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doctorbitchcrxft · 19 days

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Hook Man | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of religious trauma/parental abuse

Word Count: 4869

A/N: Guys. We hit a bit of a milestone earlier in the week. Just wanted to say in celebration that I am so beyond grateful for all of your love and support. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Giving big big kisses to all of you!!! Taglist is open!!

Edit: Hey.... I suck I forgot to add the taglist when I published. So sorry!!! fixed now!!!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You and Dean were sat at an outdoor cafe; coffee cups in hand. He was clacking away at his laptop while you wrote in your journal. You wrote your excerpt on the shapeshifter next to a drawing of Dean’s necklace.

“Is that…?” Dean asked, pointing to your journal.

You nodded.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.

“No offense, lovebug, but you don’t know much of anything about me,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Will you take the compliment and be quiet?”

“I didn’t hear a compliment,” you giggled. “Well, maybe in ‘Dean Winchester Land’ it was a compliment.”

“Oh, shut up,” he responded playfully.

Sam hung up the payphone he was standing in and came back over to your table.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis,” Dean jabbed at his brother.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” you told him.

“So, anything?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam huffed. “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam looked disappointed.

“Check this out.” Dean turned his laptop around to you and Sam. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“Thank god, a short trip,” you sighed.

“ ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road,’ “ Sam read from the article.

“Keep reading.” Dean nodded at his laptop.

“ ‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.’ “

That last line caught your attention. “Could be something interesting.”

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam protested. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out,” Dean responded.

***

The one hundred mile drive concluded with the boys dropping you off at a sorority house.

“Remind me why I have to play barbies for the week again?” you asked.

“Because this is Lori Sorensen’s sorority house; the witness from the killing,” Sam replied.

“Great,” you mumbled.

“Have fun making s’mores and singing campfire songs,” Dean remarked.

“Bite me,” you snarked. “You’re going to a frat, though, Steve McQueen, so I wouldn’t be so cocky.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he grumbled.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” you said and shouldered your duffel bag. You bid them goodbye and reluctantly marched up to the door of the sorority house.

A girl with long, dark curls opened the door. “Hi,” she said. “Can I… help you?”

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N),” you explained. “I’m your sorority sister from Ohio State. Do you guys have an extra bed I could sleep in? I just transferred here.”

“Sure,” she grinned. “I’m Taylor, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.”

She led you inside and introduced you to Lori Sorensen. She was a sweet girl; very naive and a little stuck-up. Taylor seemed a little more like a party girl, but still relatively tame. You decided you could gel with these girls for the time being.

They told you they were headed to Sunday service at Lori’s father’s church and invited you to go with them. You obliged.

In the middle of the introductory rites, you heard the heavy church door slam shut. Your head swiveled to find Sam and Dean frozen and looking guilty. You scoffed amusedly and rolled your eyes, turning your attention forward for the rest of the service.

Taylor invited you and Lori out to a party after the service, but Lori said she couldn’t. Her father had dinner with her every Sunday since her mother passed away. She and Taylor hugged and Taylor bid you goodbye before heading off.

Sam and Dean came over to you and Lori.

“Guys!” you said excitedly. “Sam, Dean, this is Lori.” You introduced her to them. “They’re my friends from Ohio. They transferred with me.”

“I saw you inside,” she told them.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…”

Dean cut his brother off. “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

You knew where this was going; he was cruising for another hookup.

“I kind of know what you’re going through,” Sam broke back in. “I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Lori nodded slightly. Just then, her father came up to your group.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). They’re new students.”

Dean shook the reverend’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much,” he smiled. “It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied and began leading him away from Sam and Lori. “Actually, we’re looking for a new church group…”

***

Later that day, you and the boys were sitting together in the local library. Sam relayed to you what Lori had told him about the passing of the guy she was with.

“So, you believe her?” Dean asked him.

“I do,” he nodded.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smirked at him.

“You think almost everything with a vagina and legs is hot, Dean,” you remarked.

“Not you,” he jabbed back, still smirking.

You clutched a hand to your chest. “I’m hurt, you dick.”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Can we focus, please?” Sam broke in. “There’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the—”

Sam cut you off. “Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.”

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” Dean added. “You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.”

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began,” said Sam.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?”

You had the librarian bring over boxes of arrest records. The three of you poured through pages upon pages for hours.

“Hey, check this out. 1862,” Sam said finally. “A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’ “

“Get this, the murder weapon?” Dean was looking at another page. “Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.”

You pointed to a page in Sam’s book. “Look where all this happened. Nine Mile Road.”

“Same place where the frat boy was killed,” Sam chimed in.

“Nice job, Dr. Venkamen and Annie Potts. Let’s check it out,” the older brother quipped.

The three of you headed to Nine Mile Road. Dean parked off the road in a clearing in the woods. He popped the trunk and handed Sam a shotgun. “Here you go.”

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good,” Sam said.

“Yeah, rock salt. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean led the three of you through the clearing.

“That’s pretty good. You and Dad think of this?”

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.”

“Cool it, Winchester. You and your daddy aren’t the first people to think of rock salt bullets.” You loaded your own gun with shells of your own.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“They’re a bitch to roll,” you said.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” he remarked.

You suddenly heard rustling in the bushes.

“Over there,” you whispered to Sam. The two of you aimed your guns and cocked it.

The “ghost” came out from behind the trees. A sheriff.

‘Dammit.’

“Put the gun down now!” he yelled. “Now! Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait, wait, okay!” Dean told him.

You immediately dropped your gun and put your hands up.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!”

You three obeyed.

“Now get down on your bellies,” he commanded. “Come on, do it!”

“Are you just on a power trip or something? ‘Cause— ah!” you were cut off by a sharp kick to the shin from Sam.

The sheriff brought the three of you into the station. It was early the next morning by the time you were able to leave.

“Saved your asses!” Dean jeered. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. I am Matlock.”

“How was it that you were left in charge of talking him down?” You raised a brow at him. “And how in the fuck did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, this may surprise you, but I’m good at my job. And I told him Sam was a dumbass pledge, you were his girlfriend we’d dragged along, and we were hazing you.”

You and Sam both recoiled at the idea of dating each other.

“First of all, ew,” you started, “No offense, Sam.”

“None taken.”

“But what about the shotguns?”

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?” you asked incredulously.

“Well, Sam looks like a dumbass pledge.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You stuck your tongue out at Sam.

Moments later, several officers ran out of the building to their cruisers. Barely needing to share a look with the boys, you hurried into the car and sped away to follow them.

You could see Lori wrapped in a disposable blanket in front of the sorority house you were staying in. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on, but you had no doubt that it was another murder. The stretcher carrying a body bag rolling out of the front door affirmed that thought seconds later.

Dean parked the Impala around the back of the house.

“Why would the Hook Man come here?” Sam asked as the three of you crept around the building. “This is a long way from Nine Mile Road.”

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggested.

You pulled his arm back seconds later to avoid being seen by your “sorority sisters.” You used the fact that you had now pretty much pulled yourself in front of him to allow you to lead the way up to the second floor.

While Dean made a stupid joke about a naked pillow fight, Sam was busy giving you a boost before climbing up himself. You looked back down at the ground to see Dean struggling to find his footing.

“Need help?” you smirked.

“No,” he grumbled.

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You waited patiently, leaning your head in your hands on the railing of the balcony and smiling down at him. He struggled for a few more moments before he conceded. All he did was open and close his hand he was extending upwards, similar to a toddler asking to be picked up.

“What’s the magic word?” you sing-songed.

“Come on!” he hissed. “Please?”

“There we go,” you smiled. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled him up.

You then realized the window you were entering was the one in Lori and Taylor’s closet. You hoped to god in that moment that Taylor wasn’t the one dead.

Your fears were realized, however, when you entered Lori and Taylor’s room to find the words “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?” crudely etched into the wall above Taylor’s blood soaked bed. You didn’t exactly get attached to people on hunts, but seeing good people die was never easy for you. It didn’t get easier. Your dad would call you soft, but you always liked to look at your compassion as a strength.

“ ‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’ That’s right out of the legend,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean tapped his nose as he spoke. “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before,” Sam muttered.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Dean asked you.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just… look at this symbol.” You were referencing the one beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

Your head jerked toward the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly shooed Sam and Dean back into the closet and out of the house. Thankfully, you made it back to the car without being seen. You pulled the copy you’d made at the library of one of the pages on Jacob Karns out of the backseat. That was where you had seen the cross symbol; on Karns’s hook.

You showed it to the boys. “Told ya.”

“Alright, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean said.

Sam took the page from your hand. “ ‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.’ “ He flicked the page with his finger, looking aggravated; as were you and Dean.

“Super,” the older brother muttered.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why,” Sam pointed out.

“I could just be spitballing here, but Lori definitely has something to do with it,” you said, looking up at the sorority house.

***

You managed to get into a party at the fraternity house Sam and Dean were staying in later that night. Dean had been busy mingling with thin college girls dressed in mini skirts while Sam stuck to the outside wall. You bounced around from talking to Sam and hustling some of the drunk frat guys in multiple rounds of pool.

The three of you reunited around the pool table you’d been dominating that night.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean told Sam. “This college thing is awesome!” He smiled and winked at a passing girl.

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “This wasn’t really my experience.”

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?”

Sam nodded. You chortled.

“What a geek. Alright, you do your homework?”

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam unfolded a piece of paper.

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage,” Dean read.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

“There’s a pattern here,” Sam explained. “In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out— get this— with a sharp instrument.”

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asked.

“Her dad. Man of religion who openly preaches against immorality,” you pointed out. “Maybe this time, though, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his kid.”

“Reverend Sorensen,” Dean tsked. “You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe it’s like when a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place,” you suggested.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Sam chimed in.

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean told his brother.

“What about you?”

Dean looked over to the opposite side of the pool table where the blonde you’d been playing with smiled at him. He reluctantly said, “(Y/N) and I are gonna go see if we can find that unmarked grave.”

“We are? I wanted to play more eight-ball,” you told him.

He looked back over at the blonde, back at you, and shook his head in disappointment. “C’mon. I’m not happy about it either.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back?” you asked Dean as the two of you trudged through the Old North Cemetery. You were holding shovels and flashlights searching for the grave of Jacob Karns.

He shot you a look.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding,” you laughed. “But seriously. Now that we’re… acquaintances, we should go out to a bar sometime. Preferably one with a pool table.”

“That’d be cool, actually,” he said, smirking at you. “You’re pretty good.”

“What, at pool?”

He nodded. “I could probably still kick your ass, though.”

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

He stopped and turned to you. “Don’t objectify me.”

“What?” you asked, stopping next to him. “You know you’re gorgeous. You frequently use it to your advantage.” You marched on.

You smiled when you heard him mutter, “You are so confusing, woman.”

You walked for a few more minutes before your flashlight landed on a grave marked with that cross symbol from Taylor’s room. “Jackpot.”

You and Dean set to work exhuming Jacob’s corpse. Your back and shoulders ached more and more the deeper you dug. “How fucking far down is six feet?” you remarked breathlessly.

“I don’t know, but next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house,” he replied.

“Aw, you don’t wanna spend quality time with this cute girl?” you asked playfully.

He eyed you strangely with a lopsided smile.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” he told you.

You smiled back and got back to digging. Your shovel finally hit the wooden box lying below. You broke through it to reveal his corpse. Or at least, what remained of it.

“Hello, preacher,” Dean said. He threw his shovel aside and helped you out of the hole you had dug. After he had climbed out, you poured salt and lighter fluid all over the bones.

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean threw a match down into the grave.

Your nose twisted up in disgust. “I will never get used to that smell.”

“What, burnt, hundred-year-old preacher? Me neither.”

You and Dean packed up and headed back to the car that was parked in the cemetery’s parking lot. Your body was exhausted.

“Um, weird question,” you started.

He turned to you and threw his shovel and duffel bag in the trunk.

“You think we could sleep in your car for a bit? I’m running on two days of no sleep.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It should all be over now and Sam should be layin’ it down with Lori.”

And so, you did. You stretched out over the backseat, and Dean laid down on the front. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, and strangely, you no longer felt tired. You supposed it was the strangeness of the situation. You were now sharing a somewhat intimate moment with a man you despised just weeks prior. You weren’t quite sure where your relationship with Dean was heading, and that bothered you a bit.

“Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

***

Four hours of shut-eye later, you felt recharged. You awoke to the sound of Dean’s phone vibrating over which Sam told you to meet him at a hospital.

“Hospital? Why? Is he okay?” you asked Dean, climbing over the front seat to sit shotgun.

“I think so, but he said the reverend’s hurt.”

About fifteen minutes later, you were walking down a long corridor only to be stopped by two cops in wide-brimmed hats.

The sheriffs put a hand to Dean’s chest to stop him.

“No, it’s alright, we’re with him. He’s my brother,” he explained. “Hey! Brother!” he called, waving dorkishly at Sam.

“Let them through.”

“Thanks.”

You and Dean began walking toward Sam, who met you in the middle.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” sighed Sam.

“What the hell happened?”

“Hook Man.”

You looked incredulous. “You saw him?”

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam responded.

“We did,” you rebutted, confused. “You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“It sure as hell looked like him,” Sam returned. “And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, duh, he wouldn’t send Hook Man after himself,” you remarked.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” He whispered that last part.

“Damn.” You gritted your teeth. “I could see how that could upset her.”

Sam nodded. “She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Ok, so she’s conflicted,” Dean chimed in. “And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right,” the younger brother nodded. “Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” Dean muttered. “But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?”

“We must’ve missed something,” you said.

“No, we burned everything in that coffin.”

“Did you get the hook?” Sam asked the two of you.

Realization struck you. “Fuck,” you grumbled. “No.”

“Why does that matter?” Dean asked.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” Sam told him.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.”

“So if we find the hook—”

The three of you finished Sam’s sentence in unison, grinning. “We stop the Hook Man.”

“Well, back to the drawing board,” you said as the three of you began walking away from the reverend’s hospital room.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Do you know where the hook is?” you raised your eyebrows at him.

He said nothing.

“Exactly,” you giggled.

***

Your next stop was the library for the second time this hunt. As much as you liked to read, obnoxious amounts of research was not your thing. Finally, you thought you’d found something. “Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal effects: disposition thereof.’ “

“Does it mention the hook?” Sam asked you.

“I don’t know. ‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church,’ “ you read aloud. “That’s where Lori’s dad preaches.”

“Where Lori lives, too?” Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past two hundred years,” Dean added.

“Yeah, but I think someone would’ve noticed a blood-stained, silver-handled hook hangin’ around the church or Lori’s house.”

Dean pulled out another book and slapped it down in front of you. “Check the church records.”

Sam pulled the book to sit between the two of you. You and he flipped through pages upon pages of records before he found something. “ ‘St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.’ “ He sighed. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“Goddammit,” you grumbled.

Later that night, you and the boys returned to St. Barnabas Church. Dean shouldered a duffel bag and began leading you to the church. Sam followed close behind.

“Alright, we can’t take any chances,” the older brother began. “Anything silver goes in the fire.”

“I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in,” Sam added.

“Okay, take your pick,” you told him.

“I’ll take the house,” Sam responded.

“Dean and I will take the church, then.”

“We will?” the older brother asked.

“Yup.”

You led Dean up to the church. He called back to his brother. “Hey. Stay out of her underwear drawer.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice and giggled.

You took the top floor of the church while Dean scoured the basement. The two of you, along with Sam, met up in the furnace room.

“I got everything that even looked silver,” Sam told you.

“Better safe than sorry,” Dean said.

Your head turned upward at the sound of footsteps. You could hear Dean taking his gun from his jacket as you grabbed yours.

“Move, move,” Dean told you quietly.

You crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. When you got back to the ground floor, you could see Lori hunched over, her shoulders shaking. You lowered your gun and lightly pushed Sam forward. He shot you a look, but headed over to Lori anyway. You and Dean went back downstairs to continue melting the silver.

“I feel for her,” you said quietly. “I know how much religion can fuck you up.” Silver clanked against the coals in the furnace as you spoke.

Dean turned his head to you. “You do?”

You nodded. “I’ve watched so many people go through crisis after crisis when their loved ones end up dead.”

“Me too,” he said earnestly. “Probably why I don’t pray.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult to believe in a higher power when all day, everyday is blood, guts, and monsters,” you remarked.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve met one religious hunter.”

“I have,” you said. “My mom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was somehow still convinced of ‘God’s plan.’ “

“Catholic?”

“Oh, very.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied playfully.

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled. “My dad wasn’t, but, uh, he had his… other issues.”

Before he could ask further questions, you heard commotion upstairs. It sounded like running heading toward the opposite side of the basement.

“C’mon,” Dean urged, sprinting out of the furnace room with his gun in hand. You followed closely behind. You could hear the breaking of boards and slamming of what you assumed were bodies that practically shook the walls that got louder as you got closer. Sam was maneuvering himself behind the Hook Man’s clunkily-moving apparition.

Dean gruffly called to his brother, “Sam, drop!”

His brother obeyed and Dean shot the Hook Man, who disappeared.

“I thought we got all the silver,” you said.

“So did I,” the older brother answered.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam’s voice was frantic.

“Well, maybe we missed something!”

You looked around and noticed Lori’s cross necklace. “Lori, where did you get that chain?”

“My father gave it to me,” she responded nervously.

“Where’d your dad get it?” Sam asked.

“He said it was a church heirloom,” she answered quickly. “He gave it to me when I started school.”

“Is it silver?!”

“Yes!”

Sam ripped the chain off her and threw it to you. You caught it with ease and went to start running back down the hall when the invisible Hook Man started dragging his hook along the wall.

You threw Sam your gun and started running down another corridor you hoped would bring you to the same destination. You could vaguely hear Dean say to his brother, “I’ll cover (Y/N), shoot anything that moves!” before you heard approaching quick footsteps behind you.

You sprinted down winding hallways and thankfully quickly made it to the furnace room. You threw the necklace into the fire and watched as it slowly began to melt. “C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered anxiously. It took longer than you would’ve liked, but the cross broke off the necklace and burned into ash. As soon as it did, you and Dean ran back to the latter’s brother to make sure the ghost was gone. Thankfully, he had, but Sam seemed injured. He was clutching his left shoulder and wincing.

You called the police to the scene and urged them to send an ambulance. They arrived in no time, and Sam was able to get his injury patched up.

“And you saw him, too?” A sheriff was asking you and writing in a notepad. “The man with the hook?”

“Yeah, we all saw him,” you responded. “We fought him off and then he ran.”

“And that’s all?” The sheriff was skeptical.

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen. You and those two boys—”

Dean came up behind you and answered for you. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.”

You laughed at his response. Sam and Lori talking near the ambulance caught your eye. You continued watching them in the rearview mirror once you’d gotten in the backseat of the car. Sam soon left Lori, who looked after him sadly, and stooped down into the car.

“We could stay,” Dean suggested.

You could tell Sam wanted to, but he shook his head. A deflated air had settled over the car, but you knew the younger Winchester wasn’t ready for anything yet. He’d been dating Jessica for a year and a half and had just lost her less than four months ago. You knew he needed more time. The best way you knew to comfort him was to wrap your hands around his shoulders gently, minding his injury, from your place in the backseat. He tensed for a moment, but allowed you to hug him nonetheless. He responded by holding your arm with his good hand. And for a moment, if you closed your eyes, it was almost like hugging Steven again.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernaturals series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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viking-raider · 10 months

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Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Syverson #cpt syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson x you #syverson x reader #captain syverson #syverson smut #syverson fluff #captain syverson x reader #Syverson/You #Syverson/Reader #Sand Castle #Fluff #Angst #Sy's Therapy Barn #Sy's Therapy Barn *Fic*

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highseas-swede · 6 months

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Aziraphale and Trauma

[Just a note that I initially wrote this in response to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/theangelyouknew/732357015604756480?source=share&ref=_tumblr which is full of insightful info. I'm reposting my response here with some minor edits so it's easier to find in tags.]

This is something I actually find interesting within the fandom, because there seems to be this weird divide in fandom when it comes to Aziraphale.

See, I love Aziraphale. I think he's an amazing and well nuanced character, but a lot of the time fandom boils him down into this really simple version of himself. This happens both with people who dislike him and claim he's a bad person as well as with those who want to soften him up and make him more palatable. Aziraphale isn't the only one who has trouble with black and white thinking here!

Things like Coffee Theory remove Aziraphale's agency because the thought of Aziraphale doing something to hurt Crowley deliberately is something they can't stomach. If Aziraphale is acting under some kind of major magical influence, it means that it's possible to brush over the fact that he can - and has - hurt Crowley in the past and it certainly hasn't always been accidental.

There's a lot of Psychology I could touch on here, but it's honestly such a complicated topic that I don't really feel I can do it justice attached to a completely different topic.

But one thing I do want to touch on a bit is how Aziraphale asserts control in his own life via his connection with Crowley, and that touches on something equally complicated, which is something that's probably hard to understand.

Abuse victims are often manipulative.

I don't mean this at all as some kind of slight or insult. I've been an abuse victim myself and it's one reason I know it's true.

Fandom talks a lot about Crowley's trauma and he's got loads, to be sure. I think of that meme about "this bad boy can fit a lot of trauma" and it's very true. I've even seen people mention that Aziraphale has a different kind of Trauma than Crowley, which is also true.

What I haven't seen is someone addressing that the type of religious trauma is a form of CPTSD. CPTSD or "Complex PTSD" is a very specific form of PTSD. PTSD is characterized as being the result of a traumatic event - Crowley's fall, for example, is a good example of PTSD and I can go into that at some point. CPTSD is different because it's not a singular event, it's the result of being in a constant high stress situation. A lot of abuse victims - especially those abused by parental figures or significant others - have this form of PTSD.

A good way to see the difference is in comparing how they relate to their trauma. When Crowley thinks he's lost Aziraphale in S1, it sends him into a spiral. But importantly we see that this traumatic event is causing Crowley to go back to another traumatic event in time, triggering his memories of his fall. This emphasizes how much Crowley's fall defines his trauma. We rarely see him experiencing trauma at the hands of Hell, as he's mostly allowed freedom to handle his job on earth the way he wants.

https://cptsdfoundation.org/ defines CPTSD as "the results of ongoing, inescapable, relational trauma. Unlike Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Complex PTSD typically involves being hurt by another person. These hurts are ongoing, repeated, and often involving a betrayal and loss of safety."

In humans, this is caused by having no sense of safety in key moments of development. It strips away sense of self, sense of worth and really any agency. We even see the angels using direct gaslighting tactics on Aziraphale in S2, which I'm surprised doesn't get mentioned more often: When they come to the bookshop looking for Gabriel, they mention Gabriel and then almost immediately when Aziraphale asks "you were looking for Gabriel", Uriel outright says a line that goes something like "Did we say we were looking for Gabriel?", leading Aziraphale to fumble and try to remember if they did, in fact, say that at some point (they did).

So, one big thing to know about CPTSD and this kind of abuse related trauma is that learning to lie and be manipulative is often what people have to do to survive. Children with abusive parents will learn how to be manipulative in order to get what they need or avoid losing things they need.

We see this with Aziraphale, time and time again. He could just ASK Crowley for things he wants. A lot of people point out that he could ask and that Crowley would probably give in to him most of the time anyway. But that's not how it works in an abusive home. Instead, Aziraphale maneuvers Crowley into situations where Crowley is forced to give him what he needs or wants.

His lack of agency, as a result of his CPTSD, is also why he needs to be worked into making decisions that he already knows - or at least suspects - are right. That's why they have their little dance every time Crowley has to talk Aziraphale into something by finding the right way to frame it so it makes sense with Aziraphale's strict rule structure. These rules exist as a defensive mechanism too. Having rules makes it easier to figure out how to avoid being hurt and Aziraphale cannot simply step outside the rules because it's Not Safe. Not even with someone he trusts as much as Crowley.

The entire apology dance scene stands out for a few reasons. Everything Aziraphale does in the entire scene is an act that allows him to take control of the situation. He's already won, so to speak, because Crowley is back and Crowley is going to do what he wants. The apology is unnecessary on every level.

This post talks about how uncomfortable Crowley has to be sharing a space with Gabriel. Gabriel is with the abusive team, whether or not he was directly involved with Crowley's fall. Crowley also harbors a severe distress and mistrust of Gabriel because of Gabriel's attempts to destroy Aziraphale, the most important person to Crowley. But it's worth noting that Aziraphale is uncomfortable too.

Another good indicator of how stressed Aziraphale is with all this is that he doesn't eat ANYTHING when Gabriel is in the shop. The only food he consumes in modern era is when he's in the Bentley which is a "safe" space. Gabriel constantly hounded Aziraphale over eating and despite offering Gabriel hot chocolate, we don't see him partaking himself. He does briefly drink to demonstrate how "drinking tea" works for Muriel, but he doesn't seem to drink from his cup at all after demonstrating.

The bookshop is also Aziraphale's safe space, his ONLY safe space - Crowley still technically has the Bentley, and honestly I feel like Aziraphale wanting to borrow the Bentley is actually partially because he needs to get away from Gabriel and the Bentley is the only place that feels safe for him at the moment. Shax ruins any illusion of safety for him, but Aziraphale is much more enthused for his trip in ep3 and a fair amount of it is because he's not trapped with Gabriel.

A small note here, as a thought occurs to me. Aziraphale asserting that the Bentley is "our car" is probably mostly for himself. He's trying to realign his thinking to make the Bentley an acceptable "safe space" for himself prior to the trip.

There is a very different relationship dynamic when it comes to Gabriel and Aziraphale because Gabriel is the constant source of Aziraphale's trauma. He's Aziraphale's superior, the one he has to report to, the one who passes down his missions and his punishments. When Aziraphale takes Gabriel in, he's just invited his former abuser of over 6000 years into his safe haven. This is a hugely uncomfortable thing for an abuse survivor.

Worst of all, because Jim is, for all intents and purposes, NOT Gabriel, Aziraphale can't bring himself to lash out at his former abuser the way he wants to.

That brings us back to this apology scene.

There are two major things going on here and both of them are bad and hurtful toward Crowley. They're also both intensely unfair. I love Aziraphale but this was definitely a dick move.

Firstly: Aziraphale is using Crowley to reassert a sense of control over the situation because he is spiraling. He can't assert control over his life and his shop, which is one thing that he falls back on heavily, and that leaves him scrambling to find somewhere where he can control his situation. He makes Crowley go through this whole unnecessary apology and dance routine because it makes him feel like he has control over SOMETHING in his life right now.

Secondly: Aziraphale is also enacting his own trauma on Crowley. He's treating Crowley the way Heaven treats him. This is a direct parallel to the way Crowley terrorizes his house plants because he can't do anything to the people who actually caused his trauma. This is, obviously, wildly unfair of Aziraphale to do - and I'm fairly sure there are other small moments where Aziraphale does this in a mild way, I'd have to rewatch again.

These are both behaviors common in CPTSD caused by environments that apply this constant state of stress.

I'm not going to say it's right, or that Aziraphale isn't being a bit of a bastard in this moment - he absolutely is - but this behavior does have some obvious triggers that might be easy to overlook. It's just important to understand that Aziraphale is falling into self-preservation habits that are actively detrimental to his relationship with Crowley. It's not just the manipulation, he's also hiding things and lying to Crowley when he really shouldn't be - both things often necessary in abusive environments - but he's doing it because that's the method that he's created that works with his abusive relationship in Heaven and he's falling back on it because he feels unsafe. The trouble is, this survival tactic does not work with Crowley and actively makes things worse because it shuts down open communication entirely.

#Aziraphale #Good Omens #Good Omens Meta #good omens s2 #aziraphale meta #crowley x arizaphale #CPTSD discussion

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hamliet · 9 months

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Oshi no Ko's Angel of Light: Kamiki Hikaru

So, I wrote a review of Oshi no Ko previously, just not on this blog. I talked there about the meaning of Hoshino Ai as a name (it's literally hoshi no eye, Ai spelled in katakana to reinforce that it's a loanword, meaning starry eye, and of course, eye/ai is a homonym for love) and how Oshi no Ko uses wordplay and puns to introduce its themes.

Naturally, I wanted to talk about the other parent, whose name is just as significant.

Kamiki Hikaru is literally "god of light/shining god." Well, okay, sort of. It's technically "kami of light," and kami doesn't translate super well into English. It's often referred to as a god in Shintoism, but it's not quite the western perception of a god. Spirit is another popular translation.

Of course, this references the supernatural themes of the story, as well as Hikaru's role. See, "angel of light" is what the Christian Bible calls Lucifer, the Christian devil. Pretty fitting for Hikaru's role in the story as the main villain.

But wait! There's more! Lucifer itself, as a name, refers to the planet Venus, known as the morning star. Which, of course, is the "star" we see in the story associated with Ai.

(Yes, the story is very much using distinctly Christian allusions alongside Shinto ones.)

Hikaru, like Lucifer, is known to, well, want everything for himself. That doesn't mean he wants all the worship of the world like Lucifer literally did according to mythology. No, instead it's far more insidious but no less disturbing: he sees himself as entitled to dictate how the world runs. He decides whose life is worth living, and makes others pay for mistakes of people they don't even know. He's playing God, in other words--exactly what Lucifer did to fall from heaven in Christian mythology (it's not actually super biblical hence why I'm using "mythology").

Lucifer is also called "Satan" obviously, which literally means "accuser" in Hebrew. That's kind of the perfect summary for what Hikaru sees himself as: he's visiting his hatred of an abuser he has every right to hate on everyone and everything that remotely reminds him of her.

The thing is, as said above, Hikaru does have the right to hate Airi, just like Aqua has the right to hate him. But following the path of revenge is Not The Way.

So, is Hikaru Satan?

No. He's a person.

The Path To Hikaru

Hikaru is not all that different from the other characters we know and love--Ai, Ruby, Kana, Akane, and especially Aqua. Fitting since they're all idols of sorts (yes, Akasaka is constantly using religious references to add social commentary to the idea of an "idol" as a false god/object of worship). They're also all actors.

Hikaru is what Aqua risks becoming. No, seriously. Hikaru was traumatized as a child via rape that led to the creation of a life.

As a result he's pretty anti-life as a whole, and especially anti-woman. He's constantly seeking revenge on women, hence his murder-happy spree. The problem is that he's not seeing these women as individuals: he sees everyone and everything as a representation of Airi, the person who assaulted him.

Also, society as a whole's attitude towards male victims of sexual assault, especially male victims of attractive women, means that Hikaru would not be seen as a victim. One of OnK's major themes is how messed up society is and how it dehumanizes people via fitting them into roles, and this is a perfect example of the harm that can come from it. Hikaru would be seen as a boy, and all boys clearly want sex. A famous actress slept with him? Lucky him! Even though this never came out publicly, Hikaru absolutely knew this was the case and it certainly plays a role in his grudge against the world.

Even though Airi is dead (probably as a result of him provoking her husband by revealing that he wasn't the father), he still isn't satisfied. No, Airi is still everywhere. Killing the perpetrator, making them pay, did not erase his trauma.

If Aqua kills Hikaru, his trauma will likewise not be erased. Not his trauma as Gorou, not his trauma as Aqua. Hikaru's death will fix absolutely nothing in his life besides stopping more murders, but there are ways to do that that, y'know, don't involve killing. If Aqua kills Hikaru, he will lose the best part of Gorou (valuing life) and the best part of Aqua (the future Ai wanted for him, a future with Kana and Ruby).

Aqua, You are Your Father

Aqua, you are your father. It's almost like the entire series has been trying to give you this message and you keep ignoring it. (By the way, because I know I'm going to get asks about this, I am NOT saying Aqua and Hikaru are moral equivalents. Not at all. I'm just saying that Aqua is walking a path that will end with him being just like Hikaru if he doesn't get shoved off said path.)

From being the violent stalker who attacks someone who has never felt loved in his first acting job after Ai's death to scenes like this:

The story is asking Aqua to take a good long look at himself, and he's trying desperately to avoid doing this. Why? Because he's also playing God, same as his father, same as Satan in Christianity. He thinks he is responsible for everything; a natural, childish attitude that people grow out of as they age.

Of course, Aqua is not nearly as toxic in this as Hikaru--he's not attacking innocent people--but the root of this is still a belief that he somehow controls what happens, when he doesn't. He doesn't at all.

Aqua, too, is just a person.

But Aqua struggles to understand what it means to be a person, to be Hoshino Aquamarine.

He struggles to see other people as people, too. This ranges from sabotaging Ruby's auditions to how he treats Akane to his protecting Kana without considering what she wants. It's been brought up multiple times in the story so far:

Aqua also fundamentally does not see Ai as a human being, either. Unlike Ruby, who calls Ai "Mama," Aqua only ever calls her "Ai," her persona. Aqua and Ai are foils to Kana and her own mother, in that Kana's mom lived through Kana only to abandon her, and Aqua is living through his mom... but ignoring what she would actually want.

(Ruby isn't flawless or perfectly healthy, and the story certainly doesn't frame them as good twin bad twin, but Ruby's overall worldview is absolutely more in line with what the story wants to endorse.) That's why we have lines like this, where Ruby reveals that she has a healthier view of their mother than Aqua does. She knows Ai was flawed.

This is extra notable because he has 0 problems calling Hikaru his father. It's almost like Aqua is drowning in self-hatred, in feeling unloved, in the idea that he brings bad luck just by existing.

He'll call out Ruby for her negative traits, but Aqua thinks he deserves them. Aqua dehumanizes himself, the same way he dehumanizes Ai, and he has to see both his mother and himself people before he can step off this path.

Essentially, what he tells Ruby here is exactly what he needs to realize, but he has not done so.

The root of Aqua's God complex is that he cannot move past his trauma. It's actually psychologically realistic that a child who experienced such an event would be stuck in a childish mindset wherein they feel guilt for not being able to save their mother.

But it's not just Ai that Aqua couldn't save. It's Sarina, too. She is the one who introduced him to Ai, after all. He didn't move on from her death in his past life, either, which can probably be traced back to his own tragic birth circumstances--the idea that he only brings death, because his mother died giving birth to him. Gorou even states that he became a doctor to help people like his mother, but the point is also that he wanted to bring life, not death.

Except, he isn't God. Neither Gorou nor Aqua are. He can't save Sarina, and that isn't his fault. But Sarina ends up okay as Ruby, not through his own intervention. Aqua couldn't save Ai, but that's not his fault.

The point I'm making here is that Aqua needs to heal the hurting child within him. The story has also brought up the theme of children suffering at the hands of the entertainment industry numerous times:

His path towards healing would involve taking a long look not just at the hurting child in himself, but the hurting child in Hikaru, too. Which is not the same as excusing. After all, we already saw what happened with Aqua thought his dad was dead: despite the supposed justice and his proclamations about being free, he was still every inch the trapped, terrified, traumatized child afraid to live. Killing Hikaru won't be any different.

Becoming Human

So, is there hope for Aqua?

Yeah. A ton of it.

Despite the tragedy of Ai's story, every other arc has ended optimistically. The story's optimism, also, is fundamentally rooted in humanity. Every character, even the ones who seem like exploitative jerks like the producers who edited Akane to look bad and the self-centered mangakas, end up having their thoughts and motives explored, and we see where they are coming from. Not only that, but they have the best of intentions.

Frankly, this is true to life as well. Precious few people see themselves as the villain. Almost everyone thinks they're doing the right thing. It's very human.

The end of the reality dating show arc is kind of what I expect in the end here. There, all contestants came together and pooled their unique individual talents to exonerate Akane. I would expect Ruby, Miyako, Kana, and Akane (who herself has finally realized that she can step into her own personhood instead of trying to be Ai/whatever Aqua needs and vowed to stop him) to come together to save Aqua from himself.

Aqua is incredibly loved, and he doesn't seem to understand this. Love is what enabled Ai to die smiling. A lack of love, feeling undeserving of love, is what torments Sarina/Ruby, Aqua, Kana, and more. The bastardization of love is what torments Hikaru.

Love allows someone to be themselves, truly, to individuate. This is what Aqua needs to learn:

He also doesn't need to earn the love of those around him, nor the love of Ai. She loved him just because he was her son, and all she wanted was for him to be happy and to live.

Imo, it's pretty unlikely Akasaka plans to end the series with Aqua becoming Hikaru 2.0. My guess is that Hikaru will be stopped because of Aqua, and he'll even likely die, but not at Aqua's hand. I suspect Akane, Ruby, and especially Kana (the one person Aqua has consistently placed above Ai) will help save Aqua from himself.

#oshi no ko #onk #oshi no ko meta #aqua hoshino #ruby hoshino #ai hoshino #hikaru kamiki #kana arima #akane kurokawa #onk theory #onk meta

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lillypad910 · 9 months

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His Angel

Pairing: Bi! Eddie Munson x Bi! Christian (Baptist) raised! plus sized! girly! f! Reader

Word count: 10k

Warnings: (this is not pre-read, so it may have errors) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), piv, protected sex (they wrap it), fluff (lots of it mixed in), reader identifies as an atheist after childhood trauma dealing with religious beliefs, pet names (Angel [main], Sweetheart, Baby, Baby girl), use of (y/n) but only with family members.

Summary: You were always a good girl, a good Christian girl who wanted to be loved by your family. But growing up in that house was hard. With two older brothers way older than you, and parents already in their late 50’s, your relationship with your family is… difficult. You were taught that what you are is wrong, but then you fell in love with a certain guitarist who makes you remember that you are worthy of love.

A/n: Came up with this idea a couple days ago (literally right after my last post about having writer’s block), and just went to town on it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

If you wanna be tagged when I post ask or comment telling me so!

All photos found on Pinterest

You remember your childhood vividly, it wasn’t ‘bad’ for the most of it. Church was a constant play in the workings of your family home. Your mother a youth worker within the church (your church didn’t actually allow her to hold ‘pastor’ as her term), your father an old choir boy, now working a normal 9-5 job in an office building. Your family attended church every Wednesday and Sunday, every Easter, thanksgiving, and Christmas. There was no alcohol allowed in your house, not even during the holidays.

You have two older brothers, both of them were closer in age, only five years apart, while you were ten years apart from the youngest of the two, so you grew up practically on your own. You were raised primarily by your older parents, bother already reaching their 40’s when you were born.

Your oldest brother, Logan, once said in a fit of anger that you were an accident. You didn’t understand at the time, but now that you’re older, you get it.

You’ll never forget that one fated day you sat in your room, you had just turned thirteen a few weeks before. Sarah, your friend from church, someone you’ve known since you were infants, sat across from you. You were making friendship bracelets.

There was something about Sarah, she was just so… so pretty. Her long blond hair always perfectly curled, her gorgeous green eyes you could swear you could stare into for hours.

Elijah, your other friend, a boy from school, had told you that you shouldn’t act on any of your feelings for Sarah. His daddy had told him it was wrong to feel that way, to feel… attracted… to the same gender. But you couldn’t help it.

You had spent many nights sleeping over at Sarah’s and her at yours. As children you would hold hands on the playground. Your parents thought it was cute how close you two were. But as you sat in front of her that day, that beautiful day. The sun setting outside, the shades of purples and blues mixing with the warm orange, of the last golden rays highlighting her hair perfectly. You couldn’t help it.

You kissed her.

It happened so fast, you leaned over, capturing her lips with yours before pulling away. Your heart raced in your chest, beating faster, and faster, and faster. Her beautiful green eyes widened, her expression of shock was even pretty. Did she feel this way too? Did you act to fast? Before you could say anything to her, she quickly stood and ran out of the room. You heard her yell out for your mom as her foot steps made it down the stairs.

Oh no. Oh no no no no!

Your hand slapped against your chest, your heart not slowing as you began to panic. You read it all wrong, all wrong!

It’s all gone wrong. Elijah was right. I should have kept quiet. Held back.

Maybe I can play it off?

Your mother came barging into your room as you picked back up the bracelet quickly. “Hi, Momma!” You gave her a smile. It was so fake, but you just beg the lord she won’t notice. “Dewdrop,” your mother’s voice that day was stern, “did you-“ she cuts herself off, taking a deep breath, as if trying to calm her emotions, “Did you… kiss… Sarah…?”

Your brain had scattered, terrified how she was gonna react. You took too long.

She had snatched you off the rug before you could even say anything else, dragging you by your ear and down the stairs. Her hand raised before you before you could react.

Smack!

It been years since that day, as you now sit at your desk in your room, the pink floral wallpaper from your childhood always and forever familiar.

Tap! Tap!

You look over at your window, your eyes widening as you spot the long curly mop of hair even through the darkness outside. Quickly making your way to your window, opening the pane carefully, your heart racing as you are greeted by the softest, most comforting brown eyes you ever did see. “Eddie!” You whisper yell at him, your voice filled with concern and worry, “what are you doing here? You know my parents can’t see you!”

Eddie is all smiles, his eyes glancing down to your lips, “So? I thought you liked the chance of getting caught?” You roll your eyes, happy you are allowed to lock your door now that you’re older. “So…” he grips his hand tighter on the windowsill, “gonna let your boyfriend in? Or?” You immediately step back, muttering a sorry as you help him throw himself into your room without knocking anything over.

After straightening out his leather jacket and denim vest, he steps closer to you, reaching out and gripping at your nightgown, balling the fabric into his fists. “How’s my beautiful girlfriend?” You can’t help but smile at him, “I’m ok,” your hands slowly move up his chest, your eyes watching your fingers cling at his leather jacket, “how about you, Romeo?” He smiles, leaning in and giving your rosy cheek a peck, “I’ve been good, bored though.” “Oh?” “Mhmm,” His lips pressed soft kisses against your skin, getting closer and closer to your lips, before stopping. “You fucking tease…” you pout, gripping a little tighter at his jacket, making him chuckle. “Oh I’m sorry, did my good girl just swear? In her family home?” “Shut up.”

He pulls away and drops down onto your bed, spreading out across your powder blue duvet. “Come here,” he gestures for you to come lay with him, but you do something he doesn’t entirely expect.

You lift your nightgown, giving him the smallest glimpse of your white panties, the little blue bow on the front catching his eyes’ attention, before climbing over his legs. Your legs sit on either side of his hips, your center lowering just on top of his crotch, making him let out a soft groan. “Happy?” You ask, grinding your hips down and he grips at them quickly, steadying you. “Fucking swear, if you keep doing that-“ “What? You’ll do what, Munson?” Your voice is sugar sweet, faking innocence so well.

“Fuck, gonna make me cream my pants, Angel.” He sits up, adjusting his position so his hands are down on the bed behind him, propping him up. “Oh? Am I too much for you- Ah!” You gasp, cutting your sentence short as you’re flipped over, quickly looking at the door before back up at the guy on top of you. Eddie smirks down at you, his eyes glancing down at your lips. “Never,” he kisses you quickly, “ever,” another kiss, “think you’re too much for me.” He kisses your nose this time, before nuzzling it with his own.

He softly kisses you again, his lips pressing gently to yours, but slowly he picks up, kissing a little more desperately. His lips are slightly chapped, scratching a bit against your perfectly smooth lips. Your heart picks up, breath becoming more unsteady with every smooch. His hands guide down to your hips, pulling your nightgown up and to your waist, making your panties entirely visible. He pulls away, tilting his head down to the view he so desperately loves. “Could stare at you all day, Angel.” He gives you one final kiss before beginning to kiss down your neck. His fingers curl around the hem of your underwear, pulling them down slowly as his kisses travel down your clothed chest and bare stomach.

“All mine,” he hums into your skin, “all for me.” He pulls your underwear past your knees, gripping one of your thighs and pulling your shin and foot through the leg hole. “Gonna kill me one day,” he kisses along your lifted thigh. You feel yourself getting wet from his touch, his kisses sending shivers down your spine. He pulls your panties off your other leg, looking back up at your eyes before pocketing the white pair. “Mine now.” You can’t help but giggle at him, not able to count just how many crusty pairs you’ve gotten back weeks later.

His fingers move to your stomach, his palms kneading into your chubby belly like a ball of dough, before moving lower. A soft gasp leaves your lips, sounding like the most beautiful melody Eddie has ever heard as his fingers slip inside you.

Eddie swears he could watch you take his fingers all day. The way your eyebrows scrunch up, your eyes go blown, your thighs try to press together.

He leans down, brushing his nose against your clit. He watches his fingers thrust in and out of you from such close proximity, before licking your folds. Your hand quickly flies up to cover your mouth as you moan, trying to keep quiet with your parents just down the hall.

“E-Eds…!” You gasp, his free hand pressing your legs farther apart, his hips now rutting into your mattress as he buries his face in your cunt, lapping up your arousal. You let out a soft whimper as your toes curl, your hips now lifting off the bed to push into his face. Eddie removes his fingers from you, now gripping under your thighs and around to your hips, pulling your body into his face more. Your thighs squeeze around his head as you feel yourself release, gripping the duvet under you. Your eyes blur over with a few tears from the feeling, still not entirely used to being pushed to this amount of euphoria.

Your legs softly get set on the bed, a wet spot under you as Eddie climbs back up, placing a soft kiss on your stomach before smiling down at you. “Angel,” he reaches up and cups your face, tilting it to look at him, “You still with me?” It came out with a soft laugh, teasing. “Yeah,” you breathe out, breathe still heavy as you come down from the high, “Yeah, I’m here.” He smiles and pulls your nightgown back down, his obvious erection still poking at your thigh.

You sit up, glancing back at your door before turning back to your secret boyfriend. “Sweetheart,” his voice draw you back in, his fingers wrapping around your chin and pulling you against his chest as he leans back against your pillows, “don’t worry so much, you keep glancing at the door like they hear us.” He kisses your cheek, nuzzling into you. You blush as the only thing you can smell is you. “Eddie,” you quietly groan out his name, practically a whisper. He hums, fumbling with the belt to undo it. You blush as he shimmies his pants and boxers down his hips. You tilt your head to the wall, your blush spreading to your ears.

“Angel,” Eddie places his hands on your back, “look at me.” You pull back and look at him, your heart beating fast.

“You can tell me if you want to stop, Sweetheart. You know that.” He kisses your nose, his fingers slowly moving to ball your nightgown up, letting his warm fingers press to your now bare back. “Do you want to stop?” His voice is calm, no judgment present anywhere. “No… I-I wanna…” your eyes glance at your mirror, giving you sight of your door. Eddie’s eyes soften.

“Angel, you were being all confident earlier, now you’re shrinking and keep looking to make sure your door is shut.” He kisses your nose, making you melt a little into him. He hesitates for a moment, “is it… because of back then…?” You freeze, immediately your head snaps to look at him, his deep brown eyes staring at you with such love.

“Do you wanna sneak out…?” You ask, trying to dodge the reality of your trauma. Eddie’s eyes narrow, “Oh no, you’re talking about it now. You have no choice.” “What? No!” You whisper yell. “Angel,” Eddie pushes you off of him a little, making your eyes widen, the fear of rejection again banging on your heart. He pulls up his pants again, before pulling you back onto him, immediately shushing those thoughts, “Talk to me.”

“I just-“ you hesitate, you let out a deep breath, “I’m scared…” Eddie’s eyes soften, his hands sliding down to your hips, grounding you. “What of?” “Here.” The word comes out tense, your discomfort obvious, but not from him or his actions, just the place. Your room. Your house.

“Baby,” Eddie rubs his thumb over your hip, “We can pick this up tomorrow, we don’t have to-“ “No!” You immediately wince and cover your mouth at your raised voice. “I-I mean…”

A thud comes from across the house. You both freeze.

Shit.

You both scurry to get up, you pulling down your nightgown as he quickly goes to hide in your closet behind your door. You quickly shut your window, unlock your door, and sit at your desk, immediately jumping back up from the cold feeling on your —you shockingly forgot— exposed lower body. You don’t have time to grab another pair of panties so you just tuck your night gown under you and sit.

A knock comes on your door immediately after you sit. “Yes?” You call out. The door opens and your mother pops her head in, “Did you make a loud noise?” You just nod.

“Yeah sorry, I, uh, messed up my paper. Did I wake you?” She hums in response, “technically, but it’s alright. It’s almost midnight, Darling—” the nickname makes you cringe. It’s the same one she called you that day. “— make sure you get some sleep.” She smiles at you, before shutting your door and you hear steps heading back down the hall. You finally let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

Eddie sticks his head out, making sure the coast is clear before stepping out. “That was terrifying.” “Yeah no shit, Eds.” You tell him as he steps closer to you, he places his hand on your head and leans down a bit to kiss your hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?” You look up at him, “but-!” “No buts, Angel. You’re too stressed here, I’m gonna sneak you out of class tomorrow and take you somewhere more private. Then we can finish what we started.” He lets you lay your head onto his stomach for a moment.

“Fine…” you hate that he’s right. Your room hasn’t been a ‘safe space’ since you were thirteen. He gives your head one more kiss before climbing back out your window.

You and Eddie run out of the school, hand in hand, adrenaline pumping through you as you both book it to his van. It was only 12:35pm, luckily for both of you, your lunch had just started, so it was easy to walk out of ‘class’, class being the cafeteria with an annoyed teacher by the doors who doesn’t care that you leave.

You both slip into his van, giggling as you pull out one of the cassettes from his glove compartment and pop it in, Metallica immediately filling the van. “So, I was thinking, food first, maybe milkshakes at Benny’s, then maybe park somewhere?” Eddie pulls the car out of the spot in the lot. “Sounds good to me.”

You pull up to Benny’s, immediately seeing the girl you’ve had a solid crush on for two years was working. “Eds, it’s her!” You practically slap your hand over his chest. “Holly shit- uh, do I look ok? Cute?” “Always.” Eddie’s smile was genuine, but you glare at him slightly, “I don’t want ‘always’ I need an opinion!” Eddie chuckles as he watches you step out of his car, straightening your dress. “Sweetheart, I feel like she’s not gonna care-“ “Shh, don’t ruin it.”

You both step into the diner, Eddie holding the door open for you. “Take a seat anywhere!” Her voice calls out. You both take a booth by the window, Eddie giving you the side that best angles you to always be able to see her. “You’re always so supportive and I love you for it.” He smiles at your admission. “Can’t do anything without my permission, Angel.” “I know.”

“Hi, I’m Chris, I’ll be your server,” the girl you practically drool over pulls out a pen and her serving note pad, “What can I get you both?” She asks, glancing at you first before Eddie. Eddie watches you, your eyes practically glittering and he tries not to laugh. “A double cheeseburger for me, please. No onions. Sparkle over there will have a short stake of chocolate chip pancakes, two scrambled eggs with cheese and a bowl of grits, butter and cheese in that too.” The girl, Chris, smiles at him, impressed he knows the girl across from him—you—so well. “And to drink?” She just looks to Eddie this time, “Two chocolate milkshakes, and two waters. She’ll also have a cup of coffee, vanilla creamer.”

You snap out of your gaze after she begins to walk away, “Wait, what? What happened?” “You spaced.” “What!?” You look over at him, “It’s ok, Angel, I ordered for you.” You give him a soft smile. “Oh yeah? What did you order me?” “You’ll see.”

When the food arrives to the table you practically have your mouth watering on the table at the array of food, especially thankful for the cup of coffee. “I love you, you take such good care of me.” You pretend to wipe a tear from your eye. “Hmm.”

As you both eat, Eddie randomly slaps his hand down on the table, then excessively taps it, not loud enough to grab the attention of others, just you. “Oh my-“ you look up at him and see he’s looking towards the door. You turn and see a young man walking in, his long hair and attire very similar to the boy sitting across from you. “Eddie, sweetie, you’re gay is showing.” You hold your straw as you take a sip of your shake, staring at your boyfriend. “Says the girl who drools over the waitress.” Eddie shoots back. You place your hand over your heart, “you wound me, Eds.”

“Is he cute? He’s cute. Shit.” Eddie’s cheeks suddenly turn red, making you laugh. “Now who’s drooling-” “I’m not drooling…!” Eddie blushes.

When you both finish your food, you get back in his van and he drives to a secluded spot, parking behind an abandoned shopping center that no one even drives by anymore. You sit there for a moment thinking about how to initiate, before your boyfriend quickly pulls himself through the seats and into the trunk of his van.

Eddie adjusts the blankets and pillows he shoved back there earlier that morning, watching as you squeeze yourself through the seats following him. He pulls you straight onto his lap, lifting your dress up so your thighs are exposed to his hands. “I love you,” his voice is soft, pulling you in and making you swoon. “I love you more,” you wrap your arms around his neck, leaving soft kisses on his lips before moving down his jaw and neck.

Eddie’s fingers grip tighter on your thighs, nails digging into the soft skin. You exhale a soft sigh. “You’re so fucking perfect,” Eddie speaks first, grinding your hips down on his crotch, “Want you so bad, been thinking about it all day.” You giggle softly, nuzzling your nose into his cheek as you enjoy the feeling of his growing tent in his pants.

“Yeah?” You ask, nibbling at his earlobe before pulling away. He groans, annoyed you stopped but glides his hands up under your dress. “I love that you wear dresses, I don’t care if it’s technically for your mom, it gives me the perfect access to you,” his hands massage the fat on your sides, digging his thumbs in your skin, “should take it off though, don’t wanna get it dirty.”

You grip the hem of your dress and pull it over your head, your bra now visible to him. He lifts his hands up your skin and cup his fingers around the garment. You look into his eyes as you watch him continue to stare at your body, his pupils blown, making his comforting brown eyes look black. You grab his vest and jacket and help him slide it off his arms, throwing them both to the side. He yanks off the Hellfire shirt before smashing his lips onto yours, kissing you with such passion.

He pulls back, shimmying down his pants while you quickly pull off your underwear. Before the fabric is even entirely off your legs, you’re pulled back onto his lap, your back facing him this time, you look down and immediately blush. His cock is perfectly placed between your thighs, the red tip sticking out and tapping against your stomach with every twitch. “E-Eddie,” you reach back and cup his head from behind you as he grips tightly at your hips, grinding you against his length, his shaft rubbing against your clit.

“Wanna grab us a condom from behind my seat?” He asks. You nod, pulling away from him and reaching down. Eddie swears he would do it raw if he could confirm you wouldn’t get pregnant, but your parents would never allow you on birth control. You grab one of the foils and climb back up against him, opening your legs so his cock is accessible and rolling the condom down. “Relax, Angel, I’ve got you,” he kisses your cheek before lifting your hips, his cock practically jumping to press against you.

You gasp as you’re slowly pulled down, your cunt sheathing his cock without much resistance. Before long, your ass presses back on his crotch, his length fully in you. “You ok?” He asks, hearing your breath picking up. You nod, but that’s not good enough for him. He reaches up and tilts your head back to him, making you look at him, “use your words, Baby.” “I’m ok.”

Before too long your feet are planted against the bed of his van, your hips moving up and down, up and down, as you bounce yourself on him. His hands grip tightly at your waist, his soft groans giving you praise as you try not to just cum on him. “Baby,” his voice pulls you back in, making you whimper. He lifts you off of him, before turning you back around, making you straddle his lap again before going back down. His hands move down your thighs, until one slopes just below your belly, his thumb finding your clit. You crumble at the sudden addition, your head falling to his shoulder.

Eddie loves watching his little Angel crumble because of him. Watching your body shake as your thighs clench, your hands balling into fists on his chest as you try your damn best not to explode, not wanting him to stop. “Come on, Angel,” he whispers into your ear, leaving small kitten licks over your lobe, “cum for me, Baby, need to feel you cum.”

His lips press to the corner of your mouth, “Come on, Baby girl, wanna feel you, need to feel you cum.” His fingers rub harder into your clit, making you moan. Before long you’re gasping as you cry, your boyfriend thrusting up into you as your body shakes. Eddie kisses your cheeks, nose and forehead as your thighs squeeze at his hips, your body releasing around him. “There we go, such a good girl, doing so good for me, Angel,” Eddie kisses your lips as you feel his thighs getting sticky from your arousal.

He shuffles, slowly and carefully laying you back in the bed of the van, onto a blanket with a couple pillows behind your head. He doesn’t leave you, careful to not disconnect your bodies. He climbs over you, pushing your legs out and around his waist. He kisses your hairline, slowly beginning to thrust into you. Your whimpers and moans fill the air around you, his hips moving slow at first before picking up pace.

You brush his hair away from his face before pulling him closer and kissing him, your lips moving in perfect sync. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady as he goes a little harder.

It doesn’t take long till you cum again, this time he fucks you through it even harder, not stopping or slowing. His groans sound so hypnotic, like a praise leaving his lips without actual words. He thrusts one final time, holding his hips hard against yours as you feel his cock twitch inside you, his face scrunching as he finishes into the condom.

Eddie drops down, his lips pressing to yours repeatedly, before pulling out. Your legs shakily drop to the floorboard, cunt clenching around nothing as you try to come down from your high. He pulls off the condom, ties it off before dropping it between the seats. He pulls up his jeans and boxers before slipping your underwear back up your legs. “You did such a good job, Angel,” Eddie kisses your eyelids, before leaving a soft kiss on your lips, “I’m so proud of you.”

You can’t stop yourself from blushing as he pulls you onto his chest, laying down with you in the blankets. He snuggles into your hair, kissing your head as you smile from his kisses. “You enjoy this too much,” you enquire, giggling a little when he kisses your nose. “I do, but it’s not my fault my girl is so beautiful when she’s coming down from an orgasm.” You roll your eyes, but not in an annoyed way, you enjoy his teasing.

You don’t know what got into you as you climb down the lattice outside your window. You were never a disobedient child growing up, but for some reason you still climb down one foot after the other, time reaching 8pm as you hit the ground.

You turn to see your beautiful curly haired boyfriend grinning ear to ear at you. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this. I’m a bad influence on you.” You glare at him but don’t deny it, cause he is. “I didn’t know what to wear, so I hope you brought something for me to change into.”

Eddie smirks as he grabs your hand, pulling you down the street and to his parked van. He opens the back, showing the few t-shirts he brought from his closet. “Pick one. Any one.” He smiles at you. You grab one of them climbing into the back before he shuts the doors behind you.

You quickly pull off your frilly floral shirt, chunking it to the side of the van, before slipping the Metallica shirt over your head. It’s a little snug, but you don’t hate it. You quickly pull your hair up in a ponytail with the red scrunchy on your wrist.

Climbing to the front, Eddie already half way there to the bar, you sit yourself in the passenger seat, quickly pulling a lipstick you stuck in your pocket and pulling down the visor to see your reflection. You apply the red lipstick, a much deeper color than you usually wear.

Eddie glances over, watching you apply the makeup. He had to be careful with staring, picturing those now perfectly red lips smothering his cock with kisses, leaving lipstick all over his shaft-

“Eddie?” You call out to him, and he looks at you again for a quick second. “Yeah?” “I just remembered I’ve never met the guys.”

It’s true, you’ve been dating for maybe 6 months, but it’s entirely secret to people you both know personally. Eddie had asked you to come to the show tonight because he wants you to meet them. The guys: Gareth, Jeff, and Kevin. He wants you to attend Hellfire meetings, meet Dustin, the kid he practically took under his wing, have you attend his shows, meet his uncle. He doesn’t want you to be a secret anymore to his side of life.

“Then you’ll get to meet them.”

Eddie and you pull up to The Hideout Tuesday night. You’re nervous pick up as he parks the van. “Hey,” Eddie reaches over and grabs your hand, “I appreciate you wanna see me play, Angel. But if you’re uncomfortable, I can take you home.” You shake your head.

You’ve been looking forward to watching him play live for months, and nows your chance. Besides, he’s already snuck you out of your house, you might as well enjoy it.

Eddie opens the car door for you, helping you out of your seat before holding your hand as you walk inside through the back entrance.

You hear laughing and talking coming from around the corner, and before long you’re dragged into a room with three boys you recognize from classes. “Hey, guys.” Eddie greets them. They all turn to you both, the messy haired blond tilting his head first. “Who’s that?” He asks. Eddie looks at you, and you look at him, your eyes more nervous than his but his soft eyes comfort you.

“Angel,” he simply says. The guys stay silent for a moment, before gasping and running up closer. “Holly shit!” You know this one, Jeff from Chemistry, practically screams as he reaches for your hand, “You’re like a whole myth at our lunch table!” You blush as it dawns in you.

He talks about you. Eddie talks about you to his friends, he might not have told them who you were until this very moment, but god damnit, he talks about you.

“Eddie can’t shut up about his ‘Sweet Angel’ practically fawning over you every lunch period.” The blond follows. “Refuses to clean his shirt of lipgloss or lipstick before school just so we’ll ask about it. Fucking bastard.” The bigger guy slaps Eddie over the head.

“Hey, it’s not my fault, I mean look at her. Can you blame me?” Eddie is practically glowing, his smile bigger than you’ve even seen it, and that’s saying something. “Wait,” Jeff looks at you for a minute, squinting his eyes. “Chemistry right? You sit towards the front?” You nod, “yeah, Jeff right?” You smile at him. “Yeah, shit, almost didn’t recognize you. Not in your usual floral dresses tonight.” “Yeah, kinda not supposed to be out past 7,” you explain easily. “Your family goes to Franklin Baptist right?” You nod.

“Damn got yourself a religious girl, Eddie?” The blond snickers to himself. You glance up at Eddie before looking back at him. Jeff speaks before you can, “The asshole is Gareth, that’s Kevin.” He points to them respectively. “Nice to meet you, and no. I’m uh, actually atheist. Just… raised Christian.” You hold your hands together in front of you.

“Hey,” a guy pops his head in from a door heading out to the bar, “on in five.” He dips out before anyone replies. “Well,” Eddie turns to you and takes your hand holding it up to his lips, “how about you go out there and sit by the bar? Get some water or something, watch us play.” His lips press a soft kiss to your knuckles making you blush, “ok.”

You sit on one of the stools by the bar, a glass of water in hand as the announcer introduces the next band. “And up next to the stage is Corroded Coffin!” A couple people yell out, raising their glasses up in the air, but not too many.

Then they all step out, the cute guy you know so well with his guitar on his front, stepping up to the front mic with such grace. “How are we all doing tonight?” His voice booms through the room and a few people again holler out, “We are Corroded Coffin, and to start the night off good, Id like to dedicate this first song to the lovely girl in the Metallica shirt by the bar. Lookin’ good, Angel!” He gestures to Jeff who immediately starts his rhythm on the guitar, Gareth following soon after on drums.

Oh my.

“Mmm, yeah!” Eddie jumps in before letting them play a bit longer. Kevin joining in with his guitar.

No he’s not.

Then they all begin it. “Ha!” Eddie continues, and the guys follow with “Do do do dodo dodo do do, do do do dodo dodo!” They repeat it a couple times before Eddie jumps back in. “Tonight… I wanna give it all to you!”

Oh no he IS.

You feel your cheeks heat up, instantly closing your eyes as you try not to giggle. “In the daaarkness… there’s so much I want to do-o-o,” both Jeff and Gareth lean into their mics “And tonight,” all three of them sing before Eddie continues on his own, “I wanna lay it at your feet,” he points directly at you, stopping his own playing to continue with the next lyric, “‘cause, Girl, I was made for you, and girl, you were made for me!” Eddie can’t help his grin, watching you trying to not die from embarrassment in the corner, “Hit it!” He yells before all the guys jump in to continue the song.

“I was made for lovin’ you, Baby! You were made for loving me! And I can’t get enough of you, Baby! Can you get enough of me?”

You cover your face but peek out through your fingers as you watch them finish the rest of the song. You have to sit through the rest of the set, trying not to giggle to yourself after the choice of an opener.

When Eddie finally meets back up with you, nearly two hours later, you glare at him through your third glass of water, “I hate you.” Eddie chuckles before throwing his arm over your shoulders, kissing your forehead, “no you don’t. You love me.”

You take a deep breath, trying to make the redness in your face go away, still not over the first song of the show. “How long,” you look up at him, sitting your glass down on the counter, “have you had that planned?” “Uh,” Eddie looks over at the backstage door before turning back to you, “couple months.” His cheeks tint, obviously embarrassed by the admission. “Eds, I told you I wanted to come to the show three days ago,” you smile at him, “and I know damn well that’s not in your original set, I’ve seen the original set list, Eddie.” You can’t help the goofy grin that pulls at the corners of your mouth.

“Might have convinced the guys the day you told me to knock out the original opener to fit the one we practiced for you…” he admits. You laugh, a solid hearty laugh, not a giggle, not a chuckle, a full on laugh. A snort finds its way in, catching you off guard. Eddie joins in immediately after it happens, covering his mouth as he tries not to do the same.

You both laugh for a good minute, just cackling to yourselves as you try to calm down. When you finally catch your breath, you speak up first, “Those poor boys, you just tortured them for the last couple of days.” He nods, his hand on your arm as he holds his stomach, “yeah, they hated me the last few days.”

You didn’t stick around too long, not wanting to test your luck with your parents and your empty bedroom. You both walk out of the bar, his arm over your shoulder, both of you giggling as you press your hand into his chest.

“(Y/n)?” A deep voice makes you freeze. Your heart stopping as you refuse to look up. “(Y/n)?” Eddie looks over at the speaker, a man who looks so similar to you, but he’s older, at least 10 years. “Can I help you?” Eddie asks, his hand gripping tighter on your shoulder. You look up and there he is.

It’s happening again.

“Yeah, you can let go of my little sister, creep.” Logan, your oldest brother, glares at Eddie, his eyes sharp and narrow. Eddie slowly lifts his hand from your shoulder, obviously just not wanting to anger the guy who’s nearly twice his size. You sigh, “Logan, he’s fine.” You place your arms over your chest, gripping your arms tightly. Logan looks at you then back at Eddie, “why are you with this guy? Who is he?” Logan steps closer, still on edge.

You take a deep breath. Here we go.

“His name is Eddie,” you tell him, looking up at him, “he’s not a creep, he’s my boyfriend, Logan.” Logan hesitates for a moment, “boyfriend? Since when did you get a boyfriend? Mom and dad know?” He scoffs when you stay silent, “take that as a no,” he looks at Eddie, glancing over his form, his clothes, hair. He’s judging him.

“So what do you do? Besides take my underaged sister to a bar.” You roll your eyes at his question. “His band plays here every week. We didn’t drink, I had a couple glasses of water, Logan.” You glare at him, getting pissed off. Logan hums in response, looking Eddie up and down, “glad you are actually dating a guy,” he speaks, “mom’s gonna be pissed he’s not from church though.”

You think for a moment, then raise a brow, “Why are you here?” Logan hesitates but you speak again before he can reply, “It’s a bar, Logan, if you thought I was drinking but I’m underaged, what am I supposed to think about you? A guy of thirty-three, past the legal drinking age? What is mom gonna think about that?”

You don’t know what got into you. Maybe it was the way your boyfriend was will to embarrass you in front of a decent crowd, maybe how he talked about you to his friends even though your relationship was supposed to be secret. Maybe it’s how he didn’t falter in front of his friends, kept staying near you and showing you love and affection. Maybe it was just… Eddie.

You glance over at the brunette standing next to you, noticing how his eyes never leave your brother, nervous. Sweet Eddie. “Go tell mom.” You suddenly say, Logan looks at you a little shocked. “She was gonna have to find out eventually, at least now I can tell her that her perfect oldest son drinks. She might actually worry about you more than me.”

“Hmm,” Logan hums before continuing to make his way towards the door, stopping right next to you, “you go down, I go down too? I’ll hold you to that.” He makes his way into the bar.

You both drive back to your street with no further problems. Eddie parks his van a street down, turning off the headlights to not get any attention drawn to you both.

“So…” Eddie mumbles out, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, “That was interesting.” You scoff lightly, leaning your head back on the headrest. “I swear, if he rats me out, he’s done for.” Your voice sounds more joking than anything, but you aren’t. “Mom hates alcohol that much?” He chuckles a bit, leaning back against his own seat and looking over at you, a small smile on his lips. “Oh completely. My parents are Baptist, Eds, alcohol is a sin to them, they refuse to even have it in the house.” “Didn’t Jesus like… turn water into wine?” You shrug, “who knows why, I’ve questioned that my entire life.”

“Logan is the oldest, right?” You nod, “yep, fifteen years older than me,” you look over and smile at him. “You mentioned once you didn’t know your brothers that well growing up,” Eddie reaches over and grabs your hand. You take a deep sigh, “yeah, since I was born when Logan was fifteen, Noah, my other brother,” you give his hand a squeeze, “the middle kid, was ten. I was an accident, not planned.”

He runs his thumb over the back of your hand, listening to you. “You know how Christians are, against abortion and all. I was closest to Noah growing up, but even that felt more like a babysitter, not a brother. Logan acts like my brother now that I’m older, but when we were kids, he was just…” you stop, raising his hand up to your lips, placing a soft kiss on his fingers. Eddie moves his hand, letting it cup around your face.

“Angel,” Eddie calls out to you, making you look at him, “It’s gonna be ok.” He gives you a soft smile, which you return. “I love you.” The words slip out of your lips naturally, little butterflies in your stomach.

You don’t know why. You’ve said those words to each other hundreds of time already, but for some reason it feels… different. It’s not just a quick phrase, a sentimental thing you say to make you and him feel good. You mean it. With all of your heart. You love him.

Eddie’s smile grows a bit bigger, “I love you.” His beautiful chocolate brown eyes gaze at you with such love you feel it. You know he means it with everything he has. You could stare at those eyes all day, hopefully one day you can.

In the morning, you sit with your family at breakfast. Your mother plates everyone food, which you help her set the table. “Oh, darling, set up a fourth setting,” your mother instructs you, “Logan is going to be here any minute.” “What?” You turn quickly to her, a tinge of discomfort in your stomach. “Logan. He’s going to be joining-“ The door bell rings.

Oh shit.

“I’ve got it!” Your father gets up and goes to answer the door, “Logan, good to see you, son!” Your oldest brother steps inside the house, hugging your father. “Hey, Pops,” Logan departs from the front door, entering the dinning space, where you stand and your mother brings out some plates and sits them down on the table. “Logan!” Your mother smiles, quickly pulling her oldest child into a hug.

“Hey, Momma, thanks for having me such short notice,” he smiles, parting from her before turning to you, “Hey, (y/n).” He holds out his arms, and you hesitate before hugging him. You don’t want to tip off your mom.

After everyone has a plate at their seat and the table is decorated in platters of pancakes, eggs, grits, and so much more, Momma really went all out, you all take your seats. “So, Logan dear,” your mom smiles at her pride and joy of a child, “we heard about Susan from Cindy at church. Why didn’t you tell us?” You look between your mother and brother, a little confused.

You know Susan, that’s Logan’s wife. You met her a couple times, a little grossed out because she is 23, closer to your age than to Logan’s. You know Cindy to be a gossip at church, her spreading the ‘rumor’— as your mother referred to it—of you kissing Sarah all those years ago.

“What happened with Susan?” You ask, making your mother to turn to you. “She was found sneaking around with Gabriel a couple months ago, apparently the affair has been going on for a year. Your brother here,” she points to Logan, “requested an annulment for the marriage with the state and church because of the adultery.” You can tell from her raising voice she’s furious about the whole affair.

“It was approved last week.” Logan informs you all, “She signed the papers only a couple days ago, no arguments made. I’m letting her keep the house, so I’m gonna get an apartment close by, so thought I’d come visit for a couple days while looking.” Your mother practically gasps with glee at the news, “So you’re gonna be closer to home? How wonderful!”

That’s the last thing you need, another set of eyes out in public watching out for you.

“Isn’t… divorce a sin…?” You ask, not trying to incriminate your brother, not at all, just genuinely confused as to why your mother would allow it, or even be happy about it. “Technically,” your father speaks, your mother finishing for him, “But only without proper cause. That whores affair is proper enough.” You nearly chock on your juice as your mother’s phrasing.

“Momma!” You yell at her, staring at her utterly shocked, “You can’t just-“ “Why not? She cheated on my baby with someone inside the church!” Your father just nods along. You look over at Logan, he’s nearly just as shocked as you are.

“You shouldn’t call her that, Momma,” Logan takes a sip from his coffee, recovering from the display, “She was still my wife.” Your mother looks a little hurt from his intervention, sagging back into her chair as if she’s a toddler being told they have to eat their veggies.

“Your mother is allowed to be upset, Logan,” your father speaks out, looking up at your brother, “just like (y/n) can speak her mind, and you can speak yours.”

Such bullshit. Your opinions never mattered growing up, do they suddenly now because you’re older?

“I need to head out to school,” you explain, standing up and taking your plate. You clean off the dish in the sink, before walking by the table again, hugging your mother and kissing your father’s cheek. “I’ll see you later today.”

The next few days are uneventful, just back and forth with school, your mother bickering you about your future, and your perfect brother hogging the bathroom. Until Saturday.

You sit in your room, changing out of your day clothes and grabbing the nightgown from the basket of clean clothes. The warm air from the weather comes in through your open window, perfectly creating that warmer atmosphere.

“I’d say keep it off.” You jump back from the sudden words spoken out, your eyes immediately darting to the window where your metal head dork of a boyfriend sits halfway in. “You scared me, Eddie…!” You whisper, “you shouldn’t be here, everyone is probably still awake.” He just shrugs at your warning.

“So who’s the car outside? It’s not your dad’s and your mom doesn’t have one herself,” he asks, moving in closer to you, pulling your nightgown from your hands and pulling you to him, your bare chest pressing to his t-shirt. “It’s Logan’s, you dingbat. And if he sees you here he might not be so keen on keeping you a secret.”

“Eh, I’ll be out before anyone notices. Though I should really teach you a thing of two about actual creeps,” he kisses your cheek, his hands pressing to your back, “maybe then you’ll learn to shut your window when you’re changing.” You roll your eyes, “you’re a jerk, Munson.” He chuckles, pushing you back onto your bed, immediately pushing at your knees to frame your legs around his waist, laying into you. “A jerk? Me?” He kisses you softly before traveling little kisses down your neck, “A tease maybe, but never a jerk, Angel.”

Your breathing gets heavy as he moves down your chest, cupping one breast in his hand before taking the other into his mouth. “Eds,” you blush, gripping at his shoulders as his cold fingers graze over your nipple. “Hmm?” “My…” you can’t help but feel your panties start getting wet, “my brother is home, and my family is still awake- mm!” You bite your lower lip, muffling the soft moan that leaves you when his teeth bite down on your hard bud.

“You can be quiet,” Eddie smirks, pulling away from your torso, “Don’t you wanna be a good girl? Be quiet for me?” You hate how he knows that shit works.

He pushes your throw pillows off your bed, pulling back the covers. “Don’t be too loud or we’ll be found, ok?” He goes lower under the sheets, right where you want him, pulling your underwear down your legs. You cover your mouth as you feel his tongue glide across your core, his fingers brushing your folds out of the way. Two digits break your entrance, making you whimper as you grab his long curls with your free hand. “E-Eds…!” You try to be quiet, your body reacting quickly to his actions.

“Go on, let it out, Angel.” His approval sends you over the edge way too soon, your thighs squeezing his head as you finish, gasping for air. Eddie leaves little kitten licks before pulling away from you. “I’m proud of you,” he leans up and kisses your neck, the smell of you very prominent on his lips. “Oh?” You lean into his kisses, just letting him do as he pleases, “why is that?”

“You may have mentioned how people are home or they’re awake, but you haven’t looked at that door once, Angel.” He smiles down at you. And he’s right, you haven’t.

Sure you’ve mentioned worry, but there is no real fear this time. Your body is completely reacting only to Eddie, sweet Eddie. Your Eddie.

“I haven’t have I?” You smile back at him, not even looking now, even though it’s been pointed out to you, “Maybe you’re a bad influence.” Eddie smiles, placing a quick kiss to your lips before stripping himself down bare, fisting himself a little once finished. “Don’t know what you think you’re doing with that without-“

Eddie digs into his jacket pocket before throwing it down and pulls out a condom, holding it up to your face. “I come prepared, my lady, no need to worry.” You hum in response, watching him rip open and roll on the condom. Once it’s on, he quickly holds at your thighs, taking no time to slowly push himself deep into you.

“Not gonna lie, Angel,” he sighs as his cock bottoms out, “I’ve been looking forward to ducking you into your white sheets for months.” You blush as he starts to move, a soft moan leaving you as his hips roll into yours. “Could fuck this pussy all day, like a fucking drug,” he kisses your cheek. You bite your lip trying to not moan, but each thrust presses that perfect spot as he knows your body just all too well.

“Eddie…” you whimper out his name, your ankles crossing behind his back. His thrusts stay slow, sensual, easing you into it as the knot already forms in your stomach. He’s gonna be the death of you one day.

He lays his head on your shoulder, tilting it downward so he can watch the place your bodies intersect, watching his cock thrust in and out of you achingly slow. “Eddie, please,” you mutter out a beg, wanting him to pick up speed, to just put you out of your misery, but he doesn’t. “Not yet, baby girl,” he kisses you once, twice, three time before staring down at you, “gonna fuck you nice a slow, watch you get sensitive before letting you finally cum.”

He does this for a good thirty minutes, making you get testy as you cling to him, wanting him to just fuck you harder. “Eddie, please.” He picks up the pace, thrusting his hips into you a little harder. You gasp, the feeling sending you so close to your climax you have to fully concentrate to not finish. “Eds..!” You grip at his shoulders.

“Go on, Baby, cum for me.” You do, harder than you’ve ever before. Your eyes water, thighs clenching around his hips as you let out the most erotic sounds. After that it only takes him a few more thrusts before he’s whimpering out an orgasm of his own, hiding his face in your hair.

You stay like that for a moment, just both catching your breath. After a few minutes he pulls away, tying the condom and dropping it in the trash can under your desk. He slips back on his boxers before climbing back onto the bed, it shifts under his weight. You turn over to him as he lays next to you, pulling the covers over you both.

“I really enjoyed that.” You speak first, pulling the pillow under your head closer. Eddie smiles at you, his body fully turned in your direction, laying on his side. His hand lifts and pushes a few loose strands of your hair behind your ear, “Yeah?” To which you nod. “I did do,” he follows up.

You feel your cheeks heat up as you hide your face into the pillow, feeling butterflies flutter around in your stomach. “Like, I really liked that,” you hope the tone expresses what you mean. You didn’t just like it, you loved it.

Eddie can’t stop the corners of his mouth from lifting, watching you hide your face, your ears turning red from your flush. He leans over and places a soft kiss against your hair. “I really liked that, too,” he emphasizes the same word and you groan as you curl into your blankets more, making him chuckle.

“Angel,” his hand presses against your bare back, his warm fingers running up and down your bare skin. It’s not sexual, just soft, comforting, like home. “I love you, so fucking much,” his voice falters a bit, immediately gravitating your attention. You snap your head up, seeing his eyes looking so soft, so loving. It makes you wanna cry.

But you don’t, taking in a shaky breath as you shift closer to him, pressing your head against his chest. “I love you, Eddie Munson. So much.” You nuzzle your face into his skin, your hands making their way around his torso, pushing him to lay on his back with you on top of him. “You make me so happy,” you mumble, leaving a couple kisses against his bare chest.

Then your door opens. The creaking of the hinges the first thing you hear before it’s followed with “Darling, do you have-“ your mother’s head pops into the doorframe, your whole world crashing as she makes direct eye contact with you.

The door bursts open, the knob banging into the wall loudly, making you jump. “Momma!” You yell out, pulling the blankets up your shoulders. She does say anything, which is somehow scarier. She just stomps farther in, gripping her fists around your powder blue comforter before yanking it back. Thankfully, Eddie sees this about to happen before you do, and grips tighter at the sheets underneath to keep you just covered.

“What in the hell is this!?” Your mother’s voice booms out, your eyes shutting tight as you flinch at her loud voice. “Momma-“ “No. Don’t ‘Momma’ me! I knew we were being too easy with you! Honey!” She walks back out, stomping her feet angrily, calling out to your father, as she makes her way down the stairs.

You both scurry out of the bed, your heart racing, “no no no no!” You quickly snatch your underwear off the floor slipping them on and following with your nightgown, Eddie doing the same with his jeans and tee. “This is so bad, this is really bad…!” You follow after her as quickly as possible, Eddie following after you.

You reach the bottom of the stairs, booking it into the dining room where your mother is already telling your father, “Momma, please, just listen-!” You feel your eyes watering, genuinely terrified as to what will happen next. “You’re… tramp of a daughter had a boy-” Eddie enters the room and your mother gestures to him aggressively, as if his presence fuels her anger more, “this boy in her room! I found them entangled together!” Your mother looks absolutely mortified.

“Please just let me explain!” You quickly cut in, looking at your father with those little doe eyes you know he can’t deny. Your father sighs, glancing at your mother then back at you then his gaze shifts to behind you, at Eddie. “Explain.” Your mother scoffs at him, “There’s nothing to explain! He’s ruined her! I can’t have another scandal with this family! Logan is already dealing with his divorce!” Your mother’s voice shakes with rage, you can feel her blood boiling from where you stand, “What will the church think?”

Your father sighs. “Sweetheart,” his eyes set on you, the same ones that used to calm you as a child, “Who is this boy?” You hesitate but straighten up your posture, glad to be given the chance. “Daddy,” you reach other to Eddie and grab his arm, pulling him forward, “This is Eddie, he’s my boyfriend.” Your mother lets out a cold laugh at this, but says nothing.

Your father takes a deep breath but before he can speak, a voice draw the attention of everyone in the room. “Oh, hey, Eddie? Good to see you again, man.”

Logan steps into the room, walking straight up to Eddie, taking his hand in his own and shaking it. “I didn’t know you were meeting everyone tonight.” He looks over at you, obviously a little confused.

“I-“ Eddie goes to speak, but your mom interrupts him. “I found him in your sister’s room, Logan. In her bed!” Logan tries not to show any drastic emotions to this news, but you catch his eye twitch. “Ah, yeah I can see where you’d consider that a problem,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“You know this boy, son?” Your father asks, pointing to Eddie, but his eyes fixed on your brother. “Yeah,” Logan speaks, looking at you one more time before shifting his gaze to your nervous boyfriend, “met him a while ago, he’s a good kid.” He pats Eddie’s shoulder. “Found out he was dating (y/n) not too long ago. They make a cute couple don’t they?” He smiles at you.

Your father looks Eddie over, “You believe in God, boy?” “Yes, sir.” Eddie speaks up decently fast, not taking any chances, but you know damn well his belief is questionable. Then the older man looks back at you, his eyes physically softening.

Your father’s always had a sweet spot for you, getting defensive when your mother would beat you for stupid things. You’re his ‘god’s blessing,’ probably the only person in this house to feel that way. And that’s what made you favor him over your mother.

“Does he treat you right? Doesn’t hit you or anything?” You smile at him, “No, sir, he’s kind and sweet. Treats me well.” You keep it simple and straight to the point. He looks back over at Eddie before continuing, “Do you love ‘em?” “Ha!” Your mother laughs, “love him? Honey, she doesn’t know-” “Yes.” You cut her off, your arms squeezing tighter on Eddie’s, “love him with all my heart, Daddy.”

Your father sighs. “If Logan thinks he’s good enough I don’t see why we should have a problem with him.” Your mother squeaks, flabbergasted by your father’s words, “because he was in her bed? This is a Christian household! I will not let a teen pregnancy tarnish this family!” “You use condoms?” The question was directed at Eddie this time, making you both flush red. “Y-Yes, sir.” “Then that’s that.” Your father stands, coming over and patting Eddie on the shoulder, “nice to meet you, Eddie,” before walking out of the room, your mother chasing after him.

You, Eddie, and Logan all stand there for a moment, a little shook after the very direct question. Logan speaks first, turning to you both. “You two are fucking stupid.” He speaks through his teeth, but he’s not angry, he’s trying not to laugh, “my God, really? At home? Come on.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “I better get something from that talk, cause Jesus save me, that was awful.” “I’ll get you a free drink at the Hideout,” Eddie follows quietly, which you just look at him. “Deal. After that shit show, I’ll fucking need it, but that’s just your payment,” Logan turns to you, “you owe me, kid. Jesus, now you know why I drink.”

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