#He couldn’t. He wouldn’t have made it if that were the case

[cthulhus-curse]

Eternal Flames

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 15,155

Warnings: Omegaverse, Alphas!WandaNat, Omega!Reader, WandaNat have penises, Nursing, Smut Fluff, Hurt/Comfort | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: After having escaped the sharp claws of HYDRA, you end up as the newest member of the Avengers and the object of Wanda and Natasha's affection.

Freedom is earned, not deserved.

Those words forever echoed in your mind, haunting you through your horrifying dreams and waking life alike. They came from the same husky voice, one which always made you shudder in a torturous remembrance. Rumlow, you felt bile rising from your throat at the sole humoring of the name, was anything but compassionate. Day after day he spit the same phrase your way since your earliest memories. HYDRA was your home, he had said, and for the longest years you believed it. 

Being born into the organization, taken from your own home as a child, forced you into being a pawn in their game of chess. As the bishop, Rumlow was meant to oversee your training alongside other stolen members forced to partake in HYDRA’s black and white board, with his men as rooks standing by in case any deserters had the bright idea of leaving. Because if it happened, and it did from time to time, there wouldn’t be any hesitation to put a bullet between their eyes. For HYDRA, undying loyalty was everything, even if they needed to drill it onto you with less-than-savory acts. 

A killer is what they made you – a coldhearted yet accomplished weapon of mass destruction, one that followed the Winter Soldier’s footsteps with red dripping from your ledger with each passing day. Countless lives were taken at your hands, and although you were forced to believe that HYDRA was your home, that you needed to fight for them, there always came a hint of doubt deep in your subconscious. Regardless of the brainwashing, that light was never put out no matter how much they tried. And for that, you were punished severely. 

Even for the sole fact that you were an omega, you were treated as the lowest of the low. Many of your fellow HYDRA soldiers, those thrown into involuntary service, had the same nature. There were a handful of alphas scattered around, but mostly it was the omegas, demanded to be submissive, which took the harshest beatings. Medication was shoved down your throat to prevent any heats and suppress any scents. To them you were nothing; no one. And if they wanted to control every breath you took, they’d do as such. 

With the fall of HYDRA at the hands of The Avengers, one Black Widow and Captain America to be exact, came your freedom. There were still active soldiers operating outside bounds that were set, hiding in the shadows refusing to be found, but not you. No, you were saved from that life instead. Muscular arms wrapped around your frame as you slept in the beat-down cot of HYDRA headquarters, pulling you away as the woman promised you’d be alright from now on. You didn’t know her, but the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on her told you all you needed to know. Sighing, you nodded her way. Because in the 20 years you’d spent under her rule, you could finally take a breath of relief. 

Your defection from HYDRA came by, and you couldn’t help but happily turn around to betray them for the sake of your freedom. Maria took you under her wing through that time, morphing you into an exemplary S.H.I.E.L.D. agent much like herself. She saw greatness in you, never failing to repeat those same words whenever possible as a reminder of all the things you could accomplish. You were more than a killer, the woman told you, and you realized then that if it wasn’t for her, you’d probably not have a life past those 20 years. 

The shame that came with your past haunted you in your present. Each night you went to bed bawling your eyes out without fail, sobbing for all the innocents you’d harmed under the hand of HYDRA. The cries were muffled enough to not boom across the headquarters as to not alert your fellow agents, and yet a certain brunette always passed by, sighing as she was well-aware of the torture you put yourself through on a daily basis. 

“You don’t have to beat yourself up for it,” Maria reminded you one morning as she handed you a cup of coffee right after a joint run. “That wasn’t you. They made you do it, you didn’t have a choice.”

“I could’ve done something,” you shrugged. Although the coffee burned you as it went down your throat, you deserved it – that and even more. “I was there and I didn’t-”

“You were just a kid when it all started,” she had to interject. “No one blames you, alright? And…sure they made you do horrible things, I know that, but that doesn’t mean you take the blame for it all. They made you, not the other way around.”

The two of you sat in silence in the break room, your eyes staring into the nothingness while Maria’s was set on you. She took her unofficial job as your protector very seriously, seeing parts of herself in you – a lost alpha who, luckily, was able to find solace in the arms of her omega wife Pepper. All the agent wanted was for you to seek out the same happiness she earned. Perhaps then she could help save you the way she had been.

“I might have something for you if you’d like. It’s a bit of a step up from running covert missions under Fury and I,” Maria shrugged, smiling as she had a good feeling about it. “They’re called the Avengers. Fury brought them together, but they operate by themselves without us overseeing them. You wouldn’t have to report back to anyone but yourselves. Does that sound like something you’d consider?”

“The Avengers,” you scoffed at that. “Is that like a band or something?”

“Well, they’re not The Beatles, but I suppose they’re a bit of a band,” she explained. “They’re making way more progress than we ever could in taking down HYDRA. I’m sure you’d be a very valuable asset to the team if you decide so. Between you, the god from space, and the big guy, you’d be unstoppable.”

More silence came about, but this time it was pensive. You truly took your time in humoring the offer. For months since you joined the organization, you’d been able to help in hunting down the remainder of HYDRA operatives, but you knew that there were more hiding in plain sight who needed to be dealt with. If there was an opportunity to do so, you’d be dumb not to take it in a heartbeat. 

Maria would never push you into uncomfortable positions, let alone throw you into the wolves as she sat back and watched. But alas, she knew of the positive effects being surrounded by such a team could cause. There came the question about your reaction to having numerous alphas around you though. Between the leader of the team, Steve with his alpha mate, and even the leader of the pack itself Natasha and her second-in-command Wanda, Maria was unsure you’d take a liking to them instantly. At least with the two women, she had a good feeling you’d warm up to them in a few weeks. 

“Try it out for a bit, yeah?” Maria gently pushed. “Then you can let me know how you feel about it. If you don’t like it, I can always ask Fury about getting you your own taskforce. I know you’re young, but I really think you can-”

“Omegas don’t lead,” you interjected, suddenly speaking in the same monotone voice Rumlow once carried. “That’s…that’s what they used to tell me.”

With sympathy stricken over her features, Maria shook her head. She reached out enough for her hand to lay atop your own, her thumb brushing over yours as a means to show you her understanding of the matter. Since your sudden departure from HYDRA after it crumbled, it was the first time you let someone, let alone an alpha, touch you without pulling back in fear.

“You can and you eventually will,” she sincerely told you. “I have so much faith in you, Y/N. Have some in yourself too, yeah?”

Those were the same words you carried around your chest on your first day with the Avengers. It was different from HYDRA, better at that. Maria had surprised you earlier that morning with a brazing cup of coffee and a box with a cute sticky note on it. Hope it’s the right size , it read, and when you pulled out the wrapping paper, your eyes widened at the sight of a suit – mostly black with the Avengers insignia and S.H.I.E.L.D. one on the side – one solely for yourself, hiding underneath. 

Walking through the steps of the Avengers compound, you sighed. It was much larger than the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, making it easy for you to get lost in the Upstate New York campus. Rushing through, you realized you’d be late then for the early debriefing session Hill told you about, at least until you ran, quite literally, into the one help you’d found all morning. 

“Shit,” you yelped as you fell into the ground. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“It’s okay,” came a lighthearted giggle. “You should really watch where you’re going, sweetheart. I’m not too fond of getting concussions from random girls. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Not only did the words drawled up gently made your features heat up, but as you pulled away and were able to catch sight of who you stumbled on, your mouth went agape. There were no words to describe the beauty that had befallen before you, and yet you tried. A vibrant redness tied back into messy French braids cascaded down strong shoulders barely covered by a sleeveless gray shirt. It left you breathless, scarred even, because in the 20 years you’d spent on Earth, even if locked away in your demonic cage, you had never felt your heart racing in such a manner, fingers tingling and craving to reach out to trace her chiseled jaw until you reached her rosy lips. 

“I- uhm…” you tried to speak, but only slurred incoherent mumbles you were unable to control came out.

“Pretty and cute,” the mystery woman hummed. “Great combination. What’s your name, милая?”

From your time at HYDRA, you understood the term very well. There weren’t many things that made you smile, but being called ‘honey’ by a rather attractive stranger did the trick. Her Russian accent was thick when she spoke in what you assumed was her native language, her tongue drawing out each syllable and making it impossible for you to tear your eyes away. 

“I’m…” you paused, needing time to take in her words and figure out a proper manner in which you could respond. “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Natasha,” she said. “But most people know me as Black Widow.”

And from that time on, you swore to yourself there’d never be a more glorious sight than the Black Widow herself. You were wrong of course, because only minutes later you rushed into the meeting room, hot on Natasha’s guiding heels, only to find a rather sheepish brunette eyeing you two sweetly. With the two of them around, you were unsure on how you’d focus on your goal, let alone carry on your fear of alphas when you craved two so carnally. 

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Within your first six months of being an Avenger, you had already made a name for yourself. ‘The rookie’ or ‘rooks’ is what the men referred to you as, especially Clint who took on the mantle of a loving messiah ready to shoot an arrow through just about everyone to make sure you’re safe. He was nice enough, they all were, but your eyes were always focused on a pair of alphas, mated to one another at that, who simply never left your mind. 

Natasha and Wanda, you had found, shook your world upside down. All of the pain and suffering you had endured suddenly went away as they came into your thoughts. Soothing all your hurt, the two women just��made everything make sense for once. And for that you couldn’t be more than grateful whenever you spent even milliseconds around them. 

Even menial aspects of Avengers life such as training or even breakfast made your heart skip a beat at the sole thought. Each morning you woke up with a newfound sense of giddiness. At first you were unable to pinpoint the reason behind it. And yet each time your eyes feasted upon peculiar heads of red or brown, you shuddered with excitement. 

But you couldn’t do anything about it, not ever. The idea of reaching out to speak to either of them, or even stare in their general directions with the possibility of being caught put a strain on your actions. They didn’t like you, you told yourself each night, pushing away the possibility of ever finding even so much as a friendship in both Wanda and Natasha. They were mated to one another after all – two confidently righteous alphas that didn’t have time for a lowly omega such as yourself. 

Sighing, you couldn’t shake the images of them that came about as you awoke in what felt like a lifetime since you joined the group. They’d hate you even if they gave you an opportunity, the alphas that is. If they saw you like that, raggedly sitting up against your bed, arms wrapped around your legs as your knees were hugged to your chest covering all the deep scars on your body, they’d grimace with disgust. You were a freak, Rumlow used to tell you, a mistake of humanity that somehow got more than a handful of years to live. With all the memories that each cut on your skin carried, some given to you by others while the rest were self-made, they’d surely turn away. You were unwanted, the trash people threw away and never looked back to. 

Every single area of your body was covered before you went out into the world. The suit Maria had given you hugged every bit of skin, coating it in a protective blanket that allowed you to exist without the need to worry about prying eyes. Regardless of that, you were a shadow in the compound. Your teammates barely looked at you, let alone speak your way unless deeply crucial. Perhaps at times they didn’t want you there, and in your mind, they were truly validated as you didn’t even want yourself to be present. With all the struggles you faced, unable to properly fit in with both the language barrier and difference in dynamics with a room full of alphas, it was impossible to ever become a proper piece to their puzzle. 

“So, what did you do before coming here?”

Standing in what you believed to be an empty kitchen, you jumped. Clint had taken to leaving leftovers for you to eat once all the teammates were done with breakfast knowing of your fear of being around them. While alone you took to feeding yourself, something you had yet to become fully accustomed to. Rumlow’s men only ever fed you scraps, absolute trash they found for their own amusement in watching a weak omega ravage nothingness for the sake of survival. Pancakes and fresh fruits in your stomach felt odd, different, and new, yet delicious. 

Turning, you noticed a beaming brunette stepping towards you, her hands clasped together. Fingers fiddled nervously with rings around them, one being shiny with a rather big diamond you could tell was her wedding band. Wanda adored her jewelry much like she adored Natasha, the one who spoiled her with it all. 

“To the kitchen?” You frowned, not understanding her question. “I was…sleeping, Mrs. Maximoff-Romanoff.”

“Wanda,” the woman giggled at the formal title. “You can call me by my name, dear. I won’t bite,” she sultrily teased. “Well, unless I’m asked to do so…”

As her words died out, the innuendo she threw your way completely went over your head. The witch gazed at you as you dropped your plate on the floor, kneeling beside it ready to eat. It made her gasp, and as she did, her hands flew with a glowing red to grab the plate. She moved it from the dirty floor to the pristine kitchen island – one Steve prided himself of cleaning thoroughly after one of his big team meals – before rushing to you.

“What are you doing?” Wanda was worried, but you were unable to tell even through her exasperated voice. She reached out to you, hoping to comfort you only to be met by you flinching even at the slightest of touches on your shoulder. A whine came out, causing the brunette’s eyebrows to knit together with concern as you rose to your feet. “Y/N?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I forgot I don’t have to…never mind.”

“You don’t have to do what, honey? Are you- are you used to eating on the floor?” She hesitated with her question. As you took your place on a stool, Wanda made sure to sit on the one right across to ensure you would no longer be uncomfortable. “Sweetheart, what happened before you came here? To the Avengers, I mean.”

You knew she could read minds, Tony had let it slip weeks before during a debriefing session. So as hard as it was, you attempted to shift your thoughts far away from HYDRA as possible. Regardless of whether she listened in to your subconscious or not, you weren’t about to leave it to chance. 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you flatly responded. Looking down at your pancakes, sugary syrup having been drizzled across it, you hummed with a grumbling stomach, but waited to dig in until after you spoke. “I worked right under Hill and Fury. My job was to seek out the remaining HYDRA operatives and bring them to justice. And, well, Maria told me this group was doing much better with that, so I thought you could use a hand.”

“Yes, we’re not big fans of HYDRA around here,” Wanda sadly stated. “They…they gave me my powers, but I feel like they took everything from me. No one understands but Nat.”

“Because of the Red Room,” you asked, remembering Maria’s words about Natasha’s past. “They didn’t have much to do with one another, other than Dreykov wanting HYDRA intel for his widows. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

Wanda wanted to deepen the conversation, to crawl right into your mind as she pulled out bits and pieces of information she craved. The mysterious aura that surrounded you made her crave the idea of knowing you even more. Each day the woman longed to sit by and listen to you ramble about your life, even the most menial aspects or whatever you wished to share. Because although she was mated to her beloved Natasha, Wanda couldn’t help but yearn to have you as well. 

“Where did you grow up?” Wanda tried to dig in, but you wouldn’t let her. “I grew up in Sokovia with my twin brother, Pietro, and my parents.”

“I…” you hesitated, not only as it was the first conversation you’ve held with anyone that wasn’t Maria, but because it was also Wanda of all people. “I don’t want to talk about it, my apologies.”

A sympathetic smile was thrown your way, one you weren’t quite used to. “It’s alright, darling. You don’t have to talk about anything you’re uncomfortable with. Can I…ask you other things? If you feel alright with them, I mean.”

You remained quiet, but as you took a bite of your pancakes, you barely nodded. There was still much you were unaware of when it came to the world beyond the four walls of HYDRA, especially that in relation to societal hierarchy with you being an omega. But when it came to Wanda or Natasha, you didn’t feel that pressure to submit to them, to beg for pity as they greedily took whatever they wanted much like Rumlow had. No, they made you feel…peace for once in your life. And as scary of a feeling as it was, you were more than joyous to experience it with them, even if not directly. 

“Do you have a mate, darling?” She found you grimaced uncomfortably at the question, instantly regretting asking it before you shook your head. “You’re the first omega I’ve met without one. Aren’t you too pretty to be alone? I’m sure there must be hundreds of alphas, betas, and even omegas falling to their knees for you.”

“Not really, but it’s fine. My only goal and purpose is to rid the world of HYDRA’s horrors. I don’t have time to humor those things.”

“It must get lonely sometimes,” Wanda whispered, and you didn’t realize then just how badly she wanted to wrap you up in her arms and brush that sad look off your face. “You deserve someone, Y/N. We all do.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, suddenly not interested in your breakfast. “Maybe someday.”

And as avaricious as it felt, part of Wanda hoped it could be her and Natasha to have you. 

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“You should’ve seen her, Nat. She was like a hurt puppy sitting there all alone,” her voice was hoarse, tired of the numerous times she’d repeated the same story with no avail. Because at the end of the day, Wanda wouldn’t be sated until she alleviated the pain you exuded one way or another. “I…I needed to help her. Poor thing is all alone. She doesn’t have anyone! Not a single soul.”

Sighing, the redhead finished throwing on a shirt above her head. She waltzed towards the bed in the late hours of the night already hoping for a good night’s sleep. “I know, Wands. I saw her and Maria getting a bit close so I had hoped she was maybe befriending her, but Y/N spends all her time locked up in her room even when Ria and Pepper come around. I’ve even tried inviting her to movie night, but it’s like talking to a wall sometimes. She’s there physically, but almost checked out.”

“She doesn’t have a mate,” Wanda worryingly said as she watched her partner slump herself down beside her. “And her smell, Nat, it’s too much. I can barely contain myself whenever I’m around her.” Shifting uncomfortably, Wanda looked down at herself. Even through the sheets she could feel a tenderness around her breasts and crotch. “She’s beautiful.”

“I know that too,” Natasha hummed. “But we can’t push her. If she doesn’t want to then…we can’t push her. It just makes me sad knowing she’s all alone and doesn’t want anyone around her. Almost as if Y/N doesn’t think she’s worthy.”

Turning to her side, Natasha frowned. She watched her fellow alpha begin to pull at her shirt, huffing as it stuck to her chest where wet nipples poked through. Licking her lips, the Black Widow couldn’t help but feel an immense sense of hunger. Because whenever her mate, much like certain alphas, produced milk, Natasha’s senses spiked. 

“D’you need help?” Natasha motioned towards Wanda’s seemingly slick chest, eyeing it with longing before staring back into her similarly viridescent eyes. “We can forget about everything for a bit. You can pretend I’m here if you’d like.”

“You’d do that?” Wanda’s eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Well, I know you’d do it for me,” Natasha mused. “And even if we don’t have her, we still have each other.”

Nimble fingers, nails coated in chipped black nail polish, tugged at the dark fabric straining against Wanda. They pulled it off before throwing it on the floor, not caring where it landed as their owner focused on the beauty before her. She squeezed the breasts at first, whining at how tender and sensitive they were at the palm of her hands. Kneading them, both alphas groaned together. Neither cared much about pleasure, but instead basked in the relief and closeness of it all. 

“They’re full,” the redhead pointed out. She used her thumbs and index finger to oh-so gently squeeze the rosy nipples that practically cried for any sort of attention. And once they were stimulated, Natasha grinned at the sight of drops of milk beginning to come out. “Oh baby. I’ll take such good care of you, always. Gonna make you feel so, so good.”

Lips wrapped themselves around the buds. They were careful enough to not harm Wanda, ensuring that her whitened teeth didn’t graze them even slightly knowing her mate would only scream out of pleasure. Massaging her breasts, Natasha ensured that she calmly brought a smile to the face beneath hers, running her tongue around the nipples to scoop up drops of milk before alternating between them.

She nuzzled her face upon Wanda’s chest until her forehead grazed the flushed, heated skin. As Natasha suckled the buds, she drank up every single spurt of milk that was let out. It was delicious, she couldn’t help but point out while lustfully devouring the brunette. And at the feeling of a tent poking at her inner thigh, a certain Widow couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I’ll make it all better,” Natasha promised as she lapped at the creamy milk. “I always do, Дорогая.”

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Running missions with both Natasha and Wanda became comforting as time passed. Even if you were in the depths of your covers, or even fighting whatever enemy forces came about, the ends of your mouth would never fail to rise slightly. Not only did you get to spend all your time around the mated women, slowly building trust with alphas in general, but simultaneously you went around taking down whatever HYDRA bases were in the way, helping you all grow closer together.

You couldn’t help the jolt in your heart whenever they so much as stared your way, and while waltzing through an empty HYDRA camp, your boots clashing with the snow on the ground, your eyes never left Wanda or vice versa. The two of them acted as something of bodyguards for you, because even if your training from HYDRA gave you a similar fighting stance as Natasha, they’d forever see you as a small creature they wished to nurture and protect. Keeping their eyes on you has become nature and you were surprisingly not complaining. 

While you and Wanda secured the perimeter, it was up to Natasha to remain back and gather any intel she could from the leftover devices that remained after the HYDRA agents scurried off. She hummed to herself out of boredom knowing that much like the other encounters, their systems would’ve been wiped clean, but there was a part of her that could never be too sure. So she booted up laptop after laptop, clicking away to each file to find anything of importance. 

There was a peculiar set of documents that caught her eye. Natasha frowned at it, clicking on the file named ‘Project Omega’ out of curiosity. The contents made bile build up at her throat. There were countless images and videos, some written forms here and there, that archived the mistreatment they gave omegas, and certain alphas, who were under HYDRA’s claws. They were taken from a young age, the reports read, and morphed into soldiers for the organization to use much like the Red Room. Only from what Natasha could see, the treatment to their involuntary soldiers was somehow more demonic than anything she’d seen. 

Flipping through the pictures, the woman nearly pulled away. She was unable to sit through it, which made her wonder just how much worse it must’ve been to experience it firsthand. Surely enough most HYDRA bases had been taken down so the likelihood of such programs still existing was slim, but alas, Natasha kept looking to ensure that were to be true. 

And when she saw a familiar face all bludgeoned in an image, her whole world stopped. 

“Y/N,” Natasha mumbled, frowning as she inspected the bloody picture until she got sick. She had wanted to bring Rumlow to justice since he slipped away in Washington D.C., but now all she saw was a murderous red being targeted at him. “That’s…no…”

She had no word when she returned to you and Wanda, her lips formed into a thin line that made the two of you suddenly become alert. Her mouth opened for a second, being left agape as she tried finding the right words, but instantly closed once more as she eyed you sadly. Since the first day you had come into the compound, you’d never seen Natasha in such a state; if anything, it was worrying. 

The woman took a seat beside you in a beat-up log with flurries of snow sprinkled on it. Normally she was joyous towards the end of her missions, but it was impossible to find even an ounce of positivity in the pain she felt surging towards you. Sighing, Natasha scooted closer and thought her words through before spilling them. 

“I saw the files, the Project Omega ones,” she strained her voice with sympathy as she turned to you. “And I…I saw you.”

“Oh,” you didn’t know what to say because of all the ways you humored such a conversation to go, the gears in your brain couldn’t help but malfunction and how it ended up coming about. “That’s…okay.”

“What’s Project Omega?” Wanda interjected. “Nat?”

“HYDRA took you, didn’t they?” Natasha was careful, but she simply needed to get to the bottom of it. “Before SHIELD, they had you.”

It wasn’t a question, but instead a statement that had you nodding as you were cornered. “Hill saved me a few months back. She-” as the memories came crashing down, so did you with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha jumped to action alongside her mate, both of whom instantly wrapped their arms around you protectively. Normally you’d pull back at the sole humoring of physical touch, but with them it felt right. If anything you relaxed against their hold as your tears fell.

“Shh it’s okay,” Wanda whispered reassuringly. 

Only for Natasha to pick up her words. “We got you, Y/N. You’re safe now, I promise. They’ll never get you again.”

And for the first time in your life, you could finally have trust in not only one, but two people who quickly had your undying adoration in a matter of moments.

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Since the day she found the truth behind your past, Natasha was unable to sleep normally. She tossed and turned each night, being left wide-awake while her mate warmly cuddled to her side. Her legs hastily bounced on the mattress, shaking the sheets with her eyes boring into the bare ceiling.

Not a second went by where the woman wasn’t constantly buffeted by the images, videos, and retellings of Project Omega which HYDRA carried out. She was haunted by them, thoughts plagued by the horrors she forced herself to sit through for the sole sake of garnering information from the fallen organization. Natasha could be a revered agent, and Avenger at that, but she would still break at the sight of your suffering. 

Because at the end of the day, she knew you belonged with her and Wanda. Her viridescent eyes had turned pale at the sight of a small marking on your arm. It was a sun, moon, and a star hugging one another tightly in place, and only the star was colored in while the rest were left blank. Natasha found chilling similarities in it as she looked down at her own arm within the confines of the dimly-lit room. She and Wanda too had markings mirroring your own, only Natasha’s had the sun colored in while the brunette’s moon was dark. There was no surprise with it either, because from the moment she saw you, the redhead knew there was a connection between the three of you that could never be broken. Only now she had its proof. 

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Wanda’s groggy voice snapped Natasha out of her haze, and yet she didn’t budge. Instead the woman remained silent, still looking up unfocused as her mind was wrapped around you who lay asleep only doors away. She could go to you at any minute, but for the first time since she left the Red Room and Dreykov behind, she felt a surge of fear crashing through her body. 

“What’s wrong?” Wanda pushed when the silence became unbearable. She could barely hold her eyes open, but alas, she nuzzled her face against the crook of Natasha’s shoulder to bring her comfort. “Talk to me, любимая.”

Looking to her left at the term of endearment, Natasha hummed. “I’m fine.” But that was a boldfaced lie that even she didn’t believe. “Go back to sleep, Wands.”

“No,” she slurred. “Tell me what’s wrong. You haven’t been the same for days. Not since you told me about-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Natasha cut her off. “Because…perhaps it’s for the best this way. She’s suffering. If I tell her about this, if I mention any of this to anyone but you, she’ll only feel more overwhelmed. We can’t do that to her.”

“I know.” She ran a hand across Natasha’s chest right underneath her loose shirt, carefully drawing comforting circles on her chest until it heaved calmly. “But I also know that she doesn’t hate us. Compared to everyone else here, Y/N has chosen us. She wants us.”

“She belongs with us,” Natasha mumbled. 

“What do you mean, Nat?”

“Our marking,” Natasha pushed her arm against Wanda’s holding them together as their soulmate markings were flashed. “She has the third, Wanda. I saw it when I was looking through the files. I didn’t notice at first, at least not until I rechecked them with Maria, but it’s the same one. She doesn’t even know!”

Wanda, unable to process such heavy information in a matter of seconds, only left her mouth agape. “Should we tell her?” 

Natasha had considered it, but there never seemed to come a proper time to relay the information. You struggled still to fit in with the rest of the group, finding difficulty in feeling safe around alphas at that. The last thing she wished to do was cause more pain. Because if she were to say something, maybe you’d never look at her the same.

But with each passing day, the Black Widow and her mate found it much harder to contain their need for you. It went to levels beyond sexual. They craved your being, your soul tied with theirs as you all swayed back and forth holding the other for dear life. Knowing you were to be together but being unable to immediately have it made Natasha huff with frustration. And while she could theoretically rush to your room, wake you up, and show you her own soulmate brand, you didn't have to carry more baggage. Only when she felt you were ready would she explain the truth. 

“No,” Natasha sadly responded. “I don’t think so.”

“But she has the right to know. Are we just going to pretend this never happened?” Wanda found herself to be annoyed by her partner’s antics. “Because it did happen. And every single day we’ll have to deal with the fact that that’s our soulmate, but we don’t have her. How do you think the poor thing feels about not having found hers yet?”

Oh Natasha thought about it beforehand, she really did. There were times where she needed to hold herself back as she walked by your room and heard you sobbing. Most nights it was due to nightmares revolving around your past, but a few moments occurred where she heard you begging for a soulmate, for someone to want you the same way you wanted them. If only you were aware of how much a pair of alphas longed for you. 

“Yeah,” she relaxed for once against the mattress. “Maybe you’re right. I just don’t know when to tell her. Can we just…wait? Until she seems comfortable at least?”

“Of course. I don’t want either of my best girls feeling uneasy, especially when it comes to something so beautiful as this.” Rarely did Wanda hold the position as the little spoon, but that night, much like a few previous others that Natasha was restless in bed, she took her place behind her mate and hugged her tight. Planting a kiss on the other alpha’s shoulder, she beamed. “Don’t you dare worry that pretty head of yours, baby. We’ll be together in no time, you’ll see.” Another lingering kiss. “We’ll never give up on her.”

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There was never much you could push yourself to do apart from constant training, filling out reports, and daydreaming about Wanda and Natasha during missions. Keeping to yourself and ignoring any group outings became second nature. Your lips were thin each time you looked out your window, rarely ever left without curtains protecting you from the outside world. Because although the fear of being surrounded by numerous people, strangers or not, was instilled in you, you couldn’t help but crave the joy of simply…befriending others – of building normal relationships to bring a sense of normalcy to your life. 

Wanda and Natasha showed attempts to get you out of your shell, but they weren’t the type of people to pull or tug at your sleeve until you spent time with them. They were sweet, and you appreciated that wholeheartedly. Sitting in silence with them while carrying out menial tasks such as jogging through the forest or watching them cook was enough. They didn’t push you into conversing, and in turn you felt much safer around them as the days passed. 

Meanwhile the approach that other members of the team took was impatient, yet you chuckled at it with appreciation. 

“You should come hang out with us today.” You’d learned that Natasha had a sister, one in the Avengers at that. Her and a younger group of agents handled less intense threats that weren’t world-ending but still required enough attention. And while she seemingly was a different version of her sister, Yelena was still a pleasure to be around. “Kate wants to go shopping, you should too.”

The rest of the team was away on a mission when Yelena walked up to you in the living room, sitting by your side with a sympathetic smile. You weren’t close per se, but alas you sensed her heart to be pure much like her omega’s. If you could trust Natasha and Wanda, you surely could trust them. 

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with her.”

“You’re really not intruding. Kate asked if you could come and I didn't mind. You spend so much time locked up here, Y/N. We want to help show you the world a little bit.” She kept her distance, knowing already you shied away from any physical touch, but still hovered enough to bring peace with her presence. “Besides, Kate tells me you’ve never tried McDonald’s…”

Traveling through the streets of upstate New York with the two women was more entertaining than you had expected. During the first few minutes of the trip you giggled at how they fought for dominance over who got to drive, only for a pouty Kate to end up melting against the passenger seat mirroring that of a hurt puppy. She stared daggers at Yelena, but after a nonchalant ‘behave’ from her alpha, she settled down. 

The mall was fuller than you could’ve imagined with nearly hundreds of people walking from corner to corner. With your heart beating in your chest, you followed your teammates along, shuffling anxiously as you kept your eyes trained on them as you feared them leaving your sights. Only in their presence could you relax.

“Come on,” Kate squealed, shaking you from your thoughts as she grabbed your hand; to both of your surprises, you didn’t bother pushing her off. “Lena wants to check out other stores so you’ll be my shopping buddy for today.”

Kate resembled that of the sun. A big, glowing sunshine who smiled at just about anything that garnered her attention. She spent most of her time dragging you from store to store, asking for your opinion on different outfits and even wondering if you wanted anything. At first you said no, but with enough pressure she was able to get you to try at least one article of clothing. 

The wondrous world of hoodies was one you never wanted to leave once Kate showed them to you. You didn’t get paid much for being an Avenger, but then again you barely spend any money. With Kate’s influence you followed suit and tried different types of clothes, but ended up going home with quite a few pairs of comfortable hoodies. That way, as Kate explained, you wouldn’t have to wear your suits on the daily. 

“I’ve never bought myself clothes,” you commented as you sat in the backseat of the car, eyeing the full bag of clothes next to you. Yelena watched you through the rearview mirror and a part of her chest swelled up. While you were unaware of it, she had quite a similar experience when leaving the Red Room. Now that useful green vest with an ungodly amount of pockets was used for every mission she went on. “I liked it. Thank you for inviting me, really. I know you didn’t have to but-”

“But we wanted to,” Kate finished. “You know, I’ve never really had another omega friend. Well, not like this anyway. I’m the only omega in the whole team. It’s really nice to have you around.”

“It’s nice to be around, kitty.” You flashed her a smile, a sincere one with pure joy. “Sorry, you sometimes remind me of a cat. You’re very gentle and affectionate with people.”

With the edges of her mouth nearly reaching her ears, Kate nodded. “I like that a lot.”

The three of you soon sat in the car outside the fast food restaurant quietly chewing down your meals. Never had you tasted a burger, let alone their delicious fries or the nuggets Yelena let you have – while she kept some from Kate knowing how rowdy her omega got with too many nuggets. There was enough grease on your food to kill a man, but you found that you quite liked doing anything that didn’t remind you of your time under Rumlow. 

Because with kitty and her alpha being in such close proximity to you, you knew that, just like with Wanda and Natasha, you’d never return to HYDRA. 

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Within the confines of HYDRA, slacking off was not an option. On days that were not busy with countless operations they made agents run, you were to forcefully leave your bed to spend every hour tediously training. No amount of blood lost during it was enough, at least not until Rumlow spit at his feet where you lay writhing on the floor, mumbling a small ‘pathetic’ before dismissing you to eat scraps for the first time in the day during the afternoon. 

Being shoved into that empty room at what was your previous home became an escape. No matter how many hits and frustrated orders you endured, you began seeking comfort in it. Your mind shut off each time you went in, making you immune to the pain that came with being kicked to the stomach repeatedly until you coughed up red. And when you trained in the compound, the same peace overtook you. No matter how many punches Natasha threw your way, and how many landed, you didn’t feel or take them into account. 

“You’re very well-trained,” Natasha commented with a proud smile. It was the third time her back hit the matted floor. In the beginning she pulled her punches when it came to sparring with you, but even when she didn’t, the former assassin was surprised at how talented you were in hand-to-hand combat. “Finally I have a worthy opponent. Not even the human icicle can keep up.”

“Touché.”

The two of you went on for what felt like hours, alternating between pinning the other down before the positions were flipped. Even if you were an omega, when it came to your training, you never allowed anyone to underestimate you. Natasha was no exception. You’d heard of the infamous Black Widow even during your HYDRA days, but never let it deter you. 

The more you fought, the more intoxicated you became with her presence. You couldn’t help but daydream about how beautiful she seemed with her hair tied back into a messy braid while her body was covered with nothing more than a sports bra and yoga pants. There came guilt with potentially ogling her in such a way, one you knew fully well having been the victim of that gaze long before. But alas, yours came from admiration, not objectifying lust. 

Tiring yourselves out came quickly as the two of you eventually ended sprawled on the mats gasping for air. The only thing that was missing was Wanda. It felt wrong to think of them, especially as they were mated and bound to one another, but you so longed to be with them – to be wrapped up in the safety of their arms as you slept at night while they watched over you. Never did you have a mate, let alone a soulmate who shared the same marking on your arm as you. Dreaming of them was all that could make you happy. 

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” Natasha suddenly broke the silence as she turned to you. Those sharp green eyes dug into your skin, turning it hot as you refused to stare back. “Because you are. Anyone would be an idiot not to think so.”

Taking compliments was not your forte, but when they came from Natasha, you blushed. “Thank you. You’re…really pretty as well, and so is Wanda.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you tell her that.” You didn’t shudder when she moved her hand to allow it to land atop your own, her thumb brushing on the back gently. “It’s our weekly movie night date tonight. We, uh, would like you to join us if you’re free, котёнок.”

“I don’t want to be somewhere I don’t belong,” you shrugged. “It’s your date night, it isn’t my place to be a part of that.”

“Hey.” You were surprised by how she grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers together as she stared into your soul. “We want you there.”

And you took her words in, but as your gaze shifted down her body, it was the sight of something else that grabbed hold of your attention. Mentally, you slapped yourself in the head for not having seen it before, perhaps even refusing to take it in. There was a marking in her arm that you recognized to be the same as your own, only Natasha’s had the sun colored in while the star, the colored symbol on your own skin, was blank along with the moon.

When it dawned upon you what it meant, your eyes widened. It felt wrong, obscene even, to jump off the mat, but it was the first reaction you had. You left Natasha on the floor, your eyes never leaving her soulmate marking as she sat up with confusion. And when she came to realization of what brought the change in you, her features softened. 

“I know,” she said, and you believed her. For your entire life you’d been told you were a defect, that you’d live your days alone except for the numerous HYDRA operatives that surrounded you. Love, regardless of whether it was romantic or platonic, wasn’t meant for soldiers like you. All that existed was misery. At the first glimpse of that being untrue, of Rumlow’s tortuous words proving to be fake, you were unable to muster a proper reaction. “Wanda knows too. And we…we didn’t know when to tell you. She only found out this week. But we’re not angry, okay? We won’t hurt you the way they did. Hell, we don’t even have to do anything, honey. All we want is for you to be safe and comfortable, and we’re both willing to do whatever it takes to turn that into reality.”

“I…” there wasn’t enough room for you to figure out a proper response. “I don’t…”

So you ran, far, far away. 

Your legs took you to where you needed while your mind was in cloud nine, all hazy and otherwise preoccupied by the newfound revelation. For months since you joined the Avengers, you spent countless nights longing to have Wanda and Natasha. So why did the reality of it turning to be true feel so ominous? Why did you choose an escape that wasn’t them? Why couldn’t you allow yourself even a smidge of happiness?

Hasty movements came to a halt when you suddenly tripped. Crumbs of dirt buffeted your face, leaving you to spatter it out as you sat on your knees. Disoriented, you took notice of your surroundings. In your ragged race to leave the compound, you ended stranded in the woods, the large campus far away from sight. You could’ve ran for hours without noticing if it wasn’t for the fall, and for some reason that brought you a somber wave of fear – one forever present when you resided at HYDRA, but it was never around when you went with them . 

Taking a seat against a beat-up tree that held a few hundred years of life, you let out a sigh. It was the first time you were alone, really alone. Your entire existence was for the sake of others, to bring a service to both HYDRA and the Avengers, but never to yourself. Every hour of every day you had someone constantly standing by your side whether friend or foe. And now that you experience such quiet peace, you clung to it and refused to let go. 

“Y/N.”

Anyone sneaking up on you would receive a mean beating even if absentmindedly, but never them.

“Hey, it’s okay.” It didn’t surprise you that Natasha had brought Wanda around, and quite frankly you weren’t furious about it either. Instead you sat there staring at the atmosphere embraced by lush fauna, breathing in the cool air as the women sat by either of your sides. And knowing you, neither tried to reach out while you were in such a tense state, at least not without consent. “We’re here, sweetheart. You’re alright.”

They noticed you were sobbing before you did. Between your exhausted breaths and shaky limbs, you had been unable to process the tears that fell down your warm cheeks. You weren’t meant to cry , Rumlow told you many times when your training became too much, soldiers didn't cry, only stupid weak omegas did. No matter how many times you’d heard the same string of words slurred angrily your way while clutching your burning and bruised abdomen, they didn’t hold any truth with those women in your proximity. 

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Natasha hung her head low, ashamed that she hadn’t been careful enough to protect you. “We wanted to make it special, to actually give you a chance to choose us, not feel forced to do it.”

“Nat and I have been planning it since she told me.” Wanda’s voice was softer than Natasha, and although you adored them equally, it was just what you needed during that vulnerable moment. “Given, it hasn’t been a long time, but still. Our only goal is for you to be happy, darling. Ever since you stumbled in here we’ve been trying to find ways to connect with you. Your presence alone makes us so happy.” At the sight of your tear-stricken face, Wanda broke. “Oh Y/N, you have no idea how beautiful of a soul you are. There’s no one in the world quite like you, we know it.”

They were patient with you, lounging back and giving you much needed time to take in the situation. Neither spoke again, not until you wanted them to. For once in your life you had control over something. Even if you were an omega, the alphas didn’t push you. Because at the end of the day, you held all the power. Whatever you liked or disliked, they’d take care of. All that was required of you was…nothing. 

“I’m scared,” your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do. Omegas like me, broken omegas…we’re not meant for this. The two of you are mated. I can’t get between that, please. And if I must die alone, fine, but the last thing I’ll ever do is bother anyone with my existence – I don’t want to be a burden. Especially to you two.”

“Listen, родная, you will never be a burden. Ever since you came into our life, everything has started to make sense. I love Wanda with my whole being, and she loves me too, but we’ve always been missing a little piece to the puzzle,” Natasha was sincere, suddenly throwing away her entire training as a spy to sit there and level with you, to treat you like her equal, not her prey. “You’re a part of our life now and nothing’s going to change that. It’s up to you how that’ll look like. The last thing we want to do is force you into something you might not want. But whatever you decide, know that we’ll never make you feel as though you’re a burden. You’re so much more than what you give yourself credit for.”

The nod you gave them allowed the alphas to move closer. While you didn’t trust yourself to speak without your emotions turning into overwhelming balls of tears, the silence that took over was more comforting than their words. You melted against them, their arms beginning to feel like a home you never had. The soulmates you’d always had, even if unknowingly, were still rather strangers to you, but in that moment they were all you knew. 

Neither let go, not even when they clutched one of your hands each as they dragged you back to the compound. They oversaw you in getting you to your room, not leaving even after they dropped you in the bed, pulling the sheets to your chest, and ensured you’d have a restful nap. You didn’t know it yet, but it was that moment in which both Wanda and Natasha realized they’d do just about anything to nurture and love you.

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Since you’d found out where you stood with Natasha and Wanda everything was…different. 

There wasn’t much difference in how they treated you, if anything they were slightly more protective than usual. From the moment you stepped out of your room, all eyes were on you, because even the rest of the team knew. Your scent was all over the place, one mixed in with both Wanda and Natasha’s strewn all over you, making you dizzy with need.

When an alert was put out for a remaining HYDRA base, the three of you were sent off to find it. The middle of the snowy woods was not your preferred area to reside in. Sitting within the confines of a beat-up cabin you had found right after the empty base was searched, you huffed. Your knees were pressed against your chest, legs being hugged by your shaky arms as you blew yet another cool breath.

“You should really come here to heat up,” Natasha said from across the room. “You don’t look well, зайка.”

“It’s okay, I’m-”

“Nat,” Wanda whined, her voice stricken with pain as she reached out from her lying position to her mate. “It hurts so bad.”

Natasha had told you about it, about how certain alphas breastfed to feed their omegas, but alas, without an omega, Wanda could barely do anything to help her state. You were left to watch her writhing on the floor with a mixture of pain and cold. And you wanted to help, you really did. Because the way in which the redhead pulled at her mate’s suit until her breasts were released from its confines made you drool.

“I know, крошка.” Natasha leaned down, pressing her lips against Wanda’s forehead. “Let me help you, alright? I’m right here to make it better.”

“Let me help,” you said without thinking. “I want to. I should, right? Because I…I’m your soulmate, right?”

“Yeah,” Natasha smiled as she looked up. “That’s right, hon. Come here. Let me show you how to do it.”

Per her instructions, you were to straddle Wanda’s hips. At first you hesitated, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you clung to her hips for balance. Her body felt flushed with your own, warming your freezing body up instantly. Alphas were warm from what you’d been told, and you were glad for it as your skin was unable to withstand yet another wintry hit. 

“Lean down for me. You can open your mouth a bit and take it,” Natasha explained. Her hand was set on your back, carefully leading you downwards. “And you have to be careful. Don’t use your teeth, ‘kay? Start sucking softly. At first it’ll taste a bit weird, but you’ll get used to it. It’ll be delicious, I promise.”

The newfound taste made your eyebrows furrow. It was a strange sensation that overtook you as you wrapped your lips around one of Wanda’s rosy nipples. Never could you fully comprehend what your actions did for her. In your mind all you did was relieve the witch of pain stemming from her uncomfortably full breasts, but to her it meant everything.

“Oh Y/N.” Wanda’s voice was hoarse as she felt you beginning to suck her breast with more vigor. “That’s it, baby. Keep going like that. You have- ah! You have no idea how good you’re making me feel.”

The slick beginning to form between your legs, one still unknown to you, was warm. You ignored it, mentally smacking yourself for not having taken the heat suppressors you’d stolen to keep your cycle at bay. But even while taking them you could feel your body practically begging to have Natasha and Wanda. Now that they were in such close quarters with you, you didn’t want to guess what it would lead to.

Milk poured into your mouth at rapid speeds. Just as Natasha said, it was not an ordinary taste, but the more you drank, the better it got. Your hungry tongue swirled around the tender bud, lapping up every ounce of the glorious liquid you could find before moving to the other one. Hands found themselves squeezing each one as though they had a mind of their own. And while you desperately took everything a moaning Wanda gave you, the former spy sat back licking her lips with admiration. 

“Good girl,” Wanda muttered as she hugged you tight against her flushed frame. “You’re such a good girl for your alphas, darling.”

Normally you’d shudder at the sole mention of alphas, but when Wanda did it, your heart was set aflame. Her words motivated you to finish drinking her last bits of milk until her breasts were no longer sore and full. Natasha had to pull you back and hold your drunk self as her mate sat up, nodding in appreciation as you sagged against the redhead. 

“You did so well for us, принцесса.” Natasha hugged you for the first time that day – really hugged you with her arms fully wrapped around your body and your head nestled on her shoulder. “What a wonderful little omega you are. The very best, huh? Our perfect and beautiful girl.”

The mission no longer mattered afterwards, none of them really did. Your hunt for HYDRA was nothing compared to the sudden need you had to spend all your time surrounded by the two alphas. They nurtured you to sleep that night, each sleeping by your sides to protectively keep you warm as you calmly went unconscious. In the time where you had been both trapped and freed from the horrid organization, you never felt more at home than you did with Wanda and Natasha holding you. 

“You’re safe with us.” They both promised, and you believed them. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”

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“You know, if you didn’t want to do this, you could’ve just said so.”

At those words you frowned. “It’s not that. I just…” staring down, you grimaced at the sight that met you. “...I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Not only were you dirty with a mess of flour over your arms, clothes, and face, but the areas surrounding you carried the same fate. Out of all the skills you carried under your belt ranging from the ability to speak over five languages to taking someone out with a sole pencil, baking was not one at your disposal. In the HYDRA buildings you knew as your home, food was not a necessity, but a reward. Never had you been able to prepare yourself a meal until you joined S.H.I.E.L.D., forever struggling with the tactics of it. But now when surrounded by a particular set of individuals, you find yourself confused yet enjoying it. 

“Oh honey, that’s not how you whisk it. Here, let me help.” As Natasha stood beside you with her eyebrows raised, Wanda moved from across the kitchen to your aid. Her arms were wrapped around you, the tattoo on her skin no longer hidden by long sleeves, as she grabbed the whisk from your hand. “Follow my lead, sweetheart. Let me show you how it’s done.”

In the midst of baking a cake for the simple fun of it, Wanda’s overprotectiveness came out. While Natasha wore a beat-down graphic tee with comfortable shorts that showed off her muscular legs, the other woman forced proper baking attire along with an apron and hat for you to not get dirty. But alas you did. And as amused as they both were, it was Wanda who set out to prevent any more of a mess. 

“See?” She rapidly spun the cooking utensil over the batter-filled bowl. Holding it with a slight tilt, Wanda maneuvered the items perfectly so that even if she went quickly, nothing poured out. “You have to be patient, Y/N, and learn from your alphas how to do it. Isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your body suddenly warm due to the close proximity with your alphas. Since you had accepted one another as soulmates and partners weeks before, it was nearly impossible to keep yourself from them. Your mind, soul, and body craved them with a desperation you simply couldn't keep down. Nights were spent in their room being warmly swaddled within the safe embrace as you slept. For the first time in your life, when with your mates you lacked any nightmares hunting you down. “I, uhm, I can leave you to it though.”

“None of that, малышка.” Natasha shifted towards you, a hand of hers landing safely at your hip. “We want to do this with you. You’re the one who said she’s never baked brownies before. So, be a good girl and help your alphas with the yummy treats, huh?”

At the soft tone you nodded. They each had their strengths when it came to exerting their dominance. While Wanda was much stronger with her commands, forever watching over every little step you took, Natasha’s approach was nonchalant yet loving. Both took their time in letting you leave your hardened shell, coaxing you through it all with smiles on their faces. 

The three of you spend your afternoon in each other’s presence. There wasn’t much avail to your lack of culinary knowledge, so by the time you threw the confined batter into the oven, you were covered head-to-toe with egg-yolk, flour, and trace amounts of chocolate rushing down your face. Under the gaze of your soulmates you believed yourself to be scrutinized, but as you turned and noticed their beaming faces, the heavy breath you held was let go of. 

“Why don’t you go pick out a movie with Nat, sweetie?” Wanda told you as she began cleaning the communal kitchen, thankful that the rest of the team was out and that you had the quarters all to yourselves. And when you attempted to tag along and help her, she playfully slapped your hands away. “Go, baby. I’ll take care of this. Don’t you worry your pretty little head off. I want you to relax for the rest of the night, ‘kay?”

And that’s exactly what you did given that whatever Wanda says, always goes. 

Sighing, you comfortably nuzzled against Natasha’s side. It had taken you long to trust them to such lengths where you welcomed physical contact. Between the numerous missions you ran together, the exhausting training sessions, and the ungodly amount of dates they took you on, you easily began holding them close to your heart. 

Once the brownies were done and cut out, a task Wanda disallowed you from carrying out quoting that ‘I don’t want my beautiful omega to hurt herself’, the three of you sprawled yourselves over the couch. An animated movie played in the background, a Disney one Natasha picked out knowing how many you’d missed growing up within HYDRA’s grasp. Surely it was childish, even you were made aware of it, but alas, you found it comforting as you sat between your alphas, snuggled happily while chewing on a soft, warm piece of brownie – the milk provided coming from Wanda’s full breasts. 

“I think I’m ready,” you grumbled against the rosy nipple that you momentarily pulled away from. “For…you know.”

Both alphas stared at you in confusion, yet found themselves amused at how quickly you began suckling on Wanda’s breast once more. A shared, knowing look left them with agape mouths. Of course they longed to finally mate with their newfound omega, but their protectiveness over you was rather strong – the idea of possibly bringing you discomfort by rushing a mating session was one they did not want to humor. 

“Are you sure?” Wanda cautiously asked. 

Natasha clasped your hand as she followed along. “We don’t mind waiting however long you need. Even if you never want to do it, Y/N, we’ll care for you the same.”

“Yeah,” you were sure of something for the second time in your life since choosing to be theirs. “I’m ready.”

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Since the first moment you saw them, you knew being theirs was all you longed for. 

There was always an innate need to have them close, but as your relationship grew further, that need grew into a carnal one. You could barely stand by them without your legs quivering, skin turning madly hot as you leaned in to your partners. And they knew how much you desired them, because of course it was a very mutual feeling. 

“Are you sure?” Wanda’s eyebrows were furrowed. Normally she was a rather confident woman, but as she stood before you, her gaze shifting down at you where you sat by the edge of the bed, she felt anxious for once. “We can wait, Y/N. It’s more than alright. Anything you want, we’ll give to our sweet girl.”

The three of you were in their shared bedroom, one that had quickly become yours as well, where you sat as they stood before you. Both sulked, lips stuck between their lips as they waited for your green light. They were ready to pounce on you at any second, but only if you allowed them to. 

Since you stopped taking your medication to suppress your heat, it came out in full-force. You could barely speak a word without it coming out as a whine. Your lack of experience with the cycle made it difficult for you to get through them without constantly rubbing your slick-coated thighs together, but alas, you could tell they felt the same. Their hypnotizing stench which came with their ruts filled your parted nostrils. It was delicious, almost intoxicating and left you with your mind all hazy. 

“Please?” You reached out for them, each of your hands grabbing one of their own. “I can’t wait, I need it now.”

They took their time in helping you off your clothes. Each alpha was sweet enough to take it slow, eyeing you questioningly, and waiting for your nod of approval to begin shedding your outfit. Your skin was victim to the cool air from the room that buffeted you as you grimaced, but with each frail touch they gave you, it wasn’t hard for it to warm up. 

Lips found themselves trailing your frame as your clothes were thrown on the floor. They clung to you for dear life, groping your breasts with a need they were finally able to humor. For months they longed to have you, and now that they did, the women let all their inhibitions go for the sake of giving you the best time. 

Wanda disrobed herself first, then came Natasha. They were well-aware of your aversion to alphas, so when their layers pooled at her feet, they were careful to let you adjust to the sight. The well-endowed Avengers pulled back, smiling gently as you shockingly ogled them before they kept going. 

“Lay down, darling. Get nice and comfortable for us,” Natasha mumbled, softly caressing your stomach and guiding you towards the mattress. And when you dropped on it, she was quick to kneel between your legs. “If at any point you want to stop, you let us know. Am I clear, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you husked out knowing that none of you wished to ever stop with heightened cravings for the other. “I understand.”

The two women mirrored the movements of lionesses who sought out their long-awaited gazelle. As Natasha spread your legs apart, her fingernails digging into your smooth skin as a means to hold her animalistic desires back, Wanda took to laying beside you. She held your face in her hands as though life itself was at the tip of her fingers – a life she’d forever cherish and dote on until the end of time. You let her kiss you, your lips falling victim to her captivating shows of love towards you. 

Your slick drove them wild, but even more so as they feasted their eyes upon the drenched mess that was the area between your legs. It was puffy, gleaming with juices that coated your thighs and drooled down to the sheets. Natasha was the first to touch, but then followed her mate who rubbed her fingers across your lips as a means to make your breath hitch. 

“You’re beautiful, honey,” Wanda whispered, her lips mere centimeters from your ear. “Your alphas are so lucky to have such a perfect kitten like yourself.”

She kissed you once more, this time harder than ever with a sudden urge to take your tongue hostage with her own. Hands explored your body, learning where every self-described imperfection lay to stroke it lovingly. Wanda devoured you as though you were her last meal. She wasted no time in getting to know the outline of your frame, one she deemed a piece of art, as though it were the back of her hand. 

“It might feel a bit strange, зайка, but soon enough you’ll enjoy it so much. I promise. I promise.” Natasha was steady with her movements. She ensured you were drenched enough before lining herself against your cunt, her bulbous fat cock barely fitting in her hand as she pushed it forth. Never had she felt such immense warmth than she did when inside either you or Wanda. It made her wild, turning her into an uncaged animal whose eyes turned dark as she watched her penis oh-so slowly sink in you. “Fuck.” Her words were practically grunts. “Oh baby, you feel amazing.”

All three of you watched in awe as Natasha’s dick disappeared into your cunt without much fight. Surely you were tight, never having mated with anyone unless against your will, but with the amount of slick forming as your heat was at its peak, your body gladly took the alpha in. Her gentle movements did wonders to help you relax, that along with Wanda’s soothing words thrown by your ears which steadied your breathing. 

Natasha felt right at home with your walls surrounding her, practically clinging for dear life to her member. Surely she’s mated with Wanda numerous times, but nothing could compare to the deliciousness of having an omega in heat all for herself. It made her growl, letting out the sound which came from the depths of her throat as she grabbed your hips roughly. Your breaths matched with how ragged they were. Never did she let go either, but instead pressed her body on yours as much as she could until she could finally move. 

“You’re such a good girl,” Natasha found herself stuttering. For such a confident agent, it was amusing to see her succumb to pure, unadulterated need without a second thought. “Our perfect little pet. Oh, you’re everything, Y/N.”

The cries you let out were drowned by Natasha’s similarly strangled ones. The two of you were equally frayed creatures. You held onto one another while Wanda simple stared with widely enamored eyes. Her hands were on you, still gripping you as though you’d ever have the nerve to escape her grasp. 

“That’s it. Take your alpha’s cock,” Wanda giggled as she spoke. She inched closer until her heavy breasts rubbed on your face. Although her aching cock was similarly erect and waiting to be in you, her chest felt the most pain due to the milk throwing pain her way. “Here, honey. You can have some milk while Natty makes it all better. I promise it’s delicious, just how my girl likes it.”

Wanda inches herself closer than physically imagined, and like the good omega you were, you opened your mouth to taste her. 

Surely you’d had her milk numerous times since you first officialized your relationship, but in the midst of your heat and her rut, it somehow tasted better than any of the previous times. The sweet nectar poured past your lips, several drops even falling down your chin due to the necessity to drink it. Her nipples were erect and severely tender with your lips wrapped around them.

Sucking her breasts was a true wonder. With her milk, you needn’t have food. Wanda – your alphas – were all you needed as a means to survive. With them by your side, you’d never worry for a second. You were their prey, and the predators would forever protect you as a means to only have you as theirs. 

“I won’t last long,” Natasha sobbed. Her thrusts were gentle but you knew she heavily held back as a means to not harm you during your first mating session. She had yet to even mark or knot you, something that did not seem so ominous when having them as your alphas. “Oh my sweet girl, the things you do to me…”

Your insides were churning with Natasha balls-deep in you. She was rather big, so even if she could inch deeper without causing you immense amount of pain, she was far too large to not draw mewls from you as your cunt was delightfully stretched out. The more you took, the better you were trained by your mates. 

As you sucked on Wanda’s breasts, the redhead pulled you up. You mewled at the lack of milk being poured down your throat, but as you turned to Natasha, you realized she had other more delicious plans. She held you close, forcing a scream from you as you sat up and felt the entirety of her dick being rammed in you as her face went to your neck. 

Wanda and Natasha swooped in for the kill. They each took a side of your neck, pressing their lips against them before biting down harshly. Surely you knew it’d hurt, but never were you told about the wondrous feeling that’d shoot through your body as you were marked by your alphas. They’d previously scented you, rubbing themselves on you so as to forever share the stretch of your desires on one another, but nothing came close to the beauty of carrying their bite marks on your neck. 

That somehow made Natasha’s motions even more violent. She poured her heart and soul into destroying you as her cock pulled out before pushing all the way in – even if it caused a small bulge by your abdomen. And with the more she moved, the bigger a previously-small bulb on her shaft got. 

There came no warning as Natasha’s suddenly huge knot inched itself past your lips and into your cunt. Your slick allowed it to comfortably fit, but alas, a rather loud scream escaped the depths of your throat. The heaving of your chest only grew quicker as you felt hotter than ever, almost ready to let go knowing Natasha was too. 

You failed to notice Wanda’s dominant hand quickly making itself up and down her own cock, jerking it off until it was rosy and begging for permission to cum. She masturbated happily as she watched how Natasha knotted you, stuffing you to the brim with her penis and bulb until you cried out. Knowing you were close, and at times having gotten the same treatment from her mate, she could only give words of encouragement. 

“Let go, princess,” Wanda’s voice was dark and low. “I know you want to, so do it – do it for your alphas.”

And that you did, but so did your partners.

Natasha came simultaneously, embracing you tightly as she grimaced. Never had she gotten the pleasure of receiving such an earth-shattering orgasm. It made her body sagged as she fell limp on you, whose back hit the mattress in an instant. Her knot prevented any of the cum to seep out, instead maintaining it deep in your guts as you squirmed happily. 

“Good girl,” Wanda had a similar worn tone as she too climaxed. “Oh baby, you’re the perfect girl for us. Look at you letting Natty turn you into a proper omega. Hm, now that you have your mates, nothing else matters.”

The three of you were sprawled messes across the bed, clutching one another and never daring to let go. You were unmoving, instead enjoying the feeling of having Natasha still in you, being so warm around her with a tight grip, while Wanda once more gave you her milk to drink. Even if they were spent, they’d do just about anything to care for you. 

It came Wanda’s turn to claim you. She was much gentler than Nat, murmuring tired yet comforting words as she slipped in your cunt before oh-so slowly moving her hips. Even beyond the four walls of your shared bedroom you’d forever have the power. Because by the third time they attempted to keep it going, with a sole shake of your head both alphas ceased her actions and jumped to cradle you in their arms. 

“We’re so lucky to have you.” Natasha was the one who stood in front of you in the shower, ensuring that the water was the perfect temperature for you to enjoy. She’d picked you up from the bed and carefully held you as you were placed to stand on the shower with wobbly legs while Wanda fetched clothes and towels. “You’re even more perfect than what we imagined.”

You didn’t need to tell them the same as they simply knew. No one had been able to get you out of your shell quite like they had. Maria, Kate, and Yelena surely had their attempts, but your mates were the only ones you’d confide in that manner. They could see you in even your rawest states and upkeep their promise of protecting you – of protecting their one true love from harm’s way. And for that they were synonymous with perfection. 

The two alphas made sure to clean you up. Wanda even went as far to wash your hair, smoothly massaging your scalp as a means to both rub shampoo over it and help you relax. There was no carnal need involved, no urge to suddenly claim you. Just…love being poured out of their hearts and into your hands. 

And when Wanda noticed the scarring across your skin, she could only bring you more comfort. 

“So long as we’re alive, we won’t let anyone hurt you ever again,” her tone was serious, yet you could hear a hinted edge of sadness in it. Most were the product of HYDRA handlers, but some came at your own hand with your hints of self-hatred and disdain of the life you were forced to lead. “They can’t have you, not while you’re ours. Sweet girl, you are so brave and strong. You never let them take your heart and we couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“Thank you,” you were at the verge of tears – luckily happy tears – that you weren’t so averse to showing them. “Both of you. I…I can’t think of better mates to have. You two have given me so much. I can’t even begin to think how I could thank you for all you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Natasha interjected. She began sliding clothes on you, her own oversized hoodie and a pair of Wanda’s fluffy socks matched with your underwear. Her hands were like molten as they took tenderness to a whole different level by carefully breezing against you. “Oh sweet girl. You need to understand that all we want is for you to be cared for. We don’t expect anything in return that isn’t your safety. Do you understand? When you’re with us, you never have to worry about anything.”

That night those words finally solidified in you. You were worthy of a place on Earth – in their arms at that. It had been the exact opposite you’d been told at HYDRA, but with them surrounding you, you didn’t allow your previous life to catch up to you; you never would. 

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Nightmares consumed visibly every attempt you gave at sleeping. During your days at HYDRA you were buffeted by both the waking-nightmares and ones faced while unconscious. And you didn’t dare do much about it either. Fighting against them, whether real or not, would only earn you a mean beating. 

“Do you want to sleep here today?” Natasha always asked. By then you called their room, your room , home, but still kept up your quarters as a means of storage. Regardless, she knew to give you a choice so you’d have control of the situation. “You don’t have to, but Wanda said she could read you a bit. It’d be nice to have you.”

That’s how you ended up, like many others nights, squeezed between the two alphas. Natasha was a true fanatic of sleep, so after dropping the sleep-mask on her face, she dropped a kiss on yours and Wanda’s lips before peacefully growing unconscious. Meanwhile you were able to lay closely to your other partner’s side with your head on her chest, very lovingly suckling on her full breasts as a means to feed yourself her milk. 

“...he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, ‘I never dreamed of such happiness as this while I was the despised ugly duckling,’” Wanda made sure to do hilarious voices for each of the characters. She had the book propped up on her stomach, smiling down at how intently you eyed it. “The end.” 

At the sound of that, you grumpily grunted. “That’s it?”

“Yes, sweet kitten, that’s it. I just spent the past twenty minutes reading you this,” Wanda frowned. “And now it’s time for my darling girl to get some sleep. Can you do that?”

“Not sure.”

“Oh baby, I know you’re scared of the nightmares, but I promise they won’t get you this time. You got your big, bad alphas here to keep you safe if you need anything. They won’t get you again,” Wanda reassured you, putting the book away before setting a hand on your head to keep you drinking her milk. “And if you get a nightmare, you know we’ll help you through it. I know it’s not easy, Y/N, and it won’t be for a long while, but you’ll be able to somewhat heal from this. I know you can make new, beautiful memories that you’ll always treasure instead. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled at her. She was the moon to your stars and Natasha’s sun. “But can I stay up for a bit longer? I don’t want to sleep just yet, please.”

Normally Wanda wouldn’t be too keen on allowing you to break any of the rules she set out to place for you, but those wide puppy eyes you flashed her way were far too enticing to ignore. 

“Fine,” she sighed, but there came a smile from it. “But you are going to bed early tomorrow. Does that sound like a good deal, kitten?”

“Hmm sure,” you giggled before nuzzling yourself against her giddily. “It’s a deal then.”

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Being a mated omega was much more comforting than you could’ve imagined. Not a day passed where you didn’t feel safe around them. You’d often stare at yourself in the mirror, for the first time without disgust, and carefully caress the set of matching bite marks on your neck. They’d long faded, only an outline remaining, but alas, you’d forever wear them with pride. 

“If you don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late.”

It was Natasha’s warm voice which shook you from your trance. You frowned before turning to her, a beam instantly coating your features as you stood there awaiting her reached-out hand. And when it came, you didn’t wait a second to grab it. 

“Come on, pretty girl.” Natasha pulled you close enough that her lips practically ghosted over your own. “We have a date to catch.”

Often the three of you made sure to spend time together. Between the countless missions you went on and reports you spent hours filling out, the days barely left you a few minutes of freedom. Your jobs were of high importance, but your love for one another meant much more – a shared sentiment by the three of you. 

Natasha helped you in hopping in her car, sitting in the backseat facing your two alphas who took their places in the front. Upstate New York didn’t have much ambiance let alone for the lush forests and lazy rivers. And yet you’d been able to find little gems across the green that you made your own. 

“I made you something special,” Wanda let Natasha carry a picnic basket and a large blanket once you reached the destination. All while she squeezed your hand, brought it to her lips, and planted a sweet kiss that would forever be marked in place. “Chocolate-covered strawberries for my best girl. I’ve been awfully mean and haven’t let you have them for a few days, but now it’s time I spoil you rotten. And don’t worry, I made enough to make your tummy sick from all the sweet chocolatey goodness, baby.”

“You’re so good to me.” You walked beside her towards a bare spot overlooking a valley. There was a sole, exuberant tree which hung around providing the utmost shade as you threw the blanket on the floor. “I’ll try to share this time. Well, only if Nat promises to let me win our next spar session. I can’t believe she promises to give me princess treatment only to purposely beat me.”

“It’s not my fault I’m better,” Natasha teased. “But you got a point. I guess I can let you win, but this time you have to share more than three strawberries. I’m starving.”

“Didn’t you eat two whole steaks before we went out?” Wanda had been with Natasha for years, but she’d never get used to the bottomless barrel that was her mate. 

“What? I get hungry. Especially after I’ve gone through a long rut. You can’t blame me for wanting food after all the energy I spent trying to make the two of you feel good.”

The three of you shared a hearty laugh as you sat atop the red and white blanket. Picnic dates had quickly become a favorite of yours. There was something rather soothing about the idea of being alone with your mates. You adore the rest of your teammates, but the quality time spent with Natasha and Wanda simultaneously was nearly not enough. To be one with them was to live and if it meant that, you’d forever crave to be alive. 

Laying against Natasha’s front between her legs, you could finally feel at peace. It was a constant thing with them, the complete opposite of what you’d experienced with HYDRA. Even with the memories of all the years Rumlow constantly tormented you alongside his peers being crystal clear in your mind, they could be washed away and replaced by new ones formed with your partners. 

“How do they taste?” Wanda sat before you two alternating between feeding either you and Natasha the delicious strawberries. At times she paused to force you to drink from your water bottle – of course she was rather focused on getting you to remain hydrated. After all, it was her job as your alpha to ensure your health.

Before you could speak, a moan left the depths of your throat. “That tastes amazing. God, I want another one.”

“It’s my turn.” Natasha playfully slapped your side. “Give me one, Wands. Come on. Don’t you remember that time I saved your ass in Sokovia?”

“But our beautiful kitten wants more.” Wanda grabbed yet another strawberry, ignoring the other alpha and instead zeroing in on you. “And who am I to deny her? Open up, Y/N. You deserve all the treats I got to offer.”

Hours were spent staring off into the sunset devouring not only the desserts Wanda made and the snacks Natasha stole from the compound’s cupboards, but also one another. There'd be days where you’d spend them raggedly crying for the memories to finally come to an end, but your mates would be there when they occurred. After all, you were bonded for life and eternity as a whole. 

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Girl Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: If Spencer thought being secretly in love with you was hard, having to avoid you in the hallway was even worse.

Words: 4,8k.

Warnings & Tags: mention of jail. painter!reader. post prison reid. spencer’s pov. lack of communication. the reader has a cat. angst, so much angst. this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I struggled a lot writing this because it's a roller coaster, so sorry in advance.

“How long? It's not a problem to take care of everything, but I'd like to know if you'll be okay or—” Your voice almost cracked for a moment, your eyes still trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Spencer's sheets were still wrapped around your body, and you felt so connected to them that the thought of getting up while still watching him toss and turn looking for his shoes was too much.

“I don't think more than a day or two, I'll be fine.” He stopped his chaotic steps for a second and stared at you as if to make a promise. He paused, glancing away as if to compose himself before adding, “I have some work in Mexico. It came up last minute, or I’d have told you earlier.” His voice faltered, almost imperceptibly, and the words sounded rehearsed, like he was repeating something he’d practiced.

You frowned slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “Work in Mexico?” you echoed. “Since when do they send you out of the country for cases?”

“It’s not that kind of work,” he said quickly, his tone just a little too smooth, a little too practiced. “It’s…consulting. A conference on forensic advancements, some behavioral workshops—things like that.” He kept his gaze on the floor as he spoke, as if afraid to meet your eyes. “I won’t be gone long.”

You didn’t question him further. Why would you? Spencer wasn’t the type to lie, and the way his brows knit together, the way his voice softened with the promise, “I’ll be back soon,” made you believe him. But something about the way he shifted his weight, the way he avoided looking directly at you, left a faint unease in your chest.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have dinner with you yesterday. And breakfast now. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he added, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to fill the silence.

You tightened the sheets around yourself, curling into their warmth, feeling the lingering heat from the side of the bed where he had been only moments before. It felt like he had never really left, the space around you still filled with the faint echo of his presence. Watching him now, his movements a little frantic, his gaze flickering toward the clock every so often, made you feel like he was slipping away too quickly. A part of you, small and selfish, wanted to ask him to stay. To sit back down, to let the world and his trip wait just a little longer.

But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you whispered, barely above a breath, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment, “Promise?”

Spencer’s gaze softened even further, a tenderness washing over his features as he moved closer to you. His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite touch his eyes but was filled with something that made your chest tighten. “Promise,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle, as though sealing a pact between the two of you. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing your forehead before his lips followed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your skin. The kiss was tender, quiet, and almost reluctant, as though he didn’t want to pull away from this moment either. For a moment, his forehead rested against yours, the space between you vanishing entirely. It felt like the world had narrowed to just this—just the two of you—and all the invisible lines you had drawn between friendship and something more blurred into nothing.

But before you could do something stupid, he pulled back, with his eyes lingering on you, still filled with a softness that made your heart flutter. “Have you seen my shoe?” he asked, his voice playful yet tinged with the usual frustration of his misplaced belongings.

You let out a small laugh, still wrapped in the sheets, the warmth from them mingling with the warmth of the moment. “Oh, you’re a mess, little boy,” you teased, your voice light and affectionate, the fondness for him slipping out in every word.

“Mittens take it again?” Spencer asked, his eyes glinting with playful exasperation. He had grown accustomed to your cat’s antics, and he could hardly be surprised at this point.

You nodded, grinning as you pointed to the underside of the bed. “Ding ding, genius,” you replied, your voice light and teasing as his gaze followed your finger. Sure enough, there it was, tucked under the bed—another casualty of your mischievous cat’s nightly adventures.

He grumbled good-naturedly, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if the chaos of the morning didn't matter when you were here with him and everything felt so domestic. As he bent down to pick up his shoe, you couldn't help but watch, your heart swelling at the sight of the man you were so in love with, even in his messiest moments. There was something about him—something in that moment—that made him feel so good, as if everything else could wait and the obvious fact that he didn't feel the same way about you didn't matter. Anyone outside the room generally didn't matter. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled in sheets and laughter, clinging to a piece of time that was all yours and would be the only thing you'd have left when he was gone.

“She loves you, that’s why she does it…I guess she wants your attention,” you said, your voice trailing off, and the taste of the words felt sour in your mouth. It sounded too much like you were talking about yourself rather than your pet, and the realization hit you like a cold wave. It made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and you immediately wished you could take the words back. But you didn’t.

He glanced at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “I read something about that,” he said, his voice light, but you could tell he didn’t entirely understand the weight behind your words. It didn’t matter. You were used to it by now.

“You read about everything.” You gave him a small, rueful smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, the bitterness of the moment creeping into your voice. You were fine with it, you told yourself. Fine with everything.

He glanced at the clock, a quiet sigh escaping him. “I have to go…it’s late,” he said, and you could hear the quiet resignation in his voice. The moment, it seemed, had reached its inevitable end.

“Okay.” The word slipped out of your mouth more dryly than you intended, and you hated the way it sounded. You didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t want the moment to end. But it was already slipping away, and you knew it. “But before you go…come here.”

He hesitated, looking at you with uncertainty in his eyes. But then, slowly, he took a step toward you, his face softening when you reached out to touch his cheek. The moment your fingers brushed against his skin, he shivered, and your heart skipped a beat at the contact.

“Is…is something wrong?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if sensing the shift between you.

“No, I just want to say goodbye properly.” You shifted closer, your heart hammering as you moved toward him, your lips hovering near his. The temptation to close the distance, to kiss him, burned inside you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Take care and come back,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you meant. You kissed his forehead gently, your fingers instinctively smoothing his hair down as you did. “Now it’s like you have my blessing,” you added with a faint smile.

He smiled at you, the warmth in his expression a bittersweet thing that made your heart ache. “Thank you, and good luck tomorrow with my godchildren’s.” His voice was soft, but the moment was already passing, slipping away, and with it, the space between you both. He gathered his things, gave you one last lingering look, and then turned toward the door.

You stood there, watching him go, the weight of what you didn’t say crashing down on you. The door clicked shut behind him, and you felt a hollow ache in your chest, a longing you couldn’t quite name.

God, you really wanted kissed him.

God, he really wanted you kissed him.

When Spencer opened his eyes for the first time in a cell and felt a sickening jolt of disorientation. The dirty walls and a rickety bench stared back at him, mocking the comforting image of his organized room and, more painfully, the thought of you. The absence of your laughter, your touch, your presence—everything that had once grounded him—hit him like a freight train. He knew something was wrong.

As the days blurred together and the evidence piled against him, he clung to the belief that this nightmare wasn’t real. Every hearing, every damning piece of evidence that chipped away at his freedom, felt surreal. Even when the judge handed down his sentence, condemning him to months behind bars, the finality of it didn’t register. What shattered him was the moment he filled out his visitation schedule and consciously omitted your name. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like that. He didn’t ask anyone to explain, didn’t try to soften the blow of his absence. That, he thought, was the point of no return—the moment he lost everything.

But Spencer was so wrong. The true breaking point came when he walked out of that hellhole, finally free, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. Each step was a physical ache, the pain in his chest sharper and heavier with every step. His hands trembled as he reached for his keys, the jangling sound unnervingly loud in the empty hallway. His gaze fell on your door, just a few steps away. The familiar sight sent his stomach into knots.

For the first time, he wished you wouldn’t be there.

The thought was alien, unnatural. You had always been there, and he had always wanted you there. When he was too drained to cook, you’d suggest their usual coffee spot, your smile lighting up the grayest of mornings. When his back ached from long nights bent over case files, you’d massage his shoulders, insisting scented candles could fix his bad posture and his bad days. When his mother’s health took a downturn, and he felt his world crumbling, you’d hold him, stroke his back, and promise that everything would be okay. And when his social battery was drained at reunions, you’d step in with your bad jokes or your art facts, making the world feel manageable again.

Now, standing in front of his own door, his fingers clumsy with the lock, all he could hope for was silence. He didn’t know how to face you, didn’t know if he could explain the broken pieces of himself.

His door creaked open, and he was greeted by the familiar scent of the home he had only dreamed of for the last while. It was overwhelming: clean clothes, slightly sweet candles, and something undeniably yours. The apartment was exactly as he remembered it, as if time had stopped the moment he left three months ago and never returned until now. His heart shrank as he took it all in: the blanket you insisted on leaving on the couch, the pile of books you always meant to return to his library but never did, his fish swimming around as if nothing had happened, and even the plants by the window, thriving despite his absence because you had surely watered them without fail.

And then there were the little details, things that told him that you had not moved away from this place, from him. The plate you always left for his cup of coffee, the one you gave him last Christmas, was still on the counter. His favorite cardigan, the one he thought he had misplaced, was folded neatly on the back of the chair and smelled of the baby softener you liked to use. His books were exactly where he had left them, although one of them had a bookmark you had made, a telltale sign that he had read it and was waiting for him to come back to comment on it, as you always did.

But he hadn’t returned.

Not then. And maybe not now at all.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket rang, its shrill tone slicing through the heavy silence like a sharp reminder of reality. The vibration against his skin startled him, his body tensing as he pulled the device out. His gaze flickered down to the screen, and the name that appeared caused a knot to form in his stomach: JJ. His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind racing, unsure if he was ready for the conversation he knew would follow. But deep down, he knew there was no avoiding her. Jennifer wouldn’t let him slip away unnoticed, and if he didn’t answer, she might show up at his door, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he had.

With a resigned sigh, he swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Is everything okay?”

The concern in his own voice surprised him. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe he was just desperate to shift the focus away from himself.

“Everything’s fine,” JJ replied, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve been…quiet.”

He exhaled slowly, staring out the window, the city lights stretching before him and the memories cutting deep. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Just trying to catch up on things. All good here.”

“Okay,” she said softly, and there was a pause—a hesitation that made his pulse quicken. He could almost hear her thinking, weighing her next words. Then she cleared her throat, the sound small but deliberate. “Have you seen…her?”

The question hit him like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He turned away from the window abruptly, pacing the length of the apartment as if motion could somehow ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw clenched, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I don’t know if I want to.”

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. How could he say that when every thought of you still made his heart ache? When the idea of you haunted him, so vivid and constant it felt like you were in every shadow of his empty apartment?

Jennifer’s sigh crackled over the line, heavy and filled with the weight of unspoken truths. “She’s been asking about you,” she said softly, her voice tinged with that unshakable sadness she tried so hard to hide. “Every time I see her. I think…” She hesitated again, and Spencer could hear her swallow hard, choosing her next words carefully. “I think you owe her an explanation.”

He swallowed saliva and tightened his fingers around the phone. JJ was right, of course. She always had been. But the idea of facing you, of trying to explain everything without drowning in tears, seemed impossible. How could he tell you the truth? How could he look you in the eye and admit that he had spent the last three months in jail, paying for a crime he had not committed? That he had done things that he deeply regretted, that made him sick and a horrible person?

You deserved better. You always had.

You were a blessing to anyone who had you around, and he knew that better than anyone. That's why he recommended you as a babysitter for JJ's kids, that's why he insisted that you come out to the bar with him and the team several times, that's why he told his mother about you, and that's why he gave you unlimited access to every single part of his life and told you things he'd never told anyone else. You were the one he thought of during those long, sleepless nights behind bars when JJ brought drawings from her boys. He imagined you there with them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Henry with his homework or letting Michael pile blocks on your lap. It was silly—heartbreaking, even—but the thought of you, of your warmth and your kindness, had kept him going.

“I have to go…clean some things,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, so desperate to run away from the topic.

“Okay,” JJ replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “Tell me if you need anything.”

Before Spencer could find the strength to speak, the line fell silent. The hum of the apartment filled the space around him, oppressive in its quiet, and he stood there, phone still clenched in his hand. The weight of it, the weight of everything, settled deeper into his chest, making it hard to breathe. He stared at the counter as if it could offer him some sort of escape from the quiet agony that had overtaken him. With a long exhale, he dropped the phone, his fingers lingering on it for a second longer than necessary, before pulling away with a heavy sense of finality.

Just as he was about to move, his mind already drowning in the whirlpool of thoughts he was so desperate to escape, a soft, muted thud broke the oppressive stillness of the apartment. The noise was faint, almost imperceptible, but in the suffocating quiet, it reverberated like a crack of thunder. His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat as his body went rigid. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source of the sound, his eyes locking onto the open balcony door.

A sleek black shape emerged from the shadows, moving with a practiced elegance that seemed almost ethereal in the dim light. Mittens.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the single syllable, hoarse and unsteady as if even addressing his might shatter the fragile thread of control he was clinging to.

The cat paused for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if considering him, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. Then, without a second thought, she padded over, her steps confident and unhurried, the soft click of her claws against the floor the only sound in the room. She jumped lightly onto the couch, then onto the small table beside him, her movements fluid and practiced. As she reached him, Mittens sniffed his hand delicately, then nuzzled it gently, her warm, soft fur brushing against his fingertips. The familiar rumble of her purring filled the air, a soothing, almost hypnotic sound that cut through the tension and wrapped around him like a blanket.

Spencer let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the apartment. He hesitated, his fingers brushing the soft fur of her head, unable to stop himself from reaching out.

Mittens leaned into his touch, her purr intensifying as her little body pressed against his hand, seeking warmth, some affection. She didn't care about the months she hadn't seen him or just heard his name spoken a thousand times by you. To her, he was still Spencer, the same one who had fed her, played with her, and cared for her whenever he could. That was enough. She was very happy.

“You still remember me,” he murmured, a faint, fragile smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d smiled in what felt like an eternity.

The cat blinked up at him, her green eyes half-lidded with contentment, as if to say, Of course I do.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his hand resting on her soft fur, letting her purring fill the empty spaces inside him. It was such a small thing, her presence, but it reminded him of you—of the life he’d left behind, the warmth he hadn’t realized he’d needed so desperately until now.

But the calm didn’t last, and Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he heard a soft knock on the door. His gaze snapped up from the cat, who was now lazily sprawled across the arm of the couch, her purring uninterrupted. The knock came again, this time paired with a voice that sent a jolt through his chest.

“Mittens?”

The voice was muffled through the door, but he knew it instantly. It was you.

Another knock followed, gentle but insistent. “Are you here, baby?”

He froze, every muscle in his body tightening as he registered the sound of your voice. You were here, in his apartment—or at least on the threshold of it. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to see you again.

The cat, oblivious to the tension that suddenly filled the room, stretched lazily before hopping down from the couch. Her tail flicked behind her as she padded toward the door, her movements casual, as if she belonged here. Her eyes were fixed on you as you stepped through the open door, your figure partially silhouetted by the light from the outside.

“There you are,” you said softly, your voice brimming with relief. The warmth in your tone hit him like a physical blow, and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

You crouched down to scoop the cat into your arms, your movements gentle and practiced. “You scared me,” you murmured, cradling her against your chest. Your voice softened, carrying that familiar tenderness he’d missed so desperately. “You’ve been running off so much lately.”

Spencer pressed himself against the shadowed wall, willing himself to disappear. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even look at you for fear his body might betray him. The apartment was dark enough to hide him, but he knew the signs of his presence were everywhere—his phone abandoned on the counter, the faint indentation on the couch, the way the air seemed to shift with the weight of him being there.

You didn’t notice. Your focus was entirely on Mittens as you stroked her soft fur, your touch so gentle it made Spencer ache. “I know you miss him,” you murmured, the words falling from your lips so quietly they almost didn’t reach him. “I do too.”

The confession tore through him like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. His chest tightened, and he bit down hard on his lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

You lingered for a moment, your gaze sweeping over the apartment as if you could feel his presence, even if you didn’t see him. Then, with a soft sigh, you turned back toward the door.

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Mittens’ head before stepping into the night.

The door closed with a quiet click, and Spencer was left alone once more. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, his hand trembling as it pressed against his face. The silence was deafening, a hollow, aching void that swallowed him whole.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe fate didn’t want you to see him again—at least, not yet.

But then, the next morning, it happened.

You were returning to your apartment, groceries in hand, when you saw him.

He was standing at the end of the hallway with his back to you, as if he was leaving his apartment. As soon as you saw him, your heart skipped a beat and all your rational thoughts vanished. It seemed like an eternity since you had seen him, even though it had only been a few months. Your first instinct was to run to him, throw yourself into his arms, and demand an explanation, but something about his posture made you hesitate. He was stiff, distant, almost sad. His usual warmth was nowhere to be seen. And yet there was something different about him: his long hair, now a bit wilder and more unruly, framed his face in a way you had never seen before. Some curls fell over his eyes, and his beard had grown thicker and darker. The change in his appearance was shocking.

Without thinking, you dropped your groceries at your door and hurried toward him. “Spencer!” you called, your voice trembling with a rush of emotions you had bottled up for months.

He turned slowly, and for a split second, his eyes locked with yours. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, maybe guilt, but it quickly faded, replaced by a cool distance you had never seen in him before, at least not with you. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. It was instinct, more than anything, to wrap your arms around him like you always used to do. The warmth of his body felt like home, like everything you had missed was right there in your arms. You held on tightly, breathing him in as if this would somehow make up for the absence. You’d been so lonely without him, and this, just holding him again, felt like it would fix everything that has been wrong lately.

But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t move an inch. This time his body was rigid, unyielding, as if he didn’t feel you or want you around. He did not return your hug. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge it or really want it. His arms remained stiff at his sides, and you could feel his breath hitching against your neck, but he didn’t respond. It was like hugging a stranger, someone you once knew but no longer recognized.

“God, I missed you…” You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but his face was unreadable. His long hair now brushed against the collar of his shirt, the unruly beard framing his jawline. But his eyes were the only thing that stayed the same—cold and distant, void of the tenderness they once held. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately. The silence hung between you, thick and oppressive, before he finally spoke, his voice flat. “Sorry, I…I don’t think I’m the best person for that right now.”

Your heart sank, the warmth of the hug and reunion evaporating into a hollow chill. “What happened?” you whispered, feeling the pain creep into your voice. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you say anything? I was so worried for you and JJ don’t say so much.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look like Spencer, not the one you had known—kind, warm, and always ready to offer comfort. His face was hard, closed off, and distant. He seemed…different, almost cold. “I’m sorry, I needed to get to…work,” he said, his voice clipped and curt. “I didn’t think you’d be awake at this hour.”

You felt a pang of confusion and hurt at his words. “What do you mean? You didn’t want to see me? You haven’t been here in months,” you said, the bitterness creeping into your voice. “You just disappear, and then you show up here, like nothing happened? You sleep here? I came to your apartment last night, and you weren’t there.”

He didn’t react. No apology, no acknowledgment of the pain he’d caused. He just stood there, cold, distant. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words almost sounding like an afterthought. “I had work to do. It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue. “That’s all you’ve got after disappearing for three months?”

Finally, his eyes met yours again, but there was no warmth in them. No tenderness, no familiarity. His gaze was hard, as cold as his words. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said sharply, his tone final, cutting through the air like a knife.

It felt like a punch to the gut. The warmth that had once filled your heart whenever Spencer entered a room, the gentle care he had shown you, was now replaced by something colder. It was as if the person you had known—the person who had been your friend, your confidant—had vanished along with the man who used to leave you sweet notes and show up with your favorite food after a rough day.

“You…you don’t owe me anything?” you whispered, your heart breaking with each word.

The silence stretched between you again, suffocating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry.”

But it was hollow, empty. A formality. Not an apology that meant anything.

And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned, walking away. “I have to go,” he said, his voice softer now, but still detached.

Before you could say anything else, he turned, leaving as quickly as he had appeared. And just like that, he was gone again—leaving you alone with the deafening silence and a heart full of questions.

Just like your worst fear: Spencer was avoiding you in the hallway.

[mermaidchansons]

Warm In December

Terry Richmond x Black Reader

Story Summary: You convince your husband, Terry, to slip away during your annual Christmas Eve party.

Words: 2500+

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ minors do NOT engage (you’ll be blocked), pre-established relationship, married reader, cursing, unprotected sex, P in V, fingering, squirting, slight mentions of breeding kink if you squint a little, breath play, good ole fluff

Author’s Note: Short and sweet. Dedicated to my sweet little bby @megamindsecretlair 💕. It’s still Christmas in my heart! - Ashanti

Christmas time at the Richmond house was always a big celebration. As soon as Thanksgiving dinner was cleaned up, Terry was out gathering the decorations from the garage. It always tickled you how quickly your love of the holiday season had infected him. When you first met your husband, he never had much of a yearning to celebrate. But that all changed when you first confessed your love to him at a local tree lighting ceremony. Every year since, Terry added the tree lighting ceremony onto his evergrowing itinerary of holiday related events. Driving around to look at the lights, gingerbread house competitions, and of course, tonight’s main event; the annual Christmas Eve dinner party. 

You waltzed between your guests dancing in your colorful living room. Terry’s friend Mel was DJ’ing a set of black holiday hits, coaxing folks out of an incoming case of the itis. A few people stopped you on your way to the kitchen; waxing about how delicious everything was. An invite to a Terry x Y/N dinner party was coveted amongst your community. You were practically a young Ina Garten in your own right; pulling off elaborate 3 and 4-course dinners with the likes of curried oxtail, whole fried tilapia, and king crab gumbo. Some of your friends would change their entire flight schedule to eat at the Richmond house on Christmas Eve.

“Ooo T, if these folk keep gassing me up, my heads gone get too big,” you said as you balanced a few empty glasses. 

“Let ‘em gas you. You really outdid yourself this year, baby.”

Going all out was expected of you, and Terry was determined to match your fly this year. Eight months ago, his therapist suggested he take up baking as a way to spend time with his thoughts. And now, he was ready to show your guests what he had been perfecting all this time. You leaned against the door frame and watched your gentle giant pull a pan of steaming hot cinnamon rolls out of the oven. He placed the pan down with cautious hesitation, making you bite back a giggle. 

Although you loved that Terry had cultivated a hobby that worked for him, you couldn’t help but still be tickled by it. Your 6’3, former marine, no-nonsense husband was a home baker. And he looked mighty fine doing it too. He wore his nice fitted polo that hugged every part of his muscle lined frame. He stared down intently through his gold-rimmed glasses that sat at the bridge of his nose as he whipped frosting in a bowl. Placing your tray down, you wrung out your hands; biting your lip as you watched his biceps flex with each whip of the whisk. Flashbacks of your quicky before the party popped into your mind. You’d shown him your dress for the night: a short black dress with dusty pink feathers lining the bottom. He must have liked it, the way he made quick work of hiking the dress over your thick thighs; commanding you to watch yourself in the mirrored ceiling while he greedily lapped at your pussy on the staircase. Jolting back to the present, your middle pooled with desire. Terry spread the cream cheese frosting over the freshly baked pastries and you practically moaned at the sight of it. God, I wish that was me.

“If you finna ogle me like that, you may as well give me a hand.” He playfully shook his head under your stare. It wouldn’t be the first time he feigned disapproval at your lust for him. You were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Hastily, you crossed the kitchen to press your chest against his back, hugging his waist. Your gold-adorned hands roamed his chest as you hummed along to the music floating in front of the living room. Terry chuckled and the depth of his voice was like honey in your ears. The wine from dinner made your body hum with lust. Probably should have stopped after the second glass. Red wine always made you horny. Your clit was beginning to hurt from how badly you wanted him. With dinner finished, your hostess duties had been mostly completed. Who would notice if you slipped away?

“Here, taste this,” he commanded.

Terry held up a frosting covered finger and you wasted no time in wrapping your pretty pouty lips around it. Nutmeg and cinnamon danced on your tongue as you sucked down to the base of his knuckle. You watched as his bottom lip raked between his teeth, his stormy eyes flashing with desire. 

“Baby, you’re gonna get in trouble playing around like that.” Terry’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed a groan. Releasing his finger with a pop, you looked up at him with your brown sugar eyes and pulled him in by his belt. 

“You promise, lover?” You bat your eyelashes wistfully, causing him to take a precautionary look around. Making a show of ensuring no unsuspecting guest was in eyesight. 

Terry practically melted when you smiled at him, your multi-faced grill illuminated by the warm lights. You were irresistible and you knew it. Perching on your tippy toes, you puckered your lips at him, causing him to smirk. He leaned down and gave you a small peck, much to your dismay. Greedy.

“Terryyyyyyy,” you whined, dragging out the syllables in his name. He leaned down with his lips to your neck, planting an open mouth kiss right where you liked it. His large hands gripped your thick hips, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Y/N,” he whispered into your ear, “you know we have guests. Don’t start something you can’t finish, princess.” His cologne mixed with the smell of the pastries, making you woozy with lust. He was a cinnamon, citrus, and coconut dream. You just wanted a bite.

“I could say the same thing to you. You talking all this shit when I know you’re hard for me.” Straightening back up to look at you, his eyes met yours. You watched as a flash of deviance glazed over those blue-gray eyes. Terry spun you away, pressing his hardened groin against your plump behind. 

“This what you wanted? You wanted to feel this fat dick against that ass, huh?” You could only nod in response, feeling light as air from your husband’s touch. The bass of the music mixed with your ever-quickening heartbeat, filling the spaces in your ears. His touch only worsened it, every caress and squeeze set your skin ablaze. You couldn’t go on like this. You desperately needed friction and he knew it. 

“Mhm, I see them wheels turning in that pretty head. Go set these out and meet me upstairs.” 

“Yes, sir.”

You picked up the glass pan of treats with glee before turning to your husband with your lips puckered. He chuckled deeply and pecked your lips; spinning you around with a smack on your plump behind. Your giggles filled his ears as you walked out. Terry grabbed a jingle bell stirring stick and headed to your shared room. 

After worming your way out of conversations downstairs, you kicked off your feathered heels and hastened up the stairs. Once you entered the room, the sounds of Boyz 2 Men wafted in from below. You bit your lip in anticipation and you stopped to slide down your panties. They were soaked beyond recovery, a usual dilemma that occurred around Terry. Your husband had just wrapped up his teeth routine when you walked in. Already shirtless and ready to please. He made a spinning motion with his finger and you turned with a quickness. Unzipping your dress with one hand, he slipped a thin rod into your right hand. It jingled when you shook it and you rolled your eyes. This game became a tradition ever since your honeymoon at the Christmas markets in France. But with everything that happened this year, you’d almost forgotten about it. A strong hand wrapped around your neck, bringing your attention to the mirror. Your eyes met his and you could have come right then and there. 

“You better keep your eyes straight. You know the rules; every time you come, I need to hear that bell. Understood?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you cooed. Terry made quick work of sliding the dress over your pretty hair, working carefully to preserve all your hard work. He hoisted you onto the cool counter and sighed as he opened your legs. 

Leaning down, he took your bottom lip between yours and lightly sucked. You couldn’t help but moan against his mouth as he kissed you with vigor. His hand slid up from your plush tummy to your chest, kneading and grabbing at any and every part of you. He loved every bit of you. He always had and it drove you crazy; being desired by him was euphoric. 

Breaking the kiss, he put two fingers in your mouth. You sucked them with excitement, making him stifle a chuckle. You couldn’t help it. Your poor pussy was dripping with want; squeezing around nothing. He popped his fingers out of your mouth and slid them inside your dewy walls with no hesitation. You both let out a drawn-out fuuuuuuuuck in unison. 

“I’ve been thinking about this pussy all night, baby. So damn gorgeous in that little dress, working the room. I’m tryna work you.”

“You play too much- oh!” You giggled in between your moans as your husband slightly bent his fingers inside of you. He watched you intently as he worked you into submission. The building tension in your tummy made you clench around his two digits.  Terry smoothed his hand over your breast before squeezing and twisting your left nipple. Your back arched away from the cold mirror as much as it could without inducing a cramp. 

“Look at this pretty pussy gripping me. Let me see it, baby.” Grabbing your face with his large hand, he turned you to the side. You watched your reflection in the mirrored cabinet, with Terry’s thick arm pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your ears grew hot as you watched with your mouth agape. The sight of it made the coil in your middle tighten before snapping completely. You came with stuttered squirts, moaning out his name.

“Good girl. Go ahead and ring that bell, princess.” 

You weakly shook the stick and his mouth covered yours once again. The sound of the jingling bell mixed with the clanking of his belt. He pulled you to the edge and lined up his hardened member with your entrance. You cradled his chiseled chin in your hand, staring into his eyes as he worked himself inside of you. Your pussy stretched willingly to accommodate his size, just as it did before the party. He rolled his hips at a painfully slow pace, making you feel every inch of him. 

“Fuck, I missed you. You good, Y/N?” Terry smirked at your face contorted in pleasure. You bit down on your lip and nodded wildly, failing at holding back the oncoming orgasm. 

Just the stretch alone was enough to get you there. With just a few pumps into you, the jingle bell echoed in the bathroom. It was astonishing to see how quickly the man could make you come. An evil chuckle bubbled out of his chest as he adjusted his hold on you. Hooking his left arm under your knee, he closed in the space between you. You raked your hooded eyes over his body and sent a quick thank you to the ancestors. God, was he pretty. His pace quickened and he wrapped his free hand around your throat, lightly pressing the sides. 

“Yes, just like that Terrence,” you yelled, turned on from the lessened airflow. 

“Just like that, baby? Just like that, huh?” Your eyes rolled back into your head while you nodded. All sense had gone out of the window as he fucked you dumb. Guests be damned. Both of your moans mixed with the muffled singing of Anita Baker and the cacophony of clapping and lewd squelches. He playfully timed his strokes to the beat of Sweet Love and a mixture of giggles and groans erupted from you. 

“Ease up, Y/N,” Terry groaned stiffly, shutting his eyes tight, “if you keep squeezing me like that, I’ll come.” What a silly man. That’s everything you wanted. You craved the feeling of him filling you to the brim with his seed. The man had you fantasizing about carrying his child for Christ's sake. 

“Come for me then, daddy.”

His thick brows furrowed and you shook your head, giggling more. The tables had turned and you weren’t about to let up. Watching your 6’3 husband writhe from your touch was so much more than satisfying, it was a drug. You craved seeing him in utter ecstasy, watching it overtake him. What a sight to behold. Gripping the edge of the counter with one hand, you steadied yourself and rolled your hips against him. Terry locked eyes with yours and moaned your name, overtaken by the feeling of you wrapped around him. You got lost in his stormy pools as he quickly rutted into you, chasing his undoing. You squeezed around him once more as an orgasm ripped through you. 

“Fuuuuuuck, Terrence,” you groaned out, ringing the bell sloppily. 

He fucked you through the orgasm, overstimulating you until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His hips stuttered to a stop as he came, white-hot strands coating your insides and filling you up. Fuck’s and I love you’s trailed into the air while you both caught your breath. You gave the bell rod one more shake, sending the both of you into a fit of laughter. Sharing a peck or two between smiles. He slipped himself out of you with a contented sigh and moved to clean you up. 

Once you made yourselves presentable, you headed down the stairs to rejoin your party hand in hand. Guests were slow dancing to the velvety voice of Samara Joy in the light of the Christmas glow. DJ Mel shot the two of you a knowing look and Terry shrugged before hugging you close to him. 

“We grown, Mel,” Terry said, eliciting a shrug from them. You could only smile and shake your head at the man’s antics.

“We throw a good party, baby. Maybe too good.” Spinning you slowly, he pulled you into him. You pouted while you watched him gently kiss the tops of your manicured hands. 

“Way too good. All the cinnamon rolls are gone and I didn’t get one,” you whimpered sadly and laid your head against his hard chest. He rubbed your back as he swayed you to the music. 

“Mhm, that’s why I made you another batch,” he hummed, the bass in his chest vibrating against your ear. You looked up at him with stars in your eyes and he kissed your forehead. You brought your hand up to caress his face and he pressed a kiss against your palm.

“You’re so real for that, Terrence. Merry Christmas, baby.” A soft smile took over his face when you squeezed his waist with all your might.

“Merry Christmas, princess.” 

Thanks For Reading!

@babybluepeaches @muse-of-mbaku @melaninmarvel @naturallyqueenie @howtoshuckatlife @goldieccentric @archivistofwakanda @alexundefined @minyara-kun @destinio1 @raysunshine78 @madamslayyy @notdsg @ghostfacekill-monger @soufcakmistress @greennightspider @bitchacho25 @jordanhelah @puremolasses @ajspencer1892 @monochrome-pineapple @psuedo4 @bubblyqueen @chaneajoyyy @blowmymbackout @tchallasbabymama @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @jvzmine19 @ashanti-notthesinger

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 2 - Under My Skin

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: If you're mad at me for getting any lore or myths wrong through this story, consider that Supernatural themselves cannot track their own lore, and I'm doing my goddamn best.

Chapter title from Akaska Sad by Rina Sawayama

Word Count: 15.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean and John take on an odd, difficult case, and you try—and fail—to avoid them. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Read on A03!

Lately, Dean’s life was fucking lonely. It was made of long car rides where Dad wouldn’t speak to him, countless cases where he felt almost useless, and restless nights where he’d get up to use the bathroom, look at the couch, and feel a little piece of him die again when Sam wasn’t there.

Every town looked the same. Every girl did too. He didn’t try to talk to them—he never had—but there was still something in him that was so furiously lonely, he was burning through chicks night by night in a desperate plea that they’d offer him something. Sometimes they’d talk to him, and that would become enough. He was never really all that interested—they all had the same voice and same words and same boring, apple pie lives that Dean would never get to be a part of—but it carried him over until the next one. Until he and Dad got the monster, left town, and nobody there would have to spare Dean a thought for the rest of their lives.

He tried to make them remember. He poured all he had to spare into the sex, and making it good enough that maybe—when each woman was married with kids and some sort of boring office job—they’d still use the memory of him to get off. They might not remember his name, or his voice, or his face, but they’d remember how he made them feel. And that did a little more to curb the loneliness. The pit like feeling of uselessness.

But sometimes he’d strike out, and be forced to wake up on an empty, stiff motel mattress. Dad would already be gone—getting coffee or working there leads or just fucking sick of Dean not being Sam—and it would only be Dean in the whole world. And that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t just be Dean. It’s never supposed to just be Dean. When it’s just him, everything gets too loud and too quiet and so hot, but also massive and empty and cold. Corners are shaper and knives are duller and colors are all muted, because only Dean can see them and he doesn’t deserve to. 

And when that happened, sometimes he’d grab his phone and consider calling Sammy. He’d stare at the number—hidden from Dad with a fake contact, just in case—and allow his thumb to hover over the call button, but never press it. He couldn’t. He’d have no way to get to California, Sam probably wouldn’t want to see him, and Dad would freakin’ kill him for even considering it. Dean couldn’t even say Sam’s damn name without Dad’s jaw ticking and an unsettling tension falling over the room.

So Dean stayed lonely. He worked every case lonely, found every bed lonely, and woke every morning lonely. 

But he wasn’t lonely in his dreams. It didn’t matter why he wasn’t, but he wasn’t. That, at the very least, was something Dean could count on. When he slept, he’d never be lonely, because-

It didn’t matter. They were just dreams, and dreams didn’t mean shit. Even it had been the same person starring in them every night—the same beautiful, twisted salvation to the pit that had formed inside of Dean, that he loathed and craved and couldn’t figure out how to get rid of—for the past year, Dean wasn’t some crystals and tea leaves chick who was going to try and find meaning in his freakin’ dreams.

This lady seemed to be, though. She was dressed like she belonged at Woodstock, there were dreamcatchers and random dried plants all over her house, and she kept trying to offer Dean a palm reading. Telling him his aura was strong. That didn’t fucking mean anything, because that shit wasn’t real, and Dean should know. His whole life was figuring out what things were real, and what was fake.

This magic, witchy bullshit was fake. 

The ghost haunting Woodstock Chick’s house was very real.

“You know,” Woodstock frowned at Dean and Dad from across the table. “I’m a little surprised you’re listening to me.”

Dad shrugged. “Well, ma’am it’s routine to investigate complaints. It ain’t our job to judge, just hear what you’ve got for us. Now, we’ve got the objects flyin’ around-“

“It’s just,” Woodstock let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I’ve been filing these complaints for weeks, and all I’ve gotten is made fun of by my neighbors. Then, suddenly, you’re taking me seriously? Sending three officers to talk to me-“

Dean cleared his throat, shooting Dad a weary look. “Sorry, did you say three?”

“Yeah. You two, plus the one yesterday. Young woman, with the rings and lip gloss. She was gorgeous, good skin and hair, bright aura, just like yours.” she smiled at Dean as she continued. “She kind of looked like a,” Woodstock frowned, tilting her head. “Like a cat.”

Dad scowled. “A cat.”

Woodstock nodded. “You know, just like how he,” she nodded at Dean, and he frowned. “Looks like a puppy. It not about their faces, it’s about their energy-“

“And you’re saying this chick had the energy of a cat?” Dean asked, not allowing himself to dwell on the puppy thing. He had too much shit to worry about already. “Ma’am, we-“

“We’re takin’ your complaints seriously, ma’am.” Dad’s voice was firm over Dean’s, and Dean felt a cringe of shame in his chest. “Now, tell us about the lights, and we’ll let you keep goin’ with your day.”

Woodstock continued, Dad asking more careful, smart questions as Dean sat in silence, and the lady’s problem was pretty obviously a ghost. Kind of a douchebag of a ghost, but just a ghost. The hard part was just gonna be figuring out who it was, because Woodstock was insisting nobody had ever died in this house, that she had no dead relatives, and that she’d never even killed anyone.

That last question did get them kicked out, though.

“We ain’t accusin’ you of anything, ma’am.” Dad remained in the threshold of Woodstock’s door, holding the angry woman’s gaze. “It’s a just part of our report-”

Woodstock let out a dry laugh. “Nice try, officer, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I do know that’s a lie. If you come back, come back with a warrant, or-“ Woodstock paused, looking between Dean and Dad. “Send Officer Brown. She was nicer, and didn’t ask me stupid questions.”

The door slammed, Dad groaned—running a hand over his face before stomping back to the Impala—and Dean was frozen in place as Woodstock’s words rang a loud, clean, golden bell in his brain. When Dad shouted at him to haul ass he managed to move, but barely. Everything was far away, because things that were supposed to be trapped in dreams were starting to follow Dean into the real world. They weren’t supposed to. Dean had promised himself he’d keep Her trapped down, where he never had to think about her until sleep dragged Her back to the surface of his brain.

And that hadn’t really been working. Sometimes he’d smell fruity perfume on a woman, and She’d flash in front of his eyes. Sometimes he’d have some random girl next to him or over him or under him, and they’d moan, and it would sound like a siren. The worst was when someone would look at him and a tiny, traitorous asshole voice would whisper She’d look at you better. She’d be better. You’re a piece of shit, Dean Winchester, because She’d been the freakin’ best and you left her.

He hadn’t left Her. He’d escaped her. Outsmarted whatever bullshit she’d been trying to pull on him, whatever scam She’d been running. And it didn’t fucking matter that his brain was clinging onto every piece of Her he’d gotten to see that day—that the bells were made of Her beautiful voice saying Brown’s a cop—because she’d probably stopped hunting. Realized it wasn’t the fun little rush She thought it was and crawled back home to her fancy, stupid life. 

But She’d told him she’d been hunting since she was fifteen.

That had probably been a lie too.

It hadn’t sounded like a lie. 

Well, maybe She’d just been an awesome liar. 

Dean needed to snap the hell out of it. He’d tread down this path countless times, the voice—it seemed to live in his chest, a little to the right of his heart—trying to work out what that whole thing had been, and a good reason for Dean to track Her down and ask if She’d felt it too. 

But She’d been playing him, and he never wanted to see Her drop-dead gorgeous face again. It didn’t matter what he’d felt, because Dad was right. It had probably been some sort of trick, made of all those pretty lies and words She’d been using on him. So Dean didn’t mention to Dad that Brown had been one of Her aliases, because he wasn’t supposed to remember anything about Her. Dad was seething in the driver’s seat—grumbling about lone, stupid hunters interfering in their case—but She wasn’t here, probably, so it didn’t matter anyway.

Another three days passed, and they still couldn’t figure out who the ghost was. Everyone Woodstock knew was clean—and claimed she was too—and everyone in this town died of old age like a bunch of freaking suckers, so they had nothing. This ghost couldn’t chill the fuck out, Woodstock had been telling anyone who would listen about how it had started to throw plates at her head—how she didn’t feel safe—so Dad had them on rotating watches. Keeping an eye on the house from the forest in case Woodstock started screaming while the other kept working it, searching for just one goddamn idea of who the ghost could be.

They hadn’t figured out who the other hunter was, either, but Dean was growing more and more certain it might be Her. He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of perfectly styled shiny hair on the street. He was either going batshit crazy, or he’d heard Her voice in a corner store while he was buying aftershave. And a feeling like gravity had reformed in his eyes, bringing his attention to shadows that might be Her and making his every nerve flare when he smelled something sweet. Most of all, he’d been in the motel parking lot a handful of times and felt it. That odd, light feeling that had surrounded him when he’d met Her, making it so easy to breathe he’d been certain he’d been doing it wrong before. That he’d started to do it wrong again, after She’d left. It had felt so good and been so impossibly to duplicate—Dean had really tried to, as well, in body after body after body—but it was back like a fucking asteroid, crashing into him and obliterating everything he’d thought had been right.

But he hadn’t told Dad. To start, Dad would look at him like he was a fucking idiot, and ask if Dean had watched a chick flick while drinking one too many beers. Then Dean would mumble no, and Dad would roll his eyes and tell him to get his shit together, because they had a job to do.

Dean could’ve told Sammy. He would’ve listened, made a little fun of Dean, and then started to ask a bunch of  questions about what made Dean think it was Her. Maybe Sam would have found an explanation about how the vampire baby made men go crazy or something. Maybe She’d been a monster, and Sam would figure out what kind the moment Dean explained it.

But Sam wasn’t here, and Dean didn’t have any real evidence. He hadn’t seen that fancy car She’d been driving, and when he’d very casually asked the front desk of their motel—the only one if town—if anyone with Her name was in a room he’d gotten a no, but she’d probably be in a real hotel. With good water pressure and room service and little shampoo bottles that she didn’t need. 

She hadn’t been in a fancy hotel last year. But that had probably just been another part of the scam.

So he didn’t tell Dad. Dean just took his shifts to watch Woodstock, worked the case, and fucking prayed they’d wrap this up and he could forget the whole thing. Dad would find something soon, they’d gank the ghost, and it would be done. 

Dad had even said he had a new lead, when they’d swapped the watch. Dean had dropped off the car and gotten orders to stay here until Dad got back, to call only if it was an absolute emergency, and to message if he thought of anything new. 

He’d been trying to. Dad was off working the lead, and Dean really wanted to help, but no matter how long leaned against the trees—watching Woodstock’s house and frowning into the air—he couldn’t think of shit. His brain felt numb, because this was freaking boring, and none of it made sense. It was just a ghost, it shouldn’t be this hard. Shit, with another hunter on the case, the asshole should’ve been ash days ago. Maybe it had been Her, and she’d realized they were in town, and She’d left. Been worried they’d try to turn her in for her bullshit, even though She had no way to know they’d figured her out. 

Maybe She hadn’t wanted to see Dean. Which shouldn’t bother him at all, but the thought made his stomach turn and heart split down the center. He didn’t get it. It shouldn’t hurt, because he sure as hell didn’t want to see Her. He was looking everywhere for Her, but he didn’t want to see Her. He didn’t. He didn’t-

He did. He could. That was fucking Her. Walking up the steps of Woodstock’s house with a large bag, knocking on the door and being welcomed in with a warm smile Woodstock hadn’t offered Dad or Dean. 

She looked hot. Dean wasn’t sure it was possible for Her not to—She’d even looked sexy covered in blood—but she’d somehow gotten hotter. She wasn’t wearing that horrible jacket anymore, but well-fitting, casual clothing that She moved so easily in. Clothing that suited Her, that She looked comfortable in, that Dean wanted to touch to see what fabric She liked. It would tell him more about Her, about what she deemed suitable for herself, what she enjoyed, what she wanted. And if She allowed him close enough, maybe Dean could rip it off Her body-

Fuck. It was happening again. Dean had just looked at Her and she’d dragged him under some sort of trance. The feeling had returned in full force, like an inevitable kind of cancer over his brain that Dean didn’t know how to cure. Part of him didn’t even want to cure it—it felt right and natural and filled up that pit with a shifting light that was shaped like Her—but he had to. He was useless like this. Useless to the hunt, useless to himself, useless to Dad. Dad would smack him on the head and tell him to get a goddamn grip, because a girl wasn’t worth falling down for. Dean’s job wasn’t staring at pretty things and trying to make sense of them, it was creating ash and spilling blood. He was a solider, not a prince who was going to save the damsel. 

And She wasn’t a damsel. She was a bitch. The prettiest, funniest, smartest bitch Dean had ever met, who seemed like Cinderella but was really a stepsister. Dean didn’t need Her, and he shouldn’t be sparing Her a single thought at all. He should just text Dad that She was the other hunter, that She seemed tight with Woodstock, and that She’d been in the house for a long time.

A really long time. 

Too long. It had been almost an hour since She’d disappeared off the porch, and unless she was there for a sleepover, she should’ve been out by now. Maybe the ghost had gotten the jump on Her and Woodstock. Maybe Dean had to go in and save Her, not because it was Her, but because that was his job. And maybe She’d thank him, and kiss him because She was so grateful he’d put his grudge aside to save her life, and it would be awesome and She’d taste like sugar and be soft under his hands-

“Dean Winchester.” 

He nearly leapt out of his goddamn skin, spinning around with wide-eyes and clenched fists that couldn’t seem to remember how to fly and land square in Her pretty, mocking face. She was standing barely three feet away, Her arms crossed and brows raised, her bag nowhere in sight.

“Fucking hell, Princess.“ The nickname slipped out of him without thought, because She really did look like royalty. He knew why that was now—easy to look smoking hot and fancy when you had the money for it—but it didn’t change the fact. Her lips were glossy, her eyes seemed to shimmer with that pretty color that washed over his dreams, that causal clothing really did look like it was made to touch Her, and Dean couldn’t believe he was jealous of a fabric-

“What are you doing here.” Her voice still had that haunting, angel-like quality, but it was flat. Bored. Almost dead.

He gave Her a smirk, and he wasn’t sure why it hurt that She barely even blinked back. “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing. What could a bitch like you be doing in a place like this?“

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could’ve sworn She curled a little into her body. “I asked first.”

Dean shrugged. “I asked louder.”

“I- You know what? I don’t care.” She stood a little taller, her voice somehow growing colder. “Whatever you’re up to, stop. This is my hunt. I got here first, I’m handling it, and you’re only going to slow me down.”

Dean let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Ghosts aren’t really gonna respect dibs, sweetheart.”

Her eyes flashed with something Dean didn’t really understand. “They don’t, but I’m not that worried about it, De. Like I said, I’m handling it.”

He glared at Her, ignoring how something in his chest was humming, trying to get Her to call him De over and over again forever. “Sorry,” he drawled Her name, leaning forward and trying not to think about how she didn’t flinch away. How he could smell that same, fruity perfume and sugar from before. “I guess we’ll just have to let the better hunter win.”

She raised Her chin, holding his gaze. “I’m warning you, Winchester. Leave.“

He chuckled. “I’m good, Princess. Think I’ll pass, but trying to warn me was cute-”

“Listen to me.” She hissed, leaning close enough that Dean could pick out every small bump on Her face, isolate every color in Her eyes. “I’m not asking. Go back to Sam and John, tell them you figured it out and it’s done, and get the fuck out of my way.”

Something brittle snapped in Dean’s spine, his jaw clenching as the words pushed out of him like vomit. “Sam’s not with us. He left.”

He didn’t know why the fuck he’d tell Her that. She wouldn’t care. She seemed to hate Dean as much as he hated Her—probably bitter he’d got the up on Her, didn’t want him to mess with whatever scam she was trying to pull on Woodstock—and She’d met Sam twice. He shouldn’t have told Her that, because Dad hated even talking about it. Hell, Bobby barely knew about it. It was family business, and She wasn’t family, and that perfume had to be some sort of pheromone because it was making Dean a freaking dumbass-

“Is he okay?”

Dean blinked at Her, and her expression wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t empty. She didn’t seem like a statue anymore, and whatever was behind Her eyes looked real. Just as real as it had been last year, like there was a whole universe inside of Her that Dean had wanted to explore. To find out what She was made of, and if it was as similar to heaven as it seemed.

It wasn’t. Dean knew that, in his working brain—rather than his heart that stretched for Her and his dick that ached for Her to be just a little closer—She wasn’t heaven. She was temptation in a beautiful form, determined to make Dean weak and pathetic and soft, everything he couldn’t allow himself to be. But he still told Her the truth. His voice lower and without any venom, his body tensed slightly, his brain spinning as the strange look in Her eyes seemed to glow, dragging the words out of him. 

“He’s fine. Off at college. Decided he didn’t want-“ Dean cut himself off with a small shake of his head. He wouldn’t be that weak or dumb, exposing a gap in his armor she’d use to make him crumble to his knees. “He was done hunting. Wanted a normal life.”

She was just looking at him. Scanning over him carefully, holding one of Her own hands and just fucking staring, like Dean might be an illusion or his words might be a lie, and She was trying to look for evidence of it.

“That sucks.” She finally said, and it sounded so real. Like She might actually give a shit that Dean was lonely. That Sam had left him. “Sorry.”

 “I don’t need your pity, sweetheart-“

“I don’t pity you.” She snapped, Her features growing harsh once more. “I’m saying that fucking sucks, I know you cared about him. I’m apologizing because it’s probably complicated and messy and not all that fun to deal with.”

Dean scowled, something raw snapping along his heartstrings. “I’m doing just fine, Princess. I’ve got my dad, and Sammy’s safe in California. He’s still my brother, and it’s not like he’s fucking dead. So I’m good.”

She raised her brows, an amusement that made Dean’s gut boil written over Her face. “Yeah, you really sound it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it-“

“Or what.” She hissed, leaning forward until Dean was almost drowning in Her. “You gonna run to John and tell him that the little moroi bitch is bullying you? That you need to hurry up on the hunt, because you can’t stand that I’m going to get this thing all by my fucking self-“

“All by-“ Dean stared at Her. “You’re still hunting alone?”

Her face twisted, her words hushed and furious. “That is none of your fucking business-“

“It is if you’re going to get yourself killed-“ 

She snorted. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t pretend like you give a shit about me-“

“I give a shit if you end up monster chow.” Dean sneered, pretending something wasn’t cracking along his ribs at the certain, settled hatred in Her voice. “The job is saving people, not choosing who. You try and jump in front of that ghost, I’ll stop you-“

“Please,” She scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

Dean’s breathing was ragged. His heart was violent in his chest, and his hands were curled at his side, and She was so fucking infuriating. Dean shouldn’t give a shit about Her, but his skin felt like it was being flayed at the thought of Her in danger or pain, and She shouldn’t sound like she was wounded by being the little moroi bitch, because She was, and Dean wanted to grab Her by the neck and slam his lips to Her’s-

“Stay out of my way, Winchester.” She hissed, still so close, and looking so warm and soft, and Dean was so close to figuring out what the hell that fruit was-

She was gone. She leaned back in a rough, sharp movement—like Dean was a magnet and She was only just strong enough to pull herself away—and just walked away. 

He might be stuck here forever—on the edge of the woods outside Woodstock’s haunted house—his body trying to cling to her and his brain trying to erase Her forever. It was something he’d been trying to do for a year, something he’d never managed, and something that was made so much more difficult by the fact that She looked back. That their eyes met one last time, and it was like lightning through his blood.

He would have chased Her in Dad hadn’t called right then. He spent the next two days trying to convince himself he wouldn’t have, but it was a fucking lie. He wasn’t sure what he would have done when he caught Her, but he would’ve chased Her. Rushed after Her and asked why had She lied, why did She look like she wanted to punch Dean when She’d been the one to hurt him, if She had looked back because she could feel it too. Feel the gravity, feel the drug, feel the storm that threatened to consume Dean in Her name. Ask if She dreamt of him, ask if She saw him in shadows, ask if She was a monster and beg her to set him free.

But he hadn’t chased after Her. So it didn’t matter. Dad had picked Dean up—long after She’d been gone, Dean still rooted in place, his head still spinning—and he hadn’t seen Her since, so it didn’t matter. Maybe She’d left. Maybe She’d just skipped town, and Dean would never see her again.

That shouldn’t feel horrible. It should be relieving, the idea that he’d won. That he’d gotten the hunt, gotten Her away from him, gotten a justification for why he hadn’t told Dad he’d seen Her. It would mean that She was gone, and Dean could pretend that had never happened at all. But it still felt like fucking shit, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to stop it. It ate away at his brain as the days blurred together, and they hit dead end after dead end. She remained at least out of sight, Dean still didn’t tell Dad that She’d ever been in town, and the hauntings just fucking stopped. No more lights, no more temperature drops, no more screaming Woodstock. 

It couldn’t have been Her. There were no graveyard disturbances, She hadn’t entered the house since their conversation, and it wasn’t like the EMF was gone. On the second day of no activity they’d had broken into Woodstock’s house, checked to see if it was gone, and it wasn’t. It had just stopped haunting.

Dad was losing his mind. He was barely speaking to Dean, shooting down all his ideas, and mostly just reading book after book and grumbling that it didn’t make any goddamn sense. Ghosts just didn’t stop, they still didn’t know who the hell the son of a bitch was, and they couldn’t leave until this thing was dealt with.

Dean suggested drinks—the motel room was starting to feel like a cage, they both needed it, and maybe the answer would be one or two bottles deep—and Dad had grunted an agreement. It was a small victory, but a victory all the same. Maybe Dean could find a woman there to distract from this disaster, distract him from Her-

He didn’t need to be distracted from Her. There was nothing to distract from. Dean might be dreaming about Her still—dreams where he did grab Her and kiss her, She fell to her knees and he went right down with Her, and it was fucking awesome—but She wasn’t anywhere real around him, so it didn’t matter. Every shadow on the darkened street was shaped like Her, but shadows weren’t real. That gravity in Dean’s chest was trying pull and pry Dean open so She could take a look, but that was just an emotion, and Dean wasn’t about to be some sort of pussy about his feelings. The whole bar seemed to smell like that strange fucking fruit and sugar, but Dean could just be losing his mind. The woman in the booth looked exactly like Her, and sat with her knees tucked up like she did, and was wearing the same shirt-

Shit.

“Dad, I don’t feel great, maybe we could-“

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Dad had seen Her. His face was drawn in a scowl, the glare he used during hunts was furrowing at his brow, and there was a glint in his eyes that set everything on edge.

He was fucked. She was going to tell Dad they’d run into each other, Dad would fucking murder him for not mentioning it, and She’d just fuck off and get herself killed with the ghost. Dean didn’t know why that last one felt just as terrifying as Dad’s wrath, but it might actually be worse. Dad wouldn’t actually kill him. He’d get yelled at and probably banned from driving for a month, but Dad would never hurt him. 

Dad would hurt Her. He was already stalking over to Her booth—She hadn’t even looked up, which didn’t increase Dean’s faith in Her lone hunting abilities—with white-knuckled fists that would have probably collided with Her face if she wasn’t a chick. Dean barely ran after him in time for them to reach the booth, to stop at Dad’s side right as he slammed his hand on the table.

She flinched slightly as she looked up, and the air around them became wired and electric.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, girl.” Dad lowered himself down to Her eye level as he spat the words out. “Ain’t no way you’re in town just by fuckin’ coincidence.”

She huffed a dry laugh, holding Dad’s gaze as she answered. “Not a coincidence. Just me, having the worst luck in the world.” Her attention finally turned to Dean, he felt alive, and Her words remained just as flat as before. “Hiya, Deano. You look like shit.” She looked back to Dad, her pretty lips curling into a smirk. “You both look like shit.”

“You think you’re smart-“

She snorted, cutting Dad off with a bored grin. “I am smart. Sit down, you’re drawing attention.”

She waved a loose hand around the bar, and She was right. People were wide eyed, watching them nervously, and they didn’t need that. Attention was bad in this line of business. It was downright dangerous. And Dad knew that, so he gave Dean a curt nod to listen to Her, and slid into the booth once Dean was settled across from Her. 

It was a little freaking insane, how She only got prettier. How in the low, golden light of the bar she seemed to have a halo around Her head. But it wasn’t real. Nothing about Her was real, and Dean would have to remember that. Dad was real, was looking at Her like she’d tried to key the Impala, and Dean needed to figure out where that hatred for Her had gone and bring it back. Convince Her to skip town—because She’d get in the way, not because the idea of Her being thrown across a room by a spirit made him sick—and cover his own ass, because he was still in danger of Her snitching on him. 

But She was hardly looking at him. Her attention was divided between Dad, her own hands, and the neon red, cherry and ice and paper umbrella drink in front of Her-

“Are you drinking a fucking Shirley Temple?” Dean spoke before he could stop himself, and She shot him a glare.

“You got a problem with that, Winchester?”

“Nah,” Dean shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I just didn’t know you were that much a prissy little princess-“

“They’re good drinks, dick.” She snapped. “It’s called having fun. Something you two buttheads,” She gestured between Dean and Dad. “Clearly know nothing about.”

Dean learned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “I know plenty about having fun, sweetheart. Some might call me a master at it.“

She snorted. It was freaking adorable. “Some might call you a manwhore-“

“Watch yourself, girl.” Dad snapped, and Dean’s whole body tightened. Everything was rigid from the fury on Dad’s face—all directed at Her, all sick in Dean’s stomach—and raw from Her words. 

Manwhore. She wasn’t wrong, and he’d been called a lot worse, but it still stung like a freaking hornet along the cavity of his chest. There was no way for Her to know that, unless Dean’s whole face just screamed lonely. Lonely fucking trash to be used up and forgotten. It didn’t. He was so goddamn careful to ensure it didn’t. Even Dad didn’t know the extent of that pit, so it was impossible for Her to, and why did it feel like She’d just punched him in the gut-

“Listen to me,” Dad hissed Her full name, and it was a low threat that snapped Dean back into his body. “Skip town. This is our case, and we don’t need some fancy brat gettin’ in our way.”

She glanced at Dean, and he almost didn’t catch the small frown on Her face. It was fleeting—barely a flash on Her gorgeous features—but strong. Reaching all the way to Her eyes and filling them with an emotion Dean didn’t understand.

But then it was gone. And when She looked back to Dad her face was in bored and taunting once more. 

“I’m hate to break it to you, buddy, but ghosts don’t care about dibs.” Her lips curled into a smirk, and this was it. She was going to rat Dean out, he was dead-

“Lucky for you,” She picked up Her drink and leaned back in her seat. “It’s not a ghost. So maybe if you ask it really nicely, it’ll refuse to be killed by anyone but you.”

Dad scowled. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, girl. This ain’t another moroi thing, this is a fuckin’ ghost-“

“It’s not.” She grinned at them from around Her straw, and shit She had nice lips. They were a little puckered, Dean could still remember how soft they’d been, and they’d probably look even better wrapped around Dean’s-

“Whatever game you’re playin’,” Dad hissed at Her, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. “Cut the shit and say what you mean.”

She hummed, still wearing a bright, mocking grin. “You think it’s a ghost.”

“It is a ghost,” Dean muttered, watching Her carefully. “You’re not stupid, Princess, EMF plus random flying plates equals evil Casper.”

“That’s true.” She dropped Her empty glass on the table, leaning toward with a shrug. “But it’s still not a ghost.”

“You heard Dean, girl, it’s a ghost, plain and goddamn simple.”

“Have you seen it?” 

Dean glanced at Dad, and he’d bet a lot of money that their expressions were identical in pure freaking confusion.

“We don’t have time,” Dad grunted, his voice low and edged. “For fucking riddles. You-“

“It’s not a riddle.” She raised her brows, picking a cherry out of the glass. “Have either of you actually seen your alleged ghost? Did Maggie Rose tell you she saw it?”

Maggie Rose. Woodstock. The woman who would’ve definitely seen the ghost by now.

And who hadn’t mentioned it a single goddamn time.

“I’m guessing you haven’t found remains either.” She hummed, picking the cherry off the stem with Her teeth. “And you’ve been looking for who the ghost could be, but you’re not finding anything. You’ve been looking in the wrong place. Poltergeist’s don’t have to haunt the places where they died, and they often have little to no connection with their victims.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “This thing ain’t nearly violent enough to be a poltergeist-“

“That’s because it’s been getting enough attention so far. Maggie’s been screaming about it, and it’s found that satisfying enough.” She spun the stem between two fingers, looking between Dad And Dean with a triumphant grin. “Poltergeist.”

Dean was pretty sure Dad was going to leap across the table and strangle Her. His jaw was clenched, his body stiff at Dean’s side, and his words—when he finally spoke—were pushed through his teeth. 

“Dean.” He grunted, not looking away from Her. “I have to make a call to your uncle. Deal with her.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded, and Dad slid out of the booth without another word. Leaving Dean.

But not alone.

Dean blinked at Her. Dad was gone, and She hadn’t mentioned that they’d seen each other before. Shit, She hadn’t even mentioned Sam, and his obvious absence. Dad would just chalk that up to Her being a bitch, but Dean was clinging to it. She should’ve said it. She had every reason to. But She fucking hadn’t, and some part of Dean was desperate to know why. To know if it was because the idea of him in trouble made Her feel like her skin was being ripped to shreds. It felt like that for Dean, whenever he was reminded that She hunted alone. Whenever a memory of Her covered in blood flashed through his brain. 

And he could still feel it. Feel the electricity in the air that was so different than before. It was charged and tense, but in a way that made Dean feel like he was breathing. He could feel things that didn’t make sense, but they were right. She was right. Across the table, running Her hands over her calves and watching Dean like he might try to take a bite of Her, She still felt like she could fit against him like another piece. 

“You’re not going to deal with me.”

Dean frowned at Her. She wasn’t meeting his gaze, poking the paper umbrella around the glass. “What?”

“What your dad said,” She muttered. “He told you to deal with me. You won’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

She finally looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time since last year. On the curb She’d seen him, but not looked at him. Not like before. Not like that. Where Dean felt like She was seeing right into the pit—how empty and fucking pathetically worthless he was—and filling it up with something peaceful and silver and molten in his gut, like a melted star lighting him up from the inside. He wished it was real. Dean wished, more than almost fucking anything, that he didn’t know that this was part of Her scam or game. That She was looking at him like that because he made Her feel stripped and raw too. Because She saw something in him she wanted, and just kept digging for more without fear of him breaking Her.

But he also wished he wasn’t so fucking lonely that he could care about that. That he could get a hold over himself and just deal with Her. That She wasn’t giving him a strangely soft smile, and he wasn’t caving from how it made his heart freaking glow like a night-light. 

“Because,” She said, like it was simple. Like Dean should just know what she meant. “You won’t.”

“I might.” He leaned forward, holding Her eyes on his as he smirked. “You’re putting yourself in danger, Princess. Dealing with you would be the responsible thing to do.”

“Really.” Her voice was dry, disbelieving. “How would you deal with me, Dean Winchester?”

God, She was trying to kill him. She was looking at him like that, and there was a smug smirk on Her full lips, and Dean had spent the last year hating Her but now all he could think about was how the universe that existed in Her eyes, and how he wanted to see every inch of it. Bare skin and brilliant eyes that had been phantoms in is sleep, now real and touchable. He had a million ways he’d like to deal with Her, and all of them started with those blinding fucking eyes. Rolling back in Her head and fluttering under him and sparkling on his. Her voice saying his name like it was more than just a breath, like it was the blood in Her veins-

“I’m afraid that’s top secret, Princess.” Dean dragged himself together to shoot Her a wink, and he could’ve sworn she flushed. “But I’ll tell you if you give me that answer you owe me.”

She gave him a strange look. “We were even.”

Dean shook his head. “You had asked me two questions. I only asked you one.”

There was a small, frowning pout on Her lips, and Dean realized She might be trying to work out if he was lying. He wasn’t. That conversation lived in the corners of his brain all the goddamn time, he couldn’t forget it if he tried. And he had. He’d bet his life that he was right. She’d asked him two questions about Dad and Sam, called him De, and his whole brain had short-circuited. He’d only realized on the drive back, and he’d been planning to use that to try and get Her to do the game again, but-

But She’d been tricking him. A con-woman and spoiled bitch who had been planning to use him. He’d seen the evidence. He knew that’s what was real. That between them, Dean wasn’t the liar.

He should care about that more. He should stand up and leave, or threaten Her to get the hell out of Dad’s way, or at least stop fucking smiling at Her. But She’d nodded, dropping Her knees down to lean closer, and he was drugged on Her voice and smell and face.

And he stayed.

“Fine.” She said, and Dean felt a thrill-like rush through his body. She was so pretty. “Go.”

He didn’t have a question ready. He hadn’t really expected Her to agree. But She had, and now he was staring at Her, trying to find something. Anything at all that didn’t make him look like a gaping dumbass, lost in Her eyes and high on her smell. He should ask everything he’d wanted to scream at Her on the street, and throw in a shout of why the hell didn’t you tell my dad I knew you were here. It didn’t make any goddamn sense that She hadn’t, and Dean needed to know why. That’s what he should ask. He should just freaking ask why.

“Where are you staying?”

Son of a bitch. That wasn’t what he’d meant to ask, now She was staring at him like he was some kind of creep or asshole, and Dean had to figure out how the hell he could justify asking that.

“For the case,” he added quickly, his voice drained of most of the artificial, cocky arrogance he prided himself on. “Ya’ know. In case we need to find you.”

“You won’t.” She said, Her finger running over that scar on her palm. “This is my case-“

“Yeah, and you’ve got it handled.” Dean drawled, raising his brows. “You gonna answer the question?”

She sighed. “Same motel you’re at. Down the road.”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen your car-“

“You remember my car?” 

He felt a little heat rush to his face, only worsened by how there was a little, dancing light in Her eyes that was trying to draw him into Her, as if he was only a moth and she was the freaking sun. And of course he remembered that car. It was Her car. He’d felt something seize in his chest every time he’d seen one like it for the last year. 

“I like cars,” Dean grumbled—hoping She wouldn’t see it for the half-lie it was—and a small smile pulled at her lips. It looked a little too real.

“Like your dad’s.” She nodded, starting to fish ice cubes out of Her glass. “The Impala.”

It was Dean’s turn to grin. “You remember my car?”

She definitely flushed that time. “Yeah,” She mumbled. “It’s memorable. Shut up and answer my question.”

Dean raised his brows, remained silents, and tried to bait Her into saying it again. It worked.

“You’re such a-“ She cut herself off with a sigh and roll of Her eyes. “How would you deal with me.”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Dean drawled Her name, feeling his grin overtake his face, every bit of his confidence returning—stronger than before—as She swallowed under his gaze. “I’d deal with you however you’d like.”

She blinked at him, and he was certain Her voice was higher than before. “I don’t, um, I-“ She glanced down at his lips, Her tongue poking out between her teeth. Dean wanted to bite it. “What?”

“However you tell me to,” he winked, and She looked like he’d shot her. Good. “I’ll deal with you. My question is how?”

“How-“

“How would you like me to deal with you, Princess?” 

Dean was pushing it. Shit, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, or why he couldn’t bring himself to sneer at Her, or mock her, or deal with her the way Dad had definitely meant. But he did know that Her eyes were wide and blown out, and Her lips looked soft, and he wanted to know if could get Her to be speechless. To gape at him all needy and dumb, so he could show Her exactly what fire She’d been playing with. That he wouldn’t roll over like a puppy, that whatever spell She’d cast on him—whatever aphrodisiac she’d been using—Dean might not be immune, but he could give better than he got. Maybe he’d get Her to bend enough that She’d admit what she’d been doing last year, and Dean would forgive Her because he didn’t know how not to. Because She was like tattoo on his brain that he didn’t want to get rid of.

Maybe he’d get to keep Her.

Maybe they could start over.

“I…” She trailed off, and Dean wanted to smash his lips to Her slack, open ones and start over. She was still gaping at him with a wide, open expression, and fuck he wanted to start over so bad. Against every bit of willpower and intelligence he had, Dean wanted to give into this strange instinct and start over.

“C’mon.” He drawled Her name, shooting her a wink. “Use some words.”

She glared at him, something hot flashing in Her eyes. “Pass. Ask me a different question.”

Dean scoffed under, dropping his voice to under his breath. “Who’s not fun now-“

“I heard that.”

“Course you did.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, party pooper. What do you like?” 

She blinked at him. "What do I like?"

"Like you said, sweetheart, I like cars." Dean said, trying to make his words sound casual. Like he wasn't desperate to learn everything about Her that she'd offer. "What's your thing?"

"My thing." She said slowly, still looking at Dean like he was insane. "That I like."

He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she frowned into the air as she continued. 

"I don't know. Books? Movies and music?"

Dean gave Her an amused, flat look. "C'mon, you can gimme more than that-"

"No, I can't." She snapped. She was really hot when she snapped. "Movies and music is my answer, Winchester, deal with it."

Dean drawled Her name. “Everyone likes movies and music-“ 

“That doesn’t make it any less important to me.” She said, narrowing her eyes. “How would you like it if I said everyone drives cars-“ 

Dean scoffed. “They don’t drive them like I do, Princess-“ 

“And you don’t watch movies and listen to music like I do, Deano.” 

He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright. Point proven.” He titled his head at Her. “What’s your favorite movie?” 

She laughed. A real laugh, and it sounded like music and rain and a soft summer breeze that shot right into Dean’s blood like a drug. “It’s my question, De. But nice try.”

He grinned at Her, clicking his tongue. "Bossy-"

"Shut up." She tilted her head at him, and Dean just grinned. "What's your favorite movie?"

"Untouchables." He said with a shrug. "Your turn."

She just looked at him with a small, teasing grin, and Dean realized she was waiting for him to repeat the question.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, sweetheart. What's your favorite movie?"

Her face split into a wide, full grin, and God, he was fucked. Nothing in the world seemed to matter more than that smile, and the way it made him feel like he was circling the sun, crashing down to Earth in a ball of fire, and turning to steam as She swallowed him in her gravity. He really didn't give a shit if it was real. Maybe Dean could get himself to be bloody and bright enough to match Her, and she'd feel this too. She'd feel this, and stay, and offer an explanation about last year. An explanation that would prove it wasn't all that bad, and that She was just as fucking empty as Dean was, and he'd fill Her up-

Fuck, he couldn't think that. Not right now, when She looked like that—beautiful in a way that might be deadly—and was smiling at him, and he couldn't get a damn grip and just hate Her. He wasn't supposed to be crashing back up into Her. Dad would be so freaking disappointed that Dean was dumb enough to fall for this act again.

But he was. His jeans felt tight, he couldn't stop grinning at Her, and that siren-like voice kept Dean in her orbit, with absolutely no desire to leave.

She had a million favorite movies. And She hadn't been lying. She watched movies differently than Dean did. Differently that anyone did. He'd never heard anyone use so many big art words in a row, followed by about twenty, very creative swears at a speed he could only describe as frantic. Like if She didn't get Dean to understand exactly why Indiana Jones was the perfect adventure movie, why chick flicks had irreplaceable cultural value, and sitcoms could be the best medium of television, the world might end.

And it should be reminding him that they weren't the same. That Dean was trapped in the mud—he'd been born here, he'd die here, and he belonged here—because it was the only place for things like him. Gut covered weapons, made of rust that would crumble to dust before they made it out alive. And She was just visiting. Using the mud to make Her feel alive or important until she could return to a world of people with ivory and marble who all spoke like this. She was using Dean to do the same, maybe more. Maybe worse. Maybe trying to pry him open and steal what little he had inside him. 

But, son of a bitch, She could have it. He'd stay right here with Her for a million freaking years, just as long as She kept smiling and rambling and giggling at Dean's small jokes between Her breathes. Maybe he could take that bite out of Her. Taste sugar and fruit and whatever else he was starting crave. He could take Her flesh and blood and call it even for what She’d done, because She was still so pretty, and Dean felt like he could be valuable under Her bright attention.

He’d repay Her for that bite by offering himself. He'd be that smeared, dulled weapon for Her. He shouldn't be. Dad would kill him. But he wanted to be. He wanted to stay here forever. And when the waitress came over—with plastic tits and syrupy words—he didn't even fully realize until She cleared her throat and jerked her head to the side. Even then he just frowned at Her, a drunken trance of her voice and smile still clouding his attention, because what the hell could possibly be more interesting—more important—than listening to Her talk?

Then the waitress leaned down, almost blocking Her from view, and Dean frowned.

"What?" His voice was irritated, impatient, but he didn't really care. He needed think lady to freaking move, before She somehow vanished like a dream through Dean's fingers, and he was alone again.

"You want anythin' to drink, handsome? The waitress asked, and Dean nodded. He could use a beer—it might help dull the raging wildfire inside him, trying to tear him between his hatred of what he knew She was and the raw, feral instinct to latch onto Her and never let go—and Her glass was almost out of ice cubes. If he got Her another glass, he could keep Her here just a little longer. As long as he could.

"Beer for me," he raised two fingers, pointing between Her and himself. "Virgin Shirley Temple for the lady."

The waitress blinked at him for a second, but got the message. Dean had Her. He didn't need to company of another pretty face, because none of them could be prettier that Her's. Shit, it wasn't even a fair comparison. Leaving this booth for anything—leaving Her for anything—would be like trading a burger for a fucking salad. Insane and pointless.

When the waitress finally moved, She was gaping at him, her words suddenly soft. Almost nervous. 

"You, um-" She shook her head slightly. "Thanks."

Dean shrugged. "Not a big deal, you blew through that fancy girl drink in like a second anyway-"

"No, that's not-" She frowned at him, and Dean realized she was touching that scar again. "You remembered. That I don't drink."

"Oh." Dean stared at Her, his tongue almost glued into his mouth, his brain a little warm and soft from Her almost vulnerable gaze. "Yeah."

They were just staring at each other, and all Dean could manage to do was clear his throat, scratch the back of his neck, and force himself to speak. 

"You, uh," he swallowed, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket. "Never mentioned why."

"Why-"

"You don't drink."

"I'm not twenty-one yet, Winchester, I don't think I-" She cut herself off, leaning a little away from Dean with a small frown. He waited, the silence resuming for a long, heavy second that sat and froze in Dean's lungs. She wasn't looking at him anymore, twisting a ring on Her finger, and when She spoke again, her voice had dropped to a mumble. "I want a clear head. It's safer."

"Safer?"

"For our job." She curled a little into herself, like Dean was trying to peel her apart. "I mean, I can't really afford to get drunk. It could end, uh, badly."

Something became sharp over Dean's skin. That wasn't it. It wasn't a lie, but Dean could read it all over Her—he wasn't sure how, but he could—that there was more to it. But that's not why there was a sore prickle rooted in his muscles. 

"Because you hunt alone."

She nodded, bringing Her knees up to her chest, and the ache worsened. 

"You could drink." He muttered, leaning back with a slight slam of his hand on the table. "If you'd hunt with a partner."

She sighed. "I'm not going to hunt with a partner-"

"Why?"

He'd snapped. He hadn't meant to, but the ache moved to his mouth and he needed Her to understand. To get that hunting alone was fucking dangerous, and would get Her killed, and he cared about that so goddamn much for no real reason. He shouldn't care. But the thought of Her covered in blood make his gut twist and his heart burn in his chest, so She needed to get it. Now.

She narrowed her eyes, finally looking at him. "Why what."

"Why won't you hunt with a partner." He grumbled, holding Her gaze. "What would make that so fucking bad, sweetheart?"

"Because, as I've told you all week, I don't need to.” Her words were firm, dropped to a hushed sneer. "Anyone else would get in my way."

"I haven't even seen you since the freaking house," Dean said Her name with a low huff. "How could that be getting in the way-"

"I'd be fucking babysitting." She hissed. "I don't need a bunch of assholes tell me what to do, how to fight, how to kill something, how to-"

"Be safe?" Dean cut Her off with a sneer. "Not act like you're too good for anyone else?"

"I never said that, you asshole." She was starting to hug herself, and Dean felt ill, but he wouldn't be the one to break. "I am not too good, I just refuse to be a little hunter fuck-doll beating bag."

Dean blinked. "What?”

She sighed in flat, unamused disbelief. "Hunter's don't have great track records with women. I mean, be fucking real, dude. It wouldn't be the monster's that kill me."

"You," he shook his head. "That's- There are assholes out there everywhere, that doesn't mean you just roll over and accept death-"

"So what should I do?" She raised Her brows. "Be your partner? Be you and your father's little fucking toy until one of you puts a bullet-"

She cut herself off, and Dean gaped at Her, fire crawling over his veins.

"I-" She swallowed, and Dean wished he didn't give a fuck how She suddenly seemed so small. "I'm-"

"Do you seriously believe," Dean muttered, unsure if the fire in his voice was for himself, Dad, or how She looked like a wounded animal. "That we'd- Shit, are you fucking kidding me-"

"It's- I-"

"Save it," He snapped. "We are not killers or fucking savage trash-"

"That's not-"

"You listen to me, Princess-"

"No! I just-" She sounded panicked. Cornered. "I’m sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it's complicated-"

He scoffed. "Not that complicated, sweetheart, you think I'm just as bad as that shit we hunt-"

"No I don't-"

"You do," he hissed Her name. "Drop the act. And, just so we're clear, I'd never hurt you-"

She laughed, shaking Her head. "You can't be fucking serious. That’s-“ She tensed, her face twisting slightly as she scratched at Her skin. "You don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Winchester. You don't get to act like you give a fuck if I hunt alone."

Dean's hand curled into a fist. "Nobody should hunt alone, it's, fuck, it's stupid-"

"I am not stupid-"

Dean huffed a dry laugh. "I got that, Princess. But you know what? I think," he leaned forward, letting the words fall out of his mouth before he could think about them. Before he could stop them. "That you're just too much of a crazy bitch to have anyone stick around."

It was silent, and She was just staring at him, her features moving through a million emotions that Dean couldn't understand. He'd won. She looked like he'd taken a knife right to Her heart, and she wasn't fighting back, so he'd won. And he couldn't fucking breathe. He felt sick, and faint, and freaking awful-

"Choke on my dick, Winchester.” She snapped, but there was something weaker in Her voice. Something that told Dean he’d hit on something fragile. That he was a piece of fucking shit that went for the killing blow because he couldn't help it. Because he was the very fucking, lower-than-the-sewers trash She'd just accused him of being-

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to take it back or say they'd both gone too far, and he felt like shit and still wanted—despite literally everything—to start over. To at least ask Her to tell him the truth, to at least tell Her how hating her like this made him feel wrong-

But She was gone. She'd left the booth and stomped out the door before Dean could even make a sound, and he just goddamn sat there. She wouldn't come back, but he was still just sitting there. Dad was probably waiting for him, ready to demand a reason why he'd taken so long, but Dean still just sat there. Shit, they might have a poltergeist to deal with, but Dean wasn't freaking moving.

What finally got him was the waitress, making her way back to the table and saying some snide comment about his girlfriend not appreciating him. Dean didn't even spare the woman a look as he shot up, shoved past her, and marched out into the parking lot to find Dad and get the hell out of here. If Dad asked, Dean would say he'd taken care of it. Not of Her—She'd looked like he'd torn Her to shreds with his teeth—but the situation. She'd probably be gone by morning, not wanting to be anywhere near two mud and gut covered hunters. Near Dean.

Dad was still on the phone when Dean saw the Impala. Sitting in the front seat with a frown, the windows rolled down to combat the flat heat of air, speaking in a low, gruff voice to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I don't care," he was muttering as Dean approached, his voice carried on the wind. "I can get the asshole no problem, Bobby, the poltergeist ain't my issue."

It was a poltergeist. If Bobby said it was a poltergeist, it was a poltergeist. She'd been right. And as Dean got closer, Dad obviously couldn't see him in the shadows, so he should probably say something to alert Dad that he was here

"Obviously it's the fuckin' girl." Dad snapped, and Dean froze. "Shit, she just shows up again? On another weird fuckin' case, bein' right about what it is, sinkin' her claws into Dean-"

Dad stopped talking—Bobby was probably saying something Dean couldn't hear—and Dean's breathing was shallow. He shouldn't be eavesdropping. Dad would kill him, and he just shouldn't. He trusted Dad, and if this wasn't something Dad wanted to hear, it wasn't something he had to hear. But She hadn't sunken Her claws into him. She'd just scratched him over his brain and scarred him, but Dad couldn't see that. She just haunted him, and drove him mad, and made him want to-

"She's the one Dean's obsessed with."

Dean frowned. He was not obsessed with Her. 

"She's a hunter alright. That moroi case me and the boys worked-" There was a small pause. "Yeah, moroi. Freakin' nasty little vampire baby shits. She-" Dad huffed, and Dean could hear the muffled sound of Bobby's voice. It sounded urgent. 

Then Dad said Her full name into the speaker, and Dean could hear his frown. "You heard of her, Bobby?"

Bobby must have said no—there was no reason for him to know Her—but whatever he did say made Dad's hands grip the wheel with white knuckles.

"The hell you mean you have to go- Bobby-" John groaned, the click of his phone being closed snapping through the air and Dean swallowed. The call was over. Time to pretend he wasn’t a piece of fucking shit that had been invading Dad's privacy.

Dean moved out of the shadows and opened the car door, Dad barely waiting for him to be seated before he started talking.

"We got a poltergeist." He grunted, turning on the engine. "Let's go."

Dean blinked. "Go? Like, now?"

"Damn right, now." Dad shot him a raised brow. "Why, you fuckin' waiting for somethin'-"

"No, sir." Dean shook his head, and Dad nodded, still watching him carefully.

"You take care of the girl?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean hated that the words tasted rotten in his mouth. "She's gone."

Dad nodded. "Remember, son. No pair of tits are worth more-"

"Then family." Dean finished. He'd heard that sentence enough to recite it in his sleep. It didn't matter. She didn't matter. Dean felt like a fucking asshole, but She didn't matter. "I know, Dad."

"Good." Dad muttered, pulling out of the lot. "Let's kill this fuckin' poltergeist and get the hell out of here."

—————————

Bobby doesn't know you're here. He thinks you're in Louisiana still, dealing with the kelpie.

You're not. You're in Illinois. Trying something on a poltergeist.

You'll tell him when you get home. Explain that you'd just wanted to test your ghost ritual again, and if you'd told that him before, he would've snapped that testing that stuff was dangerous, and the thing had already worked once, so there wasn't any goddamn reason to risk it again. 

And he was right. The rituals and spell and curses that had started to come to you in the dead of night—when it was just you and the White in the world, and the darkness became consuming—weren’t exactly safe to test on hunts. Not because of the rituals themselves, but because of the exposure. The danger of using magic where you could be discovered by another hunter. But you had to test them. You didn't know where they were coming from or how to stop them, but they always worked. You wake up and know that, if you said all these words and mixed these things together, you could make a veil between dead spirits and the living. A barrier that didn't kill the ghosts, but stopped them. A blockade that could be torn down, but bought you plenty of time and minimized any casualties. 

It was why Bobby wasn't stopping you. He insisted you stay far away from other hunters, and update him after every test to make sure you hadn't blown yourself up or worse, but he wasn't trying to hold you back. Convince you to just drown in the darkness until it eroded the White, and you lost control forever. But he still wouldn't be happy about the second test. And you could've justified it by pointing out that this was actually a poltergeist, so you'd had to figure out how to alter the ritual, but then you saw the Winchester's Impala in your motel parking lot. 

Which meant this it would be stupid to keep working the case. It meant you were in danger, because they were probably hunting the same poltergeist you were trying to do magical experiments on. 

Worse, it meant Dean was here.

And you're going to fucking scream.

He'd never left your brain. You haven't stopped moving, you never stop moving, but Dean has followed you everywhere. Into your head every second, still circling around his handsome face and pretty face and beautiful smile. Into the darkness when it started to slip out of you, fueled by an echo of unworthy and sick, edged with the phantom feeling of his body at your side.

He was in countless, lonely motel beds where you looked to the side and expected him to be there. He was on the curb when you were covered in grime and monster guts, and you looked up to find the shadow above you only a shadow. He was in your bag, because you’d never thrown out his shirt. It didn’t smell like him anymore—he was there too, in wet grass in the spring and the spice of cheap aftershave on a man in a bar—but you were still holding onto it. Holding onto Dean.

You weren’t sure what could make you let go. You’d even started to fish for information about him from Bobby with careful questions about the Winchesters. What they usually hunted, so you could avoid them. What Sam and Dean were like, in case you ever ran into them, so you’d know what to expect. If they always hunted with John, or if they ever went off on their own. Bobby would always give you a strange look and a short answer—whatever they ran into, they’re good boys in the same shit situation as every other hunter, and John never let them hunt alone—but you’d pieced more from what you already knew. Sam hated hunting, and Dean loved it, their relationship with John was complicated—you could’ve gotten that one yourself—and Dean was what Bobby called eager with women.

He slept around. He’d probably been trying to sleep with you, and given up when he realized that you weren’t easy. That you were tired and rough and so, so angry all the time. That you might be beautiful, but the same was a thunderstorm is beautiful. The same was a statue is beautiful.

Something you shouldn’t touch. Something you shouldn’t try to hold, even for a night.

Something that wasn’t worth Dean Winchester time. Something he’d seen, turned away from, and then left you. He’d left you because he’d seen you for what you were, and he hadn’t wanted anything from you in the first place, but he’d still fucking left you. And you hated him for that, because you’d been ready to offer him whatever he wanted. Against all reason and logic and caution, you’d wanted him more than you could describe. 

And against all your willpower, you couldn’t let go of him. Because you’d seen the Impala in the parking lot—the one you’d been searching for on every highway, in every small town and city—and the force of Dean is here had hit you like a hurricane. Everything had felt so fucking big, and you couldn’t hold onto the darkness in your body as your breathing became heavy and you attempted to keep yourself together. Nails digging into your skin as the wind howled through your room, the peeled paint on the walls cowering from you as your attention became vigilant, everything crashing back down into you when you bit down, and a lightbulb shattered across the room.

You’d avoided him. You’d hidden in crowds on the street when you saw him, and ducked behind shelves when he entered the corner store. You’d kept your shades angled so you could see the parking lot, and pushed down the way the White howled at the sight of him coming and going. You’d planned to handle the hunt in silence, and then just go.

The house owner was a sweet hippy who agreed to let you do the ritual when you told her she had the aura of a swan. You’d give it a few days after to ensure the barrier could hold, get rid of the poltergeist for good, and then leave without the Winchester’s ever even knowing you were here.

Then you’d seen Dean in the woods, and you couldn’t resist talking to him. He’d seen you anyway, so there wasn’t anything left to lose. And he’d still been so pretty, and your knees still felt weak, and the White still whined for him no matter how much of a dick he was being. It was insufferable, you’d left with darkness eating at your blood, and you’d looked back. You couldn’t stop looking back. Every time you had run on the street you’d turned around to see if he was frowning in adorable confusion around the busy sidewalks. When he was in the parking lot you’d checked to see if he was still pretty, even though you knew he would be. Of course he would be. He was an asshole like that. 

You’d looked back outside of the poltergeist house because you had to. You had to see if he was real or just another flickering dream, and you couldn’t resist the desire to see him—staring at you on the street and suffocating you with that same smell from last year—one more time. It’s why you hadn’t skipped town right after. It’s why you’d stayed so long in the bar. You just fucking had to. You could fight against his winks and grins and smooth words, making you smile when you hated him, making you laugh when you should’ve been running. It had seemed—for whatever strange reason—that Dean hadn’t told John you were here, but he definitely knew now, and you were certainly in very real danger. But Dean had carved you open again, and you’d stayed in that stupid booth until he’d given you a good reason to leave.

And it was a great reason. It would’ve been kinder to shoot you in the temple than say that. At least he would’ve killed you, and you wouldn’t have had to wage this war in your body. The war between your hatred of him, and how you want to go back. He’s such a fucking asshole, but you still want to turn around and go back. To ask him why he left, why he cares, how he seems to know your every raw nerve and if he's still feels this too. If he felt it before. 

You don't really want to know that last one. Because if he felt it before, that means he felt it and left. That he can feel it now and hates you for it. 

Because he does hate you. If it wasn't in his words, it was all over his face. How he’d laughed like you were just a silly little girl. How he’d looked right into you like he could see the darkness. How he’d grinned at you like a wolf, like he wanted to rip you apart. He sees what you are, and he despises it.

And you were fine with that. You despise him. He was an arrogant, smug, dickish, charming, controlling, annoying, handsome, caring, selfish, funny, sexy, adorable, funny, strong, sweet-

God fucking damnit. He was an asshole. He'd left you, he hated you, and you wouldn't fall for the cowboy-in-shining-leather thing again. You were going to take care of this poltergeist now, and leave town right after. Dean and John could be here another week trying to figure out if it was even dead for all you cared. You just had to go. Before this all got worse.

You've barely parked when your phone starts to buzz. You don’t look at the contact when you decline it—you don’t have the time—but then it just starts buzzing again. 

It’s Bobby.

You still don’t answer. If he’s in danger, he wouldn’t call you. If it’s an urgent question, he can handle it himself. If it’s a non-urgent question, he can wait for this to be done. If he was dying-

You almost pick up the phone. The thought flashes through your brain, a small stone grows in your throat, and you reach for the phone with a frantic movement. You’re about the dial him back when the first message comes through, and you sigh in relief.

You better call me back now, kid, we need to talk.

Not dying. Can be dealt with later. You’ll call him back when you’re done, because this will be quick, and you’ll get through it. You always do.

You’d convinced the homeowner to get out of town for a few days, to stay with her sister until you were done. The purification ritual was in the trunk of your latest stolen car—you’d meddled with the ingredients, giving it an extra kick—and this would be quick. 

There’s no blur as you start. You’re alert for your barrier to break—keeping in iron poker in your hands—but there’s no disturbance, so you just go through the motions. The basement is finished in five minutes, the first floor in ten, and you’ve only got two bags left when glass shatters downstairs, and the blur starts to cloud your head. Something cracked in the ritual, maybe because you’re almost done, but now you have to fight-

“Dean, you got the guns?”

You freeze as John Winchester’s voice sounds from down the stairs, and everything becomes too sharp. There’s a creaking sound from downstairs, the darkness is starting to spread up your spine and over the white popcorn ceilings of the house, you’re fucked, and the White is reaching out to-

“I got it, Dad, but I thought poltergeists-“

“Son of a bitch wants attention.” John snaps over Dean, and you might crush the bag in your hand. “We’re gonna give him some until he shows himself, and we find the asshole’s remains and burn them.”

This is bad. That’s not how poltergeists work at all—you’re a little shocked John thinks it is—and they’re going to fuck up your barrier, and you can’t tell them they’ll fuck up the barrier or John will turn one of those guns on you-

“Is the hippy chick home?” Dean asks, snapping you out of your panic as the White howls inside you. “I can deal with her while you take care of-“

“No need. Car ain’t in the driveway.” There’s a pause, and you can hear them shuffling downstairs. “Plus I know how you deal with the vics, Dean. We don’t need that right now.”

Something’s bitter in your mouth that has no right to be there, and no right to vanish at Dean’s grumbled words.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Dad-“

“I don’t care how you meant it. Focus up so we can get this shit done.”

There’s another few muffled sounds, an unmistakable click of a gun, and you’re moving before you think better of it. 

“Stop!” You’re almost shrieking—dropping the poker and shoving your last two bags into your pockets as you run down the stairs—and barely stop your body from colliding with Dean’s in the entrance hallway.

“What the fuckin’ hell are you doin’?!“ John’s roar makes you flinch, his rifle aimed right at your head. You take a stumbling step back as darkness wraps around your hands and your heart kicks into a rapid, frantic rhythm you can hear in your ears. John can see you. He’s going to kill you. You going to die, and they’ll burn your body, and shit you never called Bobby but the darkness is going to burst out of you and John’s going to kill you-

A hand steadies you by your shoulders, grass and spice and leather ease the darkness down, and you wish you didn’t relax into the warmth of behind you, that the pretty, rolling voice a little over your head didn’t soothe your panic.

“Woah, Dad, it’s just-“ Dean says your name, and John scoffs, not lowering his gun.

“I know who it is, Dean, that ain’t my issue.” John’s eyes narrow on you, hatred painted all over his face. It’s worse than Dean’s somehow. There’s something pure about it, like John didn’t have to look into you to see what an atrocity you are. He just senses it. “Why the fuck are you here, girl.”

“I’m hunting my poltergeist.” You snap, forcing your voice to sound angry and not terrified, your face to be a mask of annoyed and not painted in dread. “What possible other reason could I have.”

“Could be looking at real estate.” Dean mumbles with a shrug, and he’s still touching you. You can’t help but glance back as you jerk away from him, and the expression on his face is unreadable. Guarded but cautious, like when he’d watched you and John snap at each other in the booth. Like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. “I hear this is a good neighborhood.”

You give him a flat look. “This house is haunted.”

He shoots you a wink, clearly fueled by you not just ignoring him. “Won’t once we’re done with it-“

“Once I’m done with it.” You narrow your eyes at him. “This is my hunt, Winchester. I was here first.”

“Poltergeists don’t respect dibs, Princess.” Dean snaps. “And you don’t even have a freakin’ gun.”

“I don’t need a gun-“

Dean lets out a dry, shouting laugh. “I take back what I said earlier, you are stupid if you’re about to try and kill this thing without a freakin’ gun-“

“You’re stupid if you think I’m just going to let you fuck this up-“

“We’re saving your ass from getting whacked by a poltergeist, some gratitude might be nice-“

“You’re getting in my fucking way-“

“You’re-“

“Enough!” John’s shouts over Dean, and you both freeze. You hadn’t realized you’d been shouting, or how close Dean had gotten. You can see his every freckle, every shade of green in his eyes, how his lips are slightly parted so his breath fans over your face-

“I don’t want you two talkin’ unless it’s telling me where the poltergeist is.” John hisses, and you force your body away from Dean’s. “We’re killin’ this thing right fuckin’ now, got it?”

Dean nods, bowing his head slightly, and you just glare at John. All you have to do is get upstairs place the last two bags, and you’ll be fine. If agreeing to work with them does that, you’ll do it.

You split up. John goes to the basement, Dean takes the first floor, you rush upstairs. The bags are in your pants, and you’re so close, but John and Dean are waving around guns and talking about ganking the poltergeist, and it can definitely fucking hear them. The paintings shake on the walls as the temperature drops, and it’s trying break through. You get the first bag just as the lights begin to flicker, and you sprint down the hall to the last wall. Just one more and it will be done, and you can leave-

“Fuck-“ Dean shouts right as you reach the spot, and your blood goes cold. “Dad! It’s on me- shit-“ 

Then he roars your name, and you’re moving before you can think. Grabbing the poker, half-falling down the stairs, and reaching Dean just as his gun is yanked out of his hands by nothing at all. His eyes widen as they meet your, his mouth opens to say something and-

“Dean!” You can barely hear your own scream as he flies across the room, his head knocking on the counter. 

His body slumps, and you’re not in a blur. This is a rush. Everything is wide around you, there’s an airy chill in your lungs, and the darkness is pouring out of you as the lights grow too bright and the windows bang on a windless night. The darkness starts to ignite over your hands—a phantom flame you’re not sure is real, burning and stinging at your skin—you whirl around, and, on instinct alone, shove the air. There’s a high, shrill, horrible sound of pain as the air goes up in flames, and then it all comes down. The room grows warm, the house goes quiet, and the darkness returns to you without a fight.

And Dean’s still slumped on the floor. 

“Dean!” You fall to your knees at his side—rolling his face to the side, grabbing his hand to take a pulse—and only notice John as he silently joins you, taking Dean’s face between his hands with a set jaw. 

You don’t know how long he’s been there.

You don’t know what he saw.

“What the hell-“

“Poltergeist.” You whisper, watching John examine Dean’s head. “Threw him across the room.”

John scowls. “You just let this shit happen-“

“I didn’t- I got the asshole.” You hiss, clawing at the skin near your nail until it stings. “House purification ritual, which I was already doing before! Nothing would’ve happened at all if you didn’t jump in with fucking guns-“

“Just-“ John raises his hand, and you fall silent. You’re still holding Dean’s hand. You don’t let it go.

“He’s okay.” You mumble, mostly for yourself. Mostly to fight the bile in your throat at the sight of him, sweaty and pale, not bleeding but moving, eyes fluttering but not waking up. “He’s gonna be okay.”

You almost miss John’s strange look. You almost forget about the axe over your head, and how he might know what you are. All you can really think about is Dean. You barely hear John order you to stay here while he grabs the car, and it feels a little pointless. You would’ve stayed here no matter what. 

He’s groaning. Dean keeping making low noises of pain, and his hand keeps flexing in yours, but he’s breathing. Shallow breathes, but he’s breathing. And he’ll be okay. He has to be okay. It’s just a Poltergeist, not even a strong one, and he’s young and strong, and he’ll be okay. Your breathing has become a little uneven, and you can feel the White rioting and bellowing inside you as he shudders slightly, but he’ll be okay. You won’t let him not be. He feels clammy when you press your hand to his brow—your fingers brush his hair, and it’s soft, and that’s not important but you’re going to think about it for a million years—so you shrug off your own jacket and toss it over his body. He’s still holding onto you, so you don’t drop his hand. When John gets back you loop his arm over your shoulders, your own arm around his waist, and haul his dead-weight up until John grabs the other side. 

When you reach the Impala—you working in silence with John to slide him carefully into the backseat—he clings to you. John drops his arm and it shoots over your stomach, his head falling onto your chest as he makes another low grunt of pain. And there’s such little color on his face, and he’s still shuddering when you move the jacket back over him, and you could fix this. You’ve never healed anyone before, but you could. You can feel the darkness moving into the tips of your fingers and over your heart as Dean takes a stuttered breath, and you have to-

“Get out.”

You look up and find that John has walked around the car and opened your door. “I-“

“Leave.” John grunts, not even sparing you glance as he speaks. “Now.”

You shake your head, and it’s a weak movement. There’s that feral instinct of survive still in your bones, but it’s not bigger than Dean. Nothing’s bigger than Dean. “No, I-“

“I ain’t askin’-“

“It’s not up to you-“

“My car. My rules.” John’s words sound pushed through his teeth. “Out.”

“I,” you swallow, glancing back down to Dean. “I could help-“

“You’ve done enough.“

“I could fix him!” You shout, and your sounds pleading. You feel like you’re pleading. It’s pathetic, and you don’t care because Dean makes a low, strained noise and you feel like you’re choking. “I could-“

“Listen to me very fuckin’ closely.” John sneers your full name, finally lowering down to meet your gaze. “The out of my fuckin’ car, and stay the hell away from my son. I don’t need you fixin’ him, because he’s not broken, and if he was the last thing he needs is some high horse brat making him weak.”

There’s a high ringing in your ears, and your voice is soft. “I-“

“He’d be fine if you hadn’t interfered with our work.” John snaps. “You’re out of your little pond, girl, and if I ever see you distractin’ Dean or fuckin’ with his brain again, I’ll put a bullet in yours. Got it?”

You nod, something vast and numb spreading over your chest as you carefully climb out of the car—making sure not to disturb Dean, or make his head worse—and leave John without another word. But you look back. You can’t help yourself from turning and watching the Impala pull away, from digging your nails into your skin as you cling to yourself until their headlights vanish around a corner. 

You’re already packed. Everything’s in your car—clothing, tools, books, makeup and hygiene products, first aid kit—and you could just drive out of town, but you don’t. You toss the last purification ritual bag into the truck, sit behind the wheel, just stare into the darkness.

You need to call Bobby. You need to go. John wouldn’t kill you with an injured Dean to care for, but he’d seen. He had to have seen. And not leaving now would be a death sentence. 

But you just sit in the car. Sit in the cancerous darkness that’s alight in your body, the image of Dean’s pained features burned into your eyes, flashing in front of you whenever you blink. All that boiling hatred for Dean is gone. Evaporated into thin air, leaving you ill and pained and empty. John was right. You hadn’t been fast enough, and Dean got hurt. Your barrier against the poltergeist made it violent, and Dean got hurt. You’re the sick one. It’s why he left to begin with. 

He was better for it. He didn’t need you—no one needed you—and John’s threat hadn’t been empty, so you need to drive away and never look back.

And yet you end up in the motel parking lot. Hunched in your seat as you wait for just a little proof that Dean’s okay. That you hadn’t held him and shattered him, like he’d shattered you. You’re there until the sun breaks the sky, until it’s beating over your head and you have to crack the windows. 

You’re there when your phone starts to ring, and you realize you’d forgotten to call Bobby.

You’ve barely picked up when he starts shouting, and you flinch away from the speaker. 

He uses your full name. First, middle, and Singer. He only uses your full name when he’s proud of you, or furious. And this feels more like the latter. You’re in trouble.

“You wanna tell me,” he hisses. “Why John fuckin’ Winchester knows who you are?”

“I, uh-” You swallow, twisting a ring with your thumb. “I don’t-“

“And I ain’t gonna buy your bullshit, kid, that shit doesn’t work on me.”

You sigh. “Bobby, look-“

“No, you look. I didn’t teach you to be a goddamn idjit dumbass,” he snaps your name, and you curl a little further into your seat. “You know what he’d do to ya’. Shit, what are you plannin’ on doin’ if you have a slip? If he sees that hoodoo shit happen?”

“Um, he might have already seen it.”

There’s silence on the other end for a long second, then a low, “What.”

“We just finished a poltergeist case.” You mumble, hoping he’s too angry to catch onto the why are you on a poltergeist case part. “And it attacked Dean. And I killed it.”

Bobby says your name slowly. “How the hell did ya’ kill a-“

“With my hands. I just, um, burned it.” You take a long breath. “And I think John saw.”

“And he just let ya’ off the fuckin’ hook-“

“Dean got hurt.” You whisper, and the words sting your tongue. “He was focused on that.”

“Balls.” Bobby mutters, and you can picture the frown on his face. “Well, you’re outta there now, we can-“

“No.” You sigh. “I can’t go, I have to-“ You cut yourself off, because it sounds stupid in your head. You do not have to make sure Dean’s okay. He hates you, everything logical in your brain says that you should be remembering how to hate him any time soon, and he’s not yours tocare about. John made that clear with his threat. Dean made it clear by leaving. But you’re still in the parking lot. And you still have to make sure Dean’s okay.

Bobby says your name through the phone, his voice slow. “You gonna tell me what happened last year. On that moroi hunt.”

“I ran into the Winchesters-“

“I ain’t slow, kid, I worked that part out. What happened that made you call me and flop around the house like a widowed fish for a week.”

You bring your knees up to your chest, shaking your head. “It’s… I can’t-“

“What if I ask if that was Dean’s shirt.” Bobby grunts. “That you were wearin’.”

“Yeah.” You drop your head back on the seat, letting out a heavy exhale. “It-“ 

You freeze, watching Dean finally step outside like he’s been summoned. He’s walking slowly, but walking, and he seems really okay, and he’s looking around the parking lot with a frown-‘

Shit.

You drop down in your seat, out of the view of the parking lot, and pray he didn’t see you.

“Bobby, I gotta-“

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, we still got some shit to sort out-“

“I’ll come right home.” You keep your voice hushed, in case it could carry on the wind. “And you can yell at me there.”

Bobby sighs. “I wasn’t gonna yell-“

“Yeah you were-“

“No-“

“Lying is a sin, Bobby.” You smile, carefully pulling the car keys out of your jacket. “You’re not a very good role model-“

“Well, I’m gonna fuckin’ yell at ‘ya now!” He snaps, but you can hear the slight amusement in his voice. “Get home quick, and we’ll deal with this. John don’t know you’re with me, and unless Dean needs a week after your hunt-“

“I think he’s fine.” You mumble, craning your head up to see Dean gone from the lot. “I’ll be safe at home.”

“Not if I kill ya’ for pullin’ this shit on an old man.” Bobby grunts, and you grin he falls silent, a long moment of static before- “You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m okay.” You mumble, and you’re not, but you will be. You always are. “And I’m really sorry for-“

“Apologizin’ ain’t gonna help us,” Bobby mutters. “Get home, and keep outta trouble till we sort this.”

You nod. “I will.”

You’ll try. Dean’s still pulling at you in your chest and consuming your head, but you’ll try. If only for Bobby’s sanity, you’ll really try.

You’ll pretend you don’t stay in the lot for a minute longer to watch Dean walk back to his room, that you don’t glance back at the room as you drive away, and you’ll keep yourself away of trouble. 

Away from Dean.

End Note: I’d say this story is about to be John vs Bobby on who’s a better dad, but that would be like making a mouse (John) fight a dragon (Bobby).

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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[thewizardingpost]

A Promise to Spend Forever Together, Not Apart

poly!marauders x fem!reader

note ⌇ lately, James, Sirius, and Remus have been acting distant and busier than usual, making you fear they might be planning to break up with you, only to later discover they’ve been working hard to save up for a ring, wanting instead to spend forever with you.

warnings ⌇word count  2.8k, after-hogwarts, established relationship, misunderstanding, hurt/comfort, marriage, reader experiences insecure thoughts, slight arguing, happy ending, love confessions 

It made sense that they were all so busy—James with his new responsibilities as an Auror, Sirius throwing himself into his work as a private investigator, and Remus taking on the weight of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. What didn’t make sense was the way things felt different between you, the quiet space that had started to settle between moments that used to feel so effortless.

The transition into such life was slow, like a broken clock–a few broken ticks forward just to take a few back. You’d think it’d move forward then just that next week something else would change. James still smiled at you, but it was the kind of smile that came after hours of paperwork, his eyes carrying the weight of exhaustion as he kissed you goodnight, only to disappear back into his work. 

Sirius, though still warm and affectionate, had started making more excuses, talking about "one more case" or "just a few more leads," his voice laced with fatigue, not quite as carefree as it used to be. Remus had become more withdrawn at times, his thoughts clearly pulled elsewhere, his usual calm replaced by the tension of balancing too many responsibilities. 

They were still lovely, still affectionate, but the spark of energy that had once flowed so easily between you all seemed dimmer now, and the distance was subtle but unmistakable. It really did just seem like everyone was just slumped with work at first. 

You convinced yourself it was nothing more than the weight of their new lives. Then there were the whispers—hushed conversations that trailed off the moment you entered the room, the sudden silence that would fall when you walked by. You’d caught James leaning over to Sirius once, his voice low, words you couldn’t quite make out but sounded far too private for your liking. Remus, too, seemed to slip into quick murmurs with the others, always before a sudden, sharp change in topic when you appeared, as if they hadn’t meant for you to hear it.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Maybe they were just tired, maybe stressed, but the more you thought about it, the more you couldn’t help but feel like they were holding something back from you. It was like they wanted to be together without you, to discuss things you weren’t supposed to know. 

Your heart twists at the thought, from where you lie beside them in bed, the rest of them asleep, their bodies warm against yours. You’re being ridiculous. Overthinking has always been your worst enemy; there’s really no reason to lose sleep over this. Despite knowing that, your eyes won’t shut—your mind infected by these thoughts that only continue to grow more dangerous. You listen to their even breathing, the soft rustle of sheets, the clicking of the clock on your nightstand. Eventually, your body has had enough—and sleep pulls you under, though it doesn’t feel quite as peaceful as it should.

It wears on you—the lack of sleep, the constant whirl of anxious thoughts that refuse to quiet. You don’t communicate any of this with them, afraid to voice the doubt that’s slowly eating away at you. What if they really have grown tired of you? What if all this distance, this quiet space between moments that used to be so easy, is their way of pulling away? Who wouldn’t be? Everyone grows weary eventually, especially when the season shifts, when the warmth of spring and summer fades into the chill of fall and winter.

 It feels like you’ve reached the point where the honeymoon period is over, and the cracks are starting to show. Maybe they don’t need you anymore—not like they did before when you all were just teens at Hogwarts. Maybe they’ve just grown comfortable in their own lives, with their own ambitions, and you’re the one left wondering where you fit in. 

You don’t say anything, because what if you’re wrong? What if your fears are just that—fears—and nothing more? So, you keep quiet, hoping the weight will somehow lift on its own, even as it grows heavier each day.

Just as they’ve begun to pull away from you, you’ve subconsciously begun to do the same. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism—guarding yourself against the thought that they’ve grown tired of you, that they’re silently slipping away. Perhaps it’s the quiet, nagging fear that you’re no longer needed, no longer wanted, that you’re just a chapter in their lives they’re ready to close. You’re not entirely sure which, but it’s probably a mix of both. Regardless, something shifts in you, and you begin to separate yourself, even if just a little. 

You start feeling uncomfortable in spaces you once found so familiar, like the small moments you used to share now feel like you’re standing in someone else’s life. You wonder if they notice, though you can’t bring yourself to ask. The distance between you, though subtle, seems to grow with each passing day, and the warmth you once felt when they were near starts to feel off. You don’t know if it’s them or if it’s you—or maybe it’s both—but the easy closeness you once had with them now feels like something you have to work at.

For instance, earlier that week, when James had caught you staring blankly at the fireplace instead of joining the conversation, he’d leaned in, gently asking, “Hey, love, you alright?” His voice was soft, concerned, but there was an edge to it, something almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether to push or pull away. You’d shrugged, offering a quick smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, just tired.”

Sirius had shot you a look from across the room, brow furrowed. “You sure, beautiful? You’ve been… off lately.” He had said it in the usual teasing tone, but there was no mischief in it this time—just a quiet concern that you couldn’t quite brush off. “I’m fine, Sirius,” you’d replied, forcing the words out, even though you felt anything but.

Even Remus, normally so calm, had paused mid-sentence during a conversation, his eyes lingering on you before he shifted the topic to something lighter, something easy. You had noticed it, the way he’d been treading carefully around you all week, and it stung more than you expected. It wasn’t that you wanted them to push, but the distance between you had become so thick, you were starting to wonder if you could ever cut through it. They were so caught up in their own concerns, their own exhaustion, their own busy lives, that they didn’t even seem to realize how their behavior was affecting you.

It’s a Thursday, some random day in March, when they seem to be waiting for you to arrive home from work, all of them silently preparing to talk. You can feel the tension in the air, the way the space between you all has shifted—lighter, almost expectant. You can tell they’ve been holding onto something, and suddenly, you realize it’s not just you who’s been carrying a weight. As you walk through the door, their eyes meet yours.

It’s a Thursday, some random day in March, when you walk through the door, and immediately, the tension is thick. Sirius stands up abruptly, his eyes narrowing, voice laced with frustration. “What, you gonna run off to your room again?” he says, his words sharp and cutting. “Avoid us some more? Pretend everything’s fine?” His tone is tight, like he's trying to keep it together, but it’s clear the hurt is creeping through. “You’ve been shutting us out for days, and now you're just gonna walk in here like nothing’s wrong?”

“Padfoot, stop,” Remus interjects, his voice calm but firm as he steps between you and Sirius. He looks at his friend with a mixture of warning and understanding, trying to reign in the tension that’s spiraling out of control.

Sirius exhales in frustration, his gaze flickering between you and James, who has been quietly watching. James finally steps forward, his expression serious but soft. “Love, can we talk?” he asks quietly, the weight of his words settling in. There’s a quiet heaviness to his tone, and for a split second, your heart sinks, your mind racing with the worst possibilities. You freeze, wondering if they’re finally going to tell you what you’ve been dreading.It was as if the ground beneath you had vanished, leaving you plummeting into a void where everything you thought you knew was slipping away. The tears came fast, blurring your vision, but something else started building within you—anxiety, frustration, a burning anger that mixed with the hurt, making everything sharper. You couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“God, why does this always happen?” you snapped, voice shaking, a bitter laugh escaping as you wiped at your eyes. “Everyone leaves eventually, right? What else did I expect? Maybe I should’ve seen it coming.” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use. The words spilled out before you could stop them. “You’ve all been distant, quiet, barely even looking at me. What the hell is going on? Just say it already, whatever it is. I can’t—” You broke off, your voice faltering, before the anger took over again. “I can’t stand this anymore. It’s so obvious.”

Sirius stiffened, a flash of irritation crossing his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was sharp, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “You’re acting like we’ve been ignoring you on purpose. What do you want from us?”

Your hands shook at your sides, the anger now bubbling over the sadness. “I want you to stop acting like I’m not here,” you shot back, each word sharp and frantic, as if they were the only way you could hold yourself together. “I want you to stop pretending like I’m not a burden.”

Sirius’s face twisted, frustration taking over. “You think you’re a burden? You think we don’t care? Are you serious?”

You snapped at him, your voice rising even though your heart was breaking. “I don’t know what else to think! You all used to look at me like I mattered, but now… now it’s like I’m invisible to you! Like I’m just some fucking inconvenience.”

Remus, who had been standing quietly off to the side, finally stepped forward, his voice laced with confusion and concern. “What the hell are you talking about?” He looked between you and Sirius, trying to make sense of the mess unfolding. “We’ve been stressed, yes, but this… this isn’t what’s going on. We’re not pushing you away.”

Your breath hitched, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “No,” you choked out, trembling with the weight of it all. “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you? Just say it. I can’t take this silence anymore. I can’t stand pretending that everything’s fine when it isn’t. Just say it and I’ll leave. I’ll just go.”

The words hung heavy in the air, suffocating the space between you all. There was a beat of stunned silence before everything shifted.

Sirius’s anger evaporated instantly, replaced with something that looked almost like regret. His face softened, and he reached out toward you, but paused, as though unsure how to approach. “We’re not breaking up with you,” he said, his voice far softer now, almost apologetic. “We’re not… God, we’re just trying to figure things out. We’ve been distracted with other stuff, but none of it’s about you.”

Remus’s gaze softened too, though there was still a trace of concern in his eyes. “We’re not trying to push you away, love. You have to know that.” He moved closer, a hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. “We’re not leaving you.”

James, who had been quiet until now, finally stepped up, his voice low but steady. “We’re not going anywhere,” he repeated, his eyes full of sincerity. “We’re just… we’re struggling too, and we don’t always know how to ask for what we need. But we need you. All of us.”

Your breath caught as you took in their words, the overwhelming fear and anger beginning to fade, replaced by a dull ache in your chest. You were trembling now, your tears mixing with relief, but the weight was still there.

James reached out, his movements slow and deliberate, cupping your face gently in his hand. His touch grounded you, his thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away the tears that still fell. His eyes were soft, filled with a kind of sadness that made your heart ache. “You’re everything to us,” he said quietly, his voice steady but full of sincerity. “Nothing’s going to change that. We love you. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

You blinked at him, the words swirling in your mind but not quite sinking in. Slowly, you lifted your gaze, your eyes glossy, filled with so many unspoken fears. “Then why have you all been so distant?” Your voice was small, barely a whisper, but there was a rawness in it that you couldn’t hide. “Why have you been acting like... like I don’t matter anymore?”

James’s expression faltered for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. He wiped another tear from your cheek, his touch so tender it made your chest tighten. "Love," he began, the word gentle but heavy. "We’ve never meant for you to feel that way. We’ve just been... trying to give you something. We didn’t want to do anything that might make you feel neglected, I swear.”

At this, Remus, who had been standing quietly, stepped forward, his usual calm replaced with a soft urgency. His brow furrowed slightly, concern etched on his face. “We’ve all been working—well, all of us—trying to save up for something. We’ve been distant because we didn’t want to distract you with all the planning we’ve been doing behind the scenes.”

You frowned, trying to make sense of his words. “Planning?” Your voice cracked. “What... what are you talking about?”

Sirius, who had been standing a few steps behind the others, took a deep breath before he finally spoke. His voice, though usually teasing and full of confidence, was softer now, almost apologetic. He stepped forward, his gaze locking with yours. “We’re planning to marry you, love. We’ve been saving up for a ring.” His eyes softened as he met your gaze, his hand finding yours, holding it gently in his. “We don’t want you to think that we’ve stopped loving you, or that we’ve been pushing you away. We just wanted to do this right for you, for us.”

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you just stood there, blinking at them in disbelief. A ring? Marriage? The confusion, the fear that had consumed you for weeks... suddenly, it all felt so small, so misplaced.

“Marry me?” you whispered, your voice trembling, your heart both racing and slowing in the same beat. You couldn’t make sense of it. How could you have thought they were pulling away?

Sirius, seeing your confusion, gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ve been trying to save, love. Trying to figure out how to make it perfect, and how to make sure we’re doing it right. We didn’t want to ruin the surprise, didn’t want to make you feel like we were slipping away.”

You wiped at your face again, still shaking, the realization sinking in, piece by piece. “I thought…” you trailed off, your voice small, your chest still tight. “I thought you were going to leave me.”

James’s face softened, his eyes full of regret as he pulled you into his arms. “No, love, we’re never leaving you,” he murmured, holding you close. “We were just trying to make this moment everything you deserve. We’ve always been here. Always will be.”

Remus stepped in, his voice a comforting whisper against your ear. “We love you, and we want this to last forever. We want to show you that every day for the rest of our lives.”

"I love you all too, so incredibly much."

The fear and doubt, all those months of wondering if they'd drift away from you, melted away in an instant. They weren't leaving you—they were offering something far greater. A promise to spend forever together, not apart. As you lean into them, feeling their warmth, their love, your body finally relaxed, and the future, the one you had feared might be slipping away, is full of certainty.

[writingwisterias]

Bonding

Vendetta! Leon Kennedy x Winters!Medic!Reader

Warnings: Slight Angst, Injuries, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, trauma sharing, Age-Gap, Platonic relationship

Summary: After helping your brother find his wife you get left with unusual abilities, ones that often feel like a burden than a gift...until shit happens and you both end up healing each other in more ways than one.

Words: 2.3k

Requested by @misswynters I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it took so long, I was fighting this story trying to get it right! <3

As if it wasn’t already bad enough that he had a partner on this mission, it was made worse that it was supposedly one of the BSSA’s best. He scoffed at the files, they gave him the ones he had now thrown on the table and already forgotten about. Not that he needed it as he already predicted who would be joining him. The glass of whiskey was already half empty as he was working his way through the bottle, they hadn’t even set off yet. The agent was late, or he was just really early for once. Leon shut his eyes preparing himself for the ridicule he would receive when Chris, the agent he had presumed would be the one they sent to join him, the one that would eventually thump his way onto the plane. The man wouldn’t know how to be stealthy even if took a course on it. However, his ears picked up the sound of light footsteps on the metal stairs into the plane. His eyes peeled open as he trained them on the plane entrance. Curiosity coursed through his veins. What he didn’t expect was you. 

A younger girl, one that must have joined more recently. How was she one of their best? It looked like shes never been on a mission on her own. 

You watched as his eyes narrowed at the sight of you, clearly trying to figure out who you were and how you were possibly one of the best. A poor attempt to pinpoint your story. You didn’t fail to notice the discarded file or glass of the infamous amber liquid. If he had read it, he would have got all the answers he was currently peering at you for. Chris had warned you after all about the behaviour of the man in front of you. It was your first mission alone and according to the burly man it wouldn’t be a challenge of the enemies but of the partner you had been promised. “You must be Leon Kennedy” You spoke, holding your hand out to him. Leon studied it like you had some hidden message etched within your skin. To him they looked too clean, too pure. There were no scars or texture to them. “You are?” 

His voice was rough, and croaky from the burning liquid that warmed his insides so early in the morning. Your name shocked him but the last name piqued his curiosity. “Winters eh?” he repeated, trying to recall the significance with his dazed mind. This was the professional government agent you were promised? The best of the best? You cleared your throat sitting in the chair opposite him, a small apology leaving your lips as you bumped his knee. You already seemed too kind for this job or at least too new to it, if only he could remember why your name was familiar. “Well, it’s clear someone didn’t do their homework. I’m the sister to Ethan Winters…The baker house incident” You spoke. He didn’t fail to notice the nervous shaking of your hands, guilt coursing through him as he clearly made you relive whatever you had gone through. BSSA twat or not, no one needed to be haunted like that. “Right - I heard about your case. Your brother went looking for his wife and you ended up in a whirlwind of shit” 

Of course, Leon couldn’t be kind, he didn’t see it in his nature anymore. All he had to do was shut up, just like you were doing as you turned to face the window. There was no need to pick holes as to why you got involved in this line of work, it's not like his start was any better. A promise to work for someone else's protection only for that girl to end up like him anyway. A government pawn. 

Your head leaned against the cabin walls as you watched the plane take off. You ignored his remark, his ignorance of your past and wrongdoings was a reflection on him, not you. After all, you didn’t have to go and help Ethan find his wife. Only for the two of you to end up in that house of nightmares, to then witness a poor family wrongfully affected. Sure Leon has seen some shit, but a family just wanting to help an innocent woman and being infected with the same thing that coursed through your veins. Their minds twisted and turned as they attempted to kill you, their bodies forced to change to adapt to new horrors.

Ethan and you were given military training after that, along with the option to join the BSSA. You didn’t hate Ethan’s choice to continue his family life with Mia, taking the training and using it to protect her if he needed it. Part of you wanted to do the same but ever since you knew the truth, the fact that the virus now ran throughout your body whether you wanted it or not. It felt wrong to try and find someone new in the world, someone who would understand your position and what you did or have seen. You had accepted it… the fact you were forever infected with this taint. The loneliness it brought along with it was harder to stomach. That was until the mould changed you, your hands suddenly more useful to them than hiding. 

From what you had heard Leon was a pretty respected agent, how you didn’t understand. His attitude only grew the more he drank during the flight. The important document still left unread is now being used as a placemat for his drink. The brown folder now gathers a formation of rings. “What makes you so special then?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for any abnormalities. You shrugged. Never really have an answer to that, you can heal yourself and others but that doesn't make you feel special. It felt more like a burden. “I guess I just have more than enough knowledge and experience on whatever we are going to be dealing with” You answered. Leon didn’t respond so you took his silence as the sign the conversation was over. Your gaze lingered on him for a while longer until you finally turned to watch the plane fly amongst the clouds watching as the ground got closer now you had both reached the destination. 

Your footsteps echoed down the darkened corridor, your flashlights barely illuminating anything in front of you. The building groaned upon your arrival, the wind working its way through the cracks. The abandoned warehouse had rumours of lingering scientists working on something, the usual deal from what Leon had to say about it when you both opened the front door.   “One day I’m sure a super evil scientist will not pick a decrypted building as their place to do their experiments” You joked. A small chuckle left Leon’s lips as he glanced over at you; amusement lacing his eyes. “It wouldn't be half as fun then” he responded. The atmosphere changed between the two of you the further you entered, the once clipped and cautious words grew warmer and longer. You had both found comfort in each other's presence, a silence falling over the both of you that never quite felt awkward. Your minds worked in sync as you both cleared out the rooms, working your way further and lower into the building. That was until distant explosions went off and the two of you fell to the floor. 

You vaguely acknowledged Leon's scream of pain, the ceilings collapsing making the room dark as the rubble caged you both in. “Fuck” Leon groaned as he grasped at his leg. Your coughs rattled as you took in the clouds of dust, “you good?”. It was a stupid question really, his scream and groans of pain indicated anything but that. You scrambled for the flashlight on your belt to try and light up the space as well as hitting the emergency button sending your signal to nearby backup. The flashlight didn’t do much but it allowed you to spot Leon on the floor, clutching at his leg. You didn't have much space to work with, your hands hurt as you pressed on the ground crawling towards him. The gravel biting into your skin. “Leon? What is it?” You asked when you finally reached him, flashlight in hand. You didn't need him to answer as you had already spotted the red seeping out between his fingers. The flow didn't look like it would stop anytime soon. “Fuck” he groaned again. 

Your hands shook as they hovered over his own, your fingers gently prying his hands away from the wound to get a better look. It was bad, too bad for you to just do a quick fix and wait until you both got rescued. The rubble that was still settling around you both would probably end up infecting it. He hissed in pain as you held your hands on his wounds, you focused on it - working on stitching it back together. Leon watched as you worked, his brain trying to grasp what was even happening. “What the fuck” he muttered under his breath as your hands pulled away. His own replaced yours once again, feeling the stitched skin. There was no scar, no lingering reminder of this unfortunate event left on his skin. “How?” He questioned. 

You sat back against the rubble behind you, your knees clutched tightly to your chest to give him some more room. He watched you shrink into yourself. You looked so small, so young. Too young to be brought into a job like this, to see the things you must have seen. It reminded him of himself, the young cop who was thrown into the deep end when he just tried to help people. “When I went to help my brother…in the baker's house…we both got infected. He can just heal himself, you should have seen the injuries he's had” you explained. He could hear the weak chuckle in your words, trying to make light of a decision to help your brother. One that changed your life. “And you? What happened to you during it?” 

“Ethan protected me from most of what happened, he's got a baby on the way from what he told me in our last phone call. I ended up leaving with the ability to heal others as well as myself…it's tiring, and traumatizing at times- the injuries I've seen are something else. But Chris said the BSSA could use someone like me. So I joined” 

Leon studied you further, his eyes piercing in the dim light of the flashlight. He could understand how you felt. You had been given an opportunity, something that would make you feel like you were doing some good. Only to forever try and shoulder the effects of the lifestyle change. “After Raccoon City I was forced to become an agent. To use my pure luck and train it into my skill set today. Despite the conversation, it never really felt like I had a choice, an option for what I wanted to do. It was blackmail” 

You didn't expect him to explain his own story, to open up in an attempt you assumed was to make you feel like you weren't alone in this world. You untucked yourself slightly, a movement that didn't go unnoticed by Leon. His small smile was proof of that. “Some shitty life this is. Does it ever stop feeling so lonely? Like how do you explain this to someone? To people you want to be friends with or have in your life. I pushed everyone I knew before away because I just couldn’t explain it.” you asked him. 

You were as shocked as Leon was that you had begun to confide in him. He assumed these were the types of conversations you would have with Chris or your brother. Yet, Ethan was married his whole seemingly working out okay and Chris had always been a lone wolf as of late. Consulting only with close friends with experiences similar to his own. Leon supposed he did the same, that’s why he had only spoken to Chris, Claire or anyone else he’d met over the years. You didn’t have that, you had only just begun and ended up trapped under rubble without even finding the scientist. To you this mission was a failure; to Leon, it was just beginners luck, no one ever had a good first day alone in this line of work. “I guess you don't, the people I've spoken to have similar experiences I guess, or at least are connected to the job. I’ve never fully felt like I had a friend”  He answered, scooting closer to you. You sighed at the tiny bit of contact as his shoulder brushed you, almost a reminder that you were still human and not some monster your head constantly told you. You have seen what the mould could do, how it changed people's minds…corrupted them.“I’m sorry we just met, I didn’t mean to just dump this on you” 

“I asked, didn’t I? About your past, how you ended up here” 

You supposed he did, it wasn’t unprompted. Despite his tough exterior, something told you deep down he wasn’t always like this. Despite all the pain and trauma he either hid inside himself or washed away with an alcohol of his choice; he still wanted to help people. To make sure that the person he was talking to wasn’t alone. “Besides, I’d rather be trapped in here with you than Chris. At least I have more leg room” 

Your laugh was sweet, lighter than the look that permeated your face since you had met him. It suited you. “I suppose you are better company than Chris, with his smoking habit I’d have probably suffocated with second-hand smoke” 

Leon smiled as you opened up, as the knees lowered from your chest, lining up with his own. His froze as your head hit his shoulder, unused to the contact after being alone for so long (by his own choice). Leon laid his head on yours, the both of you silently leaning on each other as you remained trapped by your pasts, the futures uncertain. “You don’t happen to know how to make shadow puppets do you?” 

[lilacxquartz]

sickly sweet;

kenjaku x f!reader

plot: just as you got ill, your once distant husband started to be caring again — themes: one shot, domestic dread, character study, problematic mindset/themes, manipulation — w.c: 2k • masterlist

a/n: this is a story about kenjaku but the reader is unaware of such a fact… so the name we refer to him is via suguru/geto and why it’s tagged as such.

For the longest time, you thought that there was something a little… off-putting about your husband.

It wasn’t always this way, but ever since he came back home following an accident, he changed for the worse. Before then, he was vibrant and abuzz with energy and then… something simply just changed. You caught wind of something happening within the cult, but you couldn’t investigate too much—what with you being pregnant with your first child. When he came back seemingly and alive unscathed—save for the stitches that ran across his forehead—you didn’t care to ask too many questions for as long as he was safe and sound.

(A short-lived feeling though; for what lingered just beneath the surface, left dread in its wake.)

The decline of what once made Suguru himself was a slow one, like a thick seeping venom that took its good, sweet time to enter your system. Before you tell something was amiss, he was already deep within your bloodstream—you were hooked—poisoned, yet unaware of just how devastating the damage truly was.

If you had to go back to when you first noticed that something was off, then perhaps when he tried to reintegrate back into your life. It was an ordinary event. He was simply just getting back home late one night and greeted you in the hallway as he stepped inside. At a glance, this would have been normal, but something didn’t feel quite right.

You remembered that sinking feeling of realisation perfectly well.

That moment when you were looking back into the eyes of a stranger, wearing the skin of the man you once knew—of the man that you once loved.

He’d announce his arrival too, singing out your name in a melody that felt forced, “I’m home,” he’d say, his smooth voice feeling somehow rehearsed.

Suguru’s characteristic warmth started to fade the more that you noticed such quirks, the delicately crafted facade beginning to crack. The kindness was retained, but there was a certain underlying edge to it as if he was playing a fabricated role rather than being the man you wanted him to be.

Still, you chose to ignore it. At least at first. You told yourself that if there was an accident, then maybe it was just his personality that was off and if given enough time, it would all smooth over.

(Although, it never did.)

As the months passed you both by, and the man claiming to be Suguru grew colder and more distant, too. Sure, he lived with you and practiced small talk with you, but it all felt fake, somehow. It was as if you were a temporary obstacle in the grand scheme of things and he was simply humouring you whenever he cared to, often disappearing into the night without warning.

Initially, you suspected adultery. It wouldn’t have been too far of a reach, knowing that some people, no matter how well you think you’d know them, would still succumb to temptation… but that didn’t seem to be the case. Whenever he returned, he would be the same just as he was before. Cold and distant. Should you have tried to initiate something intimate too, then he wouldn’t deny you such pleasures, but it always left you feeling unclean, somehow used instead. The moves he pulled were certainly familiar and something that Suguru would do, but it was devoid of the same tenderness that Suguru had.

So for the most part, you stopped initiating and also, you didn’t pay too much attention to him again. For the time being, you cared more to focus on your pregnancy and then hopefully leave somewhere far away from this whole mess.

(But then you got sick.)

It was deep into your pregnancy when you fell ill, bordering just below the final term. A low-grade fever that crept into your system, throwing you off balance. While you initially thought it to be fine, it was hard to ignore by the end of the week. You didn’t think that whoever was occupying your husband’s body would notice such a thing, but something awoke in him from the moment he did.

This deeply caring side of him was hard to dismiss, too, given that it felt close to how Suguru used to be with you.

Just like before, it didn’t take too long for you to notice the changes in his demeanour, the differences being almost jarring by that point. You woke up to the rush of cold air spilling into the room, watching on through partially blurred vision as the sheer curtains wafted in the breeze.

Suguru’s voice played in the background as he addressed you, his voice smooth like molten honey, “You’re awake.”

You initially didn’t respond as you were still waking up. Your eyes flicked over to where he sat on the edge of the bed, watching somewhat warily as he smoothed his palms across your blanketed form, his touch almost reverent.

“Some fresh air will do you good,” he softly murmured before stepping away to the dresser, bringing over a cup of tea to your nightstand table, “I brewed you some tea too. Ginger and honey, just how you like it.”

You warily eyed the cup but didn’t refuse it. The pleasant aroma filled your senses and soothed you as the steam rose and after about a minute, you sat up to take a sip, finding that the warmth from the tea actually did help a bit.

Just as you set the cup down though, Suguru moved closer, extending his hand to press against your forehead, his touch feeling cold against your heated flesh.

“You’re so warm…” he whispered, his thumb brushing along your temple and down your cheekbones. “I should have been more… attentive. Forgive me for being so busy.”

You blinked up at him as the tea settled in your body. Something about this whole interaction filled you with unease as if the applied sweetness wasn’t genuine.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, “really,” you emphasised after a hot second.

Suguru however just hummed, his voice taking on a condescending tone, “Oh, but you’re not, are you?” he asked, curling his lips into a calm, measured smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, his gaze appearing devoid of any warmth, “worry not though, my love, I’ll take care of everything.”

Relief wasn’t quite what you felt however as he hovered around you for the remainder of your sickness, locking himself into your shadow day and night, seemingly abandoning his work to tend to you. He urged you to eat, and hydrate and even helped you bathe, prattling on about the importance of vapours when one felt congested.

“You’re not usually this caring,” you let slip as you settled into bed, regretting your word choice right away. The atmosphere of the room changed within a beat at such an admission and though you tried to backtrack, the dread had already settled.

Suguru’s smile faltered, seeming almost offended(?)

“I may have been busy, yes…” he trailed off, his eyes drifting away from you before giving you back his attention tenfold, “but you’re still… my wife, correct? I have to apply my priorities carefully. You’re… important to me.”

The way that he referred to you as his wife didn’t feel as comforting as his intention might have been; the term felt almost possessive as if laced with warning. The way he said it and how he said it, was a little bit too deliberate—as if he was trying to convince himself of a role he had to maintain.

Still, the hours dragged on throughout the rest of the evening without an issue, or so he thought. He encouraged you to sip on hot broth whenever you were lucid enough and sat at your side vigilantly, watching you with a sharp eye to ensure that nothing would go wrong.

Such intensely applied care, however, soon started to feel suffocating by the end of the day and all you wanted to do was to have a break and sleep the flu away. You didn’t mean to snap the way that you did, fully expecting him to nip or protest at your attitude from the moment you let your composure slip away, but he didn’t.

“—please,” you spat out, unable to hold back any longer as you pushed him away, “just—I… I need to sleep.”

For a moment, a brief hint of anger flashed across his features, but then he simply schooled his expression into that same cold smile from before.

“Of course,” he murmured, brushing your hair away from your eyes, “I should have known. Please, rest for as long as you need to.”

You gulped down all of your unease beyond that point, too exhausted to care, but later in the night—you woke up and something felt wrong. Your eyes fluttered open with a jarring start as your breath caught in the back of your throat. You tried to swallow, but it felt like sharp glass resided in your lungs, the sensation like fire when you tried to breathe in or out. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, but a familiar figure sat unnervingly close to where you lay.

“Suguru…?” you called out.

He must have remained close to you the entire night, even after you had fallen asleep. His deep gaze fixed on you with such a grave intensity that it stole the rest of the air away from the room, leaving you barely able to breathe at that point, feeling suffocated from being so close.

Before you could call out to him again though, Suguru hushed you with the application of his fingers pressed right against your lips. He then leaned closer, allowing the smell of something vaguely metallic to fill your senses, but also medicinal or even herbal.

You listened to his silent request to keep in bed, feeling as his fingertips swept across the side of your neck using soft, featherlight strokes, to trace along your pulse point. His touch lingered for a little too long as he settled around the area, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the blood flowing.

(A warning, perhaps?)

“Go back to sleep,” he softly parted a bit clearer that time, following up with a gentle hum to the tune of a lullaby you didn’t know. Despite how soothing it felt, your innate instincts were screaming at you to distance yourself—to not let this person get too close—that this wasn’t Suguru.

(But your exhaustion simply took you over.)

“That’s right,” he whispered, his breath rolling hot against your forehead as he parted a delicate kiss against your skin, “continue to live in bliss and I'll give you the life you so desperately crave.”

You woke up slightly again as he strode over to the bedroom door, lingering in the frame as he looked back at you with that same unsettling, unreadable stare.

“Just, don’t misunderstand,” he couldn’t resist, his true self seeping through the cracks of the facade he wore so well, “I’ll only keep that up if you don’t snoop around too far,” he then paused, lowering his voice on purpose so that you couldn’t hear him, speaking more to himself than to you, “as long as you learn to keep curious—as long as you don’t figure out who I really am—then I can keep you safe.”

You didn’t reply, trying to pretend that you were already asleep. He knew that you weren’t though, choosing not to bother you.

“Sleep tight, my wife.”

The door then clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in that thick, oppressive silence that you had gotten to know so well. You didn’t dare break through it, though, not even as you felt the squeeze of his phantom fingers remaining wrapped around your neck, constricting around your throat like an invisible collar, binding you to a whole new nightmare; a silent reminder of just how much your life had changed ever since that day.

Of just how much… he had changed.

A part of you knew that it would never get better, but if being sick was what it took to get even a glimpse of your old husband back, then that’s something you wouldn’t hesitate to do.

Because even if he did come to annoy you in the end—it was better than accepting that he might truly be gone.

(So why not live a little in your delusions, just this once? Or twice? Or… however long it took to feel normal again.)

[peachjagiya]

Hello, I am a casual reader of your blog as well as other blogs about BTS, Ateez, and Stray Kids ships. I’m particularly into these three groups (mostly BTS) and enjoy reading about ships from shippers’ perspectives. While I wouldn’t consider myself a shipper, I do enjoy fanfiction and occasionally indulging in the more far-fetched romance theories some shippers come up with.

I haven’t followed BTS ships as closely as I used to, but from what I know, Taekook and Jikook remain the two most prominent rival ships within the BTS fandom. Having read your blog for a while now, I’m familiar with many of your theories and beliefs, and I’d like to challenge you a bit, just for discussion sake.

I recently came across one of your posts from last year where you debated with a Jikooker. One of the points you made was that Jikook couldn’t possibly be a couple because Jungkook didn’t invite any of Jimin’s friends to his album release party, whereas he invited Taehyung’s friends. However, by this same logic, aren’t Eunwoo and Mingyu also considered Jungkook’s close friends? Yet, I didn’t see them at the party either. In fact, I don’t recall hearing about any of his 97-liner friends attending. Do you think this means Jungkook is closer to Wooga Squad than to his own group of friends since they were present at the party while his 97-liner friends were not?

Additionally, wasn’t Wooga Squad also present at J-Hope’s album release party? I’ve seen many Taekookers argue that the only person Taehyung has brought into his friend group is Jungkook. If that’s the case, why were Wooga Squad members at J-Hope’s party? Wasn’t there also speculation about Taehyung hanging out with Wooga Squad and J-Hope during Chapter Two of BTS?

Another point you raised recently was about Jungkook’s closeness to Park Hyo-shin, particularly when Jungkook referred to him as “hyung” in his last livestream. You seemed to highlight this as significant. However, if I recall correctly, Jungkook also referred to Taemin as “Taeminie hyung” on AYS when he mentioned that Taemin and Jimin used to spend a lot of time in pool parlors together. Similarly, didn’t Jungkook also speak about Taeyang on his Live right after Jimin and Taeyang collabed on “Vibe” with Jk’s calling him a cool hyung?

Speaking of shared friends, didn’t Jimin mention on AYS, that he went snowboarding with Jungkook’s friends a few years ago, even when Jungkook wasn’t present which shows that Jimin had/ has a relationship with Jk’s friends enough to hang out with them even without Jk being present?

I was reminded of these points while reading your recent discussions about Wooga Squad. These are a few things I’ve come across on your blog that didn’t quite add up for me. I’ve noticed that shippers often emphasize certain aspects of their ship as unique while overlooking similar dynamics in rival ships. Since I read from multiple shipper perspectives, I tend to notice these things more easily which one party usually doesn’t mention because they’re unaware they happened or just don’t see them as significant.

Jungkook’s friendship with Wooga Squad and Taehyung’s friends seems to be a major point that taekookers especially newer Taekookers, rely on as evidence of their ship being real. However, I find it interesting that the first instance of Jungkook being seen publicly with another member’s friends on multiple occasions was with Jimin’s friends. In fact, signs of Jungkook’s friendship with Taehyung’s friends only started to appear around 2022. Meanwhile, Jungkook has been seen with Jimin’s friends since 2017, and we now know that Jimin has even spent time with Jungkook’s friends without Jungkook being present. So I wonder what these people would have thought about this friendship angle pre 2022 where there was little or no proof that Jk knew or hungout with Tae’s friends even though there was enough proof of him knowing and hanging out with Jimin’s? It was a big deal for Jikookers at the time because out of all the members, the only two we knew hung out with each other’s friends were Jimin and Jungkook.

I’m genuinely curious about your thoughts on this and would love to hear your perspective. This is purely for discussion and not an attempt to challenge or change your beliefs. I’m just interested in your reasoning. Lastly, just to clarify, I’m not a Jikooker. Mentioning this because I know someone is about to call me a jikooker because of all the Jikook comparisons but as I said earlier, only doing that because Jikook and Taekook are still the biggest rival ships and share so many similarities in my opinion.

Sure. Why not.

One of the points you made was that Jikook couldn’t possibly be a couple because Jungkook didn’t invite any of Jimin’s friends to his album release party, whereas he invited Taehyung’s friends.

I think I probably implied it was interesting that Taehyung had his friends but Jimin did not have rather than "couldn't possibly be" but without the link to the post you refer to, I can't really hunt it down right now and my tumblr search isn't providing. If you can quote me directly, I'd be interested to see what I actually said.

However, by this same logic, aren’t Eunwoo and Mingyu also considered Jungkook’s close friends? Yet, I didn’t see them at the party either.

Do you think this means Jungkook is closer to Wooga Squad than to his own group of friends since they were present at the party while his 97-liner friends were not?

Having just looked it up, Eunwoo was there.

As were Seventeen so Mingyu is a firm educated assumption.

We didn't see pictures of anyone except BTS members in attendance (minus Yoongi and Jin as they couldn't be photographed), Peakboy, Daul and Hyesung. But it's been confirmed that Bada, Winter, Seojoon, Jung Haein, Kim Soohyun and a limited number of others attended. No photos ≠ no attendance.

Especially when it's a no cameras small guest list event. Which leads nicely to the next point:

Additionally, wasn’t Wooga Squad also present at J-Hope’s album release party? I’ve seen many Taekookers argue that the only person Taehyung has brought into his friend group is Jungkook.

J-hope's party was HUGE and notably star-studded. In fact, weren't there some reporters and influencers invited? I don't think Hobi was that picky with the guest list and it was definitely more public and better publicised than Jungkook's private party.

Wasn’t there also speculation about Taehyung hanging out with Wooga Squad and J-Hope during Chapter Two of BTS?

My understanding of this might be wrong so please correct me, people who know better: I believe someone thought Hobi was at the snowboarding due to a pair of shoes that Hobi also has. It turned out to be Hyungsik. Considering Jungkook mentioned himself going with "Taehyung and his friends" and didn't mention Hobi, I think we can assume it was mistaken identity. Unless they went snowboarding together more than once. That's a possibility, I'll wait for Jungkook to tell me about it. 😂

Another point you raised recently was about Jungkook’s closeness to Park Hyo-shin, particularly when Jungkook referred to him as “hyung” in his last livestream. You seemed to highlight this as significant. However, if I recall correctly, Jungkook also referred to Taemin as “Taeminie hyung” on AYS when he mentioned that Taemin and Jimin used to spend a lot of time in pool parlors together.

Hey, you got me there: Jungkook uses hyung. I still think hyung combined with time spent and phone calls made is notable though.

Speaking of shared friends, didn’t Jimin mention on AYS, that he went snowboarding with Jungkook’s friends a few years ago, even when Jungkook wasn’t present which shows that Jimin had/ has a relationship with Jk’s friends enough to hang out with them even without Jk being present?

Jimin mentioned going snowboarding many years ago with them. I think it was around 2017, someone calculated? Jungkook began to interact with 97 line in 2016, as far as I know. (they were interacting at 2017 ISAC in the January so reasonable guess.)

This is going to sound like I'm making excuses but the fresh friendships when you're 19 are not the same friendships as the very established best friends you have at nearly 30. I do think it's different the older you get and I would have a different opinion of Jimin hanging out with JK's friends these days. Still not a romantic one but I would find it more notable probably.

I also think a lot about the context of Wooga and Jungkook. You can look at so many things on the surface as "oh this is the same as Jimin hanging out with Seventeen." but you can't just seperate things out into detail ABC matches detail XYZ therefore detail ABC doesn't mean anything.

What's the context? The context is important!

The context is that Taehyung feels safe and unguarded with Wooga. He says this to them. His walls are down when he's with them. Not only is this very sweet and meaningful but it carries a weightier implication that he doesn't feel unguarded everywhere.

The fact that Taehyung brings Jungkook into his safe space is SOMETHING. It just is. Not even proof of romance by itself but it's certainly something. You can't just gotcha it away because Jimin snowboarded with an unknown friend of JK's one time. These grown up feelings don't have scoreboards where one point cancels another out. You simply have to look at the WHOLE wider picture.

Similarly, if Hobi had been welcomed into the safe space by Taehyung, that would be NOTABLE to me... but still not romantic because there is no romantic wider context.

Jikook and Taekook are still the biggest rival ships and share so many similarities in my opinion.

I don't see the similarities that strongly but nor do I see the need to disregard Taekook moments just because Jimin did something similar. The wider context for Jimkook doesn't exist for me so the details don't have a context that I find compelling.

[sparks-and-smoke]

Chapter 1: Old Letters (Re-written)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (referred to as Petal) Word Count: 2,787 Summary: Lost and alone after moving to DC Steve visits the Smithsonian and stumbles upon a face he thought he’d never see again. This is a soulmate AU, just so we are all aware. Warnings/tropes: grief, loss, angst, mental health, conspiracy theories, stalking if you squint. Reader insert, no use of Y/N A/N: Yes, this is a little re-write of something I already posted. And yes I like it better this way. Rewrite of chapter two is incoming as well. This is going to be a pretty slow updating fic, because I actively want to make the chapters longer, but I have a small child so writing time is limited. So, IF YOU WOULD LIKED TAGGED, let me know I'll add you to a list <3 Beta read by the ever lovely @voice-of-velhart

Next chapter

The mind numbing cadence of the narrator should have been comforting. Steve was sure it was to others, the simple clear baritone voice explaining the exhibits around him for those who either could not read or could not retain written words. It was one of the accessibility he would have loved to see when he was a young disabled man in the 40’s. One of those rare things that gave him hope for the growth of humanity. But today, as he wandered through the exhibit that laid out his life like a textbook he couldn’t help but want the voice to stop. 

Stop talking about his friends and loved ones like they were these lofty historical beings that were lost to the sands of time. Stop talking about Bucky and Dugan and Morita and Jones like they were heroes or icons... And talk about them as people. The way Pinky snored like a lumberjack once you were anywhere above sea level. Or the way Dugan could drink anyone under the table and still manage to steal a tank single handed.  Or the way Falsworth could get him laughing so hard it would almost give away their location if Bucky didn’t punch the shit out of his arm to keep him silent. 

It was all so long ago now. To the patrons and children who ran around oohing and ahhing over the glory that was the tale of Captain America. And not the tangible raw memory that lived in his head day in and day out. He kept his mouth shut, throat bobbing as he made his way silently through the different collections of his life. The memorials and exhibit pieces that should be his and not locked behind glass. 

He winced as the voice over head got small things wrong. Like his actual birthday. Or the make and model of his motorcycle even though it was sitting right there behind a velvet rope. It wouldn’t have taken a curator very long to fix those little things but he had a feeling this particular set piece hadn’t been a hot spot until a year or so ago when he had been pulled from the ice, and clearly whoever had been in charge had been too busy finding new set pieces to fix the clerical errors in the script. It wasn’t like he was gonna call them and correct them. He would settle for just grumbling in his head like an old man. 

It wasn’t a bad showcase, all things considered. Nothing the Smithsonian did was. They were America’s most famous museum for a reason. But it did make Steve's chest ache. He had been avoiding coming here for most of his time in DC, what did they have here that he could possibly find productive? But then he heard something interesting.

"The disappearance  Mrs. Rogers has been a mystery that has plagued historians and scientists alike for generations…"

Petal, well not actually Petal, that was what he had called her in private. In his letters home. No, the voice overhead had called her Mrs. Rogers. Referred to his wife and that had Steve's full attention. Following the lead of the vocal guide he wandered to a small set piece in the back. A large gallery wall, set with pictures and letters and memorabilia from his life at home, things he had been told were sealed away, littered the glass cases of the exhibit. His wife, his love, plastered all over the wall for the world to see. It didn't matter that her name was blocked out. That they had kept her legal name from the public record. Her face. Her words. They were everywhere.

It made him see red.

“Those were private.” he heard himself say as his eyes scanned over the exhaustive catalog of personal conversations between himself and his soulmate. His nails digging crescent shaped indentations into his palms as he began to shake.

Letters and photos that he had thought lost were now plastered up in the god damned Smithsonian. Things he had never, ever wanted anyone else to see. Fears and sorrows he had written with confidence that only the love of his life would read the words. This was too much, it was too far. He could forgive the misinformation and the lack of fact checking. The bike, the medical information, the uniform, the memorial to Bucky. Those were nothing compared to this, And a red hot rage bubbled up inside him as his eyes landed on a very intimate letter that had passed between the two of them. One that had turned his ears hot with lust at the time but now just made his blood turn to ice. 

No. Those were not for anyone else’s eyes.

He had to leave. To storm into the curator's office and demand this portion of the exhibit be taken down immediately. It was a violation of privacy at its deepest level. An injustice that he couldn't stand for. Not in his own exhibit…

He barely heard the giggling of the women as he passed by them. Anger fueling him forward with an almost mission like focus. Causing him to ignore anyone who dared talk to him unless they had the power to shut this down. But something deep inside him tugged. Told him to stop. To listen. His feet halted on their own accord and he perked an ear. Almost frustrated at himself as he listened in instead of pushing forward.

But Steve never ignored his gut. Not even in a time like this.

“No, I’m serious! You look just like her, it's totally eerie! Look!” Steve turned his head to glance at the women. A group of three, dressed in work attire, clearly here on lunch or maybe they worked at one of the buildings. The tall willowy brunette was gesturing at a picture of Petal. A picture from the war bonds tour with his wife all dolled up for the press. “Curl your hair and slap on some red lipstick and you could totally pass as her…”

The woman in the center stood rigidly, her face hidden behind her hair, but he could tell by her posture she was deeply uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I guess a little.” She said in a quiet voice that Steve could barely hear over the crowd and the tour guide. 

“Oh, come off it! You’re like her Doppelganger. I’m kinda getting creeping me out.” Steve dared a step closer so he could see the girl's face. If she looked half as much like his wife as her friends claimed she must be stunning. His wife had been the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. And yes, perhaps he was biased but he didn’t care. He knew it to be fact. She was everything and even just seeing a shade of her in this woman was too tempting to pass up.

The girl stared up at the wall, the lights of the display case illuminating her with an otherworldly glow. And Steve felt the air drag from his lungs as if it was being squeezed out of him.

She didn’t look like his wife. That was his wife. He would know her anywhere. Could claim her in the darkest night, half drunk or dying he would know her. The visage of her was etched on his mind like a memorial. The sound of her burned into his heart like a siren's call. That was his wife. She was alive and she was standing right in front of him staring up at their love letters like they were the words of strangers.

How did she not know. More then that how was even she alive at all. It had been over 70 years. She should be an old woman, a distant memory if not already long gone from this world and yet there she was. Looking resplendent in the glow of the display case. Steve's mind whirled as he tried to file through all the information he had on his wife, or rather the absence of information. The utter mystery that had been plaguing his memory since he first busted into time square a year and a half ago.

What happened to you.

It had been one of the first things Steve looked into when he realized he had been gone 70+ years. He had gone on a tirade trying to find hide or hair of what had happened to you or your family after he went MIA. He hadn’t cared if you were old or grey or heaven forbid dead, but he needed to know where you were. He had spent the better part of a month trying and failing to find anything about what had happened to you after the events of February 5, 1945. He had pulled S.H.I.E.L.D. files, missing persons reports, death records, it didn't matter. If he had the means he took it. Slogging through every bit of information he could manage.

Turns out after Steve took the plunge Peggy took it upon herself to find "Petal" and offer her condolences. Only to find an empty apartment and no trace of life. Food left on the counters, coffee half drank in the living room, lights left on… As if you had just gotten up and walked out of your life.

It had been Peggy Carter and Howard Stark who had taken it upon themselves to try and find you. Peggy and Howard that took the letters and sealed them away. Redacted you're name from historical documents when you couldn't be found. Protected Steve and his wife even in death.

It had led him down a rabbit hole of sorts. Conspiracy theories and true crimes cases all about what had happened to Mrs. Rogers. to podcasts and documentaries that frustrated him more than helped, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know. He needed anything, everything that might be an answer. Only to find that his soulmate, the other half of his heart, had vanished around the same time he landed in the ice.  

You and your sisters were a mystery. A conspiracy theory. The display case in front of you said as much. One of the most divisive missing persons cases in American history. Up there with Amelia Earhart and the Somerton man… It had broken his heart. Left him empty and wandering without a sense of closure. He could still feel the bond you had shared, a tunnel of energy that led to somewhere but it was impossible to tell where. Soulmates didn’t work like bloodhounds; you couldn’t just follow the connection until you reached the other end. It was more complicated and the feeling only left him with more questions than answers. 

And now, there you were right there. In front of him looking radiant if not self conscious and the aching tug in his chest was starting to become agonizing. But he couldn’t get his feet to move. As if he had been rooted to the spot where he stood staring like a lost child gazing at the stars. You were just as beautiful as you had always been. And it was hard to move past the simple detail as he stared at her. He was positive in that moment that even if this had been their first encounter he would have been just as speechless as he had been in 1939. And he felt like he could hardly breath as he heard her voice again.

“I don’t know guys, she's beautiful, but I don't see it.” You told your friends. Your eyes scan over the pictures. A strange sensation coming over you as you gazed at the old stills. Meet and greets for the USO tour, Steve kissing his wife goodbye in Chicago, an old photo of the pair together in a park somewhere. The park seemed familiar, but you couldn't place it. Maybe it was back in Brooklyn. You and Captain Rogers were after all from the same borough.

Mary, your friend who has so far been fawning over the love letters and the contents thereof clicks her tongue. “Naww, there is totally a resemblance. Maybe you should ask your grandma if she lost a lover to the war.” she wiggles her brows but you don’t seem impressed. 

“My grandma passed away a very long time ago, and she couldn’t have been Mrs. Rogers because she was soulmates with my papa. But nice try.” you sigh, pulling your arms tight over your chest. “Besides, even if she was, I would only feel bad. I mean look at this! I would hate for the whole world to be able to come and ogle at the love confessions I made to my husband as he was facing down death everyday! It’s kind of cruel in a way. Hanging all of this out for the world to see. Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable to read them all?”

Amanda, the redhead, just shrugged. “I mean she is probably dead. So I doubt she cares.” Steve's hands gripped at his jacket. The callous response has Steve hackles rising up. His girl has shitty friends, or disrespectful ones at least, but at least she still had a heart. Still had empathy for others. Even if she didn’t know that those letters were hers. 

“Yeah but Captain Rogers is alive! I highly doubt he appreciates his private thoughts up on display. I sure wouldn’t.” Your stomach was lurking as you're heart when out to this poor couple whose life had been made into books, and movies, and comics. Their heartache and separation sensationalized for the modern housewife and hormonal teenagers to romanticize. All while ignoring the privacy and wishes of the people involved.

“Since when do you feel so passionate about this. ” The brunette shuffled, starting to look a little ashamed. Good, Steve thought. She should. Everyone ogling at their past heartbreak should 

Steve watched as you seemed to check yourself. “I- I don't know, it just rubs me wrong. It a human decency issue! A violation of privacy!" You turn on your friend with a frown as you realize she really isn't repulsed by this at all. "It's invasive and dehumanizing. It just like Anne Franks diaries being made into a book. It's tragic and horrible. These people went through some of the worst things human beings can process. And we stand her and gawk at their pain.” Steve's chest feels restrictive. Pride and grief twisting around inside it in a harrowing cocktail as he listens to her defend him… Them,

"We shouldn't be here. I'm leaving. And I'm gonna right the museum and tell them how awful this is! That they should be ashamed!" Steve stays back and watches as you turn on your heels and head toward the aviation exhibit. You're friends rolling their eyes at your abundance of empathy. Steve simply ducks his head, to keep you from seeing him as you breeze past. He doesn’t wanna approach you, not yet. He needs to figure out what the hell just happened but as you pull farther away the tug in his chest could crack a rib.

"God, you're so dramatic petal. Are you serious? Really, over old letters from god knows when." Your friend shouted after you. The other rolling her eyes and following the pair. Good to know his girl hadn't lost her spark. Or her sense of justice.

The instinct to turn and follow you is intense. Almost overwhelming but he ignores it. Instead choosing to stay behind and clear his head. Has to have a plan of attack. A strategy. He can’t chase his girl off, he can’t lose her a second time he won't let that happen. No, whatever was happening. Whatever cruel trick of fate this was, he had to outsmart it. Right it. But he knew one thing down to his marrow. That was his soulmate, and she would not slip away from him.

 First thing first, he was gonna get this portion of the exhibit taken down and his letters and pictures returned to him. Then he was going to find out what was wrong with his girl and why she didn't remember. But one thing was for sure he was gonna get her back. Even if he had to start from scratch and make her fall in love with him again, he was getting Petal back now that he knew she was alive. Nothing could stop him.

With a new found purpose and mission Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket to make a few calls. He was gonna get this all squared away so he could focus on the main objective. You.

Found you Petal…

Tag List: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers, @delilah-hey @tldrthor This is the version going on the masterlist :)

[stellamarielu]

mr. o'hara

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: in an attempt to play wing woman for your best friend, you end up with the job of distracting her father. your inability to lie and the sexual tension between you has your mouth getting into trouble in more ways than one.

content: nsfw, 18+, best friend's dad smut, mutual pining, age gap, dirty talk, blowjob, praise, thigh riding, fingering, unprotected sex, did i mention dirty talk?

author's note: nothing but 6k words of mutual pining, flirting, sexual tension and smut! I think best friend's dad!declan might just be my favorite thing to write. like taggie girl I am so sorry but I need to fuck your dad.

—————————————————

The night was coming to an end as you joined Taggie in the kitchen. You were helping her clean the massive pile of dishes that had accumulated from an evening of dinner and drinks with the venturer employees. 

Declan had somehow ended up hosting the dinner party for his company, filling the priory with music, laughter and loads of alcohol. The celebration of their newfound success was almost completely organized by his eldest daughter. You insisted on helping Taggie with arranging the event because you knew without Maud, Declan was sure to throw a sad excuse of a party. He was thankful for the two of you and your incessant need to meddle in his life after his wife left. In this case, it meant he wouldn’t have to plan a dinner menu or worry about a guest list, and for that, he was eternally grateful. 

“Thank you again, I really couldn’t have done it without you.” Taggie was pulling you into her side as you worked next to her, scrubbing a plate in the sink. 

“Oh whatever, I barely did anything. I’m only here for the free food.” You joked, returning her embrace.

The two of you were interrupted by a deep sultry voice gushing from the doorway of the kitchen. 

“That’s the only reason I show up to these things as well.”

You didn’t even need to look over your shoulder to know who the voice belonged to. 

Rupert Campbell-Black was behind you. Clad in a perfectly fitted black suit and a white button up that was undone just enough to see the smallest bit of chest hair peeking out from underneath. he stood with that signature smirk he always wore plastered on his face. 

You could feel Taggie buzzing beside you.

It was endearing how utterly obsessed with each other they were.

You were the only person who knew about their secret romance, and you had to admit it made even you feel like a hopeless romantic. It was nearly impossible not to root for them. 

“I thought maybe you could walk me home.” His voice was tender as he took a number of steps forward, one of his hands landing on Taggie’s hip.

“Have you gone insane? Daddy would lose his mind if he found out I just waltzed out of here with you.” Her voice was filled with concern as she swatted his touch from her body.

“Taggie, c’mon. Are we really supposed to follow your dad’s orders for the rest of eternity? Live a little. I’ll deal with ‘daddy’ tomorrow.” 

You could see Rupert’s silk voice enveloping Taggie and tempting her deeper into the British man’s desires, but it wasn’t enough. You knew her well, and a look of worry was still written on her features. She wouldn’t take what she wanted if it meant going against her father’s wishes.

“I’ll keep him distracted.” You spoke up causing both Rupert and Taggie to look to you in surprise. 

The truth is you felt bad for them. 

Having to tiptoe around Declan all the time had to be exhausting. Not to mention Taggie recently confided in you about her lack of sex life. Her and Rupert had barely done more than kissing and some heavy petting due to the impossible challenge of getting somewhere alone together.

She longed for him, to know what it felt like to be touched by him. She was your best friend, and you owed it to her to be their wing woman. 

“I mean he’s had a few glasses of whiskey, two or three more and I can just sit him in front of the tv. he’ll probably just knock out.” You give the pair a reassuring smile as you divulge your plan to keep the nosey irishman out of their way. 

“Are you sure? I-“ Taggie begins before you interrupt her.

“Yes, now go. Sneak out the back.” You’re practically pushing them out of the kitchen catching the apologetic smile Taggie throws your way.

You hear the faint shut of the back door and you allow your body to linger in the kitchen. standing alone for a few seconds, you soak in the calm. The home is nearly empty. It’s quiet, the only sound is the subtle murmur of music coming from the living room.

You were alone in the house with Declan. Declan O’Hara; Taggie’s dad and part-time owner of a thriving televison station. Declan O’Hara; a powerful, somewhat mysterious man, that drew your attention more often than you would have liked to admit. 

He was so mesmerizing. Everything about him intrigued you. Your hidden fascination with him had been impossible to deny from the moment you met him, and it had become quite the guilty pleasure. 

You planned to take your little crush on your best friend’s dad to the grave with you, never telling a soul and trying to remain as nonchalant around him as possible. It was always doable– pretending you felt nothing for him. Until his wife left a few months ago. 

Ever since then your obsession with him had been kicked into full gear.

He was just so obviously available; it was almost as if you felt the need to fill his loneliness deep within your bones. Seeing how he poured into work to distract himself from solitude or when he would sleep on the couch to avoid the bedroom he once shared with his ex-wife. It was heartbreaking, and a little bit tempting if you were being honest. You wanted to help him and comfort him and maybe even fuck the loneliness right out of him.

You had assured Taggie that you could distract her father, but truthfully you had no idea what your plan was.

It couldn’t be that hard right? Feed him some more alcohol and get him talking about Yeats, you could do this.

You mustered up all the courage you could manage and began your journey into the living room. 

Declan was picking up after the guests that had now long departed. Gathering empty glasses and straightening throw pillows. The radio on the mantle was playing a Fleetwood mac song that he could barely recognize yet still found himself humming along to.

In his quiet tidying his silent singing was joined with another, this hum was several octaves higher than his own and so much sweeter.

He turned to find you strolling through the entryway, humming along to the radio and finding a seat on the couch in the middle of the room. 

Declan had to fight with himself to keep from looking at your backside as you walked past him. Your dress hugged your figure perfectly, a body he had memorized over months of watching you frolic through his house in short skirts and skintight t-shirts.

You had become quite the temptress in Declan’s mind. 

He had always thought you were a beautiful young woman, but you were Taggie’s friend and nothing more. You were polite, easy to talk to, fun to have around– he was never one to mind your presence at family meals or special occasions. In fact he quite enjoyed when his daughter brought you around, he had always felt like you helped brighten their otherwise dim home with your lively personality. 

He was entertained by you– amused. However soon after Maud left; casting him aside for a new life in London, his feelings for you shifted to something a little less harmless.

It started when he saw you sunbathing in his front yard. 

You were joined by his two daughters, but he didn’t even notice. all he could do was gawk at the image of you sprawled out on a bright red pool towel in nothing but a skimpy bikini.

He had to peel his eyes from your body, reminding himself that you were only a few years older than his eldest daughter, young enough to be one of his children. Before he could rip his gaze from your bare skin, your eyes met his.

“Mr. O’Hara!” you were sat up waving in his direction, your chest bouncing ever so slightly with the movement and of course his eyes caught it.

He cursed himself at the strain in his jeans that only tightened upon hearing you call him that. Mr. O’Hara, it made you sound so innocent– so good-natured. The opposite of how Declan viewed you in that very moment, nearly naked on his front lawn. 

“Wanna join us? They say Vitamin D is good for your mental health. You know, boosting your mood and all that.” You were half yelling to ensure that he could hear you, a broad grin on your face.

Declan had never realized how cute your smile was. 

“I think I’ll have to pass on the invitation today.” He kept his voice pleasant and warm, speaking to you like he would his own children. 

“If you girls need me, I’ll be inside.” 

And with that Declan rushed to the kitchen to fix himself a glass of brandy, hoping to chase away the image of him pulling that tiny swimsuit off your body and fucking you into that cute little pool towel.

“I didn’t picture you as a Fleetwood Mac fan Mr. O’Hara.” Your voice was sugary and playful in his ears, bringing him back to the present where you were sat on his living room couch. 

“British rock band with a dicey love triangle, what’s not to like?” His own deep voice was now matching the playful tone in yours.

“And I’ve told you a hundred times to call me Declan.” He continued cleaning up the room, trying his best to act as if he wasn’t phased by your presence. 

“Did you abandon my daughter in the kitchen to come have a chat with me about Stevie Nicks?” He was joking with you, but the question about Taggie made you nervous. 

You had never been a good liar. 

“No we uh, finished the dishes. I just wanted to come see if you needed help with anything.” You were trying to keep your composure and act as natural as possible.

You were not doing a good job. Not one bit.

Maybe it was the tone of your voice or the way you stumbled over your words, but Declan was privy to your strange behavior. He stopped what he was doing and turned his body to face yours, brows furrowed.

“Why are ya actin’ weird?” The question was filled with curiosity- hardly accusatory, but you felt your palms begin to sweat. 

“I’m not acting weird.” You countered, sitting up straight.

Declan’s eyes squinted at you in question.

“Tag!” He yelled toward the kitchen but kept his stare on you.

“Taggie!” This time his yell was much louder, and you winced at the upcoming interrogation you were sure to receive. 

Declan slowly closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Where’s Tag?” 

With his eyes still closed you could tell Declan was trying to remain relaxed, but you had a feeling he knew exactly where his daughter was.

“She went to walk Rupert home.” The words flew out of your mouth in one quiet stream. 

Declan let out an aggressively loud sigh. his eyes finally opening to meet yours, the anger palpable in the deep brown of his iris’. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t fucking trust either of them.”

He was doing his best not to yell but his voice was pushing out strong and harsh. His hands were in the air motioning in rage, still holding onto half full glasses left behind by party goers. 

“I can’t fucking stand Rupert, he knows exactly how I feel about this! I’m going down there.”

And now he was yelling.

He shoved the glasses in his hands onto the coffee table, creating another mess out of the already dirty cups. The clinking and crashing sounds only accentuating the anger exuding from him.

Just as he was turning to leave the room you jumped up off the sofa, rushing to grab his forearm. 

“Declan don’t.”

your eyes were pleading with him, he had never seen you look so desperate. It stopped him in his tracks seeing you gaze at him like that.

Why was it turning him on?

“She’s an adult. Let her make her own decisions.” Your grip on his arm was still tight, you weren’t going to let him ruin this for Taggie.

“Yeah, and he’s an adult too. almost twice her age. He shouldn’t be interested in getting her alone.”

He wasn’t yelling anymore, and he also wasn’t fighting your effort to keep him from leaving the room. 

“It’s really not that big of a deal.” Your voice was calm and quiet in an attempt to deescalate the situation. 

“Well of course you would think that.”

Declan practically spit the words out, but you could tell by the wince in his eyes that he wished he hadn’t.

“and why do you say that?” You challenged, taken aback by his comment. 

You were searching your brain for the reason behind Declan’s accusation when it hit you. He had to be referring to the time that you hooked up with Basil Baddington. Only you never actually hooked up with him. The two of you madeout in his parked car outside of bar sinister one time and the next day there was a rumor going around that someone caught you giving basil head in his brand new 86 corvette. 

You could distinctly remember later that week Declan asked if you were seeing Bas.

He never mentioned the alleged sexual act or the other heinous things people were saying about the two of you, he just asked if you were dating.

It was such a harmless and casual question, one that you answered confidently, assuring him there was absolutely nothing going on between you. “Good he’s a prick and way too old for you” was Declan’s short and sweet response.

“Oh last summer. With Bas?” You were grinning now. Almost amused that Declan was comparing your two-week fling with a man barely 10 years older than you to his daughter’s love affair with a retired Olympian. 

“First of all, he’s not even that much older than me. And second, you of all people should know nothing even happened between us. We made out and I barely felt him up through his jeans, nothing past a PG-13 rating.” You were almost laughing at the memory.

Declan felt a pang of jealousy in his chest at the mention of the younger man’s name on your lips.

“He isn’t my type anyway.” The words tumble from your mouth and you see Declan’s eyes fully soften. His gaze intently watching you. 

“Even if I am a bad influence, at least Taggie won’t be getting caught giving someone a blowjob in a tiny pretentious sports car.”

There’s a giggle in your voice and Declan closes his eyes once again shaking his head at your words.

“Please don’t say my daughter’s name and the word blowjob in the same sentence.” He’s rubbing his temple, and you let your hold on his arm relax.

“Oh come on! It’s just sex. Blowjobs are a perfectly normal part of life.” Your sentiment is serious but there’s still a teasing tone in your voice. 

Declan can’t handle hearing such dirty things come out of your mouth.

You talking about sex was not something he had on his agenda tonight. He didn’t think he could handle much more before he would need to excuse himself to his bedroom to relieve the tension building in his pants. Imagining it’s your lips wrapped around his cock, with the sound of your voice still echoing in his head.

You watched with a coy smile on your face as Declan’s cheeks displayed a slight hue of pink. He was looking everywhere but your eyes and it was fun to see him so flustered.

Your hand still lingered on his arm, and you realized you’d never touched him before. You had imagined it many, many times, although, those scenarios were often much raunchier– involving your hand holding something that definitely wasn’t his arm. You had fantasized about touching Declan, feeling the warmth of his skin on yours. Your heart rate quickened when you remembered the two of you were alone. 

Something about your current position coupled with the idea that it was just the two of you on your own in this big house, had you behaving in a way you barely recognized. Possessed by a craving that could only be satisfied by the man at the other end of your touch.

“When was the last time you had a woman on her knees for you?” The question left your lips quietly- a soft and smooth whisper. 

His eyes are on yours quick, but you can’t read his expression. He’s staring you down, not even attempting to open his mouth to give you an answer to your question. 

“I mean it’s had to of been months. I’m around enough to know you haven’t seen anyone since maud left and I-“ Your continuing your cross-examination when Declan’s harsh accent interrupts you. 

“Years.”

The one word is all he says. 

It takes you a minute to understand, but once you do you have to try your best to keep the shock from showing on your face.

“Years Declan?” the surprise in your voice is unmistakable.

“It’s been years since the last time someone gave you a blowjob?”

Declan just raises his eyebrows at you in defeat. There’s a hint of embarrassment in his eyes and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. 

“Maud wasn’t much of a giver.” He shrugs. 

“Lucky for her I was.”

You’re glad to see the playful glimmer in his gaze as he jokes about his ex-wife.  

Declan’s words insinuate that him and Maud’s intimacy completely revolved around her pleasure.

What a selfish bitch. You think to yourself.

You had never liked Maud. The way she treated her family made you irrationally angry and this was just adding fuel to the fire. 

“That’s not fair.” Your voice is faint. 

If it wasn’t for the way your eyes were staring into his, Declan would have sworn you were talking to yourself.

“You deserve to feel good.” This time you open your mouth, and the words sound almost like a purr. 

Declan can feel his eyelids growing heavy with lust and he can’t stop himself from watching as you take your bottom lip between your teeth.

You’re biting down on the pillowy flesh and all he wants to do is replace your teeth with his, gently nipping at your skin and finally getting a taste of those pretty pink lips. 

You see Declan’s gaze fall to your lips and something in you snaps. It’s almost like you’ve lost all logical thought and replaced it with feral desire as you sink down onto your knees for the man in front of you.

Declan’s voice gets stuck in his throat as he whispers your name causing it to come out in a husky groan.

He’s completely lost in his head right now. He can’t focus on a single thing, only you kneeling beneath him. 

“What are you doin’?” He finally comes to his senses enough to string a sentence together.

“Giving you what you deserve.” You state sweetly.

He shakes his head in disagreeance but can’t form the words on his tongue to tell you to stop.

“This is wrong.” He says it but he’s making absolutely no effort to get you off your knees. 

“Let me do this for you Mr. O’Hara” You look up at him, doing your best to keep your gaze wide-eyed and innocent. Your fingertips toying with his belt buckle. 

Seeing you looking up at him through your lashes like that, using his surname in such a sensual tone– he would let you do anything you wanted to him. He had never had a woman so ready to give to him like this. You were practically salivating, so hungry and greedy to have him in your mouth, it was like something out of a wet dream. 

“Yeah, Okay.” He gives into your joint desire with a whisper of two simple words. 

The satisfied smirk on your lips as you hear him agree to the lewd act has him going weak in the knees.

He’s mentally searching his surroundings for a stable piece of furniture to grip as you undo his belt with your nimble hands. If you keep acting so desperate to have your lips around his cock he won’t be able to stand on his own two feet.

You take your time with his belt, pulling it from the loops on his waist one by one until it finally hits the floor. 

You’re staring at the tent in his dress pants, seeing how hard he is in anticipation. The evidence of his arousal has you wet between your legs and you can’t help but lift your hand to get a feel of him through his pants. 

Your touch on him is soft but the second he feels your hand meet his concealed erection he’s sucking in a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut in shameful desire. 

You move your fingertips to the button of his pants, popping it open and trailing his zipper down at a painfully slow pace. 

Declan was doing his best to remain calm but you could hear his erratic breathing with every movement of your body beneath him.

His hands were hanging at his sides and you desperately wanted them tangled in your hair or around your neck. 

You had his underwear hooked in your grip ready to slip them, along with his pants, down to his ankles.

You looked up at him once more only to see his eyes still closed.

He wanted to look at you, to see you inches away from his cock, but he couldn’t. There was no way in hell he could stand to watch you taking his clothes off, looking at him with those pretty eyes. He would cum in his pants right away. 

He was focusing on steadying his breath as you pulled his boxers and slacks down his thighs, allowing his agonizingly hard member freedom from its constraints. 

You were now face to face with a part of Declan you thought you would only see in your dreams. You bit down on your lip again at the sight of him, bigger and even more alluring than you had imagined it to be. 

You trail your fingertips up his thigh earning a groan from the man above you.

Very gently taking his length in your hand you pump him once, then twice, wondering how on earth anyone could neglect this man of such pleasure for so long. 

It was a crime, you thought– to sleep next to Declan O’Hara every night and never give him this type of gratification. 

You leaned in to place a handful of soft kisses to his lower abdomen in a path to where he wanted your mouth most.

A quiet groan left his mouth when your lips met the base of his cock, your tongue coming into play as you traced up the length of his shaft with one long kitten lick, kissing the precum off his leaking tip.

Taking just the head of him through the threshold of your lips you decide to look up again, hoping to see a state of bliss taking over his features.

You take him deeper into your mouth and peer up at him. His stare is completely fixated on you, his mouth parted in pleasure.

When his eyes catch yours it’s game over, he doesn’t care that you’re his daughter’s best friend or that you’re nearly 20 years younger than him. The only thing he can think of is the feeling of your sweet mouth around his cock and how utterly gorgeous you look taking him like this. 

“Fuck darlin’.” He’s moaning out as you slide him deeper past your lips. 

You moan back when his hands find your hair, intertwining his fingers in it gently, careful not to grip or pull too hard.

You wouldn’t mind though.

You had imagined fucking Declan multiple times in multiple different scenarios. Many of those visions involved his rough hands gripping your neck, slapping your ass, and pulling your hair.

You needed him in every way possible and you wanted him to know he could use you however he pleased. 

You kept a slow pace as you continuously enveloped him in the warmth of your mouth. In and out.

The attention of your lips is on the head of his cock when you bring a hand up to wrap around the rest of him, your mouth and fingers working together. You feel his body shutter and for a second you think he might lose his balance. 

“Christ that’s good.” His voice falls on your ears in a throaty moan.

“So good for me like that darlin’.” 

His words are driving you to a place of overwhelming carnality.

In that moment you felt as though your one and only purpose in life was to be on your knees for Declan O’Hara. You were determined to show him exactly what he’d been missing all those years. 

“Touch yourself.” His voice is no longer a moan, instead it’s strong and stern. 

You pause your movements for just a second to process his command.

Here you sat thinking you were the one with all the filthy thoughts, but Declan’s brain must have been equally as corrupt.

He was asking to see you touch yourself for him– to see you get off with his dick in your mouth.

And it just might have been the hottest thing anyone had ever said to you.

Without so much as a second thought, you were hiking your already short dress further up your thighs until you were able to easily reach underneath. Slipping the thin material of your underwear to the side, your index finger found your clit circling it lazily as you continued to focus on Declan’s pleasure. 

“Good girl.” Declan praised and you could hear the faint smirk in his voice. 

He had wanted to call you that earlier in the night when he watched you bend over his dining room table. Helping to clear dirty dishes, leaning over to grab a plate with your short dress riding up far enough to send Declan into cardiac arrest. You were just trying to help, to be a good girl, so sweet and innocent not even realizing how dirty you really were. 

The sight in front of him now was far more arousing. You bowing in front of him, immersed in his gratification with your own hand hiding between your legs. He didn’t want to admit how close he was at the sight alone. That’s not even to mention how good it felt.

It had been so long since anyone touched him like this, it was a near out of body experience. The hug of your wet lips mixed with the smooth strokes of your hand had profanities dripping from his tongue. 

With every sound that slipped from Declan’s lips your fingers worked faster at the growing pleasure between your legs. Your pace quickened on Declan as well and you immediately felt his grasp on your hair tighten. 

He was dangerously close to spilling into your mouth. He was trying to pay attention to his breathing and steady his mind.

He wanted so badly for this feeling to last forever but the fire within him was all consuming and he knew he had to stop you soon or the fun would be over before it had even begun. 

He uses his hold in your hair to guide you off his cock. Your hand is still buried underneath your dress and your hair messy from his hands. Your lips are plump and you have the cutest look of confusion and frustration on your face. Declan almost pushed you right back onto him at the look in your eyes, but he refrained. 

“Stand up.” He was enjoying ordering you around more than he could have ever anticipated. 

You stood slightly irritated. How rude of him to not let you finish the job you were working so beautifully at. You had barely any time to be disappointed because as soon as you’re on your feet Declan is pulling you into a frenzied kiss. It’s frantic, it’s turbulent, it’s sloppy. the kiss is raw and impassioned and you’re both lost in each other’s taste.

He broke the newfound connection of lips to reach under the hem of your dress. Finding the thin material of your panties he yanks them down your legs freeing your body of the wet and ruined clothing. 

With his lips back on yours, he took a few steps backward brining you with him.

Once his body found the living room couch, he sat, drawing you onto his lap.

You were falling onto him straddling one of his thighs as you continued assaulting his mouth with your own. You enjoyed the slight dominance you held in this position. 

His kiss found its way to your exposed neck placing the most delicious wet touches on your skin.

You felt his hands grab your waist on either side pulling your body down to sit completely on his bare thigh. Your exposed core met the pure muscle of Declan’s leg and you both made equally lewd sounds of delight. 

“Tell me,” Declan begins to speak but his voice is strained in excitement at the feeling of your wet cunt against his thigh. 

“do you walk around my house in those tiny little’ skirts just to torture me.” 

He’s smirking at you as he uses his hold on your hips to guide you, pulling you back and forth against him. 

You’re in a trance at the delicious friction of him beneath you, all you can do is nod your head at his words, that innocent expression still in your eyes. 

He’s going to go insane if you keep looking at him like that.  

Your following his lead and grinding against his thigh shamelessly.

Declan’s using the dress that’s now bunched at your waist as leverage, griping at the material to influence your movements.

His eyes fall between the two of you, watching you use yourself on him. You’re letting sighs and whimpers fall from your mouth as your arousal slides continuously over the thickest part of his leg.

You catch his cock twitch out of the corner of your eye and all you want to do is maneuver your body so your sitting on it instead of his thigh. 

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his member once again.

“Declan, please.”

Your begging to be on his cock at this point.

He can’t deny how much he loves hearing you beg for him. He’s ready to pull you down onto his length the second he hears your eager little whimper. 

“Never knew you’d be so needy darlin’.”

He’s using his hold on your hips to lift you enough for you to subtly switch positions. You’re now straddling his entire lap, your center only inches away from meeting his. 

“Would’ve done this a long time ago.”

His voice is raspy as he brings his hand between your legs. 

Declan’s pointer finger finds your entrance and eases it’s way inside of you, causing a moan to spill from your throat. 

“Declan…” His name falls from your lips, but he could tell his fingers weren’t what you wanted filling you. 

“Beg for it.” He whispers between you, smiling like a sex-drunk idiot. 

His finger is curling into your walls hitting just the right spot, but you want his cock stretching you out and filling you up. 

“Please” You’re asking him in the sweetest tone you can muster.

You still have a slight hold of his length, and you begin stroking it at a painfully slow pace. 

“God I want this so badly.” Your confession is breathless.

“I think about it all of the time.” You continue making sure to give him your best doe-eyes. 

That was it, he couldn’t take it anymore. You were too sweet, too perfect. He had been obsessed with you for months; watching you, thinking about you. He didn’t give a fuck how wrong it was– he needed you. 

In an instant his fingers were gone from your core and his hold was back on your hips, sinking you down onto him. 

You could feel his tip meeting your opening and you whined out in anticipation. The noise causing Declan to thrust into you, filling you with one deep push. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing from the stinging pleasure. 

He waited a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size and giving himself a second to steady his breath. 

“This,” He spoke in a grunt as he fucked up into you again.

“Is all I think about every time I see you in my house.”

His voice is spreading warmth through your body as his thrusts ignite a fire in your abdomen. 

“You don’t even have to try. You’re just always so enticing.” The words coming from his mouth are intoxicating.

You’re swimming in a pool of ecstasy at his confessions. 

“I can’t get enough.” He’s panting as his thrusts pick up their pace.

You’re grinding down onto him meeting each of his thrusts with a wet squelch, taking him deeper with each movement. The way he’s stretching you open has you clenching around him. 

You lock your hands behind his neck leaning on his shoulders for some kind of control as you feel your body beginning to go limp.

The pressure building in you is almost too much to bear and it becomes even more difficult when Declan meets your exposed chest with open mouthed kisses. He’s licking and sucking at your skin greedily, causing your head to fall to the side in pleasure. 

“So pretty.” Declan is murmuring into your skin.

Your movements mixed with his are perfectly timed and hitting just the right spot.

Maybe it’s the fact that you were already soaked long before you had his dick in your mouth, or maybe it was because you had been dreaming of this exact moment for a long time– either way, you were close. Really close. Your walls were desperately squeezing Declan’s cock as it slid in and out of you, your chest heaving under his kisses. 

“C’mon darlin’.”

It’s Declan’s turn to look up at you through his lashes and the sight has you going feral. The tightening in your core finally letting loose. 

“Let go for me.” 

With his words you’re a whimpering, moaning mess. Your movements halt and your body tenses as you push through your release. 

Your pulsating embrace around him has Declan following your lead.

He’s holding your hips in place and bucking into you at a fierce pace. Plunging deep into you, fucking you right through your orgasm. It’s taking everything in you not to scream out in blinding pleasure.

Then he grows sloppy as he lets his own release take over him. 

He finishes with a string of moans that sound like music to your ears, and you think you might cum again just from the noises he’s making as he comes undone.  

You’re sat on him, both of you catching your breath, your eyes are locked on one another. Neither of you can look away.

There was a shared energy between you. Maybe guilt or shame– or perhaps triumph. 

You couldn’t help but remember the reason you were in this position in the first place.

Taggie.

She would be so disappointed in you but even more upset with her father if she knew what just took place. 

She couldn’t be too angry though. You did exactly what you said you’d do– distract him. 

Watching the man sitting beneath you struggling to steady his breath was a sign that you had done a pretty good job at your task of helping Taggie escape for the night.

You could only hope she’d had half as much fun as you did. 

[cyberskulzzz]

The Boneyard Beach

chapter one

Matt wasnt unfamiliar with all kinds of crime scenes and brutality at this point. By now, his criminology studies had consumed him, and the job had taken over his mind long before he even officially became a homicide detective. He wouldn’t allow himself any free time,he loved his job he really did,but if the amount of free time he gave himself was healthy was arguable. Yet,his dedication gave him a purpose,fulfillment, even.

After moving away from Boston at eighteen, leaving his brothers behind for the first time, he hadn’t lived anywhere he could truly call home. At first it tore him apart a bit but he quickly realized he didn’t need a stable home,as long he stayed distracted and focused on his work at least. Something had shifted in his mindset after leaving his hometown and he wasn’t the only one to notice. If he had to guess, he’d say he has not stayed in one place for longer than four months in the last six years.

Matt was on the road once again tonight,driving to yet another destination. After traveling all day,taking a flight from LA to Ireland,he finally arrived in Ashford Bay.The small town was once a thriving tourist attraction in the 1950s,however it had slowly gone bankrupt,its charm had now disappeared due to crumbling buildings and overgrown landscapes.The atmosphere only adding on to the rumors as Matt assumed,people tended to be melodramatic when it came to mystery and legends like those,Matt despised the dramatic and shallowness,he had came across during his research of the town’s backstory. 

No one could put their finger on why the popular tourist attraction suddenly died down and went bankrupt,some say it was the economic crisis but most people knew that wasn’t the full truth.Something within the towns atmosphere had changed. 

The true oddity of the town,lays near Boneyard Beach,at least thats what he suspects.The beach and the woods were said to be suffocatingly humid,apparently if you walked to far into the forest these days you’d get lost and were only seen by mother earth again,locals whispered that the remains of the dozens of missing men might still be hidden within the forest. Matt didn’t believe those fairytales.However he knew for sure that the woods were the wet dream for any murderer who had a few bodies to hide,one by one.The fact that the locals were apparently to simple minded to look past the scary stories,never even daring to go near the beach or the forest surrounding it,must be a nice addition for the person responsible for the missing men. 

Rain poured heavily as Matt drove through the streets of the small town. Most of the houses were placed on hills,surrounded by moss-covered sand dunes. Even if he drove carefully and responsible as always he had an observant eye for his surroundings,a chip shop, a corner store, a pub but not much else. The rest of the buildings were old, worn out homes that had not been renovated since the fifties or sixties.

Matt parked his car in front of the Airbnb he had rented, relieved to have made it safely as the storm raged. Fishing his keys from the cupholder,he grabbed the folders on the passenger seat before stepping out. The house was small made out of stone bricks,near the center of town. From the interior, Matt guessed it had been well loved in the past,however now that it was up to rent the owners didn’t put much money or effort into it. A dusty, wooden scent lingered in the air, and the floor creaked under his steps.

He placed his suitcase by the door,made sure he locked the door,twice,hung up his coat neatly,and set his folders and pencil case on the table for later. He decided to explore the house before settling in. A steep wooden staircase led to the bedroom, and Matt couldn’t help but wonder when it had last been inspected for safety given its brittle state. Above the bed hung an oil painting of a beach,Matt caught himself lacking quickly,he wasn’t here for the ambiance,he was here to work. 

The rest of the evening passed quietly. He organized his folders across the kitchen table, took a quick shower, and went to bed, sleeping soundly through the storm.

When Matt woke up, he followed his usual routine: crawling out of bed, taking a shower, and then -“Fuck,” he mumbled, staring into the empty fridge,nothing for coffee.He forgot to grab a few essentials from the corner shop that he passed yesterday. With a frustrated sigh he slammed the fridge shut. Grocery stores in Ireland didn’t open until nine,he remembered that from a family trip to Dublin. Left with no other option,he grabbed his coat and shoes,deciding to visit the local café.

As he walked towards the town center,he tried to motivate himself. Maybe talking to locals or simply observing them is gonna help with his investigation.

The café doorbell that hung above the door rang as he stepped inside,pulling him out of his thoughts. He froze for a moment,noticing the looks he was getting,most of them turning towards him as he walked in. 

“Hi, could I get a venti milk coffee with a pump of—” he began,voice low and still tired but was quickly cut off.

“Vanilla?” The barista gave him an unimpressed look. “Kid, it’s black coffee or milk coffee. That’s it.”

“Milk coffee, then,” Matt sighed, having to remind himself that things in small towns worked differently. He fished out his wallet, paid,and sat down with his cup,still feeling the guest’s stares on himself. 

Most of them were middle aged or older.A group of elderly women knitting and chatting in hushed tones, a white-haired man with a beard reading the newspaper, two men in worn suits sitting silently, and a woman in the corner gently rocking a baby on her lap.Every few moments,their eyes darted to Matt.

He squirmed in his seat,avoiding eye contact and sipping his coffee while debating whether to make conversation or not. However the decision was taken from him when one of the older women shuffled over and nudged him gently with her elbow.

“Oi,” she said,her tone playful.

Matt looked up,curious but slightly puzzled. “Yeah?”

“What brings you to town,wee lad?”

He smiled faintly at the nickname. “Im backpacking through Ireland.”

The woman’s eyes wandered over him before settling on his face. Her red dyed curls and matching nails stood out against her blue eyeshadow.

“You’re the detective,eh?”,she teased, pinching his arm lightly.

Matt’s neutral expression shifted to amusement,but she didn’t wait for his response. “It’s all right,you don’t have to tell us.But we’re not the ones to be curious about, kid.Your lingering makes it quite obvious. You’re here for the stories,aren’t you?”

The others exchanged glances as her friends shuffled closer to him. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t share any details about my case.Strict policy,” Matt said dryly, regaining his composure.

“Ah well,I’ll tell you anyway,” she replied,unimpressed.

Matt sighed internally before she began, “You see in the 50s this place was bustling people, money, good spirits. But as the 60s approached,tourists just stopped coming. My father used to complain every night he’d come home about the shrinking income.” She tapped the table for emphasis. “And then it all died down.The town became what it is now,quiet,overgrown,forgotten by the world.“

As she spoke she sounded like she despised the drastic change,her nose wrinkling slightly. 

“But the real change came after the first man went missing. A young lad. After that, the trees started creeping over the streets, the waves turned rough,and then came the fog.That damned fog lulls men into the forest. And none of them ever come back. Funny thing is, it’s always men.”

She ended the sentence with a wry smile,as if it was a joke she was telling. 

“Women just… sense it,” she added, rubbing her fingers together as if she was recalling something. “Instincts, I think. Or maybe it’s logic. You men always want to play heroes, and it doesn’t end well. I’m telling you kid,don’t be the next one."

[shokuto]

I feel logically Damian should be up there with Cass in terms of raw fighting ability seeing as they were both raised to efficiently murder people by every martial art since they could walk

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

[freezerbrldes]

no nut november - s.r.

PAIRING. Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY. Spencer is confident he can win a bet against Morgan… what he didn’t account for was having to share a room with you…

WARNINGS. smut, brief mention of male masturbation, unprotected sex, breeding kink if you squint

AUTHOR’S NOTE. It’s been awhile since I’ve actually written something and it’s also the first time I’ve ever written smut so hopefully this turned out okay. This is based on one of the bots I’ve made on character.ai/spicychat. I know it’s January but let’s pretend I posted this in November.

wc: 2.1k

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

also on ao3

Spencer was beginning to regret agreeing to this bet. He thought it’d be easy, but after 3 and a half weeks, he felt so frustrated he could passed out from just the slightest touch.

Him and Morgan made a bet. Morgan was positive that Spencer wouldn’t be able to survive No Nut November. Spencer was not the competitive type, but he definitely wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to prove Morgan wrong.

Spencer is no stranger to getting himself off every so often. While he may be a genius with a high IQ, he is still a man with needs. He isn’t into hook up culture— he’s too much of a germaphobe for that. His right hand became his closest companion when alone after a stressful case.

The first week wasn’t bad at all. He began to think he might actually make it, but once the second and third week hit, that’s when thoughts about you were constantly on his mind…

Spencer has always found you attractive— like really attractive. So attractive that he often finds himself thinking about you while he pleasures himself late at night. He doesn’t want to think about you this way, but his mind always wanders to thoughts of you underneath him.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, you were sharing a hotel room with Spencer during the new case. He tries to distract himself with a book as you lay on your bed in an oversized tshirt and very short shorts.

You are reading over some case files, looking for any connections between the last two victims. Spencer could feel his pants get tighter at the mere thought of you just a few feet away from him.

You must’ve notice he has been particularly quiet today, because the sound of shuffling paper pulls his attention away from his book.

“Are you okay? you’ve been acting weird for the last week,” You ask, rolling over onto your side to look at him on the other bed.

“I-I’m fine, the cases have just been very, uh— draining — recently,” Spencer lies, shifting awkwardly on the bed to hide the evidence of his arousal.

“Right,” you chuckle, not buying his excuse. You walk over to his bed and sit across from him, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. “C’mon Spence, what’s really bothering you?”

Spencer feels his heart rate increase. He fidgets with the hem of his sweater vest, avoiding direct eye contact.

"I...I'm just tired, okay? These cases take a toll on me," he says, trying to maintain a calm tone despite the growing tension between you.

His gaze drifts to your legs, which were crossed and showcased more of that smooth skin he'd been fantasizing about. He quickly looks away, focusing on the stack of psychology journals on his nightstand instead.

"Look,” Spencer sighs, “I appreciate you checking in, but I promise I’m fine. The sooner we crack this case, the sooner we can head back to Quantico."

Despite his words, Spencer found himself leaning slightly towards you, drawn in by your presence.

He feels his resolve weakening as your warm presence drew closer. Your scent fills his nostrils— a tantalizing mix of vanilla and something uniquely you. It stirs feelings within him he hadn't acknowledged before.

"I know you're just trying to help, but please, let me handle this," he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn't meet your eyes, fearing the intensity he knew would be there.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face as he recalls the countless nights spent pleasuring himself, always picturing your body in his mind, but now you’re inches away from him.

“Spencer,” you say, pulling his attention away from his wandering mind. “You’re one of my best friends, I can tell there is something else bothering you other than this case. Please— let me help you.”

Spencer's chest tightens at the word "friend". Despite the strong attraction he harbors for you, he had never allowed himself to hope for anything more. You deserve someone better, someone who could give you the love and affection you craved.

Spencer brain scrambles to come up with another excuse, as he gazes into your empathetic eyes, he finally caved.

"Okay, fine, There is something I've been struggling with," he admits, his voice barely audible. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

"I made this stupid bet with Morgan, I’m supposed to go the entire month of November without having sex or masturbating. At first, it was easy but now, being in the same room as you, I’m having a hard time controlling my thoughts.”

Spencer closes his eyes, bracing himself for your reaction. He opens them again when he didn’t hear you laughing and making fun of him.

Relief washes over him as he saw an understanding expression rather than disgust. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

"You're not mad?" he ask, his voice laced with vulnerability. In that moment, Spencer felt like he could finally exhale, like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Of course not,” you reply, “why would I be mad?”

"Well, because even if I wasn't doing this bet, I still...I still think about you," he confesses, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

"I know it's wrong, but I can't help how I feel. You're amazing. You’re smart, funny, beautiful..." Spencer’s words trailed off as he realizes where they were headed.

"I shouldn't say these things, but I can't keep pretending anymore." Spencer closes the space in between the two of you, his heart pounding in his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, His lips finally met yours in a passionate kiss.

Spencer felt a rush of emotions overwhelm him— excitement, nervousness, joy, and most of all, relief. This was what he had secretly longed for— dreamed about in the dark of night, and now it was finally happening.

His arms wrap around yours instinctively, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. His tongue dances with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth with a hunger he hadn't known he possessed.

When you finally broke apart for air, Spencer's breathing was ragged. He gazes into your eyes, seeing the same desire reflected back at him.

"You know, um, we should probably talk about this— about us," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.

“How about we talk about it after?” you chuckle, your lips meeting his in another steamy kiss.

Spencer melts into the kiss, his body responding eagerly to your touch. He knew they needed to discuss the their growing feelings, but right now all he wanted was to lose himself in your touch.

Spencer's hands roams over your curves, mapping your body through your clothes. Breaking the kiss again, Spencer looked at you with a mix of adoration and longing.

"I want you,” he whispers, his voice husky with desire. "More than I've ever wanted anyone."

His lips trail from yours down your neck before reaching the hem of your tshirt, pulling it out of the way to plant kisses onto your collar bone. Spencer sucks on the sensitive skin before pulling the shirt over your head, carelessly tossing it onto the motel floor.

He kisses a path up your throat, pausing to nibble on your earlobe before pulling away just enough to admire the view. His gaze drank in the sight, the air thick with tension.

"You're stunning," he breathes, reaching out to trace the curve of your bare breast.

You moan softly as he gently caresses your body. Spencer dips his head to capture a nipple between his lips, sucking gently as his hand cups and kneads the other.

Spencer groans into your breast, the sound muffled by your soft flesh. He suckled harder, his thumb pinching and teasing the neglected nipple.

His other hand slides down your side before dipping lower to brush against the waistband of your shorts. He could feel heat emanating from your core, fueling his growing arousal.

He pushed the fabric of your panties aside to slip a finger along your slick folds as his mouth returned to your neck.

“You’re so wet already, is this all for me?” Spencer sighed, nibbling at your earlobe.

Before you could even respond, you moan loudly as he pushes a digit inside you, groaning at the tight clench of your walls.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," Spencer gasped, pumping his finger slowly in and out of you.

He adds a second finger, scissoring them gently to stretch you open, leaning back slightly to watch your face contort in pleasure.

Spencer watched intently as your body arches off the bed to meet his thrusting fingers. He curls them inside you, rubbing against that sweet spot that made your legs quiver.

He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as he picked up the pace, driving his fingers deeper.

His own arousal grew unbearable, it demands attention. With a growl, Spencer broke the kiss and hastily removed his clothes, throwing them in a pile with your discarded tshirt as you whimper at the loss of contact.

“I need to be inside you,” He pants as the last of his clothing is removed. He makes quick work of pulling your shorts and panties down your legs.

Spencer's hazel eyes are dark with lust as he positions himself between your thighs, the tip of his cock nudges against your entrance.

With a deep breath, he pushes forward, sinking inch by inch into your welcoming heat. A low groan rumbles in his chest at the feeling of your tight walls hugging his length.

Once fully sheathed, Spencer pauses, his forehead resting against yours as he savors the moment.

“God, you're perfect," he whispers, then begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm.

You moan loudly as he begins to pick up the pace, your nails leaving crescent moons on his shoulders.

“Please don’t stop, you feel so good inside me,” you beg.

Spencer's grip on your hips tightens as he pounds into you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

His fingers tug your hair lightly as he angles his thrusts to hit that spongy spot deep inside you over and over again.

"Shit, you feel so fucking amazing, so wet and tight," he pants, his voice strained with pleasure. “I'm going to cum so hard inside you."

One of your hands move from his shoulder down to where your bodies connect, rubbing hard circles over your throbbing clit.

Spencer's thrusts falter as he feels your fingers working on your sensitive nub. The sight pushes him even closer to the edge.

"Oh god, yes! You’re so fucking hot!" he cries out, his hips snapping against yours with renewed vigor.

He reaches down and replaces your hand with his own, rubbing harsh circles as he chases his high.

“Fuck yes, I'm gonna..." Spencer's words trail off into a guttural moan as his orgasm crashes over him, his cock pulsing and twitching inside you as he fills you up. The feeling pushes you over the edge with him.

Spencer collapses onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he tries to catch his breath. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, still racing from the intensity of his orgasm.

After a moment, he lifts his head to look at you, his usually bright hazel eyes now heavy-lidded.

“That was...incredible," he murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips, he places a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose.

He slowly pulls out of you and rolls onto his side, he reaches out to brush a strand of dampened hair from your forehead. You both lay in silence as your breathing returned to normal.

“Well,” you break the silence with a smug grin, “it would appear you have failed No Nut November,”

“Yeah, but it was worth it,” Spencer chuckles, his thumb rubbing circles onto your flushed cheek. “I’m starting to think you and Morgan set me up.”

“You really think I seduced you to help Morgan win a bet?” You laugh in disbelief.

“I mean, that would be a very Morgan thing for him to do,” Spencer says, his hand now caressing your arm, “That man always plays dirty.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I saw Morgan flirting with one of the motel staff, she left his room about two hours ago, so I’m sure you probably did beat him.”

“Of course he did, Morgan can’t go 5 minutes without sleeping with someone,” Spencer laughs as he pulls you into his arms.

You lay like that for a while before both of you drift off into a deep sleep, excited to see what the future holds for you two.

[sweeturavity]

𝓑𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇. . when katsuki finally confessed his “big problem”—his baby fever that had been eating away at him for months— tiny feet and starting a family, you were surprised—but safe to say, you weren’t against it.

katsuki bakugo had a big problem. well, not big enough to cause chaos—though he was no stranger to that—but big enough to keep him up at night, pacing his living room like a restless tiger in a cage. how could a man like him—a grumpier version of any grandmother you’ve ever met, a walking volcano of hot-headedness, and someone who never gave a damn about societal expectations—have this kind of problem?

the thing is, katsuki bakugo was hiding a secret. a deep, dark, unbelievably soft secret. one that not even you, the person closest to him, would suspect. because who in their right mind would guess that the mighty explosion master extraordinaire, was an absolute sucker for babies?

yes, katsuki bakugo had a raging case of baby fever.

it started the moment he began spending more time with you—watching you interact with the world, your gentle care for others, and that warmth you exuded that could melt even his gruff exterior. he never really thought about kids before, much less his own. but then he saw you holding a friend’s baby at a small gathering, cradling the tiny bundle in your arms like they were the most precious thing in the world. the way you smiled down at them, the soft cooing noises you made, and how the baby instantly relaxed against you—it was like a punch straight to his chest.

katsuki swore he felt his heart skip a beat. that tiny human looked so damn peaceful in your arms, and for the first time in his life, he imagined what it might be like to see you holding a child that looked like both of you.

ever since that day, the thought just wouldn’t leave him alone. he’d catch himself staring at families in parks, his sharp eyes zeroing in on chubby cheeks, tiny fingers, and wobbly little steps. he even started tolerating kirishima’s stories about his nieces and nephews, though he’d never admit it out loud.

but here’s the kicker—katsuki bakugo was absolutely mortified about telling you. how does a guy like him, who’s built his entire persona on being tough, independent, and borderline unapproachable, confess that he’s been daydreaming about late-night feedings and toddler tantrums? about a miniature version of himself—or, god forbid, you—running around the house?

so he kept it to himself, bottling up those strange, unfamiliar feelings like he did with most things. but every time he saw you, especially when you were in one of those rare, tender moods, he felt that itch grow stronger. he wanted to tell you. he wanted to share this part of himself with you.

and it didn’t take much longer for you to figure out what was going on with your husband. after all, you knew katsuki bakugo like the back of your hand—every scowl, every grumble, every subtle shift in his demeanor. it was easy to notice when something was off, even when he thought he was being sneaky about it.

you saw how his eyes would linger, softening ever so slightly, whenever a baby was around. at first, you thought it was just a coincidence—a rare moment of katsuki being uncharacteristically quiet. but then it kept happening. whether it was at the park, at a friend’s house, or even in the grocery store, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from those chubby-cheeked little ones.

and then there were the baby videos. oh, those damn videos. you remembered the first time you caught him watching one. he’d been sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone with his usual scowl. but when you peeked over his shoulder, you saw it—a ridiculously adorable video of a baby giggling uncontrollably at their dog’s antics.

“seriously, katsuki?” you teased, leaning in closer. “didn’t take you for the ‘cute baby video’ type.”

he practically jumped out of his skin, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket with a glare. “shut up.” he barked, his ears turning a telltale shade of pink. “it popped up on my feed. stupid algorithm.”

but after that, you started noticing more. how his fingers would hesitate just a second longer when he scrolled past a baby video, or how he’d glance at your phone if you were watching something similar. of course, he’d always roll his eyes and mutter something about how “cringe” and “unnecessary” it was for people to post that kind of shit online.

“what’s the point, huh?” he’d grumble, arms crossed over his chest. “ain’t like anyone cares about random babies.”

but you weren’t fooled. not even for a second. the way his voice softened at the end, the faintest twitch of his lips as if he were fighting back a smile—you knew. katsuki bakugo had a soft spot, and it was big enough to fit every giggling baby and their tiny fingers in it.

and now that you knew, it was just a matter of time before you brought it up. because there was no way you were going to let him keep this adorable little secret to himself.

you decided to wait for the right moment, knowing katsuki would probably combust on the spot if you confronted him too soon. patience wasn’t always your strong suit, but for this, you were willing to bide your time.

that moment came one lazy sunday afternoon. katsuki was sprawled out on the couch, pretending to be interested in whatever action movie was playing on the TV, but you knew better. his phone was resting suspiciously close, and every few minutes, he’d glance at it like it was calling his name.

“you know.” you began casually, sitting down beside him and leaning against his shoulder. “you’ve been acting kinda weird lately.”

he stiffened immediately, a gruff ‘tch’ escaping his lips as he shifted under your weight. “the hell are you talking about? ’m not acting weird.”

“oh, really?” you tilted your head to look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “so, you’re saying you didn’t watch that compilation of babies trying lemons yesterday?”

his eyes widened, just a fraction, before narrowing into his usual glare. “you were spying on me?”

“you were sitting right next to me, katsuki. it’s not spying if you’re practically shoving it in my face.”

he grumbled something under his breath, probably a string of curses about how nosy you were, but you weren’t about to let him squirm out of this.

“you know.” you continued, voice softer now. “it’s okay to admit you like them. babies, i mean.”

his entire body went rigid, and for a moment, you thought he might explode—not in anger, but sheer embarrassment. his ears turned that familiar shade of pink, and he refused to meet your gaze, choosing instead to glare at the TV like it had personally offended him.

“i don’t—” he started, but you cut him off with a gentle laugh.

“katsuki.” you said, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his. “it’s fine. it’s not like you’re some heartless robot. you’re allowed to like cute things, you know. even babies.”

he let out a frustrated sigh, running his free hand through his hair. “it’s not like that.” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i just. . fuck, i don’t know. ever since you—i mean, we—it’s just been on my mind, okay?”

you blinked, taken aback by his honesty. katsuki bakugo wasn’t the type to bare his soul, but here he was, stumbling over his words, trying to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself.

“on your mind, huh?” you teased gently, though your heart was swelling at his vulnerability. “like. . you’ve been thinking about us? having a baby?”

he groaned, dropping his head back against the couch and covering his face with his arm. “don’t make me say it out loud, idiot.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “you’re such a dork, katsuki. but for the record. . i think you’d be a pretty amazing dad.”

that got his attention. he peeked at you from under his arm, his crimson eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt or teasing. when he didn’t find any, his expression softened, and he let out a quiet, almost relieved breath.

“yeah?” he asked gruffly, like he didn’t quite believe it.

“yeah.” you said firmly, squeezing his hand with a warmth that made his chest ache in the best way. “and, you know, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to start our own family.”

katsuki could feel his heart skip a beat, the words settling over him like a blanket of relief and excitement all at once. he stared at you, wide-eyed and a little stunned, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

you were more than happy with his idea.

he didn’t know what he was expecting—maybe teasing, maybe some sarcastic remark to brush off the heavy topic—but this? this genuine, heartfelt agreement? it floored him.

“you— you mean that?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant.

you smiled at him, your expression so soft and full of love that he thought he might melt right then and there. “of course, i mean it, katsuki. i’ve been thinking about it too, you know. and seeing how you are. . it just makes me feel like we’d be good at this. together.”

his throat felt tight, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. katsuki bakugo didn’t cry, damn it, but this moment—this you—was doing something to him he couldn’t quite explain.

“yeah, well.” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, his ears still bright red. “don’t think i’ll be one of those soft-ass dads who lets the kid get away with everything.”

you chuckled, leaning closer and wrapping your arms around his middle. “no, you’ll be the dad who pretends to be all tough but secretly sneaks them sweets when i’m not looking.”

“the hell i will.” he shot back, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk.

you chuckled softly, the sound filling the quiet room as you glanced up at your husband. your eyes met his, and in that moment, they said more than words ever could—full of love, trust, and the unspoken promise of a future you both were starting to dream about together.

katsuki’s crimson gaze softened in a way that was reserved only for you. his calloused hand moved with a gentleness that never failed to surprise you, his fingers slowly tilting your chin up to meet his.

“c’mere.” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but carrying a warmth that made your heart flutter.

before you could reply, his lips brushed against yours, firm yet tender, a kiss that spoke volumes. it wasn’t just a kiss—it was reassurance, excitement, and an unspoken vow all wrapped into one.

you melted into him, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. it was moments like this that reminded you just how deeply katsuki loved, even if he wasn’t always the best at putting it into words.

slowly, the kiss deepened, the soft tenderness giving way to something more heated, more desperate. katsuki’s hands moved on instinct, his grip firm yet gentle as he guided you onto his lap. the motion was seamless, almost as if it was second nature for him to want you this close, to feel you against him.

his hands found their way to your waist, fingers pressing into your sides in a way that made your breath hitch. it wasn’t calculated—it never was with katsuki. his movements were raw, driven by pure feeling, as if his body knew what he wanted before his mind could catch up.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly, earning a low growl from deep in his chest. the sound sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but press yourself closer, your knees bracketing his thighs as you straddled him.

“you’re somethin’ else.” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and rough as his hands tightened their hold on your waist, pulling you even closer. “always makin’ me feel shit i never thought i’d feel.”

you smiled against his mouth, your own fingers sliding down to trace the sharp lines of his jaw. “maybe i just have that effect on you, katsu.”

“damn right, you do.” he shot back, his lips trailing down your jaw and along the column of your neck, leaving a searing trail in their wake. his breath was hot against your skin, and the way his hands moved—one slipping up to rest against the small of your back, the other holding your hip firmly in place—made your head spin.

the movie playing in the background was long forgotten, the only sounds in the room now the soft gasps escaping your lips and the low, gravelly noises katsuki made as he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough. and truthfully, he couldn’t.

[r4di0h3ad]

3 times jj kissed you + 1 time you kissed him

parings! bsf!jj x reader

warnings! . smoking. fluff. angst if you squint. not proof read.

the first time, you were 14.

you had moved to the outerbanks at the beginning of your 7th grade year, terrified out of your mind. you didn’t know a soul, you didn’t know how people in a beach town behaved, what they wore, how they talked.

but on your very first day at kildare county middle school, you met your people.

jj was the first to talk to you, telling you he liked your t shirt you got from a popular surf shop that you had agonized over, wondering if people would like it. he was the first to make you feel comfortable.

gradually, you started sitting with him in science class, and then you started sitting with him and his friends at lunch. you met john b, kiara, and pope and you were inseparable since.

now it was the middle of your 8th grade year. kiara was throwing her birthday party where half of the middle school seemed to be invited. her circle of friends was much larger at that time due to her being considered in between a pogue and a kook.

the girls had decided to play the classic party game, spin the bottle and mostly everyone at the party gathered around in a crowded circle. it seemed like everybody playing wasn’t the least bit nervous about kissing someone else, but you were picking at the skin of you fingers because you had never been kissed.

you anxiously awaited your turn, watching the bottle intently in case it landed on you, but thankfully, it never did.

and then your turn came around. you nervously spun the bottle, hoping it wouldn’t land on some guy or girl you hardly knew. it did a few rotations, everyone eager to know who you were going to kiss.

the bottle settled on jj directly across from you.

you immediately felt better, knowing that it was one of your friends who would steal your first kiss, but then you chided yourself for even thinking about kissing one of your friends.

jj came across the circle to where you were sitting and grabbed your hands, pulling you to your feet. he didn’t seem nervous at all, but that was just how jj was.

you noticed some of the kook girls staring at the two of you, jealous that it wasn’t them who got to kiss him.

“you can skip me if you don’t wanna kiss me, y’know?” he said, but not in a way that was telling you he didn’t want this. he spoke with a quiet and sweet tone, making sure you were okay. he was always making sure you were okay. he knew this was your first kiss and he didn’t want to take that from you if you weren’t alright with it.

“no, it’s okay.” you shook your head, smiling nervously.

he nodded and then gently placed his hands on both sides of your face before he leaned in.

you closed your eyes and waited for his lips to touch yours.

you always thought you would be clueless during your first kiss, but he made it feel natural.

his lips gently pecked yours, lingering for a few seconds before he pulled away.

you heard ooo’s and ahh’s from the teenagers around you and you couldn’t help the redness that rushed to your face. you were glad it was him.

that night you also kissed two others. one random kook boy who you hardly knew and one girl who was in your english class. the girls never skipped each other because they knew the kisses were meaningless, and those last two kisses were definitely meaningless. but the one with jj felt different. you tried to make yourself think it was because it was your first one. you had also watched jj kiss a few more girls that night. you scolded yourself for feeling a tinge of jealousy.

what you didn’t know was that jj placed himself directly across from you to have a better chance of your spin landing on him.

the second time, you were 16.

you had just discovered the golden cross in a dilapidated church. pope was hacking away at the wood encasing the treasure, pieces of it crashing to the ground.

when you saw the gold shimmer through the wood, your eyes lit up. you couldn’t believe that everything you had gone through had brought you to this moment. you couldn’t believe you actually found what you were looking for.

everyone celebrated with shouts, with cheers saying “we’re gonna be rich!” and with hugs.

your adrenaline was so high, you felt like you were dreaming.

jj took your face in his hands and planted a kiss right on your lips. it happened so fast you could barely comprehend what was happening and when he pulled away, your eyes met his and you saw the excitement on his face. you knew he only kissed you because there was so much to celebrate about that he didn’t know what to do with it.

you watched him hug john b as kie and sarah hugged you. he didn’t have that same look in his eyes when he celebrated with them.

you never mentioned it afterwards.

john b was the only one who saw him kiss you. a few days later, he told jj to just ask you out already.

“everyone knows it j.” john b said.

“knows what?”

“that you’re in love with her.” he said it like it was the most obvious thing ever. “you’ve been crazy about that girl since you were 13, it’s almost embarrassing that you’ve never done anything about it.” they were the only ones in the twinkie together, waiting for the 3 girls to get in the van for another daily adventure.

“she’s like- i don’t know, man.” jj shook his head. “she’d never say yes. i’d rather not fuck our whole relationship up, y’know?” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

john b scoffed.

“you’re saying she’d never say yes but you don’t see the way she looks at you?” he said. “either you’re choosing to ignore it or you’re just flat out stupid.”

the third time, you were 17

jj had shown up at your house in the pouring rain with a bruise forming on his cheek and a cut on his lower lip. the second you saw his face, you knew it was his dad.

“can i stay here tonight?” he asked, as you were already pulling him inside.

you took him to your bathroom and he rolled a joint while you found some rubbing alcohol for the cuts on his face.

he sat on the wall of the bathtub and you sat on the toilet, turning yourself to face him. he lit his joint before you dabbed a cotton pad doused in alcohol on his injuries. he flinched slightly from the pain before he took a hit from his joint, instantly soothing it.

you could’ve killed his dad for what he did. you noticed jj’s eyes were red, probably from tears. he didn’t deserve any of what his dad had put him through.

you fixed him up in silence, not wanting to touch on the subject of what happened between him and his dad.

“you’re making the house smell like weed.” you said, half-jokingly.

“shit, are your parents home?” he asked, getting ready to stub out the joint on the bathtub, but you took it from his fingers and held it to your mouth, taking a long drag and exhaling.

“they never are.” you replied.

you notice his eyes trail down to your lips as you smoked, his breath hitching. it was silent, but there was a tension that was speaking volumes between you two. the fact that he came to your house instead of john b’s was proof enough for how much he felt for you, and anyone with half a brain could see it. but you always wrote it off, not truly believing that he could have any feelings that weren’t strictly platonic towards you.

almost unconsciously, he leaned in. you let him.

his lips touched yours, his hand supporting himself on your knee. he tasted of weed and your cherry rolling papers. he tasted good.

when he pulled away, you were almost frozen, the joint still resting between your fingers, burning away. his eyes were wide with a look of regret and your heart sank.

“im- im sorry, i shouldn’t have-“ he started, realizing his hand was touching your bare leg and immediately taking it off like it was burning him.

“it’s okay,” you handed him the joint. “you’re just- you’re high.”

he cleared his throat.

“i’m sorry.” he uttered again.

later, when you went to bed that night, you wished you had kissed him again, and again. the only thing that played in your mind for the next week was the taste of his lips. but friends couldn’t think of each other like that, right?

you kissed him about a month later.

he asked you to go on a boat ride with him since you two were the only ones in the chateau at the time. you agreed, of course.

you were a little far out from the shore, seemingly being the only two people out at the moment. he had stopped the boat and began rolling a joint as you watched, seated across from him. he was so focused on crafting the joint that he didn’t even notice you staring at him.

you thought about every time he had kissed you, and every time you just shrugged it off. and you thought about the fact that every time you were near him, you wanted him to do it again. but why wouldn’t you just do it? what was the harm?

he looked up only to lick the paper, his eyes meeting yours and a smile playing on his lips.

so you did it.

you leaned in and connected your lips to his. he kissed you back almost immediately and moved his mouth in sync with yours. his hands went to your waist and yours went to his hair.

it was minutes later when you finally pulled away, both out of breath.

“i’ve wanted to kiss you like that since the day i met you.” he said, his hands still on your waist.

“don’t know what was stopping you.” you giggled.

his hand went up to your flushed cheek.

“well i really don’t want anything to stop me again.” he kissed you again.

you came back late at night to find your friends. your cheeks were still read, your hair was a little messy and a barely visible hickey was left on your collar.

everyone knew immediately. and everyone was glad they would never have to witness the mutual pining between you two again.

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