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bbokicidal · 2 days ago

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So Bitter, So Sweet. .:. SKZ [H.JS]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Han Jisung x Fem!Reader Warnings : Dom!Jisung, Sub!Reader, Hate Sex, Hair pulling, PinV (wrap it, folks), pussy spanking, bruising

Kinktober Day 5 of 10 : Hate Sex w/ Han

Word Count: 4K

This was supposed to be Day 5 of Kinktober 2024 but I had discontinued the series due to personal reasons at the time. So... Here, have it 5 months later.

“I actually have a presentation for media studies I have to work on tonight, so I really can’t…”

Chris blinks at the comment about a presentation. Media Studies? He had that class with you and he was pretty sure you didn’t have a presentation for that class. There wasn’t even class today, what were you talking about? His brow crinkles in confusion and his nose scrunches up as he looks over at you, opening his big fat mouth and blowing your cover. “I don’t think we have a– Ngh!” His sentence is cut short when your hand collides with his abdomen, knocking the wind from him enough to shut him up. It was too late, though; He’d spilled too much.

“..So… you’re lying just to get out of coming to the party.” Minho’s eyes slowly drag from where his friend is doubling over at your side to you instead. “Is there a reason you don’t want to go or are you just one of those types of people?” He knew you weren’t but he asked anyway.. You’d come to parties he had held before so what was keeping you from coming to this one? It was Halloween - Basically the biggest parties of the year, other than New Years, were held on Halloween!

“I don’t like Jisung.” Your answer is plain and simple. You hadn’t liked Jisung since you met him. He played so sweetly with the boys; Kissed their cheeks, helped them with homework, and he was all smiles and laughs when he was with them. But as soon as you came around he would shut down and his precious little eye smile would turn into a glare pointed in your direction - which led you to assume that the dislike was mutual.

Jisung blinks heavily beside Minho, brows both cocking upward as if he’s surprised by the statement. He stares down at his hands, twisting a ring to fit right on his finger. “Let me just go fuck myself,” He comments shortly after and Changbin shifts on the other side of him, eyeing the younger man as if silently trying to get him to back down. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Jisung looks directly at you then, not shying away from the heavier conversation.

You scoff as if finding it ridiculous that he doesn’t know. Is he playing dumb, or is he actually an idiot? “You’re an asshole every time I’m around you. You won’t even look at me half of the time and when you do you just sit and brood. And either way - I don’t need a specific reason to dislike someone. Maybe I just hate your face.” That was… one of the biggest lies you had ever told. Jisung was far from ugly; He has big round eyes, soft cheeks, soft features in general really and he looked like a prince who had stepped right out of a Disney movie. He was gorgeous, actually, but you’d never say that to his face given his ugly personality. All of that, all of his behavior towards you, had simply ruined his image for you. “Remember last week?”

“Last week? Oh, God - You’re still whining about that?” Jisung’s eyes narrow over in your direction, his glare as heavy as your own.

You scoff once more, anger bubbling in your chest. Chris reaches to rest a hand gently between your shoulder blades, ready to guide you away if the situation turns left. “You poured alcohol on me just because you could - right after I said I was going to talk to a guy I like. That was a dick move, Han!” You point a finger at the man and he smirks at your heated demeanor. Chris’ hand becomes guiding, giving a gentle push to steer you away from the three men before Jisung had a chance to bite back at you.

He offers a shaky smile to the three, keeping his eyes directed towards Minho and Changbin in hopes he can clear this up at least a little while Jisung calms himself down. Or… tried to. “I’ll.. figure something out with her, okay? Expect us to be there.” Chris chuckles, his voice wavering with uncertainty before he fumbles quietly with the last bit before he walks away with you. “There’snopresentation.”

Minho gives a heavy sigh as his eyes draw to Jisung who seethes between himself and the third, blinking slowly at the younger. Jisung glances up and glares, his snarl looking almost like a pout on plush lips. “She drives me crazy sometimes-! I never poured anything on her on purpose.”

“I can tell,” Minho’s eyes rolled. “You need to tone it down. There’s no reason for you two to have this bad of a relationship with each other. Maybe you should’ve just explained that to her when you had the chance?”

“She never gives me an opportunity to clear it up,” Jisung scowls. “She’s ridiculous.”

Changbin claps a hand on the younger’s back before moving it up to grip at the nape of his neck, giving a subtle squeeze as he pushes Jisung forward to keep walking. “You almost laughed at her anger - right in her face. Don’t think you’re making the best impression.” When Jisung turns to bite back at that comment, Changbin forces him to face forward and keep walking by the grip he had on the other’s neck. “Ah; Keep walking. We’re not having this discussion right now. You two need to talk it out. I’m not involved.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to tie a tie.” Your fingers laced carefully through the small knot you had created with the carefully sewn fabric, pulling it through and tightening it with care. The tie sits neatly against the white button up Chris wore, contrasting so perfectly yet matching with the long coat he had on over top. “Aren’t you like twenty five or something?”

“Twenty-six.” Chris smiles, his lips forming a straight line and quirking up at the corners that makes his cheeks dimple heavier than normal. It makes you smile as well, the sight of his face squishing of its own accord. “And I do know how to tie a tie; I just wanted a pretty girl close to me.” His eyes drop from where they had been looking over your head to peer right at you instead. You sigh out a soft laugh through your nose and give a small shake of your head. Ever the flirtatious one, you knew Chris meant nothing by it; He was always calling you pretty, always sticking close to your side, always protective. You were his best friend so of course he was always going to be showering you with compliments; You did the exact same thing.

As you take a step back and pivot on your heel to look, Chris lets his head tip in the mirror. “What exactly are you supposed to be, again? A businessman?” Your eyes drag over his choice of clothing and he giggles at the assumption, shaking his head in a manner that makes his hair fall down into his eyes. The one white contact made him a little scarier than usual.

“I’m a sexy vampire!” Chris exclaims as if it should be obvious. He turns to look at you, extending his arms and then giving a little turn just to show off. He giggles shortly after when he realizes you’re laughing at him, one hand pressed over your mouth in adoration. You had the stupidest yet cutest best friend in the world. “Can’t you tell?”

Your giggles subside as you answer him, keeping one hand pressing to your lips while you look him over. “Aren’t vampires usually wearing, like, Victorian era clothing or something? The shirts with the ruffles, the high waisted pants… I’ve never seen a vampire in a suit before, I don’t think.”

“Okay, well then I’m a sexy vampire in a suit.” His head turns back to the mirror and he smiles, pushing the little fangs he wore over his bottom lip with a grin. Stupidest yet cutest. “You’re ripping on my outfit but what are you?”

You had just tugged your jacket on as you looked over, listening to him question your own outfit. “A sexy nun; Duh.” He should’ve been able to tell by the veil you wore but apparently that one white contact took away some of his vision. Which also explained why he nearly walked into the doorway on his way out of your dorm, smoothing his hair back to play it off while you laughed. “Go, go.” You shoo him out into the hallway, turning to shut and lock the door behind you as you took your leave.

The drive to the party is short, given it’s only on the other side of campus - but Chris insists on driving you two because he doesn’t want you walking in the chilled night air wearing that outfit. You’d be cold even with your jacket and he can’t subject you to that! So he hops in the car, heats the seats and carefully navigates his way down a few blocks before finding a parking spot across the street. The two of you peek out the driver’s window to look at the house the party is being held in. Minho had snagged one of the nicer, smaller places on campus and all he had to do to get it was find three willing roommates to move in with him; Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung.

The windows of the house are flooded with lights colored orange, red, white, and green while music pounds at the walls and threatens to bring them down. The outside is decorated with Jack-o-lanterns and leaf bags colored orange with faces on them, a skeleton dressed in red lingerie sitting in a lawn chair (by Hyunjin’s doing) and a fake Ghostface from Scream sitting on the steps leading up to the door just to scare away any kids who might want to approach. The front door is covered in Caution tape in a rather messy manner but… you have to admit, the decoration job isn’t horrible. From afar, that is; As soon as the two of you approach the house you end up finding out that someone had shoved a fleshlight between the legs of the skeleton in the lawn chair, and you aren’t sure if that makes the decorating job better or worse.

Stepping into the house, you shrug off your jacket to carefully drape it over a chair nearby that has clearly been taken over by other jackets, hoodies, and even a few blankets people had just wrapped around themselves and ran in. Chris keeps his on because he swears it’s a part of his costume and important to the outfit - and after a small bicker back and forth about it you decide to give in and just go get a drink to start off the night. You end up meeting up with Changbin and Jisung in the kitchen, Changbin’s hand holding a solo cup full of a clear liquid on ice while Jisung’s double fisting two different beers and sipping from them continuously as they talk.

“Oh look, it's a discount Rob Zombie. Glad to see you here.” You greet with a sarcastic smile, looking away from Jisung to Changbin who chuckles at your comment on Jisung’s outfit. He’d worn a black and white striped long sleeve under a black tank top that hung off his body and proved to be someone else’s he had stolen and cut up for the costume. His jeans were a bit flashy with their belt chains hanging off of his hips, clinking together any time he moved where he stood. He even threw on a choker and a longer necklace with a pendant hanging off of it. And the stupid, pretty black gloves he wore with the rings all over his fingers…

“I need a drink. Something, anything.”

Jisung’s gaze lowers and he glares as you already shit on his outfit when you’d only just arrived. “I’m a rockstar, actually? Jesus fuck,” He growls out the last bit, turning away and leaving the kitchen. He rounds the island and wanders off to find other people to talk to, seemingly no longer interested in conversing with Changbin when you are around.

Changbin extends his arm with a small smile, one corner of his lips perking upward. He watches as you take his drink right from him and take a few large sips, grimacing at the taste. “It’s… sour.”

And Changbin nods, chuckling at your realization. “Yeah, it’s made with sour. That’s the whole point.” He holds out his hand to take it back whenever you feel like you’re done with it, your expression less than pleasant as you click your tongue and hand it back to him.

Yet every time you returned to the kitchen, you found yourself mixing Whiskey and Sour into a cup together to get another feeling of that sweet, sweet buzz. It fucked you up fast and that’s how you liked it, even if you were being cautious and pacing yourself. Though you’d spent the last few hours dancing with Changbin, chatting with Minho in a quieter corner and even finding Hyunjin on the couch and sitting in his lap during a small game of Truth or Dare, you managed to always come back to Chris.

Minho had retired for the night and gone upstairs to his room, Hyunjin was still sitting on the sofa now talking to a rather pretty little blond in a black cat costume that hugged him just right, and Changbin was… well, he was somewhere - all over the place, if you were honest. Chris leaned back against the counter as he watched you sip from the fourth drink. You looked pretty well-off despite having so much alcohol in your system. “You came in here kind of hot earlier.”

“Thank you.~” You coo against the rim of your cup, sipping again from the drink as Chris bursts into laughter.

“No - No. I meant coming in hot as in coming in fiery. You ripped into Jisung right away, you know.” He comments, clarifying his statement with a small shake of his head and a bright, gummy smile that showed all of his teeth. He’s always so smiley around you and he really can’t help it.

Your smile falls. “Oh.” You deadpan the reply and Chris almost regrets even talking about Jisung at all. Though, now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen him since you had first arrived - and roasted him like an oven roasted chicken when you walked into the kitchen. “Yeah. He deserves it, though! His costume isn’t even that cool - He just looks like himself. You know, an emo twink.” You set your cup down on the island behind you and sigh out, turning away with a lazy tip of your head. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom.”

“Don’t fall in,” Chris quips with a smile as you walk away from him, unable to help the corny line of goodbye.

Your walk to the bathroom is short, given that it’s right around the corner and just before the stairs. Your hand finds the doorknob after a bit of tipsy fumbling and as you push it open, you’re met with a sight you’d never expected before in your life.

Jisung stood leaning back against the sink, his jeans pushed down to just above his knees while one hand jerked at his cock - hard and leaking and slick with precum that he’d already smeared over his length. His face is flushed and only grows deeper in color when he sees you push open the door to the bathroom, his lips popping apart - slick with spit and drool dripping down his chin as he looks over. “Either get in or shut the fucking door.”

You’re quick to step in - mostly because you panic. Even if you don’t care for him, it’s a little ridiculous to expose his entire cock to the world outside. So you enter the bathroom with flushed cheeks and lingering eyes. Your state of slight intoxication refuses to let you pull your gaze away from the way his hand still strokes over his cock even with you in the room. Your weight shifts to one side and the moment you pull your eyes away he decides to open his mouth. “Fuck, I hate how sexy you look in that stupid costume.”

His comment makes you squirm, your thighs pressing together to try and hide the way your pussy drips at the sight of him alone. And now he was admitting that he thought you looked sexy? You shift against the door and Jisung reaches out to gently pull you closer with his free hand, laying it against your waist while you take the few steps to reach him. He looks you over up close before sighing out, his thumb sliding over his tip just to tease himself a little. “You want it?”

Jisung chuckles at the way you nod feverishly at his question. Yeah, he was fucking annoying, and yeah his face made a bit of anger swell in your chest even if he was really fucking hot in the moment - but he was just straight up offering his dick to you and you couldn’t say no to a guy with big glossy eyes and a leaking cock. He shifts away from the counter and steps in behind you instead, pressing your hips forward to the edge of the sink. You gasp out and reach out to support yourself, your hand laying on the mirror to leave prints behind as Jisung flips up the bottom half of your dress to lay it over your back. He sighs out in admiration at the sight of the black lace that hid beneath it, hooking one finger into it to tug it aside and see what he really wanted to get a look at.

You peek up into the mirror just in time to see Jisung dipping down behind you and a rush of excitement shoots through your veins. You’re under the assumption he might eat you out a little before he gets to the main ordeal - but Jisung isn’t that nice and he still dislikes you even if you look damn sexy in that tight dress and cute little veil. He spits directly onto your pussy after using his thumbs to spread your lips for him, leaning in soon after to use his tongue and make sure you were plenty wet for easy access as if you weren’t dripping already. Jisung stands back to his full height to look down at your hole, both of his hands gripping at your hips as he lines himself up. His spit clings to your clit before dripping onto the floor between your heels just as his cock slips into you with ease.

You sigh out in admiration at the feeling, eyes rolling back into your head with the way he fills you up. It’s unfair how fucking hot he is considering he’s an asshole to you any time he has the chance. Your hand pushes heavier on the mirror as he starts up a steady rhythm, his cock sliding against your gummy walls with the most sinful sounds bouncing off of the bathroom walls; The wet squelch of your pussy forming to his length as he pushes into you harder when he realizes you can take it - that you want to. “Fuck – Mnh, Ji –”

Jisung glances up at you through the mirror, his hair clouding his vision as it fell into his eyes. He peeks down almost immediately after however, reaching down between your bodies to pull up his shirt as it kept falling down and getting in his way from feeling your skin on his own. He tucks the fabric of the striped shirt between his teeth before he chuckles, his eyes turning back down to where the two of you connect - and as you look at him through the mirror you swear you’ve never seen something so fucking hot in your life. His skin was slick and glistening with a thin layer of sweat which meant his hair was beginning to stick to his face, and with his shirt tucked between his teeth his mouth had formed a small scowl. You could’ve swore you heard a couple quiet growls coming from his throat, too, while he fucked into you harder than before.

Your body rocks against the sink as you hold onto the wall to keep yourself steady, moans flooding from your lips that spur Jisung on to fuck you harder, faster. He reaches with one hand to grab onto your shoulder, pulling you with every thrust so you met him halfway and you whined as you felt his tip prodding at your walls, pushing further each time he pushed into you. Jisung used his free hand to grip at your hip, bruising his fingerprints into your skin as evidence he had been there - been in you. His hand slips lower until he can hoist your thigh up, pushing your leg onto the counter so he can stand even closer to you and sink his cock further into your walls.

“Ohh - Fuck! Fuck, ‘m gonna come –” Your stutters of release make Jisung glance up, dark eyes staring through his hair as he watches your expressions in the mirror; Your eyes closed, head tipped back, fingers curling against the mirror as your orgasm hit. Jisung’s eyes darted back down to watch you squirt around his cock, slowly pulling out before pushing back into your pussy just when you had thought he’d called it quits. He huffs out, his movements rapid but messy now as he chases his own release. He slumped forward a bit and ended up moving his hand from your shoulder to your hair, his fingers tangling in that thin veil to keep a tight grip on you. Well - that, and he’s always wanted to pull your hair when you got on his nerves.

His breathing is labored and ragged as he lets go of his shirt, the fabric falling down while he spills ropes of cum into your walls to claim you as his own. That’s how he thinks of it in the moment at least. Jisung pulls out shortly after, his cum leaking from your slit and dripping down onto the tile flooring of the bathroom. He reaches down, using two fingers to push it back into your cunt while you whine at the feeling. “God, you’re so noisy,” Jisung huffs out, straightening up and glancing at you as his hand meets you again with a slap to your pussy.

You jolt the first time and relax the second, his hand stilling against your entrance to carefully rub against you and get you to ease up, your body slumping against the countertop in exhaustion.

He peeks down and watches as both his cum and your slick cling to his fingers as he pulls his hand away, strings connecting his skin to your own. He usually wouldn’t even think to come inside of someone, but with you it was just another form of proof he’d been there. Something for you to think about when he pissed you off in the following days.

And Minho usually wouldn’t care that people had fucked in his bathroom as he often found evidence of it after the parties he held, stumbling tiredly into the room to piss and find meds that would hopefully cure his hangover migraine; But handprints on his mirror? Really?

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna

#skz x reader #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #han x reader #han Jisung smut #han Jisung x reader #skz fic #stray kids scenario #stray kids fanfic #skz imagines

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monstersholygrail · 1 day ago

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It isn’t often that your Wolf Hybrid bf isn’t touching you, a Puppy Hybrid, in some way, shape, or form. A hand smacking your ass as you pass him, his grip on your waist as he draws you into his chest, and his face always tucked into your neck to catch your scent.

But it’s always a million times worse when he’s in his run. Cute smacks on your bottom turn into full blown spanking as he bends you over the nearest surface and rails you from behind.

His hands grab your waist and as soon as your back hits his chest he’s grinding his hard erection into the cleft of your ass. Practically tearing through your clothes to get to your dripping cunt.

And every time he goes in to sniff at your scent, he doesn’t just stop there. Dragging his nose down your soft curves till he’s stuffing his face into your pretty pussy and feasting on you like a man starved. Prepping you and fucking you, refusing to stop until your scent is perfectly mixed in with his.

Then just as his rut stops and he thinks he’ll be able to give you, his poor pup, a break, your heat starts. And of course you’re absolutely no better. Despite all of your bfs concerns for how much your soft squishy body can take he can never deny you a thing.

Even as unlike him you never give him a warning. You always seem to come out of nowhere and pounce on him without a moments of hesitation. He always follows by grunting as his back hits the ground, his arms curling around you to make sure you don’t get hurt.

“Maybe wanna give me a moment to breathe, mama?”

You nearly cum right then and there from the nickname alone. Your bf must notice what he said too and maybe it’s remnants of his rut but the nickname does something wild to his body, his cock growing rock hard instantly.

Which of course you use to your advantage, whimpering and whining as you hump your bare soaked pussy against his clothed bulge. Making your bf growl furiously, hands moving to guide your hips against him. He can feel your gushing pussy soak through his pants and his cock twitches at the warmth radiating from your core.

“Need my cock don’t ya, pretty? Won’t stop pawing at me till I fill ya with my seed, hmm.”

You can’t even talk, your head all cloudy and thick, and your body burning with so much need you feel like you’re about to explode. Your tail thumps heavily behind you, demanding he take care of you.

“What’s that, baby? I’m not quite sure what’cha want.”

A sick smirk spreads across his face as his hips buck and grind against your sopping cunt. Pleasure explodes behind your eyelids but it’s just not enough. You need him inside of you, praying he understands and takes you just like you need.

“C’mon, use your words, now. Neither of wanna wait on your bratty ass.”

A annoyed grumble rolls through your throat, puppy ears falling back and tail thumping a little harder. He knows what you need but he’s always gotta make it difficult. Never wasting a chance to tease you till you just can’t take it anymore.

“Baby—nngh— please! Fuck me, dammit!”

Your bf snarls and before you can even blink even flipping you over onto your back tearing your clothes to shreds. As his big red tip brushes through your throbbing folds, you instinctively reach for it, back arching into him.

“Aye, that’s it, ma. Lemme take care of ya. You just sit back all nice and relax.”

Then he’s sliding into you, his thick girth stretching you so good your eyes roll back in their head. His claws dig into your plush waist, holding you still as he starts fucking up into you like he’s the one going through a heat and not you.

Your cries of ecstasy bounce off the walls each time his cock slams back into you, his pace relentless, never giving you a moment to catch your breath.

With all the strength you have left you cling to him and try and meet his desperate thrusts. But with a rough growl your bf pushes your hips into the ground and spears into you even harder. Making you absolutely crazy with lust.

“Dont. Move,” he rasps, “Didn’t get it during my rut but mark my words imma get you pregnant during this heat. Make you a real mama.”

His words have your cunt gushing around his cock and the brutal rocking of his hips sends you flying higher and higher. Each thrust brings a loud squelch, letting him know just how unbelievably turned on you are.

Moans pour out of you in waves as your body begins to shake. Squirming and writhing on your bfs hard cock as much as you can before he pins you down even harder. A dark chuckle leaving him as he watches you.

“You want that, huh? Fuckin’ show me. Milk my cock. Augh!— Take it, t-take every drop!”

His hand snakes down and expertly begins rubbing tight circles in your swollen bundle of nerves. You’re wound so tightly you can’t hold your climax back as it blows through you, your scream so loud it rings in your ears as you violently tremble in his arms.

Your Wolf bf lets out a terrifying roar and follows right after you into the bliss of your release. His pace never faltering as he works you both through your orgasms.

The second it begins to fade your bf scoops you up into his arms and rolls himself on the ground, making you use him as a pillow. You go to voice your concern about the hard floor but almost as if he knows what you’re about to say before you say it he quickly shushes you. Placing a hand on the back of your head he starts to pet you.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, baby girl. Just relax before the next wave of heat comes.”

You whine softly into his skin but listen to his words, knowing it’ll come sooner than you’re ready for. But you have no doubt your bf will be there to work you through it, spilling you with as much of his cum as he needs for it to take.

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softaestluv · 1 day ago

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Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem! Reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 (of 4), Ao3

You twirled.

Of course you did.

You took Simon’s hand, held it above your head, and slowly spun around; a low whistle leaving his lips in appreciation.

His grip tightened on your fingers when your back faced him, stopped your movements dead in their tracks. Kept you in place, ass arched for his viewing consumption. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Your heartbeat drowning in your ears, hands clammy against his, inhaling shallow breaths like you had just gotten back from a run.

Except you hadn’t.

You were just showing your ass off to your mechanic. Your dirty mechanic. Filthy mechanic.

And it left your underwear a sticky mess, cotton fabric molded to your aching pussy in anticipation. He could bend you over the hood of your pick up right then and there, hitch the fabric of your pencil skirt over your hip, show off your glistening pussy, and slide right in with no resistance.

You would take it— god, would you take it.

Let Johnny see the whole thing, wouldn’t really care if he did because you would be too distracted with Simon’s dirty hands, filthy cock and balls, pungent sweat staining your body. Ruining your pretty flesh, clean and pristine, freshly washed just for him, shaved just for him.

Give him such a pretty and warm cunt to ruin, taint with his grime.

Except he didn’t, and you weren’t one to beg.

Just let him twirl you around until you faced him again, eyes dilated, pools of his irises settling dark. A better image than you; you were sure.

Left it at that, drove home with an unnecessary oil change and panties clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Laid in bed with an insistent craving, an unbound fever that ruptured, seeped out of your control, and lead to the front steps of Simon’s dinky shop. Suffocated you to your wits end; a hunger that demanded more. More than two slender fingers attached to your wrist.

So, you sought out more.

The time in between felt endless. You spent the days hoping your shitty pick-up would break down, the engine light would come on, your tire would go flat. Any excuse to see him again, but your lemon of a truck suddenly decided it didn’t have any problems, wasn’t a nuisance in your daily life.

You were so close to sabotaging your own vehicle, slashing a tire yourself, fucking up the engine on purpose. But you weren’t that desperate— yet.

You would have to bite the bullet. Bury it deep in your mouth, crack your molars against the lead, claim it as your own, and show up at the foot of his shop with minuscule problems. But by some miracle, Simon didn’t seem to mind, if anything, he melted the bullet into rubber, made the bite chewable.

Your air con’s not workin’? No worries, sweet’art, just needs some coolant and a new filter. Wouldn’t want ya melting in this heat, would we?

Yeah, you nodded weakly, yeah, we wouldn’t want your core to burn, pulse in agony, trail molten lava against the curve of your back, would we now?

Need me to rotate your tires? Easy ‘nough, and when’s the last time you replaced ‘em? Don’t worry, I’ll get some ordered to the shop, have ya sorted in no time. Can’t be drivin’ round with no traction, ‘t’s dangerous, pretty bird.

Headlight’s gone, is it? Simple fix, won’t take more than a few minutes. Go on, take a seat in my office, yeah? Glad you brought it to me— wanna make sure you’re safe, after all.

Pay him? What are you on about? Don’t even think about it. These are easy fixes— no need to worry, sweet’art. He’s just takin’ care of ya, that’s all.

Maybe it was a bit pathetic, a little out of sorts for your character, but if he wouldn’t accept your money, you would pay him back in other ways. A shirt that was a little too deep, a skirt that was a little too tight, heels that were a little too obnoxious. Never all at once, you had a little more dignity than that.

It was the same routine each time; a weak excuse to park in his service drive, then he would order you to sit in his office. To which you always did, obediently, more than content to watch him from the solitary confines of his office when Johnny wasn’t there. And when he was done, you would try to negotiate a payment, but all he would accept was a twirl.

Maybe it should’ve made you feel like an object. Objectified, paying for a fucking air filter with a sway of your hips, but it doesn’t. You can’t even describe how much you like it, can’t even explain why you do.

You just do.

In an excruciating way, everything you can’t say by words, too much and absolutely not enough at the same time. Painfully embarrassing from the way it leaves you a shaking mess, how it dampens your panties— soaks them through.

The day he places his free hand on your waist when you twirl, using his large palm on your hip to stop your spin instead of tightening his fingers in your grasps your knees almost buckle under you. A quiet gasp leaving your lips in surprise, squeezing his fingers tightly.

You think you might be imagining it, that your hopes had become so grandiose that it conjured the feeling, until it moves.

A rugged hand, scarred and calloused sweeps up in one careful motion. It sends shivers over your spine, jolting straight. But it’s gone as soon as it’s there, facing him once again as if he wasn’t carving the shape of your hip seconds ago.

When you stumble back to your truck, your stomach twists when there isn’t a grease stained imprint of his palm on your shirt, no remnant of his touch.

That becomes the new step in the routine. You should hate it, but you fucking love it. Like it’s a reward for sitting so calmly when your body is waging a war on the inside. A gentle pet against soft flesh to accommodate the few minutes you sat hot and bothered, untouched.

You think about his heavy hand grazing your figure any chance you get, stings and weeps in the absence of his touch, the lack of his dominant eyes.

You try to convince yourself that’s enough, that he would’ve asked you by now if he wanted more than fleeting glances and featherlight touches. That was before your truck broke down one day. You had been hoping, manifesting for your engine light to flick on, but not like this. On the side of a small country road, sun setting behind you, dirt flying around you on a Saturday night.

You should probably call a tow truck instead of Simon, but you don’t. You don’t entirely want an expensive bill to pay. Maybe you’re a little spoiled by his free services at this point, but he answers the phone in seconds, tells you he’s on the way within the same breath.

When his work truck pulls up beside you, and he steps out, you think your lungs collapse in your chest. You’re used to mechanic Simon, uniform soiled in sweat, reeking of a days of work.

Now, a clean Simon? It practically sends you over the edge, stumbling forward, stuttering over your words.

A black leather jacket and a white shirt covers his broad chest, blue jeans framing his long legs. His hair lays flat, damp, like he just got out of the shower; it makes you feel guilty, like you interrupted his private time. Not guilty enough that it stops your panties from soaking through when he gets real close and you can smell his body wash on him, mossy forest, redwoods.

“You okay, bird?” He asks, palm finding your waist in concern.

It’s practically out of a movie scene; it’s almost comical, but you feel like doing anything but laughing. Pressing your thighs together instead, trying to regulate your breaths so you’re not panting in his face like a dog.

You nod aimlessly, staring up at him with wide eyes, hoping that it was the correct response because you hadn’t really comprehended what he asked you. All you can focus on is the shape of his hand on your waist, fucking massive, thick and warm. His clean skin, free of all sticky and dark stains you’ve begun to associate with him, shaving cream wafting off of his smooth jaw.

“Le’s get ya in my truck, yeah?” He continues, voice firm and rich.

He guides you to his truck, opens the passenger door for you, just like you’re sure he would on a date. All cleaned up and a gentleman, a picture from your fantasies. And just like you do at his shop, you watch him hitch your truck to his through the rear view mirror. Admiring the way his wide back stretches the leather material taut.

When he gets in the driver seat you’re all strained voice and nervous laughter. The fabric of his seats smells like the Simon your used to, car oil and musk, but he smells like a shower and his cologne, woody and pine. You barely have the strength to listen to what he’s telling you, explaining that he can’t work on your truck tonight, that he’s busy, so all he can do is drop it off at the shop and drive you home when the combined scent is intoxicating.

You think about inviting him in, drenching your sheets in his clean scent when he walks you to your front door, but you don’t, can’t when he’s busy. He’s apologizing, you know that much, mumbling his sorry’s because he can’t fix the problem that night, but you don’t mind; it’s just another excuse to see him tomorrow, even if you’re shit out of a vehicle.

Can’t find it in yourself to care about anything else when your back is pressed against your door, trapped between the wood and his hulking frame.

“Goin’ to the pub with the lads, would ditch ‘em to help, but Johnny’d never let me hear the end of it.” He explains, tucking his hands into his leather jacket.

You smile with a shake of your head, “No, no it’s okay.”

“Gonna need a ride to work in the mornin’?” He asks.

“Are you offering to take me?” You lilt, tilting your head teasingly.

“Course I am.” He says so matter-of-factly, like it doesn’t make sense for him not to.

“Then, yes,” You agree, leaning forward on your tippy toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, Simon.”

It’s supposed to be a sweet moment, a tease of your feelings, warm and soft. Everything and more you could pay him with for his services, but he has your jaw cupped in seconds, lunging forward to capture your lips in his, your head knocking against the door from the sheer force. You gasp, fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt, fisting it tightly in your grasps.

It’s harsh, fierce. All clashing teeth and bumping noses, exactly how you pictured a man like him would kiss. Bruising the shape of his lips on your mouth, branding them red and swollen between his teeth.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand there, destroying your modesty on your porch for all your neighbors to see, but it doesn’t seem long enough. He tastes like toothpaste, minty and sweet, a little like aftershave. You lick the taste fucking clean from his lips, clawing at his chest, panting into his mouth for more, more, more.

Johnny can fucking wait.

But he pulls away anyways, a pathetic protest spilling from your lips as you cling to him; you’re not ready to lose the sensation of his lips yet.

“Easy there, baby.”

God.

It’s a bit embarrassing the way your eyes flutter at the word, the way he has to ease you off your tippy toes, coax you back down. Opening your door for you as you stand there a little dumbfounded after a searing kiss.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?”

He leaves you at that like he didn’t just tilt your world on its axis, lips throbbing in his wake, skin still pulsing where he gripped your face, thick arousal pooling in your panties— your fingers definitely aren’t going to be enough tonight.

masterlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

#cherri writes #softaestluv #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cherris fics #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #fanfic #grease and grime won’t break your bones #mechanic simon ghost riley

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paulmescalsbiceps · 3 days ago

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can’t stop thinking about jealous!jamespotter roommates!jamespotter x fem!reader. wc:636

James would never consider himself a jealous person, especially when you constantly prove to him just how devoted of a partner you can be. In lines at grocery stores you let him hold your hand, caressing your thumb with his own and he presses his whole body against yours completely immune to the idea of other people seeing his near inappropriate display of affection.

But he just can’t help it! Especially when you smell so good and he just has to come up behind you when you’re cooking dinner for the two of you and sniff the space between your neck and collarbone. James would never go to the point of trying to make you feel uncomfortable, he’s understanding that his need for physical touch should never breach your comfort.

But he’s watching you make conversation with the dude behind the counter of the grocery store so effortlessly as you bond over the band on your t-shirt. No words make it through James head, instead it’s a vicious cycle of insecure thoughts that range from the fear that you may just like this asshole to the overwhelming desire to bend you over right there and prove to him who it is you really want.

“I think they’re touring soon, for the new album release. Any interest in going?” The worker asks as if James hasn’t been practically glued to your back mere minutes ago.

“I’m honestly not sure if I can afford it right now especially if they’re going to be playing bigger venues.” You admit, James admires your attempt to shrug off his intentions but if the asshole tries again one more time, he’s not sure if he can hold back.

“I mean, I could totally shout you a ticket.” He pushes, casually placing what’s left of the shopping into the bag. “It’d be like a date.”

James isn’t someone who gets angry. He’s calm and he’s rational. But not when it comes to you. He didn’t spend months pining after you just to deal with grocery store boys like him trying to pick you up.

“I think her boyfriend will be more than willing to pay for a ticket.” James moved his hand over the counter, taking the receipt from machine and makes quick work of collecting the bags into his hand, eager to leave and possibly never return. “I’m also sure she’s not interested in going with you.

The sternness in his voice shocks you, not quite sure whether to be concerned with his tone, or turned on. Before you can ever utter a reply, James has you by the waist guiding you back to the car.

“What was that about?” You question as you click your seatbelt into place. This wasn’t a side of James you usually saw.

“He was flirting with you! As if I wasn’t even there or something.” James tone shows his true emotions. He’s not angry. He’s jealous.

Fighting back a giggle you ask “James, be serious. he was like sixteen!”

“I am seriously lovey, he was looking at you like he wanted to take you right then and there.”

“And you don’t?” You tease back. That shut James up enough to turn on the car and silently pull out of the spot.

Several minutes later, James breaks the silence. “I’m sorry lovey, I don’t mean to embarrass you. I just don’t want to lose what’s mine.”

You feel your face heat at his honesty, he was never shy of talking out his emotions.

“Don’t apologise, it was honestly kind of hot.” Voice timid at the confession.

“Oh yeah?” God if James was one thing it was a total fucking tease. “Want me to show you just how much I wanted to prove to that asshole you’re mine?”

oh yeah, you were in for a real treat

do i make a part 2???🫣

#james potter x reader #jamespotter #james potter fic #jamespotterimagine #james potter drabble #roommate!jamespotter

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torubeth · 13 hours ago

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his face contorts into that of annoyance ‘what’re you doing’ he deadpans.

‘nothing! just sitting on my boyfriend’s lap, why?’ you smile at him.

he narrows his eyes at you ‘nothing good will come out of you sitting on my lap, get off’ he grunts but makes no move to push you off.

‘fine- but can i have my kisses first?’ you look at him eagerly.

‘no. off’

‘ryooo you can’t deprive me of my right to kisses’ you whine, cupping his face.

‘how long are you gonna be up my ass for this?’

‘i have nothing to do so…all day?’ you shrug.

he lets out an exasperated sigh ‘fucking fine, but just one kiss alright?’

‘no. i want five kisses’

‘that’s five too many kisses’

‘ryooo’ you whine, giving him your best puppy eyes.

‘don’t. and what an odd fucking request’

‘so is that a yes?’

he doesn’t respond but gives a begrudging hum.

you don’t hesitate as you dive into getting your what’s yours.

first your lips land on his forehead, then on his nose to which he scrunches, followed by his two cheeks and finally his lips where you part with an audible mwah!

pretending to hate every single second of it, he lifts you by your thigh and throws you onto the couch.

‘gremlin’ he mutters earning a laugh from you.

‘wait, can you get a wet towel for me to wipe the table with? it’s dusty’

‘no’ he says but gets up nonetheless and heads to the bathroom.

you sit up quickly and wait for him to be back.

inside the bathroom, sukuna grabs a towel and goes to the sink to wet it under the water.

his eyes lift to the mirror above before he does a double take.

they were everywhere. your lip prints. and they were red. every place you kissed left behind a red lip print.

‘brat!’ he yells, storming out the bathroom to find you in a fit of giggles.

‘what’s this?’ he questions, pointing to his face.

‘my love for you’ his eyebrow twitches, but you just smile at him.

he tsks as he sits next to you ‘i didn’t get the towel’ he mumbles.

‘it’s ok, i didn’t want it. just wanted you to see yourself in the mirror’ you chuckle.

you hear him mutter annoying brat under his breadth.

grumbling, he grabs you and sets you back on his lap ‘don’t fucking half ass it then, you missed a few spots’

(rblog if you fw soft!ryo, cuz i do🤘🏼)

#sukuna loves being branded by you <333 #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #jjk fluff #sukuna x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff

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hitlikehammers · 2 days ago

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the one where eddie blinks one day and wonders how he could be so blind as to only just be realizing his best-friend-roommate-sworn-in-blood-fucking-soulmate (or close enough) has been his whole heart, this whole time ♥️

(but what if he’s made his sweetheart wait too long? 🥺)

(that’s more a me thought than a thought in the fic though; trust the tags 💕)

He can’t for the life of him understand what makes today different. What makes him breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth with his eyes lifted to Steve mid-breath, and in the clench of his heartbeat he sees it. Nothing feels any different but he understands all at once what it means that it doesn’t. And that makes all the difference. Because when he opens his mouth on the exhale it’s like his heartbeat pushes up all the things that have lived in him maybe for forever, that he maybe just didn’t add up as two plus two fucking equals— “I love you.” —equals…Steve.

rating: t ♥️ tags: post s4, feelings realizations♥️, but they were roommates!, (and maybe never just roommates), love confessions, oblivious!eddie Munson, fluff, softness✨, 💕so domestic💕, idiot4man-who-conveniently-loves-his-idiot♥️ let me EMPHASISE SOFTNESS, okay?!?!???

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-seven: “Well, it seems to me that the best relationships - the ones that last - are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with.” ― Gillian Anderson

Eddie’s doing what he realizes he does most weekend afternoons. Most evenings in general, even.

They get home from work, or for Steve sometimes it’s school, working on his course load part-time at the community college. They make dinner, bring it home sometimes, order delivery if the budget’s landing in their favor—it hadn’t for a while once they moved, got out of Hawkins and went to Indy as soon as they could once Robin got into school there, but they’re levelling back out, and they’ve got a little flexibility left even as they set aside some of every pay check for trips back home, the possible need to move when Robin graduates because she wants a master’s either in Boston or Chicago, maybe Philadelphia. San Francisco was floated once or twice, too—they plan for all contingencies.

And who the fuck would have seen that coming: Eddie Munson. Planning. Considering a budget. Sticking to a budget. Working a fully legal job with a W-2 and everything. Making his half of the rent.

And again, ending up right here in this very instant: stretched across the couch—the one they nabbed from Steve’s house when they decided to move in together as real roommates versus just half living at each other’s houses, and managed to prove could in fact be broken in to the point of relative comfort when it was actually being used—but he’s stretched over it, ankles dangling off the end and head propped on Steve’s thigh where he takes up the far cushion, and today Eddie’s just reading, tomorrow he might work on fitting words to the chords he put down earlier in the week, or he might sketch a little further into one of the campaigns he’s building—not the one for the gremlins back home that he promised to bring and run for them over the holidays, but the one for the group he’s found here, who he likes well enough and whose DM had moved shortly before Steve and Eddie had gotten their apartment, almost like fate. Maybe he’ll do something entirely different tomorrow, who knows.

Like he said: he ends up this way, here like this, at some point just about every day.

And that’s makes all the difference.

Because when he opens his mouth on the exhale it’s like his heartbeat pushes up all the things that have lived in him maybe for forever, that he maybe just didn’t add up as two plus two fucking equals—

“I love you.”

—equals…Steve.

“Yeah.”

Eddie blinks. It’s a warm thing, that word, and Steve’s lips quirk a little, pleased-like, but Steve’s…Steve doesn’t even look away from the textbook he’s highlighting.

“I said I love you.”

Because Eddie…Eddie is running to quick through his head and he kinda thinks maybe he’s loved Steve since the Upside Down, but where he just kinda tossed that in with his love for everyone he fought the end of the world alongside, with Steve being at the top of the list because Steve had unexpectedly become his best friend, his closest confidant, the paladin to his bard and the closest, truest thing he had to family outside of Wayne, and so different from what he has with Wayne and—

And all of that, all of all of it was love of a wholly different kind, wasn’t it? From the fucking first and Eddie feels like an idiot for only putting it together, and not even consciously just—overflowing with it finally that somewhere at the fucking…cellular level, it couldn’t be contained.

So yeah, Eddie feels like a fucking idiot. He feels the slightest, like, frisson of anxiousness for saying it, the clear truth of what kind of love he’d meant ringing in Eddie’s each, pulsing through Eddie’s veins not just once but now twice but none of that means anything in the face of the giddy joyswelling undiluted through him, that makes him need to be absolutely sure Steve heard him.

No matter the consequences.

The tilt of Steve’s lips purses into more of a smirk, but still, like, a good one. But all he does it cap his highlighter and glance down at Eddie to poke the tip of his nose playfully with the pen-tip as he deadpans, or…no.

As he sasses:

“Yeah.”

He makes to go back to his homework, opens the text and then his highlighter again with his mouth this time—weirdly sexy, and it was always sexy, Eddie’s always found Steve extremely sexy but he’d figured that was just the plight of the gay guy with a model-gorgeous roommate; he’s a fucking moron, isn’t he?—and then Steve does something that’s not unprecedented or anything; actually happens pretty often: threads his finger through Eddie’s messy curls and just kinda, plays with the strands, massages at the scalp.

It’s a minute, even if Eddie feels it like an age, with Eddie’s own pulse jackhammering at the base of his throat, mind reeling, before Steve’s had slows; stills.

Eddie feels his weight shift and looks up, needy more than he’s a little terrified as Steve moves his gaze and locks eyes with him proper before asking, very slow:

“Did you just realize that it doesn’t have to called that out loud, to be that in all of this,” he gestures with his highlighter around the room, around their apartment, around their home—their home—and then softens, presses the tip of his marker to eddies sternum before he pauses, must see something in Eddie’s eyes before he slides his hand down the barrel and taps Eddie’s chest with his palm, intent heavy and clear as me breathes low, quirking his brow meaningfully:

“In here?”

And hell if Eddie’s pulse doesn’t jackrabbit a little: called-out but then also like it knows how to preen under an attention it’s quite possibly always wanted, and finally has?

Jesus.

“In everything?” Steve’s voice is low but his eyes glitter knowingly; there’s no hesitation; just observation. There’s no…there not even a shred of doubt.

And it’s kinda wild, because where Eddie…guesses he might have expected Steve to be waiting for the declarations, after the history he’s had in love of all sorts, he…he sees how maybe it’s that exact history that meant Steve, who reads people better than words on a page, would pick up on what real love was, whatever shape it finally took. Eddie feels fucking buoyant with it, vibrating with it, can’t even stew in the regret that it’s taken this long to say and recognize because Steve’s right: they were never just roommates. They weren’t just planning out budgets.

They’ve been building a life. And it’s…

It’s kind of fucking beautiful.

“I love you,” Eddie says again, this time heavy with feeling but…but it’s featherlight, like a sigh after holding his breath for…like, shit; since birth, maybe. “I’m in love with you.”

Steve’s smile doesn’t broaden too wide, more for the fact that he chews on his lip a little: endeared and amused and real fucking close to giggling and fuck, fuck: Eddie loves him.

He loves him.

And his smile might not change too much—or else, not to the untrained eye, and that’s sure as shit not Eddie’s—but Steve’s eyes.

Steve’s eyes dance and glow like starlight, half sun and half constellation; half life giving and half breathtaking.

“Love you too,” Steve says simply, traces Eddie’s cheekbone delicately, dare he say adoringly, with the pad of his thumb before going back to his textbook, one hand back to playing with Eddie’s hair.

So much the same. So much so different. So much…so much.

Eddie rests a hand on his own chest as he muses idly, just takes the feelings in as they rise in him and suffuse his whole being; watches Steve and feels under his palm when his heartbeat trips over itself in a giddy kind of way that he knows he gives away on his face for the way he feels his cheeks stretch.

“You look very happy with yourself,” Steve eventually darts a glance from the page over Eddie’s way, but looks something very arguably close to fucking delighted in his own right, so Eddie doesn’t hold back.

Doesn’t think he’s ever going to hold back, in this; takes a second to be thankful for not…understanding before he did just now because the idea of holding this back, of drawing it out or trying to hide it while he wondered or worried—it’s unfathomable in this moment. Under the warm glow of Steve’s gaze, those hands in Eddie’s hair.

“So fucking happy,” Eddie squirms a little where he lies, throwing himself a little more squarely in Steve’s lap and fuck, it feels so right, and Steve just huffs a little laugh and twists to use eddies chest as a table for his textbook, so Eddie can stare up at him as he threads fingers through Eddie’s hair again—and maybe it’s just in his head but that touch feels a little bit firmer. Not…not truer, but decisive somehow in a brand new way.

Nothing different; but understood, now, which makes all the difference.

“So happy I can barely stand it,” Eddie sighs, turning to nuzzle into Steve’s stomach through his worn sweatshirt, imagining doing it without the fabric in between, straight against the gloriously coils of that fucking chest hair—and Eddie startles, if only on the inside, to realize how that’s not the first time he’s thought that thought, just the first time it’s built up fire in his belly like this, like it’s something he might get to have—

“I’m gonna kiss you when we get up.”

Eddie realizes that’s another thing he’s never done, but was very aware of thinking about, even before; he just knew it wouldn’t happen. Again: just the unavoidable plight of the queer dude whose best friend is stunning.

“Sounds great, babe,” Steve leans, and it shifts Eddie a little because it’s worth it for the tease of what’s to come in the way Steve presses lips to the mop of Eddie’s hair, says babe the same way maybe Eddies been saying big boy and sweetheartthe entire time.

Holy fuck, man.

He’s gonna work on lyrics tomorrow, when he’s lying like this. Against Steve’s warm, steady, perfect presence. He’s gonna work on the lyrics.

He’s absolutely certain, now, that those bars he’d fine-tuned were meant for a ballad.

He leans his head a little close into Steve’s stomach, makes sure he’s steady enough to keep Steve’s book from falling, and closes his eyes. Listens to Steve breathing under his ear—fuck yeah, a ballad.

A love song, even.

✨also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #feelings realization #domestic #romance #love confessions #but they were roommates!#(But were they really EVER ‘just’ roommates?)#oblivious eddie munson #domestic fluff #true love #happy ending #stranger things #steddielovemonth #prompt: “…the only person you can ever imagine yourself with“#hitlikehammers writes #hitlikehammers v words

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yutarot · 5 hours ago

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ride or die. l.jn smau

023 — honesty. wc: 0.8k

prev: chap 22

YN POV

you have no idea what you’re doing.

all jaemin had told you was that jeno was leaving tonight.

so here you are, running between bodies and suitcases as you rush to his gate. you have to catch him, you have to tell him everything, even though you’re still unsure. but a maybe is stronger than a no, so you’ll take your chances.

you hear his gate number called out on the airport intercom.

‘the 6:25pm flight to melbourne, australia is now boarding. please make your way to gate 26.’

your head is pounding, blood rushing around your body in a circuit of fear.

this is your only chance. you can’t let him leave like this.

after what feels like hours, you finally make it to his gate, floods of people mixing all around you.

but just as you reach the gate numbered 26, your heart sinks at the sight ahead of you.

the chairs, empty. the door, closed.

you want to give in, let your legs collapse from below you.

you’ve missed it: your only chance to make it all right between you, to tell him why you kissed him that night.

the air around you stills, a current electrifying through you that you’ve never felt before, but just as you turn to leave, to go home in defeat, you understand why.

stood meters before you, panting in exhaustion, hair messy and a suitcase dragging behind him, is jeno.

he studies you, really looks at you, before finally blinking.

every word that you had prepared flies out of your mind, replacing it with an emptiness in which you know he also feels. he wasn’t expecting you here, he wasn’t expecting you to care at all, yet here you are, defeat on your features as you stand before him.

“yn?..” he manages to mumble.

“hi.” you let out a small smile, and he laughs back with you, disbelief flooding his features.

you continue, “your plane.. it’s already left.” you say, and he laughs in response. you tilt your head to the side in question.

he notices your confusion. “jaemin’s fault.” he rolls his eyes, “he told me the wrong airport, so i had to-”

“what?”

he’s taken aback by your sudden interruption.

“jaemin booked my flight, he got the airport wron-”

“no.. he didn’t?”

with confusion etched into his features, jeno furrows his brows.

you continue. “jaemin told me to come here.”

there’s a moment of silence as you both piece together what this means.

your heart is spinning, whirling in your chest like a loose guitar string.

jaemin had told you both to go to different airports, he had made sure jeno would miss his flight, but why?

‘he needs this.’

thats what jaemin had told you last night, that's the reason he gave you for being here right now.

needs what?

jeno sighs, looking down at his shoes.

he knows exactly what this is about. jaemin had set you both up, to force him to tell you everything.

everything.

“i haven’t been honest with you, yn.”

time around you stops. “what do you mean?”

he puts down his suitcase, looking up at you to look in your eyes, his pupils searching yours for a flicker of doubt.

“the night my identity got leaked, the night i came to your apartment, i didn’t come to accuse you of leaking my identity.”

you see him tense up, fists clenching.

you stand still, breathless as he keeps talking.

“but when i saw chenle’s hoodie, i felt foolish, that everything i had done, that ruining my whole, entire life had been for nothing.”

mind soaring above you, you repeat his words in your mind, trying to make sense of what he's saying, but you can't.

“jeno? what are you talking abou-”

“it wasn’t jaemin who leaked my identity.”

you expect him to be joking, to let out a laugh, but when he doesn’t, anxiety courses through you. none of this, any of it, makes any sense.

“what? but-”

jeno interrupts you, as if no matter what reaction you give, he is intent on telling you anyways, a burden weighing down his shoulders that he is dying to rid of.

“he was an idiot, hopelessly in love with someone he couldn’t have, hoping for a chance that you would be able to love him for him, for everything he was, everyone he was.”

you shake your head. jaemin didn’t love you, not like that, not with emotion, or depth or..

“i'm not talking about jaemin, yn.”

your breath stills as your eyes find his.

“im talking about me.”

you can’t move.

“its me that leaked my identity.”

you can’t breathe.

“it’s me that’s in love with you.”

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notes; i’m back hehe. also i have a written fic in the works as an apology <333 but hope u like this chap!! there’s 2 left 😖

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 day ago

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Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I love writing chapters where Bobby comes in with a steel chair to once again prove he's father of the year.

Chapter title from Hurt Feelings by Halsey

Word Count: 17.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean, Sam, and Bobby go on a hunt, and you and Jo take a road trip. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

Read on A03!

The day had been long. Long and slow and heavy, all howls in the wood and misshapen faces on trees, machetes in their hands and Dean staring at his phone, hoping She’d call.

She wouldn’t. She when they’d left Her at Bobby’s, She hadn’t even looked up for Her book. Bobby said he’d call Jo to make sure She didn’t burn down the house on accident.

They all knew She wouldn’t.

The house was where the books were.

But She might burn down herself. Jo needed to be there, because Dean couldn’t be—not now, not as sand slowly slipped them by on the wind, and his time became thin—but She shouldn’t be alone right now. She’d spiral. Dean knew Her.

He knew that, before, he would’ve been worried he’d return to Her hand around her own neck and long, raised scratches on Her skin. And now, when he truly knew everything, he knew he’d return to that. To panic in Her eyes and strangled sounds from Her throat, Her back pressed to the wall and the Blade in her hands.

Relief would sag in Her shoulders, when she saw he was in one piece. It always had, over these past two months, and he’d done all he could not to leave Her side. It was the damn least he could do, really, when She was still losing Her mind to save him. And She hadn’t wanted him to go on this hunt. She’d thought it was a bad idea, that they shouldn’t be letting Dean put himself in situations where he’d be in danger right now.

She was right. But Dean had insisted on this last, semi-normal hunt—he wasn’t allowed to call it a last hunt, because he had once, and She’d looked like she was about to punch him—and promised he wouldn’t come back with a single scratch.

She’d glared at him, and made him pinky promise, but he’d gotten away with it. They’d left two days ago, and—unless someone fucked up—they’d be back tomorrow.

And She was going to kill him.

Because his hands were covered in his own blood.

“Told ya’ not to run, boy.” Bobby said from above, leaning over Dean’s body to see the tear in his jeans. “We ain’t tryin’ to break you here.”

Sam hummed Her name from ahead, shooting Dean a smirk over his shoulder. “She’s gonna be mad at you-“

“Shut your face, Sammy.” Dean pushed himself on his palms, ignoring the splintering wood and mud from the dirt. “She won’t get pissed I fell. She’ll kick your ass, though-“

“For what, letting you fall-“

“For forgetting my fucking bubble wrap. Supposed to be watching me, bitch, making sure I don’t get hurt-“

“I can’t stop you from being stupid, jerk, Bobby told you not to run-“

“I wasn’t running-“

“We’re not blind, Dean, you were obviously fucking running, and she’s gonna kill you-“

“Not if I kill you first-“

“That doesn’t make any sense-“

“Hey!” Bobby blocked Dean’s path with an arm over his chest, running his free hand over his face with a sigh. “Both of ya’, shut the fuck up. Dean, stop runnin’, and I’ll look at that when we’re done to make sure it don’t get infected. Sam, stop teasin’ him, he’s sensitive.”

Dean scowled. “Hey-“

“And,” Bobby snapped Her name, completely ignoring Dean’s glare. “She’ll kill all three of us if we don’t deliver Prince Charming back by sunrise. So damn focus, or I’m callin’ this all off. And apologize to each other like men, instead of little fuckin’ babies.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam kicked a rock with a frown, but they mumbled apologies, and kept moving through the woods.

It was just a vamp nest. Simple. In and out, take the edge off with the hunting and hopefully come out with their homework.

She’d found mention of an old lore book that this vamp nest should have a copy of, and could be another lead.

Likely an empty one.

They all knew better than to tell Her that.

Besides, this was pretty much just a normal hunt. They’d stopped doing normal hunts when Dean’s timer hit one month, it and had been taking a toll. Sam sat too tall and rigid in his chair, Bobby always had a beer on the table, and She-

Dean was really fucking worried about Her. She’d only remember to eat when food was put in front of Her, only go to the bathroom when Dean asked when she’d done it last. Every night She’d pass out over a book—Dean waiting across the table, pretending to do his own research, but mostly just staring at Her—and he’d carry Her to bed. It was eating at his gut every second, how She was doing this to herself for him, and She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of slowing down or resting.

That was the real reason he wanted Jo there. She couldn’t be alone, but She wouldn’t do this, so Dean needed to know She’d have someone to watch her while he was out.

Mostly, he just wanted to know She’d have someone at all.For after. For when the timer ran out, and Dean was either there, or… Not.

It was looking a little damn bleak.

“If we don’t get these pieces of shit tonight,” Bobby grunted, his machete resting over his shoulder. “We’re headin’ back. It’s- We don’t got the time to waste on a goose chase.”

Dean didn’t protest. It was the right call, because they didn’t. And he’d needed this, but not more than he needed Her, and he couldn’t have Her if he was goddamn-

He wasn’t allowed to think that word.

So he thought of Her instead. Probably exactly where he left Her in the library, covered in a blanket because Jo wasn’t strong enough to carry Her to bed, maybe with bite marks on Her hand and too-hot coffee seared on Her tongue.

“Bobby, you get any calls-“

“She’s fine, Dean.” Bobby sighed, shooting him a flat look. “She’ll can handle herself.”

Dean frowned, because She could. She could spin a knife between Her hands and drive it into a monster or demons heart without breaking a sweat, looking beautiful when the blood splattered on Her face and glowing after She washed it away.

But Her handling herself wasn’t what Dean was worried about.

It was the fact that any blood She split might escalate to being Her own. It was that She could handle herself, but son of a bitch She couldn’t take care of Herself. Not in a way that counted, that didn’t make Dean’s skin itch and crawl with something bitter, because he should be there. She wasn’t sleeping to try and save him, and—even though a second didn’t pass where Dean wasn’t trying to talk Her into just a moment of rest—the least he could do in return was take care of Her.

He was, somehow, the only one who ever really seemed to know how to care for Her.

“I tried to do your thing once, by the way,” Sammy had said last night, watching Dean from over the top of his computer. “Doesn’t look like it works when it’s no, you know, you.”

Dean had frowned, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, knowing he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight because it was too big, and there was an empty, dull spot to his right where She was supposed to be. “What are you talking about, my thing.”

“That thing you do. With- You know.” Sam had said Her name with a shrug, and Dean had glanced back to that empty spot with a frown. “Where you go like this, and she stops freaking out.” Sam ran his own thumb down his nose, giving Dean a pointed look. “It doesn’t work when it’s not you.”

“I-“ Dean had swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s not my thing-“

“Yeah, it is.” Sam had shrugged, as if what he was saying was nothing at all. “Only thing I’ve ever seen work, by the way. You should be careful with that.”

Dean had heard the underlying words. You should be careful with Her.

He was being careful with Her. He’d been more and more careful, since everything had fallen into place, and he finally fucking understood. It had been like he was staring at the most important photograph in the world, but a lense flare had been blocking half of it. But it had been a photo in the broad sunlight, of silver water in a lake, with flowers and life all around it and the flare placed so perfectly that it could just be a reflection. A part of the picture that was unknowable with purpose, that no one was supposed to see. And he’d wanted to. Dean had always wanted to mean more to Her than anyone, and see past that lense flare because he was an exception to Her, the only one allowed to see that too bright, secret, hidden spot.

And he hadn’t been. If anything, Dean had been the exception because every other damn person got to see but him.

He should hate Her for that.

He was done trying to.

Because now he could see it. See Her. All of Her. And for the first time since he’d met Her, Dean almost fully understood Her.

And son of a bitch, every single part of Her was bright and beautiful, and he didn’t goddamn deserve it at all.

It wasn’t a lense flare. It had never been a lense flare. It was a covered part of the lake, where everything was overgrown and tangled and colorful, almost more blinding within itself.

Dean wanted to live in it. He wanted to know everything about it, because it was part of Her and nothing that was Her could ever be wrong. If it was an ingrained, sensitive and angry organ, he'd tend to it. If it was a stained window that filtered all Her light, he'd worship it. If it was a sickness, he’d cure it.

He just had to know it first.

"So you've been- Just your whole life?" He'd frowned at Her in Bobby's kitchen, his words slow and careful. "Or was it like, a puberty thing?"

All of them gathered in the flat, hot and tight air to walk Dean through the situation. Sam leaning against the counter, Bobby in the doorway—braced slightly, as if she was going to make a break for it and he wanted to be ready—and Dean across from Her at the table.

He'd thought about sitting next to Her—feeling the heat from Her body, pressing his thigh to Her's to keep her steady and check that this wasn't a dream—but then he wouldn't be able to look at Her. Know what questions would cross a line from seeing it written all over Her face, figure out which words were lies as if it were a sixth sense.

He wouldn't be able to catch Her hands and pry them apart when She picked her skin bloody and raw.

“I-“ She’d glanced at Bobby—as if She was unsure of her own answer—rubbing the scar on Her palm as she spoke. “It- I mean, it could’ve been a puberty thing-“

“Maybe. Dunno.” Bobby had shrugged, his voice barely a grunt. “Didn’t take you off the road splittin’ trees and causin’ creeks to vanish-“

“Creeks to-“ Dean had gaped at Her. “Oregon.”

She’d flinched slightly. Dean had forced himself to grip the edge of the table instead of reaching for Her. “Yeah.”

“I thought I was going crazy.” He’d muttered under his breath. “Whole thing just- Poof, dry-“

“What happened in Oregon?” Sam had asked, and She’d let out a long sigh.

“I- Dean freaked me out, and I lost control.”

Dean had frowned. “I was just pissing, sweetheart-“

“You were missing.” She’d snapped, something hot in Her eyes that had made Dean blink. “I couldn’t find you, Dean, I got scared-“

“And lost control.” Sam had finished, running a hand through his hair. “Did we- You never thought about being, I dunno- Like me?”

Dean had tensed, sitting up a little taller in his chair—he loved Sammy, he did, but two demon-blood kids who he couldn’t leave if he tried would drive him out of his mind—but She’d just shaken her head.

“No.” She’d whispered. “It’s- There’s no way it’s that. You told me about the blood, Sam, and that just sounded like-“ She’d let out a long slow breath, staring at her hands as she continued. “It never hurt you.”

“It killed me.” Sam had countered, raising his brows. “And I got, uh-“

“Migranes.” Dean had muttered, something his head spinning around the word hurt. This had hurt Her, and he’d never done anything to protect Her. To help Her. He’d never even noticed, he’d just thought it was another thing about Her that couldn’t be understood, he’d been a blinded fucking idiot and now She’d been hurt.

Sam had nodded. “Yeah, uh, that. So maybe like- You said you’re in pain a lot-“

She’d let out a dry laugh. “That’s because I’m not using it. It’s- I can use it. That’s not a problem. I just won’t, and it doesn’t like that.”

There had been a long silence, and Dean had felt something bubbling up his throat that he wasn’t able to stop.

“Why?”

She’d blinked at him, that furrow on Her brow a little tighter than usual. “Wha-“

“If it’s hurting you,” Dean had grunted. “Just- Fucking use it, Princess. You almost killed Lilith back there-“

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Do I sound like I’m against it?” Dean had said Her name, leaning forward to hold Her gaze, because this was so simple. Nothing should be allowed to hurt Her, and if the reason Dean had spent years keeping Her skin from being clawed apart and Her body from curling in on itself was because of this, it shouldn’t be a question that She should just goddamn stop. “If you can do half of what it sounds like, I’ll never get on your ass about hunting without a gun again, you just gotta use it-“

“No.” She’d snapped. “You don’t- I can’t. I won’t.”

Sam had said Her name slowly, and Bobby had sighed in the doorway. Like he’d known exactly where this was going. “Maybe Dean’s right. I mean, you’ve killed demons before-“

“I didn’t- No.” Her voice hadn’t been firm. There had been something desperate and fragile in it, almost like a plea. “I won’t. I won’t be that. I won’t. You don’t let Sam use the blood, and you hate witches, De, I won’t-“ She’d swallowed, cutting herself off with too soft words. “I won’t.”

Dean hadn’t had the words to tell Her that it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same. He didn’t want this to be the situation, but it’s what they goddamn had, and Dean had always been good at working with what he had. If She came with this whole complicated witch shit, then Dean would work with Her, because he had Her.

He didn’t want Sam to use the blood because he’d promised Dad, and it had gotten him goddamn killed. He hated witches because they sucked, and She didn’t suck. She was awesome. Amazing. The warmest water in the shower and the best pie at that roadside diner in Texas and all the brighter stars he’d ever gotten to watch on the roof of the Impala.

He couldn’t let Her just fucking hurt herself.

And he never knew when to stop.

“You don’t even know what that is, Princess.” He’d muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You said witch, but I’ve dealt with witches. Witches don’t make creeks freakin’ vanish.”

She’d shot him an exhausted glare. “It doesn’t matter what I am, Dean, it’s dangerous-“

“Maybe it’s not.” He’d snapped. “If not using it is what’s making you hurt, maybe you should use it. That’s feelin’ pretty logical to me, sweetheart, and if you’d told me sooner, I coulda helped.”

A shadow had eclipsed in Her eyes, and Dean’s gut had twisted slightly. “You said you weren’t mad at me.” She’d whispered, and there it was.

She sounded small.

He was the lowest piece of shit in the world.

“I’m not.” Dean didn’t know how he’d managed not to reach for Her. It took willpower he’d never had before. “I- Shit, I’m not, but-“ There was something so hot in his body. Louder than fury and purer than the sun, all for Her because She’d been hurting and nothing had saved Her. “You don’t have any idea, Princess, and it’s been happening for goddamn years-“

“Dean.” Bobby had grunted, his tone a low warning Dead really didn’t care about. “We’ve been tryin’, boy, but in case you didn’t notice, there’s been a lot of shit to deal with-“

“I coulda helped.” Dean had hissed, glaring between Sam and Bobby, almost shielding Her from their view, like that was worth anything at all. “You two couldn’t do shit, but I woulda fucking helped, and now there’s- Son of a bitch, we don’t have enough time-“

He’d apologized to Her. Later, after Bobby had made him take a walk and he’d ended up working on Her car for hours—his hands covered in grease and knees scraped with dirt—Dean had returned to Her side in the dark, muttered a low apology, and been forgiven.

“Promise you’re not mad at me?” She’d whispered, and Dean had almost stomped downstairs to find a mirror Bobby didn’t care about that much, just so he could punch himself.

He’d hooked his pinky through Her’s, his voice barely a rasp. “Not mad. Promise. Just-“ He’d let out a long breath, shaking his head. “If I ask a question, and you wanna stab me, could I get a warning first?”

A small smile had tugged at Her lips. “Is it a stupid question?”

“Kinda. Not sure yet.”

“Then no.”

He’d raised his brows. “No, you won’t stab me-“

“No, you don’t get a warning.”

Dean had chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I deserve that one. Was a bit of a douchebag.”

She’d only hummed, something flashing over Her face Dean hadn’t understood. “What’s the question, De?”

“What- Shit.” He’d let out a long breath, rolling onto his back as he ran a hand over his face. “What’s it feel like?”

There had been a long pause, and when Dean had turned his head, She’d been staring at him with a wide, open expression that had ached in his whole body.

“What?”

Her voice had been so soft. So goddamn nervous and soft, and Dean had needed to swallow down a roar of something primal in his chest, just to the right of his heart, that had just wanted to grab Her and never let go.

“What’s it feel like.” He’d repeated, unable to look away from the shining lighthouse of Her eyes, splitting right through him in the dark. “The- your witch thing.”

“I-“ She’d drawn Her lips into a tight line, watching Dean so intently he’d been worried Her gaze would carve him open. “I don’t-“

“If you don’t wanna tell me-“

“No.” She’d whispered, impossibly fast, and Dean had blinked. “I mean, I want to. I do. I just- I don’t know how.”

“Well, just tell me what you told Sam-“

“I didn’t tell Sam. He’s never asked.”

Dean had blinked at Her in obvious confusion—Sammy loved these weird things, Her having some sort of concrete and ocean-razing power would’ve been his freakin’ wet dream—and She’d let out a long breath.

“I- I’ve told him what I told Bobby and Jo.” She’d mumbled. “There’s something dark, and it’s power and makes me sick and I can’t control it, and there’s something glowing right here-“ She’d poked Dean’s chest, just to the right of his heart, and he was still a little sure She’d somehow branded him even deeper than before. “And it’s white, and it- It’s just there. It’s loud. Strong.”

“Alright.” Dean had held Her gaze. “And what’s it feel like?”

She’d stared at him for another long second—almost as if She was daring him to take it back—better mumbling, “Which part?”

He’d shrugged. “Whichever you want, sweetheart. How about the, uh, that dark thing? What’s it feel like when you do use it-“

“Big.” She’d whispered, before the question was even fully out of Dean’s mouth. “It’s- It all feels really big. It really doesn’t hurt to use, I promise, it’s just- It’s big.”

Dean had nodded, unable to swallow down his next grumble. “Hurts not to use, though.”

“Yeah.” She’d sighed. “But I told you-“

“I know. You won’t use it.” He’d scanned over Her cautious, beautiful features—he always could’ve fucking sworn that She was somehow shining with light from inside, and he’d been right the whole goddamn time—and chose his next words carefully. “What about that- The whole glowy thing, what’s up with that-“

“I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I don’t know any of it, De, it just happens-“

“Then what’s it feel like?”

It took a beat for Her to answer that one. “Big.”

He’d given Her a flat look. “Princess, that’s what you said about the-“

“They both feel big, Winchester.” She’d snapped, narrowing Her eyes. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to tell you, they’re big and powerful and it’s- Sometimes I don’t know what to do with it, and I’ve never thought about this before-“

“Hey- It’s okay.” Dean had pulled Her into his chest as the furrow had deepened, and Her breaths had started to become short. “You’re good, I’m- You’re good.” He’d run his hands through Her hair, because he’d had two months left at the time, and he’d been really sick of not having Her in every way She’d let him.

And She’d let him have that. She’d let Dean hold Her and touch Her, soothe Her tears and mutter that She didn’t have to answer now. She could think about it, and there would always be later.

They both knew that was a lie, and Dean had pretended not to hear the choked sound She’d made when he’d said it—although he hadn’t been able to stop his hands from holding Her a little tighter—because just then, he’d needed to pretend it was the truth. That he wasn’t being selfish, keeping Her here. That it was fine for Her to break down now—and it was, it always would be, and long as Dean was permitted to be there to pick Her up—as they’d just talk about it later.

And He’d felt it then. Something humming through the air that he’d somehow always missed, made of so much of Her he could drown in it. It had been forged from something stronger than starlight, every single bit of it, and he hadn’t been able to stop his last, low question.

“If they’re both big,” he’d muttered in Her ear, keeping her folded into his chest. “How have you been able to tell them apart?”

She’d sighed again, and buried Her face in Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t let himself think about it too hard. “They- The white thing doesn’t like the dark thing, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah.” She’d swallowed. “Sometimes they’re- they blend together. And it’s- That doesn’t feel bad.”

“When’s that happen?”

“When I’m somewhere good.”

When they’d drifted off to sleep, Dean had made a silent vow to himself.

After they reached the end of this, he’d find somewhere good for Her. Anywhere she wanted to be, even if it was the middle of the woods without TV or air conditioning, or somewhere too hot or cold or dry or dirty, Dean would bring Her there. He’d learn to sail, so he didn’t have to fly, and if there were no other fucking options he’d down a bottle of Xanax and get Her on a plane.

And he’d stay there, with Her, if she asked. If he dropped Her on pink-sand beaches—he’d seen some in a movie once, and he wasn’t sure if they were real, but they seemed like the type of thing that would make Her happy—and She took his hand and whispered stay here, De, he would. In a heartbeat that was held in Her hands, he’d say yes.

Until then, he just had to do this. Just had to get out.

It was simple, when he thought of it like that.

He just had to get out.

“She ain’t called.”

Dean blinked at Bobby with frown. “I didn’t ask-“

“Don’t try and fool me, boy, you got that fuckin’ look-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “I know when you’re gonna ask about her. She ain’t called, Jo ain’t either, and I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just readin’.”

They probably were just reading. She was probably forming blisters on Her fingers from holding the pencil too long, Jo had hopefully gotten Her to at least go to the bathroom, and when Dean got back She’d have only moved an inch from where he left Her.

But there was a faded and burnt film reel—looping in Dean’s head and made of the past few months, plus countless nightmares where She burned on the ceiling—where they weren’t just reading. Where pushing herself to the edge was making Her flicker once more, and She was trying to strange that power in Her body down, and Dean wasn’t there to help. Where they came back and the pages had been ripped from books because She’d lost control—Bobby had mentioned that happening a few times, and he hadn’t managed to hide how She’d stuck her hand in ice water for two hours afterwards—and Dean wasn’t fast enough so calm Her down, from imploding on Herself and moving further and further into a shell.

“Bobby, are you sure the nest is in this direction?” Sam called from a few yards ahead, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Course I’m sure, Sam, you’re the one who found the damn leads-“

“Sorry, I just wanted to check, we should’ve been there by now-“

“Well, we’ve been walkin’ real slow thanks to someone’s fuckin’ moping-“

Dean scowled. “I’m dying in two weeks, Bobby.” He muttered, picking up his pace to walk at Sam’s side. “I’m allowed to mope or brood or do whatever the hell else I want.”

“You ain’t dyin’, Dean.” Bobby grunted, pushing his shotgun further up his shoulder. “Let’s find this nest and get the fuckin’ thing done.”

“Plus,” Sam drawled Her name, smirking slightly. “You know you’re not supposed to say that word, Deano-“

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Sam, he tries to punch you, and I ain’t gonna stop him.” Bobby paused, giving Dean another firm look. “But he’s right. You ain’t supposed to use that word.”

Dean knew that. He knew it better than anyone. But everything was so fucking dull and heavy, and he missed Her, and they were running out of time. It was starting to feel like iron around his chest, sinking into that pit in his body, how little time they had left.

“Hey, dude.” Sam gave him a cautious, soft look, his voice too low. Too worried. “I’m just messing with you, you know that? She’s- We’re gonna find a way-“

“Say the right thing, Sammy.” Dean muttered, glaring at the mud below his boots. “She’ll find the way.”

Sam sighed, and Bobby cut off any of his words with a grunt.

“I’ve known that girl my whole damn life, Dean. I didn’t train her at huntin’ cause I wanted to, I trained ‘er cause she started sneakin’ around and doin’ it herself after I said no, and she was already better then every damn asshole I’d met. Took her three days to finish a hunt that woulda taken the best I knew, your Daddy included, a damn week and a hundred bullets.” Bobby sighed, giving Dean an odd look he didn’t fully understand. “If anyone’s gettin’ this, it’s her. Then we can all lock ‘er in her room until she gets a month of proper damn rest.”

“And I do have ideas.” Sam cut in with a mumble. “I was thinking we could summon Lilith, do the Devil’s Trap-“

Bobby shook his head. “Won’t work. Lilith ain’t able to be summoned, not by anythin’ human.”

Dean frowned, because he’d heard Bobby say that before. In the kitchen, when She’d suggested the exact same thing, and he’d used to those same words on Her. But She hadn’t just slumped like Sammy was now. She’d frowned, looked at Her hands, and stood a little taller as something flashed over Her face.

Dean hadn’t understood that expression. He’d only known that it was dangerous. That it meant She was thinking something he couldn’t follow, that She was full of resolve and the best he’d ever be able to offer Her was continuing to be Her shadow.

At Her side in the dark. Across from Her on the couch. Always there, always for Her.

He shouldn’t have goddamn left.

Dean knows he should’ve have left. There’s a rotten feeling knotting in his stomach, a knot pulling at him like a compass, and it’s telling him to turn back. That he has to turn back, go back to Her, go home, because he never should’ve left to begin with.

It’s been there since they left, and only grown tighter. He’d gone through to motions of the case with it turning in his stomach, and he’d pushed on because if he told Sammy, he’d tease Dean about missing Her before reminding him that She could defend herself. She was a literal force of nature, and she was at Bobby’s with Jo—who allowed herself to use a gun—and She couldn’t be safer if they tried.

But the knot twisted, when they’d started their climb through the woods. And Dean couldn’t tell Bobby either, because he was already on thin fucking ice when it came to conversations about Her. Bobby seemed to be starkly aware of how, when Dean stared at Her like she was the only thing in the world and still somehow more beautiful than anything else, because she was, there were… less than acceptable thoughts in his head.

He still hadn’t crossed that line. He wouldn’t. Not at least until this was over, and he could touch Her somewhere that was good.

Bobby didn’t seem to admire Dean’s restraint as much as he should. So going up to him and saying something’s wrong, I shouldn’t have left Her, call the whole thing off cause I never shoulda fuckin’ left her, wouldn’t end how Dean wanted it to.

To the knot kept tightening and turning—and Dean felt sick and he shouldn’t have left—as they found the nest, and he lost himself in the fight.

Moving like this—on instinct and nothing more, letting his body do the thing it was best at and never flinching because Dean never damn flinched—usually cleared his head. Usually helped.

It wasn’t now.

The knot only tightened until it was frayed, when they found the dusty, worn and yellow-paged book. They burned all the bodies, and it was straining and whining.

Then they were cleaning up back at the motel, and Dean’s phone rang like a blaring, horrible alarm.

Sam raised his brows as Dean scanned over the caller ID. “Is it-“

“Hey, Jo.” Dean grunted into the speaker, and Sam scowled. “Is everything-“

“Dean- Thank fuckin’ Mary and Christ.” Jo’s voice was a little uneven. Dean felt really fucking sick. “Been tryin’ to reach you all day-“

“We were in the woods.” He muttered. “What’s-“

“They found us.” Jo mumbled, and Dean’s grip on the phone was starting to hurt. “The- uh- Hell’s Assassins-“

“Jo.” Dean said Her name, but every word was clipped. Pushed through his teeth. “I need you to put her on the phone-“

“I can’t-“

“What’d you mean, you can’t-“

“I mean she ain’t talkin’.” Jo whispered, a new, raw shake forming in Her voice. “She’s alright, but she ain’t moved in like, three hours, and I’ve been tryin’ everything, but she won’t even shower-“

“I’ll be home in two- hour and a half.” The drive was two hours. If Dean was smart—and about this, he would be—they be back by an hour.

The extra thirty was mostly for safety.

Dean hung up without another word, throwing shit in his bag with almost mechanical movements, because they had to fucking go, he never should’ve left—not without Her—so they had to go-

“Dean.” Sam snapped, still on the other side of the room and not moving damn near fast enough. “What was-“

“I got some beer.” Bobby pushed open the door, and Dean started to pull on his jacket. “I was thinkin’ we order, cause I ain’t gonna cook when there’s some good lookin’ Chinese right down the- the hell are you doin’, Dean?”

“Leaving.” Dean grunted, and Bobby snorted.

“This was your damn idea-“

“Jo called.” Sam cut in, and Dean wasn’t sure when he’d gotten up to block the door.

He didn’t really care.

As long as the kid moved, Dean didn’t care at all.

“Jo-“ Bobby’s head whipped to Dean, his gaze narrowed and tight. “What’d she say.”

There wasn’t fucking time for this. They never had enough time.

“Move, Sammy, I gotta-“

“Dean.” Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me Jo said that’s got you all fuckin’-“

Dean spat Her name, shrugging Bobby’s hand away. “She needs me, I gotta get back-“

Bobby didn’t bother to push further. He grabbed the keys, tossed them to Dean, and turned with only a shout over his shoulder.

“Get started on the book, Sam. We’ll come back for ya’ in a few days. Dean, haul fuckin’ ass, boy.”

“Come back-“ Sam gaped as Dean grabbed his bag. “You’re just leaving me-“

“You’re a big boy, Sammy, you’ll be fine.”

Sam probably flipped Dean off as he jogged out the door. He didn’t care.

All that mattered was getting back to Her.

He and Bobby didn’t talk for the first thirty minutes. There wasn’t really much to say. Only low music and the hum of Baby’s engine, working herself hard to get Dean to where he needed to be.

He should never have damn left. He knew better than to leave Her, because that had always been where he’d lost Her. And She was fine, but she’d had to fight alone, and he hadn’t been there. He was supposed to be there, that was the whole damn point, they were safer together. Sam and Bobby could’ve handled this themselves, and Jo still could’ve come over. Dean wouldn’t have gotten in the middle of whatever girl shit they got up to, he could’ve just sat in the corner with his gun and watched Her like a creep, defending Her when the demons arrived and being Her comfort whenever it all became too big.

She’d said it was always too big. During another too long—yet still not long enough—night, She’d said it was always too big. That She’d become everything, when it all got away from Her, and it hurt and She never knew who she was or where She started or stopped, but She was always everything and Dean knew who She was, so he could’ve been there. Been Her shadow. Run his thumb over the bridge of Her nose and muttered that She was okay, it would be okay, She was awesome and good at Her job, and it would all be okay if She just took deep breaths and listened to him and he’d stayed-

“Dean.”

Dean blinked over, and he’d almost missed Bobby’s words, lost into the drums of the song. “What’s up?”

Bobby was watching him with a firm, almost mournful grounded resolve Dean had never seen before.

He’d seen Bobby be serious, and angry, and determined, and focused. He’d never seen this. He didn’t even have a name for it.

It was a little worrying.

“Uh, Bobby-“

“I need you to be honest with me when I ask you somethin’.” Bobby grunted. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if it wasn’t important, and a lie ain’t gonna help us ‘ere.”

Dean blinked, glancing between Bobby and the road as the iron settled back over his shoulders. “I don’t-“

“Swear it.” Bobby wasn’t wavering. “Swear it on your mother you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

“On my-“ Dean swallowed, but nodded. “Alright. On my mom.”

Bobby sighed. “You ain’t allowed to repeat this to anyone, Dean. You understand? Not even Sam.”

“Bobby-“

“Yeah, I got it, but Bobby, you’re kinda freakin’ me out-“

“You been…” Bobby paused, saying every word as if they pained him. “Sleepin’ in her room. She still get nightmares?”

Dean blinked, shooting Bobby a frown. “Is- That’s your question?”

“No. Does she?”

“I- Sometimes-“

“She been gettin’ them since I found ‘er.” Bobby muttered, and it seemed to be mostly to himself. “Recognized some monsters too, before I even brought her on a hunt. And she’d wake up screamin’ and grab me with ler little hands, and I’d ask her what happened and she wouldn’t talk ‘till I asked ‘er what she was feelin’, and she tell me the walls were sad I ain’t painted them in a while, and there was a tree a few miles into the woods that was sick, ’n needed puttin’ down.”

Dean’s grip was white-knuckled, and he’d was all but holding his breath, frozen in his seat. If he moved an inch, Bobby might remember who he was talking to.

“I took ‘er with me, to chop that tree down. She pointed it out and told me it was happy I was puttin’ it down, cause I was green and most things ain’t green anymore. Most weeks were like that, when she was little, up ‘till she started losin’ control, and I wasn’t able to-“ Bobby cut himself off with a long sigh, shaking his head. “I know about how she’s been dealin’ with what it does to her. All that magic shit in her body that we don’t got a clue how to handle. She thinks I don’t, but I ain’t blind. I just know it could be worse-“

“Worse?” Dean cut Bobby off before he could stop himself. “I- Bobby, she burns her hands and chokes herself-“

“And she used to bash ‘er head on the wall until her forehead was always lumpy.” Bobby snapped. “I’ve seen ‘er better, and I’ve seen ‘er worse, and I know we ain’t headin’ towards the former. I know nobody ain’t told you yet, but you’re not stupid either, Dean. You worked out how she clued into your little demon deal?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed, frowning at the road passing them in too quick a blur. “I don’t-“

“Remember what Sam told you? ‘Bout how she thinks she’s been seein’ souls?”

It clicked. In half a second, Dean nearly strangled on the air of the car as the Blade in Her hand, her expression frantic and desperate and filled with fear, and he own screams of what did you do echoed through his head.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered, and Bobby grunted.

“It’s been gettin’ worse. You know it’s been gettin’ worse, and I don’t-“ Bobby leaned back on the bench running a hand over his face. “You got two weeks, Dean. And when the clock runs up, no matter what we got, how much faith we have, I don’t want her seein’ it.”

Dean couldn’t hide the shock on his face as he looked at Bobby, barely remembering to turn back to the road. Bobby’s face was solemn, serious and resolved and firm, and if She was in the car, she would’ve jumped over the front bench and strangled them both.

“Bobby, there’s not a damn way she’s gonna like that-“

“She doesn’t have to like it.” Bobby grunted. “I- I’m not a big fuckin’ fan of it either, and she can curse me and hate me for the rest of her damn life, but-“

“Don’t say it’s for her own good, she’d stab you-“

“Goddamnit, Dean I know that! And if stabbin’ me is what’s gotta happen to keep her from losin’ her fucking mind, watchin’ your soul, your fuckin’ soul, get beaten up and dragged off to hell, then I’ll hand her the knife myself.” Bobby let out a long, heavy breath. “It’s not for her own good. For her own good woulda been doin’ everythin’ in my power to keep her safe. Haulin’ and packin’ up and movin’ to fucking Mexico eight damn years ago. We’re past the good, and I’m making do with what I’ve fuckin’ got.”

Dean still shook his head. She’d never been a fan of just waiting. If they handcuffed Her, She’d break out. If they locked Her in a room she’d probably just ask the door to open, and it would. “Bobby, she’ll- What if I make it out? She’ll never fucking forgive us for that, what if we keep her in the dark and chain her to a chair or something, and I make it out, and she hates us for the rest of her fucking life-“

“Then you’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to her.” Bobby grunted. “You ready to hear my question?”

Dean shot him another look of shock, his vision almost feeling clouded with confusion. “None of that was the freakin’ question-“

“You ready or not, ya idjit?”

“I’m ready.” He muttered, looking back to the road to avoid Bobby’s glare. “What.”

“Do you really think it’ll be somethin’ she’ll survive. Ignorin’ all the self-pity I ain’t good enough shit, look me in the eyes and tell me my girl is gonna be alright if she watches you get ripped up by a bunch of fuckin’ hell hounds. Cause I know my answer. I known it since you told me, and I had to watch her curl up in my basement a few weeks later and act like nothin’ was wrong. She wasn’t holdin’ it together those two years, boy. I ain’t ready to- I’m not lookin’ to lose her, too.”

“Bobby, I-“

“You don’t gotta answer now.” Bobby muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze, searing right into Dean’s bones. “You don’t ever even need to tell me it. But don’t lie about it, to yourself. If you’re hell-set on brinin’ her, I ain’t gonna be able to stop both of you. But, if you’re tellin’ the truth and you work out what that truth means, for her, then…”

Bobby didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

Dean understood just fine.

And he didn’t know his answer. He didn’t know anything but Her, and She’d never forgive him for that.

But he’d sworn to himself that he’d do what he needed to, every time, for Her. If didn’t matter what She did, if She ripped Dean’s spine out of his body and used it for goddamn decoration, Dean would still be there. One step behind Her. Making sure She didn’t get herself killed, making sure she could always turn and see him there. Still there. Always there, as long as she allowed him to be.

He didn’t want to think about what that would mean, if none of this worked.

If She ended up alone, Dean would need Her to know he’d wanted to stay. He’d always wanted to stay. Even that first time, when he’d been trying—and failing—to hate Her and Dad had told him to go, he’d left but he’d never wanted to. And it had never stuck. And every single goddamn time, he’d always thought he’d find Her again. Somehow, he’d stumble onto the right case, walk into the right diner, or just be wandering nowhere at all and She’d fall out of the sky into his arms.

This would stick.

If everything went south, he’d be alone in the darkest pit available, and She’d be alone, and he hadn’t wanted to entertain the thought but he also knew his answer, and he’d never wanted to be something that hurt Her.

He always had. Dean had never touched Her and not found some new, fucked up way to break Her.

But She’d come back anyway. And touched Dean every time, and shone brighter than before until he felt fucking seen. He was a shadow, he wasn’t supposed to be seen, but She looked anyway because she seemed to like making things as complicated as possible.

He’d always thought coming back was just how things were. No matter what, in the back of his head, he’d never stopped looking for Her on every street and through every window and in every room, because She might have been there, and they’d had more time.

Dean knew She’d never done the same for him.

But it didn’t really matter. She was the whole world, and She’d still chosen to look at Dean, and he-

He was fucking lost in his own pit. He was alone, and lost, and he wanted to crawl out to Her but he’d never had enough will, or strength, or worth.

He didn’t know if She’d cry for him.

All he’d ever been good at knowing was how to put glue on the things he’d broken, and that he was a weapon from the mud that shouldn’t touch nice things.

She let him touch Her.

He was losing his fucking mind. Stuck in a loop. He wasn’t goddamn smart enough to work out Bobby’s freakin’ riddle, didn’t have enough resolve to do something that could ever make Her hate him, was too pathetic to not care about Her and Her safety and happiness, but never good enough to be that fucking thing that made Her happy, and he didn’t know shit but She always did, and She’d said she liked that he was always there, that she could always trust him to let her fall apart and handle what she couldn’t, when she trusted no one else, but he didn’t want to be the thing that hurt Her but he’d always been so good at it-

He didn’t know when he pulled into the junkyard. But he was here now.

Jo was sitting on the steps, watching them will a pallid face and wide eyes.

And it didn’t matter what Dean knew.

His girl needed him.

“I-“ Jo was talking before they were fully out of the car, her words borderline pleas. “She still hasn’t moved, and I don’t- It’s like she can’t even hear me-“

Dean just pushed past her. He’d apologize later, but there was nothing else to do. He needed to get to Her, explanations could goddamn wait-

She wasn’t where he’d left Her. He turned to Jo with wide eyes, and she pointed up the stairs.

“In you- Uh- Her room-“

He grunted something that he hoped sounded like thanks, and flew up the stairs, half kicking the door open.

It had been unlocked, and let out a loud bang from the impact.

She didn’t even flinch.

And this had been why Dean felt sick the whole damn hunt. Why he’d known he shouldn’t have left.

She looked horrible. Beautiful—even with tangled and matted hair, slightly grayed skin, and bloodshot eyes that seemed a little unfocused and glazed—but horrible. Blood all over Her clothing, stuck to Her skin and under Her nails as she turned the page of a book. Her knife and the blade at Her feet as She held a stained notebook in slightly shaking hands.

There wasn’t a single light on in the room. Dean was pretty sure none of the blood was Hers, but he didn’t miss how She’d pressed herself to the wall, or the way Her palms were the only part of Her that was clean. Raw and blistered, but clean.

The plate on the floor was half covered in another sheet of notes. The was a glass of water pushed off to the side to make room for more books.

The furrow in Her brow was deeper than he’d ever seen it.

When Dean crouched at Her feet, she didn’t even look up.

“Hey,” he muttered Her name, fisting his hand to stop himself from reaching for Her. “Demons, huh?”

She touched him first.

She’d always touched him first.

And there was a strange look in Her eyes, when She scanned over him. That look he’d seen countless times before, where She was looking into him. Filling him with Silver light that made his breathing easier, even as the stench of blood threatened to suffocate him.

“I put the bodies out back.” She whispered. “Burned them.”

He gave Her a small smile. “Smart thinking, Princess. Don’t need any demon ghosts.”

Her lips twitched, but She back down to the book, curling back into Her own body, away from Dean-

“Uh,” he swallowed, scraping for some way to keep Her. Looking at him. Listening. At all. “How many?”

“Six.” She hummed, not looking up from Her book as she took another note. Her hand was still on Dean’s face. Her dominant hand. “Jo was helpful.”

“You’re training her well.”

“She’s just a good hunter. And I think she’d-” She paused, only for a second, still frowning at Her book. “I haven’t tried that yet. I’ll ask her tomorrow. Is Sam back?”

Dean shook his head, unable to look away from that little furrow on Her brow, and She sighed.

“That’s fine, it can just be Jo and I-“

Dean grunted Her name, squeezing Her hand against him. “You can’t do anything until you eat. Clean up.”

“No, I’m okay-“

“You’re covered in blood.”

“So?”

“It’s kinda fuckin’ gross-“

“I don’t care.” She muttered, taking another note. “I don’t have enough time-“

“You gotta make time to- Fuck, to eat and sleep.” He pushed back, and when She didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you slept.”

She didn’t answer again. Dean grunted Her name, but She still didn’t answer.

“C’mon.” He grunted, pulling Her forwards, and She shoved him back, still without looking up. “Goddamnit- You can’t just fucking waste away-“

“I’m not-“ Her words were slightly choked, and when She finally met Dean’s gaze, Her voice was pleading. “There’s not enough time, Dean, I don’t have enough time-“

“Maybe, but I’m not worth dying over-“ He cut himself off with a groan, dropping to fully rest on his knees before Her. “Please, I’m- Fuck, just one shower. Sammy’s got that book for you, but one shower, and eat some food, and I’ll clean everything up and go get it for you. I’ll even do all your reading while you take care of yourself, but- Son of a bitch, just eat.” He grabbed Her face between both his hand, forcing Her gaze to stay on his as his voice became hoarse. “I know we don’t have time, Princess. Please don’t just- One shower. All I’m asking.”

She swallowed, looking at him like that again as Her breathing became heavy, and She was going to say no. She was going to waste away for Dean, of all fucking people and he needed to-

“Okay.” She whispered, and a little bit of the iron raised off Dean’s chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Ask Jo for help.” He muttered. “I’ll keep doing this.”

She nodded, but didn’t move.

And Dean’s thumb moved on its own. Petting down the bridge of Her nose even though Her breathing was even, and there was no hand around Her throat. As if there wasn’t a choice. That was just what he always had to do.

But he chose to lean forward. To press the gentle kiss to Her brow, and linger there until there was a knock at door, and She had to go let Jo pull Her into the bathroom.

Dean grunted to Jo, before the door closed, to make sure She actually ate and cleaned, to maybe try and force in a nap as well. From the determined nod Jo had given him, there had been nothing to worry about in the first place.

And when he was left alone in Her room, it was still choked in the smell of blood, but under that, there was just Her.

No matter how far down Dean went, it was always just Her.

The sugar smell was gone.

The fruit smell never left. Dean could be a million miles away and he’d still smell that goddamn fruit. And it was strong that the blood, but it seemed to be the only thing surviving the war She’d been waging on herself, in Dean’s fucking name. All the books had been ripped off the shelves, every pencil was covered in bite marks and snapped in half, and the bed obviously hadn’t been touched since he left.

And Dean knew his answer, to the impossible thing Bobby was asking of him.

He wouldn’t be something that hurt Her. If Dean didn’t make it out this, She had to.

She needed to be somewhere good. Somewhere made for something like Her. Bright and brilliant and good.

Not near hell hounds.

And, if it came down to it, not near Dean.

——————

“What time is it?”

“Uh,” Jo leas forwards in the passenger’s seat, frowning at the blinking clock on the dashboard. “This is sayin’ five, but- It’s still dark out-“

“I don’t think this one is adjusted for daylight savings.” You mutter, frowning at the road ahead. “I should’ve taken Bobby’s pickup, it’s faster-“

Jo snorts. “That pickup ain’t fast-“

“It’s faster.” You shoot her a small, tight-lipped smile. “None of these cars are fast, they’re a million years old.”

There’s a pause, and Jo’s next words are soft in a way that makes the Darkness burst and hum in your body, unable to take being soothed when it knows where you’re headed.

Of course it knows. You know. And it may take the Blade—tucked neatly into your jacket, just in case—pressing into your skin, but you can’t let the Darkness slip away from you. Not here. Not now. There’s too much on the line, and this is your last fucking shot.

You’ve spent the past two months doing everything. Coming up at every dead end and turning around without blinking, because sorrow and disappointment were luxuries you could not afford. You just had to turn around, keep going, and find another way.

You’ve read every book on demons you could get your hands on, and looked for every weapon that might give you an edge over Lilith, searched for all her lore and if there was a single, small weakness you could exploit.

There wasn’t. And you still didn’t understand what she’d said to you in the diner. It had all been cryptic nonsense that made the Darkness roll and cry, made you sound important and could give you more clues into what you were, but right now that really didn’t fucking matter. Dean matters. Saving Dean matters, and you’ve got two weeks but that’s not nearly enough time, and everyone can tell you to take care of yourself all they want but they can’t fucking feel this like you can.

They can’t see the brand on Dean’s soul, pulsing and spreading and taunting you. They can’t see the Gold, stained all over Bobby’s books and cups and furniture, tangled in your sheets and sunken into your mattress and on your hands like blood, and they don’t have to wonder if it will fade.

And they don’t have the spiderweb. It’s not iridescent and full of light that’s being cast around their bodies all the time, but only content and happy when Dean’s there, and they world for them isn’t just simply better when Dean is there, and they aren’t in fucking pain that’s only aided by Dean being there, if he’s not there you don’t know how to make the world Silver by yourself, and you’re supposed to be a good fucking hunter, but what’s the goddamn use if you can’t fucking save Dean-

“The Impala is fast.” Jo mumbles, and you can feel her watching you. Almost testing to see if you’ll shut down again, just at the mention of something in Dean’s proximity.

You won’t. You’re not that fucking pathetic.

And you haven’t been shutting down. You’ve been focused. Working and working because you can still feel the numb, too big, hollow pain of grief, and you have to make sure that it’s temporary because you can’t lose Dean, and you have to get through this, you’ve always gotten through this, but you don’t know how to live with such a massive fucking pit in the cavity of your chest, with the spiderweb whining and absorbing all it can now before he’s gone, but he won’t be gone because you’ll find a way, because you can’t lose Dean-

You’re getting caught in the loop again.

You don’t have time to entertain it.

“Of course the Impala is fast.” You mutter, flipping your blinker as you move off the highway, refusing to look over and meet Jo’s eyes, because you know they’ll be full of fucking pity, and it might make something up your spine snap. “Dean takes care of it more than anything.”

Jo just hums, and you lean your head back in your seat, unable to stop the next words from slipping out of your mouth.

“Do you think he’s-“ You swallow, catching yourself before you become too pathetic. “They’re gonna notice we’re gone?”

“I think Dean’ll notice you’re gone.” Jo offers, and you don’t appreciate her not entertaining your game. “Surprised he ain’t called us already, askin’ where you ran off to.”

“I left a note.” You mutter. “And I told Sam.”

“You tell Bobby too?”

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just holds it with raised brows.

“You didn’t, did ya.”

“No,” you scowl back to the road. “He’d work out where we’re going, and he’d try to stop us. Or come with us. Or send Sam with us.”

Jo frowns at that. “Not Dean?”

“He wouldn’t want Dean coming with us for this.” You mutter, slowing down to scan over the street name a little better.

You’re pretty sure you’ll remember where to turn. It’s been years, but you’ve got a good memory, and all these stupid roads look the same but-

There it is.

“You know,” Jo says your name carefully as you turn, leaning forward until she’s in your periphery. “You still ain’t told me where we’re goin’, and if it’s somethin’ Dean shouldn’t be doin’-“

“Technically I don’t think any of us should be doing this.” You give Jo an apologetic, grimacing smile. “Bobby just wouldn’t want Dean coming because he thinks we get reckless about each other.”

You’re paraphrasing. Bobby’s exact word had been you two idjits act like there ain’t nothin’ else in the world, and it’s not safe fuckin’ hunting to see who can get shot for the other first. You think he was being a little dramatic, and the way he’d snapped it implied things you know you felt through your whole body—like lifeblood in the spiderweb, and seeping deep into the Gold that Dean left everywhere, made of a word you couldn’t say aloud, not now, not when it was impossible and there wasn’t enough time—but you also know that, for this, he was right.

Dean can’t do this with you. He’ll get weird about it, and he’ll distract you but just dragging you down into his gravity and being handsome and stupid and amazing, and this needs to go well.

And maybe this would hurt less, if Dean was here, but it hurts all the fucking time again and the Darkness has never been this loud and desperate in your life—never taken this much effort and pain to keep down, never been just a single crack in your body from exploding into the air, making everything far too big in a way you don’t know you’ll be able to drag back down alone—so if you lose control, Dean can’t be here to see it.

He’d accepted it. He’d looked at you, and stayed, and only been angry you hadn’t told him before you know he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know the depth of it, doesn’t know how it’s not a tool or a weapon or gift, it’s a fucking cancer and it’s trying to spread into him, and you won’t let it.

You’d already failed at that once. The light was still flowing through him whenever the Blade was in your hand, and all you could see was the Gold. He doesn’t seem to have grown sick. You won’t risk it.

Won’t hurt him, not for anything in the world. It would be cruel and wrong and selfish, to save him like that, when there has to be another way.

And this was that other way. You fucking hated it. There’s no turning back—you’ve come this far, and turning back would make this whole thing a waste of fucking time—but you still feel sick, and the pain is still settling so deep in your body you’re shocked you’re still conscious.

But you have to do this.

For Dean.

“Y’all do get reckless about each other.” Jo mutters under her breath, and you roll your eyes, electing to not respond. “And you still ain’t told me what we’re doin’. Just like, two sentences will do, but I ain’t Dean-“

That makes you look at her, your brow furrowed tightly together. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“Means I can’t look at you and know what you’re thinkin’,” Jo drawls your name, continuing before you can push back. “Gimme the plan, or I’m callin’ Bobby now and tellin’ him we’re in- Uh-“

She looks around the seemingly abandoned woods, and you sigh.

“Chicago. Well, near Chicago.”

“Alrigh-“ She pauses, shooting you a frown. “What?”

“You have to promise you won’t freak out.”

Jo says your name in a cautious tone, shaking her head. “I don’t know-“

“Just- Promise.” You let out a long breath, dropping your head to the steering wheel and frowning at your knees. “Please.”

“I- Okay.” You can hear the nerves in Jo’s voice. When this is done, you’ll buy her a million bath bombs and apologize on your knees. But for now, nothing else is as important as doing this. “Promise. You gonna tell what’s goin’ on?"

You swallow, choosing your every world slowly. Carefully. “You know that book I made the guys get? From that vamp nest?”

Jo goes rigid at your side, a little more guilt eats at your gut. She’s thinking of the wrong part of that day, where the world had turned into the blur as you slashed and cut your way through the demons—they’d tried to taunt you, but you didn’t have enough time—and gone back to reading the moment it was over.

You’d make that choice again a million times. Even if Jo’s worried face kept haunting you is the easier nightmares, Dean had kissed your brow and held you close enough you could hear his heartbeat, and you’d made no progress into freeing him, but you could’ve. There had been a chance.

Most of this has been hinging on there being just a chance. That’s what you were doing here.

So you’d fucking take it.

“Jo-“

“I remember.” She mutters. “Big fuckin’ tome, ended up bein’ in Turkish or somethin’-“

“Romanian.” You correct, sitting fully back up and folding your arms over your chest. “It’s Romanian. None of us fucking speak or read Romanian.”

“Sam said we could translate it-“

“Sam thinks our only option is Romanian.”

Jo pauses again. You’re worried that, by the end of the day, you’ll have sent her into a shock coma. “I- Ain’t it?”

“Nope.” You shrug, unbuckling from your seat. “I fucked up. Thought that the vamps would have an English copy, and I was wrong.”

“You-“ Jo scrambles out of the car behind you, watching you with wide eyes. “You know, you ain’t even told us how that books gonna help Dean-“

“It has a summoning ritual.”

“We already know summoning rituals-“

You shake your head, pulling your knife out of your jacket and spinning it in your hands. “Not this one.”

Jo snaps your name, glaring at you as she walks through the woods at your side. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about-“

“I’ve read that book before.” You mumble, swallowing down a little bile in your throat. “I remember it, there was- Lilith. The ritual that could summon Lilith, but I haven’t been able to fully remember it, and nothing else I could find has had it, so we need to go get the English copy.”

“And the English copy is…” Jo scans around you with a frown. “In the woods.”

“No. It’s-“ You sigh, running your free hand through your hair and coming to stop. “This is the part where you promised not to freak out.”

“I-“

“Look, I’ll take the lead. And I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could do this, plus when Dean and Bobby find out, they’re gonna be really fucking pissed, and it will be better if I tell them I took backup-“

Jo snaps your name, her eyes wide with an almost frantic worry. “You gotta stop talkin’ in riddles, you know I never get what the hell you’re sayin’-“

“We’re breaking into my family’s house.”

Your words are blunt. Fast. They have to be. This has to be like ripping off a band-aid or jumping into ice water. You just have to do it, and then it’s done, and you can head home and never think about it again, outside of a memory of searing pain on your palm and a numbness rushing through your whole body.

“We’re- What?!”

You nod up through the woods, spinning your knife in your hand, just be doing something. “Up through there is the house. It’ll have security, but we’ll get around it just fine, and nobody should be home-“

Jo shakes her head. “You can’t be sure ‘bout that-“

“Yeah, I can. It’s summer, everyone will be on vacation. It’ll be in and out. We just have get the book from the library.” You sigh, giving Jo another apologetic look. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is the only thing we’ve got left. And you can wait in the car, if you want-“

Jo scoffs. “Stop bein’ dramatic, I ain’t lettin’ you go in there alone. But, uh-“ She swallows, nodding to your knife. “You think I’m gonna need to be armed?”

You shrug. “Probably not. I just- This makes me feel better.”

Jo understands. You don’t say it, but Jo knows you well enough to get that it’s not being armed that makes you feel better.

It’s this knife. The knife Dean gave you. The knife that makes the spiderweb shine a little brighter, because it means that some part of his is still grounding you and keeping all the Darkness a little softer in your body.

And that’s so fucking pathetic. You know that. You’re a grown ass woman, you shouldn’t need a security blanket knife to hold yourself together.

Knowing still really doesn’t matter.

You’ll learn your lesson when this is over. When you have time to.

“You got a plan?” Jo asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope. We’ll be fine, though-“

“And you’re sure they still have the book? I know you ain’t been here in years, maybe they threw it out-“

You snort at that. “They’ll still have it. Trust me. You ready?”

Jo nods, following you as you start to move forwards, keeping her voice low, like the trees could hear.

It’s not a bad idea.

They might.

“What’s makin’ you so sure? I mean, I trust ya, but we don’t got a plan and you never talk about ‘em, so I dunno what to-“

“It’s- You’ll see.” You wish you could offer her more, but still don’t have the words to describe them to yourself. ��It’s not too late to stay in the car-“

“Yeah, it is.”

You stop at the edge of the woods, the land splitting into an impossibly large, nearly kept clearing, and there it is.

High on the top of a hill, like some sort of fucking castle. Everyone else always liked it. They seemed to the think the clean brick and polished glass—always letting in too much sunlight, always forcing the heavy, velvet curtains to remind drawn—made them like modern royalty. More than modern royalty. Empirical. Privy to knowledge others weren’t permitted to have, knowledge that made them chosen.

You’d never really understood what they meant. The house had been lonely. It had hurt to try and run up the hill, and every room was too dark and cold, and it had always been so fucking easy to get lost.

For you, it had been a prison. A slaughterhouse.

You’d never been favored. You’d only been…

Alone. Shouted at and untouchable and carved open and alone.

“Follow my lead.” You glance at Jo, and she nods, looking between you and the house with wide eyes. “Don’t split up, no matter what, and don’t touch anything.”

Jo swallows. “And you’re- You really fuckin’ positive no one’s home-“

“Yeah. I am.”

You’re not. The Darkness is building and coiling in your body because you’re really not sure. Someone could be. Just a staff worker would fuck this whole thing up, because it’s been almost eighteen years, but you don’t look that different, and if one person sees you that could cause a lot of problems you really can’t deal with right now.

But you need to do this, for Dean. You’re out of options, and you wouldn’t have even thought of this, entertained it in the slightest, if you didn’t think it was necessary. And Jo doesn’t need to be more worried. You’re already asking too much of her, adding to that by telling her that—should there be someone home—this could escalate into blood and mayhem so fast the blur with become more of a blink, won’t help anyone at all.

It helps that no one is home. In a rare, glorious stroke of unfamiliar luck, you get inside the house without dogs barking or biting at your heels, without alarms going off or the Darkness vaulting out of your body as it settles into your bones.

As it really clicks that you’re back here. You’d sworn to yourself that you’d never go back here. That there was never going to be a world where you stepped foot in this horrible fucking cage again, but you’re here.

Every part of you feels fragile. Too small. You can’t tell if the Darkness is trying to strangle the White, or hide inside of it. And the White is pounding at your rib cage, trying to pull you out, get out, this place is horrible and you can feel the stick of blood on your palm and see too many eyes watching you in awe and revolt and relief, and you think you did something wrong but nobody is screaming at you, they’re all staring but nobody is screaming, or touching you, you’re braced but nobody is touching you and why is the floor glowing like that and why won’t everyone stop looking at you, everything is too big and you can feel the whole universe but you’re still trapped in the center of the room-

Jo whispers your name, and you realize that you’d stopped walking. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.” Your words are shorter than you’d meant them as you twist a ring on your finger, and Jo doesn’t flinch at all. “I- Sorry, I can’t remember where we’re supposed to turn.”

Jo nods, glancing down the too long hallway. “Where are we headin’?”

“Library. I think it’s one- No, two floors up-“

Jo catches your arm as you start to walk forward, her mouth agape when you turn with a frown. “This place got a fuckin’ library?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s not like Bobby’s though-“

“I guessed that-“

“No, it’s-“ You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s barely a library at all.”

Jo blinks as you start down the hall again, pulling her with you. “What’s that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

She should see. If you can find the fucking library, Jo will see.

But this place is just as much of a maze as it had been when you were eight. Maybe more, because when you were eight you knew what halls you weren’t allowed to wander down—you had anyway, and it had never ended well, but you’d known—and been able to do more than you let your feet move on instinct.

There’s too much instinct, still ingrained in your body after so many years. You’re going everywhere but the library, because you’d never been permitted to go there without supervision.

You’d always touched too many things, and read too many of the books everyone said you shouldn’t be able to, and some part of your body doesn’t seem interested in going to the library, because it’s too close to that room.

You really don’t want to end up in that room. If just being in the house sets off that memory, you don’t think the Darkness will be able to handle being in the room. Looking at the floor and seeing that your blood is—maybe—still stained on the stone.

You’re already seeing too many things you’ve tried so hard to forget. Hearing voices screaming your name down the empty halls when the only other person here is Jo—braced and nervous at your side—and fighting the urge to vomit whenever you open to the wrong door.

The bathroom is the first one. It hasn’t changed since you were there last.

None of this place has.

It’s still too clean. Pure white everywhere—marble counter, porcelain bathtub and toilet, stainless tiles and untouched towels—with only a flash of red where no one else can see. Stuck in your head, a weak illusion where you’re small again and it all hurts, hurts more than you’d ever know before, and everything feels so strange but you can’t see anything but blood on your fingers, and you can’t stop crying because why does this hurt, and your mother is shouting that it’s normal, it’s good, you’re a woman, but you don’t want to be a woman, you just want it to stop fucking hurting-

Something shatters in your ears, and it’s just a ghost of the memory—they’ve fixed the crack in the walls, and you think your mother’s hand has likely healed over eighteen years—but you still flinch.

Jo asks if you’re okay. You nod, and keep moving.

Next, it’s your bedroom.

You don’t linger there long, because you don’t want to throw up but nothing has changed. The furniture, the wallpaper, all the dolls and clothing are the exact fucking same as when you left. Even your sheets are the same.

The bed has been made. There’s no layer of dust over the room.

“Is this-“

“Yeah.” You mutter, closing the door and moving on, tugging Jo behind you. “Let’s keep going.”

You’re close. You keep walking—making sure is Jo stays right at your side, just in case—and you know you’re close because you can feel it, tugging somewhere deep in your gut, but you’re still not entirely sure where you’re going, and what if you’d gone the wrong way and just never fucking realized it-

This hall is a dead end. You don’t remember taking the turn, but your feet had carried you here, and it’s just a fucking dead end.

With two doors. Two identical doors.

“Which, uh-“ Jo glances at you, raising her brows with a weary expression. “Do you know which one we should-“

“No.” You mutter, spinning your knife in your hand as you glare between the doors.

“You think it’s one of them, though?”

“Yeah, but- No!”

Your scream surprised you more than it seems to surprise Jo. She lurches back from the handle she’d been reaching for as you lunge to stop her, and suddenly the air is too thin.

You’re not allowed in that room. That’s the one room you’d never even dared to poke around into—even when you’d found yourself everywhere you shouldn’t be, all the fucking time—because it just wasn’t allowed. You can’t go in there because you can’t. That’s it, you can’t, there doesn’t need to be another reason because you’re never allowed to go in there-

“Shit-“ Jo snaps your name, and shaking her arm in your grip. “Are you- What was that-“

“Sorry, I-“ You glance down at where you’re still squeezing her, almost certainly too tight, and let go with a ragged breath. “I didn’t- Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expectin’ it-“ She cuts herself off, tilting her head as you hug your body, your gaze still flicking to the door. “You good?”

“I-“

“And don’t lie.” Jo adds, giving you a pointed look when you glance at her with wide eyes. “I may not be Dean or Bobby, but I know when you ain’t doin’ well. You just lost it over a fuckin’ door-“

You cut off Jo drawl of your name with a shake of your head. “It’s not just- That’s not the door.” You nod to the opposite wall, taking a long breath to steady your voice. “It’s the other one.”

“But you said you-“

“I know. I was-“ You swallow, letting one hand slide up to hold your throat. Lightly. Just enough to keep the Darkness locked down. “We’re not allowed in there. So it’s the other one.”

Jo blinks at you. “Not allowed?”

You nod, squeezing a little tighter. “That’s- It’s my grandfather’s room. His study. I’m not-“ You feel so fucking small. The walls almost seem to be getting taller, but that’s not possible, and the Darkness is begging to just be released—to be allowed to make your big again, to hurt this whole place the way it hurt you, to make it repent because you can—but you can’t. You won’t. “I’m not allowed in there.”

“You’re-“ Jo says your name with a long sigh, and it’s not sympathy in her voice. Her words are slow and careful, but it’s really not sympathy. “Look, if it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be, doesn’t that mean it’s exactly where we need to be?”

“Jo-“

“You don’t gotta, I won’t make you, but- Think about it.” Jo nods between the doors, crossing her arms as she continues. “As a hunter, what would you be doin’ on any other case? What would you tell me to do?”

You swallow. “Go in the- Fucking Christ, Jo, that’s really annoying.”

She just shrug, offering you a small grin in return. “I’ve been learnin’ from the best.”

“Shut up.” You take a long breath as you step forward, spinning your knife in your hands and glaring at the door. It won’t burn you. Logically, it won’t be able to do anything to you at all, because it’s a fucking door.

That doesn't stop your skin from itching at the thought.

“Jo-“

“I got it.” You glance over your shoulder to find her right behind you, reaching for the door with one hand, the other holding a-

“I said you didn’t need a weapon.“

“I know, but-“ She holds your gaze, kicking the door open before you have chance to realize that she’d distracted you, and preventing another scream from leaving your chest. “Dean says to always bring a gun.”

You roll your eyes. “Dean’s a fucking idiot.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Jo hums, walking right past you into the room you’re still not strong enough to look at. “C’mon, I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for.”

You swallow, tucking your knife back into your jacket. You can’t think about what you’re about to do, because it will shut something in your down, and you won’t make it out without ripping into your skin to stay together.

You’ll think about Dean instead. You’re doing this for him. You’ll get through this not because you always do, but because you have to. For Dean.

“He knows I think that.” You mutter, bracing yourself as you turn to face the room. “And he knows better than to bring a gun when I specifically told him not to-“

Jo laughs at that, already scanning over the tall, polished wood bookshelves. “No, he doesn’t. You just always forgive ‘im cause he’s Dean.”

You scowl, walking into the study with uneven steps. You can’t think about it. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“It means what it means.”

“That’s not an answer, Jo.”

“Don’t need to be, you know what the answer is anyway-“

“No, I don’t-“

“C’mon,” Jo drawls your name, shooting you a grin as you start to comb over the desk, your every touch of the wood too light. You aren’t allowed to do this. You have to. For Dean. “You can lie to yourself, and you can lie to Dean-“

“I can’t, actually.” You mutter, pulling open a drawer with too cautious fingers, and Jo frowns.

“What’d you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean what I mean.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off- Holy shit.”

You’re at her side in half a breath, grabbing the Blade and bracing yourself for a fight, to throttle the Darkness but still make it out alive, because Jo trusts you so you can’t let her get hurt-

“What-“

“Is that you?”

You follow Jo’s gaze up, over the impossible fancy and likely unusable fireplace to the perfectly clean mantle, to the-

“Fuck.”

That is you. A small, seven-year-old you wearing a neat little dress you remember leaving a rash on your skin, your hair done in an elaborate style you don’t think you could duplicate if you tried, a book open on your lap that you remember being taken away after an hour, because you’d kept trying to read it when you were supposed to be staying still.

There’s joy in your eyes, in the painting. More ease over your features than you’ve maybe ever known, and a small smile that’s too soft to be yours. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light—somehow breaking through the curtains, casting over the painting but only really shining on you—but there’s more color in you than your family.

They all seem to be static.

You could swear you could see silver, shifting around the oil paint, humming in your body.

But that’s not what caught your attention. What washed you with heavy relief and a white-hot dread all at once, and made your throat tighten as your grip on the Blade became impossibly tight.

There it was. Old and worn, not a single speck of dust, waiting for you.

Not the same way the blade had been waiting—forged for you, designed for you, better in your hand than anywhere else—but still waiting for what you were.

Like Lilith.

The thought makes you a little sick. You entertain that later.

Jo tugs at your arms, her voice filled with nerves once more. “You’re- uh- you were a cute kid-“

“Yeah. I know.” You glance over at Jo’s soft, easy, light blue, and let out a long breath. “Get ready to run.”

Jo’s blue widens and tenses, all at once. “What-“

“When I grab the book. Ready?”

“I-“

You don’t wait for the full answer. She’s ready. You can see it all over her soul, bright and tensed and ready to burst.

So you grab the book, and the blur begins.

Out. You have to get out. You have to go and only look back to make sure Jo is with you, you have to get to the car and take off without looking in the rearview mirror.

And the blur should’ve ended there, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t been.

You haven’t told Dean. You haven’t told Jo, or Sam, or Bobby, or anyone that this has felt like fighting for something more than your life. That you get up in the morning and it’s like gliding and wading through a swamp, following the trails of light—hidden under the water, promising to deliver you home—until you’re more lost than you began, and Dean pulls you out.

It gets through the haze, when he’ll take your hand and move you to bed, or hold your hand and mutter that you have to eat. You’ll hear him and, more often than not, let him guide you to bed. Somewhere safe, until you get up the next day, remember that there’s a little less time today than there was yesterday—Dean asleep across the bed, Golden and peaceful and branded, in fucking danger—and the blur begins again.

So the blur doesn’t stop when you get out of Chicago safely. It doesn’t stop when Jo opens the book and her voice—too far away for you to properly respond to—tells you that this isn’t in English. If anything it picks up as you only glance over, see the words shifting around the page in a way you can read, and look back to the road. It becomes impossibly fast when the engine sputters out in Wisconsin, and doesn’t slow when you pull over for the night—the truck barely holding on until you park—and settle in a shitty, flea-bed motel.

You think Jo is calling for backup, or a ride, or something. You still can’t really hear her, because the blur is too clouding over the world for you to do anything but focus.

It’s not clear down long you’ve been reading for when the door opens. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and every breath stings, but you can’t stop because you can’t lose Dean. Just another page might be the answer. Just another note might make something click and fall into place, might fix this, you can’t stop because there’s nothing else to do but this, and someone is saying your name but that won’t save Dean, so it doesn’t matter.

You whine like an animal when someone tries to pull the book away, but you can’t think to make another sound.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we got out of that place, I ain’t heard her say a word, but- Mom, it was so fuckin’ creepy-“

“I’ll bet it was, look at the state of her. You gotten her to eat anythin’?”

“No, I- It never works ‘less Dean asks her-“

“Dean ain’t here right now, is he? C’mon, get her in the car and we’ll get some food in her.”

They don’t pull you out—the two people guiding you to your feet and speaking so far away—but they aren’t hostile. They won’t hurt you or anything you love, so it’s okay to let them move you somewhere else, as long as they let you keep the book.

And they do. It stays in your hands when you sit once more, the words still shifting off the pages and none of them leading you anywhere safe.

The world starts to sting with your breathing. Everything is so dark, and you can’t tell if it’s simply what’s around you—dimming out a light you can’t afford to not have—or what’s inside of you, leaking out and infecting the world.

“Should we be tryin’ to take that book away from her-“

“No, I’ve seen her tire herself out, and- She tried to bite me once.”

“Bite you-“

“Not really, but I thought she might. Mom, I- I’m real worried about her-“

“I know you are, baby, but there’s nothin’ we can do but- I don’t even know, prayin’ ain’t right, but Dean don’t got a lot time left-“

Dean. Dean doesn’t have enough time.

You can’t let the weight and haze and sting wash over you and put you down because Dean doesn’t have enough time-

The sky is big.

It’s one of the first things you’d ever learned. That the sky was big, and he was watching, and if you were lucky, maybe, one day, he’d swallow you whole.

Your mother calls him an important name. Says he’s got plan for your family, that you’ve been chosen by him more than the tribes in that old book you hate memorizing, that one day, hopefully, the sky will eat of one of your children.

You’d told her that the sky wanted to eat you. That sometimes he makes himself white where you can see it, and promises to take you up to somewhere he calls good, but doesn’t sound it. It sounds lonely. Cold and lonely and too clean, like the blank walls of the bathroom.

“He won’t want you, darling.” Your mother had sighed, tucking a little hair behind your ear. “You’re- It won’t be you.”

She always said that kinder than everyone else. She always tried a little, where everyone else has all given up.

Because it doesn’t matter how many times you insist that you’ve met the sky, they all chalk it up to you, being you, and putting yourself where you don’t belong.

You’ll be lucky if they can pawn you off at all. If some fool of a man ever looks over to your corner of the field, and decides that they want the girl who won’t stop talking about the colors and the sky, or crying about how the spiders are all so afraid of the shoes, but the shoes feel disgusting, and the grass doesn’t want to be stepped on anymore.

It’s why your corner of the field is so small. So the grass doesn’t have to keep hurting.

You’re under the trees, because then it’s harder for the sky to see you.

And you’re alone because it’s easier to put you here, where you can’t ruin the party by telling your aunt that she’s incredibly dull and washed out, as is her husband, but he has the same stains of neon that make up the babysitter.

Someone says your name, and suddenly you're not small anymore. The sky is still too big, but he’s further away. Just watching.

But the sky becomes nothing, when you turn to see who called you.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Princess.” He grins at you, glancing around the field with raised brows. “I, uh, have we been here before?”

“You haven’t.” You shrug, glancing back out towards the ribbons and balloons of the party. “I have.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “What?”

“This is- It’s my cousin party, I think.”

“What, she have a birthday?”

“No, she-“ You pause, hugging your body as you stare at the people—all suddenly your size but weaker, moving between tables and laughing and worth nothing at all—and try to remember what you’d all been doing here.

You think something happened to her, and she was celebrating before they had another party, that you hadn’t been invited to.

She’d tell you, a few nights later, that she was certain it was going to be her. That she’d made a cup fly across the room, and the sky would want her more than anyone.

You’d told her you saw her throw that cup, and the sky wouldn’t want her because she was the color of vomit and it was gross.

That was why you hadn’t been invited to the other party.

You really don’t remember what either of them were for.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean taps you on the nose, and you blink at him with a slight wide expression. “You still with me?”

He’s not the color of vomit. He’s golden and beautiful, and you don’t know why your cousin had ever bothered with the sky when Dean was real, and here.

Maybe because he was yours, and your cousin ever popped up and tried to take him, you’d carve out her eyeballs with the knife he gave you.

You hadn’t been able to do that, during this party. You’d really like to do it now.

“Yeah, uh- I don’t think so. The party was for something else.”

“Huh.” Dean shrugs, looking back to the people running around the grass. “They got beer?”

“Yeah, it’s in the cooler. Tastes like shit.”

“It-“ He stares at you, eyes wide. “You drank it?”

“Today, yeah.” You rub your thumb over your palm, holding Dean’s gaze as you speak. “In ten minutes my uncle is going to give me a beer, and I’m going to drink it, then break it into my brother’s face because he was laughing at one of the housekeepers, and she always brought me new crayons.”

Dean chuckles, bumping his shoulder with yours. “So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been this violent.”

You roll your eyes, wrinkling your nose at his smug, pretty face. “I am not violent.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t say ‘uh huh’ like that-“

“I didn’t say it like anything-“

“No, you said it like you do when you’re making fun of me-“

“Princess, I’ve never made fun of you, I happen to like life-“ He side-steps your shove with ease, his grin only growing. “And I like you even more. I’d never tease you. Not once.”

You scowl, raising your chin at him. “You’re full of shit, Winchester.”

Dean scoffs. “Just cause Sammy’s been saying I want to die doesn’t mean I want you to kill me, sweetheart.“

“No, that’s not-“ You swallow, his words sinking a little too deep under your skin, your voice becoming softer than it was before. “You want to die?”

“Not lately, nah.”

“Lately?”

“About six months.” He mumbles, kicking a rock with his foot. “Since you got back, really.”

The air feels hot. You can’t really feel anything, not here, but the air is hot. “Me?” You whisper, your voice barely a breath, and Dean just shrugs, his voice a little lower than before.

“Course you, Princess. Never been anything else, has it?”

You swallow, and nod, because he’s right. It really hasn’t. And he holds your gaze until you’re looking into him, and he’s golden and shining and bigger than the sky.

You’d trade the sky for him in a heartbeat. You’d trade the world for him even faster.

The sky rumbles at that. It doesn’t like that idea, you trading everything for Dean. And you don’t remember it raining during this party, but it’s beginning anyway. Heavy, cold rain that falls on your skin like bullets, swelling in the grass and turning into a flood in only seconds, splitting the sky with white before you can grab Dean, and he’s swept away and you can’t fucking breathe, and Dean, he was here and you lost him in half a fucking second, where’s Dean-

Your throat already hurts when your eyes open, as if you’ve been screaming for a while.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe-“

You’re not safe. Dean’s not safe. You don’t know where he is, but he’s not whoever is holding and speaking to you, and where’s Dean-

“He’s back at Bobby’s, kid, he’s alright.” The owner of the voice is stroking your hair, and their touch doesn’t wash through your body like Dean’s, but it’s not wrong. You don’t have the energy to fight it anyway. “We only got a few hours ‘till I drop you back, ’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t know why, but you don’t believe them. The Darkness is balking and rioting all at once, and the spiderweb is screaming for Dean, and you-

It’s not going to be okay. You don’t know what to do, and you don’t feel well, and you can’t-

“Dean.” You whisper, your voice hoarse as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drag a little control back into your body. “I- Where’s-“

“Bobby’s.” The voice repeats, smooth and controlled. “Sleepin’, probably, it’s well past midnight. And he’ll be glad you’re home,” the voice drawls your name, and that Ellen. Only she says your name like that. “He ain’t happy you ran off like that. Gonna be askin’ about where you were, so I suggest you and Jo start gettin’ your story straight.”

You blink your eyes open, still slightly blurred for the tears you know are still stained across your face, and you’re sitting at Ellen’s side, half-curled into her side like a child as you sit in the back of the car.

“Where’s-“

“She’s gettin’ you some food. Says you like the fruit gummies and those purple sodas.” Ellen raises her brows at you. “Anyone ever tell you that shit ain’t good for you?”

“Bobby has.” You mumble, picking at your fingernails. “I told him drinking wasn’t good for him.”

Ellen chuckles at that. “I’m takin’ you won that one.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips, and Ellen mutters your name.

“He’s worried ‘bout you too, you know. Called me a few weeks back to say you won’t sleep ‘less Dean’s with you.”

You look up at her, swallowing it frantic, wired feeling over your skin. “I- Dean and I- Bobby-“

“He ain’t stupid. If he didn’t figure it out with his eyes, he’d put it together with his brain. He right?”

“Is he-“

“You not sleeping without Dean?”

You swallow again—you think you’re going to choke on nothing at all—and nod.

Ellen lets out a long, slow sigh. “You tell Bobby you went to Chicago?”

“No.” You whisper. You’re starting to bleed, a little under your nail. “He’d- he’d know what that meant. He’d try to stop me.”

Ellen hums. “Should he have?”

You shake your head. “Dean-“

“Honey, I don’t care about Dean right now.” Ellen squeezes her arm around your body, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Should you have headed back there?”

You shouldn’t have. It’s still like a noose around your throat, and now you have to worry about your family knowing you’re alive, and stealing their books, and had been in their house.

But you’d do it again. For Dean, you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.

“I-“ You swallow, pulling your knees into your chest. “I- I don’t know what to do.”

Ellen mutters your name but you shake your head, your every word becoming rushed and frantic as it slams back into you.

There’s not enough time. You can’t eat or sleep and there’s not enough time, and Dean is- You can’t- He’s Dean and you-

“I can’t- I don’t know what to do- Please, I- I don’t know what to do and I can’t- what if- I need him, I can’t- If this doesn’t work then I can’t-“ Your voice becomes strangled. Weak. Almost fucking pleading. “Please, I- I don’t know what to do-“

“Oh, Jesus.” Ellen holds you a little tighter, muttering your name, “’S gonna be alright, sweetheart. You’re smart ’n strong, you’ll be alright.”

It’s a labor to hear her. Your nails are leaving little marks on your skin and you’re not really breathing, but the Darkness is howling in your body and you can’t use it, you can’t hurt anyone but it may be the only way and you don’t know what to do-

“I- The book-“

“In your bag.” Ellen mutters, squeezing you one last time before pulling back. “We’ll all take some time to look at it, once we get you home, alright?”

You don’t think they will. Jo had said she couldn’t read it. You nod anyway, and Ellen gives you a soft smile.

“You wanna talk to Bobby.”

You nod again, and you feel like a child. You don’t know if it was Chicago, or how you’re almost out of time, but you feel small again. The Darkness is going dormant not because you feel better, but because you’re simply too fucking small.

Sitting on the curb of the parking lot, rubbing your calves and biting the inside of your cheek until it bleeds as you dial Bobby’s number. Like a kid who had too much to drink at a party, or got kicked out of a sleepover, the air sticky and hot on your skin and every breath too wired in your lungs-

It’s past midnight, but Bobby still picks up after three rings.

You don’t wait for his greeting before the words start to spill out of your mouth like vomit.

“Bobby, I- I’m sorry, I need- I didn’t want to, but I, I don’t feel that good-“

Bobby grunts your name. “You alright?”

“I- Yeah.”

“You comin’ home?”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your throat. “I- I’ll be home before dawn, I think.”

“Good.” There’s a long, static pause, and when Bobby speaks again his words sound careful through the phone. “If I ask ya’ somethin’, I don’t want the details, or the why, or to hear anythin’ about it again. Okay?”

“Ok- Bobby, what?”

“You wanna talk to Dean?”

The spiderweb bursts like a firework at the idea.

You’re too tired to pretend it doesn’t.

“Yes,” you whisper, your nails digging into the skin of your neck. “Please.”

It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would. Bobby grunts and shuffles around on the other end of the line, snapping and muttering low words you can’t really hear no matter how hard you strain, and then Dean’s voice is strong and clear through the speaker.

He says your name, as if he’s not sure you’re really there, and you have to take a long, slow breath before you answer.

“Dean.” You whisper, and he lets out a sigh you can hear through the phone.

He doesn’t ask you where you are, or why you left, or what the hell you’ve been doing for the past day, picking up and driving off without warning.

He just asks if you got it—you’re not even sure he knows what it is—and moves on when you mumble a yes.

“That’s good.” There’s a pause, and when Dean keep talking, it’s far too casual for all of this. “You know, Sammy says you can see our souls or something.”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, frowning into the mostly abandoned parking lot. “I can.”

“That’s pretty fucking awesome, Princess.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s weird, but our whole damn lives are weird.” You can almost hear the frown on his face, picture his adorable look of confusion. “Are they like, bright?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Huh. Are they squiggly?”

You blink at the air. “Squiggly?”

“Yeah, like shapes and shit-“

“They’re souls, De, not playdo-“

“Would be cool if they were playdo. You know Sammy used to eat that stuff, I had to make dad stop buying it. And if they’re not squiggly, are they just, like, in us?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “They all have a core, but it’s in a different spot for everyone. Then they just kind of… spread. Like paint.”

“Alright.” Dean pauses, and you realize you’ve stopped choking yourself right before he speaks. “Where’s my core?”

“In your chest.” You answer without thought, because you might know Dean’s soul a little better than your own. “Near your heart.”

“Huh. And is it just like, over me? All they all just glowing- Nah, you said they weren’t all bright-“

“They’re all different colors.” You say, smiling into the air as you cut off his rambling. “And some of the colors are bright, or metallic, or neon. Depends.”

There’s another pause, and Dean’s voice is suddenly softer when he speaks again. “What color am I?”

“Yellow.” You mumble, and Dean hums.

“Okay, I can work with yellow. Am I-“

“You’re metallic.”

“So I’m like, gold?” You can hear the slight joy in his voice.

And you know what he’s doing. You’re not forcing the Darkness down, and you don’t feel good but you’re not small anymore either. He’s distracted him.

You’re almost out of time.

You can’t lose him.

“Yeah. You’re gold.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Dean?”

“Yeah-“

“Can you please tell me it’s going to be okay.”

He pauses, tone lowering slightly as he mutters your name. “I don’t-“

“Even if it’s a lie.” You draw your knees tighter to your chest, and he’s just a voice in a phone right now, but you can feel him all the way down and through the spiderweb, and it’s better than anything in the world. You need him. “Please, just say it will be okay. Please-“

“It’ll be alright. I pr- I know you’re gonna be okay, Princess.” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse.

You really want to go home.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He repeats, and you should be.

You should get through this. You always get through this.

But you need Dean.

And as you watch the lights of the gas station flicker, you don’t believe him.

End Note: do you guys think I qualify for witness protection for a fanfic.

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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lazysoulwriter · 1 day ago

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all the time in the world (except for you) - pedro pascal. ANGST SAD OMG

requested! hope you like it!

----

Pedro was slipping away, and you felt every second of it.

It had started subtly—missed calls that turned into unanswered messages, dates that had to be rescheduled, and late-night apologies whispered through a phone speaker, his voice thick with exhaustion. You had reassured him every time, telling him you understood, that you were proud of him, that his dreams coming true meant more to you than a few missed moments. But the missed moments turned into missed milestones. And then, your birthday came and went, with nothing but a hurried text at midnight, followed by radio silence.

You didn’t even cry that night. Maybe you had expected it. Maybe a part of you had already started grieving.

Pedro came back two days later, flowers in hand, regret written all over his face.

“Mi amor,” he murmured, reaching for you, but you just stood there, unmoving.

“Don’t.” Your voice was quiet. Defeated. “Just… don’t.”

The pain in his eyes was immediate, but what could he say? That he was sorry? That he didn’t mean for this to happen? You had heard it all before. You had believed it, too. But belief didn’t erase the ache of sleeping in an empty bed, of waiting up for someone who never came home, of feeling like an afterthought in the life of the man you loved.

You didn’t push him away when he stepped forward, pulling you into his arms. His hold was desperate, his hands clutching you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You melted into him despite yourself, because you still loved him. God, you loved him so much it hurt.

But love wasn’t always enough.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his breath shaky. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead against his chest. “You can’t fix something if you’re never here.”

Those words haunted him. They followed him on set, into interviews, onto planes that carried him away from you again and again. He replayed every moment, every time you had smiled through your disappointment, every time you had told him it was okay when it wasn’t. And the guilt—it was unbearable.

So he did what he thought was right. What he thought would save you from more hurt.

He let you go.

The breakup was quiet, like you were both too exhausted to fight for what was left. He told you that you deserved more. That you deserved someone who could be present, who could love you the way you needed. And you—you didn’t argue. Because maybe he was right. Maybe you did.

And that should have been the end of it.

Except, Pedro had never felt so empty.

Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months. His career had never been better—his name in headlines, his face on billboards. People shook his hand and congratulated him, told him he was at the peak of his success. But none of it mattered. Not when he went home to an empty apartment, not when he reached for you in the middle of the night only to find cold sheets.

He had convinced himself that walking away was the right choice, but he hadn’t anticipated just how unbearable it would be. He missed you like a phantom limb, like a piece of himself had been ripped away. Every time he picked up his phone, he had to stop himself from calling. From begging for another chance. But what would he even say?

That he was miserable without you?

That he had made the biggest mistake of his life?

That he still loved you?

He wasn’t sure you’d even want to hear it.

And that—that was the worst part of all.

----

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal angst #angst #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #fanfic #fanfics

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ledesaid · 1 day ago

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Billy body-swaps #8

╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║

Today there's something new. It's… It's… It's in a box!!!

A coffin?!

The jumper believes the hand is not that of an adult; he notices it when touching the fabric. The fabric is soft, shiny, and, given its inability to yield to his push, it is undoubtedly part of a coffin.

His young host has calluses on the tips of his fingers and knuckles, which tells Billy that he has led a rather active life.

Focus, Billy. He says to himself.

While reviewing the long list of items in Batman's contingency plan, two things come to his mind:

First, all the League is prohibited from going on dangerous solo missions on Sundays. Given the unpredictability of Billy's powers, this makes a lot of sense. So, two months ago, he jumped to a host outside the Justice League and he was trainned for situations like these an external host in a risky situation.

The young man wonders… Who would bury someone alive in this day and age? A mobster, perhaps? Or could this person suffer from that disease called Narcolepsy?

The second thought bubble bursts, and he thinks he remembers old videos of Houdini and the magician Zatara. Curiously smuggled in by one of the Robins when Batman wasn't watching. They did many things with their hands, then their young assistant pressed a button to remove the earth and… That's cheating. Billy doesn't think he can cheat in this situation… or can he?

A third thought answers that question.

Superman.

Could he hear him?

Normally, he can.

If he shouted from the subway, would Superman hear him?

This doesn’t seem as deep as the subway, but unlike it, there’s nothing for sound to travel through.

The youngest knows that Superman is always alert to his voice. Especially on Sundays during jumps!

An attempt leaves him with a sore throat and no response from Clark.

The contingency plan failed. Plan B?

Exactly. Go back to Plan A.

Batman has a very interesting flowchart...

Billy's new host had a dry mouth, and his latest attempt to call Superman was simply pathetic.

Plan C. Search for whatever you can and use it however you can. As part of the training he's been receiving, he must find something useful among his current belongings.

Nothing in his pockets. But there's a belt with a decent buckle.

Shoes... A tie...

A jacket...

And... Something sharp beneath his back...

It seems to be an aluminum sheet that extends up to his neck.

With all this in his hands... It looks like, after all, he’s going to apply the Houdini method...

╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║

Gravedigger: I swear, officer! I saw a zombie coming out of its grave!

Police officer: Right… Do you know that making a false call is a offense?

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Booster: You can't be serious!!

Booster Gold shouted at Batman.

Booster: We can recover Ted! Blue Beetle?! A member of the league?! Your friend?!

Batman: Billy is not an object.

Booster: I never said he was.

Batman: But you want to use him as one.

Booster: I didn’t want to believe you were truly the villain the story portrayed...

The Gothamite looks at him and stops Booster with his words.

Batman: Billy doesn't control his powers in that way.

Booster: Of all people… why was your son the chosen one? Why can’t it be my friend the next? Huh, Batman? I don’t buy your excuse! You know something about this, Bruce… and you’re hiding that from us.

The time traveler disappears from the Watchtower with a whisper.

"And I'm going to find out."

╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║

Billy don't left his room in the past few days.

He said he was fine. But he hasn’t spoken since his return.

He has lived through so much during his jumps, but this time...

Can you blame him? He just dug his way out of a grave!

And...

And he just brought someone back to life!

This is planting something in his heart, and he fears... fears it might take root. This almost impossible hope...

Is there a possibility of recovering his family?

Billy decides to get some sleep. The adults seem very tense around him...

Especially Booster Gold. Billy knows the stories of all the fallen Leaguers...

It’s better to go to sleep, he tells himself again. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of someone asking him to bring someone else back…

He doesn’t want to climb out of a grave on his own ever again.

╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║

On the other hand...

Jason Todd is recovering very well at Wayne Manor!

There are only a few moments when his mind goes blank. Medically speaking, and based on extremely expensive medical studies, that’s considered a good sign!

And his physical rehabilitation is progressing smoothly.

Medically speaking, this is impossible.

But Jason knows the name of his Meta benefactor, a Meta kid who resides in the Watchtower with a unique code name: Marvel.

The second Robin wants to thank him personally, but Batman has forbidden all communication with the youngest and is deeply offended that Batman believes he will obediently stay at the manor after being revived as a zombie!

╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║

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reccyls · 3 days ago

Text

Victor's Main Route: Chapter 5

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Victor: It’s time we re-evaluated your duties!

Kate: W-whoa!

Victor made a grand announcement as soon as I opened the door to his office. Surprised and confused, I stepped in.

Victor: Now, please take a seat. This is a very important task ahead of us.

Kate: Um, thank you?

Victor pulled out my usual chair. Holding back my questions, I sat down. He took his seat across from me with a serious look on his face. With his elbows on the table, he laced his fingers together.

Victor: Kate, I’ve been thinking for a while.

I swallowed nervously. Seconds passed in silence. And then, as he drew in a deep breath, Victor spread his hands wide.

Victor: Aren’t you doing far too much work!?

Kate: …Huh?

I couldn’t help the noise of confusion that left my mouth when I heard the exact opposite of what I was expecting. Still looking deadly serious, Victor continued passionately.

Victor: What exactly are your current duties!?

Kate: Um… I accompany Crown on missions and record what happens, and I also help you with your work here.

Victor: That’s right, your work even includes that now!

Kate: Uh…

(Well, I didn’t set out intending to become Victor’s assistant…)

Recording what happened during Crown’s missions were my duties as Fairytale Keeper. But the main reason I began helping Victor with his work was because I wanted to learn more about him.

(But it’s not as if it’s really difficult or anything…)

Normally it only took an hour to finish, maybe two or three at the most. And on top of that, having half an hour to an hour of break for tea time here in the office had already become a part of my daily routine.

Victor: Maybe you yourself don’t see it, but I think you’re already doing more than enough work.

Kate: But I think you have a lot more work than I do…

Victor: I’m fine. It’s to be expected as Her Majesty’s aide, after all.

I’ve seen how much work VIctor has to do each and every day. I doubted that there was anyone else who worked as hard as he did. Even during his rare days off, he was always thinking about Crown’s matters. It was like even his private life had become entirely consumed by work.

Victor: By now, you’ve already been on a mission with everyone in Crown, haven’t you?

Kate: Yes, that’s right. But only when you requested that I join them.

I’d never been on a mission outside of the ones where Victor requested my presence. So that’s why I didn’t feel like I’d been doing too much. However…

Victor: I was wondering whether it was time you became someone’s personal Fairytale Keeper.

Kate: A personal Fairytale Keeper?

Victor: Isn’t it overwhelming if you have to join everyone on their missions, and write reports on all of them? Victor: I had thought it was a good idea. However…

Kate: Victor?

Victor: Ah, it’s nothing.

There was a slight pain in Victor’s expression. He slowly opened his mouth to continue, as though it was hurting him to speak.

Victor: It’s just that it might make it difficult for you to come by so often to help me, so I realized how lonely I’d be.

(He really thinks that?)

Kate: I’d also be lonely if we stopped doing this.

Though I found VIctor’s behavior cute, I also felt the same way. I figured I should tell him directly. Although I hadn’t been doing this for very long, this routine with Victor had already become a comfort to me.

(When I go on missions with Crown, I learn more and more about the injustice that exists in the world. And every time, I wonder just what it is that I can do.) (I keep trying to face forward and meet things head on, but I can’t help but think that…)

Every time I witnessed another tragedy, I felt the urge to do something. But the knowledge of how little I could do haunted me.

(That’s why the time I spend with Victor is so important to me.)

Even though I didn’t speak about it, maybe Victor noticed something anyway. He never asked me about the missions in any detail when I’m in his office.

Kate: I want to keep going on missions with Crown as Fairytale Keeper, and I also want to keep working with you. Kate: Is that alright?

I must have looked nervous. With a conflicted smile, Victor opened his mouth.

Victor: If that is what you wish. Victor: But if it’s ever too much, you must let me know immediately, okay?

Kate: I will. Thank you.

With that discussion done, I got ready to start working. However…

Victor: But you really have been working too hard lately. You should rest for today.

He stood up and headed for his desk.

Victor: You stayed up late last night researching to prepare for the mission you’re going on with William, didn’t you? Victor: You’re doing more than anyone asked of you. So rest your wings a while.

Kate: But-

(Isn’t there a lot to do today?)

As I was about to ask Victor that, he firmly shook his head.

Victor: Take it as a personal request from me.

He looked at me with puppy-dog eyes, everything about him radiating cuteness. I felt my heart skip a beat.

Victor: Pretty please?

(I’m sure if Jude or Harrison were here, they’d call this gross and tell VIctor to stop acting like a child.) (But there’s no way I can say no to that face…)

Victor was normally the ever-reliable man of a hundred talents. Seeing him act like this hit me right in the heart.

(I can’t rule out that he knows I’m weak to this kind of thing, but still…)

His eyes were practically sparkling. The gap between now and his normal behavior made my pulse race in my ears.

(I know he’s messing with me, but I’m still going to say yes anyway.)

Kate: Fine, I will.

Victor: Excellent! Have a good rest.

I gave him a nod as he waved goodbye to me, and left his office. Dark clouds hung in the sky outside.

-----

William: So you knew he was manipulating you, and you still lost.

Kate: “Lost” is a strong word… But… yeah…

We were seated at the upper floor of the theater. I kept my eyes on the stage and my voice low as I spoke with William. He looked amused as he rested his chin on one hand and similarly kept his eyes on the performance. Young, beautiful actresses were performing on the stage. However, their acting skills were still quite rough. It was pretty obvious that they were all new to the stage. Today’s mission was to approach the women under the pretext of becoming their patrons, Investigate to see if they were potential targets of human trafficking, and collect solid evidence if so. Sitting in the box across from us was the suspect, an aristocrat who was eyeing the women on stage with a cigar in hand.

William: Victor knows that look works on you. William: He’s not one to put on the cute act otherwise.

Kate: I know…

On stage, the actress’ eyes sparkled with excitement.

That there could exist a future where that brightness would end up snatched away was unforgivable.

(According to William, the theater staff are all also accomplices. None of them should escape justice either.) (We have to do something before things get worse.)

Before their eyes, so brilliant in the pursuit of their dreams and belief in the future, clouded over. Maybe I was getting more worked up than usual because these actresses were performing on the stage that I held so dear, and they were similar in age to me.

William: I won’t need to be that forceful. But I will pass judgment on that man, and everyone else involved, before these women become victims.

Kate: That’s a relief to hear.

My eyes darted back to our target. He was whispering to someone who looked like he was one of the involved theater staff.

William: Seems that things are moving quickly.

The staff member briefly left, and when he returned, he had a piece of paper in his hand.

Kate: That’s…

William: A sales contract.

The target scribbled on the contract with a quill pen, then withdrew a check from his pocket. He exchanged it for the contract, and then the staff member left once more.

William: It’s time for our mission to begin.

Applause filled the theater as the curtains drew to a close. Seeing our target stand, we also stood.

William: We’ll seize the contract from the target as planned.

Kate: Got it.

We exited the main stage area before our target did, and made sure to stand apart from each other as we walked down the corridor. As the suspect appeared, William called out to him.

William: You’ve left awfully early. Are you not staying for the curtain call?

Target: Lord Rex! To think I’d meet you here.

Distracted by William, the target didn’t notice me hiding behind him.

Target: Well, the acting was quite poor, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Target: I wasn’t in the mood to watch for much longer.

William: I’d prefer to say that those actresses still have room to grow.

Target: Ah yes, that’s right. It’s–

As he was getting drawn into the conversation, I approached the target from behind, and bumped into him.

Kate: Oh, I’m sorry!

Target: What do you think you’re doing?

Kate: I’m so sorry, I was going to the restroom and I got turned around.

As I lied shamelessly, William brushed his hand across the target’s coat.

William: Oh my, you have something stuck there.

Target: Do I? Where?

As the target was distracted by trying to check his coat, I saw my chance and reached for the target’s inner pocket. It wasn’t difficult to steal the contract.

William: It’s alright, I’ve got it.

Target: Thank you very much. And as for you-

I kept the contract hidden behind my back as the man glared at me. William spoke up.

William: If she hadn’t bumped into you, I wouldn’t have noticed the dirt stuck to your coat. William: Thank you, miss.

You’re welcome.

I’m sorry for bumping into you. (+4/+4)

Smile awkwardly.

Kate: I’m sorry for bumping into you, sir.

Target: …I’ll let you off just this once.

William: The restroom is that way, miss. You can’t miss it. William: Well then, we shall be leaving first. William: Do be careful. And now, if you’ll excuse us.

Kate: Thank you very much.

After making sure both the target and William were gone, I started running in the other direction. Stashing the contract deep in my purse, I left through the emergency exit.

(I’m glad it worked.)

When William suggested that I steal the contract while he distract the target, I was nervous whether I’d be able to do it. But everything had gone according to plan. I felt my shoulders drop as the tension bled out of me. However, the mission wasn’t over yet.

(It’s not over until I rendezvous with William and we return to the castle!)

If we didn’t return with the evidence, then the entire mission would be pointless. My hands tightened around the strap of my purse and I steeled myself.

Kate: …Alright.

The plan was to sneak around to the other side of the theater through the alleyways, meet William, and then take a carriage back to the castle. If I head straight to the meeting point with no delays, it’s only a few minutes away. Even though this was an alleyway, there were plenty of people passing by out in front. I’d been told that it was a safe area, but still…

(It’s better to hurry.)

The silence was starting to get to me, so I took another deep breath to calm down and started walking faster. Just a little while ago, I was regularly navigating alleys like these to make my deliveries. But maybe because it’s been a while since I’d walked around by myself, I was starting to feel nervous. My hands tightened again around my purse. I was always supposed to be accompanied by someone from Crown if I left the castle. At first, I had thought of it as a way to keep me in line. But as I’d gotten to know Crown better and realize that they were protecting me, they began to feel more like escorts than wardens.

(And Victor always makes me feel the safest.)

He always had a kind word ready, and a gentle look. Whether he acted cheerfully or adorably, Spending time with Victor always made me relaxed. It made me happy.

(Maybe it’s because Victor always puts others first.)

Every time I noticed a small act of consideration from Victor, it filled my heart with warmth. This level of care must be why he’s able to succeed in his role as the queen’s aide.

(...I really want to see him.)

Tomorrow, in his office. When I open the door, he’ll be waiting for me with a soft smile. And he’d ask me: “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

(When I get back, I’ll write up my report immediately and hand it to him first thing tomorrow morning.)

While I was daydreaming, I checked to make sure no one else was walking down this alley, but–

(Huh?)

I saw the fluttering of black hair disappear around a corner deeper into the alleyways.

Kate: Victor?

Although I only caught a glimpse of him, that was unmistakably Victor.

(What is he doing here?)

I found myself turning to follow him, drawn in by how much I had wanted to meet him. I approached slowly. Voices echoed in the alley, and Victor’s was among them.

Victor: –evil.

I heard the sound of groaning, and I hurriedly rounded the corner.

(...What…?)

The sight of several people sprawled on the ground met my eyes. They had their hands wrapped tightly around their own necks, rapturous expressions on their faces. They were dead.

Kate: Ah… wha-

In response to the shock I couldn’t contain, Victor spun around, illuminated by the light of the moon. The eyes that met mine were impossibly cold, almost inhuman. My voice died in my throat as I realized… …I knew nothing. I was just a little robin, kept safe and ignorant inside a cushion-lined cage.

#ikemen villains #victor (ikevil)#my translation

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glamourscat · 1 day ago

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Can you maybe do a Shidou x Single mom reader? Shidou moved into a new apartment building because he got kicked out of the last one for being too loud or something alike, and his nextdoor apartment neighbor is a young single mom he greets sometimes, and she ends up asking him to babysit her toddler once because no one was able to take care of it at the moment and she was late to work. In the end the kid is obsessed with him and doesn't want to leave at first, but reluctantly accepts once they promise him/her they can play again.

Idk if that's a weird request or anything, but i think it would be cute. The kid can be a girl or boy, whichever you choose.💐

WHATEVER THAT MEANS | SHIDOU RYUSEI X READER (TIME SKIP)

so, i slightly changed it around, bc i found it hard to write for a mother who left her kid w someone who she barely knew :'( i made them on friendly base, so not super close but friendly enough for the reader to trust shidou into taking care of her daughter. I hope you like the fic either way, and i'm sorry for the little adjustment!

Loud. Inadequate. Noisy. Just a few adjectives his old apartment complex neighbors would use to describe him. And it’s not like they were necessarily wrong… but can’t a guy have hobbies? What’s the big deal if he wants to shout off his balcony in the morning as stress relief? Or sunbathe naked? It’s his house, after all.

But apparently, they didn’t see it that way. And so, embarrassingly enough, he got evicted. Football season was about to come to an end, which meant more days spent indoors, especially with the scorching summer temperatures in Japan.

It’s been over seven months since he met you. And he still couldn’t quite figure you out.

The first time you two met, you threw a shoe at him. The second time, you apologized for the shoe but still got into a screaming match over who stole whose package. The third time, it was a rainy night. He was restless.TV, phone, laptop, nothing could quiet his head. His eyes drifted to the window, and before he knew it, he was grabbing his jacket and shoes, heading out for a walk.

He didn’t even realize how far he’d gone until he found himself near the striking lights of the town center. He was about to turn back when he saw you. Standing there, soaked through, outside some cheap ass restaurant. His first instinct was to tease you, but then he took in your face.

Sorrow. Embarrassment. Pain.

And he didn’t have it in him.

You turned to leave before he could even step closer.

“Wait, damn it—”

“Don’t.” Your voice was quiet but firm as he reached out, catching your wrist.

“I don’t—I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Shidou huffed, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“You’re drenched. C’mon. Let’s go back.” His voice was strangely calm. Just like that he led you home.

That night, seven months ago, he learned about you. Your life. That you, at 26, the same age as him, had a three-year-old daughter. That the father was more absent than his own had ever been.

He doesn’t know exactly when the shift happened. When throwing shoes turned into spending late nights at each other’s places, talking until 1 a.m. and laughing over things that didn’t even matter. Maybe it was the vulnerability of that very first night you two talked. Or maybe it was realizing that, despite everything, you two weren’t so different. He just… expressed things more loudly.

And maybe that’s why, on his day off, he’s here. Babysitting your kid. A round, giggling toddler sitting cross legged in his lap, applying makeup to his face with the concentration of a professional artist. She’s rambling, some absurd story about nursery school that he’s pretty sure she’s making up as she goes.

God, he has no idea what he’s doing.

There’s pink sparkling eyeshadow smudged across his eyelids, uneven swipes of glitter on his cheeks and something sticky in his hair that he’s choosing to ignore.

“You look like a princess,” she announces proudly, clapping her hands together.

Shidou snorts. “Yeah? A hot one?”

The toddler tilts her head, considering. “Mmm… a silly one.” She exclaims with her hands thrown in the air as to emphasise her claim.

He grins, flashing his teeth. “Same thing, nugget.”

As you walk through the door your eyes fix on the scene. You don’t know where to either laugh or to be worried for Shidou’s safety. Surely that many hairpins in his hair cannot be good for blood circulation, right?

His eyes meet yours as he flashes you a stupid grin of his. He doesn’t know how it happened, how he got here. But he knows it feels good. It feels good to be wanted. And your kid, for whatever reason, is obsessed with him.

Which is a problem, when you move closer to pick her up and she immediately buries her face into his shoulder, clinging and gripping him like he’s the last cookie in the cookie jar that someone is also trying to take.

“Nooooo,” she yells dramatically. “I wanna stay with Ryusei!”

“Kid, I’m flattered,” he says, patting her back, “but your mom will kill me if you don't go take your bath.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sweetheart, you need to bathe. And eat dinner.”

“Ryusei can do it!”

Shidou chokes on a laugh and you shoot him a glare, but your daughter isn’t paying attention, she’s too busy gripping his shirt. Kicking her feet annoyed at the injustice of it all.

It reminds him a little of himself. That fierce, stubborn kind of love. The kind that grabs on tight and refuses to let go. She’s a kid, but he can feel that she’s smart enough to understand this feeling. So he tugs her away just enough to look her in the eye, his voice quieter now.

“Hey. What if I promise to come back?”

Her lip wobbles. “You swear?”

“Cross my heart.” He does the motion across his chest, then taps her nose. “I’ll come play again. You can even make me a clown next time.”

The toddler sniffs. “Princess clown.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever the boss wants.”

She hesitates, then, slowly and reluctantly, she lets you take her into your arms. But her eyes stay locked on him, watching as if she’s trying to make sure he doesn’t disappear the second she looks away.

Shidou leans back, resting his head against the couch. And, because he knows she’s waiting, he throws her a lazy salute.

“Later, nugget.”

She sniffles again. “Bye-bye, Ryusei.”

And just like that, she’s gone, carried off into the other room.

The apartment is quieter now, the warmth of her weight still lingering on his skin. He exhales, stretching his arms over his head and catches you watching him as you pop back in the living room.

“You didn’t have to promise,” you say, voice softer than usual.

Shidou hums. “Nah. I wanted to.”

A moment of silence goes by.

“You’re good with her.”

He smirks. “You sound surprised.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. “Just… didn’t expect it.”

Shidou shrugs, leaning his head back again. He doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know if he even needs to. It’s just that love, in all its forms, has never come easy to him. It’s always been messy. Complicated.

But this? This feels simple. So yeah. He’ll come back. He will still pretend to huff and think twice before accepting. He will still tease you restless as per usual. But he will let your daughter cover him in glitter and tell him ridiculous stories and call him silly names. Because it’s easy. Because it’s warm. Because it feels good to be like this.

Whatever that means.

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shadowsviper · 3 days ago

Note

Ooo can you write the reader as a cat while thanos and namgyu take care of them?

Thanos and Nam-Gyu taking care of Cat reader

Literal cat. I made it so they live together just to make it easier to write. Whether they’re dating or not is up to you. Bro who was gonna tell me that the formatting for phones is weird compared to laptops

• There’s two ways I can think of how they find you and they’re high as fuck in both situations

• One way is that they’re coming home from the club and while walking down a dark alleyway they find you rummaging through some trash looking for something to eat

• Nam-gyu noticed you first, he immediately got down to your level and started pspspspsps at you

• Thanos was high as fuck so he actually kept walking and left him behind for a minute

• You were cautious of Nam-gyu. You peeked your head out to look at him but didn’t make a move

• He tried to lure you out with his hand but because of how cautious you were and the fact that he had nothing to offer you, you stayed put

• Thanos came back after realizing Nam-gyu was gone. When he noticed you, he let out the loudest gasp, scaring the fuck out of you

• You immediately hid under some cardboard

• “What the hell? You scared them off!” Nam-gyu grumbled.

• “We should take them home!” Thanos suggested. He started moving some cardboard out of the way

• Unfortunately for you, his movements were fast and unpredictable which scared you even more. It didn’t help that compared to you he was a giant human

• His hands reached down for you, effectively grabbing your body and lifting you up to his chest. Your paws immediately pressed against him, trying to push him away

• “You suck at holding them, give them to me,” Nam-gyu said, reaching over for you. His hands grabbed you from Thanos and cradled you to his chest

• It wasn’t that much better than Thanos, but at least he had a comfortable grip. Just like that, they now have a cat and you have a new home

• The other way I could think of them finding you is at a animal shelter. They were high as hell and decided to go look at some animals for fun

• Thanos immediately went for the dogs, claiming that they would match his energy

• Nam-gyu gravitated towards the cats. He preferred them over dogs.Dogs were too energetic for him. Having Thanos around was enough for him

• Nam-gyu looked at every cat available before he circled around and came back to you. He couldn’t explain it but there was something about you

• He stared at you, and you stared back. It became a staring contest for the two of you. Nam-gyu didn’t blink at all, but not blinking might be a side effect of drugs

• He asked a worker to let you out so he could spend some time with you. He already knew you’d be the one

• You were the only one who even bothered to approach him and accept his hand for pets

• It took some time before you were comfortable to play with him. You swatted at the toys he gave you, showing off how playful you could be

• Nam-gyu sat near you, his hand constantly reached over to pet you. His touch was gentle, almost as if he’s scared to pet you. You can’t help but purr every time he pets you

• Thanos comes in loud as always, scaring some of the cats in the room

• “Nam-su! They have a bunch of dogs here-” Thanos stopped when he realized you were right besides Nam-gyu and purring. “Is that a cat?”

•”No it’s a hamster,” Nam-gyu said sarcastically, ignoring the nickname. “Yes, it’s a cat. They’re very playful. I think they’ll be a nice fit to our place.”

• And here comes the argument

• Thanos wants a dog, Nam-gyu wants a cat. They’re both arguing over which animal to pick as if they actually had the goal to adopt when they came into the shelter high as fuck

• “Dogs are cooler,” Thanos whined. “Imagine me walking around with a big ass German Shepherd, or a Doberman! I won’t look as cool with a cat, I can’t bring them outside.”

• “Yeah but guys having cats is considered a green flag,” Nam-gyu said. He was getting distracted by you making biscuits on his pants as he pet you. “You’re a walking red flag, you need some green to even it out.”

• Thano argued that he did have green to even it out. It was weed

• Nam-gyu sighed.

• Either way, Nam-gyu eventually convinced Thanos to adopt you. It didn’t take too much effort considering that he was high and he listened to Nam-gyu whenever he was high

• Congratulations you now have two dumbass junkies as your owner

• Which ever way they found you, they made sure that you were the most spoiled cat ever

• They made their apartment more comfortable for you. There were beds everywhere, cat trees everywhere, scratching posts, you name it they have it

• Thanos made sure you had every toy in existence and that you would always be comfortable

• Nam-gyu made sure you had the best quality food. Whether that be the best quality kibble, wet food, or even raw diet, he made sure it was perfect

• Cuddles are a must for Thanos and you don’t have a say in when or where. He’ll just grab you and hug you close for a while. He’s done it while you were sleeping which earned him a few scratches

• He definitely tried to grab you while he was in the bathroom saying some shit about needing a buddy while he goes

• Yeah just stay away from him when he’s in the bathroom

• Nam-gyu respects your space. Which is funny considering how touchy he is with Thanos

• He’ll let you come to him most of the time. The only times he’ll grab you first is if he needed to move you or just wanted a hug

• The bed is always the best spot. It’s warm and cozy, and it has their scent. It keeps you sane when they’re gone for a long time doing whatever it is they do late at night

• You soon realized that they’re different when they’re sober

• Thanos is still as loud as ever but he’s more aware of how loud he is. Ever since having you in the apartment he realized how sensitive your ears are and will quiet down around you

• He respects your space a little more when he’s sober because he’ll realize that he never leaves you alone

• Nam-gyu is pretty much the same. He’s more aware of his surroundings and will be more accommodating towards you but fuck everyone else he doesn’t care about them, only you… and maybe Thanos

• Thanos would be annoying as hell, he’d buy every pet outfit he sees and buys it for you to try. His phone is filled with pictures of you dressed up

• They both have you as their wallpaper

• Thanos either has you with an outfit as a wallpaper or it’s some bad quality photo he got of you mid sneeze. He only has bad quality photos of you and maybe like 2-3 good ones. He loves to send those bad quality photos as reaction pictures when texting anyone

• Nam-gyu only has good quality photos of you. Ones that people would pay hundreds for. His wallpaper is always you looking perfect. On the couch lounging, sleeping in the cat tree, looking at birds out the window. The best quality only

• Anyways, they love you very much and will only provide the absolute best for you, nothing less

#squid game #squid games #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #squid game thanos #squid game nam gyu #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong #thanos x reader #player 230 #thanos x y/n #nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #namgyu x reader #player 124 #nam gyu x y/n #squid game headcanons

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yoontaethings · 2 days ago

Text

worth it — ksj

pairing: kim seokjin x reader (y/n)

rating: explicit (pwp)

word count: 6.5k (my horny ass got to 6k???!)

warnings: unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, slight choking but not really, overstimulation, getting caught, they are INSATIABLE in this, pure filth

One late night at work. One bad idea. And suddenly, Seokjin isn’t just your annoying coworker anymore — he’s the reason you can’t focus, can’t breathe, and definitely can’t stop coming back for more.

a/n: i have no excuses for this other than i was really horny and ovulating, but i decided to add fluff at the end when i read this back just to make it seem less like filth lmao i was REALLY wishing i had an experience this hot

The office was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional sound of you furiously typing. The clock on the wall blinked mockingly: 11:43 p.m.

It was just you and Seokjin left, stuck on this godforsaken project. Taehyung and Jisoo too, but they had gone out for a breather and more coffee. The tension had been thick all night, but not the usual snarky, competitive kind. No, this was different. He’d been quieter than usual, his gaze lingering on you a second too long, his voice lower, rougher.

And when you stretched, back arching and arms overhead, he made a sound. A low, almost inaudible groan.

Your eyes snapped to his.

He looked wrecked already, hair disheveled, sleeves pushed up his forearms. His tie was loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips, and his gaze dragged down your body like he couldn’t stop himself.

You didn’t even think before you spoke.

“You’ve been staring all night, Seokjin.”

His head tilted, that cocky, infuriating smirk tugging at his mouth but his eyes were dark, blown out.

“Yeah? And what if I have?” His voice was low, dangerously smooth.

The chair scraped back loudly as you stood. His brows lifted in surprise, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything. You walked around the desk and planted yourself right in front of him.

“You gonna do something about it, or just sit there looking pretty?” you challenged.

The chair barely had time to hit the floor before Seokjin was on you.

His hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth crashed into yours, hot and messy and desperate, like he’d been holding back for weeks.

You gasped into the kiss, and he swallowed the sound greedily. His tongue slid against yours, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head the way he wanted. His other hand was already sliding down, fingers curling around your ass to tug you against his growing hardness.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice wrecked. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

You laughed breathlessly, nipping at his lower lip. “Yeah? Good.”

He groaned, deep and rough, and his hands tightened, hoisting you up onto the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, but neither of you cared.

His mouth moved to your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Your head fell back with a whimper as his teeth grazed that sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Seokjin—”

“I like it when you say my name like that,” he growled, voice vibrating against your skin.

His hands were already tugging at your shirt, yanking it over your head without ceremony. His eyes dropped to your chest, and the low curse he let out made heat pool between your legs.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice almost reverent as his fingers brushed over the curve of your breast, teasing over your bra.

You arched into him, impatient. “Then stop staring and do something.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, and the look he gave you was downright sinful.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred, voice dripping with promise. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

He dropped to his knees so fast it made your head spin.

His hands hooked into your waistband, yanking your skirt and underwear down in one swift motion. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on you — hot, wet, and devastatingly good.

“Seokjin—oh, fuck,” you choked out, legs trembling.

He groaned into you, the vibrations sending sparks through your veins. His tongue worked you over like he was starving for it, flicking and circling before dipping inside. His hands held your thighs open, strong and unforgiving when you tried to squirm.

“Stay still,” he murmured against you, voice muffled. “I want to take my time with you.”

Your fingers fisted in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him moan and the sound nearly pushed you over the edge.

“Please,” you gasped, voice breaking.

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry.

“Please what, baby?” he teased, though his voice was wrecked. “Use your words.”

You nearly screamed. “Please, need you. Now.”

Seokjin didn’t make you beg twice.

He stood so fast it made your head spin, yanking his belt open and shoving his pants down just enough. His cock was hard and flushed, precum already smeared across the tip.

He didn’t give you time to think. He grabbed your hips and dragged you to the edge of the desk, lining himself up. His eyes met yours, pupils blown wide.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured, voice rough and strained. “Tell me you want me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“I want you, Seokjin. I’ve always wanted you.”

The second the words left your mouth, he pushed in.

The stretch burned, but it was perfect. He was thick, filling you to the point of pain. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. “So tight… feels so fucking good.”

He didn’t start slow. He slammed into you, hard and fast, setting a brutal pace that knocked the breath from your lungs.

You couldn’t think — couldn’t breathe — couldn’t do anything but hold on. His hands were everywhere, gripping your thighs, your waist, your face. His mouth found yours again, messy and desperate, like he couldn’t get close enough.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, voice raw. “You hear me? Mine.”

You nodded frantically, too wrecked to speak.

“Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, barely able to form words. “I’m yours, Seokjin.”

His hips stuttered, his rhythm breaking as he groaned, low and guttural.

“Fuck, I’m close —”

“Me too — don’t stop —”

He didn’t. His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles. It was too much.

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, white-hot and blinding. You screamed his name, nails raking down his back.

Seokjin wasn’t far behind. His hips snapped into you one last time, and then he was groaning into your neck, spilling inside you, shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing.

Then Seokjin let out a breathless, wrecked laugh.

“So,” he panted, forehead resting against yours, “we’re probably fired now.”

You laughed, still dazed. “Worth it.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, softer.

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Definitely worth it.”

The two of you were still tangled together on the desk, skin flushed and breathing uneven, when reality came crashing in.

“Shit,” Seokjin muttered against your collarbone, voice rough and low. “Did we... lock the door?”

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could answer, the unmistakable ding of the elevator echoed through the silent office.

Seokjin’s head shot up, eyes wide.

“No, no, no—”

Footsteps. Fast ones.

Panic surged through you both at the same time. Seokjin scrambled off you so fast he nearly tripped, yanking his pants up in a blur while you grabbed for your shirt, hopping down from the desk. Papers were everywhere. His tie was still dangling around his neck like some ridiculous badge of shame.

“Shit, where’s my—oh my god, where’s my underwear?!” you whispered frantically.

Seokjin froze. His eyes flicked to the floor. His face did this weird twitch, somewhere between horror and poorly stifled laughter, and then he kicked your missing underwear under the desk.

“Forget them,” he hissed, dragging his shirt back over his head. His hair was an absolute wreck. He tried to fix it with one hand, only to make it worse.

Just as you got your skirt back in place and Seokjin tried (and failed) to look remotely put together, the office door swung open.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” a familiar voice drawled.

Taehyung stood there, holding a cup of coffee like he owned the place. Behind him, Jisoo peeked over his shoulder, eyes going comically wide.

Seokjin blinked. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Taehyung said, taking a smug sip.

“Wow,” Jisoo added, trying (and failing) to suppress a grin. “Took you two long enough.”

Your stomach sank. “What… what do you mean ‘took you long enough’?”

Taehyung smirked, looking way too pleased with himself. “Oh, we’ve been taking bets.”

Seokjin looked offended. “Bets?”

“Yup.” Jisoo grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Whole office pool. Half of us figured you’d hate-flirt yourselves into bed eventually. The other half thought you’d combust from sexual tension.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Taehyung added smugly. “We may or may not have orchestrated this entire thing.”

Your jaw dropped. “You… wait, you set this up?”

Jisoo shrugged, unbothered. “We just gave fate a little push.”

Seokjin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”

“Aw, you love us.” Taehyung winked, turning to leave. “Congrats on the hookup. Don’t worry, we’ll keep it quiet. For now.”

He paused in the doorway, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, and by the way? Jimin owes me fifty bucks.”

Later that night, you were back at Seokjin’s apartment, sprawled out on his couch in one of his old t-shirts, the only thing you managed to grab on your way out of his closet.

“Did we really just become an office scandal?” you mumbled, voice muffled against his pillow.

Seokjin groaned dramatically, face down beside you. “We’re never living this down.”

“They definitely heard everything, didn’t they?”

“Absolutely.”

You both sat there in silence for a moment.

Then Seokjin turned his head, peeking at you through his messy hair. A slow, lazy grin spread across his face.

“Worth it, though.”

You laughed, rolling onto your side to face him. “Yeah. Worth it.”

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentler now, lingering.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “You’re mine.”

Your heart did a stupid little flip.

“I’m yours, Seokjin.”

The look on his face, like you’d just given him the world, was enough to make you lean in and kiss him again, slow and sweet.

“You know,” he mumbled against your lips, “we could always give them something else to talk about tomorrow.”

You grinned. “I like the way you think.”

Seokjin’s apartment was dimly lit, the city skyline glowing faintly through the window. He had you pressed against the wall, his mouth on yours, all tongue and teeth and desperation.

“Round two?” you teased between kisses, breathless.

He laughed, low and rough. “Oh, sweetheart. We’re not stopping at two.”

His hands were already sliding under the oversized shirt you stole from him, pushing it up over your hips. His voice dropped lower, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, lips trailing down your neck. “Couldn’t focus on anything after that. Just kept thinking about how you sound when you come.”

Your legs nearly gave out.

His hands caught you easily, lifting you like you weighed nothing. He carried you to the kitchen counter, setting you down before stepping back to look at you.

“Take it off,” he said, voice low and commanding.

Your stomach flipped at the intensity in his eyes. You didn’t hesitate, you peeled the shirt off slowly, watching his gaze darken as you revealed bare skin underneath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, stepping back between your legs. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs dragging teasing circles as he leaned in. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back to you. His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and possessive. He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, and you melted into it, heat coiling low in your stomach.

“Seokjin,” you gasped against his lips, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice wrecked.

“Need you. Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His hands were rough and impatient, pushing his sweatpants down just enough to free himself. He was already hard, tip flushed and leaking as he lined himself up with you.

His eyes found yours, breath shaky.

“You sure?”

You nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Please.”

The second the word left your lips, he pushed in.

The stretch was sharp and perfect, making you gasp as he filled you to the hilt in one slow, steady thrust. He groaned into your neck, his voice a low, desperate sound that went straight to your core.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice strained. “So tight — so fucking good.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm. Each thrust knocked the air from your lungs, and all you could do was hold on, nails raking down his back as you gasped his name.

“Seokjin — oh god —”

“Mine,” he growled into your ear, voice low and possessive. “You’re mine, Y/N. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you.”

Your head fell back, pleasure sparking through you at his words. His hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles.

“Wanna feel you come around me,” he murmured, voice rough and desperate. “C’mon, baby. Let me feel it.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. And god, you couldn’t hold back.

Your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and blinding. You screamed his name, legs trembling around him as you clenched down hard.

“Fuck, Y/N —” Seokjin groaned, hips stuttering as he followed, spilling into you with a low, broken moan. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, both of you shaking and breathless.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing.

Then Seokjin laughed softly, voice still rough.

“So,” he mumbled against your skin, “wanna go for round three?”

You grinned, still dazed. “Depends.”

“On what?”

You leaned in, voice low and teasing.

“Who’s on top this time.”

The way his eyes darkened promised you weren’t getting any sleep tonight.

Seokjin barely let you catch your breath. One minute you were still tangled together on the counter, skin sticky and legs trembling — the next, he was scooping you up and carrying you straight to the bathroom.

“Shower,” he murmured against your hair, voice low and wrecked. “But not for cleanliness.”

Your laugh came out breathless. “Didn’t think so.”

The bathroom filled with steam as the water roared to life, warm mist curling around you both. Seokjin didn’t even give the water time to heat up properly before he was backing you into the shower, hands on your hips, lips finding yours again.

The cold spray made you gasp against his mouth, but Seokjin was quick to warm you up. His hands slid over your wet skin, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of you all over again.

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered, voice low and rough as his teeth grazed your jaw. His hands trailed lower, thumbs tracing over your hips. “Can’t get enough of you.”

You barely had time to register the way your heart flipped before he was sinking to his knees, the tiles slick beneath him. His eyes never left yours.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice dark and promising.

Your hands tangled in his wet hair, tugging, and he groaned like he liked it. Then his mouth was on you, hot, slick, and devastatingly good.

The steam made everything hazy and unreal, like you were floating. His tongue moved with slow precision, dragging out every sound from you he could. He was relentless, working you open with his mouth until your legs shook so hard you were sure you’d collapse.

“Seokjin — oh, god —”

His hand came up to grip your thigh, holding you steady as he sucked on your clit, hard and deliberate. The pressure unraveled you in an instant. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out his name, your voice echoing in the shower as your whole body shook.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were slick and his eyes were absolutely wrecked.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “I’ll never get tired of that sound.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was standing again, kissing you deep and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Turn around,” he whispered against your mouth. “Hands on the wall.”

Your stomach flipped.

You obeyed without a second thought, pressing your palms against the cool tile. The water streamed down your back, and Seokjin’s hands followed, sliding over your wet skin, slow and possessive.

“Look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with want. His fingers trailed down your spine, over the curve of your ass. “So perfect for me.”

He didn’t waste any time. You gasped as he pushed into you from behind, slow but deliberate, stretching you all over again.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice strained. “Still so tight.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him. He groaned, his hand coming to your hip to steady you as he set a slow, devastating rhythm. Each thrust hit deeper, the angle making you gasp with every snap of his hips.

“Mine,” he growled against your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. “No one else gets to have you like this. Just me.”

You couldn’t form words — couldn’t do anything but take it, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the water pounding down around you.

He reached around, fingers finding your clit again. “Come for me again, baby,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “I wanna feel it.”

You shattered. Again.

Your orgasm crashed over you like the water, leaving you shaking, barely able to stay standing. Seokjin followed with a broken moan, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, his hand gripping your waist like you might disappear if he let go.

For a moment, neither of you moved — just panting, bodies trembling, water streaming down your backs.

Then Seokjin laughed breathlessly, voice low and warm. “Okay. Now we’re clean.”

You woke up tangled in Seokjin’s sheets, the early rays of sun warming your bare skin. His arm was heavy over your waist, holding you close like he didn’t want you to leave.

For a second, you just… stayed there. It felt too good to move.

But then Seokjin groaned against your shoulder, voice muffled and adorably raspy.

“Nope. Don’t get up.”

You laughed softly, turning to face him. His hair was a complete mess — sticking up in every direction — and his eyes were barely open. He looked unfairly good like that.

“You’re awake,” you teased, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Barely,” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. He nuzzled closer, his nose brushing against your neck. “Too tired. Need more sleep.”

You grinned, fingers trailing over his back lazily. “Whose fault is that?”

He cracked one eye open, smirking. “Yours. Obviously.”

You laughed, and Seokjin’s smile softened as he watched you. His hand moved to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin gently.

“You staying?” he asked quietly, voice lower and more serious now.

Your heart flipped.

“Do you want me to?”

His expression turned tender — unguarded in a way you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him, slow and sweet.

“Then I’m staying.”

The way he smiled at you after that — all warmth and affection — made your chest ache in the best way.

Seokjin nuzzled into you again, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

“Good,” he murmured sleepily. “But when we wake up again… round four.”

You laughed against his shoulder, already knowing you weren’t leaving his bed for the rest of the day.

The sunlight spilled lazily across the room, more orange, warming the sheets and the bare skin tangled beneath them. Seokjin was still half-asleep, his body pressed snugly against yours — all warm muscle and steady breaths.

But even half-asleep, his hands wandered.

You stirred when you felt his palm slide over your stomach, slow and deliberate. His lips brushed against the back of your neck, lazy and soft.

“Mmm,” he hummed sleepily, voice rough and low. “Morning again.”

You smiled, eyes still closed. “Morning.”

His hand trailed lower, fingers tracing along your hip before dipping between your thighs — finding you still slick from the night before. His breath hitched, and his voice dropped into something darker.

“Already wet for me?” he murmured, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Did you wake up like this, baby? Thinking about me?”

You shivered, pushing back against him, feeling him already hard and pressed against your ass.

“Maybe,” you teased, voice still thick with sleep.

Seokjin groaned softly, his hips rolling forward, rubbing against you. His fingers slid through your folds, slow and teasing.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice rough in your ear. “You’re so warm. So ready for me.”

You gasped as he slid a finger into you, slow and deep. He didn’t rush — he took his time, working you open gently, his lips trailing along the side of your neck.

“Jin,” you whimpered, hips shifting against his hand.

He hummed, adding another finger, curling them just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he murmured, voice smug and syrupy. “Want more?”

You pushed back against him deliberately, feeling his cock hard and heavy against you.

“Want you,” you breathed.

That was all it took.

Seokjin groaned low and desperate, pulling his fingers from you only to replace them with himself, pressing into you in one slow, fluid thrust. The stretch was familiar and perfect, making you gasp as he filled you completely.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your shoulder, his voice wrecked and shaky. “You feel so good.”

His hips moved slowly at first, lazy and deep, like he wanted to savor it. His arm wrapped tighter around your waist, keeping you flush against him as he rocked into you from behind.

“God,” he muttered, voice strained. “I could stay like this forever. Just buried inside you, feeling you squeeze me.”

You whimpered at his words, tilting your head to the side to kiss him. It was messy and slow, both of you too breathless to make it anything more than teeth and tongues and heat.

He shifted, angling his hips just right and you gasped, your back arching as he hit that spot deep inside you.

“Yeah,” Seokjin groaned, catching the sound. “Right there, huh?”

He didn’t let up. His thrusts got faster, rougher, his hand slipping between your legs to rub tight circles over your clit. The combination was too much, too good, and you felt yourself unraveling fast.

“Come for me,” he murmured, voice low and desperate in your ear. “C’mon, baby. Let me feel you.”

Your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and blinding. You cried out his name, body trembling as you clenched around him. Seokjin groaned loud, his rhythm faltering as he followed you over the edge, spilling into you with a low, broken moan.

The room fell quiet, filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing and Seokjin’s lips brushing lazily against your shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Seokjin chuckled, voice low and satisfied.

“You’re not getting out of bed today.”

You laughed breathlessly, still too blissed-out to argue.

“Didn’t plan on it.”

His grin was smug as hell.

“Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Seokjin barely gave you a moment to recover. He was still inside you, still hard and judging by the wicked gleam in his eyes, he wasn’t done any time soon.

“You feel too good,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and breathless. “Can’t stop.”

You shivered as he nipped at your skin, his hand sliding down your thigh to hook it over his hip. But then he paused, his voice dipping into something darker, more playful.

“Let’s try something else,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Wanna see you.”

Before you could even think, he was moving, pulling out slowly making you whimper at the loss before flipping you onto your back. He was on top of you in an instant, hovering over you with his eyes blown wide and dark.

His knee nudged your legs apart, and he leaned down, kissing you slow and deep.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough.

You did as he said, hooking your legs around his waist. He grabbed your hips, angling you just right before pushing back into you in one long, slow thrust.

You gasped — the new angle had him hitting deeper, and Seokjin groaned like he felt it too.

“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead dropping to yours. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

He started moving, his thrusts slow but deliberate, grinding into you just right. His hand slid up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, making you arch into him.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “So fucking pretty like this. Taking me so well.”

The praise sent heat flooding through you, and you clenched around him, making him groan. His pace faltered, his hips stuttering for a second before he caught himself.

“Shit,” he laughed breathlessly. “You keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” you teased, voice shaky.

His eyes darkened.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Before you could blink, Seokjin was pulling out and scooping you up effortlessly. You yelped as he carried you, both of you still flushed and breathless, straight into the living room.

“The couch,” he muttered, his voice low and determined. “Need you on the couch.”

He set you down on the armrest first, kissing you hard and messy, his hands everywhere at once. Then he turned you around, guiding you forward until you were bent over the back of the couch, your chest pressed to the cushions.

“Fuck,” he groaned, running his hands over your ass, squeezing. “Look at you.”

You felt him press against you again, the head of his cock teasing along your entrance.

“Jin,” you whimpered, pushing back against him.

“Yeah, baby?” he teased, his voice smug and dripping with lust. “Need me that bad?”

You didn’t even have a chance to answer — he slammed into you in one smooth, deep thrust, and you moaned, your fingers gripping the couch cushions for dear life.

“God, you’re so tight,” Seokjin groaned, his voice wrecked. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he started thrusting hard and fast, each snap of his hips hitting deep and unforgiving. The angle had you seeing stars, your moans muffled against the cushions.

“You feel so good,” he panted, his voice rough and desperate. “Can’t get enough of you. Gonna ruin you, baby.”

You were already ruined.

His hand slid around to your front, fingers finding your clit. He circled it roughly, matching the pace of his thrusts, and your whole body tensed.

“Come for me,” he growled, his voice low and raw. “Wanna feel you squeeze me again.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you, white-hot and blinding, leaving you trembling beneath him. Your walls clenched around him, and Seokjin groaned, his pace stuttering before he paused.

For a second, everything was quiet, just your heavy breathing and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

Then Seokjin laughed breathlessly, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“I think I broke us,” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin.

You laughed, still too wrecked to move.

“Worth it.”

You barely caught your breath before Seokjin was at it again. He groaned as he pulled out of you, still hard despite the way both of you were wrecked and panting over the back of the couch.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, but his grin was anything but innocent.

You nodded, eyes hazy, lips swollen. “Yeah.”

He chuckled, kissing your shoulder before stepping back. “Not done with you yet.”

You barely processed his words before he was lifting you again — this time tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Jin!” you yelped, half-laughing, half-mortified.

He swatted your ass playfully. “Kitchen. Now.”

Your stomach flipped, and your core throbbed with anticipation.

He set you down on the cold countertop with a smug smirk. His hands slid up your thighs, parting them slowly as he stepped between them.

“You look so good like this,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you — deep, lazy, and possessive. His hands roamed, squeezing your waist, your hips, trailing up to your breasts.

“Jin,” you whimpered into his mouth, already squirming.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and hungry. “Yeah, baby?”

“Need you.”

His smirk widened. “Yeah? Need me how?”

You shot him a glare — which wasn’t very convincing, considering how wrecked you already looked.

“Stop teasing.”

His hand slid between your legs, fingers running through the mess he left there. He groaned, his pupils blown wide.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick. “Still so wet for me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking against his hand, but he pulled back, grabbing your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the counter.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, voice low and rough.

Before you could ask, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and lined himself up again.

The new angle was deep. The second he pushed in, you cried out, hands flying to grip his shoulders.

“Holy shit,” you gasped.

Seokjin groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he bottomed out in one smooth thrust. “Fuck — you feel so good. So tight.”

He didn’t waste time. His hips snapped forward, setting a brutal pace, and the sound of skin slapping echoed through the kitchen.

Your back arched against the cabinets, nails digging into his shoulders. “Jin — oh my God.”

His hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you still as he pounded into you. His other hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing, just holding — keeping you in place.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice low and possessive. “All fucking mine.”

You moaned his name, thighs trembling.

“Say it,” he demanded, his hips hitting deeper, harder. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, voice breaking. “Only yours. Fuck!”

He groaned, his thrusts faltering for half a second. “Fuck, baby. Gonna come —”

“Please,” you whimpered, feeling yourself teetering on the edge again. “Want you to fill me up.”

That was all it took.

Seokjin let out a low, broken moan, his hips snapping forward one last time as he came, his body shaking against yours. The feeling of him pulsing inside you tipped you over the edge again, and you followed, your vision going white as your orgasm crashed over you.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Seokjin let out a breathless laugh, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Okay,” he panted. “Now I’m done.”

You laughed weakly, still trying to catch your breath.

“Liar.”

He smirked against your skin. “Yeah. Give me ten minutes.”

You barely made it to the bathroom.

Seokjin carried you there, both of you breathless and laughing between messy kisses. He kicked the door shut behind him, lips still on yours, his hands wandering like he couldn’t stop touching you.

The second your back hit the cool tile, he pulled back just enough to turn on the shower. Warm water sprayed down almost instantly, misting around you both as he pushed you up against the wall.

“You’re insatiable,” you teased, voice breathless, but you were already wrapping your arms around his neck, dragging him closer.

He grinned, but his voice was low, rough with need. “You started it.”

His mouth crashed into yours, hot and desperate. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, no restraint left. The steam curled around you, making everything hazy, but all you could focus on was him: the way his hands were gripping your hips, the way his body pressed into yours, still hard.

“God, I can’t stop,” he muttered against your lips, almost like he was apologizing. “You feel too fucking good.”

His hand slid between your thighs, and you whimpered as his fingers found you still slick, still sensitive.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours. “So messy… all because of me.”

Your knees buckled, but he caught you easily, his free hand gripping your waist. His fingers teased you, spreading the wetness, and you gasped when he slid two fingers inside without warning.

“Jin, oh my God,” you moaned, head falling back against the tile, feeling like jelly.

“Yeah?” he rasped, pumping his fingers slowly. “You like that? Still so fucking tight.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned like you were killing him.

“Need you,” you gasped, hips rocking into his hand. “Need you inside me again.”

His eyes darkened, and he pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and desperate.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

You obeyed without thinking, your body already trembling with anticipation. Your palms pressed against the wet tile, your back arched, and you felt him step in behind you, his chest hot and slick against your back.

“Look at you,” he groaned, running his hands over your ass, squeezing hard. “So fucking perfect.”

You felt the head of his cock press against your entrance, teasing — and then he slammed into you in one hard, deep thrust.

You cried out, your voice echoing in the shower. He didn’t give you a second to adjust, setting a brutal, sloppy pace right away. The sound of skin slapping filled the bathroom, mixed with his low groans and your broken moans.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Making such a mess, baby.”

You whimpered, pressing your forehead to the tile. The angle had him hitting deep, every thrust leaving you breathless.

“Jin — I’m gonna —”

“Not yet,” he growled, grabbing your hips and pulling you back harder onto him. “I’m not done with you.”

Your legs were shaking, the water pouring down your bodies making everything slick and slippery. You were overstimulated, having already come multiple times. He was relentless, thrusting into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Mine,” he groaned, his voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

You clenched around him at his words, and he let out a wrecked, broken moan.

“Fuck you like that?” he panted. “Like being mine?”

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to speak. “Only yours.”

His pace stuttered for half a second, like the words hit him too hard. Then he growled, slamming into you even harder.

“Gonna fill you up again,” he groaned, voice strained. “You want that? Want me to fill you so full it drips out of you?”

“Please,” you whimpered, and that was all it took.

Seokjin let out a low, broken moan, his hips jerking as he came, his body trembling against yours. The feeling of him spilling inside you tipped you over the edge too — you cried out his name as your orgasm hit, your walls clenching around him, milking him for everything he had.

You both sagged against the tile, completely wrecked and breathless.

For a second, the only sound was the water raining down on you.

Then Seokjin laughed — low, breathless, and warm.

“I think we’re gonna need another shower after this.”

You groaned, laughing weakly. “Worth it.”

He grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

“Round eight?”

"No! No more!"

He laughed.

The first thing you felt was warmth.

Not the sun, though soft sunset rays were peeking through the curtains, but Seokjin’s body wrapped around yours, holding you close like he was afraid you might disappear. His chest was warm and solid against your back, his arm draped lazily over your waist. His hand rested on your stomach, fingers splayed out like he needed to feel every part of you, even in sleep.

You stirred slightly, and his hold instinctively tightened, pulling you closer.

“Mmm, don’t move,” he mumbled, voice rough and low with sleep.

You smiled, eyes still closed, sinking back into the feeling of him. Your muscles were sore in the best way, but the ache was softened by the way Seokjin’s body curled protectively around yours like you were the best thing he’d ever touched.

“You awake?” you whispered, your voice hoarse from this morning.

He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a hum, nuzzling into your neck. His nose brushed your skin, and his lips followed, pressing a soft, lazy kiss to your shoulder.

“Barely,” he muttered. “Too comfy. You’re warm.”

“You’re a human furnace,” you murmured back, but you didn’t dare pull away.

He laughed softly, his voice rumbling against your skin. “Yeah, but you like it.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

For a moment, the two of you just laid there, tangled together in the sheets, the world outside feeling distant and unimportant. His thumb rubbed slow, absentminded circles on your stomach.

After a while, he broke the silence.

“You okay?” His voice was quieter now, more serious.

You turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes. They were soft, still a little hazy from sleep, but there was something else there too, something tender and vulnerable, like he needed to make sure you were really okay after everything.

“I’m good,” you said softly, and you meant it. “Really good.”

His face relaxed into a smile, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Yeah?”

You nodded, reaching up to brush a piece of messy hair off his forehead. “Yeah.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm.

“Good,” he murmured. “You were… God, you were amazing last night. And this morning.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you laughed softly. “You weren’t so bad yourself, Kim.”

He grinned, but the playful glint faded into something softer as his thumb traced along your knuckles.

“I meant it,” he said quietly. “You’re mine.”

Your heart did a slow, syrupy flip in your chest.

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, and his smile turned downright radiant.

For a second, he just stared at you like you hung the stars. Then, slowly, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and lingering, the kind of kiss that felt more like a promise than anything else.

When he finally pulled back, he sighed, but it was a happy sound.

“Okay, as much as I want to stay like this forever… we probably need to eat before we die.”

You laughed, snuggling into his chest. “I’m too comfortable to move.”

“Guess I’m carrying you again,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Don’t you dare.”

He laughed, full and bright. “Come on, let me take care of you. You deserve it after — well, everything.”

You pretended to think. “Breakfast in bed?”

“Done.”

“Pancakes?”

“Obviously.”

You smirked. “With strawberries and whipped cream?”

He groaned dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he realized what he just said.

But he didn’t take it back. He just smiled, soft and a little shy, his cheeks tinged pink.

“I’m lucky too,” you said quietly, and the way his face lit up made you feel weightless.

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