#‘could you tell me again why’ and I spoke on it

[justarandomllamacorn]

"One!" They put on their backpacks.

"Two!" He grabs his water bottle.

"Three!" The tent flap goes down behind them.

"Four!" She adjusts her cap and they walk towards the woods at the end of the camp.

"Wait I'm not ready!"

"Good grief Terry!"

" you must be kidding me!"

"It's okay, I'm here! I'm here! Five!" They take off on the path.

For an hour they kept on the path, before the captain said to take left. An hour again they walked and the terrain started shifting. The trees were denser, the grass grew more sparse and they started going up.

"One", he took a step.

"Two", the rocks rolled away beneath their feet

"Three", she spits out some dirt.

"Woah look at this mushroom! It's so tiny", came a squeal at the end of the line.

"For the love of", "Shut. Up. Terry." Interrupted the lieutenant.

"Okay, geez. Five", he said dejected.

"We were at three, not four!", groaned another.

The lieutenant stood next to the captain and they started talking. After a few minutes, the team went back on it's way, turning right at the big tree, going down 20 meters to the south and up 15 degrees to the east.

This mission was of utmost importance, shapeshifters were rumoured to roam around the camp. Some said they even tried to take away a chariot full of food no later than last week, before running off in the forest. That is why they were cavorting around in the woods, searching for a creature none of them had ever seen. Terry's couldn't help but wander on this harduous journey. The beauty of the nature surrounding them was too distracting compared to their monotonous dialogues consisting mostly of calling out your number. Terry was at the very end of the line and he had to shout "Five", right after Andy who would call out " Four" and Mhéirí who said "three" and Ryan and Mikey who were respectively two and one.

As he rounded up a tree, Terry couldn't help but notice a beautiful bird, perched on a branch above them. He turned around to tell everyone but Mikey gestured at him to be silent.

"I know", he whispered conspirationally, " this bird is beautiful. But if you want to observe it longer, you have be discreet ".

Terry thought Mikey had a nice smile. He was always gentle when he talked to him and he would sometimes share a few sweets with him.

"Although", spoke again Mikey, " I have never seen such a bird before. Especially not in the hills of the Jourdain". Slowly, he drew up his bow, when the captain turned to them. He had a grave look on his face, Terry would know because that's the face he always wears whenever he catches him doing anything. "Like he couldn't believe the extent of my clumsiness", nodded Terry sagely. But this time, the captain's look of aggravation wasn't caused by Terry. They had just received the order to go back to camp immediately.

"One!" One by one they turned around.

"Two!" Together they pulled their backpacks on.

"Three!" Mickey had gone back to the front of the line.

"Four!" Mhéirí had grabbed Andy's hand and she, in turn, extended hers to Terry.

"Five!" On the road, back again, with no thoughts of birds or trees or mushrooms.

The night was already there by the time they reached camp. The air was fresh and they could smell the roast from miles away. Yet no sooner had they broken out of the woods, that they were ambushed by shadowed figures.

"What's the meaning of this?", asked the lieutenant struggling against his bounds.

"At ease." the commander said, calmly. "One of you doesn't belong. Only five left this morning. Six have returned."

You are a soldier in a team of 6 who have been sent to investigate shapeshifter sightings, but return to base after finding nothing. On your return, however, all 6 of you are detained and your commanding officer points out that there was only 5 members of your team when you left.

[myladysapphire]

His

when a rumour reaches Jace that you are to marry another man, he makes sure to show you that your are his.

based of this request

word count: 732

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, p in v, possessive behaviour, obssesive behaviour! fluff? jace is very possessive or reader and makes it known she is his, breeding kink, not beta read!

Jacearys Veleryon x twinsister!reader

authors note: much shorter than my usual works but i think it sums up the request well!

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

masterlist

He couldn’t believe it, refused to believe it.

You were his, everyone knew it, and yet here the servants were, gossiping about your recent proposal to some lowly lord.

You, a princess, a dragon rider and the other half of Jace’s soul, was to be married to some lord from a place he had never even hear of!

Blind rage filled him, as he stalked out of where he sat in the library and towards the gossiping maids.

Slamming his fist on the table, he drew their attention. “What are these lies you speak of!?” he demanded, his tone dripping with anger.

“The princess” one spoke, swallowing roughly as nerves filled her “They say she is to be betrothed to Lord Oakheart”

“oh?” he hissed, voice dripping with venom, “stop with these vile rumours, the princess is to marry me” he slammed his fist on the table “and I will hear no more of your pitiful lies” he said, kicking a chair as he moved out of the room.

And went to remained you of who you belonged to.

He saw you sat beside the man the silly little maids said you were to marry. His hands bawled into fists as he stalked forward, painting a pretty smile on his lips.

“princess” he greeted, kissing your hand softly. His eyes darting to the position of the lord, sending him a glare. “Who is this, idaña mandia?” he questioned

“oh…this is-“ “lord Arthur Oakheart, my prince” the lord interrupted, his voice high pitched and nasally as he rudely interrupted his sweet sister.

“And why, prey tell, are you, with the princess?”

“I am courting her”

“no” Jace spoke, his tone short and snippy.

He looked shocked, hesitating as he continued with a stutter, “I am” he swallowed, looking towards you for aid “the queen she-“

“do not lie to me!” he near shouted, “I am to marry the princess, in what world would some lowly lord, such as yourself a better match than the very prince she was born with and raised with? hmm?” Jace seethed “leave”

“I no-“

The lord tried to insist, again looking to you for some support, only to again find none.

But the mere look to you sent Jace over the edge, and a punch was swiftly delivered to Arthur’s face.

“I will punch every damn man our mother puts in front of us, you are mine” Jace near growled, as he pulled you away from the weeping lord.  “Must you entertain so many of them?”

You shook your head “Jace, if I had a choice-“

“Do I have to show you? Show them all, that you are mine?” he said, pulling you close to him “have I not already made it clear”

“you have” you insisted, your hand caressing his cheek.

“clearly not as thoroughly as I though” he mused, before grabbing your hand and dragging you to his chambers.

“Your mine” Jace groaned as he pounded into you from behind. His cock filling you perfectly as he fucked into you. “Say it” he demanded, his hand moving to grip your hair as he fucked into you faster.

“I’m yours…oh gods ‘m yours” you said between moans. Your face a mess.

Tears running down your face as he fucked you relentlessly.

He had been fucking you for hours. Filling you with his seed relentlessly.

Your mind was a haze, and all you could think of was him, and how you were truly and utterly his.

“Maybe I should get you pregnant” he mused, his hand moving from your hair to grip your throat, as he flipped you, so that he was now on top of you, with your legs over his shoulders. “Your already filled with my seed, perhaps a babe would show you who you belong to”

You moaned, your mind blank as another orgasm washed over you.

“you’d like that wouldn’t you, to be round with my child… have me pumping you full of my seed for the rest of our lives” he groaned, at the image himself.

You nodded, more tears falling down your eyes as the pleasure became too much for you.

“Please Jace…I’m yours, breed me, claim me! Make me yours!” you screamed, as you and Jace came together.

Your mind a haze of why needed to claim you so badly, when all you had and would ever think about was him.

idaña mandia = twin sister

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to be added to taglist

[crssvjb]

Secrets Revealed - Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Sumarry: After a painful breakup, you discover you are pregnant, but keep the secret out of fear and hurt.

The morning started like any other: a ray of sunlight streaming through the window, the distant sound of traffic and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. But the pregnancy test in her hands changed everything.

Two lines.

You felt your heart race. It wasn't possible. He read the leaflet again, checked the test three more times, but the result did not change. You were pregnant with Charles.

She sat on the bathroom floor, her back against the cold wall. His mind went back to the last moment they had together, weeks ago.

—"You think you're always right!" — You shouted, your voice cracking under the weight of emotions.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, irritated. — "And you think everything has to be your way! I can't deal with this right now."

— "Can't handle this? Maybe you can't handle me, Charles."

The silence that followed was the most painful you had ever experienced. He looked away, hesitating. When he spoke again, his voice was a little cold:

— "Maybe we were never right for each other."

You swallowed hard, the words burning like acid. Without saying anything else, he picked up his things and left, leaving behind not only his home, but also everything they had built together.

The sound of your cell phone vibrating brought you back to the present. You looked at the screen and saw messages from friends. There was a party that night and everyone was excited to go together.

But how could you face Charles now? He would probably be there. And you... you didn't know if you would have the courage to face him with the secret you carried.

The party was in full swing when Charles arrived. Dressed casually, he greeted his friends but seemed a little distracted. Since the breakup, he had tried to convince himself that the separation was better for both of them, but a part of him knew that he had messed up.

- "Hey, Charles." — Pierre caught his attention, holding out a drink. — "How are things with Y/N?"

Charles frowned, uncomfortable with the message of his name. — "I think this is over, Pierre."

Pierre looked a little surprised. — "It's over? But... what about the baby?"

The glass in Charles' hand almost fell. — "What baby?"

Pierre widened his eyes, clearly realizing his mistake. — "Ah, shit... I thought you knew. Sorry, Charles. I wasn't supposed to... forget it."

Charles didn't wait for explanations. Dropping his drink on the first surface he found, he hurriedly left the party, ignoring Pierre's calls.

— "Pierre, you big mouth." — Kika said, slapping her boyfriend's arm.

The knock on the door was unexpected. You opened it and saw Charles panting, his eyes shining with a mix of surprise and nervousness.

— "Why didn't you tell me?" — He asked, almost whispering.

— "Charles, I..."

— "You're pregnant, aren't you?" — He interrupted, his eyes searching yours urgently.

You hesitated, but you knew you couldn't deny it. - "I am."

Charles took a deep breath, clearly trying to process. — "Why didn't you tell me? I had a right to know."

— "And I had the right to be afraid." — You replied with a trembling voice. — "After what you said, how could I trust you again? How could I believe you would stay by my side?"

He looked devastated. — "I was an idiot. I got angry and said things I shouldn't have. But I never wanted to hurt you. And now... now I know that I only made everything worse."

You looked away, tears streaming down your face. — "I don't know if I can forgive so quickly, Charles. I'm hurt and I need time."

He took a step forward, hesitant but determined. — "I understand. And I'll wait as long as it takes. But know that I'm here. For you. For the baby. For us."

His words were sincere, but you knew it wouldn't be easy. The road to rebuilding trust was long. But maybe there was a chance for you. Over time.

⎊𝙘𝙧𝙨𝙨𝙫𝙟𝙗 - ²⁰²⁵

[rat6ix]

So what?

Nam-gyu x reader

Summary: you are horrible for each other but neither of you are gonna do anything about it.

Warnings: smut, toxic!nam-gyu AND reader, neither of them are good people dont be like them, degrading from both parties, switch!nam-gyu and reader, biting, doesn’t take place in squid game, talk of drugs; no description of either doing them but yall high as shit, reader and nam-gyu love each other in some kind of fucked up way…i think, reader is highkey a freak and not in a good way, choking but not the sexy kind reader is tryna kill him, but then again he finds it hot so maybe it is sexy..?, no aftercare.

Porn with no plot 😇

—

Wc: 1.1k

— 🐀

At this point you’re not sure nam-gyu remembers why you were fighting, the drugs in your system combined with the feeling of his cock shoved inside of you making both of your brains fuzzy, you could tell he was getting antsy —impatient even. You hadn’t moved since his cock had slipped inside of you, he didnt deserve it, Not until he apologized. His hands away from any part of you, you made it very clear you would have no problem kicking him out of your apartment , it wouldn’t be the first time he was on your doorstep begging for you to let him in.

You heard him whine from under you, obviously trying to keep himself from squirming. You could feel his cock twitch every time you shifted a certain way, you wanted to roll your eyes at how pathetic he was. His eyebrows were scrunched together, his eyes squeezed shut trying not to fall apart but you knew he would sooner than later.

“Don’t be like that, stop being a cunt nam-gyu look at me.” You teased.

Bringing your hand up to his jaw. You chuckled as he glared at you, his hands twitching by his sides. You know how much he wanted to flip you over and fuck your brains out but you also knew he wouldn’t cause his ego means too much to him.

“Fuck you.” Nam-gyu growled, his jaw clenched his eyes still glaring. You stared down at him blankly before you started laughing, you’d might as well have tears in your eyes at this point.

“You’d love that wouldn’t you.” you joked.

You rolled your hips, a smile still on your face as nam-gyu let out a strangled noise. You moved your upper body closer to his, your hand leaving his jaw finally. Leaning to whisper in his ear.

“Say you’re sorry and I’ll fuck you.”

He made a noise of defiance, jerking his head away from your’s. You leaned back up and frowned, reaching down and gripping his hair. He winced at the feeling, your grip tight as you pulled his face towards yours.

“Don’t do that nam-gyu, you owe me an apology for what you did.” You insisted.

When He didn’t answer your grip on his hair got tighter until he broke.

“Fuck—fine! Im sorry.” He pleaded tears gathering in his eyes from the pain.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” You chuckled.

You knew he didn’t and you were right, the look on his face gave him away. It was the face he always made when he was about to lie himself out of trouble. You knew him far too well for far too long for that to work on you. He didn’t know but you didn’t mind reminding him, your hands moving to his chest.

“Remember when you left me high off my ass on the bathroom floor of club pentagon tonight because you had “better things to do than babysit someone who cant handle their drugs”, hm?” You tilted your head as you spoke.

You were tempted to get off his dick kick him out right now just because he didn’t remember, luckily a nice girl stayed with you until you were sober enough to walk and he’s lucky you’re somewhat sober now or else you’re sure you’d be throwing his shit out of your bedroom window; you probably still will if he pisses you off again.

“You’re still mad about that?” Nam-gyu laughed.

His laughter didnt last long as you brought your hands to his throat and fucking squeezed. His eyes widened as you smiled down at him, his fingers trying to pry your hands off of him.

“C’mon say sorry.” You chuckled, doing your best to keep your hands where they were.

“Fuck— im— sor—sorry.” He tried his best to wheeze out.

Satisfied with his shitty apology you release your grip on his neck leaving him sputtering for breath and coughing. You looked down at him with disinterest, your fingers drawing shapes into his stomach. It took him a little bit to get back to normal, his eyes still wide looking at you. He opened his mouth to talk but you cut him off before he even began.

“I could feel your dick twitching the entire time i dont wanna hear anything you fucking slut.” You rolled your eyes.

You barely had time to register him flipping the both of you over, his hands on your wrists keeping you still. His face was unreadable but you could tell he was fucking pissed. It didn’t take long for him to start fucking his cock in you at a brutal pace, his ringed fingers moving to to dig into your thighs, You were definitely going to have bruises on them in the morning.

Your fingers digging into his shoulders kept you grounded, your jaw dropped a bit has he fucked you into your mattress. He was breathing heavy above you, his head hung with hair framing his face. You could hear him curse under his breath a few times before raising his head back up and flipping his hair back to where it wouldn’t obscure his vision.

“Looking a little tired nam-gyu—“ you laughed.

You were cut off by a particularly rough thrust, jolting you backward. You could nam-gyu had enough if your bullshit but that only made you smile harder as he got angrier.

“Stupid fucking bitch, always running your mouth.” Nam-gyu retorted, gripping your jaw.

It hurt to keep smiling, his fingers digging into your face, but you didn’t care. Your mouth open now as you drool all over his hand. He looks at you disgusted before letting go to wiping the drool all over your face. You laughed as best as you could with his cock still being shoved into you at an alarming pace. Your breathing was as labored as nam-gyus at this point, you could tell he was as close to cumming as you were.

Your hands went to the hair on his neck, he probably wasnt even feeling anything but you wrapped around his cock as you tugged at it. His eyes were trained on where your bodies met, occasionally looking up at your face. His hips were stuttering now, the way you were squeezing his cock not making it any easier. For the first time that night he leaned down and caught your lips in a bruising kiss, you decided to take pity on him and return it. After the kiss was broken you took advantage of the position you were in, digging your teeth into his shoulder smiling up at him when he pushed you back with a glare.

It wasnt long after that you both came, nam-gyu pulling out to cum on your stomach. The room was still, the only sound being both of your loud breathing. He rolled off of you a minute later, taking his place on your other side. You stared up at the ceiling for a while before getting up and making your way to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” Nam-gyu asked out of breath.

“Shower.”

—

Belongs to rat6ix

[william-t-sickofyourshit]

William was busy at work, so he had his own things to worry about. While Sebastian was procrastinating looking at the treatment pamphlets, and having this difficult discussion with Isa over the phone, William had to deal with his students. The junior classes had more theory, so William had to do some tests and exams with them from time to time, and today was such a day. Meanwhile, with his senior classes, he had about three hours of intense piano practice. And since all of his colleagues knew that he accompanied Sebastian to a doctor appointment the day before, of course he was flooded with questions during lunch. Everyone asked how Sebastian was doing, their friends worried and cared, and wanted to know what the doctor said. They were all relieved when William told them that Sebastian was now cancer-free after his surgery. Ronald immediately suggested throwing a party in order to celebrate. But then William had to explain that more treatment still awaited Sebastian, and his recovery journey was not yet over.

Of course, this conversation during lunch got William thinking about all of it again. About how grumpy and reluctant Sebastian is regarding treatment. So, he was actually very glad when Isa texted him later, telling him that she indeed spoke to Sebastian already. William was already on his way home as he received messages from Isa, so he was reading them while walking. And oh gosh - he had to stop in the middle of the street and read twice, because he was so surprised by what Isa told him.

“Are you kidding me? Is that man for real?” William spoke to himself, just in disbelief. He quickly texted Isa back, thanking her for telling him all this, and promising that he won’t tell Sebastian he knows this from her. And then, he stomped back home, absolutely fuming. 

William was shocked, just shocked. Cancer treatment was so important, it was crucial. He understood, of course, that it was also scary, and that it will take a toll on Sebastian’s body. And this whole time, William thought that this was the reason why Sebastian was so hesitant about this, saying he doesn’t want to do it. But now it turned out that it was all about his looks? William had no words.

Before going to Sebastian’s place, William had some stuff to do at his own home, and at the church, so he went there first. But he was so agitated, that while walking around the house, he kept babbling, speaking to Dexter and Pavarotti as if they could understand him.

“And - and! On top of that - he has the nerve to think that I am so shallow that I would leave him just because his looks change! I should be offended, right? Can you believe it?” William gasped, throwing his hands in the air. Dexter and Pavarotti both tilted their heads at him, and William took it as confirmation that they also couldn’t believe it. 

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 5 - If You Let Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome back Sam Winchester I’m sorry about your girlfriend are you ready to suffer for thousands of words as these two idiots dance around each other?

Chapter title from when the party's over by Billie Eilish

Word Count: 16.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean calls you for a case, you grapple with your growing power, and Sam has questions. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Read on A03!

No matter what happens, Dean can never be allowed to know how fast you’re driving. Especially because every single traffic violation you commit is in his name. In the hope of seeing him just ten minutes sooner.

In your defense, you haven’t seen him in person in almost three months. You’d gone on a hunt together, parted with the usual smile and awkward high five, and then he’d just stopped asking to you hunt with him. He hasn’t left, hadn’t vanished, and he’s been the one calling you to talk, but he just doesn’t even mention hunts anymore. You just don’t see him. And over those four months of missing him—and shoving that aching, whining feeling deep, deep down where it couldn’t feed into the White’s vast desire—he’s started to sound… off.

“Did you know that people could curse animals?”

“Yeah,” you’d said, glancing down the hall to make sure Bobby was still gone, and not about to barge in and catch you talking to Dean. “I think you can curse most anything. I’ve heard of like, babies being cursed.”

“That’s creepy, Princess.”

“I didn’t curse them-“ You’d cut yourself off with a frown. “Did you and John run into a cursed animal?”

“Uh. No?”

You’d raised your brows. “Why are you asking me, I wasn’t there.”

“No, I’m just- It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. How did that hunt in Montana go?”

“Oh, super fucking easy.” And it had been. You may have destroyed a fire hydrant when the chimera chased after you—unable to contain or aim the Darkness like you could when you were with Dean—and almost bashed your head against the wall from the sickness crawling over your head and setting it on fire when you returned to the motel, but you’d been done in a day. And you’d been lonely—hollow and long and vastly lonely—but Dean didn’t need to know that. “What’s complicated?”

He’d sighed into the speaker. “I said I’d tell you later-“

“Are you safe?”

There had been a long pause of static noise. You’d been about to check if the call dropped—Bobby didn’t really get great reception—when Dean spoke again. His voice had sounded soft.

It had been worrying.

“I’m alright,” he’d whispered your name, and your grip on the phone had tightened. “It’s- There’s a lot going on right now.”

You’d frowned into the air, the White making a pathetic noise like it could convince you to take a car and just go. Go to Dean—you didn’t even know where he was—and try to help him with whatever was a lot, when you’d probably end up making it worse. You always made things worse.

You might have also destroyed a tree. And a mailbox. And a good part of the road.

Dean clears his throat, his tone almost nervous through the speaker. “Where are you?”

“Me?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, unless there’s someone else on the phone I should know about-“

“Shut up.” You’d rolled your eyes, sitting up in your seat as an engine sounded outside. “Shit.”

“Where’s Shit-“

“No, that’s not- Sorry, Dean, I have to go-“

“Why?” Through the phone, you hadn’t been able to tell if that was his worried voice or angry voice. “Are you-“

“I’m alright, I just-“

“Where the hell are you-“

“I’m home, in South-“ You’d cut yourself off with an internal grimace. Fucking Dean and his way of making you accidentally say too much of the truth all the time, even over the phone. “Park.”

“Isn’t that a TV show?”

Shit. Dean mostly watched children’s cartoons, daytime soap operas in motels, and really old movies. You hadn’t expected him to know that.

“No?”

“Why are you asking me-“

“Shut up. I really have to go-“

“Alright, alright, just, if you’re not busy, we’re near Pittsburgh, and we could use your help.”

You’d frowned, taking careful steps up to your room, praying that Bobby wouldn’t immediately start looking for you when he got inside. “I don’t think John would want my help-“

“Not Dad.” Dena had sighed, and you could picture him running his hand over his face. “Sammy.”

You’d frozen, the door not fully closed. “Your brother? He’s done with college?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Kind of. It’s-“

“Don’t say complicated.”

“Uh,” he’d paused. “Complicated.”

“Dean-“

“I couldn’t think of another word! What the hell else-“

“Messy? Confusing? Complex?”

“You know Princess, you’re really annoying-“

You’d scoffed. “That’s no way to talk your very good friend and possible savior. Message me where to meet you.”

“So you’re coming?”

“Yeah.” You’d grinned into the air, keeping an ear on the door as Bobby shuffled around downstairs. “I want to meet your brother.”

Dean had groaned. “You know, you’ve met him before-“

“Doesn’t count. I want to actually talk to him this time.”

“Fucking- Fine, but no funny business, or asking him stupid questions.”

You’d hummed. “No.”

He’d snapped your name into the phone, right as Bobby had called it from downstairs, and you really did have to go. 

“See you soon, Deano.”

You’d hung up, and barely a second later Bobby had knocked on your door.

“Hey,” he’d grunted you name, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t heard anything. “You in there?”

“Yeah, wait-“ You’d checked your hand and glanced in the mirror—no bite marks or scratches, the only evidence of your pain living inside where Bobby couldn’t see it—and opened the door with your best nothing’s wrong smile. “Welcome home, old man.”

Bobby had scoffed, scanned over you with narrowed eyes, and then met your gaze with a small, tight smile. “Ain’t I the one who’s supposed to- shit-“

You’d wrapped him in a tight hug, squeezing him and letting out the long breath you always held when you left. It was an oath you kept trying to keep for yourself, that you’d always come back home because you had to let out that breath. That the highways were long, and the nights were lonely, and the Darkness kept building and building inside you—sinking deeper and deeper into the White until there was always some part of you that strained and screamed from the pain of trying to pry them apart—but you had a home to come back to, and one person who’d never call you a burden.

Because you’ve grown sicker. You only grow sicker. You only destroy more and more things, and the Darkness only slips away from you with more ease, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

The demons began, and they won’t stop coming, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

Dozens of demons, more and more every month, ever since that one demon you’d killed for Dean. You don’t know why. You don’t know what beacon lit up inside of you, what’s calling every single fucking demon in America to come and find you wherever you went, but they are. They do.

It's been random. Gas stations and grocery stores, on random hunts and waiting for you near your car. It’s worse when you’re alone. When the Darkness and the pain get overwhelming to the point that you’re barely you anymore, and you end up curled in a bathtub, breathing heavy through your nose. Your clothing in a pile of the floor because it aches to touch something as sick as you, the whole room disgustingly clean because you can feel the grime itch and rot at your skin, your rings on the sink because the pain of the iron sears over your ribs and organs.

And then you’ll force yourself up to go get some coffee, and the barista will have something black and malevolent and glinting writhing inside of Her.

They almost never attack. It’s more terrifying, because you’ll feel an overwhelming sense of wrong, and you’ll yank everything down with a bite on your inner cheek, and there will be the demon.

Just watching you. Smiling at you, following you for day, and then vanishing when you skip town.

Then there’s him. He’s the worst of them all. He’s more like fog, burning and glinting inside his vessel’s body. He’s yellow like sulfur or acid, and keeps appearing when you turn a corner. Passing you in the street and nodding at you in a bar, like he knows you.

He never approaches. He never attacks. He just watches, like you’re a specimen. Everything that’s wrong inside of you his worse inside of him. Potent. Eroding.

Terrifying.

And Bobby knows. Not about the yellow demon, or how the whole thing started, but that you don’t really sleep anymore because you’re afraid the night will take form and go for your throat. That you’re on more and more hunts because it’s distracting from how the Darkness always strangles the White when you’re static and useless. That all the pain has gotten far worse over these past few months. 

Although he does think that’s unexplainable. He doesn’t know it’s because you’re always alone when you’re gone, and the only reminder of Dean is his voice on your phone and his knife in your jacket. 

But Bobby still doesn’t give up on you. He made you create a plan for when the Darkness—inevitably, although neither of you would say it aloud—takes over and you aren’t able to drag yourself down in time. He still tells you to just come home and stay there every single day. And if Bobby was going to give up on you, he would have long ago. He wouldn’t return your hug with a long sigh and mutter your name like you were something important to him, instead of a leech. 

“Welcome back, kiddo.” He’d grunted, and when he pulled back and gave you one last firm look, you knew he was checking for damage one last time. “Chimera go down easy?”

You’d flinched, the beast’s shrieks of pain still echoing around your head, and Bobby had frowned.

“You have another-“

“Yeah.” You’d whispered. “Big one.” 

Bobby had sighed, rubbing his jaw as he gave you another assessing look. “Anythin’ unfixable?”

You’d shaken your head. “I would’ve called you, but I wasn’t that far, and I’d finished the hunt anyway.” 

Bobby had opened his mouth, worry painted on his features, but you’d known what he was going to ask. It was the same fear that haunted you. 

“Nobody saw me.”

He’d nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Alright, but you’re gonna need to be more careful. Our luck ain’t gonna last forever, and when someone does get wind-“

“I’ll call you, then Rufus, throw all my phones off a bridge and abandon whatever car I was driving. Go one town over from wherever I am and lock down until either you or Rufus comes to get me.” You’d given Bobby a soft smile. “I know the drill. I helped you make it.”

Bobby had rolled his eyes. “Cool it, smartass. How long are you stayin’ this time?”

You’d given him an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. “Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve got another hunt.” You’d mumbled, and Bobby had frowned.

“You need a rest,” Bobby had grunted your name, and you’d swallowed. “Ya’ look like shit.”

“Hey-“

“I ain’t gonna lie to you. When the hell was the last time you slept a whole night?”

You couldn’t remember. 

But you really wanted to go see Dean. You missed him. You missed laughing and talking to him, and you were worried about him. And couldn’t tell Bobby that, because then you’d have to tell Bobby that you’ve actually been hunting with Dean for about two years when he’d specifically told you not to.

“A few days ago.” You’d shrugged, twisting a ring on your finger. “I’ll be okay, and I can come right back after this one.”

Bobby had sighed. “Where would you be headin’.”

“Pennsylvania.” 

“And you’re stickin’ around for dinner.”

You’d nodded, and Bobby hadn’t pushed further. You’d eat dinner with him, spoken about anything that didn’t make him look concerned and your whole body only pain, and climbed into the car with another silent promise to come back.

And you were holding your breath again. But this was a three-person hunt. A three-person hunt with Dean. 

You’d be fine.

He’s sent you to one of the usual, generic strip motels. Crowded lot, beige paint, cracked sidewalks, and stiff, square bushes lining the building. You’ve barely stepped out onto the pavement when a door slams, and there he is. Bags under his eyes weren’t there last time you saw him, a small bruise on his cheek that seems about a week old, but still grinning. Still impossibly handsome, still making the White buck and hum and ease into the Darkness, still not yours to ask for.

And really happy to see you. You’ve seen Dean’s fake smile.

This one is real.

He shouts your name, and you’re long past trying to fight your own smile at the sound of him saying it. At the sight of him jogging towards you, nothing but genuine joy on his face that you’re here.

And then he hugs you, and you’re not sure this isn’t a dream. Dean never hugs you anywhere but in your dreams. In real life he always grins at you and shoves his hands into his pockets, the most contact he offers being a nudge of your shoulder with his, or a drag of your body away from danger. But this is a hug. This is his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his body pressed right up to yours, and it’s so quick that you don’t have a chance to really return it before he’s gone.

Dean’s eyes are wide on yours as he steps back, and there’s more red near his ears than usual. His hands go in his pockets, you stand a little taller, and both of you stare at each other for a long, strange second before you find your voice.

“Hi.”

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder before looking back to you. “Hey. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” You wrap your arms around your body, and suddenly there’s a ghost of a strong, warm body pressed to yours. Dean had hugged you, and it was far worse than just his hand. It had branded on something deeper under your skin, sinking down into the White, bleeding into the Darkness until everything was silver, and you were a little dizzy.

And you’re just staring at each other. You want to hug Dean again. He’d been warm and tangible, and he’d touched you on purpose and it had sent lighting through your blood and up your spine, and you can’t tell if your skin is prickling from the silence or the need to just go touch him

“Dean!” A loud, annoyed voice cuts through the air, and you look over Dean’s shoulder to see a tall, shaggy-haired man walking out of the motel. “You left the fucking door open, dude, you can’t just-“

The man stops, blinking at you, and you offer him a small smile. That’s Sam. He’s somehow taller, and his face isn’t babyish and innocent anymore, but you recognize him. 

And he seems to recognize you, because his words are slow, and his gaze never leaves yours.

“Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, Sammy, I closed the door-“

“No, you didn’t. But that’s not what I-“ Sam glares at Dean, gesturing to you “Is she your contact?” 

“No, she’s my hooker- fuck-“

You whack Dean’s arm, and Sam’s eyes widen.

“I am not a hooker-“

“Obviously, Princess, hookers are supposed to be nice-“

“I’m nice!”

Dean gives you a flat look. “You just freakin’ hit me!”

“Because you called me a hooker, Winchester.” You wrinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms. “And, just so we’re clear, if I was a hooker, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

Dean’s jaw twitches slightly, and you frown, because he’s not sparring back. He’s supposed to spar back. The strange, hanging tension from the hug is gone—he probably hadn’t even felt it deep in his body like you had, he’d probably just been awkward because you’d been too dazed from his contact to hug him back—so Dean’s supposed to make a joke about working out another form of payment, and wiggle his brows at you in a way he doesn’t know always makes you fall a little further into him. Makes your skin warm and the world technicolor. 

But he’s just looking at you, and there’s something taut flashing behind his eyes. You open your mouth to apologize—to ask what you said because you know you’re bad at understanding the line, yet Dean always seems okay crossing it with you—but Sam clears his throat, and Dean turns away.

The White aches. You don’t have time to indulge it.

“So she is the contact.” Sam raises his brows, and Dean scowls at him.

“Obviously.” He mutters, and when he looks back to you the taut thing seems fainter. Buried down where you’re not sure you’re supposed to see it.

But you do. And it taints those fractured pieces through your body. Makes them wither and balk, because you struck something in Dean again, and you don’t ever really know how to stop.

Dean says your name, offering you a smaller smile than before. It’s still real. You’ll have to cling to the fact that it’s still real. “This my brother, Sammy-“

“Sam. It’s Sam.”

Dean shrugs. “Sure, whatever-“

“No, not whatever.” Sam frowns. “It’s bad enough you won’t stop calling me Sammy, I don’t need everyone we meet-“

“You two have actually met before-“

“Yeah, I remember. And Dad said that-“

Dean shoots Sam a sharp look, Sam snaps his mouth shut, and everything start to get too big as the Darkness vaults up to the surface. John had said something about you. He wasn’t here, but he’d told Sam and Dean something, and Sam didn’t look all that happy to see you. He wasn’t turning any weapons on you, but he and Dean were exchanging a silent conversation, and you were caving in as the world expanded. You could feel the bite of the wind on the trees, and the thirst of the yellowing grass around you, and fuck, you could taste bile in your throat because the Darkness was starting to rot in your stomach as you forced it down-

Sam says your name, and you almost don’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Is she good-“

“Yeah, shit- just-“ Dean places one hand on your shoulder, waving the other in your face. “Hey, Princess, come back down-“

He’s close. His hand is solid on your body. He smells like grass and spice. 

His thumb has moved to the bridge of your nose, stroking a slow line that moves the Darkness back into the cavity of your chest. Makes everything clear, even as the pain lingers. 

You let out a long breath, offering Dean a small smile. “Thank you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and your breath is heavy in your lungs. Every time this happens, you worry he’ll snap. That he’ll demand more answers than you can offer, and his it’s probably just a girl thing will come to a crashing end as he puts together that it’s a you thing. And just you isn’t worthy of him wasting time on.

But this one doesn’t seem to be it. Dean’s lips press in a small pout, and he scans over your face, but he doesn’t push. 

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” you shrug him off, making your voice as casual as possible. “Just a long drive. It’s nice to meet you, Sam. Again.”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam offers you a tight-lipped smile. “Dean said you could help us out with this?”

You nod. “Well, he didn’t what this is, but-“

Sam cuts you off with a groan, shooting Dean a frown. “Dude, you didn’t tell her the details of the case?”

“C’mon, it’s not my job to be a freakin’ database or whatever-“

“You still need to tell her what the case is, Dean, what if she can’t help-“

“I can help.” You snap, and Sam sighs.

“Look, I’m not doubting you, but this one is really complicated-“

“Good.” You raise your chin up, holding Sam’s gaze. “That’s my specialty.”

Dean clears his throat, looking between you and Sam with a weary expression. “It is, Sammy. She’ll get this. And you know we need the extra hands.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. But you’re the one who’s explaining the case, Dean. You were supposed to anyway.”

Dean rolls his eyes at you as Sam turns around, and suddenly it’s all clear and bright again. You don’t know how he does that, how he stitches everything inside you together when it starts to rip. You need to figure it out and bottle it up. How to use it on command, because this might be a long case. Sam doesn’t seem to want you here, or like you all that much, and John told them something. They haven’t killed you, but John told them something. And Dean might be strangely willing to just dismiss your episodes, but you catch Sam’s odd look as you walk into their motel room. He seems a bit sharper than Dean, a little more on edge, a little more guarded and cautious.

So you need to be careful. You need to keep it the fuck together, by yourself.

And you’re a little worried that’s not possible.

Dean gestures for you to sit in a creaking, wooden chair—Sam watching you both from across a round table—and claps his hands together as he begins.

“So, we’ve got five dead ladies, three in their twenties, one in her thirties, and one hag-“

You raise your brows at him. “Hag?”

“Yeah, she was like a million. Wrinkly. Right, Sammy?”

Sam shrugs, shaking his head. “I would’ve just said old, man.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine, old. Point is, different ages. Different races too, and jobs, and social circles. We’ve been investigating for about a week, even broke into the vic's houses and went through their rooms. No connection between the vics outside of all being chicks, no deep dark secret, fucking nothing.”

You frown at him. “Like the mall.”

“Kind of, yeah, but these ladies are all going down the same way.” Dean points to his head. “Bashed in brains.”

“Gross.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair as you think. “Where are they dying?”

“Same office building.” Sam says, sliding some papers across the table. “Different floors, though. Four of the vics were employees, but one was just visiting her boyfriend.”

You nod slowly, scanning over the files. “And why isn’t it a ghost?”

“Because we figured out who the ghost should be.” Dean leans over you, tapping another one of the files. You can feel the heat from his body, and it makes your gut warm. You need to get it the fuck together. “Maggie Robins. Got her brains bashed in by her husband, Joey, in his office after she found out he’d been cheating on her with her best friend. Son of a bitch offed himself and the mistress right after.”

“Yikes.”

“Oh yeah. But here’s the fucked part-“

“Maggie’s body was cremated.” Sam jumps in, and Dean glares at him. “And all primary possessions were auctioned off by the police. We triple checked the whole office building, and were only a few things left in Joey’s office, for evidence, but nothing that important.”

You raise your brows. “What are we constituting as important?” “Personal valuables.” Sam says, frowning at you. “All that was left were some pens, generic wall art, and makeup-“ “Perfume.” Dean corrects, and Sam nods.

“Yeah, perfume-“ He pauses, turning to Dean with a dry, amused look. “Why’d you remember perfume?”

“I’m observant.” Dean snaps, looking down to you with a shrug. “It was perfume, Princess.”

“Yeah, I’ll make a note.” You smile at him, Dean smiles back, and when you glace back to Sam his expression is strained. Unreadable.

You’ll have to worry about that later.

“So,” you sift through the papers, tearing slightly at the corners. “Not a ghost. Have there been other signs?”

“Flickering lights,” Dean drops into the last chair, watching you with a gaze that seems to sear into your bones. “Few people said they’ve heard moans and screams when no one was there, and a janitor told us he’s been wiping up ghost blood, but-“

“Oh, okay. It’s an onryo.” 

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms, and Sam and Dean exchange surprised look.

“It’s a…” Sam blinks at you. “It’s a what?”

“Onryo.” You shrug, tucking your knees into your chest. “Japanese vengeance ghost, born from a really violent death that was emotionally charged, often because of a betrayal.”

“Shit.” Dean mutters. “Betrayal like your husband fucking your best friend.”

“Exactly.” You grin at him, and you could swear he puffs his chest out as he grins back.

“I told you she’d get it, Sammy-“

“Yeah, you’re a genius.” Sam’s voice is dry as he pulls the papers back across the table, his attention on you still weary. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Did the janitor tell you he kept finding blood in random places, and it would vanished when he tried to clean it?”

Dean nods, you give Sam a pointed look, and Sam sighs.

“Fine. If it’s an onryo, how are we supposed to kill it?”

You hum, tilting your head at the air. “There should be a special kind of exorcism, but I’ve never actually done one before.”

Sam frowns. “Then how do you know-“

“My dad dealt with an onryo once.” You shrug. “And I’ve read a lot about them.”

Something flashes in Sam’s eyes, he tenses in his seat, and it makes your hold on the Darkness go slack.

He doesn’t trust you. 

Maybe he can see everything that’s wrong with you. Dean may have grown blind to it, but Sam hasn’t, and he might be able to see the rotting sickness that covers your whole body. He might not want you anywhere near him, or his brother. He doesn’t seem like John—from what Dean’s told you about him, Sam doesn’t even seem to like his father all that much—but you can’t shake the wired strain that Sam Winchester just doesn’t trust you.

“Your dad.” Sam’s voice is cautious, his eyes narrowed. “The hunter.”

You’re not sure why he says hunter like that. Like it’s a bomb that’s set to go off. 

“Yeah. The hunter.” You glance at Dean, who’s rigid in his seat, glowering at Sam. “Are you guys good?”

“We’re fine.” Dean snaps, and Sam gives him an odd, tight look.

“Dean-“

“We’re good, Sammy.” Dean turns back to you, and you’re really not sure what’s happening. No guns are pressed to your brow, but there’s a heated, brittle wire hanging over all your heads, and the Darkness is starting to slip through your fingers. Not breaching out—not as you dig your nails into your skin, and bite through your cheek—but brimming right on the surface. On edge. 

Waiting for a snap.

It doesn’t come. Dean gives you a winning grin and Sam keeps frowning between you both, but nothing snaps. Not when Sam double-checks how sure you are it’s an onryo, and you say you’d bet a lot on it, because you would. Not when Dean suggests you all go figure out exactly what the onryo ritual is, and you and Sam look at him like he’s sprouted a second head. Not when Dean insists you all drive together, and you both try to protest—almost certainly for different reasons—but ultimately lose to Dean’s dramatic saving the trees and team spirit speech.

“Still no gun, Princess?” Dean hangs over your shoulder as you sort through your bag, and you shoot him a glare.

“Is the knife no longer good enough for you?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Not when you’ve been hunting alone.”

“Because you’ve been busy.” You raise your brows at him, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… Complex.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Good job.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, but the air feels a little lighter, and the White is blending into the Darkness as it’s only you and Dean.

But it’s not only you and Dean. And Sam doesn’t seem to want you here. And it’s complex.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” you mutter, tucking your knife into your jacket. “And I did my job, I’m sure you can do the rest without me.”

“Do you want us to do the rest without you?”

You turn to fully face him, and he looks guarded. Standing a little too tall, his hands seeming to be fisted in his jacket, watching you wearily. Like you might lash out, or explode.

Something’s really off with him. He hasn’t looked at you like that in years. 

He hasn’t looked at you like that since you last saw him with John.

“I don’t have anything else to do.” You mumble, watching him carefully. “And I’m already here.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s shoulders relax slightly, and he nods his head away from your car, deeper into the parking. “C’mon.”

You sigh. “I really can drive myself-“

“Nope. We’re sticking together.” His hand finds your back, and all you can do is let him moves you deeper into the parking lot. “You’ve gotta meet my car, Princess.”

“I have met your car-“

“Doesn’t count. You’re actually gonna ride in her this time.”

Dean’s grin is shit-eating. You’re not sure if you want to punch or kiss him.

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Dean stops in the center of the lot, saying your name with a smirk. “Meet Baby.”

The Impala looks the exact same as before, save for a sour-faced, taller Sam Winchester sitting in shotgun, glaring between you and Dean. He scowls the whole time Dean guides you into the back bench, and refuses to look at you when Dean closes the door.

You clear your throat, watching Dean move around the hood of the car. “Hi, Sam.”

He grunts, and you sigh, slipping off your shoes.

“It’s good to see you.” You try again, because silence with Dean is like soft music, but silence like this is suffocating. “You look, uh-“

“Taller.” Sam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I know-“

“I was going to say good.” You mumble, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not like a kid anymore.”

Sam’s eyes shoot to yours in the rearview mirror, you offer him a small smile, and his mouth opens right as Dean drops into the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Dean turns in his seat, snapping your name. “No shoes on my car.”

You roll your eyes, gesturing to your feet. “I’m not wearing shoes.” 

“Oh.” He blinks between you and your socks. “Good.”

“I’m not an idiot, Winchester. And I’d rather not be murdered because I messed with the only lady in your life-“

“Shut up.” Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to start the engine, and right before he adjusts the mirror you catch Sam glancing you at again, a small frown on his face.

“You guys were gone for a while.” Sam says, mostly looking at Dean. “How long can it take to grab a gun?”

Dean scoffs. “Wouldn’t know, Sammy. Her majesty doesn’t hunt with guns.”

“Doesn’t hunt with-“ Sam blinks at you, his face painted in disbelief. “You don’t use a gun?”

You sigh. “No.”

“What do you use?”

You open your jacket to show him your knife, and Sam raises his brows.

“That’s it? I mean, how do you kill anything-“

“With talent.” Dean mutters, and you don’t appreciate how accurate his impression of you sounds. “I’d never use one anyway-“

“I wouldn’t use it. And someone,” You punch the back of Dean’s seat, and he huffs. “Has a lot of unwelcome options about that-“

“Because it’s stupid.” He grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, for someone who’s so annoyed about me not having a gun, you sure did buy me a knife.” 

You can hear the scowl in Dean’s voice. “You wouldn’t have taken the gun. You barely took the knife.“ 

“I could still throw it out-“ 

“Nope. You pinky promised.” 

You smirk as Dean sits up slightly—hearing his own words—and Sam gives him an incredulous look. 

“You pinky promised?

“It’s- She was being annoying-“

“He had to admit he was worried about me.” You tell Sam, leaning forward in your seat with a grin. “And that he thinks Charlie’s Angelsis the best movie ever made.” 

“I- I do not fucking think that-“ 

You giggle, rolling your eyes at Sam, who’s looking at you like you just fell  from space. “He’s still in denial.��� 

“I am not-“ 

“It’s okay, Deano.” You pat his shoulder, and he shoots you a glare that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “We all still think you’re very tough.” 

The words leave your mouth, Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about not even knowing why he called you, and some sort of dam seems to break in Sam. All of his cautious, pricking hostility vanishes into thin air, and he twists to fully look at you with an open expression.

In that moment, he does look more like the kid you met in the motel. Curious and not quite in awe of you, but something close. Something similar. 

“Dean said you were on at hunt before this?”

You run your thumb over your palm, tilting your head at Sam as you try to work out how much you can say. “Yeah, I was just stopping there after I finished up a Chimera hunt.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “A- Those are real?”

“Tragically, yeah.”

Dean raises his brows at you in the mirror. “Tragically?”

“They’re mean.” You shrug. “And shit a lot.”

Sam makes a face, but doesn’t turn away. “Had you hunted one before that?”

“No, I think they’re pretty rare outside of like, Greece-“

“But you killed this one, right?”

You nod, and Sam looks like he’s going to fall out of his seat. You’re not really sure what’s happening.

“How?”

“Um…” You twist a ring on your finger as your voice trails off, because you’d killed the Chimera with the Darkness. Let it rush out of your body and infect everything around you, until the Chimera exploded in a disgusting rain of blood. But you can’t really say that, so you go with how you’d planned to kill the Chimera. “I impaled it.”

“Like in the myth?”

“Exactly like in the myth.” You grin at Sam, and you’ve never seen someone so big look seven years old. “Bellerophon.”

“Bless you.” Dean mutters, and Sam gives his brother a look of exasperated disappointment. 

“No, dude, Bellerophon is the slayer of the Chimera in Greek mythology. He impales it in the mouth, using the Pegasus.”

“I don’t need to know why impaling worked-“

“Because of the angle.” You offer, ignoring Dean’s glare in the mirror. “It melts the spear with its fire-breath, and then it suffocates.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, but I still don’t-“

“What did you do with the body?” Sam interrupts, leaning forward to keep talking to you, and Dean seems to be pouting at the road.

Dean ends up pouting for most of the day, because after you lie about how you’d disposed of the Chimera—once again employing the very useful tactic of what you’d meant to do—Sam starts to ask about other things you’ve hunted, and how you’d killed them, and what you’ve learned about monsters overall. It lasts from the car and into the library, through almost the entirety of your research, and Dean barely gets a word in, only sulking over a book as Sam shares their own hunts. You decide not to comment on it when Sam says curses can’t be broken, because you’re positive that’s not true but you can’t say why, and answer all of Sam’s questions about alternative ways to deal with various spirits and monsters.

You’re shocked he remembered you telling John that.

You’re baffed as to why he’s suddenly treating you like a friend to catch up with, instead of whatever he’d thought you were before. You’re not really sure want to know what he thought of you before. Not when it’s suddenly changed to something far better.

“You’re afraid of flying?” You raise your brows at Dean, and he scowls. 

“I don’t trust it.” He mutters, turning a page so aggressively you’re worried he’ll tear it. “It’s high, and loud, and pointless. People belong on the ground.”

You hum. “What about boats?”

Dean shoots you a glare, you just grin at him, and his lips twitch slightly. You won.

“We dealt with a guy on a boat too.” Sam looks up from his own book, a slight frown on his face. “But that was kind of a bummer. Did you know spirits could possess water?”

You did know that. A powerful enough, angry enough spirit can possess most anything. But you only nod, because you’re mostly looking at Dean. Sunken into his chair, still mostly pouting, glaring at his book like it’s just insulted his car. You’ve never seen him act like this—silent, barely offering a comment or glance up at you and Sam, mostly pretending to read and fidgeting with his pen—and it makes the White spin and whine.

“Hey, De.”

You nudge his calf under the table, and he looks up at you with a frown.

“I’m hungry.”

“We passed a cafe on the way in,” Sam offers, and Dean raises his brows at you.

“You heard him.” He looks back to his book. “Go eat.”

You frown at him, even as the White bucks around inside of you. He’s not moving, or asking for food, or making fun of you for asking permission to go eat. Something’s off. Something’s been off, and you don’t know how to fix it—you don’t know how to fix anything—but you can’t stand how Dean’s silence is eating at your throat and lungs. You’re really going need to learn how to control his effect on you.

But not right now. 

“Do you want anything?”

Dean glances up at you again, something odd flashing in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, dumbass-“

“Get me a burger.”

You give him a flat look. “It’s a cafe.”

“Whatever. Just figure something out.”

He still doesn’t move, or stop frowning. The moment you cheer him up, you’re going to kill him.

“Winchester.”

He grunts your name, and you glare at him as you continue.

“Where’s the cafe.”

“I dunno, ask Sammy.”

“Down the street.” Sam’s eyes bounce between you and Dean, a small frown on his face. “Just go straight, then to the left.”

You nod, giving Sam a thankful smile. “You want anything?”

Sam shakes his head, and you look back to Dean.

“Dean.”

That gets his full attention, and it seems to burn right into your body.

“I’m going by myself.” You rise to your feet, giving him a challenging look. “And I’m not good at directions. I might end up at the grocery store, and come back with carrots.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at you, but Sam just shrugs. 

“Actually, carrots sound-“

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean cuts off a surprised Sam with short words, pushing his chair back. “You’re paying.” 

Sam calls after you that he’ll call you if he finds anything, but you don’t really hear him. Not as Dean lowers his voice and leans down to your ear. His breath is warm. You might fall over.

“You’re really determined to get me to eat, sweetheart. Should I be worried?”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean Winchester.”

He clicks his tongue, and he’s grinning again. You won. “Full name. What did I do?”

“Sulk like a baby for an hour?” You raise your brows at him, and he’s a lot closer than you thought. You can count all his freckles. They’re kind of like stars. 

You can feel his breath on your face when he laughs. It’s warm, and smells like coffee and mint.

His body is like a furnace, and it’s melting everything to silver inside of you.

You’re losing your mind. 

“I can still kick you out of this hunt, you know.” He drawls, and you shrug, trying not to think about how Dean’s hand on your back shifts with the movement.

“Good luck with that.”

“It’s my hunt-“

“It’s your and Sam’s hunt.” You correct. “I think I’d have his vote to stay.”

“You would.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle, and you don’t even realize you’d made it to the cafe until Dean’s suddenly stops walking, and you’re waiting in a short line. “Fucking nerds.”

“That’s rude.” You shove his arm, and everything feels color when he laughs, and it’s real. There’s still something tight and coiled in his eyes as you make it to the counter and order, but he’s not slumping anymore, so you’re going to push it.

You’re going to ask what the hell is happening. Why he hasn’t been hunting with you, why Sam’s back, where John is, and why he’s been so strange. You turn your drink between your hands as Dean grabs the food—frowning at his empty seat and rehearsing your question in your head—and the moment he sits down you-

“Dad’s missing.” 

You blink at him. “What?”

“Our dad.” Dean mutters, sliding your food across the table. “He’s missing. And not just one of those longer hunts, we’ve been looking for months and he’s… Just gone.”

“Shit.” You mutter, pieces sliding together in your brain as Dean’s words sink in. “Where have you checked?”

“His last case. And we got activity on his phone, but…” He trails off with a shake of his head, not fully meeting your eyes. “We can’t fucking find him, and Sammy’s- He’s not doing well.”

You nod, and wait for Dean to continue. If you say something, you might say the wrong thing, because you don’t give a fuck if John Winchester is missing or dead or just on a bender. You’re breathing a little easier just from the knowledge that you can be here, and it won’t end in a bullet through your brain.

But Dean gives a fuck about John. And you—despite your best judgement and all rational reason—give a fuck about Dean. You give a fuck that he’s been so off because his Dad’s missing, that there seems to be something a little heavier in his eyes and on his shoulders than the last time you saw him, that you can almost taste his bitter, taut worry for Sam. 

You give a fuck that he’s telling you at all. That whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s bright enough that he’d trust you with anything at all.

So you’ll bite your tongue, and let him keep going when he’s ready.

Dean draws in another long breath. “You can’t tell Sam I told you this.” He mutters. “I- We’ve barely talked about it, and he doesn’t know you, and it’s really fucking complicated-“

“Dean.” 

His eyes meet yours, and the guarded expression is back. It’s not your job to break through it. It’s not your job to do anything for Dean, but you want to. His tension seems to be moving into your body and making your muscles and organs sore, the Darkness is twisting and coiling in your body to find something to break. Churning until you let it flood out, pushing at the White in a way that makes you feel a little sick. 

You might as well find something to break for Dean, while he’s still here. While he hasn’t left, and everything feels big in a way that’s not suffocating and crushing.

“I won’t tell Sam.” You say, holding his gaze as you lean forward, raising your pinky. “Promise.”

Dean swallows, but takes your pinky and shakes it. “His girlfriend died. The same way our mom did, too, right after we lost the trail on Dad.”

“Your mom-“

“Burned on the ceiling.” Dean mutters. “We don’t know what did it, but Dad’s been hunting the son of a bitch since it happened, and then he vanishes, and it happens again? Right fucking after? That’s-“

“Not a coincidence.” You finish—letting out a long, slow breath—and Dean nods.

“Never a coincidence.”

You hum, frowning into the air as your head starts to kick into a high gear. This is just another case. Just another problem to solve that might call to you, a piece of the Darkness you could use. You can help with this. You can fix something. Dean’s isn’t guarded anymore—only sitting a little taller than usual, watching you carefully—and he’s still here. Dean’s still here, and he trusts you, and those fractured pieces in you are starting to stretch towards each other again. Bleeding through the Darkness in vibrant color as Dean holds your gaze, and you can help. 

If Dean wants your help. If he’d want you. 

The thought makes the White flash and sing. You need to keep it together.

“Is Sam okay?” You ask, your voice soft, and Dean sighs, rubbing his face.

“He’s not sleeping well. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but we share a damn room every night.”

You nod slowly. “Are you okay?”

Dean blinks at you, a small frown on his face. “Me?”

“Yeah, who else could I be asking-“

“I-“ Dean shakes his head, tapping his knuckles on the table. “I’m fine, Princess. Dad’s gonna turn up, and he’ll have a good reason for going off. Maybe he found what killed Mom, and he’s just waiting to grab us for help. Then we’ll get back to normal.”

You narrow your eyes. You don’t believe him. He’s still off, and the weight on him suddenly seems bigger now that you know where it’s coming from. But you’ve barely opened your mouth to push him when the little cafe doorbell rings, and Sam calls your name.

“I got it!” He stops at the side of your table, looking between you and Dean with a wide grin. “It’s called a harae, ritual purification. We just need to build a shrine and learn the words.”

You take the book Sam passes into your hands, scanning over the pages as Dean gives Sam a pat on the back.

“Nice one, Sammy. Once we gank this bitch, we’ll get you nice treat as a reward for good work-“

“Fuck off, jerk.“ Sam shoves Dean’s arm away in your periphery, and Dean just laughs.

“Hey, Dean?” You look up with a frown, turning the book for him to read. 

He doesn’t. He just says your name and stares at you, and it’s not really helpful. “What’s up?”

“You guys did interviews, right?”

He nods. “I did a lot while Sam was looking at the office. Looked at all the vics and our suspects.” He frowns. “I lost rock, paper, scissors.”

Sam laugh. “Again.”

“Shut up, bitch-“

“You’re the one who lost, Dean, it’s not my fault you suck-“

“I do not suck, you just play fucking mind games-“

“Winchester. Pay attention.” You give him a stern glare and kick under the table, and he scowls at you.

“Sammy started it-“

“I don’t care.” You tap the book, pushing it closer to him. “If you did the interviews, I need you to write down a list of things people said about our onryo, and get some stuff for the shrine. It will work better if it’s in closer relation to who Maggie Robins was in life.”

“Why do I have to do it-“

“Apparently because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.” You shrug, looking up to Sam. “We can go back to the motel, learn the ritual, and hopefully kill this thing by tonight.”

It takes another five minutes to get Dean to agree, and he’s still scowling when he drops you and Sam back at the motel, but it’s not heavy anymore. He’s not silent either, grumbling the whole way about being saddled with freakin’ shopping duty, and shouting that he better not come back to find that you and Sam threw a party while he was gone. 

Then it’s just you and Sam. Alone. Speaking chopped and stilted Japanese, giving each other odd looks as you adjust to the shift.

It’s not hard to be alone with Sam. He’s nice, easy to talk to, and doesn’t seem to have nearly as much fun pushing your button as Dean does. But it’s still strange. He keeps giving you odd looks and opening his mouth with a small frown, but shaking his head and shutting it. Your brain keeps spinning around what Dean told you, and how the Darkness seems... Off with Sam. His presence doesn’t blend it into Silver like Dean’s does, and it’s not volatile like with a monster or spirit, but it’s not normal. It’s turning and humming and beating into the White, like Sam is setting it off.

And you don’t even know what it is.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom when it starts to get overwhelming. When the Darkness starts to leak and your breathing has to be shallow to control it. Sam asks if you’re alright, and you just wave him off and lock the door behind you. Sinking onto the cold floor with your fingers squeezing at your throat, trying to drag it back down by force. It’s not enough. Whatever is happening is only feeding the Darkness, and it’s not dangerous but it could be. One wrong word, one accidental push, and you’d lose control in a second. You can feel lingering warmth of the sheets on Sam and Dean’s beds, and the ache of the creaking bathroom door, and the grime of tiles, sick and itching and all over your skin-

You bite down on the back of your hand, and everything falls back into you. You’re alright. You got through it. You always get through it. You’ll get through this hunt—rising to your feet and rubbing your face, checking in the mirror that no pain is visible—and you’ll help Dean, and everything will be alright. Maybe if you figure out what killed their mom, John won’t try to kill you when they find him. Maybe they won’t find him. Maybe you’ll be safe, and Dean could stick around for you, just for you because you’d helped him, helped his brother, and done it without breaking anything or losing control. Maybe you’d be able to tell him what’s wrong with you, and you’d have been good enough—done a good enough thing—that he wouldn’t call you a monster.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You give Sam a small smile, twisting a ring on your finger as you walk back to the table. “Just had some sketchy road food yesterday. Happens to the best of us.”

Sam nods, and you think he bought it. Most people usually buy it. Even Bobby isn’t great at picking up your lies, because you’re careful and deliberate and practiced, and every lie you tell is purposeful and vital. A barrier to the horrid truth of how you’re always a little cancerous. 

You’re pretty sure the only person who sees past it is Dean. And that’s just another thing you’ve given up on hating him for.

“Do you know when Dean will be back?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. You made the critical error of thinking of him, and suddenly the White is desperate for him to be close once more, and you’re too tired to fight it. 

“I dunno, probably soon.” Sam shakes his head, giving you another odd look. “Do you guys hunt together a lot?”

You hum, pulling another book from Sam’s stack. “Usually, yeah.”

“Usually?”

“We haven’t been on a hunt since October.” You shrug, and when glance up, Sam’s still staring at you.

“Has he been… Talking to you?”

“Yeah, uh, we call about once a week.”

“Dean calls you?”

You nod, frowning slightly. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Huh.” Sam’s looking at you like he did in the car. Like you’re an alien, or weird plant. It’s not hateful, and it doesn’t make the Darkness riot in defense, but it’s… unnerving. “How long have you guys been talking, again?”

“Uh,” you tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “A little over two years?”

Sam makes a slight face. “Cool.”

It doesn’t sound cool. It sounds like Sam’s as confused as you are, which is unfair because you don’t even know what you’re confused about. All Sam should know is that Dean left you once, years passed, and now you’re friends. 

But maybe Sam knows why Dean left you. And he could tell you, and it could either mend all those shattered pieces lining your body in a single moment, or snap you entirely. At least if it snaps you this will be over. You won’t have to deal with the circling question of does Dean feel this too. Is he looking at you like that because he feels this. Is he still here—despite you being irrevocably you all the fucking time, despite John obviously hatred of you and what you are—because he feels this too.

“Hey, Sam-“

“Something’s not making-“ Sam’s eyes widen slightly as you speak over each other, and he raises his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, you first-“

“No,” you shake your head, keeping your desperate question lodged like a stone in your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not a big thing, just that it’s kind of strange that the onryo is going after only women.” Sam frowns at his book. “Everything I’ve found says they should either kill just about anyone in their path, or just target reminders of the person who wronged them. And with the whole cheating thing I’d imagine it would be men and women, not-“

“Just women.” You reach a hand out, and Sam passes you his book. “You’re right. If you’re sure it’s Maggie-“

“We’re sure.” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “She had her brains bashed in exactly like all the vics. And the husband, actually.”

You pause. “And the husband?”

Sam nods, grimacing slightly. “The crime scene photos were really gross.”

“And…” You glance at the case files, still scattered on the table. “How did the mistress die?”

“Gunshot. The cops worked out that Maggie got her brains bashed by Joey, Joey shot his mistress-“

“What was the mistress’s name?”

“Uh, Becca. But-“

“And she was Maggie’s best friend?”

Sam nods, his brows drawing together as he starts to play catch up. “I think so, yeah. Dean said all the families were shocked that, uh, Becca would betray Maggie like that.”

You let out a long sigh, running a hand through your hair and giving Sam a disbelieving look. “Jesus fucking Christ, men are idiots.”

“Hey-“

“I’m back!” Dean bursts through the door, several plastic bags in hand. “Got all the shit, Princess. Looks like this Maggie chick even used the same-“

You hold up a hand, and Dean falls silent. “Sam, tell Dean what you just told me.”

“Uh,” Sam glances at Dean, who’s dropped down on the edge of his bed with a frown. “Becca-“

“Who the hell is Becca-“

“The mistress, dumb dumb.” You give Dean a glare, jerking your head at Sam. “Listen.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender, and Sam keeps going.

“Becca and Maggie were best friends, and you told me all the families were shocked about what happened.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, they all kept going on about how close those chicks were. Maggie’s mom said that Becca would stay with her when the husband was out of town on business.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“You got something you wanna say, sweetheart?“

“Not that you’ll want to hear, Deano.” You wrinkle your nose at him, even as a little bit of guilt eats at your throat. He’s gonna be pissed. “We need to start the ritual over.”

Dean blinks at you. “What.”

“Maggie isn’t the onryo.” You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Joey is.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. “Fuck. That- It explains the targeting.”

“Yep.” You give him a tight smile. “And people don’t just bash their own brains in. Joey probably did kill Maggie, but then Becca killed Joey before shooting herself.”

Dean shakes his head, an adorable look of confusion on his face. “Why the hell would the douchebag get offed by his own mistress-“

“Because she wasn’t his mistress.” You say, and Dean just stares at you, his lips in a small pout that you want to bite.

“Huh?”

You exchange a look with Sam—who’s very poorly covering his snicker with a hand—and look back to Dean with a sigh. “Lesbians, Winchester. The mistress was the wife’s, not the husband’s.” 

“The- oh.” Dean goes red, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but you. “Awesome. Good for them.”

You shrug. “I mean, they are both dead. But yeah, awesome.”

“For them.” Sam adds, letting out a long breath. “Not us. You’re right, we’re going to have scratch everything and work out how to do the ritual for Joey.”

“Fine.” Dean groans, kicking one of his bags. “But there’s no way in hell you’re making me do all those interviews again, Princess.“

You sigh, scratching at your fingers. “Sam, if you do the interviews, I can work out the MO to see if we can lure the onyro out, and Dean can make the ritual stick.”

Sam nods, looking back to a book, and Dean gapes at you.

“Ritual what?”

“Stick.”

“It’s a shaker made of paper.” Sam explains. “For the harae. It’ll be easy, dude.”

“And.” You give Dean a pointed look. “It’s either that or the interviews.”

Dean scowls, but relents with raise of his hands, and you grin at him.

“Great. We’ll have to wait for morning to do this, so, uh…” You trail off, frowning at your car out the window. You had really thought you’d be done by midnight. You can’t afford a motel room right now, and you don’t think Sam and Dean won’t notice you sleeping in your car. Bobby’s car. One of Bobby’s junkyard cars, which was in no way suitable for sleeping in. 

Dean says your name, and you turn your head on instinct alone. “You got a room?”

“Uh, no.” You glance back to your car. You can just drive it away, to a different lot, and make do. You know how to make do. “But I’ll find one, it’s fine-“

Sam shrugs, barely looking up from his book. “Just stay here.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you freeze in your chair. “What?”

“You can bunk with us, we’ve got the space.”

You can’t look at Dean. You and Dean don’t share a room. You don’t know why he’s never offered, but you know why you haven’t, and at this point it’s an unspoken rule.

But Dean’s not shutting Sam down, and the White has started to burst and glow at the idea of it. Of being closer.

You cannot share a room with Dean. It will destroy this. It will give you the opportunity to ruin your friendship with him, give you another place to fall further into him, provide another opportunity for the White to pull you closer and closer, down, down, down into Dean. 

“No, no it’s okay, I’m sure somewhere has a room-“

Dean cuts you off, and you’re going to go insane. “You can take my bed.” 

“It’s- it’s really fine-“

“No,” He says your name casually—like your brain and heart aren’t exploding—and pushes up off his mattress. “You’re doing us a solid, we can put you up. And I’ve shared with Sam before. I can deal with his Sasquatch starfishing.”

Sam glares up from his book. “I do not starfish-“

“But you are a Sasquatch?” 

Dean smirks at Sam, Sam flips him off, and the conversation seems to be over. Sam’s still reading. Dean’s kicking the bag and grumbling about stupid rituals.

But you’re frozen.Time isn’t really flowing, and the world isn’t really moving, because you have to talk your way out of this. You have to figure out what you can say so you can leave, without Sam and Dean being gentlemen and insisting you stay, or asking questions about why you’re so frantic to be anywhere but here.

And you’re not. Every single fiber of your existence wants to stay in this room, where it’s warm and demons might not find you. Your body wants to rest in Dean’s bed, because it will probably smell like grass and spice and Dean. Your fucking tongue keeps trying to move against your will, to suggest you and Dean just share a bed. 

And you’re strong enough to hold yourself back from that, but not from the rest of it. Not from the high that rushes through you when you give in, mumble that you’ll go get your bags from the car, and Dean insists on walking with you. You can’t stop your laugh from echoing through the parking lot at his stupid jokes, or the Darkness from moving out of you in a way that’s not painful. In a way where you can feel how calm the grass is in the quickly sinking twilight, or how soothing the gentle wind is to the tree branches.

Dean guides you back inside, and you stumble. Just a normal, boring trip over your own feet that Dean saves you from, catching you with firm hands and a laugh. 

He’s real, and he’s not gone. The streetlight over his head is casting a gold glow over his skin and hair, and everything about him seems fake—still far too pretty, made of gold but warm under your touch—but he’s real.

And he smiles at you. And that light flickers.

And you’re so fucked.

——————

Dean needed to get a grip. He needed to stop being a freaking creep, and act like a normal person.

He couldn’t. And he wasn’t going to figure out how to in one night. But he needed to, because there was no goddamn way She hadn’t cast some sort of spell on him, and not a chance in hell he was going to make it through the night without acting like She wasn’t only a few quick steps away.

She couldn’t be doing this on purpose. She’d have to be a demon or something, sent to torture Dean with Her… everything. To make him sit at the table while She showered just a room over—if Sam had given him one more amused look, Dean would’ve punched his lights out—and then come out of the bathroom with steam and light surrounding Her, like a beautiful, tempting nightmare. She’d grabbed a little, colorful bag—given Dean a smile because she must hate him—and vanished back into the bathroom.

She’d come out a little while later with soft, almost glowing skin and shiny hair Dean had wanted to touch. She’d passed him on her way to bed, and smelled like sugar and fruit.

The whole room had been surrounded with that fucking fruit smell. Dean had been losing his goddamn mind. 

He’d ended up flat one his back, staring at the ceiling through most of the night, something tight and hot lodged in his throat and gut. Sammy was fine to share a bed with, but Dean wanted to be across the room.

With Her. Holding Her like they were real people, smelling her hair like a goddamn creep and talking to her in the dark. 

Dean really just wanted to be with Her in the dark. To wrap around Her and keep her against him, where She wouldn’t have one of those weird freak outs he’d slowly learned to handle, where no strange, haunting monsters would find Her and take her away.

He didn’t want Her to go away. It was getting fucking crippling, how Dean wanted Her around all the time. How he was so fucking selfish and empty that, since Jessica, he’d started to spiral into thoughts of Her finding out what a mess his life was, and leaving him alone. Of taking all Her blinding, silver light that Dean was more than happy to follow down into the dark, and turn it somewhere else. That he’d been given a chance to see the universe in brilliant eyes, and now it would be ripped away from him.

Worse, he had nightmares that She was on the ceiling. And he’d tried to dismiss them as stress—Dad was missing, Sam was on edge, and Dean was fucking exhausted, so stress seemed reasonable—but they’d persisted. Which was crazy. Jess had been Sam’s girl. He’d had her, and lost her. Mom had been Dad’s, and that was why Dad had become Dad after her death. 

Dean had never had Her. He’d held Her hand once, and kissed Her forehead twice. She wasn’t Dean’s to fear for, or protect, or imagine pressed against him in the dark. She wasn’t Dean’s to keep near him, wasn’t Dean’s to fantasize about, wasn’t Dean’s to want. To get anxious about introducing to his family, because they were all born and made in the mud and She seemed to be created from starlight. He’d never even meet Her family, because she still wouldn’t tell Dean the damn truth about them.

He still didn’t know how to be furious about that in a way that stuck. How to not care when Her eyes went glassy, when She looked small and lost. How to not feel alive when She smiled, and orbit around Her when her world was more colorful than his.

And Sam liking Her had made that worse. Made it more real. Sam liking Her meant Dean wasn’t going insane. It meant that Dad might have simply been wrong, and She wasn’t just an illusion, and that if She left it would just be because Dean wasn’t worth her time.

And She hadn’t left. He’d told Her about Dad and Jessica and Mom, and then watched her shuffle around their motel room in the morning with an adorable, sleepy face. He’d watched Her in Baby’s passenger seat—Sam taking her car for the interviews—and had to force his hand to stay on the wheel and not Her thigh. 

He was looking at Her, across the diner table and poking at Her breakfast with a fork. He wasn’t sure how She managed to look so beautiful all the goddamn time, even when her lips were still swollen from sleep and her eyes were a little glazed from exhaustion. How Her voice always sounded like a song that echoed through Dean’s body, spurring something a little to the right of his heart and making him do almost anything she asked.

Like making a that stupid stick while She wrote on a paper napkin, that adorable furrow in Her brow.

“Sam should be back soon.” She mumbled, crossing something out on Her list. “Are you almost-“

Dean placed the stick over Her napkin, grinning at Her when she looked up. “Done.”

She gave the stick a once over, sighed, and went back to Her napkin without a word.

Dean frowned, leaning over to try and read Her scrawling. “Can you read that?”

“I’m writing it.”

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”

She glanced up, Dean winked, and She rolled her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Dean just hummed, leaning at little further forward. “So that’s a no?”

“I’ll stab you.”

“Damn, Princess, I thought you liked me-“

He cut himself off with a grunt, and She was flushing. It was the best color Dean had ever seen.

“I can like you and stab you.” She muttered. “I’d stitch it up after.”

Dean wanted to ask how much She liked him. If She like liked him. If She breathed easier when he was there and felt peaceful when he was by her side. If his voice haunted Her dreams.

He shrugged the urge off, and pushed on.

“You stab me, I’m asking Sammy to fix it. You don’t have good bedside manner.”

“Or you’re just a terrible patient.”

Dean gasped—making his most dramatically wounded face—and when She looked back up, she giggled.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

He smirked, nodding in agreement, and Her words didn’t hurt him. People had called Dean an idiot before, and it had always stuck on his skin and coated over his chest. But She said it like it was endearment. As if the softer tone lining Her voice could be affection. For Dean.

She was looking back down to the napkin. Dean needed Her to look at him. To either help Her with what she was doing, or listen to her giggle again. Nothing was ever complicated when She was smiling and giggling at Dean.

“What’s it say?” Dean tried to grab the napkin, and She snatched it away with a glower.

“Hey-“

“C’mon, you’ve been losing your mind over that for like an hour, I could help-“

“So ask like a big boy, Winchester. Say please.”

Dean held Her gaze, grabbed Her wrist, and smirked as she flushed.

“Please, Princess.” He squeezed Her wrist, and he could’ve sworn She leaned into him. “Tell me what’s on your dumb napkin.”

“It’s not dumb.” She mumbled, Her voice a little breathy. It was distracting. “I’m just- I’m trying to figure out the onryo’s MO. Usually they don’t have one, but Joey seems to, and I can’t work it out.”

“What’ve you ruled out?”

“Appearance,” She frowned at Her writing. “Profession. Marital status-“

“Vics weren’t cheaters?”

She shook Her head. “Most were single. It’s just- It’s not making a lot of sense.”

Dean shrugged. He still hadn’t let go of Her wrist. His hand might be trapped there permanently. “Doesn’t matter, right? Long as we gank the fucker, we’re in the clear.”

“Yeah,” She let out a long breath, glancing up at Dean with soft eyes. “I guess. I just- It’s weird.”

“Our lives are weird, sweetheart.” He grinned at Her. “Chill out. Sammy’ll be back soon, and we’ll be done before dinner.”

She nodded, her features relaxing, and Dean felt something loosen in his stomach. He was still touching Her. He couldn’t pull away. She wasn’t even trying to move, not trying to break his gaze, and he had grabbed Her over her shirt but She’d shifted and now he could feel Her skin. It was soft. Warm. It felt so goddamn right under his palm and She wasn’t moving away-

Sam cleared his throat, standing at the side of the table, and She and Dean flew apart. He yanked his hand away—grabbing his fork and tapping it in an uneven rhythm on his plate—and She moved backwards in her seat, hiking a knee up to her chest and looking up at Sam with wide eyes. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammy, you’re back-“

“Yeah.” Sam was looking between them, his lips twitching. “Am I interrupting-”

“No!” Her voice was high, and frantic. Dean frowned. He would’ve said no too, but She didn’t need to say it like that. “We’re just, um, talking about the case. Did you get what we needed?”

Sam nodded, pulling out a folded paper from his pocket and passing it into Her hands. “That should be enough, right?”

“Uh… Yeah.” She scanned over the list, and Dean didn’t miss Sam’s grin at Her approval. “I’ll head out now to set up?”

He wanted to protest. To tell Her to just stay and eat with them. She’d barely touched her plate, and something in his stomach kept gnawing at the idea of Her going off alone. She might hunt alone all the time, and Dean might know she had her knife, know that he’d be right behind Her, but he still didn’t want to Her to just go alone. He had twisting feeling over his heart at the idea of Her going alone-

“Sure.” Sam passed Her the keys to her car, stepping out of the way so she could exit the booth. “Call if you need anything, and we’ll meet you there in an hour.”

She hummed in agreement, giving them both soft smiles, and Dean was rooted in his seat. He should follow Her, or insist she stayed, and she’d get all fucking pissy about him not thinking she could handle this alone, but he still rather get yelled at then watch Her walk away. She was walking away. Dean needed to shout after Her and-

“She walks fast.” Sam said, dropping in Her now empty seat, and Dean blinked.

“Huh?”

Sam said Her name, settling in his seat. “She walks-“

“I heard you.” Dean snapped, looking out the window to watch Her move through the parking lot. She did walk fast. He’d never really noticed it before, because She always walked just a pace ahead of him, matching his speed perfectly. But alone, She did seem to walk faster. With purpose.

Towards Her car. Away from Dean. He could still run and grab Her. Convince her to come back to the booth-

“Does Dad know you were hunting with her?”

Dean turned back to Sam with a frown. “What.”

“Dad,” Sam leaned back, giving Dean a pointed look. “I remember what he said about her, Dean. Shit, dude, he hated her, even before he dug that stuff up-“

“Dad didn’t hate her.” Dean muttered. “He was just looking out for us.”

“He was being paranoid. And, just for the record, that woman,” Sam pointed out the window, and Dean realized She was gone. Fuck. “Doesn’t really seem like a spoiled, bratty con-artist.”

Dean scowled. He fucking knew that. And Sam needed to stop saying it, because it made Her more real. Made Her more possible, made Dean crash further up into Her. Fed the idea that he could, maybe, touch Her and not get burned.

“Dad doesn’t know, does he.” Sam crossed his arms, raising his brows. “You lied to him.”

“I didn’t-“

“You did. There’s not a chance he would’ve let you just go off hunting with anyone, let alone her.” Sam grinned at him, and Dean didn’t appreciate the glee on his face. “You were fucking lying to Dad.”

Dean braced his arms on the table, lowering his voice to a hiss. “I’m serious, Sam. Drop it.”

Sam did not drop it. He might be trying to get punched. “No, Dean. You’ve been lying to Dad. You never lie to Dad about anything.”

“Sam-“

“I mean, you’ve lied for me. But c’mon dude.” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Even you have to stop and think about why you don’t want Dad knowing about her. I mean, she’s nothing like what he said, but Dad’s Dad.”

“What the hell it that supposed to mean?“

“It means he’s not going to like that he was wrong. That she’s cool.” Sam shrugged. “I like her. The only thing I’d worry about is the, uh…”

He trailed off, and Dean frowned. 

“Worry about what?”

“I don’t know.” Sam’s brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, I don’t know what they are. Panic attacks?”

Dean shook his head, his brow drawn in confusion, and Sam gave him an odd look.

“C’mon, dude, there’s no way you haven’t noticed. I mean, you helped her, when she got here. When you did the, uh,” Sam reached up to his face, running his finger over his nose. “That.”

“Oh, yeah, that always calms her down-“

“But what is that?”

“I don’t know.” Dean muttered. “Probably just some girl shit-“

Sam scoffed. “That is not a girl thing. That’s like… an episode or something. Have you asked her?”

“No. And you,” Dean point to Sam with a glower. “Better not say shit.”

He didn’t need to give Her a reason to leave. A reason to think he didn’t want Her around. Those moments were strange—and had been happening more and more frequently—but Dean had dealt with stranger, and he knew how to handle it now. 

And Sam paused, tilting his head. 

“Holy shit, dude.” His face split into a shit-eating grin. “You really like her.”

“What?! No- I- Why the-” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about-“

“Yeah, I do. I know you, Dean. You don’t want to make her upset, you have a crush-“

Dean slammed his fist on the table, leaning forward with a glower. “Watch it, I’ll kick your fucking ass-“

Sam just shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face. “Whatever. Won’t make you not have a crush on her.”

“I do not have a fucking crush. She’s my friend-“

Sam laughed again, this one louder. “Sure, dude. You looked like you were gonna cry when she walked away. I bet you wanna go after her-“

“Because she doesn’t need to do this alone! We hunt together, that’s the point of partners-“

“Partners?” Sam raised his brows. “Do you not hear yourself? You’re so worried about her-“

“Sam, I swear to fucking god-“

“Fine, man.” Sam raised his hands in surrender, still smirking. “Chill out.”

“I am fucking chill.” Dean grumbled, glancing at Her abandoned plate. “If you’re not eating that, we can go now-“

“No, I’ll eat it. And she’ll be fine, Dean. There was a lot of overlap on this list from the Maggie one, she just needs to find a really specific kind of beer. I mean, you got the perfume, right?”

Dean frowned. “Perfume?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, poking at the plate with his fork. “That bottle in his office, same kind you bought for the first ritual.”

Dean sat up in the booth, a creeping, almost painful chill shooting up his spine and through his blood. “Yellow bottle?”

“Uh huh-“

“French name?” 

“Yeah, dude, I just said it was the same-“

Pieces fell into place in Dean’s head, and he felt sick. He’d fucking seen the bottle in Joey’s office, and remembered it because of Her. Then he’d forgotten until last night, and She’d cut him off before he’d had a chance to tell Her, when he’d gotten back. If he had told Her, she would’ve put it together faster. She would’ve seen the overlap on the lists, pointed out that it was strange to keep perfume in your office if you weren’t actually having an affair. 

If you were confronting your wife about her affair.

Dean shot out of his seat. “We need to go, now.”

“Woah, slow down, we still need to pay-“

“No, fuck, it’s-“ Dean ran a hand over his face, snapping Her name. “She uses that perfume.”

“So?”

“So, if you were a woman trying to cover your affair with your girl best-friend, how would you do it?”

Sam looked at him like he was insane. “I don’t know, man, that’s not a situation I’ve thought about once-“

“Would you make your girlfriend use the same perfume you use? Would you buy it for her?”

“Dean, I don’t know-“

“It’s the perfume, Sam!” Dean was shouting. He didn’t care. “We didn’t think about it! We thought it was the wife who got slighted, but it’s the fucking dude, and all the vics had that goddamn perfume! And-“

“The wife and mistress were using it.” Sam’s eyes widened, and his words far too slow when they had to go. “To hide their affair. And if the husband put that together, he’d… and…” Sam said Her name, and Dean felt his lungs tighten. “She uses…  Fuck.”

It was good Sam got up when he did, or Dean would’ve started to drag him out of the diner. The waitress shouted after them to pay, but he didn’t hear. There was red lining his vision and blood in his ears because he had been an idiot. They never would’ve gotten what the spirit was without Her, they never would’ve gone after the right douchebag without Her, and if Dean hadn’t managed to catch it, She would’ve paid the price for helping him. For Dean being unobservant asshole.

She still might pay the price. They hadn’t saved Her yet. Dean was violating traffic laws and testing Baby’s bounds, but She was in fucking danger and nothing else mattered.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat. “How do you know it’s her perfume?”

“Shut it, or I’ll fucking shoot you-“

“No, dude, I swear I’m not teasing. I just want to be sure-“

“I’m positive.” Dean grunted, not bothering to look over and see if his brother was listening. “And you better be ready to exorcise this son of a bitch-“

“I got the Japanese down last night. And I’m sure she’s fine, Dean-“

“Shut up.”

Sam raised his hands, and made the smart choice to close his fucking trap and let Dean focus. 

He didn’t bother with proper parking, stopping right on the curb outside the office and sprinting inside. The building was cold. Too cold. Fucking freezing the closer they got to the office, lights flickering in the hallways and all of Dean’s attention narrowed to listen for screams or bangs or cries for help-

The door to the office was locked. He pounded on it—shouting Her name and making the walls shake slightly—but there was no noise from the other side. The overhead lights sparked and flickered, wind seemed to rush through the half-empty hallway, and Dean took several steps back. This building was probably insured, and he needed to get in that fucking room.

Dean cracked his neck, braced his body, and threw himself forward.  

The room was pitch black when he crashed into it—one the overhead lamps hanging from the ceiling and light flooding in from the hallway—and She was sitting in the corner. Her back was pressed to the wall, Her hand around her throat, and Her eyes glassy as they found Dean’s.

He shouted Her name, dropping to his knees at Her side. “Fuck, are you-“

She shook Her head, pushing at his chest. “Dean, go, you need to go-“

“Are you goddamn crazy, there’s no way I’m leaving-“

“No, I’ve- I’ve got it, please-“

Sam finally caught up, the paper shaker in one hand and a gun in the other. “Shit, where’s the-“

“Don’t know. Get ready.” Dean never looked away from Her bloodless face, keeping it cradled in one hand. “C’mon, Princess, you a target, we’re going-“

“No!” She screamed, and Dean didn’t have time to feel something snap in his chest before She was kicking him away.

Before a large, white-clad and blood covered figure appeared right where he’d been before. Reaching down for Her as she curled further down into herself, not even trying to goddamn defend herself.

Dean was certain his heart stopped. That it exploded through his body in a firework of blood and feral, uncontrollable fear. And there was something else, too. Rioting in his chest, burning and golden and bellowing for Her. To save Her. To pull Her from danger, from the pain, from the dark-

He could only see red, only hear his own roar of Her name as the onryo grabbed Her head, slammed it into the wall, and She didn’t fight back.

Dean tackled the onryo. Wrapped his arms around its throat and yanked it away from Her slightly slumping body on the floor. Slammed his knees into its back and crashed them both against the desk, raising his fist to pummel it fucking bloody and uglier-

It threw Dean off with a guttural, ear-bleeding roar, and Dean felt pain pound over his back as he slammed into the wall. He was vaguely aware of Sam beginning the ritual, but he didn’t care. 

The onryo was heading back for Her. And Sam had realized and was running forward, but he wouldn’t be strong enough if Dean wasn’t, and She wasn’t fighting back.

All the lights in the hallway sparked and flickered, and Dean saw a flash of silver in the dark. He could hear low chanting and muttering in a soft, musical voice, and his head was spinning but he could swear She was moving.

The onryo screamed, and a blinding pillar flame burst through the room. Dean couldn’t think outside of fire. Licking at the ceiling and walls, and he couldn’t see Her anywhere at all-

It was gone in a second, and the room when dark once more. 

A small, weak noise came from the corner of the room, and when Dean’s eyes readjusted, he could see Her in the dark. He didn’t need to think to move to Her.

He just did. 

Holding Her face with his gentlest touch, angling it carefully to check for blood or bruising, muttering Her name until she made another soft sound and he knew she was conscious. He let Her slump forwards into him as Her eyes fluttered, and her breathing eased.

She’d be fine. Dean could see a cut on Her brow, a bite mark on her hand, and a gash on Her shoulder, but he’d stitched up worse for Dad. Her eyes weren’t staying open for more than a second, and her heart was racing when he checked Her pulse on her neck, but her gasps weren’t choked or stuttered so she’d be fine.

“Dean.” Sam muttered from behind them, his voice soft. “Is she-“

“She’s fine.” He grunted, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold Her steady as he moved to his feet. “Hold on,” he whispered Her name in her ear, and she listened, her arms looping around Dean’s neck. 

It was relieving and worrying all at once. She felt fragile again. 

Dean didn’t know if he could live with himself if he broke Her.

“Sam,” Dean didn’t take his eyes off of Her as he spoke, because looking at Her seemed to make just a little bit of the panic fogging his brain clear. He could see Her chest rise and fall. She’d be okay. “I know we still gotta check-“

Sam understood immediately. He usually did. “I can do it. Take her, I’ll meet you back at the motel.”

Dean nodded in silent thanks and—after carefully grabbing Her keys out of her pocket and throwing them to Sam—carried Her in his arms out of the office and into Baby. 

He drove slowly, his grip on the wheel white knuckled as She made soft sounds of pain at his side. Dean had brought Her here. He’d put Her in danger, just because he had missed Her, missed moving in her orbit. She was hurt because he’d been an idiot and brought Her into harm’s way. He’d triggered one of Her episodes because he hadn’t done his job and protected her, and She’d still ended up doing the ritual herself because he was fucking horrible at his job. He’d been lost in his head, just like Dad always told him not to be, and now She was in pain. She’d be okay, safe in a fancy home in some mystery town, if Dean just hadn’t called Her.

And he was a selfish, lonely piece of shit.

And he didn’t want Her to go.

She let him move Her from the Impala to the motel room, leaning into his side and walking in uneven, unsteady steps. At least She was walking. At least when Dean set Her down on his bed, she was able to pull off her own jacket and remove Her own shoes. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and there was swelling on Her cheekbone where the onryo had grabbed her, but at least She was sitting upright, watching Dean grab their med kit. 

She was a statue, but at least She was here. With Dean. 

Where he could hear Her low, strained noises when he touched her gash, and he could rip his head apart with guilt. 

He’d fucking let that happen to Her. She wasn’t speaking, and Dean couldn’t tell if she was angry, but she should be. Because Dean had failed. 

Dad wouldn’t have failed. Dad would kill Dean if he found out he’d dragged Her into their family business, and she got hurt. He’d yell at Dean for letting Her everything distract him, because she wasn’t a real hunter, she was just a girl.

That’s what Dad had always called Her, when Dean managed to bring Her up. When he’d been testing the waters about telling Dad about Her, and always decided against it because Dad said She was just a lying, spoiled little girl, who didn’t give a damn about Dean.

But She’d killed the onryo. And She’d left him with the Poltergeist, but She’d chosen him with the Demon. When he’d only had Her, even if the worst of his injuries had been a mild concussion. 

Sammy liked Her. She liked Sammy. 

And when Dean glanced back up at Her beautiful face—cast like artwork in the shadows and cool lights of the motel—She was watching him the same way She always did. A little hazier, Her face more open and gentle than usual, but still the same.

Like Dean might be something. Anything at all.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean’s hands stilled.

“What.”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated it, and Dean felt sick. He might break his jaw. “I didn’t mean to. Please, I’m really- I didn’t mean to do that-“

Dean looked up at Her. Her eyes were glossy, Her features bloodless, and her every word choked as Her body curled into herself. Like She was trying to make herself small. Like She was trying to hide.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered again, and Dean glanced down to Her hands in her lap. 

Raw and bloody, lined with marks where She’d begun to scratch.

He grabbed them without a word, moving them apart to rest on the mattress. She made a weak, strangled noise, and Dean could feel it in the goddamn cavity of his chest. Echoing around and burning a hole in his body that was shaped like Her.

“I’m sorry-“

“Why.” He muttered, refocusing his attention onto the gash. “You didn’t fuck anything up. You ganked the son of a bitch, and Sammy’s finishing the ritual for you. We’re fine.”

“The ritual?”

Dean nodded, glancing up at Her. The little furrow was back in Her brow, and she was breathing so fucking fast-

His thumb moved up before he could think about it. Running a soft line down the bridge of Her nose until she let out a long, slow breath, and the sound washed over Dean like rain. 

She’d be okay. Her eyes were still clouded, and She still looked far too small, but Dean would patch Her up and She’d be okay.

He rose without a word when he finished the stitches, muttering an order for Her to stay there, and moves to the kitchenette before he can think better of it. Opened the cabinet and started heating some water, just because he had to do something. If Dean was something, She was more, and he had just fucking do this. A silent apology.

A plea to not leave. To stay with Dean, because he was the fucking worst, but he’d never let that shit happen again. 

She’d moved to the headboard, Her legs curled under her body as she rested against the headboard. And She was still watching him. He wanted to brush the sweaty hair from Her face, and kiss the bruise on Her head, and pull her into a long hug to swear that would never goddamn happen again. 

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know how to grab Her face between his hands and tell Her he was sorry. That he’d felt like was suffocating when She’d gotten hurt, that he felt like the lungs and heart—and something else he didn’t even have a word for—were being crush and shredded apart all at once when She’d screamed. 

But he could do this. Dean could walk mix in the cocoa powder, grab one of Sam’s stupid thermoses, and pass the hot chocolate into Her shaking hands. 

He just looked at Her for a long moment. Gorgeous in an almost indescribable way, right before him where he could touch Her if he tried.

He didn't know where to start touching Her. How to start caring about Her the way something like Her—breakable and furious and brutal, brighter than anything Dean had even seen before, would ever see again— would deserve to be cared about. But he had to try. He had to keep Her close, where he could always make sure She’d be okay.

“How’d you know to come?” Her voice was still a breath, but it sounded more like Her, and Dean could take that.

He shrugged. “Got a gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?”

“Yeah.” Dean gave Her a small smirk, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Tells you what’s wrong and right, when something’s going bad-“

She whacked his arm, and it was weaker than usual, but still Her. She looked more and more like Her by the moment. “Shut up.”

“Bossy.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, glowering over the thermos as She drank.

He chuckled. “You know, I mean that as a compliment-“

“Don’t tell me what I know, Winchester.”

The laugh that left Dean was loud, and real, and made Her smile. And he felt alive. Right now, Dean was alive at Her side, golden under Her attention, and more relaxed in the dark than he’d been in days.

“Yes, ma’am.” He drawled, and She rolled her eyes.

When She moved the thermos away from Her mouth, there was a little line of milk above Her lips, and Dean grinned. 

“Nice mustache, Princess.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Your- here.” Dean reached forward before he could think better, and wiped it with his thumb.

He froze in place the moment he drew away. He’d touched Her. And She’d been warm and soft and real. His thumb had brushed over Her upper lip for only a second, so now the feeling of it might be branded on his skin. And when he looked back to Her, she was flushed. With the hitched breath. The parted mouth.

He wanted more. He wanted Her. He didn’t ever want Her to go.

“Uh, where are you going?” He cleared, trying to make his voice as casual as possible. He could do this. “Once we wrap up the loose ends here?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, settling back into the mattress. “Probably home.”

“Which is where?”

She gave him a small smile, taking a long sip of the coco without an answer.

“Never gonna tell me, huh?”

She shrugged. “Maybe next time, if you make me more of this.”

She tapped the thermos, and Dean felt his own mouth twitch.

“I think that’s bribery, Princess.”

“Maybe.” She hummed, raising Her brows at him. “Are we above bribery?”

Dean chuckled. “Guess not. And, uh,” he took a long breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Would you need it to be next time?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if there wasn’t a next time?”

Something flared on Her face, she leaned slightly away, and Dean’s throat tightened. Not like that. Not at all like that.

“Oh.” She mumbled, and the words began to fall out of Dean like vomit.

“No, I’m not saying that. Opposite of that. I mean, I told you everything, and Sammy likes you, and we’re a good team, Sweetheart, so if you want to, I’m sure Sam wouldn’t be pissed. He’d be for it. He said you were cool, and three is ever safer than two. So, uh, yeah.”

She only blinked. “What?”

Dean felt his face heat. He hadn’t actually said the thing. “Stay.”

“Stay?”

“With me. And Sammy. Just to help us find Dad, then Sammy’ll probably go back to a normal, boring life, and you can do what you do. Just, uh, you can stick around after the hunt. If you want.”

“Stay with you, to find…“ She trailed off, and Dean couldn’t read that expression. He couldn’t fucking think, not outside of Her eyes on his, and the smell fruit dragging him into a pure sense of Her.

“Our Dad.” Dean finished Her sentence, and her throat bobbed. 

She let out a slow breath, hugging Her own body and ducking Her head, and Dean felt his chest go numb before she even spoke.

“I can’t.” She mumbled, rubbing that scarred palm over her calf. “I’m really sorry, Dean. Just, my dad-“

“Don’t. It’s fine.” He rubbed his own brow, his gaze fixed on Her hand. Close enough to touch.

But not really close at all.

“Dean-“

“I’m serious. It was just an offer.”

“But-“

He snapped Her name, and it was harsher than he meant it, but something also felt like it was peeling along his ribs. She didn’t want him. Nobody would want him. He’d gotten Her hurt, and he had no good reason to think She’d stick around for him. She didn’t feel this, it was all only Dean losing his mind and falling to his knees for a woman that he could never have. She sounded wounded and desperate, but She wasn’t his to wound, and She’d told him she didn’t want to stay. That She wanted to go back home. Somewhere of the mud, somewhere Dean wasn’t good enough to follow her to.

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” He muttered. She needed to rest, and Dean didn’t need Her sorrys. He didn’t really deserve them. “Go to sleep, Princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She took a long breath. “Dean?”

He grunted, unable to look Her in the eyes, and She sighed.

“I know I, you-“ She cut herself off with a swallow, her voice growing softer by the second. “But can you, um, can you please- I don’t want to- Could you please sit?”

Dean frowned at the floor. “What.”

“With me. Sit with me. Until I fall asleep.” She whispered. “You can go after, if you do, but… Please.”

Her voice was so goddamn light, so dream-like, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever learn to not bend for it. Not when his eyes dragged back to Her’s, and they were calling him further down. Drawing him closer with only Her. Still just Her, at Dean’s side, in the whole universe of a motel room.

And She wanted him for this. Only this. 

But at least it was something.

He nodded, and forced himself to ignore the spark up his spine when a She mumbled a thanks, and closed her eyes with a soft breath.

She was passed out in only a few minutes, and Dean stayed at Her side. Just a nod felt like it was an oath, when it was for Her. So Dean sat at Her side, and watched her sleep like that same creep he’d been the night before.

He didn’t really notice Sam returning. He couldn’t look anywhere but Her. Slack faced and breathing slow, drooling onto the pillow in a way Dean wanted to wipe from her chin, hair in her face he wanted to brush away, lips parted that he always wanted to touch. 

Beautiful. Not his to have. 

But She’d be here until morning. And She’d asked him to stay with Her, so he’d sit in the dark for Her and practice how he’d let Her go when she walked away. Remind himself that it was for the better She wouldn’t stay. She wouldn’t get hurt. And he would see Her again.

Maybe, while she was hunting without him, She’d find someone who actually kept her safe. Who did what Dean wasn’t good enough to do, and didn’t just watch Her in the dark. They’d hold Her in the dark. They’d be Her dark, just like Dean irrationally craved, but deserving. Worthy of a star falling into their hands, worthy of holding it with them all the time. 

Dean felt sick. Her hand was splayed across the mattress. 

He let himself hold it. If this was the only chance he had, and She didn’t flinch away when he twined his fingers with Her’s, he’d hold Her hand.

He’d take tonight. 

And he’d learn how get a grip in the morning. 

End Note: Diversity win! These Lesbians were part of a triple murder suicide!

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[stinkysam]

Choi Subong “Thanos” - Stab me.

Warning : blood, death

Genre : angst

Synopsis : Imagine the final game is the same one as in season 1 but it’s just you and Thanos

Reader : gender neutral (you/yours)

A/N : bold is in English // it’s short UGH

As you entered the empty field, you recognized the place. You had played the first game here, Younghee still in place, her body facing the wall but her head turned to you, as if she was still watching you.

Thanos was by your side, almost in his own world as he had already popped one of his pills in his mouth, moving his hands to the rhythm of the square guard speaking, explaining the rules.

You wanted to smile at his antics and relax but you couldn’t.

The more he spoke, the more you recognized the rules, the game. Though you played it a lot as a kid, you didn’t have for habit of winning it.

You had expected the last game to be a one versus one. One lives, one dies. But you had hoped for a game where two could win. If only.

You squeezed the knife in your pocket. You were ready. You breathed slowly, trying to calm yourself and your panicking heart.

“Three. If by any chance one player is unable to proceed with the game, the last one to stand wins.” The guard finished as he turned around, stopping you in the center of the field where lines were drawn on the ground like in your childhood, but much bigger.

“What happens to the uh, player who loses ?” You asked, voice shaky, hoping for the best.

As Thanos was about to reply that you’d be two winners, the guard spoke.

“Death. Like in any other games.”

“Huh ? What ?” Thanos said, before looking at you, wide eyed.

“Now, let the game begin.” The guard said, walking away from the giant squid on the ground.

Thanos slowly moved to the tip of the squid, ready to play the game though he was trying to think of a plan to get out of here. He had the fork from the bathroom fight and stole a knife from the last meal, he could kill the seemingly unarmed guard. But then what ?

As he turned around he noticed you hadn’t moved.

“I fucking hated that game.” You said with a disgusted face, pulling the knife out of your pocket and before you could think more about your actions, you stabbed yourself in the chest, taking it out and planting it again. You grimaced. Sweating. Fuck, so painful !

Thanos was horrified. Frozen in shock.

You tried to speak but let out a cough instead, some blood spilling out of your mouth, ruining your sweet face.

You pulled the knife out one last time and let it fall down. More blood gushing and spilling out, staining your suit. You fell to your knees before planting face first into the ground, gasping.

Thanos’ eyes were wide as he thought he was having a bad trip, but when he saw you remain on the ground, unmoving, he finally stumbled toward you, rushing, pulling you against him.

“What the fuck ! Why did you do that ?!” He yelled, his voice and hands were shaking. He didn’t know what to do.

You raised your hand slowly, gently caressing his face, before going to his hair, enjoying their fluffiness, a soft smile on your bloodied lips. He grabbed your hand, squeezing it against his heart.

Fuck.

“[Name]… Oh my god…” He started, looking at your face then at your wounds. “Why did you do that !? Huh ?!” He yelled, shaking you slightly, not understanding your thought process. How could you do this ? You were supposed to be the one winning. Not him.

“So…rry.” You replied, struggling to speak. It was hurting so bad you could hardly breathe. “Am selfish.” Your voice was so quiet, barely audible, like strangled.

He frowned.

“What do I do ? What do I do !?” He yelled, frustration and fear engulfing him. He placed one hand on your stab wounds, trying to stop the bleeding, your blood seeping between his fingers, getting stuck inside his rings. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You squeezed his hand, feeling your end approach more and more.

You wanted to speak more, to tell him how much you love him, how you love loving him, how thankful you felt for his feelings, even when you’re arguing, clashing, fighting.

You wanted to tell him you are too afraid to live without him, on your own, with your grief for only company. But he can do it, he’s resourceful, has dreams, he can have connexions, find help. Start anew with the money. Be a fucking worldwide rapper like he had planned. You know it will be hard, but he can do it. You trust him.

You coughed and wheezed more blood out as you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

You wanted to tell him to kiss you, one last time, so you could die without forgetting the taste of his lips, though you never forgot it. But it’s for good measure and to erase the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

You were so afraid.

You grabbed his collar, wanting to pull him in but tears glided down your face instead. It was so fucking painful. Fuck…

You let go of him, hand falling to the ground as you drew out your last breath, Thanos was holding you tightly, still screaming and cursing at the guard to help, to fucking do something, not noticing your death until after a good minute.

“No ! [Name] !” He yelled, shaking you. Your empty eyes looking at the sky, a flock of birds passing by. His head fell down, devastated, defeated, heartbroken.

He looked at the knife.

He wanted to do the same. To end it, once and for all. He had been too much of a coward to do it on the bridge, now was his fucking chance.

But he is still a fucking coward.

It’s gonna hurt, isn’t it ? If I stab myself in the heart ? It’s gonna be painful ? Will we really be reunited ? Will you be happy to see me ?

How did you do it ? Why ? How could you ?

He let out a frustrated scream before pulling you closer.

“Fuck ! Why did you do that ?” He asked, quietly, kissing your forehead.

Thanos stayed like this, holding you, until he heard footsteps coming from behind him, two masked O approaching with a big black box to put your lifeless body in.

“Don’t approach ! Go away !” He grabbed the knife, swinging it around, ready to fight them, still holding you. “Fucking bitchless bastards, I’ll kill y-”

The square guard had knocked him out with his gun.

It took a lot of time for Thanos to come back to the rap scene. Scared he would fail you. Fail the second chance you gave him. But he was doing his best, releasing songs and samples every now and then to not be forgotten. He wasn’t really successful, forgotten since his appearance on TV, but he did get himself a small fanbase, a mix of the 1st day fans and new ones.

Though his debts and lack of money weren’t really known, people still noticed the change in his entourage and the people he worked with.

“Do you think he stole the money from his fans ?” A girl asked her friend, reading an article about Thanos’s comeback. “A bit like that YouTuber that disappeared some years ago after scamming his viewers with crypto money. Ah, what was his name ?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think his fans are rich enough to give him that much money. Maybe he won the lottery ?” Her friend replied, looking over her shoulder to read the article as well. “But he’s not the type of guy to hide he won it, so I truly wonder too.”

[moonlight-joy]

Just a Little Longer

Fandom: Kraven the hunter

Summary: You ask Sergei to stay, voicing your fear of losing him. Reluctantly, he agrees, breaking through his guarded nature. In the warmth of the firelit cabin, you share a rare, vulnerable moment, finding solace in his protective embrace as the world fades away for one peaceful night.

Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff

“Before you go, can you stay a little longer?” your voice broke through the stillness, softer than you intended, yet filled with an unmistakable plea. Sergei paused mid-motion, his broad shoulders tense as he turned to face you. His piercing gaze, usually so guarded, softened slightly at the edges as he studied your expression.

“Why?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, as if testing the waters of your request.

You hesitated, unsure how to explain the ache in your chest, the unspoken fear of watching him walk out that door again. The room was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows across his sharp features. He stood near the doorway, his gear slung over one shoulder, the essence of a man always prepared to face whatever the world threw at him.

“Because I… I just need you to stay,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “Just for a little while. Please.”

Sergei’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unnameable crossing his face. He set his gear down with deliberate slowness, as though giving himself time to consider your words. When he finally straightened, he closed the distance between you with a few long strides.

“You know I don’t stay in one place for long,” he said, his voice quieter now but still holding that firm edge of truth. “It’s not safe.”

“And out there is?” you countered, gesturing vaguely to the window. “You’re always on the move, always chasing or being chased. Just this once, can’t you let the world wait?”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded you, a battle waging behind his eyes. Sergei was a man of action, a hunter who thrived on movement and purpose. Yet here you were, asking him to do the one thing he struggled with most: pause.

“What’s this really about?” he asked, his tone softening. “Tell me.”

You exhaled shakily, looking down at your hands as you tried to find the right words. “Every time you leave, I… I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you. If this will be the hunt you don’t come back from.” Your voice faltered, but you pushed on. “I just… I don’t want to say goodbye again, not tonight.”

Sergei’s expression softened further, and he reached out, his large hand gently tilting your chin upward so your eyes met his. “I always come back,” he said, his voice a low, steady promise.

“But for how long?” you whispered. “One day, you won’t. And I… I don’t know what I’d do then.”

The weight of your words hung heavy between you, and for once, Sergei had no immediate reply. Instead, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. His embrace was firm, grounding, and spoke of things he often left unsaid.

“I’ll stay,” he said after a long moment, his voice rough but resolute. “Tonight, I’ll stay.”

You closed your eyes, relief washing over you as you clung to him. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear was a comfort, a reminder that, for now, he was here. For now, the world outside could wait.

The fire burned low in the hearth as the two of you sat together on the worn couch. Sergei had shed his gear, leaving it in a neat pile by the door, and now leaned back with one arm draped over the backrest. You sat beside him, your legs tucked under you, the warmth of the fire and his presence lulling you into a rare sense of peace.

“You’re not used to asking for things,” Sergei said after a while, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

You glanced at him, startled by the observation. “What makes you say that?”

He gave a small, knowing smile. “You hesitate. Like you’re afraid of what the answer might be.”

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “You’re not exactly predictable, Sergei. Sometimes I feel like you’re here one moment and gone the next.”

He didn’t deny it, instead nodding thoughtfully. “The life I lead doesn’t leave much room for staying still. But you…” He trailed off, his gaze turning thoughtful. “You’re different. You make me think about things I haven’t thought about in years.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “Is that a good thing?”

“It scares me,” he admitted, his honesty catching you off guard. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

The vulnerability in his voice was rare, and it made you reach for his hand instinctively. He let you take it, his calloused fingers wrapping gently around yours.

“You don’t have to be afraid with me,” you said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.”

He squeezed your hand lightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re braver than I am,” he said, his tone carrying a touch of wonder.

“No,” you replied with a small smile. “I just know what’s worth fighting for.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The firelight danced across the walls, casting a warm glow over the room, and the world beyond the cabin seemed to fade away.

As the night deepened, Sergei stretched out on the couch, his head resting against the armrest. You found yourself lying beside him, your head on his chest and his arm draped protectively around you. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was soothing, and you felt yourself drifting closer to sleep.

“Thank you,” you murmured drowsily, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“For staying,” you replied. “For giving me this.”

He was silent for a moment, then pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Always,” he said quietly.

And in that moment, with the warmth of the fire and the steady beat of Sergei’s heart beneath your ear, you felt a rare sense of contentment. The world could wait, just a little longer.

[twddixonn]

Stay

Daryl Dixon x Reader one shot

desc: If I had asked you to stay, would you have?

wc: 3.074k

warnings/tags: not proof read!!! (I’m so sorry I never have the patience to re-read) very slight swearing, slight(?)angst

‘Everything changed that day.

The day Rick blew up the bridge to save his family, his friends - the other community’s.

We all mourned; for a man that might not even be dead.

The changes were slow at first, no one knew what to do.

I thought our family broke the day we lost Glenn and Abraham, the day we could have lost Daryl. The day that could have been our last.

The day we lost Carl.

But then we lost rick.

Dead or alive.

We lost him.

Michonnes screams still ring in my ears at times, the kind of times where everything gets to quiet and there’s no escape from it.

The expressions that glued on to everyone’s faces like a still image at the front of my mind when I try to sleep.

And then it was over.’

Slamming your diary shut, chucking it in some random drawer on your desk: you leaned back on your chair blowing a stray hair out of your face, staring at a drawing Judith and Rj did of you and uncle Daryl.

Over time, you slowly withdrew yourself from the others.

Nothing was the same anymore, Rick wasn’t around to keep everything in check and keep everyone together and gradually - everyone split for the most part.

Maggie left, leaving with Georgie in hopes of building a new community.

Michonne was mourning the love of her life, whilst bringing up Judith and Rj; the son Rick never got the chance to know about.

Carol and Ezekiel ruled over the kingdom.

Daryl left to go find his brother.

So you kept to yourself and mourned not only Rick, but your family too.

Three knocks sounded outside your room alerting your attention and snapping you back into reality yet again.

“Coming.” You acknowledged whoever was standing on the other side of that door.

Sighing you stood up and walked over taking a grip on the door handle before pulling it open, “What?” You snapped.

Carols eyes gleamed at you as she spoke with a small smile on her lips, “Hm, pleased to see you too Y/N”

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” You gave a thin lipped smile back to her.

“It’s fine. Come with me.” Before you could protest she grabbed your wrist and begun to drag you downstairs, heading straight to the front door and grabbing a backpack on the way.

“What are you doing? Are you going somewhere?” Why did she drag you down and out the house if she was just going to be leaving so quick?

“No.” She stated.

“No?”

“No, I’m not going somewhere. We are. Grab your stuff. Let’s go” Carols little grin never leaving her face.

You’d like to say you’re surprised at her bluntness and secrecy but she’s always had this side to her, she just knows how and when to play it.

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You’d been walking for a while, thoughts racing through your mind on what Carol could be up too: what little plan she’s concocted this time round.

You can’t remember the last time you actually saw her. It was rare for her to visit Alexandria and when she did you were always cooped up in your room or out helping with whatever was asked of you.

She never came to Alexandria unless she was-

“Stop.” You tried to assert dominance in your voice, yet the slight crack as you spoke didn’t seem very convincing.

“Stop walking Carol. I know what we’re doing out here. I need you to tell me why.” It was more of a statement than a question at this point.

She halted the second time round you spoke, muttering something to herself along the lines of ‘shit’ before turning and giving a smile, although it shared more resemblance to a grimace.

The kind of look a child gives to their parent after they’ve been caught doing something they definitely shouldnt be doing.

“Y/N.. I had to do something. You need to see him” She sounded exasperated.

“I had to do something because you haven’t. After everything we all went through.

You shut down on us.

You wouldn’t come out your room unless someone asked you for help with something.

You barely speak.

You just hide away, not letting anyone even attempt to get back in.

You let Daryl leave. You didn’t even try to stop him! You let him continue with these.. these sick delusions that Rick is still out there somewhere. You love him, and you still let him leave.”

Carols never been one to be afraid to say what she thinks: although never with you.

“You think I wanted things to be this way? I shut myself away because you left.

Maggie left. Michonne lost herself. I stepped back because it was the right thing to do at the time, furthermore it was still the right thing to do after the time passed.” Drawing in an uneven breath, you continued -

“I also didn’t let Daryl leave. He left because it’s what he wanted. You know as well as I do, had I of tried to convince him to stay, it would have been pointless. He believes his brothers out there so he went looking for him! Just like you believed Sophia was out there and we went looking for her!” Panic struck you as you realised what you had said in your last sentence, how could you be so cruel to bring up a woman’s dead daughter?

Carol let out a puff of air before placing her hand on your forearm and then dragging you into her arms, almost cradling you.

“I know you didn’t mean it. It’s okay. But we’re going to see Daryl and that’s final.” She backed up slightly, a hand cupping your jaw as she whispered, “You don’t deserve to lose the man you love, not in a world like this.”

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Anxiety.

It’s the only thing you could feel as you neared closer to the river Carol was due to meet Daryl at. You hadn’t seen him in.. you couldn’t even remember how long it had truly been.

All you remember was the day he packed his bag and announced he was heading out to look for Rick, entire belief filled with Rick being alive.

He came to see you before he left.

Explained why he was going: not saying how long he’d be gone.

You can still remember the feeling of his hands on your waist as he pulled you into his body, his head in the crook of your neck as tears lined up on your waterline; you remember making sure he didn’t see them fall.

You remember the way he leaned back to look at you, one hand still on your waist with the other trailing up to the back of your head as his eyes bored into yours before eventually looking all over your face- avoiding your eyes the second time round.

The way his intense stare ended up on your lips for just maybe a couple of seconds too long for this to be considered only a friendship.

You can remember his face inching closer almost as if he was going to stop fighting the thoughts in his head and finally kiss you; but it never came.

His hands left your head, left your waist.

Then he was gone.

That was the last time you saw Daryl.

Carol stopped walking and glanced back at you, noticing the distant stare and she could tell you were deep in thought, thinking of him.

“Why are you stopping? Come on! We’re pretty much here.”

A few more steps forward with your head bowed down, you saw the river edge right before your feet.

Bracing yourself to hear his voice.

It never came.

“Let’s go. He’s not here but he has to be around somewhere, his stuff’s still lying about.” Before you could complain and make the suggestion of heading back, Carols hand had yet again found its way to your wrist and she was dragging you behind her, determined to find him.

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“Hands up. Who are you and what are you doing on my property?”

Carol came to a quick halt, you bumping into her back as she dropped your wrist and slowly raised her hands, glancing at you with her eyes telling you to follow her actions.

You raised your hands right as the woman repeated her earlier questions.

You could practically hear the cogs turning in Carols brain before she decided to take on a familiar role, the role of the innocent helpless lady she’s played many times before -

“Pl- please don’t.. don’t shoot us. We don’t have anything on us. J-just trying to find a friend. We’ll leave, right now.. we’ll go. Just please.. d-don’t hurt us.”

You fought hard to not chuckle at her.

How couldn’t you?

She plays it so well.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Anything that was going to come out of your mouth, whether it be words or just air; got stuck.

He’s here.

He’s safe.

He looks healthy.

He looks.. happier.

“Y/N? Carol?” Daryl couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He’d seen Carol on and off since he left Alexandria, of course he had; she’s his best friend. Who else would care more than his best friend to keep bringing him supplies?

Seeing Y/N however, had him dumbfounded.

The look of rage the lady holding the shotgun at you and Carol had, never seem to let up before she spoke again.

“You know these people?”

“Yeah, s’my family.” He muttered to her.

Maybe this really was a mistake.

You shouldn’t have come.

Raising an eyebrow at you both, the woman whispered to Daryl then turned her back and headed inside, not without shooting you and Carol one last glare.

“Who’s ‘little miss I’m gonna shove a gun in random people’s faces and give relentless attitude until they tell me what I demand to know from them’?” Carols voice taking on a higher pitch as she mimicked the stranger.

This time you couldn’t hold back on the chuckle that left your lips.

Daryl’s eyes shot over to you, making you put your head back down and shove Carol slightly to make her talk as you hoped to just blend into the background again.

“Came to bring you stuff.” She chucked the bag at his feet before continuing on, “You were supposed to be at the river but obviously you had.. better plans. So we just followed the paths that looked most used and here we are. Surprise! Excited?” Sarcasm dripping from her voice the longer she spoke to him.

No one made any attempt to move or speak, so Carol spoke up again,

“I need to go for a pee. I’ll be back.” Her hand landing on your shoulder, her eyes looking into yours practically begging you to at least try and talk to him.

“How-“

“Is-“

You both began to speak at the same time.

You took this as the opportunity to quickly spit out some words, make him talk first to ease the tension.

“Sorry. You first.”

“How’re yer doin’?” It was a murmur, but it was something from him.

“I’m-“ taking a slight pause, debating between telling him the absolute truth or just making up a load of bullshit, the latter being more appealing.

“I’m good. Thanks. How about you?”

“Good. I’m a’right. I’m still searching. I ain’t givin’ up. Not till I find ‘im” Daryl was fiddling with his fingers, a telltale sign to you that he was just as nervous as you were.

He nodded his head towards a little bench, signalling you to sit with him.

Your mind is telling you to run as fast as you can, escape this situation before it’s too late.

Your feet move before you can take notice of your mind.

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The silence was beginning to grow deafening. Carol was yet to return, you knew she wasn’t going to though.

Not until you and Daryl had a somewhat decent, somewhat truthful conversation.

She was probably crouched down in one of the many bushes surrounding you, eavesdropping on everything you’re yet to say to one another.

“Are you any closer? To finding him? Finding anything?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Truth is, you weren’t certain you wanted to know.

Either way it would end in shit creek somehow.

A grunt left Daryl, “Nah. I ain’t gonna stop till I do tho.”

All you could do was nod in acknowledgment to him.

“How’s Alexandria? Michonne ‘n the kids? Yerself?.”

How were you expected to answer this?

He’d already asked you about yourself before, why again?

You stammered over your words before sighing and deciding you may as well be honest,

“It’s fine.. I guess. I don’t really see Michonne much nowadays. The kids are great, they come see me every so often usually with a new drawing or some fun new fact Judith read in one of her homework books. Sometimes they come to see me just to see if I’m okay.” You couldn’t help but sign again.

“Tha’s good. Least the kids are okay. Y’self? Y’never answered me.”

Daryl adored those kids so much. You could only imagine how much he must miss them. Miss his home, though you’re certain he doesn’t class it as that anymore.

“Fine.” What else could you say?

“Jus’ fine?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I? That classes as fine in my books.”

“Missed yer sarcasm, missed ya.”

Daryl’s confession of missing you made your heart thump the strongest it has in a long time, before it plummeted to your stomach and presented itself as a nauseous feeling.

“You seem like you’re doing well. Got a hot new girlfriend huh?” God, you tried to crack a smile and seem like you were happy for him but the words seemed to burn your throat as they rose up and scorched your lips the minute they left.

Daryl instantly noticed the disdain you had to the words that came from your own mouth.“Nah, s’not like tha’.”

His accent came out thicker in just that short sentence. Was he lying to you, to reserve your own feelings from getting hurt? To stop you getting upset with him?

“Oh. Keeping your bed warm then.”

Once those words left your mouth you began to doubt yourself.

Perhaps you should have adjusted your tone as you spoke; made it more of a question.

“No. It’s.. s’complicated s’all.”

Daryl found his mind wandering, stirring up all the things he wishes to say.

He used to see you every morning, go on a run for supplies and come back with numerous different stories to tell you.

Even made some of them up just to have an excuse to talk to you for longer.

Now he hasn’t seen you in so so long and he’s completely jammed up. Can’t find anything to say that will make this situation better.

“Can I ask you something?” It was now or never for you. You knew you’d most likely not see him again for an incredibly long time, if at all. So it seemed like the right time to ask him what’s been playing on your mind.

He hummed at you, edging you to continue with whatever you wanted to ask me.

You were so sure of what you were about to say, but hesitation still snuck in on you from every angle.

“The day you left. When.. when you held me at my door. Did.. were..” you trailed off, you felt so fucking stupid asking him, regret for even bringing it up.

“G’on”

Now or never. “Were you going to kiss me?”

He stayed silent. Just like that day, his eyes went everywhere but your eyes.

Fidgeting with his hands again, trying to figure out what he wanted to say.

“I thought ‘bout it.” He thought about it every minute he was with you; every minute he wasn’t with you.

“Wanted to.” Wanted it like nothing else.

“I ain’t think it was the right thing to do.”

It was the right thing. He knows that.

“Why?” It’s all you could manage. You were so thankful to be sat, your knees felt weak and you’re half convinced your legs turned into literal jelly.

“Knew ya’d follow me. Couldn’t have you out ‘ere. S’not safe, ain’t wanna risk yer safety.”

“Oh.” It was all you could manage. You should have said more, you *know* you should have.

And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Makes sense. At least I know now.” You couldn’t add anything further at this point.

You wanted the conversation about this over with.

You wanted him to kiss you now to make up for it. For him to come back with you. Despite you knowing it would never happen.

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“Phew. Such a long journey for such a short toilet trip.” Carols way of announcing she was back - she had never left - broke you and Daryl out of what ever trance you were in.

“What did I miss?”

You stood up abruptly, losing your balance slightly as you did so. Daryl’s hand made its way to your waist to steady you, just like it did the day he left.

“We need to go. It was good to see you.”

You pulled away from him, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder.

Carol raises a brow at you before saying a short goodbye to Daryl and giving him a hug, telling him when she’d roughly be back with more supplies.

You began to walk off, wanting nothing more than to get back to your own personal safe haven in Alexandria.

Also before you opened your mouth and blurted something out yet again.

“Y/N”

Turning around, Daryl took a couple steps closer to you, pulling you in for a hug.

Head in the crook of your neck, you could have sworn he inhaled the scent of your hair, your skin; something.

“Be safe m’kay? Y’can come whenever ya wanna.”

Your heart throbbed. You nodded at him, despite knowing the truth yourself; you wouldn’t be back.

You both stepped back, maybe it was more on your part because you needed to escape this situation.

Carol walked ahead. You went to follow in pursuit.

“Daryl?”

“Mhm?”

“Back then. If I had asked you to stay, would you have?”

“Y’never asked. Guess we ain’t ever gonna know.”

He knows.

He would have stayed.

Times like these he thinks he should have.

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authors note!: hi! If you made it this far I hope you enjoyed it!:) I got more into this one compared to the first fic I posted (hence why there’s a bit more effort with a banner photo and such!) feedback is welcome, I’m always looking for ways to improve! Thank you all :-)

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

You’re like the best writer of smut here ☺️☺️☺️

Please I’m begging 90s James (can be any era) taking reader’s virginity? But he didn’t know she’s innocent and she thinks after all the groupies he fucked he’d be disappointed in her? But he’s actually super turned on, cause no one touched her and now he gets to ruin her??? So I guess corruption kink, purity kink, dirty talk, size kink (he’s big, we all know that)???

A/n: I've had this conversation with a friend a few times, my idea is that -going off of the picture of James on the record, we all know the one- he's roughly 5-7 inches (8 being a generous amount) because he's holding himself in his hand and there's still some poking out, plus he looks flaccid SO by my calculations I've come up with said lengths, let me know if you want to hear more of my thoughts on sixty year old mens dicks🫠

Warnings: Smut, size kink, dirty talk, fingering (f receiving), idk about corruption and purity kinks but I tried lol, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You straddled his lap, arms around his neck with your fingers laced in his hair. James's arms were around you, holding you close while he attacked your lips with your own, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You'd been dating for two months, getting closer to three, and you still hadn't told him he would be your first. You'd gone on a few dates, some highschool romances but those didn't mean anything really.

You were quiet and kept to yourself, you didn't go out, you didn't get dates, how you managed to get him was beyond you but here you were, in his bed, in his lap, in his arms with his hard on pressed firmly against your ass.

Honestly, you didn't think you'd make it this far with him. James was a rocker, the lead singer of a big band, he'd been with so many women it was hard to believe that he went cold turkey just because he met you.

"Sweetheart," he spoke, getting your attention, "what's wrong?" He asked, bringing a hand up to your face and thumbing your cheek in a soothing motion.

"What's wrong..?" You repeated softly, letting him move your face further away so he could look at you. "Nothing's wrong, why?"

"You were thinking about something." He said with a warm smile. "You stopped kissing me."

You gave a small nod, understanding why he was stopping now. "Right, sorry." You leaned closer to kiss him again but you only got a quick peck before he pushed you away again.

"What were you thinking about, sweetheart?" He asked, eyes flicking down to your red lips.

"Nothing." You assured.

James rolled his eyes. "It's not nothing, tell me." He said sternly, looking you in the eye. You chewed your cheek, he knew just what eyes to give to make your knees weak.

"I'm sorry." You finally said. "I know you're used to a lot of women, you're used to groupies, and I'm not them and I don't think it'll be good enough but I want to try, I just literally don't know how..?" You explained.

James blinked at you, expression blank. "Sweetheart, I mean this politely, what the fuck do you mean?" He couldn't hold back a small chuckle. "Are-are you saying you're scared you're not good enough at sex for me?"

Your mouth opened before the words came out. "Well, yeah but that's not exactly what I meant." You mumbled. "I mean... I-I might be lacking in the, um, sex...ual... intimacy? With, you know... others?"

James inhaled deeply, he gave a nod and rested his forehead on your shoulder. "Sweetheart, are you trying -and failing miserably, might I add- that you're a virgin?" You huffed at his comment but you had to nod.

"Yes." You mumbled, fingers curling in his hair to scratch his scalp. He gave a small hum and pulled away from you again, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he did.

"Right, and I'd be upset because?" You thought for a while but whatever train of thought you were on was cutoff when you felt him twitching against your ass. "Sweetheart, we can take it slow, you just gotta talk to me."

You inhaled deeply, nodding along as he spoke. "Jamie," you started, "I-I want you to take me... my virginity..." Your voice fell to a mumble, embarrassed at actually saying it out loud, so bluntly as well. Straight to his face.

James smiled up at you. "Alright then." He said, hand going to undo your shorts.

Your face flushed as he did so. "What-what are you doing?" You asked, slight panic slipping into your voice.

"Don't worry, I told you we can take it slow." He assured, closing the gap between you for a moment as he helped you out of your shorts. "But that means I have to get you ready for me, sweetheart, it's not gonna be easy fitting me into you if you're not ready." While it made sense you didn't want to think too much about it.

James continued to pepper your face with kisses as he pushed your panties to the side. He ran a finger through your folds, giving a small hum of approval at how wet you were already. He pushed a finger into you, enjoying the soft gasp that left you when he did.

"Tell me, sweetheart, and be honest." He spoke. "You have touched yourself before, haven't you?" He asked, combing his free hand through your hair.

You hesitated before answering, cheeks already dusted a candy red colour. "Um, I-I have toys..." You mumbled, unable to look him in the eyes as you said it.

James's smile widened. "You do, do you?" He asked. "And when you use them, you think of me don't you?" He questioned further, started to pump his finger in and out of you.

Your breaths grew heavy, eyelids fluttering as his finger moved. "I think of you, Jamie." You said, but it wasn't enough, you were already going this far, you had more to get off your chest. "I-I think of you on top of me, I think of the faces you make and I think of what you sound like... I think of you naked, I think of-of what you'd look like with my-my hand around you... your cock... I think about what it-it looks like when you cum." Once you started you couldn't stop, all the filthy things you'd been thinking about coming out like dirty commandments.

James listened in slight shock, he hadn't known you to be so needy. "Filthy slut." He said with a smile, adding a second digit. "Keep talking." He urged. "I want to hear what else you think of when you're getting yourself off."

The addition of another finger made you whine but he slowed down to let you get used to the stretch. You swallowed thickly and nodded, mentally preparing yourself to continue.

You closed your eyes, letting his fingers resume the same motion, in and out, slow and curling to find what made you tick. "I think ah-about riding you, my-my hands on your chest while you tell me wh-ah- what to do, how-how good I'm doing."

"What kind of toys do you have, sweetheart?" He asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You bit your lip, he wasn't even supposed to know you touched yourself, now he was supposed to know what you're using to do it with? "C'mon, I won't judge." He said, kissing the tip of your nose as his fingers curled in you, making your eyes roll and he knew to hit that spot again.

"They-they're vibrators."

"They?" He repeated. "As in multiple?" Your eyes widened as the realization of what you'd admitted to. "Naughty girl." He curled his fingers again, bringing you closer to your already nearing release.

James added another finger, moving his hand faster now as he scissored your hole in an attempt to prep you for his cock. "When you're alone in bed with your toys, that's how you do it, isn't it?" He asked for confirmation.

You gave it willingly, nodding your head as more moans started falling from your lips.

"You're thinking about me." He continued. "What kind of vibrators?" He asked again. "You've never had anything inside you, sweetheart, right? I'll be the first?" You nodded, his fingers making it hard to focus on anything else. He chuckled as he saw how close you were. "That's it, that's my good girl, cum on my fingers."

Your gut tightened before bursting, your eyes rolled back. Your hands resting on his shoulder clutched his shirt in your fists as you came, a string of curses leaving you.

James groaned lowly at the sight, his fingers still moving in you and letting you ride out your high on them.

As you came down from it, though, he let you melt into him, slowly and carefully shifting you to lay on your back on the mattress. Your head fell back onto his pillow, his scent filling your nose, completely taking you over.

James hovered over you a moment, propping himself between your legs and holding himself up with his hands firmly planted on either side of your head. "Is this what you fantasize about, sweetheart?" You could only nod and let him undress you before following shortly after.

"I'll go slow, so just relax." He said, brushing some of your hair out of your face. "And if, for any reason, you want to stop, tell me. I want to know- I need to know if you're uncomfortable with anything for whatever reason, am I understood?" He asked firmly, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand.

You nodded, staring right back at him as he used his other hand to line himself up with your cunt before pushing in. He did just what he said he would, moving slowly.

He stopped to pepper kisses all over your face and tell you how good you were doing. "That feels good, doesn't it? Feels good when I stretch you out like this." You nodded, arms wrapped around him, hands splayed out on his back.

"You-you're so big." You mumbled, looking down at him in hopes of catching a glimpse of where you both connected. Only, what you saw was a few more inches still needing to be pushed in.

James let out hearty laugh when he saw your eyes widen. "Only halfway, sweetheart, you'll know when I'm balls deep, don't worry."

You slowly relaxed back into the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, mind full. "You're gonna tear me in two." You muttered to no one in particular, James was the only one there to hear and it made him laugh.

"Damn right I am." He agreed. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart, no ones gonna stretch you out like this, no ones gonna make you theirs." His eyes flickered over your face, taking in your expression of wide eyes and the small pout on your lips. "No one else gets to be your first."

In a quick motion he pushed the rest of himself into you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. Your eyes rolled back, hands clawing at his back and making him groan. He looked down, grin only getting bigger as he saw the bulge he made in your stomach.

"No one else gets to do that." He purred, reaching a hand down to press on your stomach. A whine left you as he did, your legs tried to close but he was in the way. "Not so fast, sweetheart, we haven't even gotten started yet."

[faeriesandfolklore]

A war between your mortal kingdom and the faerie kingdom beyond the veil, having gone on for decades. When you were born, a mark was placed on your wrist to help identify your body if you were to be found in the faerie woods. For your entire life, you have lived in fear, looking from your cottage as the boys of your village go off to fight the fae. 

But still, life must go on. Each day you go to the apple orchard outside of town to work and gather fruits for your stores. It’s a long, quiet walk. It’s peaceful as well, when you do not think of the dangers lurking beyond the wall at the edge of the village. But they rarely come to the orchard. They rarely go beyond the wall. 

Until today, it seems. For as soon as you enter the copse of trees, a strong arm grabs you, the tingle of bells filling your ear as you fight exhaustion. Then, darkness. 

When you wake again you can see a tall, slender figure peering down at you. Dark brown skin, long hair that brushes his waist, eyes that shimmer a pale yellow in the moonlight. And when he smiles, it is almost canine, smooth and dangerous. 

“What do you want from me?” you protest, stumbling to your feet. You are not tied back at all- in fact, the room you are in is extravagant, with an ebony bedpost and marble floors, flames glinting in their sconces. And the man before you is well put together, his jacket made of an expensive fabric, fingers adorned with golden rings. 

The man sits at the edge of the bed, lounging out like a lazy cat. “You see, little mortal… With the war going on, we have not been able to partake in our most important tradition.” His eyes flash, then, a sharp shade of gold. “Do you know what I speak of?”

Of course you do. You have read the stories. The old books, pages worn and ripped. Maidens being whisked from their beds and carried off to the otherworld. Beautiful youths lured into the darkness of the forest, never to be seen again. The reason for the war was simple- the humans no longer wished to provide their daughters as brides for the faeries. 

But that did not stop them from being taken, now. 

“So what is why I am here?” You laugh softly, almost disbelieving. It is almost comical, the thought of a farmer’s daughter being taken in as the bride for some faerie noble. “To be a bride?”

The man leans in, his voice low as he takes your chin into his hands. He tilts your head back, staring down at you with an intense look. “Tell me, what do you have waiting for you in that… Village? An orchard? Burlap dresses? The fear of being overtaken by our troops day after day?”

Your stomach churns. He is not wrong. Life in the village had been dim since childhood, filled with fear and hour after hour of work to keep everyone alive. Your eyes roam down to the mark on your wrist- there since birth. A constant reminder of what could be lost, day after day. It would be lovely to not have to worry. 

He runs his fingers down your collarbone, softly cradling your throat. His eyes look down at you again, almost pitying. “You would want for nothing here, with me. My lands are vast.” He guides you to the window, overlooking a grand garden, filled with bright flowers and winding paths. Beyond the gate lie miles and miles of meadowland, thick with heather and deer grazing. “My stores are full. You would wear the prettiest gowns, have maids to serve your every whim.”

It is dizzying, the thought of it. He loops an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, peering down at you with that slightly unsettling look. He is a faerie lord, based on his estate. You can taste the magic surrounding him, heavy in the air. But there is also a sharp, almost devastating sense of allure. It all sounds too good to be true. 

But gods, you want to say yes. The few faerie brides who made their way back to the village always spoke of full plates and lives of luxury, wanting for nothing. That could be yours, could it not?

So when he presses his lips to your hand, eyes hazy with desire, you know your answer.

[coffeecat1983]

Super Paper Mario AU for @dreamyluigi

Pt 1 here

Pt 2: Warning for self harm, blood, character death.

   "He's wanted this." L cackled. "You think you're a good brother, that you support him, but you've no idea how he screams inside." His eyes shifted back to solid grey. He stared at Mario as he raised the dagger.      "He's begging for it all to stop. Has been begging, even before I took over. Maybe I should oblige him." he swayed again, arm out. "How should I do this? Wrists?" he pressed the blade's tip to the tender skin, drawing a prick of blood. "No, too slow. The throat?" Mario's stomach lurched, the dagger gliding past Luigi's neck before lowering. "No. A dramatic's way of going out. I should make this more simple. Show him what a knife to the chest really feels like."    His face shifted, one eye turned blue as two voices spoke and Luigi stood. "I'm so tired of being alone."      "NO!" Mario couldn't move, couldn't breathe as he saw the blade seek shelter in a blanket of flesh and bone. The figure swayed more as blood began to pour out, a crimson river that quickly pooled around his feet. His hand fell away from the blade and he looked up at Mario.      "Heh, I, I didn't think it would hurt so much." he uttered.    Diving forward Mario caught him as he fell. "Weege!" he choked out, tears falling faster. Tippi was silent, floating nearby as she watched it all unfold. Mario's hands shook as he pulled his little brother close and stroked his cheek. Eyes fluttered open, bright sapphires matching his own returned his gaze.      "M-Mario?" Luigi had grown pale, his voice soft. "W-Was, was havin' a bad dream. Kept, kept tryin' ta talk to you." he shivered, his head resting against Mario's chest. "So-Somebody kept talkin' over me. Din't, din't like him." he mumbled, eyes closing again.      "Weege." Mario sobbed out. "Luigi, stay with me, please!"      "S's cold. Mar'o, can we go home?" Luigi cringed, trying to hide his face against his brother. Fingers weakly gripped at his overalls."S's so cold here."    Mario trembled with another sob. "Y-Yeah, yeah Weege, we can go home. Just please, stay with me!"    A faint sigh, a breath that took with it the final heartbeat.

A month later...    Whispers could be heard throughout the early morning air of the marketplace. Toads murmured to one another once the hero of the Mushroom Kingdom was out of earshot.      "Whadda ya think happened?" one customer commented. "He looks so, so haunted."      "Beats me." the stall owner replied. "You're right though, poor guy looks like he watched the world end."      "I'll tell you this," a third chimed in. "Don't ever say anything bad about his little brother when Mario's around. Someone said something the other day and I thought Mario was gonna kill em just from the look alone! I don't know what he's been through, but it must've been serious." All three watched the man in red as he continued on his way.    Following the path to the little mushroom house, Mario unlocked the door and quietly went in. Soft footsteps on the stairs made him look up, a smile of genuine warmth making his eyes sparkle.      "Hi big bro!" Luigi greeted him, cheerfully taking the bag with the groceries from his hands.      "Hey Weege." Mario returned the greeting and followed him to the kitchen. "You feelin' okay?"    Luigi nodded as he began putting the food away. "Yeah, donno why I'm getting that weird pain in my chest but hey, the doc says I'm fine and it's no biggie." he tilted his head. "How 'bout you? You been getting up early a lot lately."    Mario rubbed at the back of his neck, the nightmares he'd been having briefly darting through his mind. "Y-Yeah, I'm okay." he went to the cupboard and pulling out two mugs, held one up. "Tea?"     "Sure."    As Mario filled the kettle, he glanced over his shoulder. "Hey Weege, I was thinkin'."      "Yeah?"      "Next time something happens, I want you to come with."      "R-Really?" There it was. That nervousness, that hint of 'don't leave me'. How had he never heard it before? Swallowing the knot in his throat, Mario nodded.      "Yeah, I mean, we are the Mario brothers. Can't have the super team without you."    He nearly dropped the teabag as Luigi grabbed him in a hug. Releasing his big brother, Luigi returned to his seat. His pajama top, unbuttoned from his own restless slumber, had fallen away to reveal the faded mark over his heart.

   A mark that Mario blamed himself for, for the rest of his life.

END By "CC"

[scribblue]

@acksolotel618 Got inspired by this post and ended up using it as a writing prompt for a short scene with Zane and Garmadon!!

You can read it on Ao3 here , or after the cut

❆ A Lesson In Humanity ❆

Zane speaks to Garmadon about their shared history of being manipulated emperors.

{ 940 words, no major warnings }

"I was once like you."

The words landed heavily on Garmadon's shoulders, yet with further consideration he refused to believe they carried any real weight. Merely a vapid placation, or worse, outright mocking. He furrowed his brow. "You couldn't possibly understand me, metal man."

Zane stared back evenly. His eye contact was unwavering, unnatural. It felt as though he could see through Garmadon's very chemical makeup, and was intent on dissecting him down to his barest components like a hunk of biological technology. The nindroid stood on the catwalk connecting their underground base of operations to the elevator up to the monastery. The rest of the ninja had left to take a break, following a particularly intense—and unsuccessful— training session between Lloyd and Garmadon. Garmadon had to admit his surprise, if only internally, at the company he now found himself forcibly entertaining; Zane had never made an effort to speak to him one-on-one, and the cold shoulder was reciprocated.

"You are free to believe that, if a sense of individuality brings you comfort,” Zane said. “However, it is an inaccurate assessment."

Garmadon rolled his eyes. "Thank you for reminding me why we never spoke. You may leave now,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss him. 

Zane remained. An unsurprising development, and an aggravating one. "Do you not wish to know of our similarities?”

A frown crossed Garmadon’s face, and curiosity clouded his thoughts. He was quick to disperse it with a shake of his head; Zane was clearly trying to get under his skin, force his guard down so that he would ease up on Lloyd. It would never work. Mastering Oni form took an iron fist, not a distracted mind. He turned away and clasped both sets of hands behind his back, pretending to focus on the computers for a long moment.

Not long enough, evidently, as Zane made his continued presence known. “I am going to tell you anyway.”

“Great,” Garmadon muttered.

“When I was trapped in the Never Realm, I was manipulated into becoming the Ice Emperor: a cold and ruthless entity who spared no one in his quest for retaining power. My true self was hidden from me for sixty years, until Lloyd helped me restore it,” Zane said, a waver of emotion in his robotic voice. “It has been some time since it happened, yet I still feel the effects of this event to this day.”

“Hmm.” Garmadon pressed a couple buttons on the keyboard in an attempt to make his distraction look convincing. “I fail to see how that relates to me.”

He heard Zane take a small step forward. “When you became Emperor of Ninjago, that emperorship was predicated on lies and manipulation by Harumi. She encouraged you to reject your humanity, just as my advisor Vex did to me. And I am willing to bet you have also suffered lasting effects.”

Garmadon scoffed. “Please,” he said, turning a tight-lipped scowl towards Zane. “I am an oni, I never had humanity to reject…that is, until Vinny of NGTV news took me under his council. And even so, such humanity would not benefit me here. Lloyd needs to learn to release his oni form, and I can assure you I am in the perfect condition to do so—no ‘lasting effects’ as you say.”

“Perhaps that is true. Or perhaps you only wish it to be.” Zane’s pointed stare finally wavered, drifting to some far-off corner of the room. “I have spent much of my own spare time wrestling with the reality of my situation, versus what I wish to believe… It is difficult to grapple with the truth that I have hurt innocent people while under another’s influence. It sometimes holds me back from being the best version of myself that I can be, for fear of hurting others again.”

That did sound familiar, not that Garmadon was willing to admit it out loud. He was often plagued with memories of his short-lived reign over Ninjago, and the atrocities committed under his hand. He was loath to say he regretted any of them, in fact he wasn’t sure he was even capable of regret– nonetheless, the flashbacks were bothersome, and the more he attempted to embody “goodness”, the more frequent they became. “So…what? You believe I am compromised in some way? I can assure you I’m not.”

“I believe you have begun the process of betterment, without addressing the root of the issue.”

“...And what might that be?”

“Your relationship with Lloyd. You hurt Lloyd during your time as Emperor. Now, your beliefs and goals are changing, but you have not mended the rift that has grown between the two of you, or attempted to grapple with the effects your actions have on both yourself and others… you cannot expect to find success in the present, until you face your past,” Zane said. His even tone and matter-of-fact delivery did nothing to lessen the blow of his words. “You may not believe it, but Lloyd is your humanity. As he was mine, when I needed it most. Do not forget that he needs you too.”

Something twinged in Garmadon’s chest. He had half a mind to blame it on his incomplete resurrection, and perhaps that truly was the case; complicated emotions could simply be a byproduct of his botched vessel. He averted his gaze and said nothing. 

Zane didn’t attempt to break the silence, either. He lingered for just a moment longer, before turning heel and wordlessly leaving the room, where Garmadon remained alone with his thoughts. 

“…I won’t,” he said, knowing there was nobody there to hear him.

[dexastres]

sweet melody, part two

jude bellingham x black reader

summary : elena wants revenge on her ex-boyfriend, who cheated on her, and jude will help her.

wc : 1165

part one

Jude couldn’t shake off the strange feeling that overcame him ever since he laid eyes on Elena. His inner voice yelled at him to stand up and go find her in the bathroom, but his body refused to listen. So, he stayed at the bar, lost in his thoughts, wondering if she was fine and if she needed a shoulder to cry on. The young man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The music faded gradually, along with Enrique’s voice. For a moment, Jude felt like he was in his own world, an island in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but Elena filling his thoughts. 

He couldn’t put it into words what he was feeling right now. It was unlike anything he ever felt before. Jude couldn’t explain why she attracted him so much, but he sensed a certain connection with her, a bond only they could understand. His heartbeat intensified every time he thought about the moment their eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Enrique noticed and couldn’t hold back his laughter.

The Englishman looked towards the bathroom door, hoping to see the young woman. He didn’t know how long it had been since she locked herself in there, but it felt like an eternity. Once again, the little voice in his head shouted at him to get up, but before he could, the door opened, revealing the person who made his heart beat. Elena walked into the club with a newfound energy, fuelled by a burning desire for revenge. A radiant smile lit up her face, and her confidence grew with every passing second. She attracted everyone’s attention, as if she was the star of the nightclub. Jude couldn’t take his eyes off her, and his heart skipped a beat when she stopped in front of him.

“Is this seat taken?” Elena asked, her voice sounded like music to Jude’s ears. He found her slight accent very cute, though it could go unnoticed unless you paid close attention.

“No. You can take it.” She nodded in response and sat next to the footballer. She felt the warmth Jude radiated, which surprisingly brought her some comfort. Normally, she’d go out of her way to avoid talking to strangers, but this time, it was different.

“Hey, what can I serve you, young lady?" Enrique’s sudden appearance startled Elena, who shyly turned towards the bartender.

"I’ll just have water, thank you." The middle-aged man nodded while writing her order, along with the others on his list. Jude noticed the subtle change in Elena’s attitude, and how she tried to keep the conversation short with the bartender.

"Can I have more water, please?” Jude said, holding out his glass towards the bartender. 

“I should start charging you for refills, Jude. This is your third time. Are you trying to put me out of business?” Enrique teased, raising an eyebrow, and the Englishman responded by rolling his eyes. Elena watched them arguing like cats and dogs over the most insignificant thing. While the two men bickered, she pulled her phone out of her tiny bag. Notifications from the group chat she had with her friends flooded her screen. The young woman looked around her, searching for a familiar face, but found none.

“Looking for someone?” Jude asked, and she nodded.

“I’m looking for my best friend, Sierra. The girls are blowing up our group chat, asking where she is. I checked her location, and it says she’s still here, but she’s probably somewhere with a guy." She shrugged.

"This happens every time we go out. She disappears, then suddenly reappears and tells us all the crazy details. But I get it, though. She’s the most beautiful, hilarious and intelligent person I know. You never get bored when she’s around. So yeah, I can’t blame any guy for falling for her." 

Elena’s eyes sparkled as she spoke about her best friend, a sign of the deep affection she felt for Sierra. Their friendship meant the world to her, and she couldn’t imagine what she’d do if it suddenly ended.

“Well, I should probably go because the girls are blowing up my phone again. It was nice to talk with you, Jude.” Elena got up from her seat and grabbed her glass of water.

"Wait..." Before Jude could even ask for her name, she had already disappeared into the crowd. “What an idiot.” He muttered under his breath.

"Why didn’t I ask for her name?” He sighed, placed his glass of water on the counter, then stood up. His feet moved before his mind could react. Moments later, he was near the dance floor, where Elena had just stopped. From where he stood, he saw her body trembling slightly. Confused, he moved closer to her, only to see her tearful face.

“What the fuck?” Elena said. She couldn’t look away from the scene unfolding before her, and felt her heart break, as if a blade had pierced her chest. For a second, everything around her disappeared, except for Alejandro and Sierra, who were kissing on the dance floor.

“How could you?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, drowned by the music, but it was loud enough for Jude to hear.

“What have I done to deserve this?” The young woman couldn’t believe her best friend would stoop so low. However, she wasn’t surprised by Alejandro. After all, he had cheated on her and didn’t even try to deny it when Elena confronted him.

“My best friend and my ex…” Elena stopped mid-sentence when a soft, unexpected warmth seized her wrist. She looked up to see Jude gazing at her with a softened expression. He wiped away her tears, and without thinking, Elena buried her face in his chest and let them flow. Normally, she would have run away, but she felt oddly comfortable in his presence.

“Come with me,” he whispered in her ear. She nodded, too tired to fight back, and followed him towards the exit door while staring at the floor.

“Oh, Elena....” Sierra murmured as she watched her best friend leave the club with Jude. A knot formed in her stomach, and her pulse quickened when she locked eyes with Alejandro. She forced a slight smile to hide her sadness, knowing that this moment would mean nothing to him tomorrow.

Sierra stared at the exit door, her eyes filled with tears. She bit her lips, her heart heavy, as she reflected on all the moments they shared. However, a shadow hung over each of them, reflecting the jealousy she always felt towards her best friend.

“Did I ever tell you that I'm not doing well? You see, jealousy is incurable and I'm sick of you.” Elena’s presence served as a brutal reminder to Sierra that she would always finish second, that she would always remain the second choice, her understudy, and that she’d never step out of her shadow.

"I've always hated you."

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

Little Spoon || Jonathan Crane x Reader Drabble

Inspired by an ask and dedicated to that person Please don't mind any errors, this was quick and unedited. Enjoy <3

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It had been a nice night with Jonathan, not only did he cook you his "in"famous fried chicken, but he made mash potatoes from scratch and they were so creamy and buttery!! After dinner the two of you watched a vintage horror flick from his collection. But what happened after, surprised you.

While the movie was great, albeit a bit corny for today's age, You and Jonathan still had a few good chuckles. Now you two had grown tired after a nice "date" at his farm house, and you simply thought he'd escort you home. Instead though, it seemed as if he couldn't let you go. He didn't say it, but you could tell he wasn't quite ready to say goodbye.

Jonathan looked at you, and held out his arm as if to usher you into his grasp. But you, well, you had other plans. You two have snuggled before but Jonathan was always the big spoon. Tonight, you wanted to change that.

You smiled coyly, and held out your arm in retaliation. "Why not let me hold you this time?" Jonathan looked at you, blinked slowly like a cat, and kind of turned uneasily in his expression. What you didn't know was that he was apprehensive to be seen as vulnerable or lesser. Jonathan spoke gently and tried to ask you if you could cuddle the same as always, but you weren't having it tonight

"Please, let me hold you. I promise you'll like it. I mean--I do, after all"

He signed at your words, but relented

"Just this once; if I hate it, never again."

But he didn't hate it. He laid into your arms and you rearranged it so he could be held with his legs dangling from the dusty old couch. For a few moments it seemed as though he was anxious, but you have him a comforting tightened hug and as soon as he felt your chin in his brow he seemed to relax. Maybe things would be okay.

And that's how you both ended up falling asleep shortly thereafter. And you didn't wake up til late morning the next day. It was nice, especially for Jonathan. He had never felt the love of another in such a way, so much so that maybe that night, he discovered that he too, is worthy of affection

[bekkachaos]

WIP Wednesday 🚧

tagged by @bi-buckrights @elvensorceress @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks thank you talented wonderful people 💕

here's some more from the angsty addict Buck / spiralling Eddie fic, I love this fic, I needa work harder on it but help, life 😭

Buck sat back in the hospital bed, canula hanging over his ears and resting under his nose. He looked paler than usual, dark bags under his eyes and a defeated expression in them. They hardly even looked blue, they were almost grey in the harsh white lighting of the ward.

As Eddie made it to the doorway, Buck's eyes flickered to the movement, and for a moment Eddie thought he saw hopeful recognition. It quickly clouded over into a brooding glare; eyes narrowed in wariness as Eddie stopped and gave him a soft smile.

"You really are stalking me," Buck said, and Eddie snorted out the shadow of a laugh.

"Just checking in," he said, making the crease between Buck's brows deepen.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked cautiously.

Eddie wasn't surprised that Buck didn't remember, he was mostly unconscious. The only time he roused was for mere seconds in the ambulance, Eddie could remember so clearly his slurred words and the way his hand gripped his so tightly before dropping limp again.

"Because I called 911 when I found you," he said, watching Buck's jaw tighten.

He stared back at Eddie for a few silent moments, as though he was carefully considering what he wanted to say.

"You want a fucking medal?" he said with a weak excuse for a snarl.

Eddie's mouth just turned up at the corners, returning a laugh with equal enthusiasm.

"No," he said, thinking of the silver star sitting somewhere in his closet collecting dust. "I really don't."

"Then why are you here?"

He sounded almost exhausted, like he didn't have the energy for this fight but refused to just lay back and accept Eddie's presence, or help.

"I can't just want to make sure you didn't die overnight?" he asked with a shrug, leaning on the doorframe as he watched Buck put his hands up, palms to the ceiling as he gave Eddie a sarcastic look.

"Not dead," he said, letting his hands drop onto his thighs, the sound he was trying to make for effect muffled by the gnarled hospital blanket. "So you can get out now."

"Are you really just going to tell me to leave?" he asked, feeling a tick of annoyance in his jaw.

"I don't want you here."

His voice was indifferent, but his eyes turned away from Eddie's as he spoke, staring off into the corner of the room like it was all the more interesting.

"Where are you going to go?" Eddie asked, ignoring his cold sentiment.

"That's none of your business."

tagging some lovelies if they have things to share x

@monsterrae1 @thelikesofus @eddiebabygirldiaz @dr-shortsighted-owl @loveyourownsmiilee @smilingbuckley @lonelychicago @wildlife4life @jackluvsdaniel @morose-fan @bidisasterevankinard @thewolvesof1998 @weewootruck @daffi-990 @spagheddiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @doctorkinney @diazsdimples @steadfastsaturnsrings @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @jesuisici33 @tizniz @bucksbiawakening @gayhoediaz @inell