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clubdionysus · 22 days

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[BAD DECISION #14] New Rules

warnings: enter stage left: jungkook's hands. the birds are up to no good!! fingering; 1, 2, 3, scouts honour, woohoo! mirrors!! dirty talk! jaykay is so hard he might die, but no action for him! no kissing rule established! no pet names! no hand holding!!! fingers in minge?? perfectly fine! totally friendly!

soundtrack: nonsense - sabrina carpenter

wc: 7.9k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Hey," you greet Jeongguk with a coy smile by your apartment door. He smiles back. Tells you that you look like shit. Is definitely lying.

The way he looks you up and down gives it away.

Your hair is up in a claw clip, still a little uneven in colour because you don't want to put it through even more torture. A slouchy white shirt hangs off your left shoulder, and a pair of dark leggings hug your legs. It's casual. Comfy. Still got glitter on your eyes, as always.

Jeongguk can't remember if you've had a discussion about yoga leggings, and how they've got a track record of giving him boners in record speed.

You haven't. You're just aware your ass looks fairly good in them. Not like it matters. Not like you need him to think your ass looks good. No, nothing like that at all.

You also haven't started a daily squat challenge. That would be immature. Flirting with danger. And even if you had, it would be incredibly stupid to leave the chart up on the kitchen fridge - which is where you beeline after you leave the door open for him.

You don't bother inviting him in, mind you. He knows he's welcome. Not because he's been there a thousand times over, nor because it's where you usually spend time together, but because the apartment is yours . He's welcome in your space.

But he is incredibly early - and you tell him as such when you curl up on the couch, tucking the piece of paper you'd swiped from the fridge door beneath a stack of magazines. Jeongguk takes the spot next to you, despite the fact there are plenty of other places for him to sit instead. Part of you is tempted to kick him off.

The rest of you, though? So incredibly glad to have him close again.

"Danbi's class runs for another half an hour," you tell him as you scroll through the Netflix landing page.

It's a Monday, and neither of you have been at work today. The perks of your schedules aligning mean that Monday is always a safe bet, but you'd been in desperate need of alone time. The past few weeks have exhausted your social battery.

Jeongguk gets like that sometimes, too - but he also doesn't like spending too much time in his own head, and so when a text from you had pinged through earlier that afternoon asking if he wanted to hang out, he replied almost immediately.

It's been a week. Over a week, actually. It's the first time he's seen you since you left his apartment. There's been no real discussion of what happened. A few 'i've seen your tits lol ' texts here and there, but nothing that really qualifies as a grown-up conversation. You think you like it better this way; prefer the ominous unknown of the impact such a venture has had on your friendship.

For the most part, it seems like it's had minimal impact. None of which you can recognise straight off the bat, at least. Maybe he's a little more comfortable now than he once was, but you can't really tell. Not entirely.

Thing is, he always seemed comfortable before. There's never really been a need for boundaries. They came and went naturally.

Perhaps that's your problem: you got far too relaxed far too quickly.

And yet you keep a little distance. Who cares if he's seen your tits? God forbid you sit too close to one another.

"Class?" He questions, not realising Danbi was still studying.

She isn't. It's just her hobby. Something she does to unwind after spending all day chasing after unruly dogs.

You nod, eyes still on the screen, looking for something mindless to put on. He's here for the second installment of your Deadpool marathon, so you don't want to put anything worthy of investment on.

"Pole."

"Pole as in..." he says slowly, not sure of the correct term, so you help him out.

"As in pole dancing," you confirm. "She's been doing it for a while. Keeps trying to get me to join."

Jeongguk doesn't look at you as he smirks, his eyes now also focused on the Netflix loading screen. "You? Pole dancing?"

There's a jovial glint in his eye, as if he thinks it's the funniest thing he's heard all afternoon. If you were to say that, he'd tell you that you're wrong. It's the funniest thing he's heard all day.

"Hey!" You kick your leg out to tap him, but he stops it before you can reach him. Squeezes his hand ever so gently around your foot. Pushes it back towards you, and holds it down. "I could be good at pole!"

He looks over to you now. "Byeol, I've seen you after twenty minutes on a treadmill. You don't have the stamina."

The smile on his lips would make it seem like he's joking - but he has seen you on a treadmill after twenty minutes. He's absolutely telling what he deems to be the truth, and the offence you take only makes him smile even more.

"Don't-" you halt your words to utter a shriek of disbelief. "Don't have the stamina? Fuck you."

"Nah," he grins. "You wouldn't have the stamina to handle me."

The conversation remains steady; a flirt between friends. Nothing more, nothing less. It's easy. Casual.

And when Danbi gets home, it doesn't change. Oh so incredibly easy. Jeongguk fits into the life you've carved out for yourself, almost like there was a nook waiting just for him.

Pizza is ordered. Deadpool is played. Ryan Reynolds' ass in lycra is praised. Everything is as it should be.

When it hits midnight, and Danbi is already tucked up in bed, Jeongguk makes his excuses. Gears up to leave. Mentions the fact he's got the gym in the morning. Can't be out too late.

The part of you that considers telling him to stay is quiet. Instead, you just nod and agree.

"It's a miracle you're still able to have a decent sleeping pattern," you say as you walk him to the door. "I'd be exhausted all the time."

He doesn't tell you, but he is. Really could have done with an evening to himself. Uni is ramping up, and he's worried he's gonna fall behind on his coursework already.

It's why he's pretty much radio silent for the week that follows.

Until, all of a sudden, he's not.

Jeongguk: DB.

You: That's no better than disco ball .

Jeongguk: It's better than BD.

You: ... Ball disco?

Jeongguk: Big Ditties.

You: Oh my god.

You: I'm blocking you .

Jeongguk: No you're not. Come hang out.

Jeongguk: Coursework is driving me insane.

Jeongguk: Need a distraction.

You: Good. Hope it does <3

Jeongguk: :( comeee.

You: No :) x

You arrive a little after ten.

Jeongguk is in sweats and a T-shirt, beyond the point of caring to dress up in your presence. Your dynamic is well-established by now; comfort found in the confines of your time spent together. He's got a buttered slice of toast in one hand, a dusting of crumbs detailing the tips of his fingers like the glitter on the inner corners of your eyes. He'd burnt it. You can tell by the scent that lingers in the air, and the knife marks near the crusts where he'd tried to scrape it off.

He grins, in that stupid kind of lopsided way he always does whenever he gets his way.

"Thought you said you weren't coming?"

Your lips are pursed, annoyance written along the line of your frown. The ink is water-soluble, though. One bite down on your bottom lip and it washes away. "I'm here to see the children."

He stands to the side. Opens the door just a little bit wider. "It's about time. They were about to report you to child protective services."

"Oh, yeah?" You encourage his teasing as you step over the threshold.

"Uh-huh," he continues as he bites down on the toast. It crunches beneath his teeth, but doesn't stop him from talking. "Negligent mother, they said - shoes off -" he interrupts himself when you point to your feet. "Take them to my room though."

It's curious, the way he's still keeping you hidden. The only reason for them to not be in the hallway is to stop Jimin from asking questions when he arrives home.

If you knew the grilling Jeongguk's been getting ever since that evening Jimin nearly walked in on the pair of you, you'd understand. It's far easier for Jeongguk if he gives his housemate as little ammunition to tease him with as he can.

But Jimin's not home. He's in Busan for the weekend.

Jeongguk doesn't tell you this. He's not sure why. Part of him doesn't want to talk about Jimin with you. It's stupid, he'll admit, but he likes being your friend. Likes you being his friend. Doesn't like Jimin having one up on him.

He thinks it would be the same if he had a sister. That kind of protective nature.

But he's also seen you naked. Knows that he really can't kid himself into thinking it's entirely platonic. Is kind of confused by it all.

Just knows that he likes the way things are. Doesn't want them to change.

And so he doesn't mention Jimin.

When you enter his room, shoes tossed by his desk, you clamber up onto his bed and take a seat. There's no protest from him, no sign of it being an unwanted intrusion on his space. His sheets have been changed since your last visit, gold acrylic immediately washed away the morning after.

He takes a perch on his desk chair, swinging it around to face you. You're lit only by the lamp of his bedside table and the glow of the city coming in through his curtains. The warmth of the light makes your glitter look like crackling embers burning through the night skies.

"So," you say, all very matter of a fact. There's a demure nature to your poise. It's not very 'you'. "You requested my company?"

He nods.

"Why?"

He spins in his chair to his desk, and picks up a bird. Reads it aloud. "Invite a girl over."

You look at him for a moment, and purse your lips. He's an idiot .

"We both know that this isn't what that means."

"Why not?" He says as if he's genuinely without a clue.

"Because!"

You don't elaborate. Think there's no need. He knows exactly why not - but he's an insolent little fucker when he wants to be.

"No, because what , Byeol?" He says with a grin. He knows you're right. Doesn't care.

"Because," you emphasise. "We both know that inviting a girl over is so much more than just a simple act of asking her to come round. There are layers to it. Innuendo. It's like asking if she wants ramyeon, Gguk. You know this."

There's a grin on his lips that he's trying to hide - and is failing miserably.

"The bird says-"

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh. "It doesn't matter what the bird says. You know what it means."

"Yeah," he feigns innocence to his misdemeanour, eyes all wide and watery. So deep brown in colour it feels like a black hole is just sucking you in. Will never let you leave. God help the next girl who falls in love with him. "It means that I have to invite a girl to my place." He gestures towards you. Shakes his head. "You are a girl, no?"

"You've seen my tits, no?"

"You can't use tits as a qualifier," he tells you. "Not when you insist I also have tits."

"Touche - but still. It doesn't matter if I'm a girl. I'm not a girl girl."

"What does that even mean?" He scoffs, but he knows what you mean. Knows that the risk of rejection from you isn't the same as it is with a random girl. Knows that you're an exception. Not the rule.

"Like, a romantic interest," you say, well-aware he doesn't need it explaining. You just think you need to say it for your own sake. "I'm a friend. It doesn't say invite a friend round, does it?"

"Okay, but it doesn't not say that, does it?"

You're stern as you stare him down. "Jeongguk."

"Byeol," he replies with a grin so cheeky it's impossible to remain poised.

You roll your eyes. Lie down. Wave your arm in the air. "C'mere."

He doesn't relent. Doesn't say no. Just stands. Walks to his bed, and flops down beside you.

"Gimmie your phone," you say, but he refuses. "Don't be a pussy."

"I'm not. You're just not getting my phone."

You sit up. Rest on your elbow and look down at him. His eyes are closed. "Why not?"

"Because."

There's a smile tickling your lips. He's imitating you - but he also doesn't feel like explaining. Doesn't feel like trying to find a valid reason beyond 'I'm scared'.

"What happened to facing your fears, huh?" You poke his cheek. "You gonna be a coward? How is that gonna help you?"

"Byeol," he whines, tilting his head to avoid your continued poking. It's annoying, and deliberate. You want him frustrated. Want him proactive. Want him a little riled up. "Stop."

You don't.

"Byeol."

"I'll stop when you stop being a baby," you tell him, poking at his other cheek. Your finger travels all over his face, poking and prodding, ignoring the way he bats you away.

"Stop."

"You stop."

"Byeol."

And still, you don't. At least not until his fingers clasp around your wrist, holding it far away from his face.

"I said stop," he says with a voice so low it's almost a growl. His eyes are still closed. He pulls your hand to his chest. Holds it there. Is vaguely aware of the fact he's drawn you closer. Had almost made you lose your balance entirely.

It's not until you speak that he realises quite how close you actually are. Hears how quiet you are, too.

"And I told you to stop being a baby."

He opens his eyes. Takes you in. You're resting on his chest, thanks to his grip on your wrist and where he's positioned it. Neither of you seem to remember the concept of breathing.

You're close . Closer than he intended. So close he could probably count every single speck of glitter on the inner corner of your eyes. So fucking close . He thinks of the last time you were this close.

Also thinks of the fact he's now wearing sweats, and really shouldn't be thinking about you naked. Not again.

But he is, though it's not your body he's thinking of; it's your eyes, and the glitter that had been caught in your lashes beneath the water of his shower. How you'd glistened. And then fuck it, he's thinking of the way you showed him your fingers, all dainty and pretty, covered in your own-

"Fuck," you hiss in surprise, breaking from his gaze. His eyes fall to his chest, where the culprit of the interruption lies.

Another bird; resting pretty just below his ribs. It moves, up and down, with the contractions of his lungs. Jeongguk looks to you, then back to the bird. You sit up straighter and pinch it from his chest. He just lets you, because he doesn't wanna be the one to do it.

He can tell from the wing shape alone that it's one of yours - and even if he couldn't, the way you groan and let your body fall onto his in defeat is a clear sign. He laughs. Strokes his hand up your arm, then ruffles at your hair.

"How bad is it this time?"

You just whine again.

"That bad?"

Nodding into his chest, you hold out the bird for him to take. Only once his chest begins to stutter beneath you, laughter taking hold of his lungs, do you sit up.

"Stop," you tell him, pouting.

He doesn't stop laughing. Serves you right for not listening to him earlier. "Christ, Byeol. Are any of these birds-"

"No," you cut him off before he can finish.

He sighs. Looks up at the ceiling. Shakes his head. Holds the bird to his chest.

"Let's think about this logically first," he says, because it's the only way he can think to not let things get out of hand again like he did last time. "Let's talk about it before we do it instead of after."

You nod. Take a deep breath. "Okay. What are you thinking?"

He looks at you and then back up at the birds. Scrunches his face up.

"I'm thinking... Fuck, alright, I'll be honest. I haven't done..." he trails off, cringing at himself. "Since my ex - although, technically she isn't an ex, but you know what I mean - since her..."

You wait with bated breath. Know what he's getting at. "You haven't done this in a while?"

He's silent. Lets his head turn to face you. "Haven't done this in a while."

"It's okay. We don't have-"

"No," he says. "A bird is a bird. I want to do it."

"You do?"

"Well," he considers, pretending like it's the first time. He's thought about this a lot; the mechanics of your situation, how it plays out in the future. Risk assessment. He's good at those. Has to do so many of them at university that he's started drawing one up one for the pair of you in his head. "I mean if my birds are making me approach girls, chances are things will head in the direction of hooking up, right?"

You suppose he's right. Tell him as much.

"So it'd be good for me to get practise in, right?"

"You think you need it?" You grin.

"No. But I enjoy it," he says. Holds his palms up above his head. Observes them. "I like using my hands."

They're large. One of them is covered in tiny tattoos, the other completely bare. Thin veins hide beneath his honey skin, the tendons always protruding just a little bit. The kind of hands that would be good to hold.

"You've got nice hands," you admit.

Long fingers. Thick knuckles. Well-trimmed nails. Perfect hands, you consider, but will never divulge. Wouldn't want to boost his ego so much.

"Have you been checking them out?" He teases.

"You made me!" you laugh, deflecting, then imitating his voice. "' Look in the mirror, Disco Ball, blah blah blah. Eyes on me. Watch what I do.' I didn't have a choice."

"Sure," he taunts, but he knows you're probably not being dramatic. He really did make you watch yourself, and is probably gonna do it again. Seemed to work well the last time.

He places his hands beneath the side of his head, and takes a moment to check how you're feeling.

You reciprocate his actions. Look at him for a little while. Neither of you say a word. It's like you're mentally preparing for what's about to happen; making sure that it's okay. Giving one another the chance to back out.

You won't, though. Far less of a coward than Jeongguk. Too much pride.

"How do we do this?" you whisper.

He smiles. Just faintly. Tenderly. "However is most comfortable for you."

"Well, yeah," you smile back. It's sweet that he feels the need to clarify this. "But I mean, literally. Logically. How do we- Like- Do I just... take my trousers off?"

"I mean, it could be a start," Jeongguk laughs. "We're thinking about it too hard."

You groan. Look to the ceiling with an embarrassed smile. You're both a little awkward, but it definitely feels like the awkwardness is mainly your problem today.

"Did you... with Jimin. Did you do this?" Jeongguk asks. He's not sure why. Just wants to know.

The bird lies between you both. Has just two words on it. No exclamation points this time, but still with capital letters. Somehow feels less vulnerable to you than the last one.

GET FINGERED.

You consider not answering. Think it's kind of shitty to air Jimin's laundry in such a way - but it's just as much about you as it is him. More so, even.

"Not really," you admit. "A little bit. I hurried him along."

Jeongguk pauses now. Thinks. Asks, "hurried?"

"It's just kind of what I do," you sigh, pulling your knees a little further up. Closing off. Protecting yourself. Jeongguk pushes them back down again. You let him. "I don't really let people touch me, in that regard. I let them fuck me. Don't let them... have me."

Jeongguk wants to ask what that entails, but figures you'd have shared it if you wanted to.

"I guess," you continue slowly, quickly glancing away, before deciding that his eyes are what you wanna see when you explain your relationship with sex. You want him to understand - and so you look back to him. He doesn't take his eyes off of you. "I kind of focus on the other person, yanno? For me, sex? Now? It's validation, I guess. Proving to myself I can still give people some form of... I don't know. Satisfaction? So yeah. I don't really want people touching me, as such. I'll touch them. I'll get them off. And I'd prefer it if they didn't get me off."

"It's a power thing, isn't it?" Jeongguk theorises. "Control?"

You're silent. Just shrug. Maybe .

"I think - and you can tell me to shut up if you want - but I think that maybe it's because of your ex. He always held the cards?" Jeongguk pauses, but you don't respond. Just look at his chest. Toy with the silver chain around his neck. "And this is your way of holding them instead?"

The silence remains. You're twisting his chain around his neck, now. Getting the clasp to the nape of his neck instead of at the front where it had been. Jeongguk watches your unfocused eyes and wonders what the fuck is running through that disco ball mind of yours.

"Hey, Byeol?"

"Mhmm?"

"You're still in control," he says so tenderly it's almost a whisper. He reaches over. Picks a rogue chunk of glitter from the strands of your hair that wisp around your face. Tucks the hair behind your ear. Lets his hand fall to chin, and tilts your face upwards. Looks you dead in the eye, and says, "I'll do whatever you're comfortable with. Nothing more, nothing less."

You shake your head. "You get a say in this. It's not all up to me."

"I know I do," Jeongguk replies without missing a beat. "If I didn't want to do something, I wouldn't. You're in control, but I can't be forced to do anything. Good luck trying if you think I can be."

You narrow your eyes a little. "So you're saying you want to do stuff with me?"

He grins. "Well, I don't find you entirely repulsive, even if you are incredibly annoying."

"Always a charmer."

"It's how I get all those girls - oh, wait," he jokes. Pauses. Thinks. Sighs. "Look, I'd rather work through my issues before I fuck up yet another relationship, and from the looks of it, you'd rather work through yours too. It just makes sense."

"I mean, we could just get therapy."

"Expensive."

"Time-consuming," you agree.

"This is far easier," he smirks, before deciding that you've had enough serious chats. There's no point running around in circles again. And so he decides to lighten the mood. "Now do you wanna get fingered or not?"

"Oh my god!" You slap at his chest and roll onto your back, laughing. "You're fucking vulgar."

"Is that a no?"

"It's an ' ask nicely, Jeongguk. '"

He rolls onto his back, now. Laughs, too. "Is that what you want? For me to play nicely?"

"You're not playing at all, yet," you remind him.

There's hesitancy from both of you. It's a little awkward, and so unlike you - but there's no alcohol in your system like there was the first time a bird was attempted, and no excuse to touch like there was with the paint.

This one is just you and Jeongguk.

"Can I go freshen up first?" You ask, a little nervous and highly aware of the fact you hadn't come with the intention of getting Jeongguk in your underwear. He says of course, but you're halfway out of the door regardless.

As soon as you're in the bathroom, you're rummaging around in the cupboard - praying - looking for a disposable razor of sorts. You know Jeongguk keeps his good one in his room, next to his towels.

Apparently, Jimin just loves to share regardless of what it is, much to Jeongguk's dismay. It's not like Jimin's razor is here either - he's taken it with him to Busan.

Your search is fruitless, and when you return to Jeongguk's room a little unsure of yourself, jeans off and tossed onto his desk chair, he can sense there's something wrong.

"I haven't shaved," you sort of blurt out, much to his surprise.

"Okay?" He grins, drying off his wet hands that he'd washed in the kitchen while you were gone. "Nor have I? You want a medal?"

"No, I just-"

"Thought I'd care?" He questions, a little bit offended. "First things first, this isn't about me. It's about you. And secondly, I kinda like it - so I really don't care."

"You like it?"

"I like pussy," Jeongguk simply states. "Like it no matter what way it's served up."

"You're not eating it."

"Not yet."

"You are unbelievable."

"Believe it, Byeol," he winks, perching on the end of his bed. Reaching out, he encourages you closer. Gets your standing between his legs. "Enough fucking around though. I think we should set out some ground rules."

"Ground rules?" You question, knowing it's probably smart. Aren't sure why you didn't think of it first.

He knows why. Casual sex isn't that much of a big deal to you.

Jeongguk's not good at the whole unattached sex thing, though. He only really sleeps with girls he's interested in romantically.

A boy that looks like him? You had expected him to have well over a dozen notches on his bedpost - but he can count them all on one hand.

It's not that he's a prude, or vanilla, or anything like that. Jeongguk fucks. He fucks well. He just fucks the same people for extended periods of time. Takes comfort in routine. No chance to sleep around when you're as loyal as a dog.

You're the exception, not the rule. Time and time over, it becomes more and more apparent.

"Rules," he nods.

"No kissing," you reply almost immediately.

"No-" he's about to protest, but then nods. "No kissing."

In fact, he actually agrees with you. He loves kissing. Might even like it more than blowjobs. Would happily take an hour make-out session in lieu of foreplay. For him, it is foreplay.

And so despite how desperately sad he is to know he won't get his favourite thing, he understands why.

He only likes it because of how intimate it is.

"Anything else?"

You take a moment to think, and then decide, "No hand holding, either. And no pet names."

"Not even Byeol?"

"At this point, I'm not even sure you remember my real name, Gguk. Byeol is fine."

He nods, then scrunches his nose in a little disgust.

"God." He dry-retches. "Imagine calling you something like baby ." He retches again, a light grin tickling his lips as you scoff in offence. "Yeah, no you wouldn't suit anything cute."

"You're so lucky that the idea of you calling me baby repulses me," you flirt right back.

"Oh yeah?" he smirks - and then he's toying with the hem of your shirt. Pushing it up. Ghosting the lace of your thong with the tips of his fingers. "You'd hate it, would you?"

His fingers creep down. The pads of his fingers trace the tops of your thighs. Skirt the lace trim of your panties where they cover your pussy. Has your heart beating at a mile a minute.

"Would be such a turn-off."

The way his eyes scan your face has you wanting to take back every single rule you've just set.

"So you're telling me you're turned on, now?"

His words are met with a shrug. "I don't know, Jeon. Am I?"

"If I'm not allowed pet names, there's no way in hell you're allowed Jeon."

"No?"

He stands. Towers above you. Turns you round. Lowers his head, and lets his lips ghost your ear. "Not unless you wanna get me hard."

You fucking giggle . It's sin. When you turn your head ever so slightly to whisper in his ear, he thinks about saying fuck it to the birds. Needs more than what they're providing.

"I can feel you. You're already hard, Jeon ."

He pulls away from you. Palms at his crotch. You're right. And so he just smirks. "Fine. Harder ."

"Wouldn't that be a shame," you tease - but are met with a show of dominance you've haven't seen before from Jeongguk as clasps both of your wrists together just above your ass. Positioning you just where he had you last time he was in your room, you know your underwear is getting ruined.

The view reflected back in his full-length mirror only makes your heart beat even faster.

"I won't lie," he swallows back the nerves that he was able to hide while he was flirting. Down his throat they go, settling next to his heart that's already beating a mile a minute. Positioning himself behind you, he encourages you both to the floor. You're sitting in front of him, as he kneels behind you and pulls you back a little. "You're right. I'm already real fucking hard, Byeol."

"Really?" You smirk. "Couldn't tell."

He tilts his head back. Groans. "God, I hate you. I want you to ignore it, okay? It's my problem to deal with."

All you can do is nod.

"Okay," he says softly as he leans around to position your legs how wants them: bent at the knees. Spread. You're on display - and Dear lord, what a treat for the audience. A treat for him . "Look in the mirror. Watch me, okay? Watch my hands."

And you do; watch the way his palms lay flat on your knees, then slowly, gradually, trickle down your thighs. "What do you say if you wanna stop?"

"Chess," you say, ending the word with a gasp as his thumbs brush the outer lace of your panties.

"Good girl," he hums into your ear, but you can barely hear him over your beating heart as his thumb begins to stroke over your clothed pussy. You're already soaked. It wets his thumb. Has him smirking. "Told you so."

He pushes the lace to the side. Exposes you. Makes him curse. Is slow as he sinks a single finger into you.

He keeps it shallow. Just the first two knuckles. Just enough to let you know he's there. You can still see the ink on his finger.

The moan you exhale is desperate. Needy . Gets him all smug.

"Just testing the waters," he husks into your ear as he pulls it back out, before the pads of his fingers begin to massage around your entrance. He's teasing. Caressing. Doing shit you've only ever had women do to you. The dudes you've fucked have never really cared for stimulation beyond the clit; haven't understood that the right touches in slightly different places can get you so fucking needy.

Needy like you mean it. Not the bratty kind, where you're in control; the pathetic kind, where they're in control.

He's massaging. Using his thumb and forefinger. Working his way up your labia; left side, then right. Up, then down.

It's not like the sensation is anywhere close to what it feels like when his fingers are elsewhere, but it's the fact he's doing it all that really gets you flustered. He's careful . Delicate. Wants you to feel good.

When you let out a moan, you can feel him smirk against you. He lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes his middle finger inside; fully this time. Pumps into you once, twice - "are you always this wet?" - then begins to stroke against your front wall. You whine.

He pushes into you again. Tells you how fucking hot you sound. Pulls out. In again. And then he builds speed. Fucks his finger into you. Just one - but it's enough.

Finally, you answer him between laboured breaths.

"Dunno. You'll have to do this again sometime and figure it out."

Withdrawing his finger, Jeongguk rubs small circles over your clit. Holds onto you tighter. Smirks as your whimpers begin to build. His nose nestles into your hair, lips against your ear. "You want that, huh?"

The way your hips push up and grind against his languid movements should be indication enough - but you don't want to give him the satisfaction. Not yet, at least.

You smirk right back. "Meh. You could always just compare notes with Jimin, instead."

He pauses for a split second. Scoffs. Sinks his finger back into you. Builds pace. Can hear the sounds of your soaked cunt and knows that it would be cruel to compare. Jimin wouldn't stand a chance. There's no way he had you like this, too.

And Jeongguk would be right. The way Jeongguk has you now is unlike any of your hookups. You're sober, for a start, and that always helps in the wetness department - but you are wetter than you've been in a fair while.

His fingers are long. Intentional in the way they move. His middle finger hits all the right spots as it pushes into you. He curls it gently without needing to be told. He just knows. Can feel the slight difference in texture. Had trained himself to find it in the past, and is pleased to see yours is just as easy to locate.

You don't think Seokjin ever found it. Not really. For a while, you pretended he could - but it never felt like this.

"Gguk," you rasp, ridding your mind of all thoughts of Seokjin. He's no right to be in your brain when it's someone else making you feel so good. "Right there. Right there. Fuck."

"I know," he husks. "Can you take another?"

All do you do is nod. Moan something incoherent. You want more.

He can tell.

"Can you take three?" he asks. You just fucking nod. Will take what he gives you. "Mhhm?"

He bites down the syllables, stopping the 'baby' he wants to mewl from coming out. He knows pet names are a no, but it's a force of habit. It's just like the muscle memory in his fingers knowing how he should touch you; something well trained, well practised.

He doesn't relent. Keeps going. Has your cunt stuffed with his fingers. Will make you cum.

It's just as much for him now as it is for you. He's watching your face, how you refuse to open your eyes, how your dewy lips are rested ajar, soft moans humming from your throat.

He kind of hates the rules. Knows they serve a purpose, and that they're smart, but it'd be so much easier for him if he could kiss you.

It's not that he actively wants to make out with you, it's just that it comes naturally to him. He doesn't think he's ever been inside a woman without actually kissing her. There's a sizable portion of his brain which is having to work against his instincts, now. If he didn't have to waste that energy, he could spend it on you instead.

But it also makes it exciting. A little sordid. You've removed the romance he typically associates with a position as promiscuous as this. Maybe he is capable of fucking around.

"I know," he husks as your body writhes beneath his touch. "Ba-" Shit . "Byeol, I know. That feel good?"

Feel good? Feel good? What kind of a fucking question is that? If you could form a coherent sentence instead of moaning every other second, you'd ask him as such. Instead, you settle with, "fuck."

"Should I take that as a yes?" he smirks against your hair, his second hand dropping from the grip it has on your waist down to your pussy. Pushing your thighs a little further apart, Jeongguk has you in the palm of his hand like a fucking ragdoll. His hands work in tandem, fingers plunging into your while he rubs dainty circles over your clit, careful to not be too aggressive. He's taking his time. Building your high.

"Take it as a 'you could do better'," you whine, just to wind him up a little. He's doing fucking fantastic.

" Better ?" He sounds offended, but is smirking, watching pleasure take hold of your features. He loves the way you goad him on. Knows you must be a right little brat in the right scenario. Think maybe one day, he'd like to experience it fully. For now, he simply growls into your ear. "Open your eyes. Look at yourself." He builds his pace. The sounds of him sliding into you are lewd. Soaking. Sopping wet. "You hear that? Tell me to do better again. Go on. I dare you."

Your gaze opens, all hazy and cum-drunk, falling on the mirror. Your skin is dewy, and the incident positioning of your spread legs puts you on full display.

Jeongguk withdraws his fingers. Spreads your lips open. Holds his stare on you. Watches as your wetness drips from your entrance. Rubs circles on your clit. Encourages more . Watches as it seeps from you. Presses his hips upwards to let you know he's still fucking solid for you. He gathers your leaking slick on his index and middle finger, then pushes it back into you.

He's panting, too.

And so you smirk. Watch the pained lust in his eyes. Tell him, "do better," in a hushed whisper.

He's slow. Lets his touches linger. Doesn't pump into you like he had been - instead, he scissors his fingers ever so gently - and that's when you decide he's a menace to society and that you're probably doing the world a favour by keeping him off the streets for a little while longer.

"Holy shit," you hiss, and then your fingers are wrapped around his wrist again. He fucking laughs.

His nose nuzzles into your hair, his smirk not hiding his teeth. He's thinking about kissing you again. Just a small one. On the side of your head. Has to talk just to stop himself.

"That better, Byeol?"

All you can do is whine. Nod a little.

"Can't hear you. I asked a question. Give me an answer," he teases. "Now, is this better, Byeol?"

"No," you lie. "Considerably worse."

"Fine," he says, and pulls out. Grips your thighs with his soaked fingers. Squeezes them together. Lets you pant for a little while. He's panting, too. "On your knees."

"Sorry?"

"You will be," he smirks, changing his position behind you. "Get on your knees."

And so you do. You relinquish trust to him. Feel like you might have a heart attack from how fast it's beating - but he knows this. Strokes the curve of your hip. Hugs you into his chest ever so slightly and says, "the minute it gets too much, or you decide you've done enough... just say the word, Byeol."

He nuzzles his nose against your hair. Likes the way it smells. Hugs you a little tighter, still.

You nod. "At least tell me how you want me, first?"

It's the mental preparation you need, much more than physical. He knows this. Knows that his teasing has a time and a place. What was okay a few moments ago would be too brash now - so he tries a little tenderness once more.

He waits for you to look at him. Not in the mirror this time, but head turned, eyes on his. The glitter on your eyes catches in the light. Reflects in his eyes. Puts stars in them.

"On your front. Head down," he says slowly, not wanting it to sound crude. "Ass up. Or just flat on your front, if you'd rather. Up to you. Wait-" He stands, holding out his hand for you to take. When you do, he pulls you up and guides you to his bed instead. Lets you sit. He still stands. "Just realised I was asking you to be facedown on the literal floor. My bad."

You don't say anything, just smile at the fact he realised it. Such a boy, and yet such a gent. He's trouble, there's no doubt about it. As your eyes study his face, he seems sincere - and so you turn. Lean forward. Stretch out. Face down, ass up.

"Fuck," he hisses and gets on his knees behind you. One of his hands grapples at your ass, fingers sinking into the peachy flesh. He strokes against the soft skin, and then asks, "how do you feel about spanking?"

You smirk into his sheets. Plunge even further into them. Raise your ass even higher. "It's not on the bird."

His fingers dig further into your cheek. You're mewling. He's getting delirious again. "Byeol..."

The way you move your hips ever so slightly is absolute sin . You know you're trying to make him crack. You know it's working. "Mhmm?"

He pulls you back. Presses the bulge in his trousers against you. He's still hard. Harder, even. His hands are on your hips, keeping you close, even as he retracts - before pulling you tight to him. Repeats. Ruts himself against you a couple more times.

"If one of those birds doesn't end with me fucking you-"

"You'll what?" you say with a sardonic smile as you twist your body around and out of his grasp. You're on your back now, reaching for his shirt, pulling him down.

He complies. Tangles his legs with yours. Lets his hand cup your heat. Toys with you. Teases.

"What will you do, huh?" You flirt. "Die?"

He smirks now, too. Knows that you're taking the piss. Quite likes it. Likes that you remember the shit he says when he gets too horny for his own good.

"Maybe," he husks, sinking his fingers inside you again. Didn't even get to have you how he wanted you, but he likes this. Likes the flirt. Likes how erratic your breathing gets.

"Guess you'll just have to - fuck - keep waiting for them to fall," you turn a little. Hook your leg over his hip. Grind against him. Ride his fingers. "See if you get what you want."

"I'm incredibly patient," he lies. Builds the speed he's fucking them into you at. Uses the hand that's not bringing you closer and closer to climax to hold your chin. Wants to keep you looking at him.

"Liar."

"I'll do this for hours if it means making you cum," he almost snarls over the sound of your moans.

You laugh. Stutter on the moans in your throat. Tell him good luck. Let him know that you can't remember the last time someone else made you orgasm. You can do it yourself, easy. Someone else? Good fucking luck.

"Fine. We're gonna make you cum," he says as if it's a group activity - but then he drops his grip from your chin and reaches to the hand of yours that had been hooked over his shoulder. Guides it to your pussy. "Get yourself off."

You stare at him for a moment. His pace eases, but his gaze doesn't drop. He's slow. Rubs at you just in the right way. And then he says, "get yourself off while I'm inside you."

You say nothing. Do as you're told.

"Good girl."

It doesn't take long. If anything, it's embarrassing how quickly he has you coming undone. Admittedly, you're just as much a part of it as he is. Without your input, maybe he would have had to have been going for hours.

But you are involved, and you're shaking around him. Legs trembling. Toes pointed. Head buried into his chest, fingers wrapped around his wrist to stop him from overstimulating you too much. His name escapes your lips as your orgasm ripples through your muscles, and Jeongguk just fucking laughs.

"So fuckin' hot," he praises, lips pouty, in desperate need of a kiss to offset the fact he's practically leaking precum into his pants.

Rules are rules, though. They're not made to be broken. Not these ones.

He withdraws from you, and wipes the mess on his sheets. Will deal with it later. Watches you as you giggle to yourself, orgasm well and truly delivered. When your eyes open and focus on him, Jeongguk is pleased. You look content.

"I'm still scared," you simper. "We might have to practise that one a few times."

He laughs now, too. Rolls onto his back. Can smell your arousal on his fingers. Has never been more hungry in his entire life.

"Such a liar."

But you both are, in your own ways.

"Maybe. Thank you... for that," you say, very aware of the unfair dynamics of just you getting off, but knowing that without a fallen bird to specify it, there's no way you can just reciprocate.

"Pleasures all mine," he says, as if he isn't letting himself get severely blue-balled. Knows what the agreement is though. You getting him off now would be just for his benefit. He laments the fact he's not scared of blowjobs. Wishes all of his birds were like yours, now.

The silence consumes you both. Has you wondering why you never come undone like that normally. Makes you think maybe you need to stop preventing people from touching you in such a way. Jimin had tried. You can remember - but you'd dismissed him.

He's not the only person you've dismissed in such a way. Perhaps you will enjoy casual sex more if you don't keep your desires at bay. Maybe Jeongguk's been right about this all along.

"Anyways," you turn to face him. "Phone."

"Hmm?"

"Well, we've done my bird. We need to do yours from earlier."

Jeongguk says nothing. Is a little bit confused. He's still hard. You've barely come down from your orgasm. Surely nows not the time?

You couldn't disagree more even if you tried. It's the perfect time. Stops you from thinking about how fucking good that was, and how much you want it to happen again.

"You... want me to invite a girl round?"

"Well, not while I'm still here" you consider. "Like, text them now, but arrange it for another time."

"Yeah, but-" Jeongguk wants to protest. Wants to remind you that his sheets are covered in you. Instead, he just looks at the ceiling, a little baffled.

"If it's too much, why don't you just text a girl, at least?"

He frowns. You don't notice, because you're looking at the ceiling, too.

But then he sighs. Maybe you're right. Maybe he is being a coward.

"Alright," he reaches for his phone from the nightstand. Unlocks it, and opens up his Instagram DMs. Looks over to you. Catches your gaze. Smiles, despite the uneasy feeling in his stomach. "What do I say?"

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

#jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 year

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Words: 5,746 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: strong language, violence, gore, blood and injury, angsttttt A/N: All gifs made by me. :) This is Part 9 of a series! Find all the parts on my pinned post, the Master List! Summary: The group continues through the subway tunnel and runs into trouble with the dead. Coming out on the other side, they set off to resupply and regroup.

Previous Chapter - Part 8

As if the creaking and groaning in the pipes wasn’t bad enough, then you came to the corpses. None of you had seen the massive walker rise up behind Gage and Negan was the first one to spring into action. He managed to pin it up against the wall, but it struggled against him, nearly overpowering him as everyone stood watching. It looked as if Negan wouldn’t be able to hold it. “Ah, shit,” you swore aloud and darted over and stabbed it in the side of the head with your blade with a grunt of effort. It stilled immediately and slid down against the wall at your feet. Negan stumbled back, out of breath. “Jesus...” he murmured, glancing at the slime and skin that had slipped off the enormous rotter with disgust. You didn’t say anything in return and the two of you looked back at the rest of the group. All eyes were on you and Negan. You hung back and kept your mouth shut as the arguing started and rose to a near fatal conclusion.

Things didn’t get any better… It wasn’t long after, when you’d all nearly finished your work on clearing the tunnel, that Alden realized Gage and Roy were gone, along with most of the supplies you’d all set aside.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. “This is what all our fucking arguing got us. That’s most of our rations, our batteries for the flashlights. And we’re blocked here anyway,” you said, gesturing to the train car. Negan was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Daryl punching him across the face to shut him up seemed to have made an impression, even if it was mostly to avoid Maggie’s rage overboiling and activating her itchy trigger finger.

There was more discussion about what to do next when Daryl suddenly shushed everyone and held up a hand. Growls, a distinctive sound despite the echo off the arched stone walls. The beams of your flashlights illuminated an approaching herd. Too many to count. Perhaps they’d wandered in to instinctively seek shelter from the storm, some part of their diseased brains compelling them to go underground. Perhaps it was random movement or pure coincidence. Whatever it was, you all snapped into action.

You stood alongside Daryl and the others as you readied your bow. Gabriel and Alden frantically tried to pry open the subway car door, but it was jammed shut. Arrows flew and weapons swung and knives plunged, but there were just too many. By the time Daryl gave the call to fall back you were already splattered with walker blood nearly head to tow.

“Up on top! Go! Go!” Daryl yelled. He ushered you toward the car and gave you a frantic look. “I’ll be right behind you,” he said.

“You better be,” you said, stretching and reaching for the first handhold you could find. You’d just been hauled to safety with the help of the others when you heard Dog barking and Daryl frantically shouting after him.

“Dog, no! Dog!” Daryl started toward the side where there was a narrow space in the rubble that Dog had apparently run through. You heard him yell to Maggie. “Meet me at the other end!”

“Daryl, wait! No—Daryl, wait!” Maggie’s frantic voice answered. You knew right then what you had to do, and you swung yourself over the back of the subway car and dropped to your feet again, perhaps a bit clumsily. Negan and Maggie looked at you in surprise. Maggie looked fearful.

“See you on the other side,” you shouted over the approaching growls. “You better go! Go! Climb!” you yelled over your shoulder. You darted after Daryl and soon caught up to him just inside the tight tunnel.

“Y/N?” he looked behind himself at your huddled form over the broken concrete. “No—go back! Stay with the others and—ain’t no way to know where this is goin’ or what’s on the other end!”

“I told you—I’m not separating from you if I can help it! Now hurry up. We need to get to Dog,” you said with finality.

Daryl gulped and turned back around, squeezing himself through the debris. You followed closely behind, glancing over your shoulder as if you expected the horde to follow you in. Finally, Dog’s barking was closer and you came upon an opening in the concrete that had clearly been made in the shape of a door. Daryl stepped out and turned around to take you hand and help you. His fingers squeezed around yours gently and he gave you a worried look. “I shoulda listened to ya. I mean fuck Negan, but I shoulda listened to ya. ‘M sorry,” he said, regret thick and heavy on his tongue.

“It’s okay. We’ll be fine. As long as we’re together, right?”

He nodded solemnly and then turned to look at your surroundings. You were in the remains of an underground camp in an old decommissioned tunnel. Dog was panting at Daryl’s side. It was eerie and silent and the air seemed heavy and dank. Daryl lifted the beam of his flashlight and shone it over graffitied words and a sprawling mural depicting a conflict of the classes. You noticed him swallow thickly and saw that his eyes were slightly glassy. You grabbed his hand again and laced your fingers with his and he looked down at it.

Your eyes wandered over the wall again and the detritus of people who were no longer here. “Do you think this is from before or… or after?” you asked him softly.

The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Both,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s see if there’s anythin’ worth takin’ now that most of our supplies are gone.” You nodded and the two of you started to move on slowly, scanning the heaps of moldering sleeping bags and clothes for anything useful. Daryl picked up a small plastic bag. He pulled out a 100-dollar bill and you read it in the glow of his light. Next, his fingers found a Polaroid photo of two smiling kids, a brother and a sister.

Your heart ached and your stomach felt hollow, as if it suddenly contained a chasm of space that was pushign up on your lungs. Daryl’s free hand drifted toward the left breast of his vest beneath his poncho and landed over the Polaroid of the two of you, stitched in safely there. His hand squeezed yours again and then he rolled the plastic bag closed and stuck it into his pack. There was another moment of silence and then he glanced over at you. “Back there. When ya helped Negan—”

You sighed and nodded. “I know. I—Look, I know what he did. He took a father away from his wife and child. He tortured you and who knows how many other people in one way or another… He’s got blood on his hands that will never completely wash off. But in moments like that—” you searched for the right words, hesitating. “I—I can’t just stand by and not help someone who is supposedly on our side now. Even if it is Negan.”

Daryl nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Okay. Yer—yer a better person than I am,” he drawled, ducking his eyes. His hair fell into his face. “Ya always have been.”

“That’s not true.”

Just then, before you could say anything further, Dog took off in response to unexpected echoing yells and raced to a large drain culvert and jumped inside, paying no attention to Daryl’s shouts.

“Fuck!” Daryl growled, peering inside. His flashlight hardly seemed to penetrate the gloom. He shot an anxious look back at you and then closed his eyes for a long moment when you only nodded stoically. When he opened them again, he climbed in and you slipped inside after him.

The dark was disorienting and the tunnel walls seemed to shrink in around you as you crawled and hunched your way through. The growls and moaning of walkers echoed in the network of metal and stone, bouncing off walls and ricocheting in ways that made it impossible to tell which direction they were coming from. Your knees were scraped and aching from the cobbled stone and metal. Your hands were cold from the moisture pooling in the low, stagnant spots. You could only imagine what the two of you would look like when you emerged at the other end… if you emerged.

Right when you thought you were almost out, there was a sudden growl from an offshoot of the culvert beside you. You looked back just in time to see a gnarled hand shoot out and grip your boot. Some noise of surprise must have escaped you because Daryl was yelling your name. “Y/N! No!”

Your hand fumbled with your sheath and landed on the handle of your knife. You struggled to maneuver in the tight space but after what seemed both entirely too long and lightning speed, you freed yourself from the walker’s grip and lunged with your blade, finding your mark in the skull.

“Are you okay?” Daryl asked desperately, laying on his back, half sitting to look at you. You nodded, gasping in hurried breaths.

There was no time to recover as heavy iron behind him clanged where the exit had just been. More walkers had bumped into the grate, slamming it closed, and they now reached their bony arms through, grappling at the air. “Stay here!” he said gruffly.

“Daryl—!” but he had already pushed himself into the grate, hurling the walkers back as it opened and sending him tumbling down to the floor. You army crawled as fast as you could to the edge of the culvert, gripping his crossbow where he’d left it. But he quickly righted himself and put down the two dead with a few swings of his mace. He glanced up and down the tunnel he’d emerged into before rushing back to take his crossbow onto his shoulder again and to help you out onto your feet. “Are ya good?” he asked you again, studying your face. He couldn’t see any sign of injury. You were both damp from the heavy moisture in the air. Your hair was sticking to your cheeks and your neck. Your eyes were a little wide. He would have clasped your face if his hands weren’t absolutely filthy.

You nodded. “I’m good. Are you?”

“Fine,” he drawled, turning to look into the blackness ahead. Dog’s bark was echoing in the distance. “I dunno what the hell has gotten into him…”

“Let’s go find out,” you said, starting forward again. Daryl walked beside you, clearing on edge. His eyes scanned behind and in front alternately, and then he put out an arm to stop you. His eyes narrowed as he looked ahead toward a dark stain on the ground. He adjusted his grip on his crossbow and stepped protectively ahead of you, shining his light toward the pool that glistened ominously.

You followed just behind him and finally were able to see that it was fresh blood, and not blood from a walker… It was a deep, violent red. Your stomach twisted. “Daryl…”

Suddenly a figure materialized in the dark, staggering toward you. Daryl nearly let a bolt fly, but then he registered that it was Roy right as your breath left your lungs in a puff. He collapsed. The blood was his. Behind him trailed walkers, and in a flash, Dog streaked out of nowhere and took one down, fighting with it ferociously until Daryl could get a shot and it went still.

You pulled out your knife again and rushed one of the others, plunging the blade into its head. Beside you, Daryl dropped his bow and pulled his twin knives from their sheaths in a purposeful movement and he dropped the remaining walker with almost ease.

“Roy!” you said, spinning and hurrying to where he had collapsed. He was covered in blood. “Shit… Shit!” You fumbled with your pack, digging into the front pocket for the med kit. Daryl knelt down beside you and the two of you exchanged a grave look.

Roy let out a wry laugh and coughed up blood onto the concrete. “I can see from your faces that this’ll probably be the last mistake I ever make. Here,” he pulled out his gun and a hand grenade and held them out to Daryl. “Don’t waste any supplies on me. Just—tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.”

You shut your eyes and hung your head. Kids. The man had kids... he was scared and he made a mistake. “Hey. I’m not giving up on you. Come on. Let me patch you up as best I can,” you said.

“Where’s the ammo bag?” Daryl pressed Roy.

“I lost it. And I lost Gage… Please—just—make it quick.” He coughed thickly again.

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Nah. Ya hang here ‘til we figure this shit out, alright? We’ll come back for ya. Just hang on.”

“We have to get back to the others,” you said, already shouldering your bag again when Daryl was back beside you, greeting Dog happily and scolding him at the same time. “Daryl, he said there are walkers everywhere. What if they’re trapped back there on the subway car still?”

“Yeah… c’mon…”

You were barely there in time. The rest of your group was trapped. On one end, a barricaded door, and on the other a herd of walkers. There were walkers ahead of you too, between you and the barricade, but less than were bearing down on your friends on the other side. You, Daryl, and Dog crept up from behind. You fingered your bowstring, itching to start, an arrow nocked. Daryl loosened his knives and then raised the pistol. You gave him a slow nod to tell him you were ready, and he aimed and pulled the trigger. An arrow whizzed past him and buried itself deeply into the head of the next walker, still covered in the spray of the one whose head had just exploded with Daryl’s bullet. You moved forward swiftly, like a force to be reckoned with, like the storm above, clearing the path to the others. When Daryl ran out of bullets, his knives sang.

He tugged the seat blocking the door out of the way and between him and Negan, they managed to force it open. Your found family poured through. As a final parting, Daryl shoved the hand grenade into the mouth of an advancing walker and kicked it back into the next car, slamming the compartment door closed again. He dove down over you where you were huddled behind a seat, shielding you with his body, as it exploded and vaporized the herd in the next car into nothing more than a sickening spray of gore.

You all slowly rose, glancing around, relieved that you’d managed the narrow escape. Maggie gave you both grateful looks and let out a long exhale. “Thank you. You make a pretty good team,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Wouldn’t mind keepin’ you two around,” Alden joked. Everyone’s hearts lifted, just a little.

Luckily, there were no more surprises during the rest of your underground trip, and you emerged from the station to find that the storm had broken and the sky was clear. An infinite number of stars shown overhead. You found yourself staring, drawing in deep lungfuls of life-giving cool, after-rain air. Daryl was watching you staring. He could see the stars reflected in your eyes—or wait—no. Maybe that was just you shining. Even covered in filth and splattered with walker blood, nothing seemed to dim you.

His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out the 100-dollar bill again, looking at the dark writing and thinking of those two smiling kids in that picture, them huddled around the radio—waiting and hoping. He wondered if they’d made it out, if they’d ever found anywhere safe again. You sank down next to him, close enough that your shoulder and leg were against his. Dog came and sat between your knees and you bent to scratch his chest and kiss the top of his head. Daryl tucked the bill inside his glove and you studied his expression. It was thoughtful and sad. You wished you were alone so you could kiss him right then… Instead, you reached over and rested your hand briefly on the bare skin of his forearm. Your pointer finger swept back and forth, and Daryl glanced over at you again and felt some flickering of warmth start between his lungs again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were nearly to the hidden supply depot to restock and rest up, when up ahead, something horrific, still encased in deep shadow, loomed. Your inhale was a sharp hiss of breath through your teeth and your hand went reflexively to the handle of your knife. “Daryl…”

A few more steps and it was clear to everyone. Corpses. Rows of corpses, strung up and hanging by their feet. There was one row on each side of the road, lining it like poplar trees on some kind of perverse boulevard. You further loosened your knife in its sheath. “It’s them,” you said. Your voice was steely but Daryl thought he could hear a slight shake in it. “This is them.”

Daryl swung his crossbow off his shoulder and readied it in his hands, squinting ahead into the dark.

Your hand landed on his arm. It felt surprisingly cold and heavy—unlike your usual touch. Or was his perception of you being tainted by the horror show he was staring at? When you spoke again, your voice was more urgent. “We need to get to—” Cover. You’d been about to say “cover.” Too late.

Chaos. Nightmarish, abrupt chaos. Roy dropped to the ground dead with an arrow in his face. Cole’s hand was sliced clean off with a sharp knife that also embedded in his leg. Your group scattered for the trees like frightened rabbits in front of a fox.

“Y/N?!” Daryl whirled, searching for you, but you seemed to have vanished. Yells punctuated the darkness. A draft of air passed his head and he ducked, aware that a knife had flown right past him. He crouched and squinted into the darkness, his heart pounding—was it pounding? Or had it stopped altogether? “Y/N!” he yelled, unable to hear his own voice over the rush of blood in his ears. And just like that—he realized he was seemingly alone, with only Dog nearby. The silence was close, pressing closer, and ominous.

“Okay… okay…” he tried to slow down his racing mind and focus. Where were you? You’d been right beside him when Roy was hit—and then—fuck! It was all too chaotic! He was disoriented in the trees, in the darkness. He felt it all over again—the way your hand and then your fingertips had slipped away… or were pulled? Were you pulled away from him? He shook his head as if that would do fuck all to clear his thinking up. “Focus. Fuckin’ focus,” he muttered to himself, rising from where he was crouching and scanning the ground nearby, hardly daring to step away from the tree he’d been sheltering behind. But he needed to find a trace of you; a track, a scuffmark, a piece of gear, even one of your arrows, or—

He felt a painful jolt rip through him as his eyes landed on a dark splotch in the dirt. He stopped cold. All warmth seemed to leave his veins. He gripped his crossbow with white knuckles. He moved closer and stared at it, bending down on one knee. There was Roy, dead on the ground. Here—he touched a scrape in the dirt—he’d been here… and you. You were just beside him, on the side where that stain glared back at him, looking almost deep purple in the dark and the dust.

As much as he wanted to, he didn’t dare call out for you again, even though every fiber of his being was revolting against his silence. You couldn’t have gone far yet. It’d been only seconds—right? It wasn’t even minutes yet… You had to be nearby still, especially if you were injured. But if he called out, gave away his position—no. He couldn’t get to you, couldn’t help you if he was dead. He stayed silent and it was killing him. It was like Atlanta all over again. You’d been together. And then you were suddenly, cruelly rended apart. He felt your touch slip from him and he willed it not to be the last time he felt your hand on his arm, your skin on his.

Maybe it wasn’t yours. Maybe it wasn’t your blood. Maybe you’d gotten one of them with your knife. He whistled for Dog and pointed to the blood spot. “C’mon. C’mon, boy. We gotta find her. Track. C’mon!”

A sudden rustling in some brush nearby and Daryl rocketed to his feet. A dark clad figure disappeared into the deeper shadow of the woods. “Dog!” He whistled again and signaled for Dog to follow, and they took off at a desperate speed. If you were nearby and injured, he wasn’t going to let this asshole be the one to find you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You pressed your back hard into the bark of the tree behind you. The bite of the ridges and edges barely distracted from the pain as you pressed the sterile gauze into the wound on your side with two fingers. You tasted blood in your mouth from biting down on your cheek in an attempt to stifle any noise that might escape you. Blinding white hot pain and then a deeper streak of ruby red exploded behind your eyes.

Daryl. Where was Daryl? You could still practically feel his arm beneath your hand. Roy had dropped, you’d scattered. He’d been right beside you… and then suddenly The Reapers were on you. You’d felt the icy cold slash of a knife in your side and then it was burning with heat. You’d thrown yourself farther into the trees, moving from the deepest shadow to the deepest shadow.

Behind you, a stick cracked in the deathly quiet and you stopped breathing. Your eyes flew wide open again. Your heart pounded. Your lungs were tight. You turned, angling your ear toward the sound. Someone was walking toward you. It sounded a little jolting, as if they were limping. You hastily pressed a gauze pad down over the packed wound in your side and tugged your shirt down again. It clung to your skin, soaked and sticky with blood. You gulped and gripped the handle of your knife tightly, holding it up near your chest, ready to use it, pressing yourself back against the tree.

The soft steps approached and then hesitated off to your left and you shut your eyes for a brief moment before deciding you’d better be the one to strike first. You gritted your teeth against the pain and leapt to your feet, throwing yourself around the tree trunk at the figure, your blade raised.

But it struck metal and ricocheted off. You nearly doubled over from the excruciating sensations rippling through you from your side. Then, you were shocked when the figure was supporting you, gripping your forearms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Shit, if it weren’t for my handiness with a goddamn crowbar, you would have just skewered me,” he exclaimed, helping you straighten up.

“Negan,” you said through your gritted teeth, clutching a hand to your side again.

“Yeah, unfortunately it’s just me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes went to the dark stains down the side of your clothes. You noticed his furrowed brow.

“It’s nothing,” you said, doing your best to stand up tall and straight again.

“Yeah, well, that nothing happens to look suspiciously like a pretty fucking serious injury,” he countered. “Or you slipped and fell in somebody’s bucket o’ blood. I wouldn't put anything past these freaks...”

You glared at him. “It’s not life-threatening, is what I meant.”

“Oh, so you don’t need blood. Okay. Got it,” he said sarcastically. “That’s a new one for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut against another jolt of that white hot and violent red pain bursting behind your eyes. “I meant—look, conveniently I was shot once in almost the exact same place, okay? I’ll be fine. There are no major vessels there and no vital organs,” you snapped back.

“Interesting,” Negan nodded. “I’m sure that’s a story I want to hear but now probably isn’t the time.” He gripped your upper arm again as you wavered a little on your feet. “Also, it should be noted that I consider all my organs to be rather fucking vital. Just so we’re clear on that.” You were too distracted by another wave of pain to scoff anything back. “Come on. We’ve gotta get the fucking hell out of here before these psychos find us.”

It was then that you noticed the binding around his leg. You’d be willing to bet no one had gotten away completely unscathed… if they’d gotten away at all. “Wait. The others—did you see what happened to them?” you asked.

His eyebrows lifted. “Roy’s definitely dead. I can tell you that much. That karma sure kicks in fast, doesn’t it? Come on.”

“Wait! No—did you see—did—”

Negan suddenly sighed and his shoulders seemed to sag at the desperate look on your face. He shook his head. “I didn’t see Daryl,” he said, his tone sincere. “But if I’ve learned anything about him over the years—it’s that he, out of everyone, will be A-fuckin’ okay.”

You swallowed at a sudden constriction in your throat. “Fuck,” you muttered, pressing your hand down again over your side. “You’re right. We have to get the fuck out of here, and fast. Can you do fast?” you asked him.

He cocked his head at you. “Can you?”

“I said I’ll be fine. Now, where the fuck do we go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Negan said. He started off away into the trees, a limp in his walk, and you followed after him, slightly hunched, still checking over your shoulder with a knife in one hand.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was nearly light out by the time you came on a dilapidated old house. But there was a solid door and most of the windows were boarded up and Negan didn’t like the gray tinge to your complexion or the cold sweat beading up on your face or neck. His leg also felt as if he was walking around with a giant splinter in the muscle. “I think this is as good as it gets. We better take a rest in here for a while and regroup. We’ve put a good amount of distance between us and that Halloween town.”

You shot him a look, and although you were exhausted and pale, it was still sharp. “Halloween town?” you repeated.

“Yeah, the hanging human piñatas, psychos in masks…” he said, limping up to the door and tapping on it with his crowbar. He paused listening for growls but it was silent, so he wedged the iron edge of the crowbar into the seam and pried. The wood sprung open with a crack.

“Could you not make fucking jokes? We have no idea how many of our people even made it,” you spat at him. You dragged yourself past him and into the house.

“I didn’t say it was a joke,” he countered, stepping in after you and pulling the door shut.

You sunk down against the wall, sliding down against your back, your eyes closed. “Jesus, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you muttered, your eyes closing.

Negan laughed. “No, not really.” He paused, taking in your slumped posture against the wall and the rusty staining on your hand that was pressed over your side. He turned and shut the door again and barricaded it with a heavy old oak desk. Your eyes opened again at the scraping sound and he glanced over at you once he’d finished. He twirled his crowbar in his hands and you could tell he had something on his mind.

You grabbed your pack and started digging in the main pocket again for your canteen. “What?” you prompted him.

“I didn’t really get a chance to thank you for the help in the tunnel—with that fucking behemoth of a walker. Wasn’t about to try and say thanks with the peanut gallery standing around,” he said. "SO, uhh—" he rubbed a hand over his short hair. "Thanks."

You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, don’t mention it…” You unscrewed the cap of your water and took a long drink. You nodded at him. “Your leg. How bad is it? I’ve got a few supplies if you need to patch it up.”

His hand strayed over the scrap of fabric binding the wound. “It’s okay. I mean, it hurts like hell but—how did you put it? Non-life threatening. What about you?”

You replaced your canteen and rested your head back against the wall. “I’ll have to stitch it. But it’s fine.”

“I can help you with that. I’ve done a few—”

“Hell no,” you interrupted him. “I’ll do it myself.”

He let out a dry laugh. “What, worried that Daryl will find out I’ve had my hands on you?” You scowled up at him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He flashed you a smile but your face stayed stoic. “Ah, come on. I’m kidding. That’s the farthest thing from my mind right now. …well maybe not the farthest but—”

“Negan, shut the fuck up! Jesus Christ…” You rubbed a hand over the clamminess on your forehead.

He laughed again and nodded. “Sorry. It’s a bit of a nervous habit if I’m being completely honest.” He sank down on a stiff-backed wooden chair in the corner, his leg stretched out and his hazel eyes fixed on you across the room. “I know I’m not your idea of a perfect traveling companion, but I’m on your team here. And to get ourselves out of this shitstorm we’re going to have to work together.”

You sighed again and nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

He seemed satisfied with that response and stood up, crossing the space to you and bending down. “Now, about those med supplies…”

_ _ _ _ _ _

That Reaper hadn’t found you, hadn’t gotten to you. But neither had Daryl. And now Dog was in the wind. Daryl had gutted up and found Dog’s trail. His hope was that Dog would lead him to you… or at least someone. But he couldn’t stop thinking about that spot of blood back by the road. He wondered where you were hurt, how badly… What if you were—No. No, that wasn’t possible. That wasn’t going to happen now. Not like this, after fucking finding you again after all these years, after you’d relit the spark in him that had all but gone out. You were going to be fine, and he’d find you. He’d find Dog, and then he’d find you.

In the distance; Dog barking. Daryl took off toward the sound.

But Dog wasn’t alone. One of them. A Reaper.

“Let him go,” Daryl said. His voice was gruff but also soft and tired. There was still danger underneath it however. The Reaper didn’t move. Dog sat calmly beside the figure. Daryl withdrew one of his knives. “I said let him go.”

The figured raised a hand and pulled off their mask and a fabric covering beneath. Daryl felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. His racing heart sunk into the pit of his stomach and stayed there, heavy like a river rock.

Leah. The Reaper was Leah.

Next thing he knew, he was at the end of the barrel of her shotgun again. And then it wasn’t just her. He was surrounded.

A burlap bag thrown over his head. Water poured over his face. And Leah… like a shell. Seemingly unmoved. Unfeeling. Indifferent. Cold. Her words rang in his head. “These people are my family. I came home.”

He was disoriented with the racing of his mind. How could she participate in this fucked up horror show? What the fuck kind of person was she really? Maybe he'd never known her at all... Clearly he hadn't. And yet he needed to convince her he wasn’t a threat, that he didn’t know fuck all about “those people on the road.” He needed to convince her that he still cared about her the way he had. On some level, he did still care about her... maybe that was stupid. It probably was. But this? These people? Killing anyone they saw for no fucking reason? Stringing up dead people on the roadside? This was insanity. This was almost inhuman.

And all the while, you flashed in his mind's eye. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

When they dragged him to a chain link cell, more like a cage, he saw the shape of you in the sheets beside him in his mind’s eye. When they pulled him out to question him endlessly, he heard your voice saying his name, heard your laugh. As he sat alone on the cold cement floor, he could imagine the feel of you under his hands, the shape of you, the taste of your lips, the smell of your skin and scent of your hair. As the water drowned him, pressing the burlap over his nose and mouth, he saw the sun shining off your hair as you grabbed DJ into a hug. DJ. Now he saw DJ too. His son.

When Leah came and talked softly to him in his cell, he forced himself to say things he didn’t mean, a nauseous churning in his stomach. His heart felt hollow as he tried to sound convincing. When the time was right, he gave her something. That’s when it started.

The fire came next.

Pope came after.

And Daryl was embedded deep, with only you and the rest of his family on his mind, even while he tried his goddamn best to make Leah believe that she was the only thing in this world he cared about besides Dog. It felt like willingly drinking poison.

A/N: I fucking loooove writing redeemed!Negan and was so stoked to have him and Y/N team up in this fic. He's just so damn fun to write, and something about the dynamic of him taking care of Daryl's love is achingly good and delicious. Hope you enjoyed so far! Can't wait to get you all the next update!

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #the reapers #negan smith

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rusty-gloinks · 1 year

Text

MURDER DRONES EPISODE 5 : Random details and favorite parts of this episode

Will be putting major spoilers under cuts if anyone has NOT seen the new episode, or has yet to see it. CW/TW: Blood, body horror, murdery stuff! SPOILERS!! AHHH!!! You get the point. I am not responsible for your actions :3

(This post is a mix of different things btw, Md related tho)

None of this will be in order, and I might need to make a PART TWO!!! Since the total is 45 images. :’)

FIRST UP. I would like to take the time to appreciate doll so have some LOVELY LITTLE images of her I took.

She looks so fucking awesome???? Like holy shit. She slayed!!!!!

not to be fruity .but. yea

SHE. also Isn’t that the campsite? Or just a different location with the same appearance.

OKAY. Next up. BABYGIRL . I SQUEALED AT LIKE EVERY SCENE OF THEM SHES SO FUCKING CUTE. MAN😭

BLEEEEEH (I’m going to make this my icon soonthat was the purpose of the screenshot. Also because I love them)

World is mine by Hatsune mi- cyn. World is mine by cyn. The famous vocaloid /j (HSES 😭😭😭😭)

Noticing how her balance is SOOO Much better while holding someone?. Also MOOD .just like me .real 💔

i lov e you🥺EEEK /p. Shes melting

MY SIB AND I WERE FUCKIJG DYING OVER THE PUPPY EYES.LMAO. I love their humor

J* , and they locked her in the basement. I am so SAD about this information

PROTECTIVE BIG BRO MODE…babys

Okay, listen, i know these 2 got shipped before the release but OUCH this makes things so much weirder!!! eugh:( (mainly saw em as friends.tttotallt not becsuse I project my friendship with my silly mutual onto them.no. /sarc)

anyways forget them being friends as my headcanon. THEYRE FUCKING SIBLINGS EVEN BETTER!!! (prjdedcts me and my elder sib onto th— *gets killed /j*

GAY RIGHTS(After the 2nd watch i realized she was making them kiss each other and I started laughing so hard my sides hurt)

Okay glitch QUIT SHOWING OFF. god damn !!!!! Literally appreciating this scenery so hard. 10000/10. :3

YKNOW HW I WANTED TO SEE TEARS IN THE NEW EPISODE!! LOOK. KIND OF CLOSE!!

LOOK HES SOBBING!!!! ALMOST. I GOT WHAT I WANTED OMFG!!!!! YAYYA!!!! (Love it when ppl cry /j

Lovely little lad. Reading abt dogs:) so cute…

subtle hints of favoritism..👀(she obvs likes J more I think,)

I love how immediately i could tell this was drawn by Liam. Canonically J in the show but like his style is so adorable and bouncy!!!! AND LIKE yummyys:3 eated

Cute detail in Uzi’s room. SHE LIKES BABY COWS GUYS. ITS TIME TO MAKE FANART OF UZI WITH BABY COWS. /J

Blushys:)!

For those wondering what this is it’s basically a ripoff of YouTube. The caption is titled "Top 100 Doors ever!!11!" and then the views at the bottom 😭😭. KHAN AND HIS FUCKING DOORS GOD DAMNIT

This part scared the shit out of me i was literally about to cry. I THIUGHTT SHE KILLED HIM

I had to slow this down and repeat the same clip OVER AND OVER Just to get it right, apparently the solver can swap roles? (The order is supposed to be yellow then purple since Uzi takes over as an admin instead of CYN.) very cool.

STP FIGHTING D:

BOTH VRY SCARY :(

Better glimpse of her backpack. Cute little skullbat zipper!! Also batteries. 👍

Apparently DEAD BATTERIES, aka the logo on Uzi’s sweater could be a possible band? Or reference to a band I don’t know? Like how they have my chemical robots (or something like that) as a ref to the band MCR (romance).

Sigh., N was that you.

Conlang? Fictional language? Glyphs? I’m assuming it’s VERY important (since liam lovessss foreshadowing, i will further elaborate). Hoping there will be ways to "simplify" it to english!

Yknow how in episode 2 Uzi takes braidens sentience or sumn like dat. Yea 💀

Alright I’ve hit the limit, gonna rb again with part 2!!!!! Soon. Maybe

#murder drones #Murder drones spoilers #Spoilers #md spoilers #spoilers md #murder drones spoilers #Md spoiler #Murder drones episode 5 spoilers #Ask to tag #Md ep 5 spoilers #Murder drones ep 5 spoilers

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looseratinthegarage · 2 years

Text

Dept (yautja x reader)

I’m much happier with this version then the last! Let me know if you like this one better

You lock your apartment door and put the keys in your back pocket. You walk down the mixed stone steps and wave to your downstairs neighbor having a smoke.

“Oi, it’s colder than a witches tit out here, get a coat on.” The young Irishman warned.

“I would but I don’t have one.” You laughed sadly.

He shook his head, taking his coat off and extending his arm to you.

“Here,” he huffed and tried to hand it to you.

“No, no, it’s alright-“ You stutter, rather flustered at his actions.

“Take the damn thing.” He holds his cigarette in between his lips and places the coat onto you.

You smiled shyly and nodded. You start to walk towards the street. He was rough around the edges but a nice guy. Quite the drinker though, also noisy, but you didn’t mind. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and stomped it out.

“Shits gonna get weird later,” he blurted out, causing you to turn around and face him.

“I’ve got a feelin,” he clarified.

You nod and shrug to him, shit always happens around here. The sun had begun to set and you started walking down the concrete sidewalk. You changed your pace to speed-walking. You make a left and walk through the emptying park, it’s a nice shortcut. You see families picking up their picnics and gathering their children. You turn your attention toward trash laying on the ground. You sigh, throwing it away, and continuing your journey for food. You place your hand in his pockets and repress a shiver.

You look towards the lush trees and admire them momentarily, then something takes you from your thoughts. You fall to the ground and feel something wet on your face. You push it off and see a tail wagging golden retriever.

Their owners run up frantically and put them back on a leash.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” She handed the lead to her partner.

She rushed over as the dog pawed at the other woman for attention. She looped her arm with yours and pulled you to your feet.

“We shouldn’t have let him off leash, I’m really sorry about that! You're not hurt are you?” She asked with a worried expression.

“Oh it’s no problem! I’m okay,” you laugh through the pain of your aching knee.

You lean down and pet the sweet pup. He wags his tail and licks your hands. You politely wave to the couple and their fur-baby.

You make a right and see your destination come into view. You happily skip up to the mom and pop diner and open the door, hearing a little jiggle.

“Ah, y/n, want your usual?” Mr Barone asked as he wiped the counter.

“Yes sir!” You smile and sit down at a table.

He chuckles and walks into the back. He begins barking orders at the chiefs and you shake your head fondly. You look down and pull out your phone. You scroll through social media for a moment and angrily sigh. You’ve been putting yourself out there, but you still couldn’t get a date.

You play a mindless game to pass the time while your mouth is practically watering. You look up at your battery and quickly turn the phone off. It was pretty close to dying and you’d really rather not walk home in the dark without a phone.

Mrs Barone walks out of the back with steaming food in hand. If you had a tail, it would be wagging. She giggled at your eagerness and placed the food down.

“Thank you ma’am!” You dig into your meal as if it would be your last.

“Of course, y/n! You really have to come more often.” She smiles and pinches your cheek.

You smile back and resume inhaling your dinner. She walks behind the counter and starts counting the money in the register. Mr Barone comes out of the back and is seemingly fixated on something outside. He squints his eyes into the darkness then clears his throat and moves his attention to you. He plops down at your table on the other booth with a groan.

“It’s gettin pretty late, I’ll walk you home, don’t want any weirdos messin with ya.” He offers and leans back.

You smile at his concern and roll your eyes.

“I’ll be fine, grandpa.” You joke.

“I just want you to be safe, if I gotta be your grandfather to do that then so be it.” He laughed and you felt your face heat up in embarrassment.

You’ve become rather close with Mr and Mrs Barone, to the point of viewing them like family. You liked the idea of Mr Barone being your granddad, but you guessed he was only joking.

“I have my phone with me,” You try to convince him but he interrupts you.

“And you got my number?” He asks as he crosses his arms.

“Yes,” you roll your eyes fondly.

“And what do you do if something happens?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll call you,” you reassure him.

“And it doesn’t matter what time it is, eh?” He leans back slightly.

“If I ever run into trouble, no matter what time, you’ll be the first person I call.” You smile at the grumpy old man.

“That’s my boy/girl/kid.” He ruffles your hair and stands up.

He walks over to Mrs and kisses her on the cheek while she counts. At least he seems more at ease now. You finish up your food and begin walking to the back.

“Ah, ah,” he corrects.

You sigh and place the plate on the counter. You always try to clean up after yourself but he never lets you. It’s not like you weren’t allowed back there. You’ve gone many times, often when he proudly shows you new equipment or appliances. He just never wanted you to work, guess he likes taking care of you. Not that you're surprised, he had a son that died when he was young. Leaving a big hole in his heart, one that you happily filled.

You gave them both a kiss on the cheek and tried to pay, but as you expected he didn’t let you. He asked one more time if he could walk you home but you politely declined. He sighed and nodded.

You waved to them and opened the door, hearing the jingle once again. You took a deep breath and started your walk back home. Through the park is the easiest and quickest way, even though Mr Barone isn’t a big fan.

You enter and see that all of the families have moved on long ago. You hear a crunch underneath your foot and stop. You look down and see a brown paper bag, people really need to clean after themselves. You look around for a trash can and spot one. Sadly the light post above it had gone out. You walk into the darkness and throw the bag away, feeling rather satisfied with yourself.

You turn around and begin walking away then hear a bone chilling noise. Unnatural hisses. You slowly turn around looking for the cause. If it was a cat, it’s a weird freaking cat. Then something all black walks into the light of the moon. You gasp and start slowly backing up.

It lunged at you, you fled at full speed, but it chased you, your heart pounded so heavily you thought it’d explode. It trips you with its tail and you fall to the ground hard. You gasp for breath as the wind has been knocked out of you. The creature leaped at you, you screamed but managed to roll out of the way. Then out of nowhere a strange shape of a person jumps out and stabs the thing in the back of the head. It shrieks and turns around beginning to fight them. The figure wasn’t human, it was alien, just like the black thing.

Everything in your body told you to run, neither of them are human. But you couldn’t move, you were frozen. You snapped back to reality and grabbed your phone. You fumbled with it and went into the calling app. While you were distracted the thing had tried attacking you. Luckily the other creature blocked the attack and pushed you out of the way. You hit the floor and your phone goes flying.

You crawl towards it and grasp it in your hand. You hastily click his name and wait while it rings. He picks up the phone quickly.

“Are you alright-” He speaks frantically but you interrupt him.

“Please help!! I’m scared!! Aah-!” You roll out of the way from the two battling behemoths.

“I’m at the park!! Please!!” You cry as you watch the two fight.

You look down at the phone and your heart sinks, it died. He won’t know where you are. You throw the phone to the side and look around for something to defend yourself with. You see a fallen tree branch and bolt for it. The ‘good’ creature was on the ground. It took your brain a minute to figure out that it was going to kill him.

Without thinking you start running at the thing. You hit it over the head but the branch brakes on impact. You gulp and back up slowly as it turns around. It stabs you through the chest with its tail. The world went in slow motion and your eyes widened. Once it pulled it out of you, time returned to normal. You cry out and fall to the ground.

Then someone shoots it, and it wasn’t the other creature. You turn your head weakly and see Mr Barone with a shotgun. It only seemingly stuns the monster, but in that time the ‘good’ one was able to strike it fatally.

He threw the shotgun into the grass and ran to your side. He knelt down and cupped your cheeks. He pulls something that resembles a medallion from his loose shirt and shows it to the tall bipedal. It nods and walks over to you. The last thing you remember is being picked up by rough scaly hands and Mr Barone kissing your forehead.

———————————————————————————

He placed a hand on his forehead and grumbled. He followed the Yautja to their cloaked ship and walked up the mysterious metal ramp. He held no fear, well for himself, but he was terrified of losing you. He internally scolded himself. He knew something was out there, if he had just gone with you…. it would have been him dying not you, and that’s how he would have preferred it.

He clears his throat and walks down the strange hall. The both of them made a right and weapons were already pointed at them. He didn’t raise his hands, nor gasp or show any surprise.

“Your trial segugio infernale hurt my grandkid“ He paused briefly.

“And you're gonna fix him!” He raised his index finger and waved it.

The leader eyed him suspiciously, but held his spear tight. There was a long pause of silence before one of the others spoke up. They clicked with their leader about something.

“Has my face changed that much, eh?” He spat.

Barone ripped his button down open to reveal his tanned hairy chest. The chieftain wevered for a moment, the grip on his weapon faltering.

“There you go..” He grins angrily, the chieftains breathing increases.

Your body begins to shake violently in the Yautjas arms and foam bubbles from your mouth. Barone swiftly turns to you and puts a hand on your head worriedly. Unintentionally letting his fear seep out just enough for them to smell. The yautja holding you spoke to the chieftain, and his mood seemed to change.

Everyone lowered their weapons at his command and parted, making a path. He ran straight to the med bay and Barone was hot on his heels.

“He better be okay o ti tengo per le palle.” He eyed the chieftain.

#yautja oc #slashers x reader #slashers #horror #slasher community #slasher x reader #predator #yautja/human #yautja #yautja x reader #predator x reader #alien vs predator

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eddie-van-munson · 2 years

Note

Eddie with a s/o with super powers (electrokinesis control electricity and energies)

(Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Chrissy's Death)

-I actually LOVE this

-Mostly this comes in handy in cute little every day sort of ways

-You'll be all snuggled up in bed with him and he is out like

- already snoring and draped over top of you

- drooling a little

-And obviously you're not going to wake that precious boy to turn off the lights so you just wave your hand and

-click

-If you're at home and his music is just a little too loud, you'll turn it down, like, two notches and he'll always pout about it

-But on the other hand

-If you're at one of his shows and you feel like the venue owners haven't turned up his amp enough

-Lets just turn that up a bit

-Sweet Ed's doesn't quite understand how it works and it's very cute

- There's a storm and he's like "Babe I think the lightning is scaring the neighbor's dog a little. Can you, like??? Turn it off? Or something??"

-God you love him

-"Babe, I think the AC in the van is broken. Do you think your brain could fix that?"

-But sometimes he throws something at you that's like,,,I never thought of that

-"So I was thinking, and you know how our brains send electrical pulses to our bodies?"

-"Mhm-Hm..."

-"Can you like...make people do shit? Mind control?"

-And you're like

-Thats a good question

-Of course you blow his mind on the daily when all of this Vecna shit goes down.

-Oh? Hawkins wants to say on the news that Eds is murder suspect?

-No worries, you'll just cut power to every television set in Hawkins.

-TV privileges lost

-Jason and his friends are driving around searching for Eddie?

-It's all good. You'll just drain their car battery real quick.

-The neighbors are jumping their car for them? Not anymore. Now the neighbor's battery is drained too.

-You hear they're going to hold a meeting at town hall to give details on Chrissy's murder and form a search party for Eddie, so you cut power to the building and make the sprinkler system go off for a good two hours.

-I mean you are a powerhouse here. No pun intended.

-You take such good care of him the whole time and he loves you so fucking much for it

***********

#eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie imagine #eddie imagines #eddie munsen #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munsen x reader

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lonelywriter26 · 6 months

Text

Okay. So I think I've established I'm mentally ill. And I'm thinking about a character, so I'm forcing the people who follow me to hear about them. Cool? Cool.

I've got this little OC named The Groundskeeper. They started as a joke. They are no longer a joke. I love them. Here we go.

Avery "Aster" Hatchaway, probably like, mid 20s. He/They pronouns, he will take your gender and you can DEAL WITH IT. He worked at a flower shop right out of college and really liked it, made some good friends, got a little apartment, life is good. The flower shop ends up closing and he's like "Shit, I need a new job."

So he looks for jobs, finds out he can get a job as a groundskeeper at a local cemetery. Sure. Why not. He can still do all his planting that he likes while listening to music, the pay is shockingly good, and he needs a new job anyway. He goes, gets the interview, and gets the job. Before he does though, the interviewer (who's the old groundskeeper) is like "Hey, so you're going to have to work nights sometimes and it might get weird" and Avery is like "Sure, whatever, I can do that."

So they go and start working. Job is good, they're good at it. One thing they don't realize: Because they aren't talking to anybody, they don't realize they've begun to refer to themselves as "The Groundskeeper" while in the graveyard. They forget about their name while on the clock. But they don't exactly realize it, and they spend like, a week with the job.

Then, their first nightshift comes. And it's fine for like, an hour or two. They're mostly just confused on why they've been stuck there at night, but fine, why not fuck up their sleep schedule for the day. Then, they hear things. Long story short, paranormal shit happens, the Groundskeeper, reasonably, tries to leave, only to find the gate locked and a note there (Hello Jon, apologies for the deception-💥) basically explaining they can't leave yet, cause yada yada keep the supernatural stuff in check.

So, The Groundskeeper survives. Clearly. And after their shift they immediately go to the old groundskeeper and is like "Why the FUCK wouldn't you tell me??" "I did warn you." "You didn't warn me of SHIT-"

They're mad. They're terrified of the ghosts. But they also need money, so they keep the job, and eventually fall into the rhythm of keeping the supernatural entities who live in the graveyard in check while also maintaining the place. It's fun. They're basically Jon from TMA on a smaller scale. (In the sense that they signed themselves up to deal with paranormal bullshit, I haven't actually finished the podcast so don't come at me-)

Okay. Backstory rant over. Here's some facts about them:

-They have a little toolbelt that holds: A supernatural book they found, a flashlight, extra batteries, scissors, a screwdriver, their phone, and their earbuds.

-They got lost in a liminal space beneath a crypt once because of a ghost trying to fuck with them.

-They got thrown down the stairs of an underground crypt once and needed stitches after.

-They really fucking hate crypts (I wonder why.)

-They dislike coffee and rely on sugar to stay awake.

-The book they keep on them can light things on fire. No, they don't know how it does that.

-They're a cat person, but they think dogs are cute.

-They had to perform an exorcism on a kid who snuck in one night, played with an ouija board, and got possessed.

-They like to draw but aren't good at it.

-They'd have a tumblr account.

-They aren't afraid of the dark, but if they're alone and they think too much about it, they'll get paranoid.

-They definitely saw the FNAF movie.

-They're a gamer.

-They're traumatized but certainly not as bad as they could be.

-They have not told any of their friends about what this job actually entails.

-They're on good terms with a few supernatural entities, including some ghosts and the Näcken that lives in the pond. It's a big cemetery. There's a pond.

Look. It's them. They're probably half awake.

#ocs #oc rant #long rants #ohhh boy we're going at it tonight #somebody restrict my tumblr access #paranomal characters #oh also we've got multiple tma references #can you tell its 12am

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tsuki-sennin · 1 year

Text

Japan's current greatest soap opera, Avataro Sentai Donbrothers! It's not just a Tsubasa episode, but a Sononi episode, more importantly! What shall come of this incredibly turgid passion play of a dog and a condor that I just simply cannot stop watching? What's Murasame-kun's deal? And most importantly, will Haruka attain her driver's license?! Only one way to find out~!

Spoilers, I guess...

-Ah,

-"How do love work???" I've been asking myself that for years, Miss.

-Ohhhhhhhhhh... I forgot about... the penguin.

-You'd better be holding out, Jirou.

-Here we see Sonoza, evolving into a master swordsman just like a manga.

-...or, I suppose Murasame just needs some time to himself, that's wonderful of him.

-"Mother, I crave violence."

-I've actually been doing the dance in my off time, it's really difficult but fun to try and get right.

-Oh that's cute, Haruka's helmet has an oni on it :)

-Oniga Mirai!

-Is the town we're in called "Oniga"? Mirai, Mirai, Mirai... Timeranger?

-Ohhhhh, Haruka's got Mad Racer Baron drivin', don't she?

-...I mean, Naoto's actor is in Geats so I'm not exactly surprised...

-Oh yeah, Haruka's an adult now. Trust me, it ain't getting any easier.

-Ohhhhh, I feel that Haruka. I'm 21 and I still don't wanna get my license. My permit is gonna expire soon too...

-OH MY GOD, HARUKA YOU KILLED THE LADY IN THE TOMORROW RESEARCH JACKET

-Oh, she's alive

-Oh hey Tsubasa! I forgot, you were the reason I was so excited for this episode.

-"Murasame! Kill him!"

-Nooooo, my blorbos are fighting!

-SAN SHARK!

-Ohhhh, he down

-Hello, Sononi.

-"The blorbo from my show is dying. If I cannot see his progress climax in a happy ending, then I shall write his death with my own feather quill instead of Sir Inoue's!"

-Can't do it, huh?

-Even when doomed to die, he still thinks so hard about her.

-Wait, you can't see?

-Sononi, no, don't do that.

-SONONI WHAT THE FUCK

-INOUE

-Oh hey, that's Hiroyuki Matsumoto! He played Nephrite in the live action Sailor Moon show and Gamel in OOO!

-Both shows by Yasuko Kobayashi and appearing in an episode that's a tribute to a Sentai also by Kobayashi, funny that.

-Braceless.

-Haruka, did you learn how to drive from Spongebob?

-Very professional, sensei!

-If only we had walkable cities all over the world, smh

-She's a bird, Tsubasa.

-You don't know, huh?

-Blind Doggy

-Murasame-kun doesn't stand for catfishing.

-"Mother, why has my friend betrayed me? :("

-Don't think! Feel!

-Sounds like absolutely horrendous advice for driving, but

-YOU WEREN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE GOING BACKWARDS OMFG

-Tsubasa was starstruck, huh?

-How kind of him.

-I really have to wonder how Murasame-kun's viewing all this.

-Shark attack-!

-Pachelbel's Canon?

-STAB

-OH SHIT HERE COMES SEYAMA

-You can't call the cops! He IS the cops!

-Okay Sononi, you're kinda making up for all that.

-OH HI TSUYOSHI

-Your wife has an umbrella and a car, doesn't she? ...on second thought, it looks pretty terrible out there, I'd wanna stay home too.

-Hello Crane Lady! That other bird (literal, and metaphorical by "woman" slang definition) from Ideon Tsubasa's entangled with got stabbed and clawed!

-Tsubasa's so desperate to be with Natsumi again, he just "hugs" her without a second thought...

-Yeah, you feel bad, huh Sononi?

-OH THE DOG CAN SEE NOW

-Ooooooh, he's mad!

-Yeah, that's totally reasonable

-And so the dog and bird run off into the storm.

-AND HARUKA'S STILL FUCKING DRIVING

-HARUKA I WAS KIDDING WHEN I SAID "MAD RACER BARON" ARE YOU ON FUCKING CRACK

-Y'know, there were probably like a bajillion other ways you could've gotten that info out of him.

-YOU FUCKING RAN HIM OVER YOU MONSTER

-ONI SISTER!

-"She slammed that car into you. Kill her harder."

-Drive-by! Hit the deck!

-This is fantastic.

-"Mother. I must recharge my batteries. It is nap time."

-Ohhhhh, that's not good. Seyama got the sword.

-Hello, Miraiki!

-Oh, everybody's here!

-Hello, Tarou! Your show has not had you in it yet today!

-Shinichi, Jirou!

-Yeah nice headbutt InuBrother. Totally knocked somebody out.

-LET'S GO, SONONI!

-Daaaaamn, you got him!

-Okay, okay, okay!

-Okay! Okay!

-Taken out of a dramatic moment by time

-Oh shit, time warp.

-Oh, never mind!

-We're just...

-Doing this now!

-That was fruitless!

-Okay!

-"I'll serve you this time instead!"

-Ninja Dog now has Ninja Shark!

-"Kill Crane Lady, and your one true love will return."

-Ohhhh, her eyes be glowin'

-Good on you this episode Sononi, you were great even if you didn't get to really fight today.

-Haruka can now drive!

-Legally.

-"RUN MY COMPANIONS!"

-Christmaaaaas~!

-Wait

-OH MY GOD, THE NOTO ARE SANTA

-Like

-Collectively.

-That's very nice of them :)

-Hahaha! Christmas Festival is coming soooooon~!

#donbrothers spoilers #avataro sentai donbrothers #donbrothers #super sentai #don! don! it's a full force peachy festival!

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raerana · 2 years

Note

goldigging is not bad nor a crime. seethe and cope

I’m soooo glad you mentioned crime, turdbot 💖 (interesting that you don’t deny she’s a gold digger)

Crimes Amber Heard has committed:

1. Perjury- lying under oath (USA, UK, Australia. Currently under investigation in AUS with help from the FBI. Extradition and JAIL TIME possible)

2. Glassing- attacking someone with a glass or bottle (AUS. She avoided arrest by leaving the country after severing JD’s finger)

3. Assault & Battery (“I wasn’t punching you I was hitting you”, “I did start a physical fight”, “I can’t promise you I won’t get physical again”- her own words. See also: glassing incident.)

4. Endangering Biosecurity, I like to call it Bioterrierism in this case- (AUS. Importing dogs illegally. AUS has strict biosecurity laws bc it’s an isolated island with unique wildlife and important agriculture industry. She pled GUILTY and STILL LIED in a court of law there. This led to a perjury investigation in 2021 after the UK trial where it was revealed she threatened employees to lie about the dogs.)

5. Domestic Abuse- (2009 airport ARREST after assaulting ex wife in public. Also requested to “clean up” the charge before dating JD. Not to mention the shit she did to JD)

6. Driving with a suspended license- there’s a teenage mugshot available (suspected DUI and Vehicular Manslaughter to get license suspension in first place but not 100% proven. Her friend was killed by a car. Some underage criminal records hidden)

7. Fabricating Evidence- (Edited photos as proven during trial. Confirmed by JD’s and AH’s experts. Scamber also refused to present her devices to JD’s expert under court order. Something else to hide, Scamber?)

Possible Crimes:

1. Insurance Fraud (suspiciously getting 2 insurance policies to cover defamation lawsuits in 2018, the year the op-ed was published. New York Marine sued Scamber because the US trial determined she defamed JD “willfully” and “maliciously” and they do not cover INTENTIONAL torts.)

2. Animal Abuse (bringing dogs to AUS knowing they were in danger of being put down, winning JD’s dog in the divorce and giving it to her dog fighting father, holding small dog out car window like she accused JD of doing during trial (in her insta video))

AND THERE’S PROBABLY MORE !

Seethe and cope bestie 😘 Hope you recover from your delusion soon 😘

#anti amber heard #amber turd #amber heard deserves prison #amber heard

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mrspasser · 1 year

Text

Count your fingers - chapter 5

Trigger warnings: light non-con, drowning

Read it on Ao3 Read it on Wattpad

<< Chapter 4

5. Not here

Trees rustle above his head, a slight breeze making goosebumps break out over his arms. Stiles realises he’s standing in The Preserve, not that far from the old Hale house, at the same time that he sees Derek standing a few steps away from him. “Derek!”

The werewolf turns to him, the relief visible on his face. “Stiles.”

“You okay?” Stiles looks around them. He feels nothing out of the ordinary and he recognises the trees around them. There’s a cluster of three young trees growing close together, their roots intertwined while the distance between their stems increases if you get further up from the ground. Across from it is the tree that got uprooted years ago and still found a way to grow skywards from its new horizontal position. Stiles is always reminded of Dr. Ian Malcom’s quote of “Nature, uh, finds a way” when he sees the thing.

“Yeah,” Derek confirms, flexing his hand as he makes claws appear and disappear. Still a werewolf then. Ten fingers too, so it’s not a dream.

“Do you think it worked?” It’s the million dollar question.

“Everything smells familiar.” The werewolf is equally hesitant in getting his hopes up.

Stiles feels in his jeans pockets and gets a phone out. It’s his own phone, the date and time saying it’s early Fall and late in the afternoon. That seems to correspond with the chill he feels, standing here in his T-shirt. He can’t remember what day it was when they disappeared from their own reality, but today seems as good a day as any.

“Who are you gonna call?” Derek pops up next to him, looking down at the phone in his hands.

Stiles shrugs. “Nobody. I’ve got no signal here.”

Derek takes out his own phone, but the screen stays black. “The battery died.”

“At least we know where we are. We could walk back to town, I guess.” He ignores the nagging feeling in his stomach that this doesn’t bode well. Derek seems to do the same, agreeing with him with a curt nod and a small, wry smile on his face.

They steer clear of the area where the old Hale House is, walking around it so the trees will always block their sight of the burnt out shell of what once was Derek’s home. After everything that happened, Stiles doesn’t like to see it any more than Derek does. They walk in silence, their arms brushing every once in a while. They’re both tense, even though everything seems to be alright.

“Stop right there.” The voice from behind startles them both. They turn to find Scott and Jackson behind them, both dressed in track pants and a sleeveless shirt as if they are going for a run.

“Scott!” Stiles can’t help but exclaim when he sees his friend.

“You’re not Stiles.”

“Well, shit.” His shoulders slump with disappointment. They’re not back in their own reality.

Next to him, Derek bristles and positions himself slightly before the human. “I can’t smell them,” he urges quietly, holding one arm out to keep Stiles back.

Jackson tilts his head, grinning viciously. “That’s not Derek either, though he acts like a guard dog just the same.”

Stiles’ eyes catch on the tattoo that sits on the left side of Jackson’s neck. It looks like Derek’s triskelion, but instead of round swirls this one has warped and pointy lines. Scott has the same one, also on the left side of his neck.

Scott holds a phone to his ear, talking into it while he keeps his eyes locked on Derek and Stiles. “We’ve got them. I think you’ll want to see this for yourself.” There’s no audible confirmation, but he disconnects the call anyway and puts the phone away again. “So,” he says conversationally, “who are you?” It doesn’t really come out as a pleasant question, especially paired with the red glow of his eyes.

Stiles and Derek both keep silent. It’s hard to know what’s the right thing to do here. All cards on the table or play it close to the chest? This Scott and Jackson are werewolves, just like they are in their own world. And Scott is an Alpha, another similarity. They’re in the Beacon Hills Preserve, so they’re at least in familiar territory. That’s about it, when it comes to comforting similarities. Their Scott may be a fan of tattoos, Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever go for the gang-like design he’s sporting in this reality. Matching with Jackson, of all people.

Derek crouches down and starts to growl when a blue pinprick of light appears out of nothing and quickly grows bigger, right behind where Scott and Jackson stand. The two other werewolves merely smirk at him, not bothering to match Derek’s aggressive stance. They step to the side when the light flashes and two dark shapes step out.

Derek growls harder, but his growl is met with a vicious snarl that has Stiles grab the werewolf by the arm. Whatever is in front of them, it’s large and lethal.

The light dissipates and the dark shapes become visible. Stiles is looking at himself, or to be more precise: another version of himself. This Stiles is considerably more badass, just from looks alone. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, a tight black T-shirt and a plaid shirt in black and red with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His skin is covered in tattoos, most of them in the same jagged lines as Jackson’s and Scott’s. Stiles instinctively knows that the other Stiles put those tattoos on their necks. Right next to him is a black wolf, large enough that the top of its back comes up to his elbow. The wolf has his teeth bared in a snarl and Stiles has no doubts that the beast could rip him apart before he could say ‘nice doggy’. Its blue eyes are almost neon-like in their glow.

The other Stiles comes closer, his hand loosely resting in the wolf’s neck. He smiles at them, the expression made eery by his cold, hard stare. “What reality are you from?”

“Our own,” Stiles answers brusquely. He keeps a hand on Derek’s arm, not entirely trusting the werewolf not to get it in his head that he can take them. Because he can’t. “Who are you?”

The question makes the cold eyes light up for a short moment. The smile turns into a lopsided smirk. “I’m you,” the other answers, “but better.”

Stiles would roll his eyes at the corny statement if he wasn’t positive that he would’ve said the same thing if their roles were reversed. He might not have the scary tattoos or the badass magic, but he’s pretty sure they have the same obnoxious sense of humour. “You better be. It’d be nice if you could help us get back home.”

“Now why would I do that?” The other Stiles makes a swirly movement with the fingers of his free hand and the next thing Stiles knows he’s hovering a foot in the air, covered in a bluish glow. Next to him Derek endures the same faith, the werewolf now fully wolfed out in Beta shift.

His body feels numb and he can hardly move. He can talk, though. “Two of us in one reality seems like a bit much. We’ll be out of your hair shortly if you can just point us in the right direction.”

“Or I can just kill you.” Other Stiles shrugs with an air of pleasantry that doesn’t fit the situation.

“Hurt him and I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth!” Derek wrestles against the blue glow, looking furious.

Other Stiles laughs and ruffles his hand in the wolf’s fur. “Look at you, sweetheart, so protective of me even in other worlds.” The wolf pushes closer against his leg, silently acknowledging his words.

“That’s Derek?” Stiles gawks at the enormous wolf. Derek was able to do a full shift, but this wolf is easily twice as big as the black and grey wolf Derek could turn into. It’s more like a creature from hell than a werewolf.

Meanwhile Scott and Jackson seem pretty comfortable to just hang back and watch. It’s a testament to how powerful their Stiles and Derek are, if they don’t feel the need to get involved. Scott may be an Alpha in this reality, but it’s clear that Stiles calls the shots.

“Impressive, isn’t he?” Other Stiles agrees, putting his hand on top of the beast’s head and splaying his fingers as if to show how large it is. His thumb and pinky don’t even reach the ears on either side. “Extremely loyal and protective of those he loves. But I guess you know about those qualities from your own experience.”

Stiles glances at Derek, but the werewolf is solely focussed on their opponents. If they really are just that. After the Nogitsune he has no trouble imagining himself as a foe, but his gut tells him that is not the case here. This is just him, albeit a far more powerful version of him. He figures they have nothing left to lose, so he decides to be frank. “Look, man, as fun as this is, we would really like to return home. We’re a little out of our depth here, as I’m sure you can tell.” Jackson chuckles at his words, it’s almost reassuring to notice he’s as much of an asshole in this reality as he is in the others. “We don’t know how we got here or to any of the other realities we’ve been to, but this one is the first that has magic in it, so it would be really cool if you could use that magic to send us back to our own reality.”

“You have been travelling between more than one reality?” Other Stiles suddenly seems intrigued. “Without magic?”

Stiles nods, the movement sluggish because of the blue glow that envelops him. “Deaton said I’m a Spark, but I never was able to do more than play around with mountain ash a little.”

“Deaton doesn’t know shit,” the Other scoffs before looking up sharply at Stiles. He’s closer now, almost within touching distance. Stiles wouldn’t mind that so much if the wolf’s snappy jaws weren’t just as close. “How many worlds have you been to?”

“A couple,” Stiles hedges. He senses a chance to negotiate with his other self. “We’ll tell you all about it if you promise to help us get back to our own world.”

“Can’t make that promise,” the Other counters. “But I do want to hear more. We’ll take you back to the house.” He snaps his fingers and the blue glow disappears. Stiles and Derek drop to the ground, Stiles like a sack of potatoes while Derek lands neatly on his feet. He’s immediately crouched in front of Stiles, teeth and claws at the ready. It’s a miracle the large wolf hasn’t jumped at him yet. Other Stiles shakes his head condescendingly. “Behave,” he warns, “don’t make me change my mind about not killing you.”

Stiles gets to his feet and puts his hands on Derek’s arm again. “Easy, big guy. Let’s just go with it, for now. Maybe they can help us.”

Derek doesn’t readily agree, but he gets out of his protective stance and lets the shift fall away from his features. His eyes keep glowing blue and his hands are still clawed, but he allows Stiles to take his hand and squeeze it encouragingly.

Other Stiles ignores them and saunters away in the direction of the Hale house, the large wolf plastered against his side. With Scott and Jackson hovering behind them, Stiles and Derek have little other choice than to follow.

There are no other werewolves at the house as far as they can tell, but it is clearly lived in by a large number of people. There’s no sign that this building ever burnt down. Either it didn’t, or they rebuilt it from the ground up. Despite their cold reception in the forest, the house seems welcoming. The warm afternoon light filters in through the big windows in the large sitting room that Stiles and Derek are ushered into. Other Stiles says something to the wolf and after a calculating glance back at them the air around the wolf begins to vibrate. A few moments later a very naked Derek stands in the middle of the room. He’s bulkier than the Derek Stiles is used to, even more than when the werewolf was still an Alpha. He has the same tattoo as Scott and Jackson have, only his is situated right over his heart. The man crosses his impressive arms across an even more impressive chest, fixing them with a hard glare. At first he seems content to be naked for the duration of their stay, as he makes no move to put on pants. Luckily, he disappears from the room shortly after Stiles and Derek sit down on one of the sofas and quickly returns dressed in black sweatpants and a white tank top. Stiles doesn’t think he could’ve managed a serious conversation with a very naked Derek in the room, even when it’s a version on steroids that’s more scary than appealing. The werewolf takes a seat close to Other Stiles, who runs a possessive hand over his thigh in appreciation. Stiles abruptly shuts down any thoughts he has on their relationship, deciding it’s better to not know.

Scott brings everybody coffee and Stiles is delighted despite everything when he discovers that their alternate selves drink their coffee the same way. Other Stiles isn’t even insulted when Derek insists on checking Stiles’ coffee for poison before he allows him to drink from it, he just assures them that they will not be harmed. The ‘yet’ on the end of the sentence remains unsaid but not unheard.

Stiles unabashedly checks his other self out. They appear to be identical except for the tattoos and the slightly darker choice of wardrobe.

“There’s a piercing or two too,” Other Stiles says cheekily, noticing his scrutiny. He smirks when he causes his other self to blush, before deeming that enough pleasantry for the moment and demanding that they tell him all about their “adventures in different realities”.

Already having decided their other selves may be their only chance for help, Stiles complies and tells them the broad outlines of their situation. He leaves out the more personal stuff, like getting assaulted by Ennis and Kali or the panic attacks he endured in prison. He also leaves the horrors Derek endured at the research facility to their imagination, much like Derek did with him. He totally understands why Derek doesn’t want to talk about it; he’s not even sure they ever should. Some things are better left in the past.

“And you guys just have to kiss in order to travel to another reality?” It’s the most Stiles-like they’ve seen Other Stiles until now. He looks positively delighted by that snippet of information. “That’s so cool! Now kiss!”

“I’m sorry?” Stiles frowns at the sudden demand.

“You heard me! Kiss! I wanna see what happens!”

“Are you nuts?! You just heard me tell you we end up in a different reality, without any control over where we end up. You could be sending us to our deaths for all you know!”

This time it is Derek who holds Stiles back, wary of the shift to alertness in his other, bulkier self.

“And you could just be spinning me a tale,” Other Stiles counters in a measured voice. “So kiss. Prove it.” The threat behind his words is so thinly veiled he might as well have pulled a gun on them. Except this Other Stiles probably doesn’t need a gun to kill anyone, he might not even have to lift a finger.

Stiles grips Derek’s hand where it was already waiting for him on top of his leg. If they kiss, they risk ending up in a dangerous reality, together or apart. If they don’t kiss, well, Stiles has very little hope to convince his Other Me of his genuine intentions.

“I’ll come find you,” Derek whispers, already turning his face towards Stiles. His hand is a lifeline Stiles desperately wants to hold on to.

“If you find a way to help us control this crossing between realities, you might even be able to do it yourself.” He can’t help but argue his case one last time. They’ve been lucky so far, managing to escape before something irreparable took place. That luck has to run out at some point, he’s sure.

“Nah, I’m good here,” Other Stiles says with a shrug. He’s leaning back in the sofa across from them, one hand absently trailing Other Derek’s shoulders. “I just wanna see if it works.”

His callousness has Stiles seething so much that he gives Derek hardly any warning before he presses a close mouthed kiss against his lips. The werewolf squeezes his hand so hard in alarm it causes Stiles to jerk back. “Ow!”

He expects the strange swoop of his stomach, but nothing happens. Derek is waiting for it just like him, his eyes darting searchingly around Stiles’ face. For several long seconds, nothing happens.

“Just what I thought,” Other Stiles scoffs, startling them. “Scott, Jackson.” He signals with his hand and the two weres appear behind them and grab them forcefully by their shoulders. Scott holds Stiles in place without trouble, though Jackson struggles significantly more with Derek. His claws dig deep in the werewolf’s shoulders and for a second it looks like Derek will fight back, but then there’s a loud roar and a flash of claws and teeth. Other Derek is halfway shifted between human and wolf, reminding Stiles of the abomination from years ago. His other self still leans back on the sofa, looking utterly in control of the situation. “Now boys, we’re gonna try this one more time. You better put in some effort, or, you know, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

It’s the careless threats that do it. Even more than the vicious menace that the half shifted wolf presents. There, in that comfortable living room with the sun shining innocuously through the windows, Stiles and Derek lock eyes one more time. Derek doesn’t repeat his promise and Stiles keeps silent too. Instead, they pour their feelings into the kiss.

*** *** ***

The sun shines down on him mercilessly, a film of sweat and sun lotion covering his skin. His baseball cap helps in keeping the sun from his head, though he's steadily sweating through it. There’s hardly any breeze, even this close to the water. It's so hot that even the seagulls keep quiet. Not that it's ever quiet on the beach, not in the middle of Summer anyway. From behind his sunglasses Derek’s eyes scan his surroundings, keeping an ear out for any sounds that stand out from the familiar drum of chatting adults and playing kids on the beach.

The sea is pretty calm today. Most people that needed their help had heat stroke or hurt their foot on a broken seashell or a sharp bit of rock. Nothing major. But Derek knows better than to let his attention slack. Behind him, Cora comes out of the lifeguard tower’s main room, pulling her hair up in a short ponytail. "That makes ten heat strokes for today already and it’s barely past noon," she complains. "This is gonna be a long day."

Derek nods, keeping his eyes on the water. He’s got a bad feeling, an uneasy nagging at the back of his head. He feels like he's forgetting something, or someone. But Cora helped their last heat stroke victim inside the cabin while he kept watch, as protocol dictates in situations like these. So that couldn’t be it.

The feeling stays, leaving a bad taste in his mouth, until almost an hour later his eyes lock on a sole figure in the water, just behind the surf. "He's a little far out, isn't he?"

Cora follows his line of sight and squints her eyes. "I don't see anyone with him."

Derek grabs the binoculars that hang from the railing and points them at the swimmer. The guy is too low in the water to his liking, moving erratically. "I'm going in," he decides, "spot me."

Cora takes the binoculars from him without taking her eyes off the swimmer. Her other hand drifts to the walkie talkie on her hip, ready to call in backup if needed. Derek quickly sheds his T-shirt, baseball cap and sunglasses, grabbing the red rescue tube and jogs over to the water. He doesn’t want to cause a panic by sprinting across the beach and diving in. The swimmer needed help, but from what he saw the person was in no immediate danger of drowning. That can change quickly, though. And it does. Derek is about halfway to him when the man disappears under water. The other people in the water don't notice it, they’ve got their backs to him and unlike what you see on tv, drowning is a rather quiet affair. Derek powers through the water and dives for the person as soon as he’s close enough. The moment his hands make contact with the water slick skin of the other, a jolt shoots through his body and he accidently swallows some water.

Sputtering, he breaks the surface, securing the head of the young man between his hands. “Stiles?!” Because it is his pack mate who nearly drowned and is now coughing up water violently. The movements make Stiles take in water again and he’s incapable of doing something about it himself, as he’s barely responsive. His body coughing up the water is a mostly automatic response. Derek tries not to think too much as he feels himself going through the motions of manhandling Stiles in the right position to be able to swim them both back to the shore. He’s not a werewolf in this reality, but he is apparently a trained lifeguard and an experienced swimmer. He lets muscle memory take over to get them both safely back to the beach, where his sister is already waiting for them with a first aid bag.

He lays a limp Stiles out on the sand, the boy now fully unconscious and not breathing. Willing himself not to panic, Derek tries to focus on what his body wants him to do. Almost automatically he tilts Stiles’ head back and starts mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, a skill he never used before in real life but seems to be a pro at in this world. It only takes a few blows to get Stiles coughing up water again, his body curling around Derek’s knees in the sand.

“Der?” Stiles croaks out as soon as he gains a bit of consciousness.

Derek leans down over Stiles and presses his forehead against Stiles’ temple, his hand cradling Stiles’ face where it presses in the sand. “You’re okay,” he breathes, a confirmation for them both.

Stiles nods, breathing laboriously. His movements are jerkily as he turns a little in Derek’s hold so he can look at him. There’s sand sticking to his face that Derek tries to brush off. “Did you just…” Stiles breaks off to cough wetly. “Give me mouth-to-mouth?”

Derek nods. “You nearly drowned.”

“That would’ve sucked,” Stiles groans.

“Yeah.” Derek can’t help but laugh and he presses a relieved kiss to a corner of Stiles’ mouth where there’s no sand sticking to his skin. A cold wet hand grabs him by the jaw and draws him back in for another kiss, this time more centred.

*** *** ***

The sun shines down on him mercilessly, a film of sweat, dust and grime covering his skin. The leather bands that strap the armour plate to his chest chafe underneath his arms, the armour slightly too small on him. But it protects the soft skin of his stomach, which is more important than a bit of discomfort. Stiles weighs the spear in his hand, the length of the weapon giving him an advantage over the shorter swords of some of his opponents. The people in the stands of the arena yell and shout, their words clotting together into one amorphous din.

There’s a shout to his right side and Stiles is just quick enough to catch the sword hew with his spear, answering with a hard jab with the butt of his weapon against his opponent's sternum. The man is not wearing a breastplate, he has shoulder pads instead, as well as a helmet. His armour does him a fat load of good when Stiles drives his spear into his unprotected armpit several moments later. The man drops his sword and Stiles uses it to finish the job, not wanting to let the man bleed out in the sand unnecessarily long.

He becomes aware of movement at his back and Stiles turns on his heel, his newly acquired sword ready to strike. Steel meets steel in a jarring hit, an unpleasant sensation that travels up his arm. His attacker is shorter than him, although the man is broader in the shoulders and has more muscle mass. He immediately wishes his spear wasn’t still stuck in that other man’s armpit, as the sword brings his opponent in much closer range. The other is stronger and he seems to match him in speed, so Stiles needs to be smarter if he wants to survive this. They trade blows in a flurry of movements, pushing each other back and forth across the dirt packed floor of the arena. It’s sheer luck that brings Stiles close enough to his spear to be able to yank it free, though he pays for it with a nasty cut in his left upper leg. He grits his teeth through the pain, unable to keep his footing properly for a moment. Another blow, this one dangerously close to the edge of his breastplate.

There’s shouting and it sounds like someone is calling his name, but Stiles can’t afford to look away from his attacker who is closing in on him. He is too close to use his spear properly and the other’s superior strength is starting to wear Stiles down. Yet just when he’s starting to think this’ll be it, someone runs his attacker through with a sword. Like, completely through, with the point of the sword sticking out his chest. The man falls heavily to Stiles’ feet, his own sword dropping to the floor uselessly.

Stiles is too stunned to form a proper response to the words he hears, so when a familiar voice asks him if he’s okay, he answers with a jab of his spear. “Ow! Stiles! Stop that! It’s me, Derek!”

“Derek?” The gladiator in front of him rips off his helmet and it is indeed Derek Hale standing in front of him, in all his bloodied, sweaty glory. Stiles almost drops his weapons in surprise and relief. “Oh my god, I nearly stabbed you!”

“Yeah, well, not so nearly.” Derek gingerly touches a gash on the side of his ribs.

Stiles rushes towards him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” He knocks the shaft of his spear against Derek’s head when he tries to put his hands on him.

The werewolf - or, maybe not a werewolf in this reality, as he’s not really healing from the wound that Stiles inflicted - grabs the spear, holding it still. “For fuck’s sake, Stiles. How is it that I’ve just seen you kill a man with these and now you barely know how to hold them?”

Stiles flushes uncomfortably, simultaneously reminded of his trademark clumsiness and the fact that he just killed a man. A warm hand closes around his bicep, making him look up. “You okay?” Derek peers up at him from where Stiles ducked his head.

“Yeah, no,” Stiles sighs, sparing a glance around them. There’s still fighting around them and any moment now people could cotton onto what’s happening between him and Derek. “We need to get out of here, fast.”

Derek nods solemnly. “It’s not safe here.”

Stiles would argue that he feels pretty safe with Derek by his side, but the big guy is right. Either one of the other gladiators attacks them, or some sort of steward notices there’s something amiss and who knows what will happen then? If this world is anything like the movie Gladiator, Stiles doesn’t want to stay here a minute longer. “Well, we know what we gotta do.”

Derek nods again, looking a bit grim. Stiles suspects that has more to do with their situation than what they’re about to do, as Derek easily lets him crowd closer.

In the stands behind them, the audience catches onto the fact that Stiles and Derek are not fighting anymore. He still can’t really understand what they’re shouting, but he takes it they’re not happy with them.

“We gotta hurry,” Derek urges, his hands now on both of Stiles’ arms. He’s looking around them warily, his eyes on the other fighters as if he suspects them to attack at any moment. For all Stiles knows they could.

He drops his weapons and shuffles forward to close the last bit of distance between them, their position more familiar than he ever thought it could be. It’s a shame they started doing this in such dire circumstances, because he kinda likes this whole kissing thing.

Stiles might have said as much out loud, because Derek mumbles “Me too” right before their lips slot together and talking is a thing of the past.

#count your fingers sterek fanfic #count your fingers #sterek fanfic #written by ilse #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek #multiple realities #travelling through alternate universes #alternate universes #chaptered fic #long fanfic

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

Text

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

#gen.fics #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #userjennmish #userdorksinlove #userstarry #tuserari #plantdadcas #offbeattraxx #slipper007 #thisisapaige #lyntracks #deancas #destiel #college au #fic #spn #gen creates

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