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nomsfaultau · 2 months

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Dark sbi where Tommy accidentally kidnaps Philza, not knowing he’s a crime lord. And he swears it was an accident! He just, you know, panicked. Tommy and Tubbo were just minding their own business slapping graffiti on a building (practicing their art skills, you see) when a cop started screeching at them, apparently not an appreciator of the fine arts. And since Mrs. Innit would KILL him if he got arrested, Tommy panics and takes a hostage, shouting at the cop not to take a step further or he’ll kill the random civilian he’s ducked behind so he can’t get shot.

Meanwhile Philza isn’t entirely paying attention, and realizes there’s suddenly a small child sheltering behind him from a cop. He gives the cop the nastiest look imaginable, which causes them to back off enough that Tommy thinks his plan is working. Once the negotiations start Philza is baffled by who would have the gall to kidnap him, and so poorly at that. Frankly it’s an umbrage to face the work of an amateur.

Well, till the abductor asks his name. ��…do you not know who I am.?”

Tommy squints at the guy. His suit looks kinda fancy? Is it better or worse for him if he managed to randomly capture some Wall Street schmuck? “Hell no,” he hisses. “And I don’t care. I’m a dangerous guy alright? You don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

Philza’s laugh causes the cop to advance, wagering the situation isn’t intense. But because Tubbo’s ‘Yes And’ game is a force to be reckoned with, he casually pulls out a nerf gun (painted to look real for a prank on Ranboo) and trains it on the cop. Philza is positively delighted as he realizes just how amateur his abductors are. Oh this will be a riot to watch.

With more bluffing than Tommy knew he had in him, promising the hostage 20 bucks if he pretended to go along with it, the pure manic chaos bleeding from Tubbo’s eyes and ample gun waving, and creative use of spray paint in the eyes of the chasing cops, Tommy and Tubbo somehow manage to book it. For some reason the hostage keeps up with them instead of escaping. Huh. Can you develop Stockholm syndrome that fast? Tommy would ask, but he’s panting from sprinting. And as they live in an unjust world, hostage guy isn’t even breaking a sweat despite the three piece suit.

“You’re not going to get far on foot,” Philza murmurs. As corrupt and useless as the cops are for most things in this city, he doesn’t imagine there’d actually be that much fuss over a random man being kidnapped, but he wonders what they’ll do if spooked a little more. It’s been amusing thus far. The boys bicker, then elect to force him to drive as neither have licenses. They don’t ask him to drive to their homes, instead some secondary location. Smart, albeit Philza will definitely know both addresses within the hour.

While Tommy is busy ‘threatening’ Philza about the consequences of not getting them there, Tubbo just leans over from a bag of chips he’s munching on and offers them to Phil. Tommy rounds on him, less for showing exploitable kindness to the hostage and more for eating the Doritos that were meant to be his. Philza almost chides them for revealing each other’s names, but decides it might just be easier to hand them notes at the end of this. So far they aren’t getting a passing grade in abduction. But he has to admit it’s far more entertaining than the ‘business’ meeting he was planning to attend.

(Techno, meanwhile, hasn’t heard from Philza and is going BALLISTIC trying to figure out who kidnapped him. From the police report Phil just kinda went along with it, and looked terrified after a private exchange with the abductor, which has to mean the threat is ungodly to convince the Angel of Death to submit. Techno’s about to have a panic attack imagining the unthinkable horrors happening to his best friend, and is only holding it off by doing atrocities about it. This is the THIRD secret criminal organization he’s ripped apart in the last two hours and PHILZA ISNT HERE EITHER!?)

Philza has decided he likes his kidnappers. They’re not experienced in the slightest, but they make up for it with bravado, determination, and a certain lack of rationality that is necessary in the line of business Philza is in. Yes. They’ll do nicely if given a little guidance.

It’s half an hour before either of them notice Philza is driving aimlessly and they don’t recognize the city around them at all. “Hm? Next time I don’t recommend you give the hostage control of the vehicle. I could have immediately driven to the police station.”

Tommy frowns, almost more nervous at the implication the obvious blackmail would go unused. “…why didn’t you?”

“There’s no love lost between the cops and I. And even more importantly, you amuse me. I like your…potential.” He grins at the soft click of Tommy covertly trying the handle and finding the car doors locked. “Getting out at this speed is almost always fatal, Tommy.”

Tubbo lifts the muzzle of the fake gun towards him. “Let us go right. now.”

Philza leans over, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. The teen gulps at the glimpse of the holster Philza’s jacket was hiding, sharing a wide eyed look with Tommy. “I’m not exactly scared of foam bullets, mate.” He chuckles lowly at the tension freezing both of them. “Relax. You’ll be home by dinner. After you went through all the effort of kidnapping me to avoid trouble with your parents, I don’t intend to ruin it. I like you two; you have spunk I don’t see often. After all, it takes a lot of guts to kidnap the leader of the Syndicate.”

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prickly-paprikash · 9 months

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Castlevania Nocturne really made every character a bad bitch.

Annette? Baddest Bitch who punches slavers in the throat and gets a reckless hunk to fall for her. She's an earth and a metalbender to boot! Plus did you see her hair?????????? Gorgeous. Stunning. Beloved.

Richter? Bro was fighting like Zuko. While everyone around him like Drolta and Olrox were serving cunt, he was serving hands. E for Everyone. Trevor and Sypha would be so proud.

Juste? Depressed GILF with a glorious beard and hair combo? Who wielded the Belmont Whip like it was nothing? Fucking baddie.

Drolta? PINK FIRE HAIR. HER SHOES WITH NO HEELS. SHE WAS SO FUCKING COOL. I loved her so much. Every single scene she was in was a delight.

Tera? Kindly MILF vibes. The mommy next door. Woof woof bark bark. I would die for her. Kill for her. The Abbott is a fucking idiot for choosing a God who can't save him over Mommy.

Olrox? I'm so normal for him. Trust me. I'm cool. I'm chill. I'm not jealous of Mizrak or anything like that hahahahahahahahahahah. I don't wake up flushed in sweat, thinking I had Olrox wrapped around me. No! Nope. Not one bit. I'm cool. I'm a guy. Hahahaha.

Erzsebet? Look she's obviously a lesbian and has no interest in a schmuck like me, but she's so cool. She's wonderful. I despise her with every fibre of my being, but interwoven in that hatred is admiration. She is that bitch.

Alucard? What the hell am I supposed to talk about?

IT'S ALUCARD.

#castlevania #castlevania nocturne #richter belmont #annette castlevania #annette #tera #drolta #drolta tzuentes #olrox #erzsebet bathory #alucard #adrien tepes #paprikash ramblings

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 10 months

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New Fear

I have been on tumblr a long time. A looooong time. Far longer than I should have been, really.

And I've been arguing with schmucks about birds being dinosaurs... pretty much that whole time. Folks tend to get angry when a dinosaur blog posts birds, after all. It happens.

And while the game of whack a mole is ancient, it's not unpredictable. Usually, it ends in one of two ways:

the person admits they were wrong, and they back down

the person stops arguing with me and blocks me

I'm okay with either one, really. the former is ideal, the latter at least brings me peace.

Never before this past weekend has someone insisted they were right no matter what I say

And this isn't a coincidence.

Over the past few decades, anti-science sentiment has risen worldwide. I mean you just have to look at the COVID19 pandemic, or general reactions to the problems of climate change.

While of course people who think their opinion matters more than evidence have always existed, they have never been quite this bold before.

The idea that the colloquial definition of dinosaur matters, at all, is a completely new idea and one that has no basis in reality.

And yet, multiple people this past weekend argued exactly that.

And it sounds exceptionally similar to the idea that people could pick and choose things about COVID19 to believe, or the general republican position on science (only things that back up their bigotry are true).

It really seems to reflect a general increase in anti science sentiment and public anti-intellectualism.

Reality isn't actually up for debate. Reality isn't actually subjective. And science is the measure of reality

This isn't the same as the biases of society impacting science and making it worse. Saying "what people think is more important than science" is not the same as saying "science forgot a very important variable / factor / to consider data gained by different cultures / to have a wide variety of perspectives/ etc."

And allowing people to continue to perpetuate and believe in delusions leads directly to the spread of misinformation, leading to more people not understanding reality, and so on

This matters because reality matters. Because the reality of our world is not something we can change or escape. And, in fact, us ignoring the reality of the world - like thinking we can have infinite growth on a finite planet - is directly leading to the destruction of that world (climate change).

I am terrified of the rise of anti-science sentiment. I am terrified of the rise of cherry picking, deciding reality is what you want it to be, ignoring evidence. We see this from purely scientific topics all the way to social justice (how much of racism is ignoring the evidence of a) race being a social construct and b) how much racism impacts people's lives? Almost all of it).

This is bigger than birds being dinosaurs or evolution or climate change. This is about our society going on a deeply disturbing and self-destructive path.

And I really don't know what to do about it.

#birds are dinosaurs #whack a mole #science isn't subjective #climate change #covid19

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tom-foolery-incorporated · 1 year

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Hi! If you’re down/comfortable I have a request for mammon accidentally walking in on MC touching themselves and then noticing they’re (only) wearing a shirt they had borrowed from him 👀 I keep thinking about how the brothers would react differently to this, but especially him lol

I am a WHORE for this prompt! Anon you chad sigma giggacock having babe.

MDNI 18+ NSFW, Dom! Mammon, possessiveness, MC masturbating, AFAB! gender neutral reader, racially ambiguous, Bad Dragon dildo use, spit swapping, dirty talk, Mammon jerks off into you, spitting, teasing, Mammon leaves you high and dry

You had gotten into the habit of locking your door whenever you decided to have a little 'you time'. You didn't want your demon housemates walking in on you with your fingers deep inside yourself seeing how they disregarded knocking with such a passion. Maybe it was the long day at RAD or just the exhaustion from classes in general but you forgot to lock your door this one time. That's how you ended up frozen in place with Mammon equally stunned and frozen in the doorway while you were mid thrust pushing your Bad Dragon up your pussy. Your legs were spread wide open to make room for the big toy with your back pressed against the wall. The shirt you stole from Mammon for pajamas was bunched up around your waist to give you more room to fuck yourself. You were essentially on display with your pussy stretched wide. You quickly pulled your knees together and tucked your legs in to try to hide the toy currently stretching you to your limit.

Mammon made a sputtering noise before slamming your door shut and locking it. "Stupid human," he grumbled, "what do ya think you're doin'?!" You could see the obvious tent in his pants starting to form. "Anyone of those schmucks could have walked in on ya fucking yourself!" At this point Mammon was frantically removing his jacket to discard wherever it landed on the floor to move onto his shirt all the while he marched towards you. He unbuttoned his jeans giving a hiss of relief at the lessened pressure on his hard cock. "I thought I locked my door!" you tried to defend yourself but Mammon wasn't hearing it. He knelt on the bed and kicked your legs open using his knee. Each of his hands was pressed on your knees to keep your legs spread. "And what are ya doin' using this?" He grabbed the base of your toy and shoved it in until the base brushed your clit. You gasped and moaned out at the sudden feeling of being so full. "Mammo-" "Shut up!" Mammon growled pulling your toy out then jamming it right back up your cunt. "You like that?" he said under his breath, "you like having your pussy stretched out like this?" Mammon slid his other hand down your thigh to hold your waist while he continued fucking you on your own dildo. His paused for a second when his fingers made contact with the shirt you were wearing and took in the image before him. You were sweating with lust wearing his clothes and fucking yourself open on a monster cock.

You were wearing his clothes.

Mammon took a tense breath in as a wet stain slowly grew on the front of his boxers. "Fuck," he mumbled under his breath before taking your lips between his own. You moaned into his mouth bucking and rolling your hips against the faux cock he moved it in and out of you. Your hands found their perch on his neck gripping the baby hairs that grew there. Mammon groaned against your lips before taking your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging slightly earning a shaky moan from you. "Look at you," Mammon said in a breathless voice. "All fucked out in my shirt." He leaned down to attack your neck with bites. You could feel him sucking on the sensitive skin then leaving harsh bite marks around where he left a hickey. You were sure he was doing this to mark his territory in a way. "You're so good at takin' cock," Mammon moaned watching how your pussy swallowed the toy. "I wanna see you cum on this thing." Mammon thrusted the toy into you faster causing sparks of pleasure to ignite inside your abdomen. You could feel the orgasm building in your stomach and in your thighs as he moved to rub your clit with his other hand while continuing to thrust the toy into you.

"Fuckin' slut," Mammon growled. "In here rubbing your pussy when you should have called me!" You cried out when the band in your stomach finally snapped and the waves of your orgasm crashed against you. "Yeah," Mammon said with his eyes trained on your fucked-out face, "that's it baby." He slowly calmed his thrusting down until he fully pulled the toy out of you earning a small whine of over-stimulation from having such a big object slide against your walls once again.

Through half-lidded eyes you watched Mammon take the toy into his mouth to suck all of your juices off of it before tossing it to the side. He leaned in to take your lips into his once again which you happily accepted then squeaked in shock as he pushed his spit mixed with your pussy juices into your mouth. Mammon gripped your jaw as he pulled away leaving a string of saliva connecting your faces. "Swallow," he ordered squishing your cheeks slightly. You obeyed and took the debauched mixture down your throat causing Mammon to release a pleased groan. "So fuckin' good for me," he moaned going back in to kiss at your neck. "Mammon," you moaned, brushing your hands down his shoulders and across his toned chest. "Say my name again," he said shakily into your neck. You took one of his nipples between your forefinger and thumb giving hims a teasing pinch, "Mammon, I was thinking about you before you walked in."

You couldn't tell if the gasp he let out was from your confession or the stimulation to his chest.

"What were you thinkin' bout?" Mammon groaned with his face pressed into your neck.

"You."

"Fuck, MC, I know that! What was I doin'?"

"I was thinking about having your cock in my throat."

You felt Mammon shiver at that.

"And you using my holes as your personal cum dump."

Mammon gripped your waist with a tense grip. The fabric underneath his touch a further reminder to him who you gave yourself to. Who was your first man and who will always be yours. "Fuck yeah," he said breathlessly, "only I get to pour my cum in ya." You shivered and nodded in agreement with your lower lip between your teeth. Mammon rose from his nesting spot between your neck and shoulder to press his forehead to yours. You stared at his lust filled face with dreamy eyes.

"MC," Mammon said in a breathy voice, "I need you so bad."

You ran your fingers through his white hair and leaned in to kiss his nose. Mammon felt his face warm with your gentle affection. His hands snaked lower to grip your hips and squeeze the fat there. Your own hand moved to pull his throbbing cock from his boxers. Mammon moaned your name at the feeling of your fingers on the velvety skin of his cock. Your skilled hand grasped his shaft and pulled up and down at a gentle pace.

"You're so handsome, Mammon," you said holding the back of his neck so he couldn't move his face away from yours. You could feel Mammon's breathing pick up from the intense eye contact. "Fuck MC," Mammon moaned, "I don't know if I could go a day without feeling that sweet pussy around me." You smashed your face against his in a passionate yet sloppy kiss. The sweet whines and groans Mammon made against your lips made you shiver in delight. You could feel his cock twitch and pulse under the palm of your hand signaling to you that he was getting close.

Mammon separated first from the kiss leaving a trail of spit connecting your lips which he gladly licked up. He grabbed the wrist of your hand that was rubbing his throbbing cock to still its movements. "I don' wanna waste my cum like that, baby," Mammon groaned trying to hold back his hips from thrusting into your soft hand. "Lemme cum inside you, please." Your eyebrows furrowed in awe of the pleading tone Mammon took on. "Yes, baby," you breathed, "you can cum inside me." Mammon swore under his breath as he flipped your lower body up so your knees were pressed against your shoulders. Your breath became shallower in this position and you could feel the back of your thighs straining against Mammon's hold. "Hold your legs up, baby," Mammon grumbled running his muscular hand up and down the back of your thigh. You nodded and grabbed the back of your knees to hold yourself open the best you can. Your pussy slobbered in the presence of Mammon making him knowingly smirk. This was for him, the pleasure he brought you and the pleasure your body brought to him was all his for the taking.

Giving his cock a couple pumps, Mammon lined himself up to your hole only pushing the head of his cock inside of you. You looked up at Mammon with a pleading gaze but the demon only chuckled. "Gonna use ya as my personal cum dump," he teased now vivaciously rubbing the shaft of his cock. "Gonna remind you whose pussy this is." You moved your hips the best you could in this position to get any stimulation inside of your pussy. Mammon groaned at the feeling of your velvety walls moving around the sensitive head of his cock. Mammon lurched forward propping himself up on one of his hands that slammed right next to your head. He grit his teeth and let out a gurgled whine before shooting thick ropes of cum into your pussy. You gasped at the warm feeling inside of you before Mammon pulled the head of his cock out allowing some of his release to dribble out.

"Mammon-" you were cut off when the demon placed his hand over your mouth and used you as leverage to push himself up. "There's a good human," Mammon groaned seeing his seed drip out of your spent hole. He let his hand run down across your torso to your thigh enjoying the simple texture of your skin. Then when you least expected it, he worked up some saliva and spat on your dripping cunt. You gasped feeling his spit drool down your folds.

"Gotta shoot in about 30 minutes," Mammon said before tucking his cock back into his pants, "I'll be back later today." And with that he pushed himself off of your bed and left your room leaving you speechless and wanting for more.

#mammon #mammon smut #mammon x reader #mammon x reader smut #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me x reader smut #obey me smut #obey me fanfiction #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #my writing

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goldenamaranthe-blog · 4 days

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Street Rat: Chaggie - Aladdin AU

STOP! THIEF!

Vaggie: *running theough the streets of Pride with a small mob on her tail, hood drawn, and mask up* Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Mobster Boss: I'm gonna sheer your clit off for stealing from me, you little cunt!

Vaggie: Oh, so I have time then! You'd have to find the fucking thing first! *scales the nearest building easily and starts running along rooftops*

Mobster Boss: Don't just fucking stand there! Get her!

Goons: *scramble to find a way up to the roof*

Vaggie: And like that, I'm in the clear- WHOA!!!! *dodges a swinging hammer aimed at her head and speeds the other direction* Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Goon 1: She's over here!

Vaggie: *parkour jumps onto the next building and starts shuffling down the wall when a hand reaches out and pulls her inside* Shit!

Angel: For fuck sakes, Vags! Get in here!

Goons: *look down to the alley below* Where'd she go?! Where'd she go?!

Goon 2: Uh.... that way! *starts running the opposite direction with the rest following*

Vaggie: *exhales heavily* Thanks, Angel.

Angel: Psh! Don't thank me. Thank the girls for letting me hold you in here.

Vaggie: *eye widens and she looks around the room at all the girls in various stages of undress with a blush* Uhhh..... Hello, ladies. Um... thank you for letting Angel help me out.

Girls: *huff and go about their business*

Angel: Yeah, they're not a fan of broke ass bitches and bastards.

Vaggie: I can see that.... Oh, by the way. Here. *plops a wad of Hellbucks into Angel's hand* That should cover the rest of what I owe you.

Angel: Daaaaaaamn, Vagina. You really risked your neck for this haul, didn't you?

Vaggie: Vaggie... *shrugs* Better in the hands of those who need it instead of some greedy mob boss who just uses it as a spicy fleshlight.

Angel: *thumbs through the wad of cash with a smirk* Awwww, yeah. Gotta love musky money~ Well, thanks for the "donation"! So, what other trouble are ya getting into these days, Vagina?

Vaggie: For fuck sakes, it's Vaggie and you know it.... and that's fucking disgusting. I'm just trying to stay alive on the streets. You know that.

Angel: Well, there's a big festival going on in the middle of town today! Lots of schmucks with loose change for easy pickins if you catch my drift.~

Vaggie: ....What's the festival for?

Angel: Eh. Some prince or something coming to try and sway the Princess into marrying him. Doubt it's gonna work.

Vaggie: *scoffs with a snort* Not if those demon goats have anything to say about it.

Meanwhile:

Charlie: I am NOT meeting with Prince Seviathan!

Lucifer: *sweating* Come on, sweetie. Just talk to him a little. He traveled all the way from Envy to see you.

Charlie: *huffs and crosses her arms* How could you expect me to even consider him as a possible suitor when he's such an arrogant idiot! He's a jerk to literally everyone, Dad!

Lucifer: Oh, I'm sure he's gotten better since his early teens, baby.

*trumpets herald Seviathan's approach*

Lucifer: Just..... try to talk to him. *glances at Razzle and Dazzle* And YOU TWO be on your best behavior!

Razzle & Dazzle: *hooves tuck behind their backs as they sit up at attention* Baaa!/Baaap!

Lucifer: Good! *sighs* I'll be downstairs to greet him. *leaves*

Charlie: *arms still crossed* ......You two didn't actually agree to that, right?

Razzle & Dazzle: *hold up one hoof each that has their toes crossed*

Charlie: Good boys!

#street rat #street rat au #aladdin au #hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie #vaggie #lucifer #angel dust #razzle #dazzle #razzle and dazzle #seviathan mention #part 1 #im sick of ao3 tags not correlating so im putting this here

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princessmisery666 · 4 months

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Just Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean is trying to embrace his emotions and look to the future. Part 3 of 3. Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, mentions of cheating.

W/C: 4,901.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mentioned: Jody Mills.

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: ”Would you please, shut up, I’m trying to confess my love for you.”

A/N: Obviously this was supposed to posted on a certain day (you'll get what I mean when you read) but it just wasn't where I wanted it to be at the time so I waited. Two-ish weeks later ain't bad though.

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

Pulling off the highway, Dean grumbles, “This is stupid,” to himself again. Yet, he had called Jody to make sure you weren’t working, made the two-hour drive, and hadn't veered off route to the nearest bar.

It’s been a few weeks since he saw you at Jody’s cabin. You’ve spoken on the phone a few times and met him halfway to Kentucky to give him a lore book Claire had borrowed. But no in-depth conversations have been had, which he’s okay with because one, it’s a conversation to be had in person and not while he is neck deep in a case, and B, he doesn’t know what to say or how to tell you what he wants because he’s still not sure himself.

So, in the safe confines of Baby, he asks himself again why is he driving to your house on Unattached Drifter Christmas or ‘Valentine’s Day’ for the schmucks?

Before he can do a little soul-searching and find the answer, his cell phone rings.

“Hey Sam, what’s up?” he answers.

“Why are you in Sioux Falls? Something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine. Wait, how do you know where I am?”

“You were way too vague about where you were going. You always have a plan for today,” Sam explains, “figured you were up to no good and better keep an eye on you in case you get into trouble like last time.”

“Last time was almost five years ago, and for the hundredth time, I didn’t know she was married,” Dean snarks.

“Plus, you didn’t turn off your GPS,” Sam says as if he hadn’t heard Dean’s argument. “So why are you in Sioux Falls on Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

He falters for a second, thinking of an excuse, and before his pause becomes suspicious, he blurts, “There’s a new bar opened up. Wanna try it out.”

“This bar called Y/N’s, by any chance?”

“What? No!”

Sam laughs, and that all-knowing chuckle reminds Dean that Sam is onto him and there’s no point in denying anything. “It’s a good thing, Dean,” his brother assures him. “You may not have told her outright, but she’s smart. She’ll recognize you showing up today, of all days, is your way of telling her you want…” Dean waits, hoping that Sam will impart the answer that eludes him, but huffs in defeat when his brother adds, “Whatever it is you want.”

“This is stupid,” Dean grumbles, “I’m being stupid.”

“No, it's not,” Sam scolds. “I’m sure today will be tough for her. So, just being there for her is a good thing. It doesn’t have to be deep conversations. Showing up and supporting her is enough.”

Dean considers that Sam is probably right, but it doesn’t make him feel any less insecure. “Maybe.”

“Have fun,” Sam says before hanging up.

Five minutes from his final destination, his phone chimes, alerting him to a text message.

Jody: She’s at Lucky Shots, fifth wheeling it.

“Dammit, Sam!” he snarls, but he’s not really mad, saves him a trip to her empty house.

The break at Jody’s cabin was revitalizing, and the feeling has stuck for the few weeks you’ve been back in your routine. It probably helps that you removed every trace of Luke from your life the moment you got home. The confrontation with Dean was cathartic, too. You’ve analyzed what he’d said about not wanting you to meet someone new and that he missed you, and asked Jody for her opinion, too. She’d wistfully smiled as if aware of something you weren’t, “Maybe you gave up on him too quickly.”

You didn’t want to admit that Jody was probably right. Yet you had made assumptions, choosing to believe that he didn’t want anything serious, and after admitting to yourself that you wanted something more, you had decided to go out and find it somewhere else.

That realization turned out to be at the forefront of your mind today. You're thankful to your friends, Laura and Sara, for the invitation and for not allowing you to stay home and eat your emotions. Being the fifth wheel isn’t the issue. It doesn’t bother you, even on Valentine’s Day. They chose a lowkey, casual games bar, not some romantic, candlelit restaurant, and for that, you are eternally grateful. The issue is Luke is there. It could be worse. He could be with her, but fortunately, he’s with two of his buddies.

The bar has darts, beer pong, pool, skee ball, knock down a clown, and a few other amusements. You're locked into a tight game of girls versus boys beer pong - the beer having been replaced with tequila shots - and you can feel Luke’s every glance as if he’s waiting for an opportunity to approach.

It’s the last thing you want, and your friends were kind enough to offer to leave when he arrived, but you stubbornly refused. You had no reason to leave. He should be filled with so much shame and regret that he can’t bear to face you, but he has the audacity to look like a wounded puppy, and that makes you angry.

The game is down to the wire, and the final ball is down to Chris and Dylan, your friends' partners. Dylan massages Chris’ shoulders, “Come on, buddy, you got this. For the win!”

You all hold your breath as Chris releases the ball, and the boys celebrate the victory with loud cheers as it lands in the cup, having barely touched the sides. You, Laura, and Sara shoot another round of tequila. The sourness of the lemon you suck on adds to the disapproving look you catch Luke throwing your way.

Asshole. How dare he judge you!

“I demand a rematch!” Laura declares.

You agree. “My turn to buy the drinks.”

Sara escorts you to the bar. Though she masks it as helping you carry the drinks back to the table, you know she’s doing it to protect you from an unwanted visitor.

“I need the bathroom, but I’ll meet you back here,” Sara tells you, “if he comes over before I make it back, stomp on his foot and poke him in the eye.”

You laugh, really belly laugh, because she’s totally serious, and it’s also hilarious to think he’d have the balls to actually approach you.

“Who’re we looking out for, honey?” the elderly woman beside you asks, lips pursed and looking sassy.

Sara tells her, “Other end of the bar, tall white guy, blond hair.”

“Green shirt?” she asks for confirmation.

“That’s the one.”

“Uh-huh,” she tuts, “I know the type, handsome as an angel, spirit of the devil. You go on to the bathroom. I’ve got your friend until you get back.”

You don’t doubt the lady’s confidence. You wouldn’t mess with her.

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Call me Beverly,” she introduces, and Sara shakes her hand before skittering off to the bathroom.

You wait your turn to be served, listening to your protector tell you all about her first husband, “the devil incarnate.”

If only she knew.

You face forward, not even side-glancing in Luke’s direction, not wanting to give him any inclination you may want to talk. You don’t. Beverly turns and rests her back against the bar to see the whole room without looking over her shoulder.

“Oh, sweetie,” your new friend says, “there’s another one of those handsome-as-an-angel men walking this way, and I think he’s looking for you.”

You still don’t turn, but look up into the mirror behind the bar and see him. Dean maneuvering around people and tables, coming straight toward you.

Unintentionally, you gasp, a sheepish smile creeping in as you lock eyes with him in the mirror.

“From that reaction, I don’t think you need help with this one,” Beverly says, sweetly taking a step to the left to make room for Dean.

“Hey,” he says, a half smile making him look a little awkward.

“Hey,” you say as he leans in to kiss your cheek, and when he’s close, you whisper, “Everything okay?”

He pulls back, nodding with a slight frown as if the question was offensive or something. “Yeah, everything is fine, just passing through and wanted to say hi.”

“Passing through?” you ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

His frown deepens, clearly trying to sell the lie, pretending to be confused by the suspicion.

You smirk. “Just happen to be passing through on Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “How much do you and Sam talk?”

“A lot,” you confess, “emails, phone calls, memes, and then there’s the weekly newsletter.”

“Busted.” He laughs, and it shakes off whatever anxiety he was feeling.

The bartender comes over and takes your order. You add on whatever Beverly is drinking for the rest of the night, which reminds you Sara has been gone a while. You turn around to look for her, and Dean looks over his shoulder. Sara’s back at the table. All of them are staring at you but quickly and comically turn around as if they weren’t when Dean finds them.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, “they’re just looking out for me cause Deputy Dick is here.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. “Is me being here going to be a problem?”

“Probably, but that's his problem.”

Dean laughs, and you really have missed it. The easy relationship you had seems to be a thing of the past, but you want it back. Maybe not the sex because you’ve realized that's where the problem lies. You want more from him than you'll ever get, but at least the friendship could be mended.

“But don’t waste your Christmas on me, Dean,” you say. It's subtle but enough to tell him that hooking up is off the table.

That disgruntled frown appears again, and he looks genuinely offended. “I’m not here ‘cause I think I’m gonna get laid.” He explains, shrugging. “Running into you isn’t a coincidence. I was on my way to your place because I didn’t want you to be alone tonight. Jody told me where you were.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from that?”

“Take it for what it is,” Dean suggests. “I’m trying.”

You can work with that. Trying to be friends sounds like just what you need. No pressure or expectations from either side, so you quickly squash the thought that it means something deeper that he’s choosing to spend time with you instead of finding a warm body to lie with.

“Okay.” You smile, trying to look as sweet as possible. “Well, can part of that trying be helping us win at beer pong?”

“Girls versus boys?”

“Obviously.”

He scoffs, “Absolutely not! And you get an extra shot for asking me to rig a sacred game.” He hands you a shot off the tray of drinks, and you knock it back.

He watches you, grinning the whole time, and you shake your head as if it will shake away the taste. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“Don’t try and soften me up, Winchester,” you warn, “I’m not gonna take it easy on you.”

He shrugs, “Was worth a shot,” and walks away with the tray of drinks.

Chris and Dylan merrily call his name as he approaches, and you follow, smiling fondly.

“Now the odds are even. Prepare to go down, ladies,” Dean says, taking off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbow.

The games continued; the boys won at Beer Pong, but the girls won two rounds of darts. Once Chris and Dylan had gushed over the Impala, you said your goodbyes in the parking lot. Each of your friends hugged you. Dean got a kiss on the cheek from the ladies, and the guys gave him a firm handshake before pulling each other into a one-armed hug. It looked natural and easy, and you love how well Dean slots into the group.

You realize you’re staring as he drives, and he glances over when he feels your eyes on him. “Are we still social distancing or something?” he jokes, reaching a hand over to tug on your leg, requesting you get closer.

You oblige, sliding over the leather seat, and he slips an arm behind your shoulders to rest on the seat back. “Thank you for that,” you say, kissing his cheek.

“For what?” he asks.

“Pretending like you couldn’t hit that bullseye with your eyes closed.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be a mechanic, right? Not sure a mechanic would have perfect marksmanship.”

“If you’re not sold on the mechanic thing, you can always tell them you’ve changed your profession,” you suggest, and with a teasing wink, add, “but they all already know you’re good with your hands.”

“Would you, for once, get your mind out of the gutter?” Dean jests, “I already told you, no sex for you.”

“Sorry, Mr Winchester, sir,” you joke, “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He laughs but looks out at the road. His fingers lightly brush your neck. You aren’t sure he realizes he’s doing it. When you were sleeping together, it became a thing - absentmindedly, he’d lightly stroke your skin while watching a movie or falling asleep. It's familiar and comforting, and you lay your head on his shoulder the rest of the ride home.

Dean follows you up your path, and while you search your bag for your keys, you notice him looking to the left, eyes squinting, trying to see something too far away.

“Wanna come in?” you ask, distracting him from whatever has caught his attention.

“It’s not a good idea,” he says, giving you his full focus, “I meant what I said, Y/N. I didn’t show up cause I was expecting to get laid.”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered throwing caution to the wind and jumping into old habits. And you're surprised by Dean’s rejection. He could have followed your lead and taken you to bed without any objections.

“Presumptuous much?” you counter, smirking.

He smiles, all charm and smug joy, because he knows he’s right. “Don’t try and pretend you weren’t thinking about it.” He steps closer, crowding your space and gripping your hips to pull you against him. “You’ve been flirting with me all night.”

“I can stop,” you threaten, but it falls flat as you wrap your arms around his neck.

He grins, “No, you can’t,” against your lips, kissing you before you can claim otherwise.

The kiss is not hesitant; it’s deep and long, but you feel him holding back. His hands don’t roam, remaining wrapped around your waist, but he takes his time, savoring the shared warmth, each brush of your tongues, every breath shared.

Dean is the first to pull back. “I gotta go,” he swiftly kisses you again. “I told Jody I’d be there before midnight.”

“Gonna turn into a pumpkin, Winchester?”

He laughs, pecking your lips again, but then his features soften, something close to pleading, “I’m trying,” he grumbles, but you're not sure if it's to remind you or himself.

He doesn’t say exactly what it is that he’s trying, but you know he means he’s trying to do things the right way, and that’s enough. “You're doing great,” you assure.

He kisses you harder, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, and you let him in. He walks you backward until your back hits your door, and he groans when he presses himself into you. “Nope,” he scolds himself, pulling back and comically jogging away down the path, but while you're still laughing at him, he turns back. “Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You smile, and it widens to a knowing grin. You spare him the OMG shock when the realization hits you, but you do ask, “Are we dating?”

“Only if you say yes?”

“Pick me up at ten.”

He winks, unable to contain the boyish grin, and just as he opens his mouth to say something, a siren blasts, and a sheriff’s car pulls up to Baby’s bumper.

You walk a few feet to stand beside Dean as Travis, the rookie, and Luke, in plain clothes, step out of the vehicle.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean says.

Luke and Travis stand beside each other on the sidewalk but don’t approach you.

“Ten out of ten for dramatic flair,” you snark, clapping once.

“But should have done it while I was kissing her,” Dean adds, “would have been way more dramatic.”

“I think you meant douchier,” you suggest with a confused frown.

“You’re right,” Dean clicks his fingers as if you're right on the money, “I meant douchier.”

“Funny,” Luke says. “Travis, this man has been driving under the influence. Please breathalyze him.”

You put a hand on Dean’s arm to keep him in place should he decide Luke deserves another punch to the face. After all, he’s not in uniform. Travis is wise enough not to move. You're his boss. Luke has seniority over him but not over you.

“Really?” Dean sneers. “That's all you got?”

“Go home, Luke,” you tell him, “you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“So what if I am,” he says, “I just wanna talk.”

“We’ve talked,” you remind him. “You talked, I listened to your piss poor excuses, and it changed nothing.”

“We were going to get married.”

You raise your voice, “That was a reaction to your cheating! You only asked me because you felt guilty, and I only said yes because…” you cut yourself off, but Dean looks at you, knowing what you had been about to say.

“We were good together,” Luke says, seemingly oblivious to the silent conversation that passed between you and Dean. “He’s just a,” Luke sneers at Dean. “What did you call it? A situationship.”

Dean tenses under your grip, and you know the comment had the intended effect. You’ll have to address it later.

Clenching his jaw, he briefly looks away before leveling a glare and taunting, “Dude, have some dignity. She’s already told you it’s over.” He practically growls his next words. “So leave.”

Luke ignores Dean, looking directly at you. “You're angry, I get it. But don’t make any rash decisions, please.” he implores.

“I was angry,” you agree, “I was furious, but now I’m indifferent. You were a rash decision, Luke, and I’m not saying that to be cruel or get back at you. It’s the truth.”

Saying those words aloud drives home your previous thoughts of why you started dating Luke. Getting engaged was a reaction to your feelings of rejection from Dean’s honesty about commitment. You release a breath as Luke’s face drops, finally seeming to understand.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

He shakes his head, blasting out a breath filled with disbelief. “We were never going to work out,” Luke realizes aloud, “you were too hung up on him.”

“Travis, I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” you sigh, “but please take Luke home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Luke stares for a second longer, but chooses not to say anything further, allowing Travis to usher him into the car.

Dean doesn’t move, watching the car disappear from view at the end of the street. Your heart pounds in your chest; you’ve just gotten to a good place, and now that might have all been unraveled.

Though you suspect not a lot of it is surprising to Dean. The day you told him about Luke, he’d begged you not to tell him you loved him and he was right for the assumption that you did - or do or might. You can not say it even reject the idea if anyone suggests it, but you can’t deny it to yourself. You sought out Luke to replace the emotions you felt weren’t reciprocated by Dean.

“Maybe I should take you to breakfast,” you suggest, with a nervous chuckle, “to make up for that. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he assures you, but he’s looking you over like he’s trying to read the emotions behind the words. “You okay?”

Quickly, you reply, “Yeah, of course.”

“You sure? You look like a bit of ‘deer caught in headlights’.”

“I’m okay,” you sigh, taking a deep breath. “Just a little worried that's undone all the progress we’ve made.”

“It hasn’t,” he tells you, slipping a hand on your hip and pulling you into him. “This situationship can handle an ex-situationship.”

You grimace, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs, nonplussed, “Don’t be. I’ve been called worse.”

He silences your next apology with a deep kiss and slowly, seemingly reluctantly, pulls back. “I’ll pick you up at ten for breakfast.”

You're rambling again. Since Valentine’s Day, it’s been happening a lot. Dean knows why you're doing it. He can see it in your expression every time you catch yourself and stutter over the words, changing it to something else and hoping he doesn’t notice.

The first time it happened, a few weeks ago, Dean thought he misheard you. You were both breathing heavily, your thighs pressed against his ears, holding him in place, writhing while you rode his tongue. He watched your face as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your body twitched, and your climax coated his tongue and wet the sheets, “I love yo…when you do that.”

Three days ago, after a double date with Sara and Dylan, Dean woke you up in bed with coffee and French toast. Still in the haze of sleep, you smiled contentedly, and it almost slipped out. “I love…” you coughed to cut yourself off, correcting it as you sat up, “I love French toast.” But he could see it in eyes, the adoration tainted with the fear of saying it aloud.

‘I love you’ is on the tip of your tongue, and it almost escaped a moment ago.

A car accident had kept you late at work, so the dinner reservations had to be canceled, but Dean wouldn’t let it ruin the night. He’d ordered pizza, knowing you’d be starving when you got home, run a bubble bath (with the ulterior motive of joining you), popped open a bottle of your favorite wine - he hated it, thought it tasted like vinegar - and was waiting in the middle of the living room for you with the glass in hand.

Taking the glass from him, you lazily kissed him. He could feel how tired you were. Listlessly, you mumbled, “Oh god, I love yo…” but had stifled it so quickly that the rim of the glass clinked against your teeth.

Clearly unable to think of an alternative, you began rambling about your day while unnecessarily blitzing around the already clean kitchen with a dishcloth.

He wants you to say it. He figured out how he felt about you when it finally sunk in after you’d told him you’d met someone else. It was more than physical, and it always had been. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt so damn much when you told him about Luke.

He hasn’t said the words to you, but you have to know that’s how he feels. He told you he’s trying. Although, there haven’t been any conversations about exactly what that entails. He’s been more communicative. He’s made future plans - okay, only a week or so ahead at any given time, but that tells you all you need to know, right?

But the way you keep avoiding the phrase sets off a little ripple in his heart. Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll hightail it out the door like last time if you say it aloud. Maybe he needs to expand his communication skills. He says your name softly, but you either don’t hear him or pretend not to, afraid of what comes after.

“I should get you a key cut,” you blabber in. “Save you having to pick the lock next time I’m not home. Don’t want the neighbors calling it in. Mrs Brooks next door is always twitching her curtains.”

He tries again, “Y/N,” louder this time.

“I need to put a load of laundry in,” you say, striding into the laundry room.

“I did it already,” he calls after you.

“I’ll put it in the dryer then.”

He follows, trapping you inside the smaller space so you have no choice but to turn and face him.

“The laundry is done and folded in the basket in your room.” he continues, speaking to your back. “The kitchen is clean. Pizza is on the way. The bath should still be hot.”

You finally look up at him, and there’s that apprehensive smile again, but your eyes are aglow with the words you chew your lip to suppress.

“Just say it,” he sighs, trying to hide his smile.

“Say what?”

He steps closer, crowding your space and using a gentle touch to tilt your head up to keep your eyes on his. “You know what.” He smirks, teasing, “You can’t bite your tongue forever. So just say you love me.”

“I wasn’t biting…” you stammer, “I never…I only meant I was going to get a key cut for you. I didn’t mean anything….”

“Would you please, shut up?” He silences your rambling with a hard kiss, grabbing your hips and hoisting you to sit on top of the dryer. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sigh placidly, but he pulls back and grins, “I��m trying to confess my love for you.”

You drop your gaze, avoiding eye contact. “Please don’t.”

He notes your avoidance of looking at him, and panic sets in that maybe he’s got it wrong, again. But he hopes he’s right, so he chuckles, “giving me a taste of my own medicine.”

You shake your head, “No. I don’t need to hear it, and you don’t have to say it ‘cause you think it's what I want to hear.”

“That’s not what…” he tries, but you raise your voice to speak over him.

“Dean, please!” you wait for him to close his mouth. “I like how things are now, and I don’t want to jinx it or have to watch your ass run for the door again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, “it will be different this time.”

“We’ve been through this already. I don’t want promises, and we don’t need to open old wounds.”

“I get why you’re…”

The doorbell interrupts him, and you use the excuse to push him aside as you jump down and scurry out of the room.

He leans against the doorframe facing into the kitchen and listens to you thank the delivery guy. You must have given a generous tip because he thanks you multiple times as you say goodbye to him.

The click of the door closing echoes, and he waits for you to appear, but you don’t. He imagines you standing in the hallway, trying to calm yourself.

He waits, counting the seconds in his head with the promise that he’ll go find you if he reaches thirty.

At fifteen, you enter, eyes glued to the floor, pizza balanced like a cocktail waitress. “I’m gonna go take that bath,” you tell him. “Hopefully, it's still warm.”

You’re assuming the conversation is over. Only it isn’t. At least, not for him. He hasn’t been working up to it. He’s never had a grand plan for the first time he says it, but now he knows he needs to say it so you understand and believe him.

Silently, he watches you put a few slices of pizza on a plate - so he presumes he’s not invited to the bubble bath. The stopper gives an audible pop when you pull it from the wine bottle, like an exclamation point on his thoughts.

He clears his throat and proclaims, “I love you.”

The only indication that you heard him is your frozen state, bottle tipped, ready to pour into your glass.

“It took me too long to figure that out, but I do. And saying it or not saying it out loud isn’t going to change a damn thing.”

You continue to pour the wine into your glass but don’t turn to face him, recorking the bottle and resting against the countertop.

You haven’t run away, so he continues, “I always knew we were good together, but now I see that we have a whole future of being good together, not just the here and now.”

Hesitantly, he stalks closer to you, watching you take a large gulp of the red liquid. You must hear his approach because you turn around but jump slightly at his proximity.

“I’m ready to move forward,” he confesses, “and I want to do it with you.”

“Are you done?” you ask, finally looking up at him with a teasing but joyful smirk under a shy gaze. “You’re on a roll there. I just want to be sure before I say anything.”

He laughs but shakes his head once, “Nope.” He takes the glass from your hand and puts it beside the bottle. “One more thing,” he leans in closer, tilting your chin up, lips whispering over yours, “I love you.”

You chase his lips as he pulls back, “C’mon, you know you want to,” he teases, making no attempt to hide his smugness. He’s got you right where he wants you. “Just say you love me.”

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