation. “Okay, fine. What the hell is it?”

“Richardson, the father of two?” John reminded. “He was a lawyer, linked to a money laundering scheme through a company called Stull Storage. It’s an old company, dates back to the seventies.”

“Okay…”

As John continued to explain, the more confused Dean became…

About 30 years ago, John Winchester had been a young, but promising officer in the Narcotics division. He’d married young, and by then was just barely clearing the five-year mark. Already he had the house he’d inherited from his wife’s parents, a four-year-old son, and a newborn.

Stull Storage’s units were used by a drug ring that John had been trying to infiltrate, undercover. Those units had stored cocaine, illegal weapons, and other flavors of contraband, mostly from South America (and back).

“We got close to breaking that case, once, but after the fire…I transferred out of Narcotics, as you know,” John said.

Dean knew the real story there. After his mom died, his father went into a spiral, trying to find whoever set that fire—even after the Fire Department found no evidence of arson. John had eventually been forced out of Narcotics. He requested Homicide.

As he’d told Dean once when he was extremely drunk: I seem to do better at my job when the bodies are already dead.

“Now I know that I was right about your mother’s death,” John said.

Dean released a shaky sigh. “Aw, man. Not this again, Dad. For Christ’s sake.”

“There was something wrong about that fire, Dean,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over Dean’s objections. “I just didn’t find the connection…until now.”

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. His gaze fell to the ground. Sam was usually the one who drew a hard line at hearing any more about their mom’s supposed murder, but now Dean had reached the end of his tether. It was too much.

He glanced back through the glass doors to make sure you were okay. He saw you talking to Jo, and he frowned at himself.

Here you were, waiting on him back in the bar, and his dad was calling him in the middle of the night, chasing ghosts again.

“Look…it’s been my whole damn life with this.” Dean held the phone to his ear with one hand, and rubbed at his forehead with the other. “I just can’t do this with you anymore.”

“Dean, listen,” John urged. “You wanna know what I’m digging into, this is it. I got Mary’s file unsealed.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? Thought you couldn’t do that without new evidence and a court order.”

“Well, I’ve got the evidence…maybe I was a bit impatient with the court order.”

Dean rolled his eyes. His father liked to play a little fast and loose with the rules.

“At the time, the medical examiner dismissed it. She’d been burned…” John paused on a deeper breath. “But I saw it. Mary had a burn on her wrist. It was the same brand found on Richardson. On Jerry Stillwell, CPA. Amanda Waller, journalist. It’s all connected, Dean. How they’re connected to one another, I’m not sure yet. We’re still digging…but I do know this. Richardson was a message.”

Dean’s back hit the wall of the Roadhouse. His brows furrowed as he struggled to digest everything John was saying.

“A message?” he asked. “To who?”

“To me, I think. Those kids, and their mother…you got ‘em out alive, but they weren’t meant to,” John said, his voice sounding heavy. "The wife told me her husband was erratic when he got home, holding his wrist. He'd been burned before the fire. He wouldn't say what happened...then they smelled the goddamn smoke."

"Shit," Dean replied. He leaned heavily against the wall, pressing a hand to his forehead. There was an ache starting between his eyes.

“Yeah," John agreed. "The drug ring I was investigating, when I was in Narcotics. I was getting close. And I mean close. I was about to get the Big Kahuna. The kingpin of the whole operation…and then the house fire.”

Fuck. Dean wiped at his mouth anxiously as he realized what John was saying. Fuck.

“He burned me, Dean. He must have,” John said. Meaning, the drug lord he was trying to pin down somehow discovered his identity. “Your mom paid the price of that.”

“Who is this guy?” Dean asked. His hand holding the phone was starting to tremble.

“I still don’t know his real name. Workin’ on that one too,” John said. “But they called him Azazel.”

When Dean eventually hung up with his father and returned to you at the bar, he saw you brighten. But you soon dimmed with a tinge of worry. Something of his thoughts must’ve shown on his face.

Shit. He tried his best to school his features.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he said, grasping your shoulder. “I’ll take you home.”

“I met you here, remember?” you asked.

Dean paused, then shook his head. Get it together, asshole.

“Right," he said. "Well, I’ll walk you to your car. Let me just pay real quick.”

After he sorted out the bill (he didn’t know that you’d slipped in an extra $30 in Cas’s stack for your part), he led you out, saying goodbye to Ellen and Jo while you went.

You hesitated when the two of you got to the car. Something wasn’t right with him. And both Jo and Meg’s words still rolled back and forth through your head.

“Dean, are you okay? Who was it on the phone?” you asked.

“I’m fine. It was just my dad, called to have me take a look at his car. We were just arguing about our schedules…I’m sure you can relate,” he replied, trying at a smile.

You weren’t sure if you believed him. Though he was nearly convincing, he was also shifting on his feet, hands in his pockets. His gaze roamed away from yours, above your head and over your shoulder.

“Um, I might’ve had a beer too many,” you said with a half-chuckle. “Could you walk with me for a bit? Just until my head clears enough to drive.”

“I could take you home,” Dean offered.

“And leave my car here?” you asked. In a public parking lot behind a bar?

You shook your head and pointed down the road.

“Just there and back…but if you need to go, I guess I could just sit in my car for a while.”

Dean shook his head with a frown. He couldn’t tell you that a damn serial killer was on the loose.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s a relatively safe neighborhood, but not so much at night. Not by yourself.”

He laid a hand on your back to start walking with you, but his hand soon fell back to his side. You glanced at him, but he looked straight ahead, unusually quiet and reserved.

It felt like he was checking out of this night with you. Like he just wanted to usher you into the car and leave. Did he just not want to deal with what Meg said?

Letting out a breath, you tried to see if you could broach the subject.

“It was nice to meet some more of your friends,” you said, and with a nervous laugh, “even if it did get awkward there at the end.”

Dean finally looked over at you.

“We never exactly talked about what each of us was looking for,” you said. “What we were really doing here.”

You stood your ground, but you tried not to look censuring. Just open to whatever he might have to say. Even so, unease churned inside you.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Look, she wasn’t exactly wrong about me.”

You considered that with a nod, biting the inside of your lip.

“When was the last time you were in a relationship?” you asked. Dean gave a humorless huff of a laugh. This really was the last thing he wanted to get into tonight, but he had a feeling he had no choice.

“A few months ago, for about a minute,” he said. “But uh, before then…never.”

Together, you began to cross the street while the cars on either side waited at the red light. Pedestrians had the right of way for the next 30 seconds. You looked over at him and steeled yourself.

“Dean, is this is something casual for you?”

“Define casual,” he attempted to joke (or to deflect). Though the bravado fell the moment he saw that look on your face: tight and disappointed…and hurt.

He reached for your hand, but you weren’t having it. You slipped away from him and continued walking at a more brusque clip, even in those platform heels.

“Okay, hold on.” He quickly followed after you and tugged you back by the hand. It had you both stopping in the middle of the crosswalk.

Dean squeezed your hand and peered into your eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry. Don’t close up on me,” he implored. “…Please.”

Despite your better judgment, and your pursed lips, you waited. Something told you this man didn’t often say please.

“The truth is, I’m trying to do something different here with you. I don’t think we would’ve made it to date #4 if we were just casual,” he said. “I’m not playing games either.”

You wanted to trust that he was serious. Once again, your mind and your heart were at odds; the former told you to be wary, while the latter told you to trust the earnestness in his eyes.

Your heart won. “Okay, Dean.”

“Yeah?” he asked, with hopeful brows raised.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

You finally smiled. And you leaned up, resting a hand against his chest, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble was coarse, but familiar against your lips.

Dean turned his head and leaned in for a proper kiss. His hands found the curve of your waist and brought you closer against his chest. You both sunk deeper into it, your lips gliding as your head tilted into the kiss…

Until a horn honked loudly, making you both jolt at the sound.

The streetlight was green, and several cars were waiting for you to cross. You snorted in amusement, leading Dean to grin down at you. He tugged you back into step with him across the street.

Again, you hesitated at your car. Dean was more himself as he’d held your hand all the way back.

He now held your car door open while you threw in your purse. But when you turned back to him, you still saw something brooding behind his eyes.

You drew near and grasped the open edges of his shirt. This man wore a lot of plaid when he was out of uniform, always with an undershirt. Tonight it was green plaid on gray, complete with some faded jeans and a pair of boots. This was the only “casual” way in which you wanted Dean.

“Hey,” you started.

“Hmm?” he replied, holding you by your arms.

“I get that we haven’t known each other all that long. So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said. “But did something happen when you stepped out? When you talked to your dad?”

Dean paused. His eyes, a pale green under the streetlamp, flicked to yours.

“I just want to know that you’re okay,” you said. “And if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

After a moment to blink in surprise, your earnestness got to him. His grip moved down your arms, and he took one of your hands. His dad’s warning echoed through his mind.

What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.

Dean knew his dad didn’t make demands without a reason, even if he wasn’t typically so forthcoming with them. But Dean drew enough courage to be as honest as he could be. You deserved that much, after everything you'd put up with tonight.

“My mom died...when I was about four,” he said. “It was a house fire.”

Your eyes widened. All this time, you’d assumed his mother had passed away. You hadn’t expected that, though. You squeezed his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, and you meant it. Dean just shook his head.

“It was ruled an accident. Really they just didn’t have much evidence either way,” he continued. “But uh, my dad’s been obsessed with the idea that it wasn’t. That someone started the fire on purpose… Well, today, he might’ve found his proof.”

He held your gaze for as long as he could, but in the end, he just couldn’t. His chest was tight. Saying those words out loud made them real, and he wasn’t sure of how to handle it.

“Oh, Dean,” you said, starting and stopping, as you struggled to formulate a response that wasn’t just “I’m sorry,” or “Are you okay?”

He clearly wasn’t. You also didn’t want to give him platitudes like, “That’s crazy,” or the ever-inspired: “Wow.”

Or some other variation of what you’re supposed to say. You wanted to give him something honest. Something real.

So you curled your hands around his arms, earning his gaze.

“You must be reeling right now,” you said. “Do you think he’s onto something this time?”

“I don’t know what to think,” said Dean. “I’ve been pressing him for answers, but…honestly? I wish he hadn’t told me a damn thing.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were surprised that he actually confided in you with this. But the only thing you could think to do was lean up on your toes and slip your arms around his neck. You hugged him, warm and tight.

You couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling, but you just wanted him to know that someone was there for him. You were there for him.

Dean eventually hugged you back. He held you, reassuring you as well as himself. He blew out a cathartic breath, and his hand came up to cup the back of your head. His lips tugged upwards.

“You’re a sweetheart, you know that?” he said.

A smile spread across your face. Your fingers soothed through his hair gently. You pressed your lips into his neck.

“I aim to please,” you said against his skin.

Dean smiled more fully at that. The new warmth in his chest warred against the roiling in his stomach. Despite his best efforts, his smile faded.

His mom’s killer was still out there.

The thought was haunting his mind, and he knew it probably would for many nights to come.

So for now, he’d just hold you a bit tighter.

AN: 🥲 I honestly didn't mean it to end so angsty, but Dean finally got some much-needed hurt/comfort there! What did you think of how Jo handled her jealous side? And Gordon "shooting his shot" lol.

Coming soon in Part 7, we finally get to a huge milestone between these two lovebirds, with a side helping of baking shenanigans. 😏❤️‍🔥

Next Time:

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

Keep Reading: PART 7

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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#Just Casual #Smoke Eater #Part 6 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

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stairain · 1 year

Text

Only you, darling.

You tell your professor you want a “real relationship”, it doesn’t bode well at all.

Part 3 to Bad Idea and Yes, Professor. All three can be read standalone, there's no real plot.

Warnings: Dom Spencer, 10+ year age gap (No defined ages, but reader is over 20, Spencer is under 40), angst, threats of breakup, choking (hand + belt), slapping, crying, brief spanking, dumbification, manipulation, corruption, objectification, degradation.

WC: 2.1K

After the last time you had been with Professor Reid, you’ve been confused about your relationship with him. Maybe it was wrong that he was your professor, and you were his student. Actually, there was no ‘maybe’ about it, it wasn’t good, at all.

You’re trying to push the guilt away, which is exactly why you’re talking to a random guy you ran into on campus on your way to class. You give him a flirtatious smile as the two of you talk and hang out with each other on a few couches in a common area.

You don’t notice Spencer watching the two of you though.

You see Spencer out of the corner of your eye, but when you see his eyes glaring at you see that the look on his face is cold as ice. He's not happy about this, at all. But, he seems to be. holding back the instinct to come over and intervene.

He's letting you do this, wanting to see where you’d take this.

Your heart beat began to pick up and your features turned fearful as you felt his threatening gaze on you. He'll no doubt talk to you about this later, but that’d be the perfect time to talk to him about everything you’ve been pondering for the past few days. The random guy in front of you looks confused, and looks behind him to make sure everything is alright. You sigh and put on a fake smile for the boy.

You reached a hand out to rest against his shoulder as you spoke.

“Hey, it was great bumping into you, but I’ve got to get home now. I’ll talk to you later..”

You wave goodbye as he walks away, and your smile immediately fades when you see your professor still staring at you with his arms crossed.

Spencer's expression is absolutely cold in these moments, almost like he's not even human anymore. He's barely even blinking, and those eyes.. Those eyes are like lasers, and they're burning into you. It’s like he's trying to look right through you.

He walks up to you, clearly upset, and he's not hiding it at all. He stops right in front of you, his arms crossed almost as if he's standing guard in front of you now. His silence is daring you to talk.

“L-Listen, Sir.. Let’s just talk about this at your place.. Please.”

You silently plead to him, not wanting to make a scene you know he’ll create.

Spencer looks down at you for a moment and deeply sighs.

"Fine." He mutters... "My office." he says, as he turns around and begins to walk away.

"You'd better follow me." he adds, speaking to you over his shoulder "You've got fifteen minutes..."

He walks away from you, his face still as cold as ever as you take those few precious seconds to yourself, contemplating what is going to happen now.

You take a deep breath and try to calm down your nerves. You loved him so much, and you know even the thought of this conversation would be enough to make him furious. You stand up and quickly start walking to his office where you know he is, not wanting to make him even more mad.

You enter his office, and he's seated behind his desk already. He’s looking at you with those same cold, piercing eyes as before, those same cold eyes that you've become so accustomed to lately.

Those cold eyes that you crave so badly.

"Well... what do you have to say for yourself...?" Spencer finally asks. He looks down at his watch momentarily. "I'd say you've got 13 minutes left to explain yourself."

You swallow and walk up to the opposite side of his desk, looking down at him. “I-I.. I’m not sorry for talking to him.”

"Oh, you're not..?" Spencer asks, his tone dripping with venom as he looks up at you. He's absolutely fuming. He stands up and leans over the desk, trying to intimidate you.

"Let me ask you something then," he says, his voice low and threatening, "How would you feel..if I was flirting with another one of my students... hm?"

You practically stop breathing at his threat, before shaking your head. “I.. I wouldn’t care.” You had so much to say, and yet you couldn’t even get out a full sentence without stuttering.

"You wouldn't care...?" Spencer scoffs and raises a brow, his voice lowering even further. His eyes are growing even more cold and his tone is dripping with venom.

"Really? You wouldn't care? You want to see me with someone else?” He asks, a little bit of a sadistic smile spreading over his face now. "Why is that...?" He challenges you.

“Maybe if you were with someone else you wouldn’t have to keep them a secret.” You bite back, finally getting to what you’ve been needing to say to him.

Spencer's eyes widened, and for the first time, a look of pain flashes over his face, but it's gone just as soon as it had come. It was quickly replaced once more with cold fury.

"Secret?" Spencer asks, his voice filled with a dangerous edge to it now.

"You think I want to keep our relationship a secret?" He asks in an angry tone. "What in the hell ever made you think that?" His voice is cold... but it's not without an intensity that is genuinely a little bit terrifying.

You can’t help the shake in your hands at his tone. He was intimidating, and despite your love for him, he scared you more than anything else.

“I-I.. What about me..? Maybe I want to be with someone who I can actually go out with. Ever think of that? Maybe I’m just tired of being a secret.”

Spencer's eyes flash once more and he walks around the desk until he's in front of you now. And in an instant, he's right up in your face, his cold, piercing eyes burning into yours.

"What did you say...?" Spencer asks, his voice suddenly filled with a vicious, angry energy.

"You would really leave me.. is that what I'm hearing?" He’s in disbelief, rightfully so. And his tone grows even more intense.

Your body and mind shrinks under his gaze and intimidating presence. You really wished you hadn’t said anything.

“Sir.. I’m just tired of doing this..” You gesture between the two of you, and what little room there was left. “Sneaking around, being yours but not really yours. I want to be with someone who I can be seen with.”

“You want to be with someone else, huh?" Spencer asks, the vicious look in his eyes growing to the look of a predator hunting his prey.

"You want a real relationship.. Is that it?" He asks, glaring down at you.

Your mouth is dry, you had this all planned out in your head, but now that it’s happening, now that he’s repeating your thoughts back to you.. You can’t even speak.

“Go then.”

His voice dryly commands. There’s no love, no care, no affection anywhere to be found. His words have nothing but malice.

A silence overtakes the entire room as the two of you stare at each other, both awaiting your next actions.

You’re shaking, and frozen in place like a deer in headlights. Your bottom lip trembles when you attempt to speak, but in snap, his hands are on you.

His big strong hands are cradling the back of your head and he’s pulling you in for a kiss full of passion and anger.

You whimper against his aggressive hold on you, but yet you just can’t bring yourself to push him away. Your hands wrap around his forearms and you kiss back with the same intensity that he’s showing you.

The two of you can barely breathe, with each exhale you were just breathing in each other's air, and it made you lightheaded. You managed to pull him away from you for a moment to catch your breath. And when you look at him he looks absolutely wrecked. Whether it was from the threat of you leaving him, or from the kiss alone, he looked beautiful.

Spencer roughly grabs you by the waist and pulls your shaking body flush against his. His eyes are locked with yours as he leans in to shove his tongue in your mouth. He’s licking over your teeth, slithering against your own tongue, and throat fucking you with his.

When he pulls away, he grabs you by your throat and growls against your lips. His tone is mocking and downright disrespectful, as if making fun of you.

“Can’t believe my little girl would ever even think about leaving me.. You have no one else, angel.. What were you thinking?”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head when you feel his grip on your throat tighten, cutting off your airflow. You shake your head and try to appease him.

“I-I was- I wasn’t thinking, sir. I’m sorry.. I’m sorry for being so stupid..”

A sadistic smile twists on his face and he removes the hand from your hair, trading it for using it to slap you quickly across your face. You moan out in pain at the sting, but you knew you deserved it.

“Yeah.. What a stupid little thing.. You’re so lucky you’re pretty, angel.”

He throws you right over his shoulder, as if you’re nothing more than a doll for him to use whenever he wants. He walks over to the couch in his office and roughly throws you down on it. You yelp in surprise and quickly turn around to see what he’s doing, and you’re met with the glorious sight of him pulling his belt out of the loops of his pants.

And once he had the long thick strip of leather in his hands, he’s sitting on the couch himself and throwing you over his lap. You’re bent over his thighs and your ass is facing the air. You had conveniently worn a skirt to classes today, which proved to be more than helpful when he immediately flips up the bottom of it and exposes your smooth unmarked skin.

“So beautiful, it’s like you’re not even real..”

As far as he’s concerned, you aren’t. You’re nothing but a toy to him. The professor lightly chuckles at his own words, before reaching out and grabbing a handful of the fat of your ass. You jump at the feeling but quickly melt into his touch, moaning out at the contact and the way he roughly grips you.

Then, Spencer folds the belt around his fist, and brings it down hard against your ass. The impact is sudden, and god is it powerful. You gasp in pain as you’re caught off guard by the first strike, you were given no warning, and it seemed like he was already showing no mercy.

“F-Fuck.. Sir..”

His belt comes down hard against your bottom once more, and his cold, piercing eyes stay locked with yours. You bite down on the fabric of his dress pants to stifle your cries, not wanting to be heard by anyone else that was still possibly in the building at this time. You can already feel the heat blossoming on your rear at the hits, and know they’ll be a sickening shade of purple and red by tomorrow.

The anger from before is nowhere near gone, and it becomes increasingly apparent when the belt is no longer pressed against your ass as he spanks you, but instead it’s now wrapped around your neck as he yanks on it. He pulls it so you’re no longer bent over his lap, but instead sitting upright in his lap, using it like a makeshift leash and collar.

Spencer tightens the belt around your delicate throat and huffs in rage.

“Try and leave me again, little girl. See what fucking happens.”

You quickly become lightheaded at his incredibly sadistic actions, and start rapidly tapping on his thigh as a signal that it was getting too much. The belt suddenly loosens around your neck, and you gasp for air as you can finally see the room around you, your vision no longer clouded.

The man scoffs at how pathetic you are, and sighs deeply before grabbing you by your neck with his hand this time, and pressing your back to his chest so he could whisper in your ear. The deep rumble in his voice sends shivers up your spine and arousal down to your cunt.

“You really think that boy would love you?” He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“No one loves you as much as I do, babygirl.. You can’t trust anyone else but me, you know that.”

You nodded as tears began to brim your waterline and freely cascade down your rosy cheeks. His words hurt to hear, but you know he was entirely right.

“Y-Yes, Sir.. Only you..”

He had conditioned you at this point, that if you did leave him, you know you’d be completely lost without him. He was your everything, you needed him.

“That’s right, sweet thing, you’ll never need anyone else..”

#professor spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer x reader #teachers pet #student and teacher #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #dom spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer x reader angst

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mechaknight-98 · 3 months

Text

Caiju Clean-Up Crew (NSFW) Ft: Momo

When you first came to Earth you were surprised at how kind the Earthlings were, despite being in a constant war with the kaiju. It was endearing, to say the least, but that was two, or three no 5 years ago. Now you were fully integrated and couldn't leave all that cleanly, so you got a job at the Kaiju defense force clean-up team and lived with your friend Momo Hirai, a highly loved and popular anti-Kaiju fighter.

While at work a new employee approached you asking to go to lunch with you. You tell the lady politely that you already have plans to have lunch with your roommate and she sighs before leaving you alone. You finish cleaning up the pieces of Kero Kero, and check your watch,

“Okay, lunchtime,” you say. You wave your friends off and jaunt over to the office. Mono is waiting for you outside in her civilian clothes and mask. So she wouldn't be mobbed by adoring fans

“Ready?” she asked. You nod as you follow her.

The both of you go to the garden of the Anti-Kaiju Defense Force Headquarters. You open the lunch boxes you packed for the both of you. Momo smiled as you handed her food.

“You know what I love most about your cooking Dai-san?” Momo asks you

“The fact that I don't have to make it,” Momo said before taking out her chopsticks and digging in.

“Oh Daihouzan sensei.” you hear a voice come. You groan as if it were the new worker from earlier. She was pretty, too pretty she drew too much attention to herself and it didn't bode well for the flying under the radar you had been doing for the last year.

“Uh Yeah Mrs Chou.” How can I help you?” you asked Mrs Chou

“Oh so polite, but please call me Chewy everyone does.” you nod at Chae’s request

“Okay, Chewy how may I help you,” you respond

“ I heard you got the highest recorded score for the aptitude test in the history of the AKDF. I was wondering if you could help me as I'm retaking it in three weeks and I'd like to move from clean up to the frontlines and I figure who better to teach me than the prodigy himself.” Chewy says to you. You sigh seeing the optimism and hope in her eyes, but before you can dash little Chewy’s dreams Momo steps in.

“I'll work with you,” she says with a rare smile you recognize as a challenge. You cock an eyebrow at your roommate. “Besides you don't want Dai-san as a teacher, he will overload you with information you don't need.” Momo teased.

“Hey they had to change the test because of me,” you said defensively with pride.

Momo rolls her eyes and then faces Tzuyu. “We’ll get you in top shape regardless,” she says

Tzuyu smiles and then thanks the both of you before leaving. You turn to your roommate confused.

“Why are you getting her hopes up? You know how the AKDF are.”

“Because we need more lady front liners and you are too pessimistic,” she says

You tilt your head and reply, “Well if everything was not so engrossed in politics I would have helped her, but the higher-ups they'll eat her alive.”

“Good thing we're going to make sure that doesn't happen,” Momo stated matter of fact

“What do you mean we? You agreed to tutor her,” you called Ge

“Please Dai-san that big ole heart of yours is going help and you know it.”

You groan as the both of you finish up lunch and then head back to work.

The rest of the shift lacks considerable amounts of excitement so Momo and you are both able to head home rather easily and earlier than normal. You and Momo arrive home within seconds of each other. You sit on the stool by your shared countertop when she opens the door. She smiles at you seductively. She grabs you in a hug. You can feel the stress in her body intertwined with her body as much as her curves are.

“What happened today ?” You ask

“What?” Momo responded

“Your tension. It's like if someone injected cortisol into every part of you.” you follow up

“What?” Momo said

“The stress chemical,” you explain Momo nods.

“I always forget how smart you are because of how lazy you are,” Mom says.

“So you're just going to ignore my question? What's up? Is something wrong.”

“No big dog everything is fine. It's just I have been testing a new anti-kaiju weapon, and it's been quite…what's that word you use when something makes you tired tolling?”

“It's probably taxing. Or you could mean it taking a toll.”

Momo clapped and said “The first one.” you smiled at your roommate.

Momo yawns before looking to you for comfort

“I know it's my turn to do dinner and lunch but Dai-san can you do it? I am so tired Dai-san can you help me shower too? I'm too tired after today's fight,” she says with a teasing smile. You consider her words. Your roommate was gorgeous by both Hyperion and human standards so you couldn't complain seeing her body you were also drained from your work today so it was not as enticing a proposition, but when you saw her fall asleep standing you knew she was exhausted. You catch Momo luckily before she falls and she smiles at you. “Thanks Dai-San.”

you smile saying “Any time.” you pick up the slightly older woman and carry her to your apartment’s shared bathroom. You sit her on the toilet before readying the bath and boiling and grabbing all the ingredients for a quick 30-minute meal out. You head back to the bathroom where Momo is already asleep again. Her breathing is fatigued something you have seen before many nights when the two of you would study relentlessly during training camp for the AKDF. You smile as you get up and help her undress. As you leave her grasp to let her get into the tub she grabs you.

“Please stay,” she says.

“But.” You try to respond but Momo counters

“Please” You knew she had you when her eyes did that big pleading thing where she looked at you like a small animal. Helpless and vulnerable. So you relent. You undress as well which causes Momo to blush.

“What? I’m not wasting water if you want me to stay with you, we are showering together like old times.” Momo chuckled as you took your shirt off.

“Wow, you’ve let yourself go.” She teased.

You cock an eyebrow before saying, “Hey watch it. One more snippy comment and I’ll leave.”

Momo nods then shuffles slowly to the bath. As the two of you clean the other off she sighs and says, “I have been so tired lately.”

“Me too and going to sleep doesn’t help as well.” You agree

“Yeah, I keep having this dream of being chased by a giant kaiju.” Momo states

You turn to her, “Wait really? What kind?”

You ask her and she briefly describes the same Kaiju who had been chasing you as well in your dreams. You groan and get up. Momo looks at you confused.

“I’ll be right back.” You say

“Wait why?” Momo asks

“We might have an infestation.” You say. Momo snaps to attention and follows.

The two of you get dressed and head outside of your apartment. You notice every acting progressively more sluggish and tired. This serves as only more fuel for your theory. You walk out of the building grab a big rock and throw it at a window. When the window doesn’t break you turn to Momo. She nods and heads back to HQ. Not wanting to waste the time though you find a quiet place with no prying eyes and take out your rizer. You use it to transform into your Hyperion form where you see the leaching kaiju attached to your building. You grab the camouflaged kaiju and slam it safely away from your building. Without wasting any time you use your Special particle beam to kill it and fly away looking for a safe place to go. Change back into your human form. On the way back to your apartment you pick up one of Momo’s favorite sodas to allay suspicion.

When you arrive back at the complex Momo is there she turns at you.

“Where did you go.”

You hand her the soda and she takes it graciously.

“Hyperman showed up and killed the kaiju for us,” Momo says relaxed. You nod. “I know I was not a fan of his but I do appreciate his return. At least this once.”

You nod and say, “Well at least we can rest now.” Momo raises an eyebrow

“I’m feeling rejuvenated. We should spar.” Momo said shadowboxing your way. You smirked at her but eventually let her have her way. You follow her back to the HQ. The two of you badge to the surprise of the attendant waiting

“Oh, Mrs. Hirai good to see you.”

“Great to see you, Mina.” You wave at the attendant

“Good to see you Mrs Myuoi.” You say. The attendant who was also a frontline fighter on leave for mental health smiled

“Please Daihouzan you don’t have to call me that.”

“I do when you outrank me.” You tease

“Oh please we both know half our defense team wouldn’t be here without our “Friend-Father”” Mina fires back.

You shrug. “How’s Dahyun?” You ask.

“Oh, she’s good. She has been working hard for her next promotion so she can join us in the frontline fights. You should reach out she misses you.” You chuckle.

“She knows where my office is, and my open-door policy hasn’t changed.” Mina nodded and said that she’d tell Dahyun then. The two of you walk to a sparring room that should have been empty but was full with Drill Instructor Jihyo teaching a group of recruits. Jihyo’s stern facade instantly melts when she sees the two of you.

“Dai-San Momo Unnie.” Jihyo greets you and Momo with a smile. Momo and you hug Jihyo before she asks if you guys are looking to use this sparring room. Momo nods.

“Wow just like old times. I can’t believe it’s been 4 years since graduation.” Jihyo says. Momo and you have since reminded me of the slow creep of time never stops.

“Well I’m done with this class do the two of you have any advice for them?” You scratch your facial hair at the wide mix of students before saying “Learn Kaiju anatomy. It will increase your combat effectiveness with less expenditures of energy and resources. One well-timed hit at a Kaiju’s weak point will do more than 100 rounds of Arakami bullets.” Momo laughs at your correct statement.

“Stay well rested. Kaiju attacks can happen at any time and even though Hyperman has helped us with a lot of battles we can’t rely on him for every major battle.” Momo says Jihyo agrees with that more than your advice which stings a little since the two of you used to be so close. If you were the dad friend she was for sure the mom friend. but you didn’t hold it against her. As the class leaves Jihyo turns to the two of you and says, “Try not to tear the roof off this time.” You assure Jihyo that you’ll keep Momo in check

“Hey, it’s not my fault the new Kaiju weapon was so powerful,” Momo said defensively.

After that, it was just the two of you again. You get into a fighting stance. Momo looks at you surprised.

“That’s Hyperman’s fighting stance.” she says You shrug and Momo stops, “No you just can’t shrug that off,” Momo says. You worried your cover had been blown.

“Take this seriously. Hyperman’s style is sloppy and too showoffy.” Momo said. You stood there taken aback for a moment, not sure what was more surprising.

“Hey, he’s not lost a fight so he must be doing something right.” You challenge

Momo rolls her eyes again before saying “Fine have fun getting beat up.”

“You can try.” You say.

Her first attack is predictable. She opens with one of her famous kicks. You roll out of the way and trip her still-planted leg. She looks at you wide-eyed. You look at her and raise your hands. Momo's twin kicks to recover her footing. You back up and she does three flips to lead into a chop. You dodge and grab her arm before slamming her (gently) into the mat. You back up and retreat to your ready stance.

Momo was not lying when she was rejuvenated she came at you for 3 more hours of sparring. It went about the same as the beginning Momo would do an offensive move you’d block or dodge then gently reset to neutral. This frustrated Momo to no end making her sloppier and wilder as the match went on. Eventually, she grew tired of your guarded and defensive style. So she decided to adopt a mirror stance to yours instead of engaging she planted her two feet down. You smiled as she tried to taunt you into charging

“Come on make a move. You scared. See anyone can just durdle and play defensive.” She yelled. You smile and switch stances. Momo looks on in concern. You approach slowly. You make one strike which she guards but due to the sheer force, she still stumbles back. You give her time to recover. She makes a measured and calm strike. you block and make an open palm strike at her chest. She falls back. You wait for her to get up and change stances again. You begin to circle her slowly. She strikes at you with another powerful kick and you turn and return with a kick of your own, she received the hit and lands on her butt. She finally taps before you help her up. You turn back to see you have gained a crowd watching the two of you spar.

“Alright shows over,” Momo says as the two of you walk out.

The two of you arrive back at your apartment where you begin cooking again. Momo still having restless energy begins feeling you up while you cook.

“Ugh, I hate how good of a house husband you are,” she says

You turn to her confused

“It's an expression, don't they have those in America?” you hesitate as you nod as being “American” was your cover for the time being.

“It means you are good at doing stuff around the house. Considering how many times I haven't had to go hungry because of you looking out for me.

“So what's your point?”

“Oh come on. I'm not doing it for you. I have been practically throwing myself at you the last few months.”

“Oh well excuse me for remembering when you said. I like you but not like you as a friend.” You tease Momo. Momo smirks

“Can't a girl change her mind?” she cooks. You roll your eyes at her. Which causes her to smile before bringing you into a heavy kiss. What caused you to snap out of it was the burning sensation from the stove your hand was on.

“Ahhh. That hurts.” You grimace.

Mono smiles before saying, “I just wanted to give you a taste of what's to come.” to further her point she seductively puts her finger into the pan you are using where the food is and erotically takes a swipe before putting said finger in her mouth.

“Delicious as always.” Mom exaggerated before sashaying away. As her body moves you are mesmerized by the way her ass looks in her tight battle outfit. You feel the blood rush to your other head as try not to think about all of the less-than-virtuous things you'd do to her. You finish cooking without any disasters and set the table and food for Momo and you. “Momoring food is ready,” you say curious as to what she's doing.

Momo walks out of her room in her bra and underwear which isn't an uncommon occurrence. What she usually wears is a sports bra and boy shorts, but today she opted for a bold and brazen red and black lace lingerie set. You blink three times before your self-control shatters. You get up and kiss Momo with passion and emotional build-up you've had since you met her 4 years ago. When you break it her pupils have dilated so intensely there is hardly any brown left.

“Whoa someone is pent up.” Mom teases as she begins to caress your clothed erection.

“Shut up,” you say taking off your pants. Momo smiles. She even giggled when you picked her up, but that all changed when you put her in a mating press. She groans as do you as you penetrate her for the first time

“Ahh ugh.” she moans luridly

You begin to thrust and Momo yells “Oh god yes. This cock is filling my tight pussy so well.”

“Oh you like it?” you tease

Momo moans as you fill her, “God I love it. Why have you been hiding this cock from me for so long?” as you thrust her womanhood clenches your manhood with the clinginess of an anxious lover.

“You're so tight Momoring, why are you worried I'm going leave you.”

Mom turns to her face to you. Those gorgeous brown eyes glare fiery and passionate.

“I guarantee I gotcha.” she purrs before initiating a torrid kiss. She regains dominance over you by forcing her tongue down your mouth when you break the kiss she smiles caressing your face. “Cum for me honey.” she teases causing you to erupt violently within her walls. You scream from the intensity of the orgasm. When you regain your senses you set Momo down and you use the countertop to steady you. Mom stares you down as she dips a finger into her pussy where your cum is trailing out of her. She smiles and traces a line of semen with her finger before bringing it up to lick it.

“Hm, you taste good as well,” Momo says with a voice made husky by the overwhelming erotic pleasure she felt. You give her the time-out gesture which makes her laugh. She sits down to eat the food you made with a smug grin.

“Don't tell me you're all tuckered out,” Momo says with a mischievous tone.

“Listen when you have 4 years of emotional catharsis built up and then released by your unrequited lover then you can talk.” you fire back. Which causes Momo to take a step back,

“Wait we've known each other 4 years?” she says confused

“Yeah I know I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you, but how could I not? You came into my life like a battle angel, full combat gear the mecha suit wings. It was stunning.”

Mom smirks then smiles you sit down and begin eating with her.

“So you have liked me all this time?” she asks again. You nod before she gets up walks over to you and starts stroking you to hardness. When you're aching again she plants herself back on you. You groan still sensitive from the last time.

“Tell me what you love about me!” she demanded as she began to ride you with a tortuously glacial pace.

“I love your tenacity and enthusiasm for your craft. You work so hard and it just fills me with pride and admiration for you,” you respond. Momo speeds up

“More.” she moans

“You also aren't consumed by the job you still maintain your identity in all of this and it makes me ahh,” you say as you trail off her pussy is dripping wet but she is still oppressively tight if not tighter with each praise from your mouth.

“Come on I’m almost there.” she groans as she expertly grinds over your cock.

“You're such a good girl, you are so kind and helpful to all of those around you,” you say also nearing another climax as she continues to bounce on top of you. You do notice an intense string of tightness from Momo when you call her a good girl so you go all in

“Oh, you like being my good girl? (her pussy vice grips you driving you feral) well, I like you being my good girl too. (you squeeze her ass) My good girl has the nicest ass. My good girl has the prettiest brown eyes and the tightest pussy.” that last line sent her over the cliff and she exploded all over you.

“Oh god. Oh god, I'm cumming” she moaned as she came. You feel her squirt all over you and her pussy attempt to milk you for all its worth. As her orgasm raged on she continued riding you before saying “Come on baby cum for me I need it.” her words set off a cascading effect causing your second orgasm and pushing her into another one of hers. As the two of you cum for what feels like hours (it's actually like 7 minutes.) the two of you make out and paw at the other desperate to keep the high going.

When the two of your bodies finally calm down Momo asks, “Do you have any of your kaiju clean-up supplies? Because we made quite a mess.” you roll your eyes, and she gives a hearty laugh.

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #male reader #hirai momo #twice momo #twice smut #momo smut

368 notes · View notes

cinnamonest · 3 days

Note

OMG I MISSED YOUR WRITINGS ON SCARAMOUCHE SO MUCH!!

Please I need the version with camgirl reader x incel Scaramouche 🛐

And I hope you are well !!! <3

The way I was gonna make this a fairly simple post and then I got carried away and now it's 9k words WHOOPS

Anyway YES anon, I am on the slut girl x virgin boy agenda... although since I already have a camgirl, this time I went with like an onlyf*ns/e-girl darling + college AU >:3

//noncon, cyberstalking, blackmail, harassment, misogyny, sadism, nipple/ass stuff, revenge porn/leaking, darling is portrayed as being feminine + implied to have a bf

---

You tell yourself it's just to get you through college.

That's how you convinced yourself to start the account — regular camming requires a schedule and streaming and all that, which you'd rather not do, whereas the other outlets let you sell subscriptions for photos and videos, and there was a decent market out there, so you took your best shot, did some work to advertise yourself on mainstream social sites, and hey, it worked. You soon find yourself with a steady stream of income, and all you have to do is masturbate on camera and take a few posed photos of your body.

A few years of some extra income, and then you'll be done, get a better job, and you can delete the account and scrub the internet clean of any trace of the matter. Maybe some guy out there will keep some of the photos, but it can't be that bad.

This way, you can focus on your academics, which a regular part-time job would be too time-consuming for. You don’t have to worry about scheduling classes around a work schedule, either, which allows you to be more choosy on your class schedule, ensuring you get the later classes and don’t have to wake up early each day.

Except one, where you had no choice but to take the early class, as the other sections filled up fast. It’s one of those required tech-involved ones, you just picked from the list at random — one of those big classes with hundreds of people in a huge auditorium, any degree of personalism drowned by the sheer number of people. It’s a male-dominated subject field, and the body of attending students when you walk in clearly reflects that, so you just sit down in the very back at the first unclaimed seat you can find, pausing to say good morning to the boy next to you, who only briefly looks your way in acknowledgement.

The professor goes over the generic first-day material — that yes, you need the expensive textbook, that yes, he will check attendance, and no, he will not give you extra credit at the last minute at the end of the semester, so on and so on… and—

—you’ll be working with the person next to you for the rest of the semester.

Even-numbered seats, the person to your immediate left, odd-numbered seats, to your immediate right. You turn and smile at the guy you’re thus assigned to, the same one you spoke to a few moments ago — once again, he just glances over at you and nods with some vague acknowledgement and then resumes doing what he’s been doing since the professor started, which is scrolling on his phone beneath the desk, only half-paying attention. That does not bode well for your predictions of how equally-yoked you’ll be in your work ethic… but no big deal.

It's one of those classes with a midterm and final project that you work on throughout the semester, rather than tests… which, hey, that could be fun, you tell yourself. You think you can get along. He doesn’t seem to care about what's going on around him much, which is not exactly good, but isn’t bad.

That dopey, happy demeanor… so obnoxious… ugh, you’ve got a notebook (an aesthetic, pretty one at that), and you're pulling it out on the first day of class? For what?

Except you aren’t reading him all that well at all. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes shift over to you and your activities throughout the class. And the reality is he very much does care.

That is, from the very second he lays eyes on you, you irritate him.

Then you write the class and your name at the top of the page all cutesy and artsy-looking, and then— God, now you're pulling out the multiple colors of highlighters and pens. Is that— is that one of those sparkly gel pens? Oh, it is. You’re making a little header with today’s date for your notes with it. Just kill him now. This is practically psychological torture.

Thus, while from your perspective, it feels like he barely pays you a second thought, in reality the rest of the period for him is spent just stewing in a stream of bitter, jaded thoughts.

Look at you with your… girl clothes and girl pens and girl notebook… you probably think you're so cute, spending money on dumb stuff like that… and smiling like an idiot. What are you so happy for. Why are you even taking this class when you'll just be bad at it. Why are you dressed like you put effort into it. Just pick up one of the sweatshirts laying on your bedroom floor like a reasonable person. And why do you smell so nice too.

He mulls over the negativity for the remainder of the class period, totally zoned out until people start packing up, which is the cue to leave.

Except you stop him before he can make a quick exit, holding out your phone, open to a new entry in your contacts.

Ah, since we'll need to work on the project, I can text you…

Right. That. Ugh.

The awkward discomfort of standing there and entering a name and number while you stand there with that dumb little nervous smile is only made more upsetting by the bitter realization that this will mark the first time he's ever had his number in a girl's phone before. Great, now he's going to be depressed for the rest of the day, and it's your fault.

You say thanks and smile again and your hands brush against his when you take your phone back and it makes him physically flinch in recoil — and you definitely noticed it, you mumble a little ah, sorry as if you're trying to make it even more awkward, now he's got to live with the humiliation of that too, and it's still your fault. Clearly, you are going to be nothing but a source of frustration.

And even once he's moped all the way back to the the comfort of his nice, dark apartment, he still can't escape your torment — no sooner does he flop down into bed than his phone goes off…

>Hi! Just wanted to make sure you can save my number too!

You add the little smiling emoji. It makes his eye twitch.

Trying to act all nice and sweet as if you're not only being pleasant because you're forced to work together. He knows full well you'd be all bitchy and demanding and hypersensitive in any other context, and probably all snobbish too, probably would barely pay him any mind.

Even if you are genuinely sweet, that in and of itself is still basically torturing him. Because what’s the point in you being sweet if you’re not going to give him anything more than that? With that in mind, even your niceness is just a cruel tease.

And why would you even be so happy to begin with? Doesn't being a girl suck? If he was something so weak and inferior and unintelligent, he'd be even more miserable about life, and that's really saying something. Maybe it's one of those things where you're so dumb that you lack self-awareness, so you can live a life of ignorant bliss... at the same time, the notion that you’re unaware of how inferior you are is equally frustrating. You should know, that knowledge should weigh on your mind all the time.

The frustration makes his chest feel tight, makes him grind his teeth… naturally, he has to get it out somehow, and there's a very convenient means to do so.

The imageboards he frequents almost always have a “leaked images” thread up and running, communities where they post e-girls’ nudes and revenge porn. The wrongness of it, of course, is the appeal.

Besides, they all deserve it. Some are images originally sent to boyfriends, posted as an act of revenge after cheating or dumping the guy (so it's deserved, really), others are leaked videos and photos from various pay-to-view networks and websites (also deserved, for being a whore), and finally some are just creepshots in public places (deserved once more, for dressing that way).

And the endless amount of the content and surprisingly good tagging system means that one can find any sort of content, and for the leaked porn accounts, it includes the girl's username and links to more of her, so you can see more of the same girl.

Like with this one, that just so happens to catch his eye. There's a whole page where some guy has paid for every single photo this girl has made, and put it out there for everyone to see for free. It's solo stuff, too, which is preferred — seeing couples making videos together, thereby watching the girl love on some guy, is depressing — and getting off to it is much more satisfying than any of the other girls on this thread, considering she looks like you.

…A lot, actually.

He's already memorized your annoying, pretty little face. The title of the video has the words “college girl” in it, too. Adds to the immersion, can feel like it’s really you, degrading yourself like that… of course, when it’s over, he has to deal with the reality that it isn’t, but the momentary pretending is cathartic.

And sure enough, as the first week passes, you quickly prove just as irritating as he initially suspected. You smile at him and talk to him every class, for some unknown, malicious ulterior motive. Are you trying to be belittling? Or are you trying to make him like you so that he'll do favors for you? Or is it for your own amusement?

Either way, the obvious deceit of it all is sickening. It's a commonly known female behavior. You try to come across as so sweet when in reality it's all an act, and you have some horrible reason for it. He just doesn't know what the reason is in your case yet. It would be better to be a bad person outright — the slimy underhanded fakeness of it all is what makes that type of evil so contemptible.

You, though, you’re just a bit puzzled. Normally, being nice to people works well… but this guy keeps sort of glaring at you… maybe that’s just how his face naturally is? But then, he also doesn’t talk very nice either. Not particularly mean, per se, but you can sort of sense an irritation, like you’ve done something wrong… you try to make the best of it, tell yourself you’re just imagining it. Besides, if he really didn’t like you, he wouldn’t respond when you talk to him, or would sit elsewhere, right? It’s not like you have to maintain the same seats all semester, as long as you work on the required material outside of class. So, you tell yourself, he must just be one of those people that naturally has that demeanor.

You’re not nearly as aware of it, but he makes his own observations of you too. You don’t check your phone nearly as much as he does, but every now and then, you look at something or another, and he always makes sure to subtly turn his eyes to see… it’s usually something stupid, like texts from friends, or worse, what appears to be a boyfriend, some male name you text often.

The first time you’re forced to meet outside of class, at the library per your suggestion — a very awkward interaction, but you seem to be fairly unbothered — you take a moment to check it when it vibrates. You’re sitting at an angle that makes it difficult for him to see without moving in a way that would catch your attention, but by pretending to take a swig of whatever can of liquid caffeine he has today (you had the audacity to comment how unhealthy it is), that he can tilt his head enough just to barely make out your screen without being noticed.

Your phone is open to an email.

The words flash across the screen for just a split second before you turn the screen off, but that one second is enough to make out the top of the screen. Enough time for the ‘hello, (username),’ preface to the email right beneath a very familiar blue logo to register with his brain.

He nearly chokes.

It takes every ounce of willpower to even try to hide the natural reaction — his eyes widen, he goes tense, he has to turn his torso away and pretend to fish something out of his cluttered bottomless void of a backpack whilst trying to refrain from coughing.

But then again, you put the phone away so quickly once you saw what it was… and the video from the other day…?

No. That can't be right.

There's no way. There's no way, there's no way, there's no way.

He can’t get back to his own place fast enough. Dropping the keys trying to unlock the door out of excitement, immediately whipping out his own phone, and he’s on the bookmarks tab before he can even sit down. Back to the leaks site, scrolling down to the tags where they put the girl’s username.

You’re wholly unbothered, going right back to talking to him in that overly-sweet tone, so nice, so frustrating, so torturous. You’re saying something. He has to get you to repeat yourself… no, it was just some pointless question about the homework.

To hell with that, that’s not even remotely important anymore… but he can’t voice that thought out loud, so he’s forced to tolerate the torment of waiting out the rest of your meeting until you finally say you’ll have to keep working later.

The usernames match. The one in your email was the exact same as the one now on the screen.

…

It's one of those moments where what's in front of him is so surreal, he's left so stunned, that he just sits there for a second, completely still, blinking and taking it in. Something that's too perfect to be real. This can't be actually happening, he's mistaken.

And thus he's just left perfectly still, a stupor of disbelief, sitting there in the darkness of the room with only the harsh light of phone screen shining up on his face as it slowly sinks in. It takes a minute — this is just the sort of thing that doesn't happen, it's far too perfect, he has to convince himself it isn't a dream.

And once it registers as reality, it feels exhilarating.

For one, it proves every suspicion right. He really did have a valid reason to be distrusting of your innocent girl act. To think, this whole time you were trying to fool him into believing you were good.

But all along, you were whoring out online, and basically, the fact that you're not upfront about that to someone you barely know is the same as outright lying about it.

Up until this point, life has just been so boring, so disappointing, just going through day to day… even college was just a thing to do because it's what everyone else does. But now? Now he has something exciting. A sudden sense of something meaningful, even if only as an outlet for pure, unadulterated malice.

As for you, well, you get a… well, a follower, but certainly not a fan.

The boy is a world-class hater. It's not passive hating, it's active hating. There is actual effort being put in here, and a lot of it at that.

In terms of the content itself, it's nothing you haven't seen before — some guy leaving comments and DMs calling you a whore and a slut and every nasty name one can conjure, saying you've ruined any hopes of a relationship by doing this, why would anyone ever date you when they can see you naked for a few bucks, telling you to get a real job, blah blah… fairly generic. A lot of the verbiage is certainly non-original, and more or less recycled, specific choices of words and phrases and lingo you know you’ve seen before in those pockets of the internet where certain types of men congregate.

But the sheer dedication to it is what catches you off guard. You're pretty sure this guy is more dedicated to harassing you than you are to the job itself. There's messages from all hours of the day, and you're certain after a short time that he makes multiple accounts for the sole purpose of harassing you. Not to mention he follows or adds you on everything — all the socials you've linked (you keep several associated to your account to lure in horny guys from mainstream sites), adds you on discord and any other messaging app you have (and you have no way of knowing which users are legitimate or if it's him, so you have to add them back and wait to find out each time). One of which you didn't even have listed on your page, so you realize he would have had to go through various apps and search the multiple variations of your username you use until finding you.

Telling him to fuck off accomplishes nothing, in fact he seems to derive great satisfaction from making you upset about it. Tells you that you should be glad — you wanted male attention, right? You wouldn't be posting yourself getting off and flashing your tits on camera for the world to see if you didn't, slut. He adds that insult to just about everything he says to you.

Blocking him only leads to him making new accounts (and then mocking you for trying to block him). You even reached out to a customer support team on one of your social media apps and got him permanently IP banned, which he then immediately circumvented in less than a few hours, making sure to inform you that changing one's IP is so easy and you're so dumb for thinking that would do anything.

But why you, specifically? Why decide to torment you out of every other girl doing this stuff? You don't know. You never asked for this. You never did anything wrong to anyone. You even scrolled back on your social accounts to see if you ever said anything someone could take offensively or had a negative interaction with someone, but found nothing. There's nothing to explain why this one man in particular has decided to come after you specifically, nothing you can think of at least. It feels like the universe just hates you.

It's actually kinda sad. You almost feel bad for this guy, who apparently has so much time to spare and nothing better to do than harass the same girl on the internet day in and day out. You did once shoot back a reply of don’t you have anything better to do?, which actually did make him stop… for about ten hours or so, then it was right back to it.

It's deserved, though, he thinks. E-girls are reprehensible. Taking advantage of guys’ loneliness for money.

Infuriating that you advertise something that he— well, that most guys want so bad, but don't actually give the real thing, only a simulation of it. Make them drool over you, while you hide behind the safety of the screen, far away from what those guys would do to you if they could get their hands on you.

And you know that too, don't you? You know how defenseless you are, know how much danger you'd be in if you teased without putting out like that to a guy in real life, and you do it anyway knowing you're untouchable, you must be so smug about it. Infuriating.

He's not like those simps of yours though, he finds you too morally reprehensible to be drawn to the curves of your body and the parts of you that you post and the sounds you make and how easy it is to imagine the softness of your skin and the way you feel and your warmth and the way you look directly into the camera as you moan and it feels like eye contact—

Anyway, he has standards. And self-respect.

Besides, he knows from stalking your social accounts — including your real ones with your real identity attached, separate from the others — that you have something like a boyfriend. Some guy who shows up in your pictures a lot. What a pathetic idiot. Who lets their girlfriend do this sort of thing? Even disregarding that, does this guy not know you’re meeting with him for your project too? He would never allow you to do something like that, were it him in that position. You must go after spineless guys who will let you walk all over them or something, and would only even accept boyfriends that allow you to do what you do.

That’s why, see, he would never accept something like that. Sure, there would be positives, like getting to see that sweet annoying smile and hear your happy obnoxious precious voice each and every day, and getting to touch you and be around you all the time, and you probably do really nice things for the person you’re with too, and he could always just force you to delete the accounts and never post yourself online again— but, whatever.

Point is, he’s better than stooping so low. He’ll keep living a respectable life, just like he does now — so he thinks as the phone alarm goes off, one of many set reminders to go send you more messages.

It's an awkward relationship, but you're pretty sure he doesn't hate you or anything, which is good. He's hard to read — he seems perpetually either bored or irritated, always slouched over, always maintaining that ‘I really wish I weren't here right now’ tone of voice, lots of heavy sighs or tsks scattered into his speech. Even when you agree to meet at the library to work on the homework and midterm project, he quickly establishes a pattern of being at least ten to fifteen minutes late (without any acknowledgement or apology at that), and frankly, you do the vast majority of the actual work, he just slaps his name on the corner next to yours once it's done.

The torment detracts from your sleep. You're late to your class more than once, trying to sneak in unnoticed by the professor and mumbling apologies to the students you have to slip by to get to your seat. Your partner doesn't seem to care much, at least — he just lazily glances over at you with a flat expression, then goes back to scrolling (he doesn't need to take notes, you'll just send him yours anyway).

He does step in to help when it's too difficult, you can't solve the problem yourself… which is how you realize that, in spite of being remarkably low-effort, he actually does understand the material, much better than you do at that. It's a bit embarrassing, since he makes it out to be so simple, but at least it somewhat compensates for all the work you do.

He's not particularly mean about it, he's just… not nice. The tone and choice of words tends to be not-so-subtly making you out to be dumb for not getting it, or that it's easy, or otherwise belittling.

…You really don't get that one? It's the exact same thing as the last one.

You give a sheepish smile and rub the back of your head.

Aha… sorry…

But it gets done, and that's what matters. You just walk away from each meeting feeling like an idiot, which isn't exactly a great feeling.

But even though you initially felt like the guy didn’t care for you, you quickly notice that he’s started to walk all the way back to your place after your meetings while you talk. You supposed he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t at least somewhat enjoy your company.

And you do try to make conversation. You ask about what other classes he takes…only to learn that he doesn't go to any other classes, since this is the only one where attending is required. He did the math, and he just has to do good on the finals for the other classes to pass, no need to show up for the tests and quizzes and lectures and stuff… and he did research into the professors to find ones where past students confirm they recycle the exact same tests and the past ones are posted online, and he's already got a good cheating method that's only been caught once in all the years he's used it… so there's no point in showing up, he says.

It's a very different mentality than yours, but you try to smile and refrain from saying anything negative. And you try interests and social life as topics, but quickly glean from what little he says that the guy has none of the latter and more or less just a phone and gaming addiction for the former.

Which you have no trouble believing, because good God, does the boy have a totally fried attention span. Even in your meetings, you swear he can't go five minutes without staring at his phone.

Oh, you like that too…?

That does end up helping you find a means to try and get closer. You manage to find one opening, something flash across the screen for some upcoming game. One you've been looking forward to as well.

Huh? You can’t like that thing. He likes that thing. It's not for females. It’s for people with good taste… it’s good… you can’t… someone like you would never be able to properly appreciate it… and now you’re just babbling away with that dumb smile while he’s going through a psychological crisis and rethinking every choice in life because of you. Does this put you two on the same intellectual level...? No, of course not, he has to quickly shake off any such doubts.

You were hoping to get a positive reaction, but you get silent bewilderment in his expression at first, for just a second.

Still, you’re supposed to be boring and a normie… you can’t just suddenly shatter the image of you he’s already constructed… and from the way you're talking about it, you know too much to just be pretending to like something for attention (which is the obvious automatic assumption for when females like media that's actually good and worth consuming).

Devastating. Now he has to consider the possibility that you do have interests and a personality besides being deceitfully sweet and whoring online.

But from your perspective, he just crosses his arms and shrugs.

Kind of, I guess.

And God, then you smile at him again. Every time you do that, it gives him some godawful tight-chested feeling, like you’re trying to kill him with psychic damage.

What gives you the right to be so happy right now anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in constant distress, now? Is he not doing good enough of a job at tormenting you? You seemed upset, but clearly not upset enough, if you’re still emotionally stable enough to be nice to him. He has to break you, make you too distraught to even go on.

Online, you’re so mean, you never have anything nice to say, even though he’s not that mean to you — well, he could be worse, at least, which is basically the same thing.

Actually, he decides, how you behave in real life will be a good standard of how good he’s doing at making your life miserable. Once it starts to noticeably affect you even in real life, that means it’s sufficient.

But you prove resilient. Each day, you seem to get up, summon some resolve to still enjoy your life, and are still pleasant and friendly… or maybe you’re just really good at acting. Yes, obviously that’s it, since your whole sweetness thing is just an act in the first place.

On your end, the harassment gets worse. It comes in all hours of the day — does this guy not sleep? It’s almost hard to believe someone hates you this much, or even has the energy to keep this up… you start trying to just ignore it.

You tried threatening to report the guy for harassment, but he points out that he hasn’t threatened you with any real harm, and only targeted your public accounts, so no laws broken… and he’s already prepared by taking measures to— well, you don’t understand the spew of lingo that follows, but you gather that the jist is that it would be very difficult to trace him.

So you start to ignore it. You try your best to just not let it get to you, let the comments and messages go without acknowledgement or response. It’s actually somewhat relieving, if you just pretend it doesn’t exist. At first, when you start ignoring him, the messages get more frequent.

But then, it goes quiet for a day. Just around twenty-four hours, you don't get messages, nor comments.

It should make you feel relieved, you think, but it doesn't. Quite the opposite — you feel uneasy. Like something will happen.

He's getting bored, you see. You don't react as strongly anymore as you used to. You used to get so upset at all the messages he sent, and it was so fun to watch how you'd get all defensive and angry in your replies.

Then your replies got shorter, and now— what gives your the right to ignore him? It infuriates him. Dumb whore, treating him like you think you're so much better… or, the gut-wrenching thought passes through his mind, maybe you're busy, you’re probably visiting the guys you sleep around with, since someone like you could never be loyal to that boyfriend he's certain you have.

The only option is to progress things further. He has to think about that. He didn't really have a plan on where to go from here, but now he's started to think about the bigger picture, what he wants in the long term… and that's not going to go over well for you.

It takes some work and digging on his end, but it's worth it.

It's around three in the morning when your phone goes off. It just barely manages to wake you up. You think to yourself that you should remember to turn off the notifications for messaging apps… but for now, you sit up, groggily unlocking your phone. Seeing who the message is from, though, snaps you into full alertness.

A message that makes you go stiff, staring at your phone wide-eyed and slack-jawed, a cold knot of dread forming in your gut that quickly turns to an electrifying surge of pure panic as you read.

The name of your academic institution. The names, emails and phone numbers of your immediate family members. Your full, real name — and your address, down to the unit number.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. The glaring light hurts your tired eyes, but you can't look away.

You know he's just waiting on a response. Probably knows you're panicking, but knows you have no choice but to comply — and you're forced to give him the satisfaction of seeing you type back.

>What do you want from me?

It's only a few seconds before you get a reply.

>From now on, do what I want

>Or I ruin your life.

You hesitate a while before responding. Poor you, you must be so scared now that you're finally getting what you deserve. And even then, you just send back a ‘fine,’ even though it took you so long to respond. You were probably trying to think of how to respond, probably typed out longer potential replies, but decided on that to seem tough or something. That's actually almost endearing.

And oh, it's so, so satisfying to finally see you crumble, even if just a bit, the next day. For you to come shuffling into class for once with a downtrodden, nervous expression, making your way over to your spot without the usual greeting.

…Except that's also irritating. What makes you think you can just not say hello, now that you've established a routine of doing so every day of this class? For all you know, he's just the person you know in real life, so you're basically willingly choosing to potentially disappoint him. Not that you are disappointing him, but like, if he actually cared about your dumb little daily greeting, then he would be. He even gives you several extra seconds, and you still don't do it.

You're still fidgeting nervously, lost in thought when the mumbling directed at you pulls you out of your thoughts.

…Something wrong with you?

You seem to realize your sullen energy and attempt to fix it with a twitching, obviously forced smile.

O-oh, no, I'm just tired, haha… good morning!

He doesn't say anything back, just turns back to phone-scrolling as usual. You realize your melancholy must be showing on your face.

You're being overdramatic, too, he thinks. He didn't even give you any demands yet, since he decided it would be more fun to make you wait in suspense for a few hours or so. Seeing you squirm is funny, but really, you're acting like it's so much worse than it is. What a weakling, so sensitive.

It's just gonna be stuff you're used to anyway…

Which is somewhat true. You're used to the demand for private, custom content.

Men pay you sometimes incredible amounts of money for the stuff. Usually, the customization is about personalization — sometimes it's kind of sad, wanting you to say their name or that you love them while you look at the camera, and sometimes it's just more niche fetish stuff, like pictures of your feet or wearing a weird costume.

But everything this mystery man wants is different — the personalization has to do with the fact that it's painful, humiliating, or both. Moreover, he's never content with the first try.

Stuffing your holes with toys and sitting down on them so they go all the way in, specifically, ‘as many as you can fit’ — but even after the painful effort of getting one in each hole—

>That's not enough.

You can fit at least one more somewhere. And you're intentionally using the smaller toys, aren't you? You won't be able to do that next time, so don't try that again.

Then there's the command to get those clamps on your nipples you used in a video of yours a long time ago, the ones connected to each other by a chain, and to tighten them then pull hard enough for them to come off. You have to take a few deep breaths to summon the ability to do it, and even then, it takes a few tugs to get them to come off. By the time they do, your nipples are swollen and red and your eyes are watery from the sting, but nonetheless, a message comes through within a minute of sending the video.

>You didn't tighten them all the way first.

>Do it over.

Or the one to deep throat that one huge toy you have, the one you used in this one video a long time ago — which you now regret ever posting, since there's a reason that you never used that monstrosity again, much less in your throat. At first you're not even sure you can fit it into your mouth, but you force it somehow.

On and on the demands come. He's not paying for any of it, of course, but the premise is the same.

Still, it's not enough. Come on, you didn't even get it very far in, you have to at least get half down your throat. And you didn't hold the phone close enough, can't hear your gagging choking sounds.

>Do it again.

The timing is often terrible, shortly before or after your classes, or odd hours of the night, forcing you to stop whatever you're doing to meet the demand. Thankfully, though, at least you've never gotten a message from him during your meetups with your class partner — you're certain your distress would show on your face, and it would be hard to come up with an excuse for it.

It becomes such routine, and all happens so quickly, it feels surreal, like you're just forced to accept it and go with it. There’s no time to really process it, as you have to get back to doing your school work and going to class and trying to keep up with your regular video content, it's all so overwhelming, yet so simple, you just have to do what you have to do.

One moment you're slapping yourself in the face while you bounce up and down on a toy so long that it bruises your insides for some jerk that's blackmailing you, and running to class the next, desperately trying to rub at the marks on your face to make them go away.

You're worried that the stress is beginning to show. Your most recent quiz scores are lower than usual, you're getting less sleep. Your insides are always sore. You're paranoid and uneasy, and you know it has to be somewhat evident.

Some of the individual demands have lasting consequences, too. Once you were commanded to choke yourself with a belt on camera, specifically until it left bruises… which you begged and protested against because you had one of your class partner meet-ups scheduled for later the same day, but your tormentor said he didn't care and insisted, so you did it, forcing yourself to go through it… and sending an additional picture at the end just to show the purplish marks in detail, up close.

It wasn't the end of the world for your meeting though — the weather wasn't right for it, but you found something that covered your neck up, at least, so the bruises didn't show. That much, at least, allows you to be at ease… although your classmate seems to be in a particularly bad mood that day.

On another occasion, you find yourself laying on your side, gasping and wincing trying to force one of the larger toys you have into your ass, all the way to the base as instructed, toes curling as you pump it back and forth, in and out… only to be told you weren't supposed to touch yourself while you did it, so, predictably, you have to do it again, the ring of muscle clenching down as it's stretched — and, of course, the act leaves a remnant sensation lasting the rest of the day. You have to rush it too, or you'll be late, due to the horrible timing of the command.

You manage to get to class, but when you move to sit, an ache of pain runs up your spine from your poor abused hole, and you wince, face grimacing at the pain.

It doesn't go unnoticed. The guy next to you, ever observant to everything except the professor, casts a lazy glance over to you, looks you up and down before asking what’s the matter, albeit in a half-caring, bored tone of voice…

You give the oh, nothing, I'm fine! response, stammer out something about hurting your leg yesterday, and he merely gives you an 'ah' of acknowledgement before turning his gaze back down… he rests his chin against his hand so that his mouth is covered up, but you swear, you can detect a slight grin from the shape of his eyes. You suppose it checks out that he'd find your clumsiness amusing, even if it's a lie.

On and on it goes. All the time. Day in, day out. It starts off as once per day, but then your tormentor starts piling smaller requests on top of those. Even beyond the daily video, you get increasingly frequent messages at all times of the day — to take a picture of your tits or ass, or a short video of you fingering yourself, or some sort of angle or pose of your body, writing something on your skin, so on and so on.

He doesn't accept any delays, either. You only get a few minutes to fulfill a demand before getting an impatient follow-up asking what the hold up is. Sleep isn't an excuse either, so you're told, so you have to start turning your phone on loud at night to wake you if need be.

You sense a growing impatience. The frequency increases still, as does the intensity of the content you're forced to make. It's as if it's building up to something — surely it has to reach a limit, or he has to get bored, or he'll ditch you and find a new outlet for his sadistic thrills, you hope. You just hope it ends in a way that's positive for you… but you're afraid of the opposite. What if even after all this, he just ruins your life anyway? It's a very real possibility, one you begin considering increasingly as you think over the whole situation.

The increasing severity and number of demands makes you feel like he's getting more upset, as if you're doing something that makes him mad, even though you have no idea what that could be.

You are right, though.

He's also noticed how much more frequently he gets the urge to demand something from you. How much more the itch has grown, the compulsive need to see you hurting and degrading yourself more and more. You've long since passed the point where he has more videos and photos of you all to himself than those available online — he's been counting — but it's still not enough.

And with the realizations that he's engaging with you more, he realizes that he's also thinking about you more.

No, “more” isn't quite accurate. All the time. Constantly. You never leave his head, everything else feels like a distraction.

And that's only more infuriating. He's very self-aware, realizes it's getting worse, realizes you essentially occupy his thoughts every waking second.

Even then, the distractions aren't working. At one point he realized he literally cannot stop himself from messaging you, it's a compulsion, a need, and the realization of his own lack of self-control regarding it is maddening. He actively tried, told himself to wait until the next day, but just couldn't. Even if he plays games or watches whatever brain-rotting media he tries to consume, his thoughts keep drifting to you. Hell, ever since latching onto you, he’s stopped harassing other random women online in general, and that was pretty much one of his biggest hobbies in the past.

What gives you the right? To get inside his head like that? Make him constantly distracted and wondering about what you're doing, forcing him to keep tabs on you? What makes you think you can just come into his life and control him like this, and think you'll get away with it? You've more or less taken advantage of an innocent person who did nothing wrong to you. Used your body to exploit his weaknesses and manipulate him into doing all this.

You don't get to do that. You have to be held accountable.

You're constantly making him worry about you, what you're doing, who you're talking to, and not knowing is a maddening feeling. It feels like nausea, a sick feeling that completely consumes the mind, rendering it incapable of doing or focusing on anything else, only cycling the same obsessive rage and worry and paranoia until it becomes unbearable.

But there's a way to get rid of that, and give you what you deserve, and get what you owe him all at the same time.

He waits, only another week or so — a frustrating week, but spent planning ahead and gathering necessary stuff — but finally, given the timing, you send a text he was hoping you'd send asking about meeting up again, to finish up the project as the end of the semester approaches.

You're a bit caught off-guard by the message, not to mention how quickly he replies.

>Come over here.

You hesitate, re-reading to try and ensure that you're understanding correctly, and finally ask for clarification that he means to his place.

He says yes. Something about how he's supposed to have something delivered that he'll have to sign, and so he has to be at the apartment when that happens, so, y'know, best for you to come over.

Which is nice.

It's just… odd.

Inviting you over, even if for a required activity, feels very out of line with the person you've come to know, however surface-level said knowing may be. Then again, maybe this is the guy's way of trying to be nice. Everyone expresses appreciation differently.

You're still thinking on it when he adds another text saying that his roommate will be there, preemptively apologizes for any disturbance that will cause… well, you figure if someone else is there, it can’t be anything sinister. That helps you make up your mind, so you agree. At this point, you know each other well enough to warrant trust.

…It’s still pretty awkward, though. The apartment is about like a picture you would expect to see uploaded to the internet as a joke about male living spaces. Borderline barren, barring the computer and the bare minimum furniture and appliances needed to survive, plus some clothes and empty cans and such strewn in various places across the floor, all dark lighting and void of color.

That being said, you quickly realize the apartment is only a studio, and there’s only one bed. The roommate doesn't exist.

And something just feels wrong, in a way you can’t articulate. Like your instincts are urging you to leave. You feel uneasy. Goosebumps spread across your skin. Are you just being paranoid…?

There is something else, though, that immediately catches your attention. You notice that the wall isn’t exposed, rather, most of the room is covered with a layer of some sort of paneling, lining the wall almost as thoroughly as wallpaper. You inquire what it is.

Soundproofing.

An unpleasant answer, but he wouldn’t be so upfront about it unless it was for harmless reasons. You refrain from inquiring about the other odd things you start to notice — locks on some cabinets despite seemingly living alone, a roll of tape sitting on the desk with no discernable purpose.

As awkward as the tension is, you really have no option but to sit on the bed, as its the only surface other than the floor. You try not to contemplate how often the average college-aged boy washes bedsheets.

It occurs to you, though, that right now would be the worst possible timing for a message from your unknown harasser, and you certainly can’t take any photos or videos here… thus, just as you sit down and begin to work, you pick up your phone from where you set yours next to his, and type out a quick message, basically pleading with the unknown man to leave you along for the next few hours, because, as you explain, you literally can’t do anything for the time being.

You read it over, and hit send.

And before you can even put the phone back down, there's a vibration a mere arms-length away from you, as the other phone in the room lights up.

And there, in the notification that pops up on the screen, are the very words you just sent.

…

There's a few seconds where nothing happens.

Both your heads naturally turn to the sound the moment it happens, but after that, it's just… still. You’re frozen still, he’s frozen still. Both your eyes go wide, and the quiet seconds pass, processing the information before you.

And then, he sighs, body relaxing, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, muttering as if met with some major inconvenience.

God, why do you have to make this more difficult.

Besides, he already turned the lock that locks you in from the inside, even though you probably weren’t aware of what it was, so you’re already trapped anyway. And you squeal, of course, predictably, but that’s what the soundproof panels are for.

He's not particularly worried like he would have been any other time — this was the plan now anyway, but you're throwing things off schedule. Yet another transgression to hold you accountable for.

You do try to run. You at least deserve that much credit. He was so close to considering you a genuine marvel of human evolution, with how nonfunctional your survival instincts seemed to be.

But you’re sitting with your legs folded, so, you don’t have the time required to stand any chance of hopping up and running. The moment your legs start to move to stand, he’s already got you by the arm.

You even seemed to process everything a bit quicker than he would have thought. Maybe you’re not that stupid after all, just… a little less.

You still are incredibly stupid though. He’s almost surprised you agreed to come. So naive, so dumb, so trusting.

And so loud. Squealing like a little animal caught by a predator — which, well, isn’t too far off, but it still hurts his ears.

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

You can hear the growling voice in your ear, even now that he has your face pressed into the mattress, arm latched around your waist. You’re squirming so hard too, but even fighting with all the strength you can summon, it feels like trying to push back a brick wall. He seems to notice as much as you do.

…Is that actually the best you can do?

Not the first time he’s said those words to you — though before, it was over text, mocking you into filling all those perverse desires. It feels far more biting now.

And it’s so, so, so satisfying to see you realize just how dumb you are, as you put everything together. To watch you slowly grasp everything, realize just how badly you’ve fucked up. He even flips you onto your back just to see your face go through all the stages of emotion. It’s hilarious, and adorable too. The confusion and betrayal and panic and anger.

Oh, you get so mad. It’s actually the best part. You’re practically snarling now, reaching up to try and claw at him, kicking, baring your teeth. Any traces of the sweet demeanor you once held is long gone as you lash out… and then, a purely and entirely euphoric transition to fear.

Aw. Poor thing. After you struggle so much, your breathing gets faster, the fury dissipates as your eyes well with tears. The demands to let you go turn to miserable little pleas.

Maybe you can go back and forth. Maybe if he taunts you again you’ll get angry once more, and then if he slaps you you’ll get meek and fearful again? That would be nice, to have reliable ways to switch your emotions around, as if controlling them with a button. There will be plenty of time to find out later.

But now he gets the opportunity to finally tell you how long you made him wait for this. Mocks you for how naive you were. Brings up specifics from all those videos you sent him. Did you think it would just be left at that? Did you really not realize it wouldn’t be enough? No, of course you didn’t, and that’s why you ended up coming here like the dumb little slut you are.

And look, you even wore something so easy to flip up, practically easy access. You just have no shame at all, do you. See, it goes in perfectly because you’ve been using those toys for those videos, and… ah, so that’s— that’s what it feels like… holy shit… this is what you basically robbed him of all this time? Now you’ll really have to suffer to make up for it…

Well, you wouldn’t get it. It’s about what you did subconsciously, mind games and all that. His torment was intentional on your end, and that’s what matters. Now you'll get to spend a very very long time atoning for it. You should be happy. You won't even have to worry about making money anymore.

This wouldn’t be happening to you if you didn’t do what you did to him, you know. It’s your fault. He tells you so. And when you look up at him, eyes welled with tears, stammering out a question of what he means—

What did I ever d-do to you…?

—he realizes that it’s… difficult to give that question a concrete answer.

What did you do, really...?

The only problem that remains is how you rushed things. He was at least going to wait until you finished the project, but now it’s incomplete… do professors grant extensions if your partner goes missing…?

#bro is majoring in being a menace #.sc #the modern au trio is now the modern au quartet 😤#need them to get together and share captive-holding tips with each other

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dark666posting · 4 months

Text

Stress Relief

Innocent!Virgin!Reader x Dark!Eddie Munson

TW: NON CON, NON CON!!********

It's been a long week. College enrollment on top of job searching isn't boding well for Eddie. You notice he's been on edge for the past few days and it's only getting worse as time goes on. He's lashed out at almost everybody but you, including his band and DnD club members.

The others ask you what Eddie's damage is, but you're as clueless as they are. Knowing how sensitive you are, you decide to keep a little distance between yourself and Eddie, certain you'd cry if he were to snap at you. He's only ever done it once before when you accidentally dropped his guitar while it was in his case. You were helping unload for a show and he went off. It makes you embarrassed to remember, so you'd rather not repeat it.

That wishful thinking doesn't last long. You get out of your last class a little later than usual, not realizing your presentation went over the time limit. Eddie, who is usually your ride home, taps his foot impatiently in the parking lot.

"Hey, Eddie! Sorry I'm late, we-"

"Don't worry. No one's day moves unless you say so, princess." He huffs, looking straight ahead, avoiding looking at you at all.

"Eddie... I'm sorry." You stand with the door open, unsure if you're still welcome in his van if he's this upset with you.

"Are you just gonna stand there? Is it not enough that I waited for you, we gotta waste some more time?" He tosses his hands up and your mouth hangs slightly open in shock. He's never been this kind of person, he must be going through a lot. You feel terrible for him, it must be hard. You quickly climb into the passenger seat and he sighs an exasperated "Finally."

"Eddie," you try to get him to talk to you. You're hoping you can help get to the bottom of all his stressors.

"What, Y/N?" He pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb as if he's already more annoyed than he's ever been. It makes you feel small.

"A-Are you okay? I know you've been stressed and I-"

"Oh, you know I've been stressed? Thank you, Y/N, for having eyes," he laughs through the anger. "What if instead of pretending to be my therapist, you just sit there quietly while I give you another free ride home?"

You gasp, unsure what you did to warrant this kind of treatment from him. You turn your attention to the road ahead as you try to hold back your tears. Your unsteady breaths are as quiet as you can keep them, but he hears you anyway. When he glances over and sees the tears finally overflow past your lashes, he sighs, shaking his head. You feel humiliated. Unbeknownst to you, and honestly news to him, seeing you cry makes him... Incredibly aroused.

Eddie delivers you to your house and speeds off before you can thank him or apologize or anything. You feel a hollow in your stomach. You don't want to lose your best friend, but you're far too sensitive to be talked to like that. You disappear to your room to cry and change into your pajamas. You plan on spending the entire rest of the day and night in bed.

You're relaxing in your room, listening to your favorite Blondie cassette, and getting ready for bed. You had half expected Eddie to call, but he doesn't. You know you'd forgive him in an instant if he'd just call. You turn off the lamp on your nightstand and settle into your plush, pink bed. Sleep takes no time to find you, you're drifted off into a deep slumber in just a few minutes.

In fact, you're sleeping so deeply, you don't notice the sound of your window being jostled open. A cool, nighttime breeze wafts through your room as a curly-haired figure climbs through. Eddie carefully closes the window and steps toward you where you sleep. He hoped you'd be awake, but he's not sure why. He didn't plan on apologizing to you. He stares at you for a while, reaching into his pants to palm himself over his boxers.

"Fuck," he whispers. Eddie didn't realize what it would do to him to see you laying braless in your skimpy, pink silk pajamas, surrounded by your pink and white bed set. You're like an angel. All he can think about is how pretty your crying face looked earlier today. The cool breeze from the open window has hardened your nipples under your top and Eddie can't help but rub his thumb over them gently. They become even more pebbled from his touch.

Eddie stifles a laugh of disbelief as he watches the rosy blush rise in your cheeks. As if no longer in control of his actions, Eddie unfastens his belt and frees his erection that's straining against his boxers. He inhales sharply through his teeth as he strokes his shaft a few times before taking your sleeping hand and limply wrapping it around his length. He strokes himself with your hand for a while before becoming a little bolder as his arousal swells.

Carefully, Eddie takes your head to the side and gently slips his tip past your lips. The wetness of your tongue is enough to send him over the edge, but he holds back. That's it, he's caving. He throws his shirt off of himself and dips into your bed beside you. Instinctively, you cuddle your back into him, subconsciously brushing your ass against his exposed cock.

Eddie reaches between your legs to strategically rub your clit so you'd already be wet for him. You're sound asleep, but moaning like a whore being filled from every angle. He's mind blown hearing your innocent lips release such vulgar whines. He whips your shorts and panties off with ease and positions himself at your dripping hole. Just as he slips it in, your eyes shoot open as the stretching pain tears you from your sleep.

Your fight or flight response tries to carry you away, but Eddie's grip around you tightens. He continues rutting into you, releasing sensual deep breaths down your body.

"Shhh, baby. You're okay. You're okay," he whispers sweetly as if he's not forcing himself inside you.

"Eddie?!" You gasp in disbelief and betrayal. "Eddie, please! It hurts!"

"Shut the fuck up." He grips your hair, pulling your head back so he can watch the tears well in your eyes.

"Eddie!"

"What's wrong with you? Just help me destress a little, okay? That's what friends do," he coos in your ear, not letting up.

"But... It.. hurts..." You sob.

"Why the fuck does it hurt so bad? You're not a virgin are you?" Eddie furrows his brow, unsure how you of all people could go this long without having sex. You are gorgeous, after all.

You don't reply, letting Eddie know that yes, you are. Well, were. Tears fall down your face as you close your eyes. At first, he feels bad, but it quickly fuels his fire when he thinks about the way he's ruined you for anyone else. He picks up his pace, breaking your heart further as you watch him relish in robbing you of your virginity.

Eddie withdraws from you for only a moment before climbing on top of you and forcing your legs open in front of him. He slams back into you, stimulating your clit with his thumb. You brace yourself by holding into the bars of your brass headboard while he fucks into you with no emotion, no love, only anger, and lust.

Eddie feels his climax coming so he places a firm palm over your lower abdomen as he fucks you. The new friction builds an orgasm in you at an inhuman pace.

"Don't cum until I tell you," he demands dryly.

"Eddie, please stop..."

"Don't. Cum." You try to do as he says, fighting for your life to withhold your orgasm before he allows you to climax. His thrusts are rough and mean, feeling as if he's tearing you apart from the inside.

"Now," he breathes, allowing you to release. You flood him where he stands when you release, drenching your pretty little, pink, gingham bed set. Eddie pulls out and strokes himself, cumming all over your face and chest. He's breathless, staring at you with a smile. Something he thought he'd never see is his innocent best friend covered in his cum.

"E-Eddie..." You sob, staring at him through one eye as the other is covered with the evidence of Eddie's visit. "What did I do?" You sob.

"Shhh, shhh. You did amazing. Don't cry, look how much you enjoyed it." He touches the drenched blankets and traces his fingers up your legs. You shudder, pulling away from his touch.

"You... I didn't..." You try to find your words.

"Don't start acting like you're too good for it now. I'll be seeing you next week, okay? This is how you're gonna help me manage all this stress." He starts getting dressed, leaving you filthy and fucked out.

"I-I don't want to..."

"Oh, please. You're not gonna make your best friend suffer like this, are you? Besides, you don't really have a choice, do you?" He smiles at you, warmly. It's confusing and unsettling.

The rest of the week, Eddie seems completely back to normal. He's mended things with all his friends. You watch them in the lunchroom as you contemplate eating lunch outside or in a bathroom instead of taking your trademark seat right next to your best friend. Eddie catches your eye and waves you over. You do as you're told, why do you do that?

You flinch as you try to sit too fast, still healing from the internal thrashing given to you by Eddie. He smirks as he watches you avoid eye contact. He'll be sure to address that at your next session.

#tw: noncon #non con #dark!fanfiction #dark!fic #dark!eddie munson #non con stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #dark!stranger things #dark!eddie munson x reader

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ghouljams · 10 months

Note

just imagining soap and love being close and like those bsfs that are attached at the hip or very affectionate, just imagining making soap catch her and acting like shes gonna kiss his cheek but just takes a hugeass CHOMP at his cheek

You are feeding into my Ghost/Love/Soap trio thoughts in an unhealthy way but God Ghost deserves all the love in the world he deserves them. Here's the biting part of Ghost's "No kissing, no biting, no bitching" rule.

Ghost honestly didn't know what he was expecting when he introduced you and Soap. Honestly he hadn't really planned on introducing you to anyone but certain stabbings made that a little tricky. This was good though, you two got along well. Maybe too well. Your excitement for seeing Soap was almost rivaling the excitement you showed upon seeing him. Although maybe that was partially a reflection of his own feelings.

Whatever the reason was, he could feel you light up when you spotted Soap. Ghost himself didn't bother stifling his smile, letting you drop his hand to run at the poor guy. At least Soap seemed to have the good sense to hold his arms out when you jumped. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he lifts you into a more comfortable hold. Ghost shakes his head, watching him pat your back amicably.

"Price says we gotta- Hey," Ghost grabs the back of your head and pulls it back just as your teeth replace your lips against Soap's cheek, "No, no biting." You whine, for some reason Soap whines.

"But look how sad he is," You tell Ghost, Soap nods.

"Yeah, look how sad I am."

"Jesus Christ." Ghost pinches the bridge of his nose, "He's not sad, he's half charmed, now no biting, either of you."

"Just right now or-"

"The whole time," Ghost glares at you, you shut your mouth quickly.

"The whole time what?" Soap frowns, finally catching on that there this might not be a courtesy call.

"Price wants us keeping an eye on you while he and Gaz talk to the witch." There's a long moment where Ghost thinks Soap might object, before a smile spreads over his face. His growing excitement does not bode well for Ghost's sanity.

Later Ghost finds himself on the couch at the bottom of a dog pile. Soap's thrown a leg over his, head on his shoulder while his fingers lace between Ghost's. Your legs are similarly settled across his lap, arms wrapped around him to cuddle close, at least Ghost managed to get an arm around your shoulders before it was pinned by your koala hugging. Your fingers just graze Soap's arm, soft contact acknowledging his presence.

"I can't believe you've never seen this movie," You mumble, tucking your head under Ghost's chin.

"'Scuse my for not seein' every movie of the last 40 years." Soap rolls his eyes, cuddles a little closer.

"Dude it's fucking Jaws."

"Ghost hasn't seen it either," Soap counters.

"Yeah but Simon was living under a rock, you were out doing-" You wave your hand, "-whatever it is you do." Soap hums, catches your waving hand with his free one.

"I wasn't under a rock, I-" Ghost stops, eyes wide watching the screen, "Bloody hell, it's eatin' that poor fuck."

"You know the actual jaws animatronic was in the shop for most of the filming? That's why you don't see it until you see it." Ghost doesn't know who you're talking to, if you're talking to either of them. He's never been this warm before. Soap's internal sunshine and your tethers blazing on either side of him, tangling over him, it feels like all the tension in his body is trying to unwind.

He's not sure what will happen if it does? Will he fall apart if his bindings come loose? He doesn't think so. Not with how tightly he's held right now. New bindings from people that would happily put him back together.

"I forgot you're a horror junkie," Soap grumbles, earning a quiet laugh from you.

"Don't tell Simon that, he'll think I only like him for the mask."

"It's a nice mask." Soap agrees.

"Would you two stop talking and watch the damn movie," Ghost cuts in, the cuddling is enough, he doesn't think he could handle the lead up to both of you talking about him.

#the poly Soap agenda is so real for me #💖💀🧼#i feel like love and ghost are the nested couple here #brought soap in and they love him so much #which is good because he loves them back #ghost deserves to be hugged from every angle #an absolute knot of limbs and Ghost in the middle hugged so tight it'll cure his trauma #fae!Ghost #fae!Soap #oc: Love #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish

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pizzaqueen · 1 year

Text

the sweetest words

(Wherein Eddie likes Steve's face and tells him all about his favorite parts)

Rated T / 1.2k / more fluff! / warnings for smoking (not cigarettes :P)

Also on AO3

“Hey, Steve.” Eddie whacks Steve’s shoulder with the back of his hand, lets it rest there a moment until it falls back to the space between them on the couch. His knuckles brush Steve’s thigh.

Steve’s head lolls toward him. “Mm?”

“Did you know your eyes have some green in them?” Eddie leans in, peering into Steve’s bloodshot eyes, searching for the green; his pulse does a little skip when Steve’s eyes catch his. They sparkle in the low light and Eddie feels suddenly warm.

Steve’s brows raise. “I was aware of that, yeah.”

“Cool.” Eddie blinks. He’s gone cross-eyed. He shakes himself and leans back. “Just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Thanks.” Steve snorts, takes a hit of the joint they’ve been passing between them, hands it over to Eddie.

The cloudy cotton candy feeling that’s been circling for a while settles over Eddie; he slumps further into the couch, legs falling open. His knee hits Steve’s; Steve doesn’t move and neither does Eddie. “I like your eyes.”

“Okay.”

“Like, they’re really big—”

“Look who’s talking.”

“But it’s the way your eyelids do that thing.”

Steve’s face screws up. “What thing?”

“You know…” The way Steve’s brows raise says he doesn’t know, so Eddie reaches over and traces the crease of Steve’s eyelid with the tip of his finger. Steve squeezes his eyes shut; Eddie lets his hand fall to his lap. “I like it. Kinda like a sad puppy, you know? Like…” He trails off, trying to think of who, or what, Steve’s eyes remind him of. “Droopy!”

“My eyes are droopy?”

“No. Like Droopy, that cartoon hound dog.”

“That’s flattering.”

“They’re kinda…sad, sometimes.” Eddie thinks about that a lot, the sadness in Steve’s eyes. It’s not there often, and maybe sadness isn’t the right word. Hidden depths, or some shit. Eddie wants to dive into them. He doesn’t say that, but he does say, “They’re my favorite part of your face.”

Steve takes the joint back. “Why do you have a favorite part of my face?” He exhales.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why would you?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Oh, my friend, but it is.”

“Whatever”—Steve rolls his eyes—“you’re high.”

“I am, Steve. I am high.” Eddie shakes his head, then he nods. He points a finger at Steve. “But not that high.” He swipes the joint from Steve to illustrate his point.

“What does that mean?”

“Your nose is cool, too, though.” Eddie reaches over again, ignoring Steve’s question, gently tracing the slope of Steve’s nose. It twitches under his touch and warmth bursts beneath Eddie’s skin. He lets his pointer finger rest on the bridge, and his thumb at the tip, then brings them together in a pinching gesture. “It’s very…sharp. And a little crooked.”

Steve finally bats his hand away. “I have droopy eyes and a crooked nose. Thanks.”

“It’s not a bad thing.” Eddie passes the joint back.

Steve takes a final hit, tamps it out. “Uh-huh.”

“There’s the little bump in it.” Eddie angles himself toward Steve more, inspecting Steve’s nose when he looks at Eddie. “Did you break it?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Basketball.” Steve tilts his head. “And, you know, I got punched in the face a few times. Probably didn’t help.”

“Huh.” Eddie follows the slight bend in the otherwise straight line of Steve’s nose with his eyes. There’s something about it… It does something to Eddie that he can’t explain. But he could say that about a lot of things about Steve. He props his arm on the back of the couch, leans his head on his hand. “I think it adds character.”

“You think a lot about my face.”

Through the fuzziness in his brain, Eddie’s dimly aware he might be giving too much away. But he’s been more obvious than this in the past, he’s sure he has, and Steve hasn’t caught on yet. At least, Eddie doesn’t think he has. If he has, he hasn’t said anything about it. Eddie doesn’t know if that bodes well or not.

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Why what?”

“Why do you think about my face so much?”

“Well,” Eddie says, waving a hand, “it’s right there.”

“Hm.” Steve crosses his arms, lips twitching. “Any other opinions about it?”

“Maybe.”

“Gonna share with the class?”

”I—” It almost feels like a trap, but Eddie’s not sure if he cares, so he says, “I like your freckles. Or moles. Whichever.” He pokes each one in turn. When he gets to one on Steve’s cheek, Steve moves quickly, snapping his teeth at Eddie’s finger. Reflexes dulled, Eddie doesn’t move away fast enough, and his finger is caught in Steve’s bite.

“I think I might be a bad influence,” Eddie says, a little breathless.

Steve grins. He bites down harder when Eddie tries to pull his finger away, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep it there. So, Eddie wiggles his finger, tickling Steve’s tongue, and Steve’s jaw unclenches.

Eddie doesn’t draw his finger too far away, though. He lets it rest on Steve’s bottom lip, pressing down, and Steve only watches him. Eyes hazy and curious and as pretty as ever.

“Your lips,” Eddie starts, then catches himself, curling his fingers into a fist and turning away.

“What about them?”

Eddie turns back; Steve is looking at him, eyes dark, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Eddie’s heart beats hard and he feels like he’s on the edge of something. Something good, he thinks. Hopes. But, might as well take a chance right? He can blame it on the weed if it goes to hell.

“They look like they’d be good for kissing.” He swallows thickly, tries to paste a confident grin on his face.

“Do they?”

“Yeah, I mean… Lots of girls think that right?”

Steve looks at him a long moment before he says, “Wanna test your theory?”

“That girls think you’re lips are, um, kissable?”

“No”—Steve shifts forward—“just to see if they are.”

“Right.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, I mean, I guess you know, we should.” His breath catches as Steve crowds him into the corner of the couch. “Scientific theory or some shit, I don’t know, I flunked like, nearly… Everything at least once…”

Wait. What is he doing? Why is he pulling away? This is what he’s wanted, and Steve is offering it to him. Must want it, too, otherwise why would he suggest it? Fuck it. No more thinking. Eddie leans forward, meeting Steve halfway.

It’s not everything he thought it would be, because their lips don’t quite meet, but he’s still kissing Steve, so it’s fucking awesome. And then he shifts a little, and Steve shifts a little, and, yeah, that’s it.

“Oh,” he says against Steve’s lips, “they’re definitely good for kissing.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“I think I have a new favorite part of your face.”

“I’ll let my eyes know,” Steve says and kisses Eddie again. Slow and soft and exactly like Eddie’s dreamed of.

In between the press of their lips, Eddie says, “Actually, I just like your whole face.”

Steve sighs through his nose, but then he breaks away with a smile and says, “You know what,” hands cradling Eddie’s jaw on both sides, “I like your whole face too.”

#steddie #Steve x eddie #steddie fic #Steddie fanfic #Steddie fluff #steveddie #the silliest (affectionate) fic I’ve written…or at least a top three contender lol #sorry for being coy with the warning! tumblr hides a lot of random stuff #cw smoking #pizzaqueenfic

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ponderingmoonlight · 9 months

Text

Dying ray of sunshine

Pairing: boyfriend!Geto x fem!reader, little bit of Gojo x reader

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: The year after the incident with Toji has put your longtime relationship with Suguru Geto to the test. But one fateful decicion will change everything forever.

Warnings: hurt, death, injury

„Hey Satoru, so sorry to bother you. Do you have a minute?”

Your fingers trace along the leaves of your geranium mindlessly, the usual worry lines clearly visible on your forehead.

Last year was pure hell to say the least. The failed mission, Satoru almost dying and the fact that Toji defeated him so effortlessly truly messed with your boyfriend of five years, Suguru. Even though he still goes on missions and caresses everything with a loving smile you can’t help but notice the heavy bags under his eyes and the fair amount of weight he lost within the last year. You did what you could, you were always there for him, you offered him your shoulder. But it seems like all of that isn’t enough – you alone aren’t enough to help him.

“For you anytime. What’s up (y/n)?”, Gojo’s voice casually replies through the speaker of your phone.

What a sweet girl you are, Satoru always reminded his best friend how lucky he is to have you as his girlfriend. Kind, caring, passionate, striking, intelligent – what else could a man want? Even the fact that you are a non-jujutsu sorcerer can’t belittle that in his eyes. But the concerned tone in your usual so gentle voice makes him sit up and take notice.

“I was just wondering…Is Suguru with you? Haven’t seen him since four days and you know…I’m getting worried”, you stammer.

“Huh, four days? I mean, he’s on a mission as far as I know, but four days? Are you home?”

Your heartbeat picks up in agony. If even Satoru is surprised by Suguru’s behavior and becomes serious, it can’t bode well. Since last year he has been coming home to you more irregularly, not telling you were he’s been or why. You always let it slide, after all he went through hell and back. Maybe he needs space and time, maybe he’s secretly getting help from someone that understands his pain better than you can. But usually, he shows up after one or two days, knocking on your door and kissing you with the same affection as usual. Not today though.

“Yeah, I’m home all the time”, you reply with an awkward laugh.

“That’s weird. I’m kinda busy myself to be honest, but he’s working near your home tonight. Sure he’ll come over after that, no worries! But hey, call me if something’s up.”

No worries. That’s what you tell yourself over and over again after hanging up and desperately waiting for the evening. So there’s a curse around? You don’t understand Suguru’s work fully as you are a non-jujutsu sorcerer, not even able to see the curses he shows you from time to time. But what you do know is that if they sent him it must be something big. Hopefully he doesn’t get hurt…

Your stare into the cup of tea on the table. Oh, how much you loved your movie nights, bodies intertwined with each other while sipping on the tea Suguru made for you. You couldn’t think of anything better than being his girlfriend. What a nice man he is, with the kindest heart and the gentlest touch. So proud of his work as jujutsu sorcerer that has already saved countless innocent lives, always interested in the good of the community to the extent that he puts his own life on the back burner. Yes, Suguru was your jackpot, the first price of a lifetime. And even though times are rough, you will always stand beside him and greet him with open arms whenever he decides to knock on your door again. You’re not a jujutsu sorcerer, but still his girlfriend. And that’s what counts, right?

The liquid in your cup begins to draw pretty little circles. What is he doing right now? Hopefully he’s alright. Maybe you should ask him out, go on a nice date, perhaps the sushi restaurant you both loved so much. He can’t say more than no, right?

Your eyes dart to the tea that begins to spill out of your cup, face going pale in an instant at the noticeable shock wave that makes the ground under your feet shutter. What’s going on? An earthquake? Alarmed, you jump up and sprint towards the door with quick steps. You need to get out as soon as possible.

A wave of chaos hits you like a wall as soon as you open the front door. Screaming, crying, the unmistakable scent of blood that hangs in the air. Your thoughts are racing, blood pounding in your ears. That isn’t an earthquake. Curses? It has to be a curse.

What about Suguru?

Like in trance, your feet carry you outside despise the ringing voice inside your head that begs you to go back inside. You need to find him, now.

“But hey, call me if something’s up.”

Satoru. Maybe he’s able to help. Your hands desperately cling to your phone, trembling fingers calling his number.

“Oh, hey (y/n)!”

“Satoru. I-I…Somethings up! People die, I d-don’t know…Suguru didn’t come home!”, you stutter, tears pooling your eyes when reality hits you.

The screams grow closer with every second, making your whole body shake in thick fear. Fuck, you need to get out of here. But where is it safe? You can’t even see who or what is attacking these people, it’s all a blur.

“Hey, slow down (y/n). Where are you? What’s going on?”

“I’m home…I was home. They all just…die. I can’t, Satoru. I-I don’t know! Where’s Suguru?”, you cry out, almost tripping over your own clumsy feet.

“Listen, I-“

“Oh, there you are, my little ray of sunshine.”

Your mind needs a few moments to comprehend the voice behind you.

“Suguru?”, you breathe out, slowly turning around.

There he stands, in his uniform, wearing the same bright smile he usually does. God, he’s alive. He’s fine. Letting your phone drop carelessly to the floor, you dash towards the man you’ve been missing for days.

“You’re alive! I thought something bad happened!”, you bubble, arms finally wrapped around his large frame again.

“No need to worry about me, (y/n). It’s you who you should be worried about”, he happily announces, gripping your body so tight that you can feel your ribs cracking under his cruel touch.

All the screams, the crying and the acid smell of death in the air seem to be gone. Instead, all of your senses are directed towards him and the way his suddenly so rough hands makes your body cry out in pain. He is covered in blood, even though you can’t see any injury. Suguru looks happier than he has in a long time, smiling as bright as a few years ago.

“B-but I’m fine. I’m not injured, Suguru. Come on, let’s get out of here and call help. Is it a curse? Would you mind not hugging me so tight? It hurts.”

Your voice is shaking in fear and foreboding. Can it be…that Suguru is somehow responsible for this mess? No, absolutely impossible. He would never do something like that, he is a great man that saves people’s lives rather than taking them. No. This.can’t.be.

“It’s me, (y/n). I finally found my true destiny!”

The desperate grip of your hands around him loosens, limbs going numb in realization. He has to be joking, this is just a nightmare, right? He would never do that.

“Your destiny?”, you question, glossy eyes searching for a single spark of sarcasm in his gaze.

“There is an easy way to get rid of all curses, I should have thought of that sooner. (y/n), I will simply kill all non-jujutsu sorcerers!”

You can’t believe your ears. Suguru murdered these people. People like you that aren’t able to see, control or kill curses. You feel like the ground has been pulled out underneath your feet, breath shaky and fast. Your Suguru, the man you fell in love with over five years ago, the man you supported for so long wants to kill you.

“What about your family, your parents? They are non-jujutsu sorcerer as well”, you murmur.

He gifts you with one of his breathtaking smiles, the ones that got your knees weak in an instant and made sparks fly around you. Right now that’s the chase too, but not out of love. Pure fright and disappointment are pumping through your veins.

“Oh, don’t worry! I already killed them.”

His fingers yank your chin up harshly and force you to look at him. Oh, his beautiful tender eyes. When did they turn this dark, this solid? Your heart is already shattered into a million little pieces, your past, present and future slipping through your fingers with every word of him. You can tell that he’s not lying, that this is not a dream. No, you can’t wake up and hide in his strong arms. You can’t move together in a cute cottage and buy the dog you always wanted. You can’t invite Satoru over and throw a party. All that, completely crushed.

“Don’t take this personally. If you weren’t a monkey, I could let you live.”

You can’t believe your ears. Did he just call you a monkey?

“But I’m not a monster, I will give you a small chance to survive for the moment. When I let go, run for your life.”

“Is this you, Suguru? You’re not the man I fell in love with”, you breathe out.

You desperately try to hold back your tears, to stop your body from trembling uncontrollably in his arms, to stop yourself from gasping for air like a fish on land. But you can’t. The aching that hunts down your whole figure seems to eat you alive from the inside. The last five years play like a movie in front of your eyes. How could it end like this? How could he become like this?

“Come on, let’s meet up with Satoru. I’m sure we can fix this. I know you didn’t feel well the last months, but if you let me hel-“

“Run, (y/n). Before I change my mind.”

His words are a fade whisper, eyes closed in a despairing attempt to forget the way you wore your dazzling smile and how delicious you looked in your sundresses. Oh, how much he wants to feel the softness of your hair one last time, how much he would like to lose himself in you only once. But he knew you would be the biggest obstacle of his plan. Suguru must eliminate you, kill you on the spot, right here right now. But his shaky hands can’t. Not yet.

“Get lost!”, he yells and pushes your body away from him, down onto the blood covered ground.

Your knees burst immediately, eyes veiled in tears. Everything hurts, it’s like you’ve forgot how to walk or run. Your body simply refuses to move. He wants to kill you. Suguru, the best friend you’ve ever had, the man you shared everything with, that knows your body like nobody else is here to end your life if you don’t start running away now.

What reason do you have to be alive? What is the purpose of a life without Suguru in it? Your fingers dig into the dirt underneath in search of something to grasp, of something to hold onto. You never expected this to happen. Is it your fault? Could you have saved him from this path? Maybe there is a way to get him back, your Suguru.

“I will come back for you, darling”, you mutter, getting on your wobbly feet.

With one last glance into his lovely face, you run as fast as you can. Away from your hometown, away from the house that hides so many memories, away from the man you love more than anything else, the one that is hunting you down in order to kill you. ______________________________________________________________

“Woah, easy (y/n). Why do you look like you’re haunted?”

“You came”, you reply, struggling for air while almost running Satoru over.

Your weak body collapses onto the ground in an instant. For how long did you sprint? Maybe minutes, maybe hours – you can’t tell. All that you know is that your frame will never hurt as much as your heart does. God, the way he looked at you, the disgust on his face when he called you a “monkey”. Fresh tears swell up your eyes once more.

You should have been there for him, you shouldn’t have given in. He was your boyfriend for five whole years, didn’t he deserve a girlfriend that that doesn’t give up on him so easily? Maybe it’s all your fault. Yes, maybe you are the reason for the path he has taken.

“You called. Let me help you stand up, okay? Oh, what do we have here? Someone’s been following you. Let me care of that. That’s why you so stressed? Look, he’s only this tall and actually pretty cute… Yep, there you go, killed him off.”

“Satoru.”

The sound of your voice choked with fear makes Gojo’s guts turn. Fuck, what did happen to you? What did your eyes see that make them go this blank? Why are you covered in small bruises? Surely not because of that stupid little curse. And that blood that sticks to your blue sundress…

Beep beep beep.

Damn, why does his phone have to ring now? Nothing can be that important.

“I’m kinda busy right now”, he barks into the speaker.

“Shut up, you need to get your ass back here. Right now”, Masamichi’s voice responses with an unknown seriousness.

“What’s up? Need to talk to (y/n) first”, Gojo growls, visibly rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“Is she with you? Bring her here, right know”, he yells and simply hangs up.

“Satoru, Suguru…He…I…”, you stammer.

Without thinking twice, you grab his pants and press your head against his knees while the scorching pain in your core buries you alive all over. Uncontrolled sobs escape your mouth, salty tears staining Satoru’s uniform with ease. He instantly kneels down in front of you, hides your head against his chest while gently placing his hands on your shaky back.

“Come on, tell me.”

Something really bad happened, that’s for sure. Gojo never saw you like this, so broken up and emotional. And that blood on your blue summer dress, even though it doesn’t seem to belong to you. What about Suguru? Is he alright?

“Suguru…killed them.”

His eyes widen in shock. Are you joking? You are being ridiculous, surely he just tried to save them from that curse and some didn’t make it.

“The curses? Yeah, you know that’s kind of his job.”

“He killed the people! Every single one of them! His parents…His parents are dead! He wanted to kill me, Satoru. He called me a monkey, explained that he will eliminate all non-jujutsu sorcerers!”, you cry on top of your lungs.

Suguru? No, impossible. He’s his best friend, always keeps his morals high. Suguru would never kill innocent non-jujutsu sorcerers, especially not you. His best friend told him over and over how much he adored you, that he’ll marry you someday, that you are his ray of sunshine. He would never do that.

But still. At the moment, you are clinging to his uniform for dear life, eyes filled with cold terror and agony, body covered in bruises and blood. You would never lie to him.

“(y/n), I’m sure you’re confusing something. We’re talking about Suguru, not me.”

“I wish it wasn’t true. I-I wish it was a nightmare…”, you mutter against his chest.

“I’ll talk to him. We’ll figure this out.”

“It’s all my fault, Satoru. I didn’t listen, I never asked more about the incident. He had some rough months, lost a lot of weight. He wasn’t fine and I knew it…I knew it and I did nothing to change it!”

Your body collapses against Gojo, his smell sorely reminding you of Suguru and the way his broad chest felt against your fingertips. This shouldn’t be happening, there must be something you can do. Maybe a good talk will convert him back to Jujutsu High, back into your open arms.

“You did nothing wrong, (y/n). You were always the best girlfriend for him and took everything so well. Don’t you dare to credit this to yourself, you hear? Come on, let’s go to Jujutsu High. Maybe they know something. We will sort this out, yeah?”

Satoru takes off his glasses and gifts you a tender smile. After all that he’s been through and the horrible news he received, his smile beams with optimism and truly makes you believe that you both can save him.

Oh, you just have to. ______________________________________________________________

Bonus

“You know what the worst is? The fact that you wanted to end (y/n)’s life just like that. What is wrong with you? You always told me that she’s your ray of sunshine, the best thing that ever happened to you. And then you want to kill her because she’s a non-jujutsu sorcerer?”

“She might have been my girlfriend, but I can’t just spare her because of that! I also gave her a chance to run away this one time. I find it quite gracious.”

“Are you actually listening to yourself!? You’re talking about (y/n)! Even now she defends your ass everywhere, she blames herself for what happened that night!”, Gojo screams, hands curled into fists so tightly that his palms begin to bleed.

“Tell her it’s not her fault. I made my own decision, she could have done whatever she wanted. Letting her go was the hardest challenge of my life, but necessary in order to get closer to my goal. You understand, Satoru? Take good care of her, but I have no use for a monkey.”

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