#Some part of me wants her to be good but damn if she’s not such a fun villain too

[elryuse]

ISLAND PT. 4 Yeji

ITZY X MALE READER

Tags : Beach Sex, Public Sex, Intimacy, Cowgirl, Riding Creampie, Creampie, Romance, Smutty Smut Smut

For My Other ISLAND Stories Please Kindly Check it Over Here.

The sun filtered through the thin curtains of Y/n's hotel room, casting a warm glow over the messy sheets and discarded clothes strewn across the floor. The faint hum of the air conditioner mixed with the muffled sound of waves crashing outside. Y/n groaned as his alarm blared from his phone, pulling him reluctantly from his deep slumber. He reached out blindly, slapping the device until the noise stopped, then let his arm flop back onto the bed.

Damn, I overslept, he thought, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the haze of sleep. His body still carried the pleasant ache from the previous night’s escapades—Yuna had been insatiable, her curiosity turning into pure, unfiltered desire. But now, it was morning, and the world outside his cocoon of pleasure was waiting.

As he blinked his eyes open, he noticed someone sitting at the edge of his bed. It was Yeji, her long legs crossed elegantly as she leaned back on one hand, watching the television mounted on the wall. She hadn’t noticed he was awake yet, her attention focused on the drama playing out on the screen. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulder in soft waves, and she wore a casual oversized sweater that slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone.

“Good morning,” Y/n croaked, his voice rough from sleep. He yawned widely, stretching his arms above his head.

Yeji turned her head, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “Morning,” she replied softly, her voice smooth and melodic. She reached for a tray on the bedside table and handed it to him. “Here. I brought you some breakfast. The buffet closed already, so I grabbed whatever I could.”

Y/n sat up, propping himself against the headboard as he accepted the tray. A plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, toast, and a small bowl of fruit greeted him, alongside a steaming cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he said, offering her a grateful smile before digging in.

She watched him eat for a moment, her gaze lingering on him in a way that made him feel both comfortable and slightly self-conscious. Then, almost casually, she said, “The others want to go to the beach later. It’s just across the resort. We figured since we’re here, we might as well enjoy it.”

Y/n hummed around a mouthful of toast, nodding as he chewed. The idea of spending the day by the ocean sounded perfect—relaxing, refreshing, and maybe even a little indulgent. Once he swallowed, he gave her a thumbs-up. “Sounds good. Count me in.”

Yeji’s smile widened at that, her cat-like eyes sparkling with amusement. “Great. I’ll let them know.” She stood gracefully, smoothing out her sweater before heading toward the door. Just as she reached for the handle, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Don’t take too long, okay? We don’t want to miss the best part of the day.”

He chuckled, raising his coffee cup in a mock salute. “I’ll be ready soon. Promise.”

With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Y/n alone once more. He finished his breakfast quickly, savoring the last sip of coffee before setting the tray aside. As he got out of bed and started getting dressed, his mind wandered to the possibilities the day might hold. The beach, the sun, the girls… This is going to be interesting, he thought, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

---

By the time Y/n stepped out of the hotel lobby, the rest of ITZY was already gathered outside, chatting animatedly among themselves. Ryujin and Chaeryeong were playfully bickering about something, while Yuna giggled beside them, her cheeks flushed as she avoided eye contact with Y/n. Lia, ever the calm one, was scrolling through her phone, though she looked up and smiled when she noticed him approaching.

“Ah, finally! Took you long enough,” Ryujin teased, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a loose tank top paired with denim shorts, her toned legs on full display.

“Got held up,” Y/n replied with a wink, earning a giggle from Yuna and an exaggerated eye roll from Ryujin.

“Let’s just go already,” Chaeryeong interjected, grabbing Ryujin’s hand and tugging her toward the path that led to the beach. “I want to see if the water’s as clear as they say it is.”

The group followed the sandy trail, the sound of waves growing louder with each step. When they finally arrived, the sight took their breath away. The ocean stretched out endlessly, its crystal-clear waters shimmering under the bright sunlight. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, and the white sand felt warm beneath their feet.

“Wow,” Yeji murmured, her eyes wide as she took it all in. “This place is… beautiful.”

Ryujin wasted no time kicking off her flip-flops and running toward the water, letting out a loud whoop as she splashed into the waves. Chaeryeong and Yuna followed suit, laughing as they chased after her. Lia, meanwhile, found a spot to lay out a towel and stretch out under the sun, her sunglasses perched on her nose.

Y/n stood at the shoreline, feeling the cool water lap at his feet. He took a deep breath, savoring the salty air. This… this was paradise. But before he could fully relax, he felt a presence beside him. Turning his head, he saw Yeji standing there, her hands clasped behind her back as she gazed out at the horizon.

“You’re not going to join them?” he asked, gesturing toward the others, who were now waist-deep in the water, splashing each other like children.

Yeji shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not yet. I like taking my time.” She paused, then added, “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

That caught his attention. He turned to face her fully, tilting his head curiously. “Oh? About what?”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she seemed to hesitate. But then, she stepped closer, her voice lowering so only he could hear. “About… us. About everything that’s been happening between you and the members.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. So she knows, he thought, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. Yeji was observant, always noticing things others might miss. Still, he stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

“I’ve seen the way they look at you,” she went on, her tone thoughtful but not accusatory. “And the way you look at them. It’s… intense. Passionate. But I can’t help wondering… where does that leave me?”

Her question hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded. Y/n searched her face, trying to gauge her emotions. Was she jealous? Curious? Something else entirely? Before he could respond, she took another step closer, closing the distance between them.

“I’ve spent so much time being the leader,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Always making sure everyone else is okay. But sometimes… I just want to be selfish. To have something—someone—for myself.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Yeji…” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, her lips curving into a slow, sensual smile. “Show me.”

His breath hitched at the boldness in her gaze, the unspoken challenge. And then, with a subtle shift in her stance, she pressed herself against him, her lips finding his in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. It was different from the playful kisses he’d shared with the others—this one carried a depth, a raw need that left him reeling.

When they finally pulled apart, her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and desire. “Now,” she said, her voice low and sultry, “let’s see if you can keep up with me.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and began walking along the shoreline, her hips swaying with every step. Y/n stared after her, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: today was going to be anything but ordinary.

Yeji’s hand tightened around Y/n’s as they left the others behind, her long legs carrying them further down the beach. The golden sand shifted beneath their feet, warm from the relentless sun, and the sound of crashing waves grew louder with each step. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her lips curling into a sly grin. “You trust me, don’t you?” she asked, her voice playful but laced with something deeper—something that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Of course,” Y/n replied, though his heart was pounding in his chest. There was an electricity in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable. Yeji had always been the leader, confident and commanding, but now there was a new edge to her demeanor—one that made his throat dry and his palms sweat.

She led him to a hidden cove, its entrance partially shielded by jagged rocks and tall seagrass. The moment they stepped inside, the world seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of them and the rhythmic crash of waves against stone. The cove was bathed in sunlight, the water sparkling like liquid sapphire, and the air was thick with the salty scent of the sea.

Yeji turned to face him, her eyes darkening as she took a step closer. Her fingers brushed against his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone before moving to the buttons of his shirt. “You’re overdressed,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. One by one, she undid the buttons, her touch deliberate and unhurried. When the last button came undone, she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the sand. Her hands slid down his chest, her nails grazing his skin lightly, eliciting a soft gasp from him.

Yeji was different, he realized. She wasn’t just seeking pleasure; she wanted control. Every movement, every glance, held a purpose. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “Your turn,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin. Her tone was a command, not a suggestion, and Y/n felt his body respond instinctively.

He reached for her, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the hem of her tank top. She tilted her head, watching him with a mix of amusement and approval as he pulled it over her head. Her swimsuit clung to her curves, the fabric damp from the sea breeze, and Y/n couldn’t help but stare. She smirked, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him, and guided his hands to the clasps of her bikini top. “Go on,” she urged, her voice a sultry purr.

With shaky fingers, he undid the clasps, and the fabric fell away, revealing her perky breasts, the nipples already hardened by the cool air. Yeji let out a soft sigh, arching her back slightly as his hands explored her, tracing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. She stepped back, her movements fluid and deliberate, and began to slide her shorts down her legs. Y/n’s breath hitched as she revealed herself fully, her body glistening under the sun.

She approached him again, her hips swaying hypnotically, and pressed herself against him. His hands instinctively went to her waist, gripping her tightly as she ground against him, her heat pressing into his growing hardness. “You’ve been busy with the others,” she said, her voice dripping with mock jealousy. “But today… you’re mine.”

Her lips captured his in a searing kiss, their tongues tangling as she pushed him backward until his knees hit the edge of a smooth rock. She broke the kiss, her eyes locking onto his as she gently pushed him down until he was seated. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she straddled him, her thighs caging his hips. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Let me show you…” she breathed, “…how I like it.”

Y/n’s hands gripped her hips as she began to move, grinding against him with a rhythm that was both teasing and maddening. Her breath hitched, her lips parting as she threw her head back, sunlight catching the beads of sweat forming on her neck. She was relentless, her movements growing more urgent as she sought her own pleasure, all while keeping him on the edge.

“Yeji…” he groaned, his voice strained with need. Her name escaped his lips like a prayer, and she smiled wickedly, savoring the way he trembled beneath her. She leaned in, capturing his lips once more, her tongue delving deep as her hips continued to move. The sound of the waves echoed around them, blending with their ragged breaths and muffled moans.

Finally, she reached down, her fingers wrapping around his length as she positioned him at her entrance. “Don’t hold back,” she commanded, her voice breaking slightly as she sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. Y/n’s hands flew to her hips, gripping her tightly as she took him fully, her walls clamping around him in a vice-like grip. She let out a low, satisfied moan, her body shuddering as she adjusted to his size.

Then, with a slow roll of her hips, she began to ride him, her pace steady and controlled. Her hands roamed over his chest, her nails leaving faint red lines as she moved. Y/n could do nothing but surrender to her rhythm, his groans mingling with hers as the tension between them built.

The heat of the sun above, the cool mist from the waves, and the intensity of her gaze—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Yeji’s pace quickened, her thighs gripping him tighter as she chased her release. “That’s it…” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Just like that…”

Her climax hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing around him as she cried out, her nails digging into his skin. The sensation of her tightening around him pushed Y/n over the edge, and with a guttural groan, he spilled himself inside her, his vision blurring as waves of pleasure crashed over him.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Yeji collapsed against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as they both tried to catch their breath. The sound of the waves seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the rapid thud of their hearts.

After a moment, Yeji lifted her head, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of satisfaction and something softer—something that made his chest ache. “Not bad,” she murmured, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Yeji’s lips crashed against Y/n’s with a hunger that left him breathless. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if she couldn’t get enough of him. “I’ve been waiting for this,” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling with desire. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted you? How much I’ve needed you?”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt himself hardening again beneath her. She shifted her weight slightly, grinding against him as if to remind him of exactly what she was capable of. His hands instinctively found her waist, gripping her tightly as she leaned back just enough to guide his hands higher.

“Touch me,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding. “Love me.”

Her hands moved his until they were cupping her breasts, the softness of her skin a stark contrast to the firmness beneath. Y/n obeyed without hesitation, his fingers sliding over her nipples, teasing them until they hardened under his touch. Yeji’s breath hitched, and she arched her back, pressing herself further into his palms.

“Like that… yes,” she moaned, her head falling back as he leaned forward to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. His tongue swirled around it, coaxing another sharp gasp from her before he bit down gently. The sound she made—half a moan, half a whimper—was almost enough to break his composure entirely.

But Yeji wasn’t done. Her hips rolled against him, her wetness dripping onto his length as she teased him mercilessly. “Fuck me,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need. “I want all of you.”

Y/n didn’t need to be told twice. His hands tightened on her hips as he guided her down onto him, inch by torturous inch. Yeji gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she took him fully, her walls clenching around him like a vice. For a moment, they stayed still, their breaths mingling as they adjusted to the sensation.

Then, slowly at first, Yeji began to move. Her hips rose and fell in a steady rhythm, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of them. Y/n’s hands roamed her body, tracing every curve as if committing her to memory. He could feel the tension building inside him, but he forced himself to hold on, determined to make this last.

“You feel so good,” Yeji moaned, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

Her plea was all the encouragement he needed. His hands gripped her hips tighter, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, matching her pace stroke for stroke. The sound of their bodies coming together echoed in the cove, mingling with the crash of the waves against the shore.

Yeji’s thighs trembled as she rode him, her pace quickening as she chased her release. “I’m close,” she gasped, her nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks. “So close…”

Y/n could feel her tightening around him, her climax imminent. With a groan, he let go, giving in to the pleasure that had been building inside him. Yeji cried out as she came, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her. The sensation pushed him over the edge, and with a guttural groan, he spilled himself inside her, his vision blurring as he gave her everything he had.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Yeji rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath. “That was… incredible,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Y/n chuckled softly, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You’re incredible,” he replied, his voice hoarse from exertion.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms as the world around them faded away. But then, slowly, Yeji lifted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Round three when we get back to the resort?” she teased, her lips curving into a wicked smile.

Y/n groaned, unable to suppress a laugh. “You’re going to kill me,” he said, though there was no real complaint in his tone.

Yeji just smirked, leaning down to kiss him once more before climbing off him and reaching for her clothes. As she dressed, Y/n couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight caught her skin, making her glow as if she were something otherworldly. When she was done, she turned to him, holding out a hand to help him up.

Together, they made their way back to the group, their steps slow and leisurely. Ryujin was the first to notice them, her eyes narrowing as she took in their disheveled state. A slow smirk spread across her face, and she nudged Chaeryeong, who was lounging nearby.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to join us,” Ryujin drawled, her tone dripping with amusement. “Enjoy your little walk, Yeji?”

Yeji blushed furiously, but she held her head high, refusing to give Ryujin the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassed. “None of your business,” she shot back, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way her voice wavered.

Ryujin laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I think it’s very much my business. You two look… refreshed.”

Chaeryeong giggled, hiding her face behind her hands as Yuna glanced between them, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she asked innocently, though the faint blush on her cheeks suggested she might have an idea.

Ryujin winked at Yuna, her grin widening. “Oh, nothing, baby girl. Just grown-up stuff.”

Yeji groaned, burying her face in her hands as Y/n chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Alright, alright,” he said, trying to diffuse the situation before Ryujin could embarrass Yeji further. “Let’s get back to the resort. I think we could all use some rest.”

As they started walking back, Yeji leaned into him, her voice low so only he could hear. “I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Y/n smirked, his hand squeezing her hip gently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But even as they walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were far from over. Not with Ryujin’s knowing looks, or the way Yuna kept glancing at him with that same curious expression. And definitely not with the promise Yeji had made about round three…

As they approached the resort, Ryujin fell into step beside him, her smirk never fading. “You know,” she said casually, “if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up spoiling her.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “And what makes you think I haven’t already?”

Ryujin laughed, shaking her head. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/n. But hey…” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If you ever want a little break from Yeji, you know where to find me.”

Before he could respond, she sauntered ahead, leaving him with a teasing wink and a whirlwind of thoughts. Yeji’s grip on his waist tightened, and she shot him a playful glare. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, though there was no real heat in her tone.

Y/n just smiled, pulling her closer as they stepped into the resort. The day was far from over, and if the looks he was getting from the others were any indication, things were about to get even more interesting…

[jarofstyles]

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WC- 6.6k

Warnings- Asshole-ish H, smut, slight degrading, oral, slight possessiverry, etc

She knew he was watching.

A subtle smirk played on her lips as she helped herself to a drink in the kitchen, nearly able to feel the man’s eyes on her as he traced her dress. One she wore just for him, but would never admit to. He wasn’t good about hiding how much he watched her, how much he had been curious about her, but he hadn’t talked much to her. Only stared.

She'd been warned that Harry was a man of few words. He didn't go out of his way to talk, he was the stereotype of tall, dark, handsome and dangerous-but it's exactly what she's been craving. Twisting the lid back onto the mixer, she finally raised the cup to her lips as she turned around to face him. He wasn't hiding the fact that he was watching her. His eyes didn't stray. He liked that she didn't waver in her staring back, too. Y/N could tell.

It had been a long time since a man had properly excited her. She wasn’t exactly the easiest to please, if she was being honest. Y/N got bored easily, she liked to play games, to test people to see if they could handle her- but something about Harry had her fully understanding that he could handle her, no problem. Maybe it was just the look in his eyes that told her he was intrigued by her but also wanted to eat her alive, but she quite liked it.

Her eyes flirted with his, as she slowly took a sip, her throat bobbing delicately. "I think you're enjoying the view." Her voice was sultry, a taunt. She was baiting him, daring him to respond, to engage. The game of cat and mouse had been fun, but she wanted to be caught. "You're not very good at hiding it."

“M’not trying to hide it.” His raspy voice made her internally peek up. She’d only heard it a handful of times but each one had nearly had her purring. The man had the voice of her wet dreams, and she sort of hated how he was checking off boxes she had purposely put too high.

A small smirk played on her lips as she set the cup down, her hands moving to rest on the counter. She leaned forward, her arms stretching out in front of her, very aware she was very generously handing over a view of her chest for him to glaze over. "Is that so?" She asked, matching his tone. "You're just going to stand there and stare at me then?" The challenge was laid out softly, despite the tension in the room.

“Mm. I was enjoying the view.” His body was leaned against the cabinets of the kitchen, no shame at all in admitting the fact. “Think y’like when I look.”

Her eyes traveled up his face and met his eyes, a slow blink the only reaction to his words. She liked it, damn it. She liked being the focus of his attention, even if he wasn't saying anything particularly sweet or romantic. There was something about his blunt honesty that drew her in. "And what if I told you I don't like it?" She asked, her voice a gentle purr. "What would you do then?"

“I’d tell you t’stop looking like that and maybe we could come to an agreement.” His eyes kept contact with no issue, challenging her back. “I know you’ve been looking back at me when y’think I’m not going to notice.”

God, he was hot. It was infuriating, really. Men weren’t supposed to effect her like this. She’d always had the upper hand, but this one had her wavering as she reached up to twist a strand of her hair around her finger. "And what kind of agreement would that be?" She asked with a soft tilt to her voice. She loved the way he spoke, the way his accent rolled off his tongue. It was so…different to the general population of men she was used to. Some could accuse her of being excited over having a new flavor at her fingertips, but Y/N would argue that anyone who got a few moments alone with him would feel that level of excitement prickle their nerves. "One where I stop looking at you and you start talking to me?" The girl suggested, the small smirk playing on her lips growing.

“Perhaps.” Crossing his arms, he stood up off the counter and slowly sauntered over to her. “Was tryin’ to figure you out. Don’t get new additions in the group often, and you’re different than the people we’re usually around.” His tall form had her lifting her head a bit to keep his eyes as he stopped in front of her.

 She’d been right. He was taller than she’d thought, and broader. The man had kept a physical distance before, but now she was feeling the effects of him dropping that barrier. He was just so…large. And it made her feel small, which was a feeling she rarely experienced. "And what have you figured out?" She asked softly, tilting her head to the side as her eyes fluttered to his lips briefly before meeting his eyes again.

“I’ve figured out a couple of things.” Taking another step forward he gave her the chance to move if she wanted- but she didn’t. Backing against the counter, she didn’t shy away from him. “Mostly that you’re a little bit bratty, but you aren’t fake. You’ve been mostly nice t’everyone.” It had been a relief. Harry wouldn’t have been shy about calling her out on ulterior motives, but he only knew of one- and it had come after she’d already met everyone. “And you want me t’fuck you.”

She swallowed hard, her heart in her throat as he took another step forward. Again, she could have moved, but she didn't. Instead, she stayed put, her back against the counter as she met his gaze. His words were blunt, and she liked that about him. Most people would sugarcoat things, but not him. "And what if I do?" She asked, her voice faltering slightly for the first time in a long time. It was so different, but...She liked it. He had managed to get her to feel something different. Naturally making her feel a little more submissive when she had been so used to taking in the opposite role. 

“I’d fuck you.” Harry rose a shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to do it since I met you. Had to figure out if you were someone who was going to stick around.” The tension was thick between them. “I don’t usually fuck people just once. Don't like to think with my dick. But I think you’d want it more than once.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the heat pooling between her legs at his words. She’d known he wanted her by the way he had looked at her body, but hearing him say it out loud had her insides quivering. He was so…crude and it was so hot. "I’d want it more than once." She admitted breathlessly. She wasn’t one to shy away from the fact. "And how many times do you think it would be?"

“I’m not in the business of letting you nut off and fuck off. If m’fucking you, you’ll be in my bed for hours. I don’t go easy.” It was the truth she needed to hear. Harry wasn’t one to half ass sex, and considering he’d been letting the want fester for a bit now, he had plenty of things he wanted to do for her. “Is that something you can handle?”

Her throat was dry, her voice hoarse as she responded, "Hours? That sounds...nice." She wanted to tell him that she could handle anything he threw at her, but she knew he'd only call her bluff. She'd never had a man talk to her like this before when she had confidence he could actually back up the claims, and it was exciting. Y/N wanted to know what else he'd say, what else he'd do. "And if I can't? What happens then?"

“Then I’ll walk away and let you continue your night. M’not going to do any of that if it isn’t what you can take, or isn’t what you want.” He made no effort to move, though, because he already knew what her answer is going to be. “You’re not gonna make it weird for everyone else in the group after we fuck, yeah? You’ll be able to behave yourself whenever we go out for the stupid dinners and drinks?”

She swallowed hard, his words making her feel things she hadn't felt in a long time. The way he was talking to her, the intensity in his eyes, it was all so new and thrilling. "I can handle anything you give me." She said softly, her voice filled with a confidence she didn't quite feel but wanted to project. "And I can behave myself. I'm not some teenager who's going to go running to the group about this."

“Just got t’be sure, Cherry.” Lifting a finger up towards her bottom lip, he smeared the lipstick with his thumb before pulling it back. “You don’t seem to be the kiss and tell type, but you never know.”

Her eyes fluttered closed briefly as his thumb brushed against her bottom lip, again the action so simple yet so hot. A little invasive- in a good way. She couldn't help but part her lips slightly, inviting him to touch her more. "I'm not. And besides, who would I tell?" She asked softly.

“That’s the right answer.” He sighed, taking a second to look over his shoulder and back to her face. “C’mon then. M’not fucking you here. Don’t want you to have to keep quiet. If I’m fucking you, I want to hear you.” Curling his hand around the back of her neck, he brought her out the back door. “S’a short walk.”

——-

He had a nice house. Smaller, with a porch and garage. Newly painted, lawn maintained and a little tree in the front. It wasn’t the bachelor pad she had expected, but she really didn’t know that much about him- did she? That was becoming more apparent the longer she spent near him. 

“C’mon. Inside.” He unlocked the door and ushered her in, relieving them from the chill of the night. “Shouldn’t go out without a jacket next time.” The grumble seemed to make her laugh as he tossed his keys into the bowl, kicking his shoes haphazardly on the mat. She hadn’t expected to go on a stroll, so she had left the jacket in her car- but he didn’t really care about that. “Do you want a drink? Or do you just want to get into it?”

Her eyes scanned the cozy interior of his home, taking her even further by surprise. No, it wasn’t the bachelor pad at all. It was tidy and clean, with a few personal touches that gave her a glimpse into what was probably his actual personality. She noticed a guitar in the corner, a few books on a shelf, and a framed photo on the mantle that she couldn’t quite make out. “Huh?” The place had warmth she hadn’t expected to see, and the distraction was evident as she vaguely heard him ask something.

“Do you want me t’get you a drink, or do you want me to get to fucking you?”

Her attention snapped back to him, his words making her blush. Honestly? She really did love how blunt he could be, no sugarcoating or beating around the bush. It was so common to have people be coy about what they wanted, but then again Harry wasn’t anything close to most people she had met.  "Oh, um, I think I'll go with the second option," Her words came out slightly shy, with a hesitant smile. She looked around the room again, taking in the details, before her gaze landed back on him. "But first, can I ask you something?"

“Yeah.” He grunted, taking a step into her space and putting his hands on her waist as he backed her further into the home. “Make it quick. Dick’s fucking aching.”

Her breath hitched as he moved closer, his hands on her waist making her feel small and delicate. She licked her lips, hesitation flickering in her eyes before she asked, "It’s just…Why me? You've barely said two words to me before tonight. And now...here we are." She trailed off, nibbling her lip. A nervous tell.

“Because I was trying t’see if you were someone that was going to stick around.” He said bluntly. “Lots of people pop in and back out. Didn’t know if you’d be one of the floaters. Got to watch you and see how you were before I talked to you. I wanted to see what you’d say.” While some could call it a little creepy, he’d more so put it as educating himself for the best result. “Wasn’t sure you’d be okay with me fucking you. Some people can’t handle me or how I talk. You’re a sweet little thing but I can tell you like some of the nasty shit. So we’d most likely get along.”

She blinked at him, processing his blunt words. A small, almost imperceptible shiver ran through her body at his assessment. He had been watching her, evaluating her...and apparently found her worthy of letting her see a whole different side of him. Y/N hadn’t pushed her luck in regard to asking about him but she figured there wasn’t much people would say anyways. It was obvious to her through her own observations that he had been quiet about a lot on purpose. Considering there were a few people in the group that did indeed find him incredibly attractive, it was more than exciting that he had chosen her- mirrored her own quiet interest. The thought sent a thrill down her spine. 

"I...I appreciate your thoroughness," she said, a slight tremor in her voice, though trying to still appear confident in the way she had tried to portray. It wasn’t an act- she really was like that- but Harry had that little edge to him that made her want to soften up. "And you're right, I can handle you. I like a man who knows what he wants."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “And what do you want, specifically?” Her voice was low, almost breathy as she looked up at him. “With me?” His words had given her a lot to think about. The way he had evaluated her, the way he had found her worthy all while barely knowing her, and the way he had so bluntly admitted that he wanted her around for more than just a one-night stand. But she wanted to hear it all.

“I want to have an arrangement between the two of us. Told you, m’not someone who fucks people once. Not sure if m’looking for a relationship, but I want to like the person I’m fucking.” It was convinent for a release, having an understanding. “We’ve obviously got physical chemistry, find each other attractive and have the same friends. I think…” He leaned his face closer to hers. “We should be friends that fuck. Often.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze locked onto his. "Friends with benefits," she clarified softly. "No strings attached, but...exclusivity?" She wanted to know that she was the only one he was sleeping with, even if they weren't in a traditional relationship. "And we can still hang out with our mutual friends, just...without them knowing the details?" She bit her lip, considering the proposition.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me, I don’t have the time to find other people to fuck. Work a lot, and I’ve got particular taste. I don’t want to worry about you fucking around either. Too much shit goes around. Eventually I’d like to ditch the condoms.” He shrugged, firmly gripping her waist to pick her up and set her on the hallway table. “It’ll be nice. You can just… Call me when you need to be fucked. I’ll call you. Scratch the itch. The rest don’t have to know a thing.”

She let out a soft sigh as he set her on the table, her arms wrapping around his neck as he towered over her. "Alright," she agreed, her heart racing at the thought of being exclusive with him. "Just you and me, no strings, no other people involved." She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "And...no labels either, right? We're just friends who fuck, nothing more."

“Right. As long as you know that cunt’s mine to fuck for now, I’m happy.” He chuckled under his breath, nudging her thighs apart. “You wore this dress for me, didn’t you?” Fingers dragged up her inner thigh as he questioned her. “Cause you wanted my attention.”

She let her legs fall open, her breath hitching as he nudged her thighs apart. Her heart fluttered at his words, her insides clenching at the possessiveness in his voice. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she knew she had. When the confirmation that he had been coming had been dropped in the group text, she had taken getting ready a bit more seriously. Though she hadn’t expected this to be the outcome. Not in the slightest. "Yes, it was for you," she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper as he touched her thigh. "I hoped you’d like it.” She squirmed, her legs spreading further. "Did you?

“Decided to take you home, didn’t I?” Shaking his head, he let out a sigh as he watched her squirm. “Course I fuckin’ liked it. But you’ve been taunting me, and you weren’t subtle about it either. Figured I had to ask you now.” Ghosting his fingertips along the hem of her panties, he tangled his other hand in the ends of her hair to tug her head back. “Could tell you were starting to get a little desperate.”

She moaned softly as he pulled her head back, her eyes fluttering closed briefly before locking onto his again. "Well, you were staring at me like you wanted to eat me alive," she retorted, her voice breathy. "So...yeah, maybe I was getting a little desperate." She bit her lip, shifting her hips forward. "So, are you going to touch me now?"

His touch was gentle, almost torturously so, as he ran his fingertips over the damp fabric. His eyes were locked onto hers, watching her reactions intently. "You're so eager. Though m’not so sure I like the sass. I’ll do as I like, and you can tell me how good it feels." he murmured, his thumb pressing down on her through the thin material. "I bet you're dripping, aren't you?" His touch grew firmer, ever so slowly rubbing his thumb over her clit.

Her breath hitched, her hips bucking forward to meet his touch. She hadn’t been sure how he would be in this sort of scenario, but it was better than she imagined. It took a special sort of man to make her feel even the slightest bit submissive and she almost melting. "Y-yes," she stammered, her voice slightly shaky. It was embarrassing how wet she got for him before he’d even touched her. "I'm...I'm soaking for you." Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as her head fell back against the wall.

She could feel his touch like a brand through the thin fabric, her legs spreading wider to grant him better access. Her breath came in short gasps, her chest heaving with each breath. "Please," she whimpered, her hips moving in rhythm with his touch. "It's not enough..."

“Greedy.” He laughed through his nose. “I was curious how you’d be once I got my hands on you. You talk a big game, like t’be a tease… but in reality, you’re a desperate little slut, hm?” It was the most he’s ever spoken to her, but she couldn’t complain when his words went straight to her cunt.

"I can’t help it! You started it.” She gasped as he found a rhythm, her body tensing as his fingers tugged the panties to the side, slipping under the fabric. "Oh god…” She moaned, her body tensing as his calloused fingertips grazed her bare flesh.  His words made her squirm, her body trembling as he slid a long, thick finger inside her.

“I didn’t start anything.” His voice was contained, even as he spoke with the smug little smirk on his face. “I told you, I needed t’figure you out. I hoped you’d be like this…” Looking down to where his hand was hidden between her legs, slowly pushing his finger in and out of her sopping wet cunt, he licked over his bottom lip. “Desperate. Melt at the slightest touch. You rejected everyone who came up to you at the bars when they wanted to take you home but you love t’flirt. You knew they wouldn’t be able to give you what you needed- so you waited for me to move in.”

"Mmmm…” She let out a moan as he slipped another finger inside her. "They can’t handle me. They want to try but I don’t want someone to try- I want them to do it.” she whimpered, rocking her hips into his hand. "You’re wrong, you did start it.” She gasped out, her back arching as he crooked his fingers to graze against that sweet spot inside her. "You walked in and you...you just stared at me like you owned me.”

“Because I did.” He leaned forward, letting their lips brush. “And now I do. This wet little cunt is mine to fuck for now. Got all slick before I had even laid my hands on you, fucking filthy.” He sneered. “Listen to that.” The sound of his fingers fucking into her were audible beneath her pants.

The squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of her quivering hole echoed through the room, a lewd melody that grew louder with each thrust. Her own wetness made his digits glisten, the sound of her coating his skin becoming embarrassingly audible. Every push into her tight hole was met with a wet slap of his palm over her clit, punctuated by her short breaths and gasps.

"It is your fault!" She hissed, her voice strained as she tried to keep quiet. "You kept staring at me like…like you wanted to devour me. It's not fair!" Her hips jerked forward as he increased the pace, her hand flying to his shoulders to steady herself. "You're gonna make me come like this." She hissed, her nails digging into his shirt.

“Then cum.” He taunted. “If it’s all my fault that your desperate pussy got all sloppy and wet, cum on my fingers and show me that then. Barely even touched you and you’re clenching all around my fingers.”

Her breath hitched, her face flushing with heat. "Oh god, shut up..." She hissed, her hips bucking against his hand as he curled his fingers inside her, getting the spot she couldn’t get on her own. "H-Harry… Fuck." She let out a high-pitched cry as she finally shattered, her inner muscles tightening around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Her body trembled as the intense pressure building inside her finally broke. Her inner walls clamped down around his fingers, squeezing them as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. The lewd sounds of his digits moving in and out of her drenched opening grew louder as she writhed against his hand, soaking his skin. Without thinking, she buried her face against his neck, muffling her whimpers as the peak of her climax washed over her.

"There y’go. Filthy girl, making a mess of my hand.” He coaxed, slowing his fingers down but rubbing right against the spongy spot in her cunt to make it last. “That’s what you needed, wasn’t it?”

"Mmm, yes." She mumbled against his neck, her breath hitching as aftershocks wracked her body. "Please...please no more..." She whimpered, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she clung to him, boneless and spent. "It's too much." Her voice was soft, vulnerable.

“I think you can take more.” He said with a laugh, but pulled his fingers out anyway. “But since m’nice, I’ll give you a second. I’ll go easy on you since it’s the first time we’re fucking, but next time m’not stopping. You’ll keep cumming.” Harry had plenty of plans for her, she had no clue how much he’d been planning on this. “C’mon.” Scooping her up easily, he had her wrap her legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders as he carried her through the house.

"You’re insufferable.” She muttered, her head nuzzling against his neck as her body trembled in the aftermath of her release. She let out a soft squeak as he easily picked her up, her face flushed as she hid it. "Where are we going?” She asked, her voice soft. "I can walk, you know...” Y/N trailed off, her face flushing. "I’m not light, either.”

“Shut the fuck up with that. M’holding you, and m’not struggling.” He grunted, giving her ass a swat as he kicked open the door to his bedroom. “Bringing you to my room. Since your cunt needs a second, figured it’s nicer on your knees if you’re kneeling on my carpet t’suck me off.” The bluntness showed its head again as he felt her pull her face from his neck. “Been thinking about you getting that lipstick you keep wearin’ all over my cock.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushing darker. "Oh...” She trailed off, licking her lips unconsciously as her gaze lowered to his crotch. "You mean like this?” She asked, her voice soft and sultry as she slid down his body to land on her feet. She slowly sank to her knees, her hands resting on his thighs. "Maybe I will, maybe I won’t..."

“I think you will. You’ve been gagging for it.” His hands grabbed the buckle of his belt as she looked up at him on her knees, the picture absolutely perfect. “You look awfully good there. Think you were made to be on your knees for me.” Depositing the leather onto the floor, he reached for her face and let his thumb smear her cherry red lipstick. “Go on. Undo my trousers, take my cock out. Know it’s what y’want. Don’t have to play coy with me.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as he smeared her lipstick, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips. "Mmm, you think so?” She cooed, her hands moving to his fly. She deftly undid the button and zipper, her slender fingers pushing the fabric down his hips. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the bulge in his boxers, her voice low. "Maybe…” Her breath hitched as she felt the warmth of his body through the fabric. "Maybe I'll take your cock out and give it a little kiss first," she whispered, her hands gripping the elastic waistband, slowly pulling them down to help his cock out.

She looked up at him through her lashes, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips once more. His cock was thick, the head flushed a ruddy red. Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the heat radiating from him. "So big and hard for me." she purred, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Brushing her tongue around the sensitive tip, she smeared the precum that had leaked out. Looking up at him, she felt the thrill in her stomach as his eyes darkened with lust as he watched her. She opened her mouth, slowly lathing her tongue lick up and down his shaft from base to tip.

“There y’go.” He breathed, gathering her hair in a loose excuse for a ponytail. The red had transferred some to his cock and he loved the vision. He’d thought about it more times than he could count. “One day, think I should film this. Let you see how pretty you look on your knees.” He murmured, watching as her tongue ran back over the slit. “Get it wet.”

Humming in approval at his words, her tongue continuing to lap at his length, eyes fluttered closed as she felt his hand tighten in her hair. “I would like that.” Continuing to lick him, her tongue traced the ridges and veins of his cock before she looked up at him, wrapping her lips around the tip.

“Good.” He grunted as he felt the plushness of her lips take the head of him into her mouth, the slow pull of the suction. “Take a little more. Know you’ve been thinking about sucking this cock. Show me.”

As he spoke, she listened, taking more of him into her mouth. Unfortunately, she was not as immune to him as she had tried to be. It seemed she had met her match, wanting to please him in ways she usually scoffed at with any other man. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard as she bobbed her head up and down, doing the work she needed to make him pleased. Her hand wrapped around the base, stroking in time with her mouth as she looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, her throat working around his thickness.

“Oh, fuck.” He laughed deeply, head tilting back as she showed him what he had asked for. “Thatta’ girl. Knew you had it in you. Shit.” He cursed under his breath as the heat of her mouth welcomed him, taking him much better than he had anticipated.

She could feel his hands in her hair, guiding her pace, making sure she was taking him just right. The salty taste of his precum mixed with the musky scent of his arousal was intoxicating, making her head spin. She looked up at him, her lips stretched around his girth, and saw the raw desire in his eyes. It only fueled her own hunger, making her suck him even harder, desperate to please him.

Y/N moaned around his cock as he bottomed out in her throat, the vibrations traveling up his shaft. Her nose pressed against his pelvis as she swallowed around him, her throat constricting to make him hiss. She held herself there, savoring the feeling of being so completely filled by him before slowly pulling back to catch her breath. Strings of saliva connected her lips to his spit-shined cock.

His face contorted with pleasure as she deep-throated him, a guttural groan escaping his lips. "God, you're so good at that." Harry praised, his hands fisting her hair tighter. His hips bucked forward, meeting her bobbing head, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the room. His breathing grew heavier, chests heaving as he struggled to maintain control. "You’re gonna be a lot of fun to fuck, aren’t you?”

“Mhm.” With a messy pop, she pulled his cock out of her mouth, saliva dripping from his glistening tip. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with lust, before leaning forward and spitting directly onto his cock. The mess hit him dripping over the side, making him hiss in surprise. Rubbing her saliva into his cock, she coated him in it as she smirked up. Getting him to react was a reward. He had barely said anything to anyone, and she was the one getting him to groan and hiss. Sue her for feeling a little special. “Think it’s wet enough?” She purred, coy as she looked at him through his lashes.

Before she could say another word, Harry grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, his mouth crashing against hers in a searing kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips, making her moan in surprise. Was he good at everything? She could taste herself on him, the salty sweetness of her saliva mixing with the heat of his own mouth. Biting down on her lower lip, he pulled it gently between his teeth before letting go.

 "You talk too much."

Her breath hitched as he spoke against her mouth, his voice low and commanding. She could only manage a whimper in response, her knees growing weak. He took advantage of her parted lips and weakened stance, slipping his hands around to squeeze her ass, pulling her flush against him so she could feel him against her tummy. "But you're right," he murmured, voice roughened by desire. "You've made quite a mess. Think you’re ready to take my cock?"

She nodded eagerly, her eyes locked onto his intense gaze. "Then turn around and bend over the bed," he ordered, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. She quickly complied, feeling a rush of cool air against her bare backside as she leaned forward, gripping the bed sheets tightly. 

As she leaned her chest further into the bed, she felt the soft fabric of the comforter against her breasts, her hard nipples grazing against it. Every sensation felt a little overwhelming, but in a good way. It had been a long time coming considering how she had tried to navigate how to work up how to simply talk to Harry, and now he was her supposed friends with benefits. Patience was wearing thin.  Swaying her ass enticingly, wanting to give him a good show- make him break. The room was filled with the sound of her shallow breathing, her chest heaving as she tried to regulate her breathing. Behind her, she could hear the crinkle of plastic as he sheathed himself in a condom.

She could imagine how Harry must look right now, his dark eyes fixed on her ass as he prepared himself. The thought sent her reeling. If only she had eyes on the back of her head. Feeling him step close, his body heat radiating off of himself and into her bare skin, she lifted her hips slightly, trying to guide his cock to press against her soaked entrance.

Harry's strong hands gripped her hips firmly, guiding her movements and controlling the pace. control- he was exercising the control that she clearly did not have. She felt the tip of his prick slowly push against her, inch by agonizing inch. Gasping, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets as she stretched to accommodate his size. The sensation was intense, bordering on overwhelming, but she welcomed it nonetheless, pushing back against him to encourage him to continue. "Oh, fucks sake.” She sulked into the mattress.

,"It’s not fair. You can’t.. You’re not supposed t’have such a big dick when you act like one.”  Her words came out in a string of stuttered moans as he seated himself fully inside her, his hips flush against her ass. He gave a low, satisfied chuckle, his body tensing as he held himself deep inside her.  She felt her insides clench around him, her body instinctively trying to adjust to his size. “Oh, no? You don’t like it?”

She shook her head vehemently, biting her lip as she felt him throb inside her. "N-no, I love it. I fucking love it." She admitted breathlessly, her voice thick with need. "It's just not...fair that you get to have such a perfect cock and you waited so long to give it to me." She punctuated her words with a roll of her hips, relishing the drag of his thick length against her walls.

Her insides felt like a silken vice around him, pulsating rhythmically as if trying to milk him despite him not being inside her long enough to do so.  Her body was already betraying her as her walls quivered around him, her inner muscles fluttering as if trying to entice him to move, to draw him in deeper. Her body was warm, and she was tight, gripping him as if she hadn’t been with anyone in years.

A smug grin spread across his face as he let out a low, satisfied groan from deep within his chest. “Well, m’sorry, babe. Had t’make sure you’d be a good fit for my cock. I think I made the right call, though. Tight little thing, squeezing me the way I like.” He taunted, his voice laced with amusement. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he slowly began to move within her. "You like how I fill you up?" He punctuated his words with slow, measured thrusts, his voice growing hoarser as she clenched around him.

When she struggled to answer, he let out a laugh instead. He continued to speak for her, his voice a low, husky rumble as he slowly pumped into her. "Yeah, y’like being stuffed full of my cock. Like how it stretches you open and makes you feel so fucking small." He teased, his fingers digging into her hips as he picked up his pace slightly. "Barely able to talk back to me when I know you love to run that filthy mouth. Must be because you’re not used to being filled like this.”

She mewled, her hips rolling to meet his thrusts. He was right. Embarrassingly so. The wet squelch of his cock plunging in and out of her filled the room, mixing with the erotic symphony of their moans and groans. He could feel her getting more slick, her arousal coating his shaft and dripping down onto his balls. "That's it, take it deep like that. You like to play tough, but you just want t’be a good girl for me. Isn’t that right?"

Her response was a strangled cry, her pussy fluttering around him as if to agree. He grunted in approval, his hips snapping forward to fill her again. "Good girl," he praised darkly. "You're doing so well. Such a good little thing, taking me so well. Now answer me.” The croon was soft, a direct opposite to his pace. “Gonna let me fuck you when I want, mm? Gonna call me when y’need it too?”

She keened, her voice echoing in the room. "Y-Yes please... I- I'll call you. I'll be good. I'll... I'll let you. I'll let you whenever you want!" Her words came out disjointed, broken up by his thrusts growing a bit harder, jostling her where she laid. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, her knuckles turning white as she tried to keep herself grounded.

"That’s a good fuckin’ girl. You're gonna be so well-behaved for me, aren't you?" He cooed, his voice a soothing contrast to the growing brutal pace of his hips. One hand slid up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades to keep her arched as he took his pleasure from her. "You're mine t’play with now, understand? This pretty little cunt belongs to me." As he continued to pound into her, she felt a sense of contentment wash over her. This was exactly what she needed - someone to take control, to make her feel desired and owned. And Harry was perfect for the job. They were going to be lovely friends, with many benefits. As she teetered on the edge of her climax, she felt a sense of peace settle over her, knowing that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[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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[last-dropsevi]

Sparks flying

Mechanic Sevika x female reader part2

Synopsis: Stranded with a broken car in Zaun, you find yourself at Sevika’s garage, where her confident, magnetic presence instantly draws you in. Over time, your visits become less about car repairs and more about the growing tension between you.

Part 1 of this

Mechanic Sevika NSFW Headcanon

Real bad sexual tension, ass grabbing, drinking, flirting, female reader, brink of getting freaky

The bar was dimly lit, with just enough neon glow from the signs to make everything feel slightly surreal. The smell of spilled beer and old wood mingled with the faint trace of cigarette smoke, and the low hum of chatter filled the space. Sevika held the door open, her imposing presence drawing a few curious glances from the regulars.

“Not what I pictured,” you teased as you stepped inside, glancing around.

“Not everything about me’s predictable,” she shot back with a smirk, guiding you toward a corner booth.

The bartender came over quickly, his eyes flicking between you and Sevika before taking your orders. You opted for something light—truth be told, you weren’t much of a drinker—but Sevika went straight for whiskey, neat.

“You drink that straight?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Why ruin good whiskey?” she replied, lifting the glass when it arrived and tossing back a sip like it was water.

You stared at her for a moment before taking a sip of your own drink. The sweetness barely masked the bite of the alcohol, and you couldn’t help but wince.

“You good there, sweetheart?” she asked, her smirk growing.

“Fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’m just… savoring it.”

“Sure you are.”

By the second drink, the warmth of the alcohol had started to loosen you up. You were giggling more than usual, and Sevika had relaxed as well, leaning back in her seat with an easy confidence.

“Okay, but seriously,” you said, swirling the last of your drink in your glass. “What’s the deal with your arm? Did you, like, design it yourself?”

She raised a brow, clearly amused by the question. “Not entirely. I had some help. But I made a lot of the upgrades myself.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you studied her. “It’s impressive. Like… really impressive.”

Her smirk softened into something more genuine. “Thanks.”

“And your hands,” you continued, your voice a touch louder than you’d intended. “I mean, have you seen them?”

Her brows shot up. “I’m… pretty familiar with them, yeah.”

“No, but like…” You gestured vaguely toward her, your inhibitions slipping further. “They’re big. And strong. And you can probably crush someone’s skull if you wanted to.”

Sevika chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made your stomach flutter. “Not something I’ve tested, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I mean it,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “You’ve got these hands, and then there’s your arms—don’t even get me started on those.”

“Oh, I’d love to hear this,” she said, leaning forward, her smirk widening.

“They’re just…” You gestured again, struggling to find the right words. “So damn sexy. Like, who gave you the right?”

The laugh that burst out of her was loud enough to draw a few curious looks from nearby patrons. She shook her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched you flounder.

“And it’s not just that,” you continued, oblivious to her growing amusement. “You’re so… confident and cool and—ugh, it’s infuriating. You walk into a room, and everyone just looks at you, and you don’t even care. Like, how do you do that?”

Sevika leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “You’re giving me way too much credit, sweetheart.”

“No, I’m not,” you insisted, poking her chest for emphasis. “You’re, like, the whole package. Arms, hands, the smirk, the—”

“You’re drunk,” she said, though the fondness in her tone was unmistakable.

“Tipsy,” you corrected, narrowing your eyes at her. “And don’t act like you don’t like it.”

Her smirk softened into something warmer, her gaze lingering on you. “I like you just fine, drunk or not.”

The tension between you had shifted, the air around you crackling with something heavier, more charged. When Sevika offered to walk you home, you didn’t argue, the cool air outside doing little to temper the heat in your cheeks.

As you stumbled slightly on the uneven cobblestones, Sevika caught your arm, steadying you with ease. “You good?”

“Yep,” you said, though your balance said otherwise.

Her hand lingered on your waist, her grip firm but gentle. “You’re a lightweight,” she teased.

“Not my fault you ordered the strong stuff,” you shot back, leaning into her slightly. “And anyway, I’m still functional. Mostly.”

Her laugh was low and smooth, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sound.

When you reached your apartment building, you turned to face her, your heart pounding as you looked up into her eyes. The streetlamp cast a soft glow over her features, highlighting the sharp lines of her jaw and the faintest hint of a smile playing at her lips.

“You’re staring,” she said, her voice low and teasing.

“Can you blame me?” you replied, emboldened by the alcohol still buzzing in your system. “You’re… very stare-able.”

“That’s not a word.”

“It is now.”

She shook her head, her smirk growing as she stepped closer. Her hand slid to your waist, her touch warm and steady. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not even close.”

Her words sent a thrill through you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up on your toes, your hands resting on her chest for balance. “Sevika,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Can I—”

Before you could finish, her lips brushed yours, tentative at first but quickly growing more confident as you melted into her. Her hand tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you when her other hand found your hip.

When the kiss broke, you were breathless, your heart racing as her gaze locked onto yours.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice rougher now, her smirk softer.

Instead of answering, you reached for her again, pulling her closer until her hands slid lower, her grip firm as her fingers pressed against the curve of your ass. The heat of her touch sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t help but grin against her lips.

“Bold move,” you teased, your voice breathless.

“Bold dress,” she countered, her smirk returning full force.

You laughed, the sound light and unrestrained as you rested your forehead against hers. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re trouble,” she replied, her tone low and full of promise.

As the night stretched on, the tension between you lingered, unspoken but understood, leaving you both wondering just how far this would go.

Mechanic Sevika NSFW Headcanon

Sorry I kinda took long to write this 1 was tryna see where to take it but here we go. Wanted to make the nsfw part separate just in case yk u not into that typa stuff

@furrytaesss @charbunxxi @sevikasleftbicep @sevikasrightboob

[simmplerussiangirl]

Her Princess

Part three

Ambessa Medarda x The Reader

Synopsis : The only daughter of the Ras family is exchanged with the Medard clan for a peace treaty. Thanks to her pride and the hard core inside her, she doesn't falls into despair and continues to live. She continues to live to take revenge on her family for literally selling her to a clan of enemies.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: I already realized that you like drabbles more, but damn, this work is more elaborate...

After about five minutes of wandering up and down the stairs, I finally reached the deck, which was surprisingly empty. Walking over to the railing, I climbed over it. I stretched out on my arms, which I used to hold onto the rail, breathing in the salty air, I smiled a little. The sight of water always thrilled me and I would probably love to work on a ship. Yes, the work would be hard, but that feeling of imaginary freedom stirred my blood. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the sea, trying to memorize it as best I could.

 For the first time in a long time I felt good, free. Even in spite of all the events that had happened. And even though my heart was filled with anxiety, I knew that I would remember this moment only with a smile.

 Suddenly I cried out, feeling someone else's hand on my stomach, and the way it pressed me against the fence and someone else's big, warm body. I didn't even realize how cold I was until I felt such a stark contrast of warmth.

 I looked down at my stomach and saw a dark scarred woman's hand. It was completely around my stomach and waist, not even giving me a ghostly hope that I could escape. I relaxed a little at the fact that it wasn't some drunken warrior clutching me, but Amressa.

- It's a nice dress,” the Medard clan leader said glumly, ”But I remember it was delivered to you in a different state.

-Really? - I thought about it playfully - Ah, yes, I remember there were some dresses that looked like they were made for an outlandish doll.

- Dolls? Interesting comparison-the woman held me tighter to her, seemingly afraid that I was about to fall into the sea. - You're going to drown yourself?

-I'm not going to give you that joy, believe me, I plan to make your life a living hell-” I laughed hoarsely, leaning my head back against her shoulder.

- What's wrong with your voice? Why is it so hoarse and low?

- And you shouldn't give a fuck about that,” I lost all the fun, ”Let me go, I'm not going to drown myself. If I wanted to, I would have done it a long time ago.

-No-she moved her hand right to my waist and took it from the other side and with some incredible ease lifted me over the fence and set me beside her.

 My face expressed what must have been an extreme degree of displeasure. I raised my head and looked her in the eye. Now standing in front of her without heels, I could feel the incredible difference in height. Considering that I was also very frail, it probably looked ridiculous.

 I rolled my eyes and walked over to the fence again, this time just sitting on it.

- What are you doing here?

- The warrior who was guarding you reported that you left the room with a very aggressive demeanor,” I rolled my eyes and snorted quietly. - I knew it wasn't true; he was being punished for his lies.

- Punishing your loyal warriors because of your trophy? - I laughed again, feeling her back come up to me again, but this time she didn't touch me, just put her hands on either side of me, leaning over my head.

- Do you consider yourself my trophy?

- Isn't that what it is? I personally think that word describes my situation perfectly. - I swung my legs, I felt the vise of anxiety release my heart. To my surprise I felt impossibly comfortable being around her. Under other circumstances I would have fallen in love with her and fallen in love with myself, but unfortunately not now.

- Not like this. - A menacing wheeze sent a small shiver through me, and I was slightly surprised at my body's reaction to her proximity, her voice...

- Who then? I'm at a loss as to what status I'm in.

- It has not changed, Princess Ras. I took you away in exchange for a peace treaty, whatever your parents may have annexed to some other country. - The woman took her hands off the side and just when I thought she was about to leave, I felt her lean her elbows on the rail so that she grazed my palm. She hummed and looked up into the starry sky - You think I haven't tried peace talks with them? I offered them safety and my support in case they were attacked, but they refused. So I went to war on them, I couldn't let my enemies get you and your magic. It's easier to fix a problem when it's small. You can't wait for it to grow. Do you understand?

- I see,” I thought for a moment, raising my head too and looking up at the night sky, ”I doubt my mother will be able to rule. If I were you, I'd send proxies to make sure she doesn't run the kingdom into the ground and- - I stammered, realizing that Ambressa has no need to preserve my state. She didn't care deeply if it collapsed or not. She only wanted my magic from my kingdom. And to keep it from becoming stronger than hers.

-And? - The head of the clan hummed and turned a smiling face toward me. But that smile wasn't mocking, rather it was sweet and soothing.

- And that was it. I've already realized that it's in your best interest...” I looked away, ”I'm sorry I made your job easier by killing my father. I should have let him live.

- Do you regret killing him?

-No, I regret that my state will collapse in my lifetime. -No.

 We were silent for a while, each of us thinking about something else.

- If you get over your pride and ask me to send my men there, I'll do it. As a sign that I'm not going to be your enemy. It's not in my best interest after all. - I could feel the woman's gaze on my face, attentive, scrutinizing.

- What's in your best interest? - I turned my head and looked earnestly into her eyes.

- To be my confidant, to make your magic my greatest weapon.

- And in return, you will not let my country decline? - A flame of hope flickered in my eyes that I couldn't seem to hide. Ambassa smiled at my face with the softest and most charming smile I had ever seen in my life.

- Yes, but you still have to ask for it.

 I narrowed my eyes and puckered my lips, showing my displeasure, which made me hear a raspy laugh.

- You're different now, not like you were in your palace. Too emotional....

-I held my face there, in front of my parents and my people. I couldn't look weak in front of my people, then they would lose confidence that everything was fine, and my family would lose respect. They would definitely start a revolution there, and my mother... She could never in her life rein in even the servants, let alone the rebels. Now I don't see much point in putting on a mask. And what's the point, you'll understand what I'm feeling anyway, you've obviously had a lot of experience in this matter.

- You won't even try.

- It's not rational. I'll just go crazy if I keep masks on all the time, and besides, why would I do that? I'm no longer a member of the royal family.

- What makes you say that? I already told you that you haven't lost your status. Once you learn how to rule, I'll let you go back to your homeland and you can continue to rule in your homeland.  I'm not going to take away your heritage.

 - Will you make a comfortable ruler out of me? - I laughed hoarsely again at the disrupted voice and stared silently at the sky, pondering the dialog that had just taken place between Ambessa and me. I took a deep breath of fresh air and turned my head.

  Mrs. Medarda was leaning back, relaxed, on the railing, looking up at the sky, her face was completely calm, not a single muscle in her face was trembling, she was breathing deeply, seemingly enjoying the sea breeze too.

 “She's especially beautiful right now...”. I twitched from my thoughts.

-Okay, then as Princess Ashara I ask you to send men to my state to prevent the decline of the kingdom. - I stood up from the railing and looked at her again.

- If you say so, darling"-the woman straightened up and grinned at me. She hooked my chin and forced me to look her straight in the eye - Sometimes, you have to swallow your pride. I'm not telling you this as a pejorative, but as a fact. From time to time, there are no options left but to ask for help. Like you just did. - And while I was recovering from either the shock of her touching me or her words. The girl picked me up in her arms like a bride. - You walk barefoot on a ship whose decks are lined with wood. You'll get splinters and diseases. What do you want, princess?

 I just stared at her in shock, unable to get anything coherent out of my mouth. The woman, on the other hand, looked at me with a slight smile, starting to walk.

- Fuck, Ambessa, put me on the floor! - I jerked my legs, trying to get out of her arms - Stop it, I understand, of course, but I'm not a kitten that weighs a few hundred grams and can be picked up whenever you want.

 Medard laughed hoarsely, not even thinking of stopping and letting go. She didn't seem to care at all about the strength with which you were thrashing about in her arms.

- You think I can't hold you in my arms? You're sorely mistaken, you weigh nothing to me. What did you say, “kitten”? Well, you are a kitten.

 I rolled my eyes, but I stopped kicking, enjoying the warmth of the woman and the feeling of safety. I heard her snicker softly.

- Have you been in situations where you needed to temper your pride? - I decided to revisit the subject.

- A long time ago, before I came to the throne. And I made sure I would never be in that position again in my life. - Ambressa carried me like a jewel, carefully, making sure I didn't hit anything, head or feet. - Because of the vines you braided around the door, Maria couldn't get to you, so I can send people to wake her up and bring her to you. - In a hurry Ambessa translated the conversation; it seems that this topic of conversation was unpleasant for her. Well, I didn't insist, I found out everything I wanted to know.

-No need let him sleep. - I didn't want to see anyone; I just wanted to close my eyes and wrap myself in a warm blanket and fall asleep. I could feel my body freezing, and the only thing I wanted was to be warm at last.

-The woman opened my cabin and sat me down.

 I looked around the room and realized the place had been cleaned up. The ashes that lay everywhere from the burned cushions and parts of the dresses had been removed, leaving no trace. The dresses themselves were gone, either put back in the closet or taken away. There were sheets of paper and new pens on the table again. What was new was the first aid kit on the bed.

Ambressa crouched on one knee in front of me and took my ankle in her hands. She pulled something from the medicine cabinet and began to wash the blood off my legs.

 I watched her movements mesmerized. Her touches were light and gentle, even though she was the epitome of strength and courage. When all the blood was washed away, she soaked a cloth in alcohol and put it on my skin, which made me yank my leg and hiss. But she didn't let me pull it out, just squeezed my leg tighter.

-Hush, princess. You've cut your feet into meat, you need to work on them.

 She looked at me with her lovely eyes, tilting her head to the side, letting me prepare for the pain. I clenched my fists, held my breath, and nodded slightly, letting her know I was ready.

 She went back to treating the wounds. I could feel her hands twitching at my slightest moan of pain. The only excuse I could come up with for why she was doing this was that she only wanted to establish communication between us.

- I looked down at her exhaustedly and exhaled a sigh of relief. - I'll just bandage your legs and you'll be free to go.

-Why are you doing this? You know I could have done it myself, or you could have had a doctor come to me. - The question just came out of me.

- I like taking care of you,” she finished dressing me without looking up. - And I want you to trust me. Neither I nor my men will harm you, I want you to understand that.

 She stood up again, towering over you, pressing her power again.

-Good dreams, Princess Ros, -she left the cabin without waiting for my reply.

-I whispered absent-mindedly in the empty room and climbed under the blanket. Using magic, I turned out the light in the room and closed my eyes.

 “I'll think about it tomorrow,” was the last thought that flashed through my head.

[livefromthedas]

I have a slew of headcanons for these idiots, but one has me pondering a little deeper today.

I frequently joke that if these two don’t wind up with half a dozen kids, I’d be shocked. So, what the hell. Let’s explore that idea.

I suspect that up to the point of bringing kids into the situation, Rook and Caterina at least had an amicable relationship - Rook helped defeat gods, save Treviso, and continues to help her grandson heal after some deeply fucked up trauma. Caterina, however, is incredibly used to having full control over her family - Rook puts a massive wrench in that gear.

Rook has no problem with their kids joining their father’s house as assassins - She knew what she was getting into getting with Lucanis to begin with. The problem comes with her demand that those children be able to choose whether or not they want to go down that path. Caterina would insist that they should all be a part of the family business - Rook would absolutely go down in flames fighting for those kids’ autonomy. Thankfully, Lucanis sides with Rook. He knows this life is not for everyone more than anybody.

While they do wind up having 6 kids, only 5 make it to adulthood. 3 of them become Crows. In order of age:

Valencio (Becomes a Crow, and a damn good one. Will succeed his father eventually.)

Elian (Deceased, Age 4)

Verana (Becomes a Crow. Mage like her mother.)

Santino (Becomes an alchemist. Specializes in poisons. Does not become a crow, but his work is heavily taken advantage of by House Dellamorte)

Xavier (Becomes a Crow, but is somewhat calamitously bad at it. Very fortunate his family is good at keeping him alive.)

Ramona (Frequently ill from very young. Winds up going into the arts)

Their second born, Elian, dies horribly at age 4, in an attempted war of succession from another house, after consuming a poison meant for Rook. The plan had been to off the wife, and pick off the kids (at the time, they have 3) until House Dellamorte forks over its seat as First Talon.

This goes very poorly for the rival house. Lucanis, with Rook at his side, takes out the warring house’s Talon, his wife, their eldest son, and all four of his Mistresses. All are strewn up in a public square in Treviso, left for the community to find upon daylight, in a very clear message that House Dellamorte is not to be fucked with. The house responsible for the coup attempt is dissolved and its assassins scatter to other houses. House Dellamorte actually goes out of its way to take in the three young children of the slain Talon, to assure they are properly looked after. These children become Fledglings for the Crows.

[calirph]

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. all these sentences come from a search on goodread's keywords for fantasy romance and romantasy. please change names, locations and pronouns as you see fit. some of these might be suggestive.

“Rejection is an opportunity for your selection.”

“But I will not run. I wouldn't be standing here if I'd quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome. I will not die today.”

“There is no me without you.”

“They say the soul cannot rest until it finds its match. Then it ignites.”

“You don't love someone because they're a dream of perfection. You love them because of the way they meet their challenges, how they struggle to overcome. You love them because together, you bring out the best in each other.”

“Do you make it a habit to compliment everyone who's trying to kill you?"

“Do you really want to put yourself through this? Is loving me really enough to endure everything you have to just to be with me?"

“Make no mistake, little human. You are under my protection now, and I protect what is mine.”

“Love is when you’d rather see someone one last time and die, than never see their face again.”

“You are sweet to be so concerned over my love life, but I’ve decided only to date guys who have bigger swords than me.”

“Laire, get back here! You do not drink before we meet with our mortal enemy.”

“She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.”

“I bring you the whole of my heart at the rising of the moon and the setting of the stars.”

“You're exquisite. You're transcendent. And you are mine.”

“Fight me, love. You'll need the strength at the pass. Let that power fly."

“Gods, there seemed to be nothing more humiliating than being attracted to someone who didn't feel the same.”

“Call him. Claim him. Speak his Name. Make him thine before all others.”

“They were all short lives. She'd just wanted to spend more of hers with him. She'd just wanted more time.”

“You could never hate me as much as you want me.”

“That’s the thing about life. To know there’s an end, to be unable to run from it, but to live anyway.”

“I would fetch you the moon if only to spare your tears again”

“I am Death. And you are a fool. I hope revenge is worth it.”

“They despise us because we are Immortal, but it is the blood that runs through our veins ...That they fear.”

“The time for hiding is over. The time for fear is over. The time for action is now.”

“You are powerful by birth but have it in you to be good by choice.”

“It's not protection, little dragon. It's a claim. You're mine. No one touches what belongs to me.”

“Maybe you’ve know what it’s like to be at the bottom, but I doubt you’ve known hell.”

“How can I even look at any other guy on campus when you’re always on my mind? Literally.”

“Love is a not a weakness.”

“My future had been set for me before I was old enough to question it.”

“No one doubts your honourable nature, most noble of kings and best of brothers.”

“When you erupt, girl, make sure it is felt across worlds.”

“Be everything you truly are. That’s all I’ll ever ask of you, my silver one.”

“But if we don’t have peace, we shall have you.”

“Oh, Gesela, do not pretend you despise my attention.”

“He was beautiful and cold, like winter…”

“Answer my question. Send to my will. Why have you come, sweet one?”

“When you spend so long trapped in darkness, you find that the darkness begin's to stare back at you.”

“Iron is made stronger in the hottest part of the fire, Seth. You didn't break me, you forged me.”

“The whole damn world could burn, and I would still love you. When everything dissipates, you're the only thing I see. You've always been.”

“I’ll happily play the villain if you’re my reward, Mareina.” 

“This realm’s moon hung on the skies, mine laid beside me, smiling and radiant.”

“If you're going to lie, make it a good one.”

“No one is killing my king tonight.”

“My beautiful Olivia, you are the moon of my night sky, beaming light and beauty into my life.”

“That’s it, my bride. Take your pleasure.”

“Perhaps, but the mind is also a powerful force. What you believe, you often see. And what you hope, often comes to be.”

“Patience is about as foreign to me as mercy."

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.”

“I would have suffered a thousand more years to be with you.”

“It’s not easy to ignore an unfinished day that has been set on reminding you of its bitterness.”

“We aren't anything like strangers anymore, and certainly nothing like enemies. Compassionate like friends. Tender like lovers.”

“All or nothing. In dreams as in life.”

“You need me because I am the Queen of Ithicana.”

“You are mine, mo krrá. The same way that I am yours. From now until the end of time.”

“She would not be mastered by anything again; she was the master of herself.”

“When will you see I'm not your enemy, but your weapon. Wield me..”

“I may be evil but I do have a heart, Princess. It belongs to you. “

“There's no room for doubt on the wings of birds, let alone on the mane of moon dust.”

“I'll say it again. I don't care what you are. I care about who you are.”

“Your wish is my command, my queen.”

“I thought all you princes wanted was demure virgins you could pluck for the first time."

“Power was poison, one that slipped beneath the skin and which could turn even the purest soul into a wicked monster.”

“Love was a lethal weapon that rivaled the sharpest sword. It cut directly to the heart.”

“Morgan Pendragon is far from insignificant. She's a force of destiny and you would do well not to trifle with her or ever let her name cross your lips again.”

“I don't think I've ever met anyone as vexing as you,"

“That was what it meant to have power, wasn't it? You could simply destroy that which didn't serve you.”

[dianawinchester03]

Season 3, Episode 3 - Bad Day At Black Road (Part Two)

Series Masterlist

Authors Note: This is part two! Make sure to read part one to understand. Enjoy!

_______________________________________________

Later that day, they decided to head back to Grossman and Wayne’s place to find some sort of answers after hearing that Wayne suddenly died of a freak accident. Dean pushed the door open, the trio stalking in slowly as Grossman groaned. He was teary eyed, holding up a picture and a beer. “Oh, man. What do you want?”

“What about your friend, that’s bad luck” Dean answered, drawing his gun. “Fuck off” Grossman narrowed his eyes at them, “We know someone hired you to steal the rabbits foot. A woman” Y/N stated. “Oh yeah? Well how do you know that?” Grossman tilted his head, almost sassing her. “Because she just stole it back from us,” Dean told him.

Grossman erupted in a fit of laughter, cackling at the three. They all glared at him, “Listen man, this is ser- OH!” Sam stepped forward, ultimately tripping on the wire to the radio. He tried to catch it but ended up falling face first again, attempting to grip the lamp for support but thanks to his baby gorilla weight, they all went tumbling down.

Grossman was cracking up, his eyes almost swelling with tears as Dean and Y/N shared a look that said, ‘Oh my god’ Y/N breathed heavily through her nose, “Sam, you okay?” Dean asked without looking behind him. “Yeah, I’m good.” Sam sat up groaning and panting, pushing the radio and the lamp off of himself before gripping the couch.

“I want you to tell us her name,” Dean demanded as he stepped towards Grossman. “Fuck you” Grossman smirked, Dean and Y/N snorted in amusement. “It wasn’t a freak accident that killed your partner” Y/N revealed, “What?” Grossman asked, confused. “It was the rabbit's foot,” Dean added firmly. Grossman chuckled, unconvinced by them. “You’re crazy, man”

“You know I’m not. You saw what happened, what it did. All the flukes, all the luck. When you lose the foot, that luck goes sour. That’s what killed your friend” Grossman’s smile faded slightly as he narrowed his eyes at them, “Right” He scoffed, unconvinced. Y/N’s eye twitched, she suddenly lost her patience in a snap, stuffing her gun in Dean’s hand. She marched over to Grossman, snatching him up by his collar.

Sam and Dean both watched with wide eyes as Y/N pinned Grossman to wall, holding him there. “Hey! What’s the matter with you, you crazy bitch!” Grossman complained, trying to wriggle out of Y/N’s grip. “No, you listen to me” She snapped, her voice was calm but firm. But Sam and Dean knew her well enough to know that she was pissed.

Using her telekinesis, she kept him pinned to the wall effortlessly. Her eyes shone white as her veins lit up aqua blue, “My brother here is next on that fucking rabbit foot’s list. And who knows how many more innocent people after that. Now if you don’t help us stop this damn thing, that puts those deaths on your bald shiny head” She growled at him, reeling him back to slam him into the wall once more.

Grossman gulped at the sight of Y/N’s eyes, he began to sweat as she kept him pinned to the wall. “Whoa, whoa, okay!” He exclaimed. Sam and Dean were gawping as they glanced between each other and Y/N. She loosened her grip on his collar, “Now I can read people. And I get it. You’re a thief and a scumbag. That’s fine. But you’re not a killer. Are you?”

Grossman averted his eyes off hers as he mumbled, “No” He shook his head. “No.” He repeated. Y/N studied him for a moment, narrowing her eyes when she realised he was telling the truth. “Good” She nodded before giving his collar a rough tug,.

Dean was equally shocked at her sudden burst of anger but also mesmerized.

-

They were now exiting the building, Dean was cackling his ass off while Sam looked at Y/N with concern. “Oh my God! That was amazing!” Dean exclaimed, still laughing. Y/N snickered at the sound of his laugh, “It’s not that funny” She muttered. “Not that funny?” Dean replied, raising his eyebrows, “You had the poor guy those close to shitting his pants.” Dean pointed to the door as he cackled.

“Well he pissed me off. You were taking too long” Y/N deadpanned as the three of them walked further down the parking lot. “Yeah, did you see the look on his face? He was about to piss himself” Sam added with a chuckle, he looked over at Y/N. She huffed loudly and folded her arms across her chest.

“I don’t know what got into me, okay? Something in me just…snapped.” Y/N explained. Dean placed a hand on shoulder while he wiped a tear away from his eyes that he got from laughing so hard. “If it makes you feel better, it was hot as hell watching you do that” He whispered into her ear.

Y/N’s face heated up at his words, she blushed deeply at the thought of what he said. “Shut up” She mumbled, shoving him away. “What? It’s the truth” He said through a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows. “You have no shame” She muttered, shaking her head in amusement. “None whatsoever” He agreed smugly.

Sam shook his head with an amused chuckle, rolling his eyes at his brother’s crude comment but chose to ignore it. He then eyed Y/N with the same expression of concern as before. “You okay?” He asked her. Y/N looked away from her boyfriend and met Sam’s eyes, her face dropped slightly. “I’m fine,” She assured him. But even she wasn’t sure how much of that was true.

“Are you sure?” He repeated, he knew her well enough like his brother to know when she was lying. She nodded in response as Dean’s phone rang, “Hello?” Dean answered as he pressed his phone to his ear. “Dean, great news” Bobby’s voice came through the speaker.

Meanwhile, Sam unknowingly stepped on a piece of gum.

Y/N walked towards Dean when she saw his face drop, tiptoeing to press her ear to his phone in order to hear the conversation. “Wasn’t easy but I found a heavyweight cleansing ritual that should do the trick” Bobby told them as Sam grimaced, lifting his foot up when he saw he stepped in gum. Dean and Y/N shared a panicked look.

“Bobby, that’s, uh, great. Except Sam, uh…” Dean’s words trailed when he looked behind him to see his little brother desperately trying to get the gum off of his shoe. “Sam lost the foot” Y/N chimed in, “He what?!” Bobby exclaimed. “Bobby, listen. Listen. This, uh-“ Dean glanced over to y/n, choosing his words wisely,

“This good looking girl stole it from him. I’m serious, she was in her mid 20s. And she was sharp, you know? Good enough with the con to play us” Dean explained as Sam desperately tried to get the gum off of his shoe, scraping it against a sewer grate. “Plus, she only gave the guys she hired a name, probably an alias or something. Lugosi” Y/N added.

“Luigi?” Dean muttered, “Lugosi” Sam and Y/N corrected again in unison. “Lugosi? Lugo-” Bobby thought before it dawned on him, “Oh shit, it’s probably Bela” He huffed, just that moment, Sam’s shoe slipped from his foot and ended up falling into the sewer grate with a loud splash. “Bela Lugosi? That’s cute” Y/N scoffed sarcastically.

“Bela Talbot’s her real name. Crossed paths with her once or twice” Bobby told them. “Well, she knew about the rabbit's foot. Is she a hunter?” Dean asked, “Pretty fuckin’ far from a hunter. But she knows her way around the territory” Bobby scoffed in response. “She’s been out of the country. Last I heard she was in the Middle East someplace” He informed them.

“Yeah, well I guess she’s back” Dean sighed as Sam attempted to stick his hand through the grate to retrieve his shoe but came up short, grumbling and sighing in defeat as he stood up. “Which means seriously bad luck for you” Bobby added, “Great” Dean and Y/N muttered sarcastically. “But, if it is Bela, at least I might know folks who know where to find her”

They sighed in relief, “Alright. Thanks Bobby. Again” Dean chuckled as Bobby rolled his eyes. “Just look out for your brother, ya idjits” The line then went dead and Dean flipped the phone before he and Y/N spun around to face a now frowny Sam. “What?” Dean asked. “I lost my shoe” Sam pouted extensively. Dean shot him an unimpressed look as Y/N covered her mouth, trying not to laugh her ass off.

Y/N barely stifled her laughter as Dean raised an eyebrow at his little brother. “You’re complaining about a shoe?” Dean muttered, disbelief and annoyance filled his words. “My shoe!” Sam exclaimed like an upset child while Y/N muffled her amusement behind her hand.

Sam sighed loudly, crossing his arms across his chest in a child-like manner. Y/N was now snorting, unable to hold back her laugh anymore. “Come on, you poor baby” She laughed, walking over to Sam to grip him by his wrist. “I hate you,” Sam mumbled, shooting her an irritated look. “Yeah, sure you do” She snickered, still clutching his wrist.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a new pair of those cheap, crappy shoes as soon as we find this chick” Y/N promised as she started to tug on his wrist. Dean rolled his eyes at the two before stalking over to his car.

____________________________________________

The Impala and Harley pulled up to a crappy motel, “Alright, Bobby, thanks. We owe ya. Another one” Dean spoke into the phone before hanging up as he parked his car, Y/N turned off her own engine besides him as she peeled off her helmet. “What’d Bobby say?” She asked, fixing her hair. “He’s got it on pretty good authority this Bela chick lives in Queens. Now it’ll take us about two hours to get there on Quinn” Dean told her, checking his watch.

“So what are we doing here then?” Sam asked, raising a brow as he scanned the cheap motel. Dean and Y/N shared a look, “You, my brother in Christ, are staying here with an old friend because we don’t want your bad luck getting us killed” Y/N simply said as she smiled widely. “An old friend?” Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Not just an old friend who wants to see you” Dean grinned as he got out of the car, “Come on” He nodded his head towards the motel while Y/N snickered beside him. Sam groaned in defeat, “Ugh” He mumbled under his breath but trudged towards the motel anyway, Y/N walked by his side, still amused by his annoyance.

She checked her phone, making sure she had the right room number the friend texted her. As they approached the door, Y/N brought her knuckles up and knocked against the door loudly. “Open up, skank. It’s us!!” The door opened after a few moments, revealing a blonde girl, “What the fuck, slut? You scared the shit out of me” Jo grumbled, putting away the knife she had in her hand.

Sam’s heart dropped upon seeing his girlfriend, rushing in to hug her. “Oh thank, Go- AH!” He yelped, only to trip on his own two feet, falling directly onto Jo. Y/N burst out laughing, practically wheezing, the moment she saw Sam’s body collapse onto her own girlfriend. Jo grunted in pain from the impact, “Well, that’s not the hello kiss I was looking forward to but it’s better than nothing” She huffed, shoving her boyfriend off of her.

Sam immediately stood up, his face flushed in embarrassment. Y/N cackled from outside, clutching her stomach in amusement. Dean stood beside her with a smirk, “Smooth as ever, Sammy” He cackled, shaking his head fondly at his little brother. “That rabbit foot ain’t no joke, huh?” Jo said tenderly as Sam helped her up, apologizing profusely.

Sam shook his head, as Jo held his face between her hands, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. Dean and Y/N made exaggerated puking sounds behind them, rolling her eyes at the couple in front of her. Dean shook his head again with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to him as Jo flipped them both off.

“Okay, what are we supposed to do now?” Sam asked, “Nothing” Dean, Y/N and Jo said in unison. Jo then went over to pull a chair, placing it for Sam it sit. “I don’t want you doing anything, okay?” Dean ordered as he pushed his little brother to sit down. “Sit right here and don’t move, okay? Don’t turn on the light, don’t turn off the light.”

“If you need anything, let Jo help you, whether it’s to go to the bathroom or scratch your damn nose, kapishe?” Y/N stated firmly. Sam stared up at them before nodding firmly as he slumped in the chair, “Yeah, got it” He mumbled while Jo chuckled, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. Dean and Y/N left the room promptly as Sam mumbled to himself.

His nose twitched as he suddenly felt his nose feeling it was itchy due to her words. He begrudgingly scratched it, only to get his hand smacked away by his girlfriend. Sam groaned in annoyance, “I can itch my nose and go to the bathroom myself. I’m a grown man” He whined, slumping his head back as he glared at the ceiling in defeat.

Jo rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest, “You also just tripped and fell onto me, so excuse me if I don’t think you can do anything without getting hurt” She deadpanned.

-

Dean and Y/N shut the door behind them, both of them letting out a breath they had been holding in. “Think he’ll be okay?” Y/N questioned, shooting him a concerned look. Dean nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. “Yeah, he’s got his girl with him. He’ll be alright…he’s got to be” He muttered against her neck.

Y/N sighed, nodding slightly as she placed a small kiss on Dean's lip. “Let’s go” She said. He kissed her back softly, nodding his head as he grabbed her hand and intertwined their fingers together. “Yeah, let’s go” He mumbled quietly as she led him to her bike.

She got his spare helmet from Baby’s trunk, slightly tiptoeing to strap it up onto his head. Dean chuckled lightly at the difference in their heights as he bent down for her, making it easier for her to fasten the buckle. As soon as he was strapped up, she swung her leg over, placing her own helmet on and then patted the seat behind her.

He hopped on the motorcycle, instantly snaking his arms around her waist. She started up the engine before taking off, the roar of her motorcycle filling the air.

____________________________________________

Queens, New York

Dean and Y/N made it to Queens in record setting time the next morning before sunrise, meanwhile Bela was up in her penthouse, quarreling with her benefactor over the phone. “Because you shook on 1.5” Bela argued as she descended her staircase, the sound of her heels clanking against the hardwood. “Well maybe I should just take it somewhere else” She challenged, the British twang rolling off of her tongue.

She gently petted her cat, sitting up on her counter. “Don’t threaten me, Luke. Despite your reputation, you don’t scare me” she smirked as she moved to lean against her kitchen sink, her eyes trained on her security monitor. “Well I’m glad you see it that way. I’ll see you at the airstrip in an hour.” With that, she hung up her phone.

Her cat suddenly began hissing as Dean and Y/N quickly averted from the cameras, Bela didn’t see as she was picking up the rabbit’s foot with a pair of kitchen thongs. She placed the foot down on her counter, now on alert due to her cat’s hisses. She then opened her wine fridge, slowly reaching in to retrieve her stashed gun.

Bela kept her clear and wary gaze at her front door. Slowly inching towards it, her eyes widened when her alarm started beeping saying “ERROR” and a sticky note with the words, ‘Turn Around’ was scribbled onto it by Y/N. The cocking of two guns made Bela spin around to see Dean and Y/N aiming their guns at her. She quickly retaliated, cocking her gun at them.

“You left without your tip,” Dean said smugly. This made Bela’s brow twitch with interest.

____________________________________________

Black Rock, New York

Meanwhile, Sam was growing excessively bored in his seat. Jo went to take a shower as he sat, rocking his chair back and forth. Suddenly, the air conditioner across the room started whirring and clucking, causing Sam’s head to whip in its direction. Then smoke began coming through the vents, “Oh, come on” Sam whined, pointing to it in defeat. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-….” he sighed.

The water was still on in the bathroom and Sam didn’t want to bother Jo, so he cautiously stood up from his seat. Inching towards the busted air conditioner. Suddenly, the inside of the air conditioner burst into flames.

Sam flinched slightly at the burst of flames, backing away as he frantically waved his hands around in a panic. “Oh, crap, crap” He muttered under his breath as he looked around. He quickly snatched a blanket from off the bed, rushing over to the air conditioner. He attempted to put it out with the blanket, slapping it a couple of times until it finally diminished.

As soon as the fire was finally gone, Sam threw the blanket on the floor in exhaustion. He sniffed the air, still smelling fire. Sam exclaimed in terror when he lifted his arm, now realizing his left sleeve was on fire. “AHH!!” He frantically patted at the flames in a panic as he tried to put it out.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!” He yelled in horror as he continued to smack his arm in hope for the fire to be extinguished. “ANGEL!!!” Sam called out for Jo. In the bathroom, Jo quickly turned the shower off, wrapping a towel around her body as she opened the door to see the room full of smoke with Sam in the middle of it patting at his arm.

“Sam??” She exclaimed in concern as she ran over towards him. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Jo quickly stripped her towel off, attempting to use it to put the fire on Sam’s sleeve out. Sam tried to use the curtain to pat the fire, panicking as it continued to smolder and burn the fabric of his sleeve.

“No, DONT!” Jo exclaimed, but it was too late, Sam somehow managed to trip, taking her down with him. The naked woman and her oaf of a boyfriend were now both unconscious due to the fall. The curtain ripped down in the process, covering Jo’s body.

Kubrick and his buddy stared at them through the window, wide eyed, amused expressions on both their faces. Kubrick was a friend of the currently incarcerated Gordon Walker. He put out a hit on Sam and Y/N, claiming that they were anti-christs. Kubrick was a fellow hunter friend, who was quite religious.

So he believed that faith led him to Sam after searching for the Winchesters and Y/N for weeks at Gordon’s request. Now staring up at the sky with a content smile.

____________________________________________

Queens, New York

“You’re gonna give it back” Y/N demanded as she and Dean had an intense face off, their guns still aimed at Bela. “Ha, ha. Sweetie. No, I’m not” Bela chuckled smugly. “Yeah, we’ll see. Bela, right?” Dean smirked, narrowing his eyes at her. “That’s right, Dean and Y/N” Bela smirked back in response, “You know the things cursed, don’t ya?” Y/N pointed out as they circled each other.

“You’d be surprised what some people would pay for something like that” Bela snarked, “Really?” Dean cocked an eyebrow. “There’s a lucrative market out there. A lot of money to be made” Dean and Y/N’s brows furrowed with a tinge of disgust at Bela’s words, “You hunters with all those amulets and talismans you use to stop those big bad monsters. Any one of them could put your children’s children through college” Bella chuckled darkly.

“So you know the truth about what’s really going on out there and this is what you decide to do with it?” Dean scoffed as Y/N gritted her teeth, her finger was itching to pull the trigger. “You become a thief?” Dean chastised Bela with a sarcastic smolder, “I procure unique items for a select clientele” Bela defended.

“Yeah. A thief” Y/N stated bluntly, “No. A great thief” Bela grinned widely. Dean clenched his jaw, slightly rolling his eyes, “There’s no such thing as a good thief” He stated as Y/N stepped closer to Bela, glaring at her with fury in her veins. Bela smirked tauntingly in response, “There’s no such thing as a good hunter” She retorted back.

____________________________________________

Black Rock, New York

Kubrick and his buddy, Creedy, were now duck taping an unconscious Sam to a chair. He groaned in annoyance as he slowly came to, “Oh, he’s awake” Creedy mused as Kubrick smirked, “Back with us, eh?” he said as he got off of the bed. “Aye, we didn’t even have to touch you. You just went all spastic and knocked you and your girlfriend out yourself. It was like watching Jerry Lewis ride a stacked chair” Creedy laughed.

Sam squinted, trying to adjust his eyes. “Who are you? What do you- wait- Jo. Where’s Jo?!” Sam’s eyes frantically searched the room, remembering that Jo was completely naked when they got knocked out by the fall. A bile of disgust rumbled in Sam’s stomach.

Kubrick chuckled, walking closer to Sam. “Your girl’s taking a little nap. But you don’t have to worry ‘bout her. We took good care of her. Helped her put some clothes on. She’s in good hands” Kubrick smirked as he pointed to the bed with his gun. A now clothed Jo was gagged and tied to the bed, completely passed out from the chloroform they stifled her with.

Sam’s eyes widened with anger at seeing the state of his girlfriend. He struggled against his chair, trying desperately to break free. “Jo?! Baby, wake up!” Sam shouted, pleadingly. He felt disgusted with himself and ashamed that he touched that rabbit's foot now and pulled her down with him. Now these men, whom he has no idea are, saw the love of his life, passed out and bare.

Kubrick chuckled, moving closer to Sam, putting his face near his, “That ain’t gonna work” He warned smugly. Sam clenched his jaw, swallowing the anger, “What do you want?” He asked gruffly. “I used to think your friend Gordon sent me” Kubrick snapped his fingers, “Gordon? Oh, come on, man” Sam groaned in annoyance. “Because he asked me to track you down and put bullets in your head and Y/N’s.” Kubrick stated as he began to pace the room.

“Great, that sounds like him,” Sam huffed sarcastically. “But…” Kubrick put a finger up. “…as it turns out. I’m on a mission from God” He smirked before backhanding Sam across his face. Sam winced in pain at the force of his backhand. Kubrick leaned down at eye level with Sam, “Gordon said you and Y/N were the most evil sons of bitches there was” Kubrick claimed as he grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair.

Kubrick chuckled darkly, gripping Sam’s hair tighter, “Careful, Samuel. You might burn in hell with them if you keep taking the Lord's name in vain like that” Kubrick teased. Sam winced at his tight grip, grunting in pain. “Fuck you” He spat, rearing his head back to head butt Kubrick in his nose.

Kubrick stumbled back at the head-butt, clutching his now bloody nose. Creedy walked over to Kubrick, helping him up as he stumbled. His face contorted with anger and it was now Creedy’s turn to punch Sam. Sam’s head flopped to the other side, spitting out blood onto the floor as he glared at the two men.

His chin was now covered in blood. It stung badly and he could start to taste the copper of blood. His nose began to bleed, but it didn’t matter. His only worry was Jo on the bed, still passed out, but her eyes were now fluttering, attempting to wake from the chloroform.

____________________________________________

Queens, New York

“Look, Bela, my brother, he touched the foot. And when you took it from him, his luck went from-/” Y/N tried to explain but Bela cut her off, “I know how it works” Bela stated calmly, “So then you know he’s gonna die unless we can destroy it” Dean responded, their guns still trained on her. “Oh” Bela gasped dramatically, making Dean and Y/N’s raise their eyebrows.

“You can have the foot” They looked shocked at this, “For 1.5 million” This made them roll their eyes. “Nice. Yeah. I’ll just call my banker” Dean snarked. “How’d you even find the fucking thing? Stuck in the back of some storage place, middle of nowhere?” Dean asked. Bela then averted her gaze to an Ouija board that was sitting proudly on top of her fireplace.

Y/N seemed shocked, “I just asked a few of the ghosts of the people it had killed. They were very attuned into its location” Bela smirked as she turned back to them. Dean shook his head as he narrowed his eyes again at her. “So you’re only out for yourself, huh? It’s all about number one?” He scoffed. “Being a hunter is so much more noble? A bunch of obsessed, revenge-driven sociopaths trying to save a world that can’t be saved” Bela shot back.

This struck a nerve within Y/N, “Well, aren’t you a glass half full” She retorted, “We’re all going to hell, Y/N. Might as well enjoy the ride” Bela shrugged, this made Y/N’s chest ache when Dean said. “I actually agree with you there” Y/N’s gaze averted to Dean, slightly rolling her eyes to cover up the aching feeling in her chest. “Anywho, this has been…nice, but, uh, look at the time. Oh, and this?” Dean smirked, lifting the rabbit's foot up between his fingers, dangling it with a smirk.

Bela and Y/N’s jaws dropped. “What the fuck, Dean?!” Y/N screamed at her boyfriend, almost dropping her gun in the process. She had been too focused on her growing dislike towards Bela to notice Dean had snatched up the cursed object from the counter. “She’s not the only one with sticky fingers,” Dean shrugged, smiling wickedly. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re a truly awful person” he snapped at Bela.

Bela had enough, shooting at Dean twice but narrowly missing due to the rabbit's luck. Y/N swiftly ducked underneath, charging towards the woman, spearing Bela in the process. Bela yelped from being slammed onto the ground, Y/N pinning her down and now had a tight grip on her hair, pressing her gun to her forehead as a warning to not try anything funny. Bela grunted in pain, glaring at the woman currently pinning her down.

Bela began to flail, swinging her arms out at Y/N wildly in an attempt to hit her, she knocked the psychic’s gun out of her hand, sending it darting across the room. Y/N growled, still pinning her down with her legs as she punched Bela straight across her face. She then retrieved her knife out of her jacket pocket, the dagger’s ancient powers activating her own as she placed it directly underneath Bela’s chin.

Bela froze as soon as the dagger touched her neck, swallowing in fear as she looked up at Y/N, who had a menacing glare, like she was ready to snap any minute now. She couldn’t move, she felt like her veins were on fire from the magic. Bela instantly recognized the dagger, “Where…did you..get that?” She grunted weakly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you” Y/N scoffed, pressing the dagger more into her neck, not enough to draw blood, but she wanted to make the threat known. She narrowed her eyes into slits, baring her teeth at the thief. The sounds of sirens in the distance blaring caught their attention, “Princess, let’s go!” Dean shouted.

Y/N gritted her teeth, staring into Bela’s now terrified eyes, before pushing the dagger away from her and standing up. Dean grabbed her hand and they sprinted out the front door, running down the stairs onto the streets of New York.

-

Bela gasped, gripping her own throat as she attempted to catch her breath, still sprawled out on the ground. She’d know that dagger anywhere, she’d been looking for it for ages. It was nothing but a myth within small circles and minimal people knew of its existence. Most thought it was just a legend, a fable. It was barely documented in any history books and she was stunned.

A relic like that could easily start auctioning at 10 million dollars. The questions that bared in Bela’s mind was,

How the fuck did Y/N L/N become in possession of Maverick’s Dagger? And how would Bela be able to steal it from her?

-

Meanwhile, Y/N was breathing heavily at the adrenaline of what just happened, her hand still intertwined with Dean’s grasp as they sprinted down the road in the city and over to her bike. They quickly got on the motorcycle and she started up the engine, driving off into the distance at top speed. As they took off, Dean tightly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close.

____________________________________________

Black Rock, New York

Jo’s muffled screams through her gag echoed through the room as Creedy and Kubrick repeatedly punched a half conscious Sam, now tossing a cold glass of water over his face. Sam groaned, blinking heavily as he regained consciousness and slowly looked up at the men. He squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the light, still a bit wobbly and dizzy.

“You were part of that demon plan to open the gate” Kubrick narrowed his eyes at Sam, “We did everything we could to stop it” Sam tried to tell them. “Lie, lie, lie. You were in on it” Kubrick insisted, pointing as Sam. “You know what their next move is too, don’t you?”

Sam shook his head, “No, I don’t, okay? You’re wrong about all of this” He whimpered, “Where are they gonna hit us next?” Kubrick asked, Sam just sighed, shaking his head in defeat. “Where??” Kubrick demanded as he slapped the side of his face with his left hand.

Jo continued to struggle and scream painfully, trying to get out of her bindings as she thrashed in her spot. “I don’t know anything!” Sam cried, gritting his teeth. Kubrick took a step towards Jo in the bed, making his intentions clear. “No, please” Sam pleaded, “Don’t hurt her, please” He sobbed, his eyes wide, looking up at the man.

Kubrick ignored him, walking over to her and gripping a handful of her hair, yanking her head back to look at her. She hissed in pain as her eyes met his, a slight fear present behind them but she remained determined, refusing to show them any weakness.

“Gordon told me about you and Y/N, Sam. About your powers. You guys are some kind of weirdo, psychic freaks” Kubrick seethed as he flicked his hunting knife open, pressing it against Jo’s throat. Sam flinched as the blade touched Jo’s skin, his heartbeat thundered in his throat, pounding against his Adam’s apple.

He struggled against the duct tape, “No, not anymore! We have no powers, no visions! Nothing, it’s just-“ Sam pleaded, lying about it to protect Y/N but Kubrick realized so he slid the knife slightly, nicking Jo’s jaw enough to draw blood. “Lie!”

Jo screamed against the gag, shutting her eyes in pain as she felt the blood running down her chin. Kubrick looked over at Sam, narrowing his eyes with a smug expression as Creedy stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Sam looked over at his suffering girlfriend in pity.

“I don’t know anything! I’m not hiding anything!” He sobbed, trying to be convincing. “Now, no more lies. There’s an army of demons out there, pushing at a world already on the brink.” Kubrick demanded, trailing the knife down Jo’s arm. “We’re on deck for the end game here, right?” He smirked sadistically.

“So maybe, just maybe you can understand…why we can’t take chances” He then tossed his knife aside and unholstered his gun, aiming it directly at Sam’s forehead. Sam swallowed hard, his eyes widened as he saw the gun aimed at his head. “Woah, okay, okay. Now hold on a minute-” Sam pleaded, his breath quickening with a mixture of fear and panic as Jo screamed, begging Kubrick not to kill her boyfriend.

Creedy pulled his friend back, trying to stop him. Slapping up Sam a bit was alright by him, but watching Kubrick torture Jo and now try to kill Sam was too far for him. “Kubrick-” Creedy tried to reason, “No! You saw what happened, Creedy. Ask yourself, why are we here? Because you saw a picture on the web? Because we chose this motel instead of another?” Kubrick asked his friend rhetorically.

They stumbled upon a picture of the trio at Biggerson’s on the Internet, which was posted due to Sam winning the millionth customer award. Now the luck had turned sour, they sounded up finding him after hunting them for weeks with no outcome, “Look, I can explain all of that if-” Sam was cut off by a finger from Kubrick pointed at him. “Shut up” He gritted his teeth at Sam before turning back to Creedy.

Creedy sighed, looking conflicted. But Kubrick was stubborn and not going to back down easily, “It’s God, Creedy. He led us here for one reason. To do his work. This is destiny” Kubrick insisted, resuming his gun at Sam, ready to shoot. The cocking of two guns behind them made their heads whip to the side, “Nope. No destiny. Just a rabbit's foot” Dean smirked aiming his gun at Creedy as Y/N stood by his side, aiming her gun at Kubrick.

Kubrick and Creedy looked completely caught off guard as Dean and Y/N stood at the doorway, pointing their guns at them with narrowed eyes. Jo smiled behind the gag, breathing a sigh of relief behind it as she watched the pair stand proudly at the doorway.

Kubrick and Creedy exchanged uncertain looks, as if they were communicating to each other with their eyes on what they should do. Creedy raised his hands in surrender as Kubrick smirked cockily, not taking his gun away from Sam. “Put the gun down, son or you’re gonna be scraping brain off the wall” Kubrick threatened.

“Oh, this thing?” Dean shook his gun, toying with him. “Yeah, that thing” Kubrick smiled menacingly, Dean then handed his gun to his girlfriend (who was still mad at him for touching the rabbit’s foot but hadn’t gotten a chance to chew him out for it yet), “Okay, but you see, there’s something about me that you don’t know.” Dean smirked as he picked up a pen from the nightstand next to him.

“Yeah, what would that be?” Kubrick snorted, now aiming his gun at Dean. “It’s my lucky day.” Dean smiled before suddenly flicking the pen over to Kubrick. The pen got stuck right in the barrel of the gun, shocking both Sam and Jo as Y/N shook her head with disappointment. “Oh my god. Did you see that shot?” Dean laughed, impressed with himself.

Creedy took the chance and lunged at Dean, only to miss drastically when Dean simply ducked out of the way. Then with a wave of Y/N’s hand, she sent him flying into the wall, hitting it back first with a loud thud and heavy grunt. Y/N smirked in satisfaction when Creedy flew back, hitting the wall.

She knew that would’ve hurt a lot. This made Kubrick look at her with suspicion, seeing her use telekinesis on him. He quickly tried to pull the pen out of the gun’s barrel as Dean said, “I’m amazing” before picking up a remote from the table and hurling it straight at Kubrick.

It slammed into Kubrick’s forehead, knocking him unconscious instantly. He fell to the door with a loud thud as Dean smirked smugly, “I’m Batman” He practically mewed as Sam, Jo and Y/N looked unimpressed, “Yeah, you’re Batman” Sam scoffed, “And I’m Catwoman” Y/N added sarcastically, rolling her eyes, harshly shoving her gun into his chest as his face dropped subsequently.

She made her way over to Jo immediately as Dean made his way over to Sam, Y/N took out her butterfly from her butterfly knife from her boot. Flicking it open to cut Jo out of her bounds.

“Are you okay, honey?” She asked as Jo nodded, still gagged, groaning as she tried to talk, which was muffled against the gag tied over her mouth. Y/N cut the duct tape and removed the gag, tossing it aside. Jo coughed, her voice raw and hoarse from the gag and the constant screams she had yelled out.

Dean did the same, cutting his brother out of the duct tape that bound him to the chair. Sam sighed in relief as he felt the tape being cut free, his sore wrists were finally freed. The red marks on his wrists would definitely leave a mark, showing the tightness of the duct tape.

“You alright, champ?” Dean asked Sam, clapping him on his shoulder. Sam simply nodded and immediately crossed the room, over to his girlfriend. Sam rushed over to Jo, checking her over to make sure she was okay. He pulled her into a tight and protective embrace, holding her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder.

Jo held onto him tightly as she shivered slightly, her body shaking from the trauma she just experienced but she attempted to keep a brave face. “I’m so sorry, angel. This is all my fault” Sam’s voice broke as he held her to his chest, his stature fully engulfed her small frame.

Jo shook her head, shushing him before pulling away slightly to look up at him, “No, no, don’t say that, Sammy. This isn’t your fault, I promise.” She reassured him, caressing his cheek, her thumb lovingly tracing his cheekbone as he leaned into her touch.

But he didn’t believe it. He didn’t know what he would have done if he was too late to save her, he didn’t want to know what he would have done if she got hurt.

Dean and Y/N watched Jo and Sam interact with frowns on their face but it eased them seeing how much love they were for each other.

Sam leaned down, capturing Jo’s lips tenderly but short. Her fingers brushed through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly as they stayed in their embrace, holding each other lovingly.

Y/N looked at Dean and nodded towards the door, indicating for them to leave the two to give them a few minutes of time alone before they left to do the cleansing ritual.

Sam and Jo pulled apart, but their foreheads stayed resting on each other, their noses brushing lightly against each other. Sam leaned down to kiss her forehead, his hand on her waist, pulling her even closer, almost as if he was holding his whole world in his arms.

“I love you” Sam murmured, his lips still brushing against her forehead as Jo shut her eyes tight, inhaling his scent, savouring it. The smell of peppermint and coffee soothing her senses. She wanted that smell to fill her lungs. She opened her eyes again, looking up at him, her fingers still playing with his hair and lightly massaging his head.

Sam felt her fingers combing through his hair, massaging his scalp as he leaned into her hand, his forehead still on hers as she said with a small smile, “I love you more, Sammy” She whispered softly, looking into his eyes, getting lost in their hazel-green shade. She felt warm and safe in his arms, her head fitting perfectly in his chest.

-

They all were now in a cemetery, performing the cleansing ritual for the rabbit’s foot. The only thing left to do was toss it in the fire. Sam knelt down, sprinkling the last bit of the cayenne pepper into the hot pit as Y/N chanted the incantation spell Bobby gave them while Jo stood besides Sam.

“Alright. Bone ash. Cayenne pepper and the spell. That should do it” Sam said to his brother as he pushed himself up to his feet. Dean was still trying to milk his luck, scratching away at the last few scratch offs he bought. On the ride back from Queens, he begged Y/N to stop at a gas station and blew all of his money on tickets.

“One second” Dean mumbled, scratching away. “Dean-” Sam groaned, “Hey, back off, jinx. Daddy’s bringing the bacon home” Dean snapped, blowing away the dust from the scratch off as Y/N grimaced. “You’re seriously doing this now?” Jo asked, crossing her arms. “You did not just refer to yourself as ‘daddy’, gross” Y/N groaned, trying not to vomit.

“It’s a term of endearment, sweetheart. Don’t be a stick in the mud.” Dean mocked as he continued to scratch at the ticket. Y/N narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend, “You know damn well I’m no-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence, I’ve had enough torture for one day” Sam interrupted, a look of disgust on his face. “What? You would prefer mommy?” Jo joked with a smirk, earning a groan from Sam. “Dude, stop” Sam complained, a small laugh escaping his lips.

They were all exhausted and just wanted to get rid of the cursed object, finish this whole mess and get the hell out of here.

“Alright” Dean smiled as he moved over to the headstone he placed his jacket on, he stuffed the winning tickets into his pockets before taking the rabbit’s foot out, dangling it in the air. “Say goodbye, wascally wabbit” Sam sighed, shaking his head, “Dean, you really need to stop watching cartoons” He groaned. Jo chuckled at this but bit down on her bottom lip as Y/N snorted.

“I think you’ll find that belongs to me” Bela’s voice sounded behind them. They all spun around to see her now aiming and cocking her gun at them. “Or, you know, whatever” She smirked, “Put the foot down, honey” She demanded from Dean.

Dean swallowed, narrowing his eyes at Bela with a clenched jaw. “No. You’re not gonna shoot anybody” He scoffed, “See, I happen to be able to read people too. Okay, you’re a thief, fine, but you’re not-” Dean’s smug words were cut short when Bela shot twice, once at Sam’s shoulder and the other at Y/N’s.

Sam fell back at the impact of the bullet, groaning in pain as he clenched his shoulder. Y/N quickly stumbled backwards, her hand pressing against the bullet wound as she gritted her teeth to suppress a scream of pain that was threatening to escape her throat.

“SON OF A-” “YOU BITCH!” Dean and Jo shouted enraged, ready to maul Bela. “Back off, tiger. Back off” Bela gritted her teeth at them. Dean held back a growl of frustration, gritting his teeth to the point it begun to hurt, his fist clenched in anger at the fact that she shot Sam AND Y/N. He felt the urge to shoot a hole right in the middle of her forehead with the rage coursing through his veins.

Jo’s glared at Bela so deathly, you’d think the thief would be six feet under by now. She knelt to Sam’s side, cradling him. She shot Y/N a look of concern but Y/N gave her a thumbs up, indicating she was okay.

“You make one more move and I’ll pull the trigger” Bela threatened. Sam attempted to get up but Jo stopped him, gently pushing him back down as she sat him up and rested his head against the grave. Y/N took the shot pretty well, the pain was still stinging like hell but she was still on her feet.

She was still glaring at Bela, the pain in her shoulder forgotten for a moment with how mad she was. Dean’s heart plummeted as he moved back slightly and held his arms up in surrender, his hands shaking in pure rage.

“You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit.” Bela smirked before pointing at Sam with the gun, “But your brother?” she then pointed at Y/N, “And your girlfriend? Them I can’t miss” This made Dean snap. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t just go around shooting people like that!” His voice went up and octave as he shouted.

“Relax, it’s a shoulder hit. I can aim. Besides, who here hasn’t shot a few people?” Bela scoffed cockily. Jo glared at Bela as rage coursed through her veins at the woman’s words. The fact that Bela was making jokes and making this whole thing out to be a fun little game was starting to piss her off.

Jo stood up, pushing Sam gently away from her as she stormed up to Bela, “You really think this is just some fun little game you’re playing?” She scoffed, her fists clenched. “Oh sweetie, it’s just business” Bela grinned before turning back to Dean. “Put the rabbit's foot on the ground, now.” She demanded.

Dean felt his heart pounding against his chest. All this was for a damn rabbit foot. He took a deep breath, his eyes fixated on the ground, trying to keep a calm composure but it wasn’t working. “Alright! Alright, take it easy” Dean slowly lowered the foot, pretending to place it down, “Think fast” he smirked, tossing it into Bela’s hand.

Instinctively, she caught it. “Fuck” She cursed, rolling her eyes. Dean smiled sarcastically, “Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?” She rolled her eyes, annoyed by Dean’s smug cocky nature that she was beginning to hate more and more. She then looked over at Jo, who was glaring daggers at her. She shifted uncomfortably, swallowing the nervous lump in her throat.

-

Bela dropped the rabbit’s foot into the fire, allowing it to be set aflame. “Thanks” She scoffed sarcastically, “I’m out one-and-a-half million and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer” she grumbled as she stuck her hands in her pockets.

“Wow. I really don’t feel bad about that” Dean deadpanned but his hands were still shaking with anger. Jo just glared at the woman. Sam and Y/N weren’t in the mood for jokes after both getting shot. “Sam? Y/N? Jo?”

“Nope” The three responded in unison. “Not even a fucking little” Jo added, seething through her teeth as Sam and Y/N pressed bandannas to their wounds. “Hmm” Bela hummed, turning away from them. “Maybe next time, I’ll hang you out to dry” Bela smirked, leaning against this headstone Dean has his jacket on.

Y/N immediately went over to her, slapping her hand away from her man’s jacket. Oh, don’t go away angry, just go away” She seethed. Sam watched them from a distance, chuckling softly at the sight of the two woman bickering. Jo held Sam close as he shook his head, his lips in a thin line. Jo felt her anger start to fizzle away now that Bela was leaving.

“Have a goodnight, everyone” With that Bela left as Y/N eyed her suspiciously. She took her Dean’s jacket from the headstone and handed it to him.

-

They were now walking out of the cemetery, Dean had his arm wrapped around Y/N, who was clutching her shoulder. As Jo did the same with Sam. “You guys, good?” He asked the two. “I’ll live,” Sam nodded, leaning his head on Jo’s shoulder as she pressed a sweet, gentle kiss to his cheek.

Y/N gave Dean a weak smile, “Still hurts like a motherfucker but it’ll be alright.” She grimaced in pain, “Maybe a trip to the hospital would be good, if it doesn’t stop hurting that is.” Dean sighed, nodding in agreement, “We’ll go as soon as we get back to the motel.” He said, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. He held her close, her head rested on his shoulder.

“So I guess we’re back to normal huh? No good luck, no bad luck” Dean sounded almost disappointed when he said this then remembered. “Oh- I forgot we’re up $46,000. I almost forget the…scratch tickets” His words trailed off when he searched his pockets, only to come up empty.

Dean’s heart plummeted as Bela’s car sped off, she honked her horn twice. Sam shook his head at his brother's stupidity, trying not to laugh along with Jo. “SON OF A BITCH!!” Dean bellowed, thinking Bela stole the tickets.

Dean pulled back from Y/N, his eyes widening as he frantically checked his own pockets. He felt around like a desperate man, praying that maybe he had just hidden them in another jacket pocket instead. This only made the three laugh harder.

“Relax, charming” Y/N chuckled, retrieving them from her pocket. She noticed when Bela went over to the headstone with Dean’s jacket, she was getting sticky fingers with the tickets. That’s why she went over and snatched it away from her. While no one was looking, she stuffed the tickets into her own pocket.

Dean’s heart started beating again when he saw Y/N take the tickets out of her pocket. His shoulders relaxed out of relief, his heart rate finally going back to normal. Dean looked down at his girlfriend like she was his hero, “God, I love you” He smiled, peppering her face with kisses.

She giggled as Dean covered her in kisses, feeling his lips all over her face. Sam and Jo made gagging sounds in the background, which earned them looks from Dean and Y/N. “Oh shut up, Sammy”

“You can thank me for saving your ass $46,000 with a new helmet for Quinn and dinner” She joked, her free and uninjured hand resting on his jaw. Dean grinned, pecking her lips, “I’ll buy the helmet and dinner, princess. Whatever you want” He chuckled, squeezing her hip lightly as they all began walking back to their vehicles.

Jo playfully swatted Sam’s chest, “Hey. Why didn’t you win $46,000 when you had the rabbit’s foot?” She teased him, linking her arm into his uninjured one. Sam rolled his eyes, “Shut up” He laughed, shaking his head. Jo giggled at this, rubbing her thumb over his arm as they walked together with an arm around each other.

“He won at least $5000 from this when I forced him to scratch a bunch, don’t worry” Dean chimed in, flashing Jo a grin over his shoulder. “Really?” Jo raised an eyebrow at Dean, her curiosity peaked. “Yeah” Dean grinned, chuckling as Sam rolled his eyes again, shaking his head in embarrassment.

____________________________________________

Aurora, New York

•Two Days Later

Jo rode Y/N’s bike back to her safehouse while she and Sam rode with Dean. They spent the previous day holed up in the safehouse and living on takeout. But the next day, Y/N insisted on cooking since it had been a while since any of them had a proper home cooked meal.

Her and Sam’s bullet wounds were almost fully healed, thanks to a healing balm she made. It was one of her first concoctions she learnt to make from a spell book Bobby gave her, it was originally owned by an old psychic friend of his. It was basically a ‘Psychism for Beginners’ manual. The balm was basic but smelt like crap so Y/N altered it to give it her own twist.

Now, the Winchester boys were passed out in the living room. Everyone fell asleep there since they decided to have a Back To The Future movie night marathon, binging all three movies.

The sun beamed down on them through the windows as the sounds of birds chirping filled the air. Jo and Y/N sat on the patio of the safe house, enjoying the morning sunlight and a cup of steaming coffee on their laps.

Jo exhaled, taking a sip of her drink before humming in satisfaction. Y/N did the same, her eyes shut as she felt the warmth of the sun’s rays on her face. This was a rare sight, to see the two girls enjoying some peace and quiet together, without the boys.

It was peaceful and relaxing. Something they both haven’t felt for a while, enjoying the silence and peace as the birds chirped outside. Y/N exhaled, taking another sip of her coffee as she let herself forget all her worries for a brief moment. Jo was still shaken up after the incident with Kubrick and Creedy but managed to keep her mind distracted, still trying to move on from the trauma.

Y/N noticed the look of despair on her sister’s face, contemplating whether or not to push on the topic. So instead, “Hey, you wanna head out to the grocery now?” She asked her. Jo snapped out of it, nodding as she finished her coffee, placing it on the table next to her. She stood up, stretching slightly, still feeling a tightness in her muscles from the bullet wound in her shoulder.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, plus the boys will wake up soon” She said, yawning. Jo started walking with Y/N, opening the patio door to head back into the house. They both decided to get a quick shower and fix themselves up before leaving.

Dean and Sam were still sound asleep in the living room, sleeping on the couch and the armchair. Their bodies sprawled across the furniture like dead weight, they were out cold.

After showering, the girls crept downstairs so they didn’t wake up the boys. Y/N tiptoed over to the couch, leaning down slowly to pick up Dean’s keys. When she retrieved it, she quickly stuffed it into her pocket and laid a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Dean stirred a little upon feeling her lips on his forehead but he remained asleep, not showing any signs of waking up. Y/N smiled faintly, his freckles standing out in the sunlight. She could stare at him like this for hours, her heart fluttering at his peaceful look.

Jo did the same with Sam as Y/N tiptoed back to the kitchen. She gently moves his brown locks aside with her finger tips to press a light kiss to his cheek. Sam stirred sleepily, his eyes cracking open. He looked up at Jo, blinking a couple times before giving a sleepy smile. He leaned up to kiss her cheek softly. “Where are you two going?” He asked sleepily. His voice was gravelly and hoarse, sounding sleepy.

Jo chuckled softly, rubbing Sam’s cheek gently, “We’re gonna go to the grocery, we’ll be back soon, I promise. You can take another nap or something, go back to bed, baby” She said softly, her touch comforting. Sam nodded in response, closing his eyes again with a content hum as he got comfortable on the couch.

Jo moved to sit next to him, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. She knew this would help him fall asleep again. It definitely worked as he was knocked out in less than a minute, his breathing even with a small hint of snoring.

“You ready?” Y/N whispered to Jo as she got up from the couch. She went to the kitchen to get her sticky notes, scribbling a note that said, ‘Going on a supply run, brb. There’s coffee in the pot and leftover pizza in the fridge. Make sure you take the coffee maker off after, I love you babe xoxo’

She ripped it out from the pad and stuck it right on his nose, causing Jo to snort. Jo laughed quietly at the sticky note, shaking her head at Y/N. Dean was still sound asleep, unaware of what was happening. She took out her phone and snapped a picture just to show Sam later, knowing he’ll laugh at it too.

Y/N and Jo both made their way out to the driveway, Y/N took out the keys to the Impala, unlocking the car, “Ready to go?” She asked Jo with a grin as she slid into the driver’s seat. Jo nodded as she buckled in her seatbelt, “Yep, let’s go” She said as Y/N started the engine, driving out of the garage, leaving the boys to sleep through the day.

-

A few hours had passed since Y/N and Jo left and Dean was starting to stir from his awkward position on the small couch. Dean groaned, his back feeling stiff as he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck to relieve the tension and pain in his muscles. He rubbed his eyes, yawning and stretching, making a bone or two pop.

Dean looked around the living room, noticing his brother was still passed out on the other couch. He got up from the couch, his head whipping around to look for Y/N, finding her absent. She must still be upstairs but where was Jo? He looked confused and got up to check, rubbing his tired eyes.

He felt a piece of paper crumple at his feet. His brows furrowed as he lifted it up to see the sticky note Y/N left on his nose had fallen and stuck to his foot. He laughed to himself as he read the note, “She knows me too damn well” He said with a quiet chuckle, finding it entertaining that she knew he would have no problem drinking coffee or eating leftover pizza.

Just as Dean was about to pad over to the kitchen for some coffee, his phone rang on the coffee table. Dean looked over at the phone as the loud ringing interrupted him. He picked it up and answered it, not checking to see who was calling. “Hello?” He answered, his voice still hoarse and groggy from the sleep. His free hand was rubbing the back of his neck, trying to work out the kinks.

“Dean?? Where’s Y/N?!” Bobby’s panicked voice echoed through the phone, in the background, Dean heard items scattering. It sounded like Bobby was tearing his house apart. Dean was immediately on high alert as he heard Bobby’s panicked voice through the phone. He was wide awake now, panic coursing through his body. It was a bad habit of hunters to instantly think of the worst possible scenario.

Sam began to groan in his own spot on the couch, twisting and turning in his sleep. Dean paid Sam no attention as his brows knitted together, his heart racing, his mind going to dark places. “Bobby, what’s going on?” He asked frantically, his heart rate picking up speed.

“I can’t find the dagger, where’s the damn dagger?“ Bobby muttered in frustration. Confusion etched over Dean’s face, “What do you mean? Y/N didn’t tell you it showed up in her bag?” Dean asked. “It what?!” Bobby exclaimed, gripping his head. The way Bobby snapped made Dean flinch a bit, “No, the girl didn’t say a damn thing” Bobby snapped, his irritation growing.

Sam began to stir at the sound of his brother’s voice, becoming more and more aware of his surroundings. Dean then took up a pillow from the couch and tossed it at his brother before putting the phone on speaker.

Sam groaned as he caught the pillow, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes, looking like a big bear waking up from his long nap. Dean made a shushing motion with his hand, telling him to remain quiet. “Bobby, just calm down, alright?” Dean said in a calm, soothing tone, hoping to diffuse the situation. “What’s going on?” Sam asked, his voice filled with sleep.

Bobby took a breath as he ran a hand over his face, trying to ease his anxiety, “That knife Y/N found? It ain’t no knife, it’s a damn dagger. It’s Maverick’s fucking Dagger” Bobby told them. “It’s what?!” Sam and Dean asked in unison. Dean’s brows were furrowed again, confused by the name, not recognizing it anywhere but Sam was familiar with the story of Maverick’s Dagger. So his expression was a lot different to Dean’s, his heart pace rapidly growing.

“That’s impossible. I thought that was a myth” Sam gasped. Dean was even more confused. Did he miss a major detail in this mess they were dealing with? “Who the hell is Maverick?” He asked, his face scrunching up in confusion.

Bobby sighed, “Ronald Maverick. He was earth’s first known and widely recognized psychic in the late 1400s. He’s the reason the Seven Deadly sins were banished back to hell. I don’t know how I didn’t put it together when Y/N found that knife on Envy, but the legend goes, he sensed their return to earth in the early 1500s and he became so greedy for more power to send them back to hell. So he crafted the knife, using his own blood in order to exorcise them with the help of a witch, his wife.” He explained, his brows furrowed, the anger and panic was slowly subsiding as his voice became calmer.

“Only, he didn’t know his wife was actually harnessing energy from a ‘yellow eyed demon’ to power the dagger, so, out of anger, hurt and betrayal, he killed her with it. The dagger was never seen again until the Seven Deadly Sins came back on earth. Even I believed it was a myth before Bela called me and told me about it. That woman is a nasty thief and when something pretty valuable catches her eye, she takes it. And if this knife falls into the wrong hands, it’s gonna be hell to pay, boy” Bobby grumbled as he took off his cap.

“That damn hunk of junk makes any creature of nature greedy for power, angry for lost loved ones, it amplifies vengeance in their souls. Tainting it till it’s irreparable. Rumor has it, any full bred-psychic who even breathes too hard near the thing goes berserk if they don’t get enough power or vengeance. Long story short so we need to get that damn thing away from Y/N until it’s late. Good intentions or not, it’s evil beyond explanation” Bobby concluded.

Dean felt the blood drain from his face as he listened to what Bobby was telling them. His stomach dropped as the feeling of dread hit him like a ton of bricks. Dean swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, his heart racing as his thoughts began to race. His mind immediately going to Y/N and her whereabouts, his heart felt like it was going to beat out his chest in that moment.

Sam sat there with his head in his hands, taking in everything Bobby told them, fear and panic coursing through his body. His head was spinning with the thoughts about that dagger and what it can do, the effects it has on psychics who wield it for too long. The fact that Y/N had possession of it right now, just the thought of it made Sam feel nauseous.

“Boys? You there?” Bobby’s voice echoed through the speaker. Either of the Winchesters had yet to say a word. Dean took a breath, shaking his head and forcing his panicked mind to focus again. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, Bobby. We’re still here” His voice was a little hoarse as he spoke.

Dean put one hand over his eyes as he tried to ground himself in the moment, his mind still racing with thoughts. He took slow breaths, in and out, his shoulders rising and falling at random intervals.

-

The door to the L/N New York safehouse opened and in walked Y/N and Jo. They froze in their tracks upon seeing Sam and Dean practically tearing apart the house, looking for the dagger. They tried getting onto Y/N but she wasn’t answering her phone.

As soon as they realised the girls were back, the boys rushed over like dogs in a hunt. They both crowded the girls, Sam grabbed Jo and Dean grabbed Y/N by the arm. “Where is it?” Dean demanded, “Where’s what?” She asked confused, almost stumbling with the grocery bags in hand.

“The dagger you found, where is it?” Dean asked again, his voice a lower tone, almost sounding like a growl. He was desperate, his heart pounding harshly in his ears, he was panicked. “Oh, it’s in my jacket. Why?” She asked as she and Jo placed the bags on the kitchen counter. She then took it out and handed it to Dean.

Dean snatched the dagger from Y/N’s hand. He grimaced, gripping the dagger tightly in his hand, “We need to destroy it” Y/N’s eyes bulged out, “What the fuck?! No, why?!” She exclaimed, trying to snatch it back from him.

“This ain’t a damn joke Y/N. That thing is dangerous as hell! You need to stay away from that thing!” Dean snapped, his tone sounding angry and desperate. “Charming, it’s fine!” Y/N snapped, her tone rising. She attempted to snatch the dagger back, but Dean held it higher out of her reach.

“Y/N, stop!” Sam stepped in, grabbing the dagger from his brother. “Bobby just called us, it’s Maverick’s Dagger” Sam dropped the ball, “No fucking way” Y/N gasped, recognizing its name. She knew the bare minimum when it came to it, having stumbled upon it when she and Sam were researching on lore sites about her lineage. “Does everyone know about this fucking dagger but me????” Dean rolled his eyes.

-

All four of them stood outside the safe house in a small clearing, Y/N and Jo clutching their jackets. “Good riddance” Y/N sighed as Sam, Dean and Jo watched her toss the dagger into the fire pit. The fire crackled and sparked, the flames dancing wildly as they consumed the dagger, slowly turning it to ash.

Not a single ounce of the dagger remained as the fire finally died, leaving nothing but ash and charcoal. Sam wrapped his arm around Jo, leading her back into the house as Y/N rested her head on Dean’s shoulder. “Is it terrible to say that I’m gonna miss it?”

Dean laughed softly, “Of course you would say that princess” He joked, kissing the top of her head as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly into his side. Y/N rested her head against his chest, her eyes shutting as she savoured the moment.

Being in Dean’s arms was her favourite place to be, it always made her feel at ease and safe. She felt his lips on her head, her heart fluttering with butterflies in her stomach. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close. She wished it could last forever.

Dean hesitated for a moment, thinking of the possibilities. Nothing was easy like this, it felt suspiciously easy as if it was way too simple. It unnerved him a bit but he had to push that feeling down for her and Sam’s sake. It wasn’t something they needed to worry about, not at this moment.

But at least it was gone. He looked down at her, “I don’t know but I’m glad it’s gone for good” He said softly, kissing her forehead again. He held her close, resting his chin on her head as he swayed from side to side with her. The fire had died down, the ashes of the dagger were still fresh. He held her protectively in his arms, savouring this moment before it could be ruined.

“Come on, sweetie. I’ll get started on lunch, you must be starving” She said softly, unwrapping herself from his arms but she took his left hand into her right, leading him towards the house.

Dean nodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as his thumb ran back and forth over her skin.

He was starving, food definitely sounded good right about now. Especially with Y/N’s cooking, his mouth was beginning to water.

While she was walking to the house, something at the back of y/n’s mind told her that this wasn’t over yet. She forced herself to leave it there, not voicing her thoughts since they quite literally just burnt the dagger to a crisp.

That meant it was over. That meant it was gone forever. That meant there was no way it could apparently corrupt her now. Right?

____________________________________________

Author’s Note: HEEEELLLLLOOOOO AGAAAINNNN. This was SO long overdue. Once again, I am so sorry for making you guys wait but I really do hope that it was worth it!

This chapter is dedicated to my bestie @nesnejwritings , Maverick’s Dagger is named after him. I love you, sugarbear. I’ve said it once but I’ll say it again, thank you for always giving me the best advice when it comes to Genesis and always listening to me rant about it. I love love loveee you till the day I die❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258 @elite4cekalyma

@ladykitana90 @strawberrykiwisdogog @barnes70stark

All in all, I hope you guys liked it🥰Be sure to tell me what you liked and hated!

Xoxo

[sequinsmile-x]

One Last Souvenir From My Trip to Your Shores - Part 2

“Come on, Derek, it’s my job and Aaron knows that. And it’s not the first time I’ve had to flirt with an unsub. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with the guy.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, putting the coffee pot down with more force than necessary, “It wouldn’t be the first time you did that either.” 

A thoughtless and unkind comment from someone she's always considered a friend makes Emily feel like she's right back at the start.

-x-

Hi besties,

Thank you so SO much for the love for chapter 1, I'm genuinely a little blown away.

It almost makes me anxious to post chapter 2 haha, so I hope you enjoy this <3

I can't believe I ever thought this wouldn't be 11k words overall haha

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 5.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She looks as tired as she feels. 

It’s the first thing she thinks when she looks in the mirror. Her makeup is smudged underneath her eyes, and she curses whoever marketed her mascara as waterproof. Her chin trembles when she sees the tracks of her tears on her cheeks and she shakes her head at herself, desperate to no longer be upset, but it’s futile and another tear slips down, following the trail left behind by the ones that had gone before it. 

“Damn it,” she says, blowing out a shaky breath, “Get it together, Emily.” 

She removes her makeup and then splashes water onto her face and pats it dry, blowing out a slow breath as she looks at herself in the mirror again, her red-rimmed eyes and slightly blotchy skin standing out in her bathroom's slightly too bright light. 

“That’s as good as it’s going to get,” she murmurs to herself as she drops the towel onto the countertop, and a smile spreads across her face when it lands next to some of Aaron’s things that lived there permanently. He had a razor here, a toothbrush and a bottle of his cologne. She’d never tell him that on the rare occasion when she slept separately from him she’d wear it. That she’d spray herself and her clothes and close her eyes and pretend he was right there with her. 

His bathroom looked similar, items she’d taken there and left in amongst his and spread across all the surfaces. The first night she stayed, Aaron presented her with a toothbrush to keep in his bathroom, and it now sat in the holder next to his and Jack’s.  It made her feel like part of a family for the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever, and it made her smile whenever she saw them all lined up, or when she accidentally picked up Jack’s watermelon flavoured toothpaste.  It was messier than her bathroom, a microcosm of Aaron and Jack’s life - items the little boy always left out that she or Aaron would put away - and it felt like a taster of a life that she was leading up to. Practice for something she so desperately wanted and knew she was on the cusp of having.

She sighs and steps out of the bathroom, but stops when she hears voices. For a split second, she thinks Aaron might actually be telling off the poor college kid who delivered the pizza, but then she realises she recognises the second voice. She feels anxiety pool in her gut again, any comfort Aaron had given her extinguished by Derek’s voice. 

“I just want to speak to her,” he says, more irritation in his tone than she thinks he deserves to feel. She steps into the hallway and sees Aaron blocking Derek’s view of the apartment, his skin paper white as it’s drawn over his knuckles as he holds the door tight. 

“I think you’ve said enough,” he says, his voice clipped, and she doesn’t have to look at his face to know Derek’s likely on the receiving end of a stern expression that had made hardened criminals crumble. 

She knows if she said that she wanted Derek to leave he’d close the door in his face without question, and he’d tell him to leave and that would be it. She’s tempted, unsure if she wants to talk to him before she’s had a chance to figure out what she wants to say, the wounds caused by his careless words still fresh and wide open. But she knows this conversation will be hard whenever she has it, and she wanted to get it over with, to try and move forward from whatever the last few days had been. To try and start chipping away at the heavy weight in the pit of her stomach that had been planted there by Derek just a few days ago. 

“Aaron,” she says before she can change her mind, her lips pressed together as he turns to look at her, “You can let him in.”

He stares at her, and they have a silent exchange, a conversation with no words because they’d never really needed them. He looks at her, seeking out any tiny semblance of doubt on her face and she nods at him, lets him know she’s sure and he nods back, a short, sharp thing that she knows means he’ll support her no matter what. He opens the door and lets Derek step past him, and he comes face to face with the pizza delivery guy who seems confused by the tension he’s walked into. Aaron passes him the money and takes the pizza without comment, closing the door behind him before anything can be said. He places their dinner, which he’s sure will go cold before they can eat it, on the closest surface he can find, and makes his way to Emily’s side. 

Some of the tension dissipates from her shoulders the moment he’s next to her, and she crosses her arms over her chest, clearing her throat as she waits for Derek to speak. He doesn’t, as if he hadn’t expected to get this far at all, and Aaron sighs, his hand on Emily’s back to get her attention. 

“Why don’t we all go sit down?” 

She nods and lets herself be led to the living room, warmth spreading through her from where Aaron’s hand is pressed against her back. He taps her spine three times with his thumb, and she steps away so she can hold his hand, the press of her palm against his her way of returning the sentiment she doesn’t want to share in front of Derek. It’s only when they are all sitting down, when Aaron takes his place by her side, sitting close enough that their thighs press together, and Derek sits on the couch opposite them that she realises this is the first time Derek had ever been to this place. 

He’d never visited, and had never asked to either, and it makes sadness swell in her gut, a feeling that’s extinguished as she remembers what Aaron had told her about what he’d said in her old apartment. How he stood in her home, the place she’d cooked for him and where he’d drunk her expensive liquor, and he’d torn her character apart. He sits opposite them and just stares, and she’s suddenly very aware of the fact she and Aaron are dressed so casually, one of his t-shirts loose on her frame. It’s a version of them that was usually only for them and Jack and she hates that Derek is seeing it. It makes her feel exposed, like she’s on display for him to see, and she tightens her grip on Aaron’s hand. 

“I thought you wanted to speak to me,” Emily eventually says, her voice more steady than she feels and she thanks a god she isn’t sure she believes in anymore for the way she’d been brought up, for the fact she could hold herself together even when it felt like she was slowly ripping apart at the seams.

Derek sighs, his arms across his chest as he looks back and forth between the two of them, “Can we talk alone?” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aaron says without thinking, an automatic response he can’t hold back as the desire to protect her almost burns him from the inside out. He looks at her so he can gauge what she wants, because they both know he’d leave if she asked him to, but she nods ever so slightly and keeps her grip tight on his hand, her blunt nails digging into his skin. 

“Anything you want to say to me you can say in front of him.”

Derek laughs, it’s nervous and unlike him, and he looks between the two of them again, “What, you can’t speak to me without your guard dog?”

She knows it’s an attempt at a joke, that he’s trying to lighten the mood he’d created in the first place, and it just makes her angrier. She knows it does the same for Aaron because she can feel how his shoulders get tenser, his body almost wider with it as he prepares to be exactly what Derek is comparing him to. 

“Derek,” she says warningly, “He’s staying. What did you want to say?”

He leans forward, his elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands in front of him, and he blows out a breath, “I’m sorry.” 

She chuckles humourlessly, “Is that it? Because we have pizza to eat and it’s been a long day-”

“Emily, come on-”

“No,” she says sharply, “You can’t come here and say you’re sorry and think that’s it. You can’t call me a whore and expect to-”

“Whoa,” he says, cutting her off and shaking his head, “I never said that.” 

She clenches her teeth, fed up with being told by people, men, that she’d misinterpreted things, that she’s overreacting to something she hasn’t even begun to react to yet. 

“Then what did you mean by it?” She asks, staring at him, finding no joy in how he shrinks in front of her, how he becomes visibly smaller as he grapples for an explanation they all know he doesn’t have, “That’s what I thought. You should go, this was pointless-”

“I didn’t mean to say it.”

She scoffs and shakes her head, “Then what did you mean to say? Or did you just mean to think it?” She asks, her sadness once again overtaking her anger, the two emotions racing each other around her bloodstream in a way that makes her fidget. Aaron places his hand on her knee and it grounds her, reminds her she’s not facing this or anything else alone anymore. 

“When you were arrested for murder, I barely knew you and I believed you were innocent without question and I did not judge you or your actions. Why couldn’t you do the same for me when you stood in my home and talked about things you do not understand that happened before I knew you?” 

Derek connects the dots quickly, figures out the chain of command of how everything he’d said in anger to Dave had made its way back to Emily, and looks sharply at Aaron, “You told her.”

“She deserved to know,” Aaron says firmly, all of his focus on keeping his cool. Emily could hold her own, he knew that, but his desire to protect her was thrumming under his skin, making him all but vibrate on the couch. 

“What gives you the right-”

“I asked him,” she says, cutting over Derek again, barely able to bring herself to let him finish a sentence, “I asked him and he told me.” She sighs sadly, the one thing she’d been thinking on repeat since he’d broken her heart finally slipping free, “I thought you were my friend.” 

Aaron tightens his hold on her hand, unable to stop himself because the crack in her voice reverberates through his heart, and he’s worried if he didn’t do something he’d tell Derek to leave. He runs his thumb back and forth over the pulse in her wrist, tracing the evidence that she’d survived the very worst things that had happened to her. 

Derek’s face falls, the first crack in his facade, and he sinks back against the couch, “I am your friend, Em.” 

“I think we have very different ideas about how we should treat our friends, Derek. I have spent months…” she trails off and swallows thickly as her voice starts to shake. She turns her head to face Aaron, her eyes shining as he looks at her and her jaw tight as she tries to keep herself together. It’s another silent conversation, a squeeze of her hand and a look in his eyes that she knows means are you okay, and she smiles, something that’s lost in the tight way her lips are pressed together and she nods, her expression firm again when she turns back to look at Derek, her voice more steady this time, “I have spent months trying to earn back your trust, trying to prove myself to you again and all this time you’ve been…what? Judging me for things you’ll never have to understand,” she licks her lower lip and takes a deep breath, “I had a relationship with Ian. I had sex with him,” she shrugs when he closes his eyes, his jaw tight with anger, “Why does that have anything to do with you?” 

He sighs, “It doesn’t, not really, but-” 

“There is no but Derek. It has nothing to do with you, and neither does my relationship with Aaron, which is something else you seem to have an opinion on.” 

Derek’s jaw tightens again, his eyes flicking to Aaron, staring him down as he spits out his response, “He faked your death.” 

His attitude towards Aaron makes her angrier, something she wouldn’t have thought was possible as it briefly stamps out any sadness that was lingering in her throat. Aaron stiffens next to her, his shoulders so tight she’s surprised his t-shirt doesn’t rip, that he doesn’t turn into the superhero Jack always compared him to right in front of her and defend her honour. She knows he wants to. If she hinted even for a second that she wanted his help he’d jump in and protect her, but he doesn’t, because she didn’t want or need him to fight her battles. She needed him to help pick up the pieces after. To remind her where all of them went and help her move forward. It was the part of all of this that she’d been missing before him. The support behind the scenes that she’d always told herself she didn’t need because she didn’t know what it felt like to have. 

“And you faked your cousin’s,” she says cooly, unaware until she’s said it that his hypocrisy over Aaron and JJ’s actions to protect her had upset her, the response out and in the air around them before she’d realised it had escaped the place she’d buried it. A flash of guilt licks through her chest, burning her from the inside out as his face falls. She shakes it off, remembering that no matter what she’d made him feel, it was not even a degree of how he’d made her feel.  

“I did that to protect my family.” 

Aaron chuckles humourlessly, his self-control slipping for a moment as everything he’d turned inwards for months breaks free, “And why do you think I did what I did? For fun? Because I wanted to bury another woman I…”

He drifts off, his jaw tight as he holds back everything that feels too personal to share with anyone other than Emily.  He’d known he’d loved her for a lot longer than they’d been together, but he’d only found the name for it when he was faced with losing her, when he was carrying a coffin he knew she wasn’t in. It was a moment of awful clarity, every moment he’d ever had with her on a grim showreel in his head that he couldn’t stop seeing. He told himself that when he got her back, the idea of if too painful to accept, he’d do something about it. 

In the end, he hadn’t been able to, frozen in fear that she would never feel the same way for him. She’d taken the leap, like she so often did, and he’d held her hand and jumped with her. 

She’d always been the bravest person he knew. 

“He was protecting me too,” she says, her hold on Aaron’s hand now so tight her skin is bone white where it’s stretched over her knuckles, “As our friend you should be happy for us,” she says, and Derek shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the floor, “I mean it, Derek. I won’t accept you talking crap about the man I love or our relationship.” 

He looks up, his brows furrowed, “You love him?” 

She scoffs, “Yes,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world because it feels like the most obvious thing in the world.

“And I love her too,” Aaron adds, the gentle words at odds with the stern expression on his face. He usually smiled when he said it, his expression soft and his dimples carved out deep in his cheeks. She turns to look at him and smiles at him, something in her chest easing when he smiles back. 

“Did you love him?” 

She presses her lips together at Derek’s question and watches as Aaron’s face falls too, the brief flash of him, of her Aaron replaced by Hotch as they both turn to look at him. She clears her throat. 

“Ian?” She asks, and Derek nods. She smiles wryly, “Please don't tell me you're equating love to sex, I've seen you go home with enough one-night stands to know you don't believe they are the same thing.” 

He chuckles humourlessly, “That isn’t an answer.” 

She has to wrap her other hand around Aaron’s, sandwiching it between the two of hers to remind him to stay quiet, his anger thick and palpable in the air like a cheap cologne. She’s angry herself because Derek thinks he’s won, that he’s tripped her up with his frustratingly black-and-white thinking. He was still so sure after all these years, after all they’d seen and done, that there were clear answers to everything. She’d lived in the grey area for years. Had existed on the edges of what was right and wrong, and she wonders if that’s part of her that Derek would simply just never understand. 

“And I don't have one that's simple,” she says, “Or one that I think you'll find satisfactory.”

The room falls into silence and Derek leans forward, his fingers pressed against his temples as he tries to gather himself, “I am sorry that I upset you. No matter what…no matter what I may think or have said, I never wanted to upset you.” 

She presses her lips together, “Okay.” 

He frowns, “Okay? Is that it?” 

She nods, “You apologised, I’m not ready to forgive you.” 

He chokes on a humourless laugh, “Em-”

“No,” she says, cutting over him, “You didn’t just upset me, Derek. You…you’ve changed the way I think about our friendship. And that’s going to take a long time for me to come to terms with,” she swallows thickly, pushing down emotions she won’t let herself feel until he’s gone, her eyes burning with tears, “It’s going to be a long time before I trust you again.” 

He sighs and shrugs in defeat, “Then where does this leave us?” 

“Where we are right now I guess,” she replies, “I didn’t bring us to this point. You did. And it isn’t my responsibility to try and make you feel better about it.” 

They fall into silence again, and Emily realises she has nothing left to say, that she’s done trying to defend herself when she’s done nothing wrong. The ball was in Derek’s court now, and she hoped he’d eventually see her side of it all. He nods, his shoulders slumping a little, as he stands. 

“I should go.” He says, his smile tight. Emily stands too, and so does Aaron, his hand on her lower back as they move as one to show him out. He hesitates at the door and turns to look at her, his gaze drifting over both of them, over how close they are. As if he’s seeing them and their relationship as it is for the first time and not the way he’d assumed it to be, “Will we ever get back to where we were?” 

She shrugs, “I doubt we’ll sit in one of the SUVs on a stake out and make fun of Aaron for being a hardass ever again,” she scrunches her nose up and looks over her shoulder at Aaron, “No offence, honey.” 

He squeezes her hip, a smile Emily knows Derek has likely never seen before flashes across his face, “None taken. I am a hardass.” 

She presses her lips together and turns back to Derek, “We’ll get…somewhere. I’m sure.” 

It’s all she can offer him. It’s all she wants to offer him because she doesn’t know how she’ll feel tomorrow or in a week. She doubted the heartache would go away any time soon, and she didn’t know when she’d be able to look at him again and not think of the hurtful thing he’d said. Of the way he’d looked at her when he said it. Of the way he’d made her feel like she was worth nothing. 

It had been a long time since someone she loved looked at her like that and she cared that they had. 

Derek nods, and he forces a tight smile as he leaves, the apartment falling into silence after the door closes behind him. Aaron moves his hands to her shoulders, his thumbs pressed into her back as he tries to ease some of the tension there.

“Sweetheart-” He’s cut off when she turns in his arms, her face buried in his neck and her hands grasping at his back, his t-shirt tight in her fists. He feels the burn of her tears against his skin and he kisses the top of her head, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you,” he kisses her hairline and pulls back just enough to see her face, “Let’s go sit down, okay?” 

She nods but doesn’t pull away from him. She lets him lead her towards the couch, her sniffles and the occasional sharp intake of breath the only sounds in the apartment. As soon as she’s sitting down he moves to pull away but she stops him, her blunt nails digging into his arm as she furrows her brow. 

“I’ll be less than a minute, okay,” he says, squeezing her forearm before she nods and he tilts his head towards the bathroom, “I’ll barely leave your sight.” 

She watches as he goes, her vision blurred by the tears she’d held back throughout the painful back and forth with Derek. She hears the faucet in the bathroom briefly go on and off, and then Aaron walks back towards her, a damp washcloth in his hand. He sits next to her and turns towards her, his knee knocking against her thigh, and he gently wipes her cheeks with the washcloth. He touches her as if she’s made of something precious, his love and care for her soft as he dabs away the tears someone else had caused, each one immediately replaced. It doesn’t phase him and he carries on, diligent in the task he had set himself as they sit in silence, his knee pressed against her thigh as he gives her the silence she needs to figure out what she wants to do next.

“I’m sorry.” She eventually chokes out, her voice ragged and throat tight. 

“What for?” He asks, his smile reassuring and entirely hers when she finally looks at him. She tries to smile too and it shakes, the laugh that escapes her close to hysterical.

“I feel like all I’ve done this evening is cry.” 

“You never have to apologise for that. I love you, and part of that is looking after you when you’re sad or hurt.” He leans forward and kisses her cheek, tasting the salt of her skin as she leans into him, curling against his side as if she’d been waiting for him to initiate contact. He drops the washcloth onto the side table for now and wraps his arms around her, never wanting her to doubt that he’d always be there ready and waiting for her when she needed him. 

“It’s been a long time since someone I care about has been able to hurt me like that,” she says, her voice shaking, “He should call and give my mother some tips, she’s lost her edge in recent years.” 

He knows what she’s doing, knows that humour is a shield she’d used her whole life, and he squeezes her thigh, “Sweetheart.” 

She heaves in a breath, the press of it sticking to each of her ribs as it shudders in her lungs, and she nods as she blows it back out. 

“Sorry,” she says, smiling sadly when he raises an eyebrow at her again, “It’s just..having to think about Ian this much…” she blows out another shaky breath and her chin trembles, “It’s never easy.” 

He hears what she hasn’t said, what she doesn’t need to say, and he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, his knuckles soft against her cheek afterwards as he wipes away her tears, “Like I said you earlier, none of that matters to me. None of it. The only thing that matters to me is you.” 

“I know,” she says, cupping his cheek, running her thumb back and forth over his jaw, “Thank you,” she smiles sadly and he almost tells her she doesn’t have to thank him, but she carries on, speaking as if she wasn’t aware she was talking outloud. “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t moved forward at all since I came back.” 

For a moment he wishes he had shouted at Derek, that he’d let him know exactly what he thought of him and all the things he’d said about Emily, but he knows it wouldn’t have helped. The last thing Emily needed, or wanted, was two men fighting over her honour like she was a prize to be won.

“Recovery isn’t linear, Em. And you have moved forward. And I won’t let Derek, or anyone, take that from you.” 

She smiles despite the vice around her heart, “Even me?” 

He leans in to kiss her lower lip, “Especially you.” 

She rests her forehead against his and cups the back of his head to hold him in place, “You’re a good man, Aaron Hotchner. The best. And I won’t let anyone, including you, take that from you.” She swallows thickly and blows out a breath, and it makes her sadness skip across his face, the melancholy in it enough to break his heart, “Where do I go from here, Aaron? How do I go to work on Monday knowing my partner, my friend, thinks those things about me?” 

“Well, I’ve got it on good authority that your boss has a soft spot for you,” he says, running his fingers through her hair, “So he can make sure you don’t get partnered with him for a while.” 

She pulls back to look at him, “I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You aren’t asking me I’m happy to do it for you if it makes your life even a little bit easier,” he rubs a soothing circle on her back, “And I have a feeling Derek won’t try and argue it either.” He says, and she bites the inside of her cheek, sure that she should just put up with it, but Aaron carries on, “There are some benefits to being the boss, sweetheart. And it’s not just the office with a front row view of your desk,” he pauses as she laughs, the sound easing something in his chest, the melody of it filling the space around his heart, “I can do this for you.” 

She’s nodding before she even knows she’s going to agree, and she leans in to stamp her lips against his, “Okay. Thank you.” 

“You have got to stop thanking me for looking after you,” he says softly, winking at her when she fails to hide a smile, “I like doing it.” 

She settles against him, drawing warmth and comfort from the safety of his arms. She’s not sure how long they sit there in silence. How long he trails his fingers up and down her arm, the calluses on his thumb catching on an old scar he’d heard her get years ago when she was thrown against a mirror by a long-dead monster. It feels like he’s trying to heal her bit by bit, that the soft press of his rough skin against hers is undoing everything that ever came before him, and on some level, she thinks he is. He’s providing everything she never knew how to ask for, everything she still didn’t know how to ask for, and she never wanted him to stop. 

 “We never ate the pizza,” she says eventually, the sound of his belly rumbling breaking through the silence they had fallen into. She scrunches her nose up, “It’s probably stone cold by now.” 

“You’re not a fan of cold pizza?” He asks, and she grimaces and shakes her head. 

“It reminds me too much of college and bad decisions.” 

He chuckles, “We can order another one.” 

“I need to find my phone,” she says, making no attempt to move, far too comfortable pressed against him, and he smiles as he pulls his phone from his sweatpants.

“Here,” he says as he hands it to her, “Order what you want. You can even get one of those disgusting dessert pizzas you like.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “They aren’t disgusting. They are just glorified cookies.” 

“Then they shouldn’t call them pizzas.”

She presses her lips together to try and contain a smile, the beautiful and simple domesticity of it all almost misplaced after the day she’d had. But she thinks maybe that’s the point - that she could have a terrible awful day and still have this to come to, that she no longer had to sit in the darkness by herself. 

She smiles as she unlocks his phone and is met by his wallpaper. It’s a picture of the two of them and Jack, the little boy in her arms and both of them in Aaron’s, all standing together in the park with wide smiles on their faces. Aaron had been taking photos of her and Jack, and a stranger offered to take one of all three of them, her smile kind as she told them they were a beautiful family. None of them had corrected her, because thats what they were. A family. Or at least the building blocks of one. She’d make fun of him for it, gently tease him and call him sentimental, if she didn’t have the same picture set as her wallpaper too. 

She frowns curiously at an email she can see on his screen, a dispatch notification from a homeware store she knows isn’t cheap, and she turns her head to look at him, tilting the phone so he can see it too. 

“What did you order?” 

“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat, his dimples standing out as his cheeks flush with embarrassment, “I bought new pillows. You said mine hurt your neck, so I ordered new ones.” 

She stares at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open as she huffs out a laugh, “When? We only got back from the case this afternoon and you haven’t been home yet?” 

He tugs her closer, his lips against her temple as he hides a smirk against her skin, “There’s this amazing thing called the internet, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. They should arrive tomorrow - I bought the same ones you have.” 

She pulls back to look at him, his phone in a loose grip in her hand, and she presses her lips together, entirely unsure what to say in response. “Those are expensive, Aaron.”

He shrugs like the price of them hadn’t occurred to him, “You and your comfort when you’re at my place are worth it.” 

She kisses him because it’s the only thing she can think of doing, and she rests her forehead against him, her nose knocking against his, “I love you.” 

He furrows his brow, “Because of the pillows?”

“No,” she replies, rolling her eyes at him, “Well, yes. But not just because of the pillows,” she says, “Because of everything,” she runs her fingers through his hair, “I love you because you’re you.” 

He smiles and kisses her, his lips catching the corner of hers, “I love you because you’re you too,” he looks at her, his eyes searching hers and finding the lingering sadness left behind by the last few days and the lack of a resolution that she so desperately wanted, “Everything will be okay, sweetheart. It might take some time. But it will be okay.” 

She nods and rests her head against his chest, her forehead pressed against his neck as she tries to get as close to him as she can, his warmth and the safety that always came with it giving her all the things she’d never had before. 

A home. Reassurance. And the love she’d spent a lifetime chasing, 

“I know,” she says, turning her head to kiss him, her lips catching his jaw, “How could it not be? I have you.” 

-x-

NB: I know some of you were hoping for an Aaron/Derek altercation, but it didn't feel right for Aaron's character and also it's absolutely not what Emily needs. She needs her man to be a supportive king!!

As always, let me know what you think <3

Until next time,

SequinSmile x

[firequeenofficial]

I miss the Ranchers. That is all I have to say.

-

When they finally managed to put out the mansion, Jimmy slipped away from the others, finding a quiet spot to hide away. He just needed a moment to breathe. He'd been struggling ever since he'd first seen Tango with Etho, Skizz and Impulse.

He'd never felt anything like this before, like a part of him was missing, broken off, stolen. He saw Tango laughing with his friends, and his heart ached. He had once made Tango laugh like that. He had once been the person Tango relied on. Now, he watched his soulmate, his Rancher, with the others, and it was like he didn't even care, or didn't remember. He hadn't even reacted when Jimmy had called him, "Rancher".

He wondered whether Joel felt the same way watching Etho. He didn't think so - Joel had barely stopped laughing since he'd found him, except to rage about the mansion being set on fire, of course. Besides, Joel wouldn't even remember Double Life.

He sat at the top of a hill in the south-east corner of the world, watching the sun rise beyond the border. He was grateful everyone seemed to want to base close together this season; it left plenty of free space to hide away.

He hated this. He hated being one of only three people who ever remembered each season. He hated Grian for forcing this on him. He hated the Watchers for forcing it on Grian. More than anything, he hated himself for not being able to do anything but whine about it. Grian was his brother, he should have been able to help him, but there was nothing he could do.

He wondered if Pearl felt anything, watching Scott with Martyn. Was there any part of her that missed him, even though they'd done nothing but fight the whole time they were soulbound? She couldn't remember Last Life, he knew, but did some part of her long for it anyhow? He wished he could speak with her about it, but she would probably just call him silly. No one else pined after their alliances from previous seasons, after all. It was just him that was so pathetic that he longed for the first person to be genuinely gentle with him.

That didn't make it any easier, after all. It didn't make him long any less. It didn't make Tango suddenly mean nothing to him.

He missed him.

That was the plain and simple truth of it. He missed Tango. Void, he missed him so damn much it hurt.

He sighed and dropped his face into his hands, fighting back tears. He was completely alone, but he still couldn't bring himself to feel it all, not so strongly, not all the way.

He just had to move on. It was that easy. He just had to let the Bad Boys be his new people, and he had to let Team TIES be Tango's new people, and he had to leave it at that.

He could do that.

Jimmy took a deep breath and leaned back slightly, turning his attention back to the brightening horizon. A breeze ruffled his hair.

The pain lessened, just slightly.

"Jimmy?"

The pain came back full force, and he froze.

No. No, he couldn't be here. Not now, not when he'd committed to letting him go.

Jimmy didn't turn. He didn't say anything.

After a moment's hesitation, Tango sat down beside him. Jimmy didn't move. He didn't look at him.

"Wow, what a view." Tango's heart clearly wasn't in the observation, though.

Silence was Jimmy's only response.

Tango apparently decided that beating about the bush was overrated. "Are you upset with me?"

Jimmy closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at him. "No." That was true, at least. He was upset about Tango, not with him.

The blazeborn let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I would hate for you to be mad at me. I don't know how I'd do this without my Rancher."

Jimmy was so surprised that he snapped his eyes open and his head around to face him. "What?"

He was met with a smirk that he'd learnt to adore. "What, you didn't think I'd forgotten, had you?"

He remembered. He remembered! Jimmy could have cried with joy! Tango remembered him!

But Jimmy didn't cry. Instead, he let out a loud, jubilant laugh and launched himself at his Rancher, throwing his arms around Tango's neck. The pair fell to the ground, both laughing, clinging to each other. Jimmy buried his face in Tango's neck, holding on like Tango might disappear the moment he let go.

"You really did think I forgot, didn't you," Tango realised, and held him closer.

"I thought I lost you." Jimmy's voice was muffled by Tango's shirt collar.

Tango huffed a small laugh, running his hands through Jimmy's hair. "We're in this together, buddy. Even if we're on different teams, you'll always be my Rancher."

This was what Jimmy had been missing. Two whole seasons, he'd searched for this. For something who cared for him no matter what, in thick or thin, even across lifetimes. Tango was... exactly what he needed. Exactly what he wanted.

Jimmy sighed, his breath shaky. He was going to be okay.

Whatever happened this season, he was going to be okay. He could face whatever with his Rancher by his side.

They were going to be okay.

[wheelsup-sevenup]

whumpuary 2025: day 7!

prompt: unfair fight / insomnia / “no one is coming.”

characters: natasha romanoff (marvel)

warnings: kidnapping, sleep deprivation, violence, (implied) abandonment, referenced human experimentation

Based on the regularity in which they changed the guard, and the snatches of daylight she caught when they opened the door, Natasha estimated that she’d been locked in this makeshift cell, the back room of what she assumed to be an abandoned office building, for around thirty-six hours.

If she was right, that wasn’t good.

She’d been expecting backup within the first six hours. When it didn’t come, she hadn’t worried. 

Clint had promised her that SHIELD didn’t leave their people behind. And for some reason, she’d believed him.

The first twelve hours were a breeze, if not slightly confusing. The men here didn’t seem to want anything from her; they seemed to enter her cell only to ensure that she didn’t leave. Only when she spoke to them, spit insults or derogatory questions, did they strike her, and even then she could tell they were holding back.

The twelve hours after that were worse.

Her ankle had been broken when she was captured, and she was reasonably sure it hadn’t set right. It throbbed consistently, sending low, dull spikes of pain through her entire leg. Swelling pushed against the duct tape that bound each of her limbs to the chair, and her chest ached from the cable wrapped around it. 

After thirty-six hours, Natasha didn’t know what to think.

She was having a little trouble with that, actually. No food for thirty-six hours. She’d refused the water, used every trick in her book to prevent herself from falling asleep. Now, her mind was hazy with pain and fatigue. The only thing she could reliably keep in her mind was that she wanted out, as soon as possible. 

She could do it herself, SHIELD be damned.

Natasha had yet to hear the guard in her cell speak. They had, for the most part, ignored each other, Natasha perfectly happy to be miserable without his input. He didn’t raise an eyebrow when she shifted in the chair, straining at the duct tape at her wrists. She slumped down again, making it seem like the maneuver had been unsuccessful, but in reality, she was hopeful. Thirty-six hours of sweating and constant pressure had loosened the tape considerably, and she was sure it wouldn’t take much to pull her hands out completely. It was the same with the tape at her legs, though twisting her broken ankle out of the bindings would hurt like a bitch.

She needed a distraction.

She needed to get out of here.

It was the only thought she could hold on to.

It was almost an hour of slow progress later that the door creaked open. The man in the cell with her looked up at the figure silhouetted in the doorway with surprise, then left quickly without a word.

Fantastic.

This man had a confidence to him that the others didn’t. The way he carried himself, the way the others deferred to him, made Natasha assume the man was their leader.

The door remained open at his back. Natasha blinked in the sudden flood of daylight as the man pulled up the only other chair in the room and sat facing her.

“Do you know me, Natalia?”

The voice was… vaguely familiar. He spoke with a distinctive French accent, clearly a second language yet one that lingered in his voice all the same. She knew him, but in the haze of her mind, Natasha couldn’t tell where she knew him from.

“It doesn’t matter. I know you.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to get on with it.

“You made a mistake when you defected to SHIELD. They don’t care for you, you know. That much is clear by now.”

“They’re not the KGB,” Natasha retorted. “And neither are you. For a pathetically small weapons dealer, you sure make a lot of noise. It’s embarrassing.”

The insult bounced harmlessly off the man’s cool exterior. If any part of it was true, he didn’t let it show.

“Poor Natalia. No one has really cared for you at all, have they?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, feigning a confidence she wasn’t sure even existed. “When they come for me, you’ll see how much they care. You’ll feel it. Like a shot to the gut.”

Under the cover of her own brash words, she popped her thumb joint out of place. The wave of agony that swept up her arm was grounding, and nothing compared to the relief as one hand slipped free.

The man was talking again, but Natasha wasn’t listening, quietly realigning her thumb bone and easily unfastening the cord that tied her torso to the chair’s backing. With her free hand, she held the cord there.

“…but you’ll see. Poor girl. No one is coming,” he’s saying. “You’re all ours.”

Now she just needed her other hand. She was almost there, when something he was saying caught her attention. 

“…the serum will make you stronger than you’ve ever been.”

Her head snapped up against her will. No one had said anything about a serum.

She didn’t have to consider it, though, because she was free. The door was even still open.

Natasha waited until the man, pacing the room back and forth, was in front of her to surge forward, spinning and slamming the chair into him. The chair shattered, her legs ripping free of the duct tape. Though pain exploded in her leg, she felt a surge of strength as she doubled her legs up beneath her, using her uninjured foot and arm to propel herself from the ground towards the man. He turned around as she flew at him, aiming a solid knee directly to his chest.

Except.

The rush of sensation Natasha expected — the impact of her knee breaking his ribs, the flexing of his ribcage and the crumpling of his body as he hit the floor with a shout of pain — never came.

Somehow, the man absorbed the impact with barely a wince, Natasha stumbling backwards onto her already broken ankle. It buckled underneath her, and she stumbled backwards with an involuntary yelp of pain, collapsing towards the cement floor.

In the moments before she hit the concrete Natasha realized what her sleep-deprived brain had missed. The implants, bulging under the sleeve of his shirt. The yellowed whites of his eyes, the veins that protruded from the backs of his hands, tinted vaguely orange.

As she crumpled against the concrete, the information she’d missed came to her in a sickening rush. This organization was too easy to find, too seemingly simple for SHIELD to focus so much manpower on. They never would have expended so much effort on a sole arms manufacturer.

She remembered his name.

Michael Hopworth. British arms dealer turned French experimental-chemical-weapons junkie. The KGB had dealt with him more than once. Natasha had even met him, listened to him talk about defying even the achievements of Captain America or the Red Guardian.

Cybernetic implants. Enhanced strength. It all fit.

The next kick, delivered to her right shoulder, showed her the true strength the man had been holding back. Her body jerked backwards, the pain of splintering bones rushing through her body immediately. Her arm was useless, and she curled in on herself, the waves of pain setting every nerve ablaze.

Hopworth knelt next to her shaking, panting form, extricating her undamaged arm despite her weak protests. He pulled a syringe from his back pocket, and despite the fear that stabbed through her at the thought of being drugged, helpless, some part of her welcomed the relief that whatever was in the syringe would provide.

“You were probably wondering why we waited so long to do this,” he shrugged, waving the needle back and forth. “See, the serum works best when your immune system isn’t strong enough to fight it off. We planned for around twenty-four hours, but,” he laughed, “no one was rushing us. So we took our time.”

The needle entered the crook of her elbow none too gently. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, willing this to be over.

“We aren’t giving you up just yet,” he promised, his words beginning to blur around the edges. “You’ll have a place in our organization yet, Natalia.”

tbc :)

also, i lied. this’ll be a three-parter. on the next episode, hopefully clint can find us some answers!

comments on this one in particular would be appreciated, because it looks like i’m gonna be having a stressful night and i’d love a distraction 😎

[trippinsorrows]

so, it's some type of family themed retreat marked as a great opportunity for bonding, strengthening relationships and just fun for kids.

so attending, we have roman, samantha, jey, nicki, they bad ass kids, jimmy, naomi, and r-truth (nicki's brother in this au and a friend to the bloodline).

we also have solana, mira, marcus, bayely, alex, trick (alex husband), wes, wes wife (still gotta name her), and their kids.

so yes.....a lot of people.

and a large part of all these people going is mira's smart lil self using her tablet to call several of these family members and ask them attend this retreat. we're going to assume it's a few weeks ahead of time, thus giving people time to accommodate their schedule. because no one can say not to mira.

but also, it's very much "roman is going? well, i have to go too to make sure everything is okay" and "shit, marcus gon' be there? well, you know we gotta go to make sure big dog don't kill that man."

i also need ya'll to know it's very much gon be r-truth and/or jimmy saying stuff ahead of time like, "man, fuck him. what he do anyway? a doctor? boring. you got this, uce. go get back your woman" still not telling roman about this plan baby girl done came up with. only to meet marcus and be like, "man, you know what, he alright in my book. i like that dude! he smart as hell. roman, you need to stop tripping." 😭😭😭

and good lord, don't get me started on the lil activities and exercises during the retreat. exercises that the adults in on this lil reconciliation plan somehow always make sure roman and solana get paired up for. except, there's tension, and not the good kind, between roso that only keeps building/getting worse. so you can bet there some scene where it's roman, solana, and maybe jimmy in the middle of an exercises, but solana and roman are acting like damn children.

"jimmy, tell him i'm not the one acting like a child."

"roman, solana said---"

"big jim, tell her that me not agreeing with whatever she fucking wants doesn't make me a child."

"soso, roman said---"

"jimmy, tell roman that just because everyone else bends over for him doesn't mean that i will---"

"ayo, big dog, she said---"

"she didn't mind bending over when we made mira."

a mess.

and don't get me started on r-truth ass.

"ayo, ya'll. i'll be back. i gotta interview here for a job as a counselor."

"a counselor? you? how the hell did that happen?"

"man, idk, they said they liked me, and i told them i have my ph.d---"

"wait, you told them what?"

"that i got my ph.d"

"truth, you have a ged!"

"ain't that the same thing?"

"no!"

"forreal? that's---that's on me. that's my bad."

wait. hear me out.

instead of the kidnapping plot......

solana is with marcus, roman gets a girlfriend finally (don't hate me), and mira asks if they can go on a family vacation, cause maybe one of her lil friends told her about them, and lil ms. mira is scheming, thinking her mommy and daddy will fall in love again on the trip, and they can be a big, happy family.

not realizing daddy's new girlfriend, sam, and mommy's boyfriend, marcus, are also tagging along, because roso are trying to see how this "blended family" thing works. let's say roman is now at the point where the elders are pressuring him to settle down and produce a male heir, sam isn't awful in this, and she's available, so he's trying.

but also jimmy, jey, naomi, and bayley are there, so there's already going to be shenanigans, cause these four are also in cahoots with mirabel to reunite roso. well, not jey, he said keep me out that shit 😂😂😂 meanwhile jimmy holding up his phone playing careless whisper in front of the room roso are sharing for sake of mira (separate beds).

and by the end of the two week trip, roman and solana realize something just might still be there.....along with a ton of drama, angst, hilarious ass moments along the way.

[chatdae]

Grace FUMBLED Ryan! BAD parenting to preach respect and then act contrarily (ie saying she wants him to feel safe, then not allowing him any autonomy). She should've let him leave and come back... or at least explained why she didn't want him to leave before deciding (ex: 'Homelander will kidnap you', etc). She needed to let him make the decision for himself... agh. AAAAA.

And now Butcher's no use because he's committed to being evil and can't offer ANYTHING good to Ryan!!! He was so right, they NEEDED to give Ryan more space... I know the external pressures seemed impossible, but dammit, Grace, this was no way to beat the odds!

(this is about The Boys season four)

[arundolyn]

ohhhh my fucking god nobody needs to like know any of this medical tmi but it is literally 11 pm and if im kept up one minute longer when i just laid down trying to go to sleep by my mother YELLING REPEATEDLY that she needs to pee. im going to actually go insane. she got a catheter in. Yesterday. it is working. she won't listen to anyone when they tell her that this is the case. help me jesus. im sure if a nurse comes to check on her tomorrow they'll probably get the same response. my brain will simply explode

[jackass-jones]

The best feeling in the world is when there’s a piece of media you know you love and you’ve hyped it up as your favorite thing for so long but you haven’t revisited it in a while so you start to worry if it’s really as good as you make it out to be and so you go back and revisit it and it’s like. Oh this is even better than I remembered this shit rules

[francisco-alvarez]

"I don't want to feel good, Jones!" Francine yelled, snatching her hand away from his. Her heart broke a little, but she hid it well. "I don't want to feel good all the damn time, I..I want to be loved, you know?! Or have you never thought about that?"

...

"So, if you're just looking for some pussy to fuck, go find someone else! Go..go to June, or Rosalie, I don't know, just...just leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you." She said, her voice wavering as she began to mumble out the last part. "You clearly like them better than me."

Hey... You doin' okay?

I had a moment to think of what I said.

Sorry, ahah...

- @jonesthefightingtiger

(Bro is desperate snrt)

Francine sat in the medbay, looking through the recent psych evaluations before she heard a voice behind her. She recognized who it was, and tensed slightly.

She stayed quiet, trying to make herself look busy. She had come to the conclusion that Jones would probably leave her alone if she did. She didn't want to interact with him, not after the whole incident.