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#best television characters of all time
mummer · 1 year
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been rewatching barry s1 and 2 and it is. Insane. How. The looney tunes of it all. Wiley coyote. It's all so stupid None of it means anything. and they dont know they dont realize. and then. And then
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forcedhesitation · 1 year
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i really hate a lot of the canon romance in stranger things, it’s terrible and very poorly written. there is, however, a particular aspect of it that makes it so much worse than some of the romance i’ve encountered in other media. and that’s the way it’s like... an obligation... an eternal prison for the characters involved. 
these literal children are forced together into romantic relationships that are treated as “endgame” for their whole lives is so unbearably awful. i could suspend my disbelief for one “childhood lovers destined to stay together” pairing, but this type of pairing makes up the majority of canon pairings in stranger things. 
this weird restrictive type of romance is also thrust upon steve, nancy, and jonathan... who despite having grown apart over the first three seasons, and grown personally in steve’s case, are all chained together no matter if it acts as a literal detriment to the narrative or their individual characters. it’s the worst.
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khruschevshoe · 2 months
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Being a true galaxy-brained Doctor Who fan is hitting the epiphany that every showrunner had their strengths and their weaknesses and their own interpretations of the Doctor and you can like or dislike any aspect of any showrunner and acknowledge their genuine mistakes/bad choices/yikes decisions (such as racism, sexism, homophobia, questionable undertones, lack of agency for female characters, etc.) and it is COMPLETELY VALID to have that turn you off of a Doctor/showrunner but also acknowledge that some of the things that people have considered bad writing over the years are often personal preference (valid opinion, not always valid fact) and that just as there are clunkers in every season, there's something to appreciate about every showrunner and every Doctor.
After all, "The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't always spoil the good things and make them unimportant."
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peterlorrefanpage · 1 year
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Peter Lorre in the television show Producers Showcase: "Reunion in Vienna," with Brian Aherne, Greer Garson, and Robert Flemyng. April 4, 1955.
Peter played Poffy! (In the 1933 movie, the character's full name was Pofferoff.)
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I do not understand this bizzare narrative around himym thats formed in the decade since it ended claiming that ted mosby is a Nice Guy™. The trademark characteristic of the Nice Guy™ is that he never actually gets laid because he puts forth zero effort and feels entitled to sex just for Being Nice™. This could not be more antithetical to ted mosby's character. Aside from the fact that the man has a new woman on his arm every fucking week, the entire gag of ted is that he tries way too hard with every woman he meets and ends up getting in his own way. He has never once in his entire life rested on his romantic laurels. Plus, he has an iota of self awareness, and is occasionally capable of acknowledging when he has been/is being an asshole, something that is impossible for the prototypical Nice Guy™
Ted's actual toxic trait is that he created an imaginary perfect woman in his mind, and then projected the image of that perfect woman onto every single person he dated, and then resented them for all the ways they don't measure up to his fantasies. Then, instead of actually addressing the problems he has with his partner head on with them, or learning to compromise, or god forbid just quitting while he's ahead, he just ignores these irreconcilable differences, hoping they'll just one day magically go away, until inevitably everything boils over and he goes through a nasty breakup. EVERY serious girlfriend ted has on the show has a massive, obvious incompatibility with him, usually one that was abundantly clear from the millisecond he meet them, but he without fail ignores it, does everything he can to woo a girl he shouldn't be with, and then when everything goes up in flames he just chocks it up to "she wasn't the one!" and hard banks on this imaginary friend he's come up with for himself materializing into his life out of thin air. He'll work hard to get the girl, but he won't do anything substantial to actually keep her. He's so caught up in this fantasy of a perfect partner that he wastes the prime years of his life chasing after women that he pretty much knew from the jump would never want to be with him long term, in the hopes that they would change to fit his fantasies and everything would just magically work out because "destiny." But that doesn't fit into a 2-word soundbite so you don't really see much discussion of it online
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I love Michael Scott so much. So much. I could cry just thinking about him.
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akkivee · 2 years
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absolutely overstimulated rn because the stage play was two hours of resurfaced helter skelter trauma/rosasa drama but with enough of a spin on it that i was fighting back tears at the end of it but here’s the overall mood lmao
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maddy-ferguson · 1 year
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dawson's creek is NOT a good show but no other show has given me jen lindley so they win
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welshaphrodite · 1 year
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I think the saddest character in the Hunger Games franchise is Mags Flanagan. She is as almost as old as the Games themselves. She won the 11th Hunger Games. Then, for the entirety of her life, for over 60 years, she was forced to relieve that same trauma year after year, trying to train kids, save kids, just like herself. Over time Mags watched the Games get more brutal, more “entertaining”. She watched her community sacrifice two children over and over again. There is nothing Mags can do but bare it. She desensitizes herself. She reaches her 80s. She is old and almost free of the pain; the trauma has formed a callous. But Mags will continue to work until she dies. This is all she has ever known. 
Then, the 75th Quarter Quell is announced and Mags is back on the stage for the first time in 60 years. A reaping outfit. Her name in a glass bowl. The tension, the dread, the silence before the reading of the name -- Annie Cresta. But to Mags, it never mattered the name that was picked. She knew her hand was going up. And for the first time since she was a child, she is back in the Games. 
During her the 11th Hunger Games, Mags was caged in the zoo with the other tributes. This time, she is presented with a gorgeous suite, the best food the Capitol has to offer, and the finest clothes. The 11th Hunger Games were televised on a blurry screen; now, all of Panem is going to watch her every move. Mags knows she isn’t going to win. But, as she spends the last weeks of her life walking in the shoes of every child she couldn’t save, as the trauma of her own Games is as alive and present as it has ever been, she knows that, for the first time in her long life, she was able to truly save at least one person from this fate. 
Hope is a funny thing. Mags picked apart the Capitol’s logic and the heart of the Games long ago. She knows why they allow one victor, and how every tribute goes into the arena hoping its them. She knows this is unrealistic; all of Panem knows that only one will come out alive. But even as she rises into the ticking clock of the arena, that stubborn feeling flutters in her chest. Maybe she will get out of there with the rest of the rebels. But if not --
Mags looks to Johanna. To Katniss and Peeta. To Finnick. Her hope for them is stronger, steadier, than the hope for her own self-preservation. She looks into the cornucopia of weapons, the familiar ring of twenty-four tributes, and allows herself to dream that maybe, maybe, this is it. This will be the last one. 
For the first time in over half a century, Mags won’t be watching the Games from the comfort and safety of a faraway room. This time, she has the chance to help directly. To be able to protect others with more than just a parachute full of supplies. To have the ability to save another life. To save multiple lives. To save all the future children of Panem. 
The gong sounds.
Mags smiles. 
She dives into the water. 
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hyunsvngs · 1 month
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𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞-𝐚-𝐡𝐨𝐞! - spiderman!han jisung x fem!reader
wc: 11.1k
cw: han jisung is spiderman, a brief attack of an alien in school, both characters are 18+ (legal) but are intended to be in high school, friends to lovers, jisung calling mc baby at any given moment
synopsis: you’re obsessed with spiderman, but after a certain event takes place, you become convinced your best friend and spiderman are the same person.
a/n: after a long wait… HEHE smut warnings under the cut and as usual 18+ MDNI!!!!!!!
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
sw: brief mention of masturbation (both), oral (fem!rec), slightly switchy both parties, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, loss of virginity (both), cumswapping, relatively tame given that its me
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You’re intrigued.
Interested seemed like too little of a word to use for how you feel whenever you see the latest news report. In a world full of superhuman serums and bulletproof skin, he is still intriguing. Maths homework could be ignored, as far as you’re concerned - and that’s bold for you, because you love maths. You wonder if he likes maths, too.
Every night at 6pm sharp, you settle in front of the television and wait for the news. Spiderman, the hero in question, is always up to something. He loves shooting his webs across the tallest skyscrapers in the city, dangling from them precariously without a care before he lets out a loud, earth-shattering giggle and beats the newest bad-guy that your world has attracted. You always wince at the reports, wondering just how he healed from the injuries he must sustain. It had to be down to the spider venom, you supposed.
“He’s dangerous,” Your dad huffs. He’s lounging on his normal armchair, peeling leather be damned, munching on a bag of crisps. You grimace at his crisp covered digits motioning towards the television. You love your dad, really, and your mum - you just always differed in opinions when it came to Spiderman. He was so fucking cool, and you seriously feel like a child saying that all of the time, despite your best friend Jisung telling you that we all have our interests. “I mean, he’s putting normal civilians in danger. Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman my ass.”
“Honey,” Your mother admonishes, digging through her own bag of crisps. You briefly consider why you haven’t been offered one. They look tasty, when your father isn’t rubbing luminous orange dust onto his previously crisp white shirt. “You know she doesn’t like it when you say bad things about him. He- what was the word again, baby?”
“He intrigues me,” You mumble, pretending to erase equations from your homework. Your cheeks blaze crimson when your mother hums in agreement, nodding triumphantly to your father. You wish you could be as sassy as her sometimes. You’re more timid, hiding behind oversized hoodies and Jisung. He is a lot more confident than you, more loud and exuberant - you suppose that’s why he had adopted you as his all those years ago.
Your mother had been best friends with Jisung’s aunt, Sohee. She’s just like Jisung, zipping around the place at an insane pace to offer you snacks and drinks at every second. When you and Jisung had first met in preschool, you’d been drawing patterns in the mud with your grubby little fingers, hiding from the bullies. He’d criticised your drawing. He helped you fix it, though, chubby cheeks puffing out with a grin when it was good enough for his taste. Looking back now, that behaviour was so Jisung, but your mother had been delighted to find out that you’d already met her best friend’s son.
It had been easy becoming friends with him after that. Every day, he’d drag you by your wrist and take you to the yard, insisting on doing your co-operative drawings together. The teachers had a fit everyday on the state of you two by the end of your break, but your mothers had loved it, taking a million and one pictures a second. He stuck up for you both to the teachers, and then he stuck up for you to the bullies and it was like you’d known each other since birth. Inseparable at the hip, you’d been glued together throughout preschool, primary school and now high school - it doesn’t look like you’re getting rid of him anytime soon, either. You’d applied for the same colleges.
You don’t particularly want to be rid of him anyway. He’s alright, really, and you had a bit of a girly, high school crush on him. You would rather jump off of a building like Spiderman sans the webs if anyone found out.
Another thing Jisung is good for is listening to your rants. He waits for your call every night after the news had been on, and you clamber on your bed obediently after the report finishes to press on his contact.
“Jisung!” You squeal. There’s a lot of feedback on his end, and you hear a low ‘shit, fuck, oops, oh God’, until there’s a loud thud and he giggles, chiming through your tinny phone speakers. “... Ji? Are you okay?”
“Yep, sorry, baby,” He sounds out of breath, but you smile when he speaks anyway. Whenever he calls you baby, his designated nickname for you, it makes your heart flutter and you have to grimace to ignore it. His face pops into the little square designated to him, his cheeks blushing pink and round eyes wide. His hair is slightly damp, from what you’re not sure - but he looks cute. “I just got home. I was- I was running some errands for my aunt.”
“God, she’s got you running like crazy lately,” You mumble, still jotting down numbers on your homework. It’s taken you hours, but you always get distracted on nights like this. “Did you see it?”
Jisung hums, and then you hear him groan. He’s stretching, slightly toned honey-skinned arms appearing above his head in the plain oversized t-shirt he’s wearing. You try not to stare. “Did I see what?”
“The- the news, Sungie,” You feel shy mentioning it so outright. It is a weird interest, a weird thing to be obsessed with - Jisung often reassures you that it really isn’t, and his anime obsession was a lot worse. It was. You sigh, clearing your throat. “Spiderman. He was- he was super cool tonight.”
“Ooh, was he?” Jisung teases, chuckling when you groan in protest. “I’m only playing with you, baby. I saw it. He was super cool, wasn’t he?”
“Ha-ha, super cool, ‘cause he’s a superhero. You’re funny.”
“That’s why you keep me around,” Jisung chirps. “Hey, have you done the maths homework? I haven’t had time, because of the errands, y’know.”
“Hmm, yeah, I’m almost finished,” You aren’t. You’re far from it, really, but he doesn’t have to know that. “I can let you copy it tomorrow morning, before class.”
“No, that’s alright, baby. We can just cross-check our answers tomorrow,” His voice sounds tired, but you don’t comment. It’s better not to question Jisung when he’s like this.
His aunt has him doing a lot these days. You haven’t wanted to ask about it because you know it must be tough for her to look after Jisung since his parents passed, especially when Jisung is always going at full speed and is probably seconds away from giving his aunt a heart attack. He was always clumsy as a child, too, snapping his glasses in half and having a few broken bones to tell long stories about. He always means well, but sometimes you wish that he had something else to get his energy out of his system rather than stressing his aunt out.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
“Jisung, surely you know who Spiderman is, like, underneath the mask,” Seungmin quips through a mouthful of dry, government regulated school food. “You spent all that time with Bang Chan in the internship.”
Seungmin is a lanky boy that just came along one day and decided to be yours and Jisung’s friend. With him, he brought a younger, smiley guy named Jeongin, and Jeongin brought Felix. Felix is just Felix - nothing else can describe him. Before long, you’d found yourself in a de facto group of misfits that you weren’t even sure you could call friends. Apart from Jisung, of course.
Jisung simply raises an eyebrow in response to Seungmin. “I mean, sure. I met Mr Bang a few times, but I never met Spiderman. Not out of his suit, anyway.”
You gasp. Jeongin startles from the nap he was taking on the cafeteria table, raising his head to look at you angrily. Felix pushes his head back down from the hood on his jumper and Jeongin immediately falls back to sleep. “You met him in his suit?”
“Well, yeah,” Jisung shrugs. When he turns to look at you, your mouth is agape, feeling slightly betrayed. Jisung shoves another spoonful of cheese - was it really cheese? - pasta into his mouth, and then he’s sighing. “It’s not a big deal, baby. If I really met him, the real him, you’d be the first to know. I promise.”
“You still got that fat crush on Spiderman?” Felix chirps. You meet his amused gaze with your own steely glare, pouting over your packed lunch.
“It’s not a crush-”
“It’s an interest,” Jisung clarifies for you, and you smile. He’s always jumping to your defence like that. You bite into an apple, savouring the crisp, fruity taste on your tongue, and then the bell rings. Sighing, you watch as the boys around you get up - including Jeongin, fox like eyes bleary from sleep - and swing their bags on their shoulders.
“I’ll see you later,” You murmur to Jisung, who throws his arm around your waist in a quick hug. “Enjoy English.”
Right. You and Jisung didn’t have the same classes. He has English now, and you have chemistry, which is probably your least favourite of all classes. You just weren’t a fan of the whole blowing shit up scenario, unlike Jeongin was, and the boy trundles behind you towards your chemistry class.
The class is boring. The teacher drones on and on about some experiment you couldn’t care less about, and you pretend to care. You’re taking notes, sure, ever the diligent student - but you can’t get anything other than Spiderman out of your mind. Jisung met him, and didn’t tell you, and who even is this guy? You’d love to know. You’d love to just see him, even once, just to be able to tell the story.
A massive crash stops the teacher’s speech. He turns to the door, confused, and the students do the same. You do too, furrowed eyebrows staring at the door. Another crash causes people to begin to rise, and the teacher starts ushering everyone out of the class to the closest exit route. You’re frozen in confusion and fear, pencil halted in your fingers, even as another noise makes the teacher run out behind the class.
It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re still sitting in your seat, eyes wide and heart racing. Then, you spring up to follow the rest of your cohort, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as you run to the door. Swinging it open, you stick your head out the door and look around, trying to see if the coast is clear. With a planet full of interdimensional attacks, you can’t be sure, and looking left leads you to see a scaly, large animal type of thing. You squeak, startled, and immediately retreat into the class before it notices you. What the fuck do you do? What are you meant to do?
The whole room begins to shake, and you have a feeling the creature’s getting closer. Beakers are thrown to the floor from the vibration ringing throughout the room, glass shattering loudly, and you feel like you’re about to scream, or cry, or run, and you can’t run.
Doing the only thing you can think of, you cower to the floor, hiding underneath a table donned in smashed beakers. You’re curled up in a ball, watching students standing outside murmuring and discussing their own safety, and then the shaking stops.
The door swings open. Everything outside the classroom is too intimidating, items being thrown everywhere, and you can’t even bring your legs to move with how badly they’re shaking. Who’s just walked in? You pray for Jisung. You pray for someone who’s going to help you hide, someone who’s going to keep you safe, and then-
A masked face pops underneath the table. He’s lithe, slender, but the tight red and dark blue suit highlights the hint of abs and sculpted biceps on his body. Holy fucking shit. Your eyes widen. Spiderman is in your school.
“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, but it sounds almost like someone putting on a deeper voice to hide their identity. You nod hesitantly, and then he’s extending a gloved hand towards you, pulling you out from underneath the table. You’re unable to speak. Once you’re standing in front of him, you notice he’s around a head or so taller than you, but definitely not as tall as you thought he’d be. He sighs, chest heaving with panic. You suppose it must be pretty tough work fighting aliens from outer space. “I’ve webbed him up for now, but it won’t hold much longer. Go- please, go and run. Please, anywhere, just- go and hide, or run.”
“I-I-”
“Promise me, b- um, you. I can’t let you get hurt.”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- Yes, I promise, I’m going to- I’ll go, thank you, thank you-”
“Wait, no!” He shouts, rubbing his temples - or at least, you’d imagine he was but he’s just rubbing the mask in frustration. You watch as he bounds over to the window, kicking it open, and the students outside turn to the classroom in awe. You’re rooted in place, as if vines are circling your ankles and securing you to the floor, mouth agape. You wait for him to give you further directions, and you gasp when he runs back over to you, picking you up and carrying you over to the window. You feel light as a feather, and all you can think is how he’s even carrying this amount of strength in that small body. “Too risky. Outside.”
“O-Outside?” You stammer, cheeks bright red, and he nods. He leans to place you out of the window, delicately placing you on your feet, and then he speeds off, shouting a quick “see you later!”.
You blink. You can hear the noises of walls breaking and windows shattering as Spiderman fights, and Felix runs up to you from the crowd outside and slings an arm over your shoulder. You’re still staring inside the classroom as if you can see through walls and watch the fight. What did see you later mean?
What’s the likelihood, honestly? You knew he was the friendly neighbourhood guy, and all that, but why not Bang Chan, in his sleek nanotech suit? This was a big fight. You find yourself getting worried, biting your nails in concern for the man you don’t even know. You have to remind yourself of that. He saved you because you’re any other citizen, not for any other specialty - you don’t know this guy.
“C’mon, over here,” Felix ushers you over, tone soft. When you’re with him, Seungmin and Jeongin, he sighs, rubbing your back. “Crazy, right? At least you can say you met Spiderman now.”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Jisung is safe, thank god. You kind of feel guilty for not worrying about him at the moment, but he’d text you shortly after, saying he’d left just before it all kicked off because he felt a little under the weather. He wanted to make sure you were okay, though, so he texted you as soon as he could. You’d never admit the blush that rose to your cheeks when you read it.
It’s quiet in your room. Your parents had sprinted to you as soon as you’d come through the door, having seen the situation on the news, and you’d reassured them that Spiderman had saved you. It definitely changed your dad’s perspective of him, and now you lie on your bed feeling more than relieved.
Your fingers tap on your tummy in thought, though. He was making his voice deeper, that much you could tell, but why? How was he there so quickly? There’s no fucking way he was a student. Still, that body in the tight suit… you’d definitely been looking. You’re a woman, of course you were going to look. He had a figure enviable to every man. Broad shoulders, abs just slightly visible, strong legs that carried you over to the window…
In your dreamlike fantasy, you’re considering something you previously never would’ve thought of. What if Jisung was underneath that suit? Now, that would be perfect. Both of your crushes being one being, Jisung pulling that suit up his lithe thighs and letting it settle over his broad pecs.
Before you know it, your hand is dipping under the hem of your pyjama pants, unable to feel guilty for thinking about your best friend in this way. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time, with many of your nights spent whimpering into your pillow and coming apart on your own fingers wishing they were his. He had such nice hands… What if it was him who had grabbed you from underneath that table? Your hand trails down to find your folds, slick and ready for whatever you had in store, but you focus on your clit, swollen and aching between your bottom lips. Would he finger you in the gloves if you asked, let you ride his abs in the suit until completion? Would he kiss you upside down, hanging from the-
A tap on your window makes you jump. The room is dark, save for your bedside lamp, and you turn rapidly to see a faceless figure just about popping in from the corner. You yank your hand out of your bottoms, squeaking, and then you squint to try and see the figure closer.
Holy shit. Spiderman is at your bedroom window.
Your cotton tank top is revealing, so you turn immediately to reach for your dressing gown and tie it around your figure. You pad over to the window in your socks, still wide-eyed and completely baffled, and then you turn the handle to allow him access. What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” You blurt, toes curling against your floor. Spiderman swings inside instead of responding, walking around your room like he’s been there a million times before. “No, seriously, what the fuck?”
He turns to you, shrugging. “I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”
You blanch. He did say that, yes, but that still doesn’t explain the million questions you have right now. “Well, yeah, but- how do you know where I live?”
“I- uh, found it in the school office,” He hops up onto your bed, sitting cross legged. His mask hides his face, but he hums in pleasure at the feeling of the bedsheets on him. “After the fight, I went in there. Glad you’re okay, by the way.”
He’s still making his voice deeper, and you blink, nodding in response. “I’m great. Can I- can I ask why you’re here?”
He shrugs again, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet. “No reason. Got bored. I was swinging around and remembered I saw your address on the computer.”
“Right,” You shake your head, still baffled. Instead of questioning him further, you jump onto the bed in front of him and copy his position, cross legged. “Don’t you have, like, recovering to do? I heard you got beat pretty bad.”
“Nah, no way,” He scoffs, rolling his neck. You suppress a smile. Cocky. “Spider venom, y’know? It repairs everything super quick.”
You were right. You can’t suppress a smile at his response, clicking your fingers at his masked face. “I fucking knew it! I guessed it was the venom.”
He stops fiddling with the duvet, turning to you and tilting his head in question. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Hey, are you the one that’s friends with that kid?”
You narrow your eyes. Jisung’s a liar. If Spiderman knows who he is, that means they’ve met more than once, and Jisung lied. You reach for your phone, ready to bitch him out via text, but Spiderman knocks your phone out of your hand. You turn to him, confused.
“Talk to me,” He whines. “I told you I was bored!”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, damn. Yes, I’m friends with Jisung. Why?”
“No reason,” He wiggles forward on your bed, grabbing your hand. You’re confused, but then he launches you into an intense thumb war, one that you were never going to win. Everytime you go to move your thumb in response to his, he’s got you pinned, and before he speaks again you’re five rounds down. “He’s pretty cool, right?”
“Who?” You ask, still focusing on the thumb war.
“Jisung,” He clarifies, clearing his throat. Making his voice that deep must be taking its toll on his vocal chords. “He’s kinda cool. Super smart, I thought.”
“He definitely is,” You laugh when he pins your thumb down again, swatting at his wrist to get him off of you. “He’s smarter than me.”
“And, uh,” He clears his throat again, leaning back on your bed. Leaning back like that, you have a full view of his body in his suit, and you have to stare at the posters on your wall to avoid looking at him. He puts his hands behind his head, the full picture of relaxation, and you wished he’d stop throwing you this random curveball behaviour. “Is that all you think of him? Just smart?”
You blush, finally reverting your eyes to him. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean… Do you have a crush on him, or?”
“Who wants to know?” You bristle, playing with your hands in your lap. You look down at your chipped nail polish, awkwardly shifting on the bed in your pyjamas. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“No one knows who I am,” He responds easily. “I want to know. Tell me. Do you have a crush on him?”
“I’m not telling you that-”
“I’m bored!” He whines again, sitting up. You let him grab your hand again, pulling your pinky finger into a promise. You swear you see the mask smile. “Tell me!”
“Okay, damn,” You sigh, exasperated. Was he on molly or something? Are you dreaming? “I guess so. I guess I always have, yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d ever like me like that.”
He coos at that, taking your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting. “Why not?”
“He’s- well, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like him,” You admit, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s awkward. He’s my best friend. It would ruin things, and I guess I’ve never let myself think about it like that.”
“You should,” He hums. You blink, staring at him. What the hell is he on about? “I just mean you should. Maybe he likes you too, y’know? I like my best friend. I’d love to know if she likes me back.”
“You do?” You wiggle closer, eager to know more. “You like your best friend? What’s she like?”
“Well,” He strokes your hand again before pulling away, leaning his chin on his hand. “She’s super pretty. Smart, too. I’ve known her since like, forev- for a few years, I think, in total.”
“It’s kind of the same with me and Jisung,” You sigh again, pouting. “I’ve known him for my whole life, basically. I’m just scared it’ll ruin things, but I think about him a lot when I’m on my own.”
He snickers. “Really? Like when you’re doing what you were doing when I got here?”
You swat at his shoulder, blushing bright red. “Shut up, oh my god! I thought you- shut up. Just don’t.”
“Maybe he thinks about you then too, I don’t know,” He shrugs nonchalantly, and then he’s getting up and pacing around. You watch him fiddle with a few photo frames on your desk, humming at ones of you and Jisung when you were younger and even fiddling with a few of your academic medals and prizes. “I won’t tell him, by the way.”
“You see him often?” You ask, voice soft. “He said-”
“Nah, I’ve only seen him once or twice,” He stretches his arms above his head, still staring at your desk full of trinkets. “He doesn’t know who I am.”
“Can I know?”
He turns to you. “Know what?”
“I want to know who you are,” Your voice is confident, but you feel anything but, teeth chewing your bottom lip nervously. “You saved me, and now you’re in my bedroom. I feel that I deserve to know.”
He sighs loudly this time, walking towards the window. “When we get to know eachother better, maybe.”
“Wait, hang on,” You watch him sling a foot out of the window, exasperated. He can’t leave! “Where are you going? I thought you said you were bored-”
“Things to do, baby,” He replies quickly. You blink. That ‘baby’ sounds awfully familiar, and you stand up quickly to walk towards the window, but he’s already webbing away. “Bye!”
You stand there, shocked and confused. He’s swinging from building to building away from you, and you’re just standing there like an idiot. You were interrupted before you could even start touching yourself, forced into a thumb war and coerced into admitting your deepest, darkest secret, and then he just… leaves? Just like that?
Your life is proving to be a little more interesting than you thought, but your dreams were filled with familiar round cheeks beneath a red and blue mask.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
“Baby, is there a reason why your eyes are burning holes into the side of my head?”
You’re convinced your best friend is Spiderman. There, sitting beside you with his glasses sliding down his nose and comfortable in a grey hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms on, it’s hard to believe. But you’re not stupid.
First of all, since he started that internship with Mr Bang, he’s been weird about letting you inside his room. This is the same person that you had many sleepovers with growing up, and as recently as a few months ago you’d been cuddling in bed together watching Howl’s Moving Castle. He has something to hide, but you’d been let down when you’d arrived at his house earlier and shouldered past him to find literally nothing of suspicion inside his room, other than an anime girl mouse pad with the boobs to rest your wrist on. You knew that existed though, ever since his birthday last year when Felix had gifted it to him, so what gives?
Secondly, Sohee is more stressed out than ever. You’d caught sight of her flitting around the kitchen when you arrived for your homework friend-date, scrubs on and ready to head to the hospital but still panicking about something. Jisung said multiple times that he’d been helping her out more and that’s why he’s been so busy lately. She shouldn’t still be panicking.
Thirdly, Spiderman wouldn’t make his voice deeper to you unless you knew him. He wouldn’t need to, or you wouldn’t recognise his voice - unless it’s a habit he’s picked up, perhaps. That doesn’t change that the way he called you baby last night sounded a little bit too familiar, too comfortable. It came out of his mouth like second nature.
Still, it makes no sense. Surely Jisung would have told you? You’re his best friend, he said so, so he’d tell you. Or would he? Maybe Felix knows. You’re also hoping deep down that it isn’t true, because if it is, you told your crush last night that you liked him.
You can’t even be mad at Jisung for it. He’s still staring at you, and you’re staring blankly back while shoving snacks into your mouth. There’s crumbs all over your homework.
“Jisung,” You begin, and he hums in response. “Would you tell me your deepest, most serious secret if I worked it out?”
He chokes on his energy drink, spluttering neon blue liquid all over his bed. You want to giggle, to make fun of him, but you’re sure you’ve gotten somewhere here. He wipes his mouth, clears his throat, and turns back to you. His hands are shaky where they clutch his textbook, and his eyes are almost blurry through the glasses. “I tell you everything anyway.”
“I don’t think you do,” You respond, quick as a beat. He blinks, lips parting. “Not by that reaction, Jisung. I think you’re hiding something from me.”
He scratches his nose with the end of his pen, looking down at the textbook again. You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Okay,” You hum. He sighs, scribbling something on the paper. It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear his pen scribbling, but you’re speaking again before you can even think. “Did I tell you Spiderman came to my room last night?”
He gulps audibly. “Nope.”
“Yeah, it was kinda weird,” You take a sip from your energy drink, still staring at him vacantly. Jisung’s eyes flit up to you, and then back down to the textbook. Oh, he knows. He knows that you know. He knows that you know that he knows. “He saved me in school, when that alien thing was there, and then he came to my room and asked me about you.”
“He, uh- really? Did he?”
“Mhm,” Your gaze is steely. “Jisung, I know you’re Spiderman.”
Jisung bursts out laughing. It would be believable, but you’ve known him since you were four years old and it’s a fake laugh. He’s cackling, loud as brass, and he lets out a little “ooh” afterwards as if he can’t believe you. “Baby, that’s the craziest theory you’ve ever come up with.”
“Is it?” You question, head tilting to the side. Then, in the smartest moment you’ve ever had, you pick up Jisung’s energy drink from the floor. He’s still looking at you, a fake smile on his lips, and you take a sip from it casually. Sharing drinks isn’t new for you. You glug back the artificial blue raspberry flavour, and then keeping eye contact with him, you let go.
Before the can is able to fall and spill the rest of its contents over your own textbook, and inevitably Jisung’s One Piece bed sheets, he reaches out and grabs it, hand wrapping around the can, quick as a flash. It all happens in about a second, and you gasp. Jisung gasps. His hand tightens around the can and it crinkles, an impossible show of strength, and then he’s blinking at you. You raise an eyebrow.
“I knew it.”
He puts the can safely on the bedside table, and then he’s slamming his textbook shut. You watch in confusion as he paces back and forth on his bedroom floor, running his hands through his hair over and over.
“Okay!” He points at you, victorious. “That was a reflex. I knew you were going to do that, I’m smart, duh! I knew you were going to drop the can to prove something, and-”
“Jisung,” You say, voice soft. He stops pacing, sock clad feet rooted on the carpet to stare at you. You’re going to get him. You’re going to get him good. “Do you not want me to know? Is that what this is?”
He immediately falls to the floor, head resting on your knee as he looks up at you. You can’t even feel sorry for him, because your plan is working perfectly. His eyes are round and vulnerable, and then he clenches them shut in distress. You think he’s probably a second away from crying. “Baby, it’s not that. I wanted to protect you. It would be dangerous if the bad guys knew who you were, knew that you knew, and I know I shouldn’t have come to your room, that was wrong of me, and-”
You giggle. Jisung furrows his eyebrows, eyes opening. “I knew I was right.” He gasps, pointing at you again.
“Judas! You’re a judas!” He’s shocked, leaning back on his haunches and staring at you. “I can’t- I can’t believe you, that was so-”
“Sneaky? Good? Smart?” You list, leaning back on his twin bed. He stands up, hands on his hips. You’re ready for him to bitch you out, but you don’t care - you knew that you had to know, had to have it confirmed. He taps his foot, and then you see a smile break out on his lips.
“Okay, yeah, that was pretty good,” He hums, returning to the bed. You let him shut your own textbook and sprawl across you, head in your lap. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve told you.”
You sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “That’s okay, Ji. It’s fine. I’m just a little embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? Why?” Jisung asks, his eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of your nails on his scalp. You want to scoff. Embarrassed for two major reasons - one, because you’ve been gushing about how cool Spiderman is for weeks, maybe even months, and two because you told Spiderman last night that you liked Jisung. Spiderman and Jisung are the same person. Sure, it makes things easier. You no longer have a crush on two people, only one, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jisung knows and is yet to say anything.
“I’ve been talking to you about Spiderman for weeks,” You blush, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He whines, thrashing his feet and shaking his head like a dog to hide his forehead again. He’s so dramatic. You like him so bad. “And- and you- it was you, then. You came to my room last night.”
“Yeah, that was risky,” He responds, exasperated. “I just had to, baby. I don’t know, you always seemed so interested in Spiderman and not me. I needed to know if you saw me like you saw him.”
You pause your movements on his head, blinking at the wall in front of you. When you turn back to him, he’s blushing, teeth gnawing his bottom lip. His eyes are conveniently staring at the window, away from you.
“Jisung,” You start, hesitant. “What do you mean?”
He sits up sharply. “Wanna go on the roof?”
“T-The roof? Jisung, how are we gonna- oh. Oh.”
Jisung jumps up from the bed, toeing his sliders onto his feet and pushing the window open. It gives you deja vu - that same figure was pushing the window open just like this to place you safely outside in school yesterday, and then he was coming through your window to see you late at night. It’s hard to believe that they’re the same person, the man you admired so much and your best friend who’s standing by the window expectantly waiting for you to join him.
You hesitantly stand up, brushing off imaginary crumbs from your joggers and looking at Jisung. He smiles, a soft, reassuring smile, and then he’s scooping you up from the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist. It’s slender, the plush flesh of your thighs almost obscuring it, and you squeak in surprise at being in the air.
“I- Jisung?!”
“You have to hold on tight,” He says. His face is inches away from yours, plush lips looking more than appealing and his glasses making him look so endearing. “I need my hands for this, so hold onto my shoulders.”
You nod, face blushing crimson at the realisation of just how close you are. Would he have you like this if he fucked you? Legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders, his face so close to yours as he pants and whines and moans-
You squeak again when he slides out of the window, and then you see him in action. His hands stick to the outside of the apartment building, feet kicking up against the concrete wall. Your heart is racing so badly it feels as though it could burst out of your chest, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the height or because you’re tightly pressed against Jisung.
When he swings you both over the side ledge on the roof, you notice the sun’s set already. Time always goes by quickly with Jisung, but the stars are already out, and the air is crisp and biting against your limbs despite the layers. Once he’s safely stood on the roof, he places his hands underneath your thighs and detaches you from his firm body, placing you on your feet.
You’re disorientated, shocked at the sheer height of the building and at the way Jisung seems to be swinging you around like it’s nothing, but he’s simply staring at you. A wide smile stretches from ear to ear, and he blinks when you don’t say anything. “It’s cool, right?”
“Y-Yeah, super cool,” You admit, chest heaving. “Really high up, but cool. Jisung, why are we on the roof?”
He’s wrangling you, hands on your arms and pushing you to the floor. It feels firm, but with what you now know about him, you know he’s holding back. He plops down next to you, eyes wide and expectant.
“I wanted to do it properly,” He begins. He pauses for a moment, licks his lips, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then he’s speaking again. “I like you, so that’s why I asked. Is it romantic up here? It feels romantic, but I’m not too sure-“
He stands up and begins pacing around the roof before you realise he’s even moved. You raise an eyebrow. “Jisung?”
“I wanted to do this right, y’know?” He pauses, hands on his hips. He looks comical, trying to assert dominance over you like that in those Hello Kitty pyjama trousers. “I- I wanted to swing by and like, grab you, or something? But then you worked it out, and now I’m just standing here with you on a roof…”
He continues mumbling like a mad scientist, eyes focused on a spot next to your head. You stand up, making your way towards him, and he still refuses to look at you. He likes you back. He likes you back, and he’s still your best friend - he’s still Jisung, but he’s also Spiderman, and you’re okay with that. You don’t have to like two people. You only like one, and it’s your goofy best friend.
“Is this even romantic? You know, we could just forget about it and-“
You press your lips to his. He doesn’t make any form of surprised noise, only cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling you close to him. His glasses bump against your face, his lips pouty against yours and plush and maybe a bit too wet for a first kiss, but you’d always figured he’d take it too far. That’s what you like about him. Jisung never does anything by halves.
It’s brief, too brief for your liking, but then he’s pulling away with a satisfied grin on his face. You blink. Wait.
“Wait, your stupid- your stupid spidey things. Did you know I was going to kiss you?” You pout, and he giggles. “No, seriously! Could you like- I don’t know, feel it coming?”
“Not until you were like, a few inches from my face,” Jisung admits, and his teeth gleam in the brilliance of the evening. “I had a feeling you might.”
You sigh. “So why didn’t you stop talking?”
“Dunno,” He shrugs. “I couldn’t stop once I started.”
The statement is so true to Jisung, so in character for your best friend that you can do nothing but accept it.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
It’s easy to fall into a different routine with Jisung.
He never asked you to be his girlfriend. You’re pretty sure you’re fine with that, though - things have had a natural manner of progressing, and now your best friend slash boyfriend slash superhero turns up at your window every night after he’s been on his neighbourhood patrol. Sometimes he’s a little bruised, and sometimes he’s just looking for consolation kisses.
It’s a normal night for you when it happens. Jisung’s halfway out of your bedroom window on his way to perform perfect justice, pulling his mask down over his annoyingly beautiful face. You’re standing a few feet away grinning like an idiot.
“I’ll see you later, my baby,” You can see his grin through the mask. The eyes on his mask form beautiful crescent moons with his happiness. He falters, legs swinging on your windowsill. “Wait. I am coming back here, yeah?”
“Of course,” You giggle. He sends you two fingers in a mock salute, and you watch him begin his journey up the wall to your roof. A beat passes and you’re still standing there, smiling, hands on your hips, and then the masked head of your best friend pops back down into your window, upside down, tilting to the side in confusion. You blink, confused. “What is it, Sungie?”
“Well, where’s my goodbye kiss? Damn,” He huffs, and you roll your eyes playfully. You make your way to the window, sock-clad feet padding on your carpet, and you pull his mask down to his eyes with two fingers. It miraculously stays on his head, and his lips form a teasing grin.
Despite him being upside down, you place a chaste kiss to his lips, and you watch in amusement as he swings away afterwards. You can still hear him giggling with glee from a few buildings away.
It’s a few hours later when he comes back. You’re flicking through a book for English, scrawling notes and highlighting words on sticky notes. It’s started to rain, and the city lights only look brighter in the dusk with the pattering of water on your window. You left it open, of course, for your superhero, but the cold air bites at your arms even through the fluffy blanket you’ve got wrapped around yourself.
Just as you’re beginning to contemplate closing it, a louder, more prominent tap hits the glass. When you turn to the window, Jisung is slouched against your windowsill, chest heaving beneath red lycra and forehead pressed against the glass. He’s got his mask between his teeth, and his hair is dishevelled, floppy brown locks obscuring his eyes. You can still catch sight of the bruising on his cheekbones and you gasp, rushing towards the window.
You drop your blanket in shock, but you swing the window open, pulling Jisung inside with one hand. He stumbles through, disoriented and confused, and you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.
“Got hurt,” He explains, huffing out a breath. The mask drops from his teeth unceremoniously, with a wet plop to your carpeted floor, but you don’t care. You rush to sit next to him, fingers gripping his chin to pull him to face you. His eyes are round, sincere, and he gives you a soft smile. “It’ll heal before long, baby, don’t panic.”
“I am panicking,” You say, resolute, because you really are. Bruising is scattered across his cheekbones, fading into green on the plush of his cheeks and his lip looks like it had been burst, but is already healing. “Will it- will it take long? Do you need me to get the first aid kit, or-“
“Baby,” He shakes his head, grabbing your hands. You watch with parted lips as he leans forward, both of you cross legged on the end of your bed. It reminds you of when Spiderman first visited you, when you weren’t quite sure of his identity. Jisung presses his forehead against yours, and you let him look into your eyes. It’s like he’s demanding everything that’s ever gone through your head to be vocalised. You’d tell him if he asked. “I’m really okay. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m fine. Most of it is on my ribs from falling, to be honest.”
“Your ribs?!” You shriek. “Show me. Let me see, I need to help you-“
You’re already trying to wrangle Jisung out of his suit, and he giggles, clearly thinking this is all just some game. He holds his arms up pliantly, though, and you don’t have the thought processing ability within you to realise that Jisung’s suit is an all-in-one and you’re currently stripping him down to his boxers.
The suit is wet too when you drop it to the floor, and before long you’re blinking at your best friend in his plain black boxers and he’s grinning at you as if this is any other day. There’s no bruising on his ribs. You’re staring at his abs, regardless, so you’re not sure you would’ve even noticed.
“You look fine.”
“I told you it heals quickly, baby,” He grins. You blink when he wriggles on your bed, laying on his back and stretching his arms above his head again, this time to get comfortable. His legs stretch out too, and you avoid looking anywhere below his waist.
His body is a spectacle. You can’t stop looking. Broad shoulders taper off into an extremely defined chest and a tight, thin waist adorned with prominent abdominal muscles, before reaching a v-line that leads into his boxers. You’re wide eyed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run your fingers down his honey toned skin.
“Why-“ You cough, clearing your throat. Jisung raises an eyebrow. He’s grinning from ear to ear, teeth gleaming. “Why did you let me strip you if you’re literally fine?”
The bruising on his cheek is already fading. He shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge with the movement and you think you might choke on your own spit. “You seemed pretty determined, so I just allowed it. You wanted to see me naked, I assumed, so-“
“Jisung!” You wail, slapping his shoulder. He groans in pain, catching your hand, and he grits his teeth with a hiss.
“My shoulder! Fuck, that hurt, ouch, baby! What was that for?!”
You gasp. He clutches his shoulder, letting out little pants of hurt sounding noises. You let your head fall to his chest, engulfing him with a hug. “Jisung, I’m so sorry-“
“Hehe,” He giggles. When you look at him, he’s sticking his tongue out, completely fine. You groan, annoyed you fell for it, and then he’s grabbing your forearms and pulling you upwards on top of him.
Your breasts press against his chest like this, due to your lack of bra in your sleep shirt, and his eyes widen when he feels it. Instead of letting you go, his hands move to your back, encompassing you in his strong hold.
You gasp, wiggling in his grip, and he licks his lips. His eyes go to your lips, and then back up to your eyes, as if he’s hesitant.
“I-“ He begins, faltering. “Are you my girlfriend?”
You scoff out a laugh. “I don’t know, am I?”
“I hope so,” Jisung admits, his facial expression vulnerable. His eyes dart to something behind you, as if he’s not sure, almost shy. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him shy. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but I want you to be, if you want to be.”
“I want to be,” You nod. He nods in response, and you watch his eyes flicker to your lips again. It’s silent for a moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours.
The kiss is more charged than usual. Before now, you’re used to chaste, fleeting kisses from your superhero, but now he lets his tongue tease against the seam of your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and his eyelashes brush against your skin where he does the same. You let your lips part, and Jisung’s quick to grip your back harder, tongue darting inside your mouth with impatience.
You’ve made out with someone before. You’d never had sex with someone before, but you had made out with someone. It was only once at a party when you were a little bit younger but it had felt like a good idea at the time. You’re sure Jisung’s lost his virginity though, but when he whimpers against your lips and his hips squirm a little you’re not too sure.
You pull away from the kiss, lips a little wet, and Jisung’s mouth goes to your neck. You allow him to suck a mark into the expanse of skin just underneath your jaw, his fingers grabbing impatiently at your back. “Sungie, are you a virgin?”
Jisung pulls away, licking his lips. You feel something hard pressing against your thigh where you lay on top of him. You’re thanking every entity ever that your parents are out for a work dinner. “Yeah, I am. I would have told you if I wasn’t,” He confirms, a little breathless. His hips wiggle again. “Is that- is that okay, baby?”
“Yeah, of course,” You smile, comforting. You peck his lips again and he grins back at you. “I am too.”
“I know,” He responds, quick as a flash. You blush. That’s embarrassing. “No, I just mean- you also would’ve told me, y’know?”
“That’s true,” You shrug. You’re feeling a little overconfident, and you move in his hold, having felt it gone a little lax with your kissing. You let your thighs spread over his hips, his hard shaft pressing against your core through your pyjama bottoms and his boxers. You still feel it, though, and it makes your pussy gush a little. “Is- is this okay?”
He’s blushing. His lips part, and he nods, perhaps too eagerly because he clutches his neck afterwards like he’s got whiplash. “Baby, you’re- I have a pretty girl in my lap. This is so okay. Like, so okay, I might have a heart attack and die, probably.”
You shift, and he winces. “Sorry,” You say. It’s a fake apology. You want to swallow his cock down your throat until he cries, and you don’t even know how to. You’d try your best though. “If I lost my virginity, I’d want it to be with you.”
“Damn,” Jisung whistles, eyebrows raised. “Let me hit?”
You giggle, tilting your head to the side. “I’ll let you hit right now, Jisung.”
Jisung shoots upwards into a seated position. His eyes are wide. “Right now?”
“Right now,” You confirm. You go from straddling his lap to laying on your back on your bed in a flash, and Jisung looms over you, all tight, toned muscles and broad shoulders.
“I’ll make it so good, baby, I promise,” He says, and then he’s kissing you again. It’s even messier this time, lips pressing against yours over and over and his tongue adding a collection of spit to the mix. You let your thighs fall apart, his hips quick to fill the space and press his cock against you. His hands go to your waist as he kisses you, sucking and biting on your lips until you’re whining with it, but he doesn’t let up. He’s desperate, messy, and it’s only making your pussy drool even more.
The rain hits the window still, cooling off a little but still providing a calming effect to your room when combined with the orange-pink of your lamp. He inches his palms up your shirt, the softness of his hands surprising you, and then he’s pulling away from your mouth to yank the fabric over your head.
You’re left in just your pyjama bottoms, lips kiss bitten and nipples pebbled against the cool air of your bedroom. You never had shut your window, after all.
“Oh,” Jisung says, exasperated. You finally open your eyes to see him staring at your tits, and you think he might be drooling. “Oh, yeah, my baby. They are so fucking good.”
You almost laugh, but you’re cut off by your own strangled moan when his pouty lips engulf your right nipple. He sucks on it, hard, and when your back arches he lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet popping noise. It’s only a brief moment of reprieve before he’s letting his teeth skim along the bud, and you keen, fingers moving upwards from his shoulders to grip onto the pillow behind your head.
“Oh, that’s so- Sungie, baby, that feels good,” You whine, and he hums against your breast. When he moves to the other one, he tweaks your wet nipple between two fingers. It’s experimental, but the whole thing is, and you buck your hips up impatiently.
His hands move to your ass, scooping underneath you and making you grind slightly against him. The movement makes him moan, your nipple leaving his mouth. A string of drool attaches to his lips and his tongue lolls out lazily, and before you can process it, he’s grinding his cock into your clothed centre.
“Oh- oh, fuck,” He whines, eyes clenching shut. You whimper in response, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Baby- baby, baby. Baby, I’ve thought about this so much, I- fuck, you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”
His words are so crude that they make you keen, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought about it too. I- I touched myself thinking about it, Sungie, did you?”
He gasps sharply, and there’s a fumbling between your legs. He rocks backwards on his haunches, and you see him gripping his cock impatiently underneath his boxers, fingers wrapped tight around the base.
“I will literally cum if I imagine that,” He huffs, breathless. “But yes. I did, many times, and- and- baby, can I see your pussy?”
It’s so bold that you can’t say no. You never would have dreamed of saying no anyway, and you nod, wiggling your bottoms down your legs. You never wear a bra or panties underneath your pyjamas, and your pussy is revealed to him in all its drooly glory, folds sticking together with your arousal.
Jisung’s jaw goes slack. You watch him jerk his cock, eyes fixated on your wet hole, and you shift impatiently.
“I showed you mine, Sungie,” You huff. “Show me yours.”
He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. Your clit is swollen with arousal, some wetness stuck onto it, and you reach down to trace your fingertips over it absentmindedly while he pushes his boxers down. His cock slaps up against the bottom of his tummy, cockhead leaking beneath his foreskin, precum slicking the smattering of hair at his base. His balls look heavy, shaft swollen and fat between lithe thighs, and you can’t help but go a little googly eyed at the thought of him stretching you out.
He grabs it, pumps his cock a few times while you rub your fingers over your clit. “Is- is it okay, baby?” He gasps, cock leaking steadily in his fist.
“You’re so sexy, Sungie, ‘s so big. I- oh,” You whine, spreading your arousal over your folds. You prop your feet up, letting your legs fall wide, and the movement must expose your soppy hole to Jisung because his eyes widen even further. “I want you inside of me so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, I just- shit, Jisung, what are you-“
You’re cut off by him diving between your legs. His cock is forgotten, his hands looping around your ass again to spread you wide, and his tongue presses against your core. He moans at the taste, and you whimper out loud, head rolling against your pillow. It’s messy and you can tell he’s inexperienced, but when he sucks your clit between his lips you can’t find it in you to care.
“Oh, oh- baby, baby! You’re good at that, so good at that, baby,” You babble, trying your best not to grind up into his mouth. His mouth is just as wet as your pussy, his lips drooling all over you. You’re cut short when he flattens his tongue against your core, moaning out loud, and his hands move your ass just a bit. “I- you- Sungie-?”
“Grind on my face, baby, c’mon,” He murmurs, muffled by your folds, and you oblige. Your hand goes to his hair, yanking on the dark brown strands, and you hold him in place while you grind your pussy senseless on his tongue. Your boy is good with his mouth, you realise - he’s pliant, letting you make yourself cum on his tongue and lips, and after only a few grinds you’re sure you’re going to fall apart for him.
“Ah! Ah, oh, baby, your mouth is- Sungie, Sungie,” You whine, feet kicking on the bed. Your legs go flat, but as the pleasure builds up in your core, your thighs tighten around his ears. He likes this, moaning loud to the point the vibrations make you jolt. It’s all so wet, your pussy dripping with arousal and his saliva, dripping down to your asshole. It has you wondering if Jisung would eat your ass further down the line, and your eyes flicker to his - would he let you eat his? He probably would, with how submissive he’s being.
His hips buck downwards on the bed and he keens into your pussy, and you realise he’s humping your mattress. He’s so desperate for you that he just can’t help himself, and you moan, loud and unabashed. The sight has you hurtling towards your orgasm.
“I’m gonna fucking cum, baby,” You warn, and he finally lets up, pulling back to suck on your clit. His hand moves over to the top of your pussy, pulling your mound backwards, and the exposure of your clit directly to his lips is your downfall. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth, and you can hear yourself talking and moaning but you’re not sure what you’re saying, only able to feel your hole gushing into Jisung’s mouth over and over.
Jisung licks over your clit a few times comfortingly, and then he’s on top of you again, face looming over yours. His right hand holds him up steadily and the other stays downwards, hooked on your thigh to keep you open.
“You taste delicious, baby,” He grins, mouth wet. When he presses his lips to yours he’s desperate, tongue darting into your mouth to let you taste your own cum. You let your hands fall to his chest, fingernails digging into the muscles. The filthiness of it all has you wriggling around impatiently again, and Jisung’s cockhead slips against your clit, making you whine into his mouth. He pulls away, gasping for air with the sensation, and you kiss the beauty spot on his cheek for good measure. “Baby. M-my baby, shit, can- can I fuck you now? Have you got a condom, I- shit, I need to fuck you?”
He’s breathless, giggling at his own desperation, and you nod eagerly. You’re on the pill, and realistically you’d want nothing more than him to creampie you, but you have a shred of logic still left in your brain. “No condom. I- I don’t have any, can you pull out? I know it’s not-“
“Don’t care,” He huffs, legs moving to prop himself up more securely. His knees dig into your bed, and he pulls your thigh further apart, letting his eyes fall down to your pussy. His face is more than pornographic when he sees the visual of his cockhead sliding through your folds, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. He lets his eyes flutter shut, a small profanity leaving his mouth. “You’re sure I can fuck you raw? I- please, p-please, baby. I need to be inside.”
“Jisung,” You whine. He lets his tip bump against your clit again, and you grow too desperate, reaching down yourself to grab his cock. The feeling makes him whimper, his fingers ripping into the pillow beside your head with his superhuman strength, but you’re too out of it to care. You position his cock by your hole, soppy and wet with your own cum, and he can’t hold himself back - he pushes in, all of it at once, a long, anguished noise leaving his mouth. “Oh. Oh- Oh, Jisung, that’s-“
“Is it okay? Are you okay?” Jisung asks, breathless. “Does it hurt? I- baby, baby-“
He’s still completely stationary, but he can’t stop talking, chest heaving and flushed pink. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt. You’re wet enough that he glided in so easy, stretching your pussy in the most pleasurable, delicious way. You didn’t think it would ever feel this good, but you’re sure it’s because it’s Jisung.
“God, is it- does it feel good?” He questions you, and you nod eagerly, hands moving to rest on his biceps. He repositions you both so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms holding himself up over you, and the movement has him sliding deeper, making you whimper. “Can I-“
“Fucking hell, Jisung, can you just move?” You huff, annoyed, and he giggles. He shakes his head fondly, and then he’s thrusting into you, slow but steady.
“Oh, that’s good,” He slurs, eyes rolling back into his head. “That pussy’s good. Jesus, you’re- you’re tight on my cock, baby, like a fuckin’ vice.”
“Your cock is so good,” You whine, trying to fuck yourself back on him. Your pussy is so wet that every thrust makes an audible noise, ringing throughout your room. If anyone walked past now they’d hear the debauchery, and you’re not sure you’d even care. “Fuck, Jisung- Jisung, you’re big. Please, please, more, I need more!”
“Okay, okay,” He moans, and then his hips speed up. His balls slap against your asshole with every thrust, his cock pistoning into you at a pace that has you wailing. The headboard slams against the wall. “Oh, fuckin’- baby, this puusssy.”
“It feels so good. Your cock is stretching me out so good, baby-“
“Fuck, wait,” He whines, pulling out sharply. When you look down between his legs his cock is painfully hard, and his pubic hair is drenched with you. The sight makes you even more eager to get him back inside of you, but Jisung grabs the base of his cock tightly, his chest heaving. “I- I’ll cum if you talk like that. Fuck, this is so embarrassing!”
“I want you to cum,” You insist, leaning up on your elbows. Your pussy is still leaking steadily onto your bedsheets, and you make grabby hands at your boy to try and get him back inside of you. “You made me cum so good in your mouth, Sungie, c’mon. Make yourself cum with my pussy.”
“Oh my God,” He moans, eyes half lidded, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re dirty. My fucking dream, holy shit.”
He leans over you once more, pushing his cock inside of you. It slides back in easily with another wet noise, and you moan, smiling with delight. “Mm, fuck this pussy, baby, c’mon.”
“I- fuck, okay,” He keens, nodding. His teeth bite into his lower lip almost painfully, and you kiss his neck while he starts to fuck into you again. With a quick reposition you let your thighs fall apart and further back, and his cock starts to hit your g-spot incessantly. He pulls away from you, head lolling into your neck. His breaths fan over your skin, hot and heavy. “You’re so wet, why are you- how are you so wet, baby? This pussy, fucking- I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, I’m so close, please-“
The shred of logic has left your brain. His cock feels so good, thick and pressing inside of you. You have to let him do it. “Baby. Baby, do y’wanna- I’m on the pill, baby,” You say, breathless. His pace stops, hips halting, and he makes a confused noise. “Cum inside. Creampie this hole, Sungie, I know you want to.”
“Oh my fucking- baby? My baby, can I?” He wails, head pulling up to look at you. You catch sight of tears brewing in his eyes, glassy and unshed. “Baby, please, I’m gonna cum, please, where-? Baby?”
“Inside of me, Sungie,” You wrap your legs around him, pulling him inside of you, deep. You know he could get out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, hips starting to pick up inside of you again. It’s fast, desperate and he keens, nodding. “You gonna fill me up, yeah?”
“Yeah. Y-yeah, yes, oh- I’m gonna fill you up,” Jisung’s words are slurred, quiet, and you let him fuck into you over and over. With a sharp noise, his hips slow once more, and you feel a rush of additional wetness inside of you. It’s warm, and you run your fingers through his hair while he fucks his cum inside of you. “Fuck. Baby, you’re so good to me, so good. Lettin’ me breed your cunt, and- and- oh. I’m still-“
He’s still cumming. It floods out of his cock and into your pussy steadily, and you giggle, feeling sated. Your delighted state of mind only lasts a second, because he pulls out sharply and wiggles down on the bed, attaching his mouth to your cunt. He’s eating his own cum out of you.
“Oh! Oh, Jisung, you’re- you’re dirty, Sungie, ah-“ You whine, fingers moving to his hair again. He licks you over and over until you’re wailing with it, your own tears brimming in your eyes from the overstimulation. Your hole feels stretched, a feeling you’re sure you could get used to, and you shake through a second orgasm.
Jisung’s quick to lean over you again, and then his thumb moves to your chin. He opens your mouth firmly, spitting your combined release into your mouth, and you moan, letting him press his tongue between your lips afterwards.
It’s messy and you let him kiss you for a bit, slow, languid, passionate kisses that have your core almost throbbing for more, if you weren’t so satisfied. Jisung’s soft cock presses against your tummy, wet with your combined arousal, and then he flops down next to you with a huff.
“God, I could go again,” He admits, hand running through his sweat mussed hair. When you turn to him, he’s grinning from ear to ear, and you giggle. He looks at you with a satisfied expression. “You’re the best. That was literally like, the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Even more than when I win some fight against an alien, or something.”
“Alien?” You ask, and then you remember. “Oh, yeah. Kinda forgot about that.”
“You forgot about me saving your life?!” He shrieks, thrashing around on the bed in a tantrum. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you I would- ah. Oh.”
You blanch, blinking at him. It’s easy to ignore that you’re both naked when he’s just dropped a bombshell on you like that, and you let out a giggle. “That was sweet. I’m in love with you too, for the record.”
You’re attacked in a flurry of kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re sure Han Jisung intrigues you just as much as his superhero alterego does, so it’s easy to accept.
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ziracona · 1 year
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I actually like the lesser bad way better on a rewatch knowing they’re bad.
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crysatoru · 4 months
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NO NUT NOVEMBER !
— with geto, toji, gojo
cw: gn!reader, sub!character, long time edging, bit of pillow humping (gojo)
nanami, sukuna, choso part here
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GETO SUGURU
actually easy for him, i’d think
he can last the days easier than the other characters but he’s still going to be needy by the end of it
to make it harder you can tease him throughout the month
whisper the sweetest, dirtiest words in his ear while you hold him close (the promises drive him dizzy)
make sure to pamper him after that though
You’re sitting in his lap, kissing him sweetly as your hand teases his cock, tips of your fingers barely brushing against it. You can feel him shiver against you as he buried his head in your shoulder, soft pants escaping his lips as he tried his hardest to not grind up into you.
“Doing okay, baby?” You laughed, hearing him grumble and whine against your skin as his grip on your waist tightened.
"Yea," he hummed, though you could both tell that his normally composed self was falling to pieces.
"Wanna give up?" You snickered, causing him to press himself further into you.
"No," he managed to grit out, even when the warmth of your palm wrapped around the tip of his drooling cock, squeezing and rubbing around the head. He was strong, he can take a bit of edging. There's no way he'd flunk out and risk disappointing you, though he knew that he wouldn't even if he did.
He'll do this for you, all for you.
TOJI FUSHIGURO
brat #2. right after sukuna
you expect him to last 30 days bc u told him to ? you're joking
end up making it a bet with him, raise the stakes and gain his interest
make sure to include "no touching yourself" in your rules for him, because he will be jerking and touching himself pretending it was yyou
tries his best to make it through for the sake of winning the bet, but it's easy to get him sitting by you, clinging to you pathetically as he whimpered at the idea of release
"Don't be a bitch, Toji. You can take a bit of edging, no?" You were degrading him, and it was doing nothing but turning him on. He wanted nothing more than for you to bend him over the damn sofa and fuck him until his legs are jelly.
He was positive his cock was burning with the need to be touched, yet he persisted. To win the bet, to get his prize.
He continued to sit with you in silence, but you don't miss the way his muscular thighs were pressed together before he crossed them, a frustrated look in his eyes and you were sure that he was completely unfocused on the television program playing.
GOJO SATORU
whiny. that's the word
he struggles with it because, how could he not? you always looked so attractive
it feels like the harder he tries, the more he's reminded of the countless nights in your bedroom that ended with him panting and whimpering, ass high in the hair.
grabbing onto you from the back asking if you can have mercy on him and touch him :( because he knows it won't be as good if he does it himself
"You're so cruel," he whined, grabbing a pillow as he pouted at you. You paid him no mind, continuing to complete your paperwork for the day as you hummed a soft tune. Gojo huffed, rolling around on the bed behind you.
You didn't turn around, but you knew that he was trying to be discreet, grinding against the plushness of the pillow as he muffled his soft pants in them. He didn't want to upset you, because if he has to go a day longer than the month without an orgasm he might actually start going crazy.
Still, it's very obvious by the sound of shuffling and moving, and you smiled when you heard the softest whine from him.
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lesbaurinkos · 9 months
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its literally so sad that so many people in this world dont understand that riverdale is the show of all time ever. because cheryl blossom is the Most character of all fucking time and everyone in the entire universe should know about her and cherish her. shes clinically insane. she experiences female hysteria like no other. she is the most seen ive ever felt by a lesbian in television because she is just off her fucking rocker at all times and thats the best representation i could ask for. she constantly talks like shes possessed by a victorian ghost. she once WAS possessed by a victorian ghost (her ancestor, also a lesbian, because lesbianism is genetic like being a serial killer is). she was also haunted by the ghost of a triplet she thought she absorbed but didnt actually absorb in the womb possessing a porcelain doll and then when they went to the 50s that porcelain doll became a real boy. her having lesbian sex saved the world. she faked stigmata for clout while canonizing herself as the first living saint in order to take over the musical theater cult her mother had started around her dead twin brother as a christ figure and maple syrup as the blood of christ, but cheryl succeeded in taking over the cult because she and gay kevin wanted to sing songs. she’s also committed to ruining gay kevin’s life just for funsies most of the time. she lives in a creepy gothic mansion and goes about wearing flowing dressing gowns and carrying candelabras despite fully living in the 2020s (except for right now bc everyone got zapped to the 1950s) because her life is a gothic horror. she kept the taxidermed corpse of her dead twin in the basement for a while just for funsies because she is balls to the walls insane. when her uncle found said corpse he attacked her and her girlfriend accidentally killed him so the two of them plus her creepy haunted grandma decided to gaslight the man’s wife and child into thinking they had cannibalized him over thanksgiving dinner (it was awesome). also shes really good with a bow and arrow for funsies. shes one of the few characters on tv that actually says “im a lesbian” out loud. she has magical witch powers and can blow people up with her mind, literally, actually. once she got so fucking mad at a the leader of a different cult she had gotten roped into because he said that she couldn’t run for prom queen that she managed to deprogram herself basically overnight. for a while she was building her own version of the winchester mystery house due to being plagued by hysteria. shes an incredibly skilled artist who did forgery for a while. she can control bees with her mind. She’s The Queen Of The Bees. she had a collection of small witch girls in the splinter universe rivervale that were all dressed like rei from evangelion for no clear reason and went about performing ritualistic sacrifices in the woods. she’ll say shit like “my dear antoinette thou hast beguiled me” and “im cuckoo bananas for you, obvi” and “do you think these loubotins are too flashy for kombucha brewing?” with the same level of utter conviction. she is so, so haunted. she has suffered more than jesus. she is a girlboss she is a lunatic she is a war criminal and she is never going to die.
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lackadaisycats · 10 months
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I’m so sorry if you’ve already answered this somewhere, but how do you design your characters?
I’ve been trying to make an OC from the prohibition era and it turns out there’s basically nothing to work with for men’s outfits, so I’m curious how you made this many that look unique and fitting to the characters
There is so much to work with, though! You will tend to find more of a focus on variety in women's fashion, but there is still quite a lot of menswear to ogle too. I suppose it's just a matter of searching out ideas and inspiration in the rights corners. Here are a few suggestions:
Old Clothing Catalogues -
Collections from Sears-Roebuck and other popular clothing retailers are pretty easy to find compiled into relatively inexpensive books, or just floating online.
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A fair bit of it is in the public domain now.
--Here's an entire 1922 catalogue of stuff to flip through.
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Contemporary Artwork -
Some phenomenal illustrators were working in this field amidst the "Golden Age of Illustration" and featured prominently on the covers of magazines and on the ads inside. There was a lot of emphasis on fashion.
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Collier's and The Saturday Evening Post are a couple of the more prominent and easily searchable resources. The costuming on the cover art always has a lot of personality.
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There's Rockwell, of course, and it's almost impossible to go wrong with J. C. Leyendecker. He's probably best known for his Arrow Collar ad art, but even his sock ads are like…
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There were numerous other amazing and influential illustrators working at the time too. Here's a list of some of them. Here's a bonus Henry Raleigh featuring some of his fabulously-dressed people.
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Blogs and Articles -
There are so many of them! If you want historical accuracy, be wary of write-ups pulling all of their references from film and television. There's nothing wrong with using those for inspiration if you aren't too concerned with historicity, but there are some pretty comprehensive and well-researched things out there with more of an eye on actual fashion history too:
--Gentleman's Gazette - What Men Really Wore in the 1920s
--The Fashionisto - 1920s Men's Fashion
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Digital Collections -
There are numerous digital historic image collections stemming from universities, museums, libraries, and the government that are free to peruse too.
--The Metropolitan Museum has a searchable catalog of exhibits that includes fashion and photos
--Here's some things from the New York Public Library
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Photos at Large -
If you aren't sure where to start, image searching for any of Hollywood's early celebrities will typically turn up a bevy of production stills and promotional photography featuring a variety of fashions. Here's a random Getty images search for Harold Lloyd. A lot of standard 3 piece suits, but a lot of stuff with added character too.
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Photography was generally quite accessible by the 1920s, though, and you can find a lot of authentic photos of people from all walks of life, out in the wild wearing all sorts of clothes.
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This is by no means the limit to the resources available, but hopefully it'll provide some leaping-off points for designing looks for your characters!
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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months
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—  GIMME HALF
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REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous
PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)
CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester
WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting
WORD COUNT : 8.4k
A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.
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There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction. 
Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.
Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door. 
Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men. 
There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son. 
He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos. 
There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him 
As for the cons, we’ll get to that…
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When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June. 
When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.
The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one. 
Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle. 
After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.
Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.
Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.
The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.
The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.
It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily. 
Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass. 
Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room. 
Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.
She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.
“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at. 
She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.
“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.
“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh. 
She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.  
“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.
“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?” 
She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself. 
Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.
“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.
Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”
“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.
“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.
His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.
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That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on. 
He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans. 
The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.
Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely. 
When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.
She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people. 
When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.
It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.
Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.
They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.
Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving. 
He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.
Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean. 
So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow. 
For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway. 
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She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.
She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.
All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.
She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?
For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?
The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation. 
With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him. 
It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective. 
It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.
The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant. 
For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.
She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?
She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.
The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently. 
When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.
“What?” He asked bluntly. 
She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet. 
“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter. 
She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.
She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.
She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera. 
What a funny thing. 
“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights. 
“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything. 
She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction. 
“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters. 
“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.
He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted. 
“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.
Now, it was awkward. 
Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants. 
“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing. 
“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire. 
“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.
“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer. 
He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand. 
“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds. 
“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over. 
“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.
“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it. 
“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.
She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.
She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie. 
“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added. 
Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.
“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth. 
“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him. 
“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.
“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.
“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie. 
It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.
“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog. 
Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.
“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”
“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.
“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.
“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.
“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth. 
“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair. 
She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.
With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap. 
“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.
“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.
“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.
“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.
“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..
“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table. 
“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.
She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor. 
He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time. 
He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss. 
He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.
He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.
“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts. 
“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.
“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.” 
She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching. 
“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name. 
“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.
“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.
“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly. 
She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.
“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.
“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.
Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned. 
He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more. 
“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head. 
He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.
Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.
“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole. 
“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.
“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.
“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.
“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely. 
“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.
He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly.  “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. 
She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.” 
“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes. 
“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.
“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy. 
She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.
“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.
She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths. 
Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw. 
“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.” 
She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch. 
He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly. 
He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath. 
“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.
She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.
“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.
“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.
“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.
“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit. 
“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.
“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her. 
“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.
“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.
“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt. 
“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily. 
“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”
Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his. 
“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.
“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit. 
She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.
“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him. 
“Dean…”
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”
As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would. 
He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.
“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure. 
“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.
“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.
➥ sempiternal
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jo-harrington · 2 months
Text
Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Prologue: Crossover
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Summary: Everyone wishes that they could have an Eddie Munson in their lives. In a strange turn of events, Eddie wishes that he could meet you, his favorite character from a cult classic 80's TV series. And he's about to get his wish.
Word Count: 3.9k
Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader
Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Minor Angst, Fluff, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events
Note: Hello and welcome. I'm very excited about getting to expand on this idea; it's going to be a wild ride. Please note as you head in, and as we get into further chapters...this fic is going to be a little mind-fucky and a little bit self aware. This is my love letter to and my criticism of fanfiction, but at the end of the day, we're still gonna get to fall in love with Eddie and get some kind of Happily Ever After. This is my guarantee.
You can find my masterlist here.
Please do not interact if you are not 18+.
Enjoy!
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May 2022. Such a weird time.
A time of uncertainty, a time of change. A time where the world seemed like it had been torn apart and was slowly being knit back together again.
But then a switch was flipped. Something happened. An old season ended and a new one started and with that start came something new. Someone new. And suddenly, countless people began to yearn for this new person in their lives.
A new, old person. Eddie Munson.
Joy ignited. Creativity sparked. Millions of words written and read. Edits made. Art drawn. Merch bought.
So many voices crying “why isn’t he real. WHY ISN'T HE REAL.”
If there was a god, he would let them have their own Eddie Munson. And if there was a Satan, he would let them sell their souls for Eddie Munson.
That’s just not how the universe works.
At least…not this one...
October 1985. A different kind of place and time. Still weird.
But Eddie Munson was real.
Sometimes to his detriment.
And for the most part, it was alright.
He played guitar, laughed with friends, mocked bullies to protect the people like him that were considered less than. He'd overcome hardships of one sort or another for most of his life, he could keep at it for a little while longer.
It would be his day week month year sometime soon.
Wouldn't it?
But until then, he would bide his time. Hopefully, this year, he'd pass all of his classes and finally graduate. Get to flip that douchebag Higgins off and snatch up a long-awaited, and well-deserved diploma.
What made it all easier, what softened the blow...was you.
It was silly. He knew that. Ronnie used to tease him on Wednesday nights when he needed to run home because he had a "standing date with his girl."
"Your girl doesn't even know you're alive," she'd scoff as he bustled her into the van. "She isn't real."
No...no you weren't.
Why couldn't you be real.
See, for the past...however long Eddie had spent his late nights half-assing homework, planning campaigns for Hellfire, working on music, and watching a television show. His guilty pleasure, a show about the ups and downs and upside downs of living in a sleepy suburban town: Port Geneva.
A show where you were his favorite character.
And crush.
You weren't the main character--in fact, you were just the main character's quirky best friend--but you were a fan favorite, as much as he could tell. You'd only been in the background during the first season, but before long you were front and just-left-of-center. And last year, you'd even gotten a two-episode arc in the season finale as you turned the small town on its head by announcing, a month or two before graduation, that you were quitting school to follow your dream and become an artist.
And man...Eddie had been there.
He'd actually missed those episodes airing when...well, when everything happened with his father and the heist...and the house...and Paige.
He'd missed a lot of episodes that season. Missed seeing you come into your own as he tried and failed to come into his.
Thankfully Wayne--and Eddie wasn't a believer but whatever deity in charge needed to bless his Uncle Wayne--had the foresight to tape those episodes for him.
Those tapes would be cherished 'til the day he died, because they had truly gotten him through those tough days after everything.
He wished he had seen them when they aired, maybe...maybe he would have made some different decisions if he had.
Of course, Eddie had already loved you before then.
Since he had first laid eyes on you, actually.
He was sure that if you were real, you would be the one to understand him more than any of his friends. See the real him. In return, he would understand you, be there for you too.
He already had been. He'd seen you cry countless times, he'd laughed with you, celebrated your successes and mourned your failures. He'd been there for you when you crushed on that dickhead Mark, and then had your heart broken by the careless jerk.
And somewhere deep down inside of him, when he was sitting in that jail cell after he wasted his phone call on Paige and he felt the weight of the world bear down on his shoulders…he wished that you were real so he could have called you instead.
If you were real, Eddie's life would just be a little nicer.
He knew…he just knew.
Of course, in the mean time while he wished with every fiber of his being that you would walk into his life, he brought you to life in other ways. During mid-season and summer hiatuses, he would write you into his DND campaigns. His friends knew, they always called him out for it.
"Are you seriously making her an NPC man?" Dougie would scoff and throw a D20 across the table at him.
"No, what are you talking about?" he defended and threw the die right back at his friend. "This is Spiria the Bold."
"Uh huh," Jeff rolled his eyes. "Sure."
By his imagination and his pen, you became a powerful warrior, a sharp-tongued trickster, a seductive mage. You became anything he wanted you to be--most often with a companion and lover that mirrored him--and everything he knew, deep down, that you were.
And then the unthinkable happened.
September ‘84. He and Wayne were in the checkout line at K-mart. Cart stacked with new clothes and school supplies and groceries. When suddenly...there you were. Right in front of him.
Alright, not you. Per se. But your face, smiling alongside Samantha and Patrick and Scotty and Bill on the cover of the TV Guide.
On Set with the Stars of Port Geneva.
Wayne was the one to snatch the magazine from the rack and add it to their bounty, a knowing smile on his lips as he shook his head.
He knew Eddie needed a little pick-me-up.
Or a big one.
How could he have known this would be anything but one...
Eddie scoured over the pages once they got back to the trailer. He was hoping there would be a big enough picture of you that he could cut out and tape to the otherwise barren walls of his new room. And there was; you were leaning against the back of your signature pastel blue Volkswagen Beetle, arms across your chest, head tilted to the side with the signature scrunched smile you gave when you were embarrassed.
He adored you.
Before he took scissors to the page, he read the interview with your actress.
He wasn't too keen on her, even though she had your face.
The illusion that Rosemary Glass was really you had been shattered the first time he'd heard her voice on a radio interview; instead of your perfect and familiar middle-American speech...Rosemary's voice was accented.
Not to mention, she sounded pretentious.
Gross.
Still, he could look past that annoyance if he got some kind of insight to what the next season would bring for you.
Hopefully not a new love interest. His heart could only take so much.
...gives us a tour of the Patterson and Son's set, one that is forever enshrined as the setting of Patrick and Samantha's first kiss. "Oh I'm actually not fond of that scene," Rosemary confesses. "Yeah it's sweet, and the way I bring Sam in so Pat could confess his feelings but the...when I fell down? It was not scripted. And I was honestly shocked they kept that in. But fans seem to think she's clumsy now because of it. That I'm clumsy. When I just tripped over a wire. It's quite awful, really." We ask Rosemary to tell us what she'll miss most, now that the show is coming to an end...
Eddie went rigid as he read those words.
The show...coming to an end?
"What?" he exclaimed into his empty room. "No, no, no."
He carefully examined the article again, then turned back to the beginning of the feature, only to feel his heart stop in his chest.
The title of the feature was like crit hit.
The final killing blow to his already weak constitution.
One Last Summer in Port Geneva - On the Set of the Final Season
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The final season was a sham.
Eddie savored every episode, though. Of course he would!
He would enjoy every last moment with you that he could get before he lost you forever. But...he hated it.
It was lazy writing--seriously what were they thinking--and a quick, cheap means to tie up all the loose ends they'd set up over the years. He could tell they tried to deliver as fulfilling a finale for the extensive cast of characters as they could. Still, he was sure he could have done better.
Samantha and Patrick got engaged after graduation. That was lame.
Bonnie finally quit the bakery to open her own cafe the next town over. Didn't anyone remember that she wanted to quit because she wanted to be a vet instead? That was the whole point of her! She didn't want to follow in her family's footsteps and she was doing just that.
And you? You took a backseat.
Instead of leaving town right after graduation--something that you had followed through reluctantly to make your parents happy even though you had just resolved to put your own happiness first for once--you stayed to help Pat plan his proposal.
Your big adventure, your big push for your dreams, were on hold again. You played second fiddle over and over until the final episode.
Eddie was grateful to have you for a little longer, but...once again annoyed that you were looked over--over and over, just like he was--when you had already proved that you were worthy of top billing.
Worthy of being the main character for once.
Still, at the beginning of the series finale, you packed your bags, cashed in your savings account, and drove out of town. The future was yours, just like it was always meant to be.
And Eddie cried.
The whole time tears streamed down his face as you said your own watery goodbyes. He might have even waved as you stuck your hand out the windshield to say goodbye to your friends as your car idled at the last stop sign. You blew a kiss to everything you knew and loved then started on your way into the unknown, car getting smaller in the distance right before the commercial break.
He held his breath for the final scene: a walk through the house where it all started and then Sam smiled her signature hopeful smile as she shut the door on the audience.
The screen faded to black for one final time and he exhaled.
"It's over," he muttered in slight disbelief, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself.
Port Geneva was over, and you were gone for good.
It was a strange feeling.
Heartbreak, mourning, disappointment? He couldn't really know for sure. Empty was the best way to describe it; the lack of feeling. It was infuriating. Port Geneva was just a television show, he attempted to rationalize for the nth time since he started watching. You were just a character on a tv show; how could you mourn for someone and something that wasn't even real?
You hadn't actually died. He could still see glimpses of you if he wanted, whenever Rosemary Glass' next movie came out or something.
But that wasn't you.
You were gone, for all intents and purposes, and it was a blow that hit Eddie hard.
How could he go on without you?
Devastated, he got high that night after he stewed on his grief. He day-dreamed and monologued to an empty trailer about a universe where the two of you were together, where your travels took you to Hawkins, of all places, and you fell in love with him, just like you were supposed to.
If the walls could talk, they would have a fantastic tale to tell. One with heroes and misunderstandings and love at first sight. One with a horrible, unseen foe and many pitfalls and dangers that exceeded anyone's wildest imaginations. One with a magic door that led to the happily ever that was beyond well-deserved.
Grief did wonderful and terrible things, after all.
He woke up for school the next morning with cotton mouth and a vague outline of a story that did just that: brought you to Hawkins to fall in love with him and all of the other things that seemed like nonsense once he was in a more right-minded state.
The only problem was that it was all in his English notebook. And he didn't need anyone finding that.
"Fuck," he groaned and ripped the page out. He shoved it into his bedside drawer, where it would be doomed to a crumpled and forgotten future.
Or until he needed a condom.
Which, considering how everyone had doubled down on their disgust of him, wouldn't be any time soon.
But there you stayed.
Put away, like old obsessions and childish things, to be ignored and forgotten.
At least for a little while.
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Eddie tried.
He did.
He kept you and Port Geneva out of sight and mind as much as humanly possible. It was the most effort he had really put to anything tangible in the past year.
The series ended at a weird time--during the middle of the season--and some investigative journalism show took over its time slot. Barbara Walters couldn't hold a candle to you, so it wasn't difficult for him to keep himself rooted in reality on the nights where he typically indulged in his silly fantasies.
The daydreams that he had were limited to lyrics for Corroded Coffin originals and ideas for Hellfire, and nights were spent alone in the darkness of the living room, with his reflection in the television set to keep him company as he tried his best to do homework that he'd already done before.
Before he realized, though, the school year was coming to a close and he was--big shocker--on the brink of failure. It wasn't until Higgins called him into his office, again, that you made your violent resurgence into his life.
There was a tentative truce between Higgins and Eddie for a while.
Civility was a strange thing for both of them. They actively avoided one another, save for a snide jab here and there, and Eddie tried to stay out of the Principal's Office as much as he could.
That is, until Higgins was forced to tell Eddie that he needed to repeat his repeat senior year.
"Don't act like I want this at all," he sneered at Eddie who tripped over a reaction. "I'd rather have you out of these halls for good. You drop out one year, then you re-enroll and you fail another. Try to make the most of it this time Munson; I don't want to have this talk again."
Eddie grumbled the whole drive back to the trailer, and he fell onto the sofa with his head in his hands once he got in.
"Which one of the fates wrote this stupid plot for me now, as if last year wasn't enough. You can't make this stuff up sometimes."
He laid there, wallowing in his misery for hours, days, years, until it got dark enough for headlights outside to be noticeable as they shined through the window. There was a glint of a reflection that caught his eye and had him turn his head.
"TV," he sighed and reached out as though he could touch the set and stacks of tapes neatly piled below. “The cause-of and solution-to all of life’s problems.”
He contemplated his life for a few more minutes.
He could make the most of the final few weeks of the school year. He could set himself up as a willing and reliable pupil for these last few assignments and tests, even though they wouldn't mean very much.
He could do all of these things so that when he walked into the halls of Hawkins High in the fall, on his absolute last first day of school--whatever deity or powers-that-be willing, because how "getting the hell outta dodge or he would die here" turned into "two extra years in that shit hole" he could only attribute to cosmic intervention--the faculty would already know he would try his best this time.
It would show them he was serious about graduating and that he would succeed despite all odds against him. Finally.
He could do this.
Or...
He could put in one of the tapes from the stack and scrounge for loose bills left over from his last few transactions and order a pizza. Pretend like he didn't exist for a little while.
And given the choice?
Eddie Munson chose the latter.
And he continued to choose the latter throughout the summer and even into the fall.
Nights that he didn't already have plans were spent in front of the television.
They were cherished nights with you.
Aside from his VHS recordings, he found a channel that showed reruns of Port Geneva after 10pm. Two hours of small town shenanigans that might very well be found just outside of his own door--if he only went and looked--with you just there, making your appearance every so often and catching his eye.
Homework was sometimes left halfway done on the coffee table until he needed to switch out a tape, or change the channel, and he spent more time filling his heart than enriching his mind, so to speak; he knew all of this school stuff already anyways.
Third times a charm and all right?
He talked to the screen more often than not, tried to warn you against one disappointment or another. Sometimes, if he was watching one of his tapes, he'd pause right on your face and just talk to you. Mundane things, usually, like Ronnie's last phone call home or some album that got released and a song he thought you might like.
Other nights, like tonight, he got vulnerable. Moments where life seemed a little extra trying, and he'd confess his feelings to your image.
Knelt on the floor in front of the coffee table, warm light bathed his face promising comfort as he spoke, and the din of static emitted from the television set, akin to an angel's voice...beyond understanding of humans.
He'd never been one for church, but this kind of confessional was sacred enough.
An eternal bond, just you and him.
He stopped his ramblings at that thought.
It was a strange moment of clarity.
Where had that come from?
"I..." Eddie looked down at himself, a foot away from the television set, remote clenched in his hand. Then he looked at you, soul-filled eyes just beyond the glass, not looking at him, only...through him, just past him. "What am I doing?"
What was he doing? He was...he wasn't a kid anymore who could hide in his dreams; well, honestly he was always going to do that, but this was different.
One minute he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as he told you about his troubles, and the next it was all back, heavier than ever, as he realized how silly this all was.
And here he was, wasting his life knelt at your altar.
It wasn't holy. It was pathetic.
You'd never answer; you weren't real.
"Why?" he asked aloud, jaw clenched. He gripped the remote tightly. "What did I do to not have...someone? Huh? What have I ever done to be alone? That I have to rely on a fucking television character to feel understood. And now I'm losing my mind talking to myself, talking to you, at midnight every night. Why am I here wishing that you're real? Why couldn't you just...be...real?"
If there was a God, he would let Eddie Munson have you. If there was a Satan, he would let Eddie sell his soul for you.
And that's how he knew neither of them existed: you didn't exist either.
Eddie hit the eject button on the VCR and was about to shut everything so he could go to bed, when there was a crash outside.
Crashes in Forest Hills weren't abnormal--someone backing into trash cans, losing traction on the icy roads in the winter, and the one time Mrs. Dawson kicked her husband out and threw all of his things out the window--but it was something he'd gotten used to since he came to live with Wayne.
This crash, however, started a ruckus.
Someone was yelling and that stupid dog across the way started barking.
Eddie was a lot of things...but a dramatic gossip was definitely high on the list.
What else was there to do in the Midwest?
He grabbed his cigarettes from the bowl full of junk on the coffee table and stepped outside, fully intent on plopping down on the old couch on the porch to smoke and watch the scene unfold.
A car crashed into the telephone pole; didn't look like there was much damage but it had run through some trashcans and might have clipped the drivers side mirror off of Mrs. Mayfield's car. The same Mrs. Mayfield who was on her own porch being held back by Max as she yelled.
"Are you kidding me? It's fucking midnight!"
"Mom! Stop!"
"The car, Max!"
Maybe there'd be a fight.
He barely got his cigarette lit when he noticed--really noticed--the offending car: a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle.
He blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes, thinking it might have just been a trick of the light or something.
Or it was a coincidence.
Or a dream.
Maybe he'd had a heart attack and died in front of his television or something?
Plenty of people drove Volkswagen Beetles. He was pretty sure he'd even heard Nancy Wheeler asking her parents for one as a graduation present.
But with the same license plate number?
The same one from the show, the same one that was in the TV Guide all those months ago. The same one on the makeshift poster he had taped on the wall next to his bed, that he'd run his fingers over to "kiss" you goodbye countless times, just like he did to his guitar.
"It's just dark," he tried to convince himself, "and I'm tired, and...and..."
It was a coincidence. It was a dream.
He repeated the mantra over and over in his head like a lifeline.
It was another fan like him who just used fantasy to make their life a little better. That's all he was trying to do too, right? He could understand; hell, if this was a new neighbor, maybe he'd be able to chat with them about the show. Wouldn't that be something?
Eddie was so distracted making up endless excuses for himself that he didn't notice Mrs. Mayfield as she threw her hands up in the air with an exaggerated "I'm calling the police. He didn't hear Max holler at her mom to calm down, or see the tail lights of the Beetle turn off either.
It wasn't until the driver's side door swung open and a sneaker-covered foot crunched against the gravel that he forgot all the excuses he was conjuring.
And his heart stopped as the driver got out of the car and stood in the faint glow of the streetlight.
Because that driver was you.
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Next Chapter: Alternate Universe
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