#and if i’m like this.. it’s HER FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[reidrum]

glory of the snow

note: the return of insecure!reader my beloved <3 i had a bunch of requests to bring her back so i hope we like it! this is really just a gentle reminder from spencer that we should be kinder to ourselves. also i wanted to have them actually fuck but it didn't seem right to fit that in here so ,,, part 2 question mark who is to say. anyways my inbox is always open for any thoughts, comments, questions, musings all of it! love y'all mwah

summary: you freak out when spencer walks in on you accidentally, and he just loves you too much to let it go

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, masturbation (r, just mentions), heavy petting/kissing, comfort, talks of intimacy issues, self-deprecating reader

wc: 3k

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Three words, maybe two and one syllable, that in any other instance would have had you melting into a puddle at the softness it reared. Words that have so easily turned you into a preening cat but are now aimed at you, albeit no judgement from his end, with no room for escape.

Spencer had come home after a long day of paperwork when he first heard it. He would have brushed it off if it didn’t happen again moments later, and louder. Concerned, he walks toward the bedroom, a flush rushing to his face as he comes to recognize what it is. A small crack of the door allowed him the glorious sight of you in the center of the bed, hand between your legs, eyes shut in ecstasy. You’re mesmerizing to him and he really can’t bring himself to look away, and he doesn’t notice himself subconsciously leaning on the door causing a faint creak that alarmed you to his presence. In that moment, however, he’s less worried about scaring you, and more about the overwashing look of shame on your face.

The soft creak of the door pulled you out of your daze, screaming when you saw the figure behind the door. Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets nearly, heartbeat still racing with adrenaline from when you haphazardly threw the blanket over yourself. You were conflicted, but getting caught doing something that is a common and completely normal instance in relationships really shouldn’t make you feel this guilty. Although you do know the guilt was created by a previous version of you where you had told Spencer that you wanted to take the pace of your relationship slowly, and had little to no desire to engage in such activities for the time being. Or so you said.

He cautiously steps closer, careful not to startle you further, “I’m not upset, or anything.”

You’re not upset either, you’re mortified. “I lied to you.”

“You did…but I don’t think you meant to, right?”

There had been a time where you were tangled all up in him, and poor Spencer, his hands were in the wrong place at the wrong time to no fault of his own and entirely yours, and your shutdown was unavoidable. The blood in your veins seized up like crystallizing water turning into ice, paralyzing both the physical and mental before you could realize.

Intimacy for you was a complicated concept. While it wasn’t novel or unwanted, physical intimacy was something you struggled to accept with open arms. Call it a consequence of your self perception, but it was hard to accept the soft touch of love when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Spencer never minded, although his heart ached to make you see yourself the way he saw you, he was always more than willing to meet you where you were.

It almost pains you with how understanding Spencer was of the whole situation because you knew any other person would be deeply upset. Every other person was upset.

Spencer never was just any other person, you suppose.

“I don’t know how to explain this.” Another lie, you could easily explain the reason.

It’s not that you weren’t ready, it’s that you didn’t feel like you looked ready. The thought of subjecting Spencer to the one dark cornerstone of your being in the early days of being together seemed illogical and burdensome, and so it was more simple to play it off as wanting to take a slow pace.

But, as biology would see it you have needs and your boyfriend just happens to be so detrimentally attractive that the simplest act has been sending you into a hot fit as of late. The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers. You had no chance.

You had found that your intimacy issues lie within extending it to others, and less with yourself. The solution of you finding release on your own quickly became a habit when you realized there was no fear on your own. There’s no one to let down if you’re alone.

Spencer perches at the foot of the bed, flat hand outstretched on the blanket towards you but keeping a comfortable distance, “You don’t have to explain anything, honey.”

“No I know, but—fuck—I should.” you bury your face, choosing to only speak to him from behind your hands for now, maybe forever.

He takes a moment to take inventory of your physical being—you don’t look in pain. Clearly you didn’t sound in pain. Your face is flushed, and though he’s sitting a little far from you, the heat radiating from your body hits him like a space heater.

“Sweetheart…I’m not upset.” he repeats, in hopes a reminder might provide reassurance.

It doesn’t. “You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.” you mumble.

“You make it kind of hard to be upset at you, ever really.” Spencer braves and lays a hand on your leg.

You take a deep breath, the cold of his hand grounding you more and more. Spencer senses the calm it’s bringing you and rubs circles into your calf.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

What are you even feeling? You ponder for a moment—anxious, nervous, bad.

“Embarrassed.”

“Honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about masturbating. In fact, it’s more than healthy to do it to keep cortisol levels low,” he explains, “I just don’t know why you didn’t…want to tell me.”

The guilt swirls in your gut, hearing the twinge of hurt buried beneath the comfort he’s laid out for you. He just wants to help you, but you won’t let him in and that hurts him more.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s just…I…Look it’s…You’re just so hot—“ you slip out, clamping your hand over your mouth before leaking any more intrusive thoughts.

A faint smirk ghosts his face, “I’m…hot?”

“No—Well, yes. I just…ugh.”

“Okay, okay calm down,” he scoots closer and gently brings the hands covering your eyes to rest in your lap, “You don’t need to be all secretive, you know I’d never judge you.”

“I know,”

“I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do.”

“But, not with me? It’s okay if it's not with me.”

“Spence, I do. It’s not that.”

“Am I missing something?”

You gulp, “I just…it’s a personal problem. With me. Not you.”

His brows furrow, “Like what, baby? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Yeah, if a doctor can fix my shoddy self esteem and make me like myself again.” you chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh. 

The pause he takes seems to be ages long before he speaks again, “Angel, how long have you been feeling like that?”

You’ve been caught red-handed, water filling up the tank faster than you can tread, “It’s nothing, I was just joking.”

“Hey,” he says with a rare firmness, “How. Long?”

You deflate under his hard gaze, “A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.” you trail off.

Spencer couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. Not hurt from your lack of admission, hurt that you had felt like this for so long, dealt with this for so long on your own, and he didn’t even know.

All he ever hoped and wanted was for you to be happy, and if he could be the source of that he would ask for nothing more in life. So to hear about you struggling with this, that you felt like you had to keep it to yourself, was heartbreaking.

Spencer remains in his head a little too long as he’s broken out of it by your small voice, “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

He sighs and moves to sit next to you, making sure he stays above the blanket for your comfort. His back is against the headboard of the bed, and he raises his arm a little, gesturing for you to fill the you shaped crevice. You hesitantly move into the space, hating how you feel every move you’re making is calculated, but all of that goes away the second your head meets his chest and his hand comes up to comb through your hair, the other smoothing your arm down, and all you’re left with is him.

“I promise I’m not mad,” he whispers softly, “Just wish you told me. I would have helped you.” He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could. Could implies he has a choice, a want to do or not do something. I could have helped you, or I could have not helped you. Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need. I would have helped you because it is the only thing I know to be certifiably true, that you deserve to be cared for.

“It sounds stupid out loud but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me the same if you saw me like…that. It seemed logical for me to remove that option altogether.”

His heart aches painfully, and he wishes he could take everyone who’s made you feel that way to target practice. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I would spend every day of my life proving that to you.” he utters with unequivocal resolve.

You sigh out shakily, “You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m always kind to you. You deserve kindness. You deserve a lot of things actually…” he trails off.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, did you um—” he trails. You look at him quizzically, he continues, “Like before I came in did you…finish?”

Oh. “Oh. I…I don’t think I did, actually. It’s okay though, no big deal.”

He stares at you intently, “Do you want to?”

Your eyes widen, “Spence oh, no it’s okay really you don’t have to do that.  

“You’re encouraged to say no if you feel even an ounce of doubt, but I’m offering because I love you and I want to show you that you can feel safe with me, even when you feel otherwise.”

The familiar sting returns to your eyes as the tears pool up. You’re not used to anyone putting this much effort and concern for your comfort, it’s a novel feeling but if Spencer is willing to handle you with as much care as he is, you’re ready to welcome that sentiment in with open arms.

“Yeah, yes.” you waver.

He grins and leans down, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. His hand ghosts from your calf to your knee, testing the water before moving more intent. An unwelcome yet familiar onset slowly rises, trying to break through to you, “Wait—“

He retracts his hand immediately, “You okay? We can stop if you need to.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I just need a second.” you breath out, trying to self regulate. 

He pulls back his hand but you stop him, “No keep it there, it helps. I just…” You don’t know how to phrase it. You think it’s because you’re not in control. When you’re alone it’s only you at the helm calling the shots. But when it really comes down to it, the lack of control is nothing compared to the lack of predictability that comes with the former. Explaining that out loud was daunting to even think about.

Yet Spencer understands what you need, because he always knows what you need. His hand returns to your knee, giving it a soft squeeze, “You tell me to stop whenever you need to.”

He continues kissing you while smoothing his hand up your leg, making wide and sweeping motions across the plush of your thigh so you can feel where he is and where his hand is going. The gesture is comforting and makes you feel grounded, but your head is in a dreamy haze at how good Spencer’s hands feel on you.

The haze leaves through your lips as Spencer feels you sigh against him, feeling you relax more and more as the seconds go by. His hand reaches your upper thigh, fingers ghosting on the inside. “Is this okay?”

You nod, feeling your nerves idling like a distant wave in the ocean. But Spencer’s presence is a lighthouse shining through the fog and guiding you to his shores while the calm washes over you.

His fingers lightly trace the fabric of your panties, ones that you had slid back up your hips upon his entrance into the room. The motion causes you to jump and he pulls back to gauge your reaction. When he sees no fear in your eyes, more so stunned by your wide eyed gaze, his fingers move with more precision, adding more pressure to your clothed core.

A gentle gasp leaves you as he strokes up and down your slit. You’ve given up on continuing to kiss him, the feeling of his hands being too overwhelming to have both sensations at the same time. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your body involuntarily curving towards him as he draws symbols on you with his index. Your breathing gets heavier and faster the longer he goes, and soon small moans begin to escape you.

He drags his finger to the top of your panties and toys with the band, faintly asking, “You still with me, sweet girl?” You preen into the crevice of his neck as he keeps talking, “Want me to keep going?” 

He feels you nodding into him as you breathlessly whisper, “Please.”

His finger dips below the fabric and travels down to your entrance, gathering the slickness and spreading it all over you. “Fuck,” he curses softly, “Look how wet you are, baby.”

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him. He circles back up to your clit, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves before sliding back your slit and repeating the whole sequence a few more times.

Your moans are coming out at a steady pace, and he’s been prodding around your entrance for some time now, teasing and edging you closer. “Gonna put a finger in now, okay? Doing so good for me, baby.” he murmurs.

The feeling of his finger entering you is satiating. But it’s not enough, and you need more. “Spence,” you manage to get out, “Can take another one, please.” His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

The familar coil builds in your gut, but at an intensity you’ve never felt before. His fingers move in and out of you urgently, his thumb returning to your clit. He’s a man determined to get you there, and your moans and cries of his name only spur him on further. After a few minutes your moans and cries turn into whines and babbles, and he knows you’re close.

His head leans down to croon in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, sweet girl. You can come, ‘m right here.”

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come harder than you ever have on your own, the waves of your climax overtaking you completely. Spencer continues to pump his fingers through your orgasm, talking you the whole way down. Mutters of praises and kisses flow through your subconscious as the euphoria high takes its peak and you come back down to this realm.

His hand smoothes your hair back as you continue to pant against his chest, words unable to find you.

“You okay?”

You finally catch your breath, “That was—fuck—the most insane orgasm I have ever had.”

Spencer beams at this. For one, his obvious and impressive skills that have stunned you into oblivion. And two, because you look so relaxed. The stark difference of your anxiety filled face from when he first came into the room to the blissed out daze you have right now makes his heart swell five sizes up.

He hugs you closer and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, angel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sleep is fighting you hard as you laugh airily and tuck yourself under his arm again, “I don’t know why I thought that would be scarier.”

He sighs, his smile faltering but still fond, “Past experiences and self perception complicate the anxiety around sex and intimacy. It’s a natural response based on your lived experiences.”

“Oh.” you mutter, slight deject in your tone.

“But we can work on it, if you want.” he adds, “It’s all up to you with what you’re comfortable with and how you want to do it. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to help you in any way I can, angel.”

You really don’t know how you got so lucky. Someone so kind, and patient, and willing to be with you as you navigate these things you normally would have kept to yourself. You feel grateful to be able to bare a piece of yourself to him, and know that he would receive it with open arms, wrapping it up and handling it with as much care as he can bear.

You cuddle closer, and mumble before your eyes succumb to sleep, “Love you. So much.”

Spencer looks down maybe two seconds later and you’re already out like a light. He chuckles softly to himself and whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet girl. Good night.”

[sweetcherriexs]

american town; b.e.

@xoluvx iykyk <3

You hummed to yourself as the heels of your palms pressed into the wooden desk just in front of you, adjusting yourself in your seat slightly. Your girlfriend’s soft, gentle chuckle filled your senses from behind you and her arms wrapped stronger around you.

“Baby, stop moving so much” she murmured into your neck, her breath tickling the sensitive skin, making you shiver then smile.

“hey, it’s not my fault that this desk is so–..” Your words died in your throat as you felt Billie’s arms pull you closer as she leaned into the mic set on the desk. 

“Shhh, I’m trying to work, my love” She whispered into the mic and you practically melted into her body. “I love your pretty little accent, but the album’s gotta be done by next month” she hummed softly.

“Well if you keep talking to me like that it’s not gonna be done anytime soon” you grumbled under your breath with a huff, taking her hand in yours and choosing to fiddle with the thick rings on her fingers as her angelic voice floods your entire being when she begins singing the lyrics of her song into the mic.

You hummed along quietly to the words you’ve grown to memorize since she has been recording it again and again and scrapping it again and again because it ‘wasn’t good enough’ or ‘something was missing’. Which you didn't understand, you thought they were all amazing but whatever.

Suddenly, her singing stopped and you frowned before she grabbed your face and your eyes met.”oh my god, that is perfect. We’re keeping that in” she said and kissed you gently.

After you pulled back, you blinked a couple of times in confusion. “Huh?”

Billie smiled at you gently, her dimples making you want to faint out of her lap. “Your voice, missy. You’ll be doing backgrounds now” she grinned. 

“Oh, bils that’s not–..” 

“Ah-ah-ah” she shushed you with another kiss on your lips. “Backgrounds” 

You huffed and pouted like a toddler at the command, but as she reached over to the second desk and grabbed a pair of headphones for you, too, you couldn’t help the rush of love and excitement that washed over you, putting them on eagerly.

“And you can also sing the words where it says” Billie said as she lifted the song sheet from the desk for you to see. You rolled your eyes at that. “Babe, my accent will literally ruin this whole song” you deadpanned.

Billie furrowed her brows and shook her head. “No you won’t. Don’t say that” she said with a frown and turned her head to kiss her side of yours with a sigh. “It’s going to be amazing, hm?”

You sighed softly and looked into her eyes for another moment before nodding, your hand gripping hers as you glanced back at the music sheet. Billie did the same, a triumphant smile on her face. You shifted on her lap one more time, her arms still securely around your waist before she began singing once more.

blurp

bbg did a continuation 🤭

[athenamikaelson]

A/N- finn is hot- don't try to fight me on this

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Ch. 25

Word Count- 3.2k

Warnings- mentions of STDS, sex, condoms, bananas, THEO, decapitation, Kardashians

“Why are you smiling like that?” I finish applying the lipstick Rebekah sent me as an apology gift for attacking Elena, and glance over to Theo leaning against the doorframe.

“I just had a good dream,” I mumble as I stand up from my desk and grab my jacket.

Theo hums.

“So it has nothing to do with you letting that mutt slobber all over you last night…or his brother coming over right after and spending the night with you… I must say sister, juggling two bitches,” Theo wipes away a fake tear, “I’m so proud of you.”

I whip around and glare at him, “Theodore Monty Y/l/n, watch it!”

Theo smirks at me and raises his hands. 

“All I’m saying is that like 3 weeks ago the only side piece you had on your arm was Elena, and now you’ve got two brothers. Upgrades sister, hell ya!”

Theo throws out his palm for me to high-five. I don’t. Instead, I walk around him and down the hallway to the front door. 

Theo continues to speak.

“Now I know you’ve had zero playtime soooo I think we should chat about this. For example, we should have the talk.”

I freeze. 

“Theo, I will smother you in your sleep if you continue to talk.”

“Y/n, I don’t like children, I don’t want any nieces or nephews running around.”

I glare over my shoulder at him, “They’re vampires, you dimwit. They can’t have kids.”

Theo thinks to himself for a moment before nodding, “Okay. Well, what about STDs? What if there are vampire STDs you could catch? One look at that mutt from last night and I bet he’s got something you can catch other than fleas.”

I feel my face drop as Theo continues to mutter things to himself about vampire sexually transmitted diseases. 

I shake my head, open the front door, and leave the house, hearing Theo call from behind me. 

“Fine run! But don’t think for a second young lady that we won’t be discussing things later! And trust next time I see either one of those fools I will be asking them about Vamp STDs!”

At that exact moment, our 82-year-old neighbor Shelley, exits her house. I’m pretty sure her look of pure shock and horror mirrors mine. 

“Oh hi Mrs. Davenport,” Theo yells happily.

—

“Hey Bonnie, how are you?”

The phone line is silent for a moment as I hear Bonnie closing a door.

“I’m fine…I guess. My mom’s going to finish her transition,” Bonnie’s sad voice makes me frown as I stare at the red light in front of me. 

“I’m sorry, Bonnie,” I think back to last night and try to shake away the image of Esther’s decapitated head from my head, “If I would’ve known your mother…”

“Don’t apoligize, Y/n. It’s not your fault. And ya… it sucks she has to become a vampire but…it beats losing you or Elena. And I swear, Y/n, as soon as Damon told me that if the originals died, you would die with them, I tried stopping the spell. I would have never done it in the first place if I knew you’d die too.”

Bonnie’s earnest voice makes me smile, “I trust you, Bon. And thank you.”

I hear someone say something to Bonnie and she sighs, “I’ve got to go.”

“It’s ok, Bonnie. We’ll talk soon. Give yourself some time with your mother before coming back to this mess over here. You deserve it.”

“Okay, thank you. And when I get back we’ll find a way to get you out of that soul bond mess and away from the Mikaelsons.”

“Uh, ya, ok. Bye, Bonnie.”

I end the call and pull into the Grill’s parking lot. As I step out of my car, cross the street, and enter the grill, one thought won’t leave my head.

“What if I don’t want to break the bond?”

—

“Y/n?”

I stop walking and smile when my eyes meet Finn’s brown ones.

“Hey, Finn,” I slide into the seat in the booth across from him and can’t help but smile at the obvious discomfort he has plastered on his face.

“You look…”

“Uncomfortable…yes I know. A lot of things have changed since I was last part of civilization,” Finn fiddles with the ring on his middle finger and it reminds me of the anxious tic I do quite often. 

“We could’ve met somewhere else. I know that being in big crowds like this unsettles me too,” I smile softly at him. 

Finn eyes a group of passersby wearily but still shakes his head, “No…I’m alright. If I’m going to be a part of this world I’ve got to learn to live with these things.”

I nod, “Okay. So, why exactly did you have Rebekah call me to meet you here?” Finn turns his attention away from a drunk woman who seems to be having the time of her life, “You said you’d help me find my Rose.”

Oh…ya I did. 

I cringe slightly, “So here’s the thing Finn,” I’m about to tell Finn that there is no way in hell Bonnie would agree to bring another old ass vampire to Mystic Falls after what just went down, but as I look at the helpless expression on Finn’s face and the loneliness in his eyes, something in my breaks, “My witch is currently out of town for a family thing,” Finn’s shoulders sag and his face drops, “But, she said she’d be happy to help as soon as she gets back.”

Finn eyes me for a moment before a soft smile on his face appears, “I’ve waited 900 years for her…a little longer will be fine. Thank you for helping me, Y/n, I know you don’t have to but…”

“Finn we’re friends, that’s what friends do,” I say simply and Finn frowns. 

“Friends?”

The way he says the word aloud is as if he’s never heard it before.

“I mean you don’t have to be my friend, I was just-”

“I would like it,” Finn interrupts me, “It’s just that I’ve never really…had one before.”

His words bring back memories of me crying in my room, wondering why no one ever wanted to be around me and it makes me realize just how much me and this 1,000-year-old man have in common. 

“Well, I just got my first friend like 3 months ago, so I’m pretty new to this whole friend thing too.”

Finn frowns, “I don’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to be friends with you.”

I shrug, “I’m peculiar, remember?”

Finn’s upper lip twitches, “That we are.”

—

“Wait… so Kim is the oldest?”

I groan at Finn’s words, “Finnias, no! We’ve been over this Kourtney is the oldest! Kim is the one dating Kanye.”

Finn nods thoughtfully, “And we don’t like Kanye?”

I shake my head, “No because he was mean to Taylor Swift.”

I watch as the wheels turn in Finn’s head as he continues to piece together all the information on pop culture I’ve given him in the past hour. 

“Alright, I think I’m understanding. Actually…remind me again who Hannah Montana is?”

“Well, don’t you two look comfy together!”

I roll my eyes as I turn to see Demon Salvawhore smirking down at Finnias and I.

“What do you want, Demon?”

“I thought his name was Damon,” Finn questions me with a confused look.

“It is, but I still haven’t seen him and Lucifer in the same place at once so I call him Demon.”

Finn nods but looks down at his hands with a confused look.

“I just saw you two here chatting it up so I thought I might come say hi.”

“Well, we’re kind of in the middle of something here. So feel free to take your leave,” I glare at him.

“It’s alright, Y/n,” Finn says and I turn to see him getting out of the booth, “I should probably get back to make sure my siblings are still alright. But…thank you, for today and helping me.”

I smile up at Finn, “Anytime, Finnieas. And I’ll talk to Klaus about buying you that phone so I can show you how to text.”

Finn nods his head, smiling, and then walks away.

My smile falls as I glance back to Demon.

“What do you want?” “Why are you avoiding me?”

I blink slowly at him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Damon gives me an “Are you serious” look.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Pukey. I’ve tried calling you all night last night and all this morning. Only to find you here with yet another original.”

I stand up and glare at him, “Finn is my friend.”

“Ya? Just like Elijah and Klaus are right?”

This bitch.

“I’m not doing this with you right now, Damon. Leave me alone.”

I turn and walk away but Damon’s hand grabs my upper arm.

“Y/n, stop.”

“Is there a problem here, Y/n?”

I turn to my right to find Rebekah at my side, glaring at Damon.

“No, Rebekah. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Rebekah smiles at me but doesn’t move. 

Damon drops my arm but doesn’t leave, “Why are you mad at me?”

It’s my turn to give him an “Are you serious” look, “Really Damon?! You almost killed the Mikaelson yesterday, which almost killed me, and then you actually did kill Bonnie’s mom who is now turning into a vampire?!”

Damon rolls his eyes and I fight the urge to slap him.

“Bonnie’s mom needed to die,” He says simply and I glare at him.

“And why was that?”

Damon doesn’t blink, “Because it came down to you or her,” His voice comes out strong, “And I’d pretty much kill everyone in this town if it meant my best friend stayed alive.”

Oh, Jesus Christ, I’m going to cry.

“Oh…”

Damon tilts his head, annoyed,  “That’s all you have to say. Oh?”

The next thing I know I’m throwing my arms around him. 

Damon doesn’t move for a moment, but after a few seconds his arms wrap around me and he pats my head awkwardly, “Ya, okay, Pukey. Love you too.”

I let go of Damon and fight back tears in my eyes. Damon rolls his eyes and fies his jacket trying to act tough. 

“You’re too emotional,” He says nonchalantly.

I punch him in the arm, “You just called me your best friend. Not takebacks, Demon.”

Damon rolls his eyes dramatically, “Ya whatever, Pukey.”

He reaches out a hand and messes up my hair before turning around and walking away, not before I spot the small smile on his face.

“You guys are odd.”

Rebekah’s British accent makes me remember she’s standing beside me. 

“Ya, kind of.”

Rebekah rolls her blue eyes and a wave of jealousy flows through me. How is it that someone can be this pretty?! 

“So…Elijah didn’t come back until early this morning,” Rebekah’s lips morph into a smirk, “Do you know anything about that?”

I feel my face heat up, “Um…nope.”

Rebekah raises an eyebrow, “Are you sure? Because the smile that was plastered on his face all this morning says otherwise.”

I furrow my brows, “What does him smiling have to do with me?”

Rebekah gives me an “Are you serious” look, guess it’s common today, “Maybe because the only time my older brother smiles is when he’s around you…And he was really smiling this morning.” 

At her tone I freeze, “Wait…do you think that we…” I move my hands around, “Y’know…”

Rebekah raises an eyebrow at me, “Well, didn’t you?”

I shake my head viciously, “No! All we did was kiss and then he watched Coraline with me until I went to sleep!”

Rebekah’s face falls, “Seriously? You’ve got my older brother all giddy after one kiss.”

I shrug, “I doubt he was “giddy”.

Rebekah nods her head, “Oh trust me, he was practically singing when he was making his morning coffee. 

I snort out a laugh at her words and try to imagine Elijah singing. 

“I like seeing him that way…happy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any of my siblings like that.”

At her solemn voice, I frown, “How are you doing? After everything…”

Rebekah shrugs, “I’m fine. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be.”

Her dismissal has me frowning deeper, “Bekah, you’re mother died. I know that she tried to kill you but it doesn’t change the fact that she was still your mother.”

Rebekah looks at me but her face doesn’t betray how she’s really feeling, “I’m fine, Y/n. Finn was the mummy’s boy. I don’t give a damn about that woman.”

I nod but still don’t believe her, “Well if you ever do need to talk to someone. You can always call me.”

Rebekah eyes me for a moment skeptically, then nods, “I won’t need to but…thanks. I guess,” Her attention strays for a moment, “There is someone I need to go talk to. Goodbye, Y/n.”

“Bye, Rebekah.”

—

I pull into my driveway but feel a frown come over my face as I notice an unfamiliar expensive-looking black car in my usual parking spot.

I park beside it and hurry into the house, worrying about Theo.

“Theo! Are you okay-”

“So, both of you have your bananas, and these right here are condoms,” I turn the corner and my jaw drops as I see Theo holding up a banana and a Trojan condom. An unfamiliar sound comes out of my mouth when I look at the two figures sitting on the couch before him with bananas in their hands and annoyed looks on their faces. Klaus and Elijah. 

“Theo what the hell are you doing?!?”

My yell of utter horror catches the three men’s attention.

“Oh, goody! Sister, I’m glad you’re here,” Theo drops his banana on the coffee table before Klaus and Elijah, a table that is covered in condoms and STD pamphlets, “After our little talk this morning I got to thinking and decided that if you and I aren’t going to talk about the elephants in the room, I’d just call up your boyfriends and have that chat with them myself.”

I stare wide-eyed at Elijah and Klaus, “And you both agreed to this?!?”

Elijah releases a deep sigh and Klaus glares at my little brother, “Your infant here called us and said we had to get over here because you were in danger.”

Theo raises his hands, “YES! In danger of catching a vampire STD.”

“Theo! Those don’t exist,” I screech at him.

“That’s exactly what we’ve tried to explain to him for the past 30 minutes, Elskan. For some reason, it isn’t sticking,” Elijah raises his head and shoots a dirty look at my brother. 

“Thirty minutes!? You’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes letting my 16-year-old brother have the sex talk with you!?”

“Well, 15 of those minutes were filled with threats,” Klaus mutters.

I glare at him, “I thought I told you to stop threatening my brother.”

Klaus turns his glare onto me and raises his hands in exhaustion, “The threats were from him, Love! And they were quite imaginative.”

“Thank you, I’ve been working on them for a while now,” Theo smirks at Klaus, and the hybrid growls at him. 

“Niklaus, please,” Elijah sighs.

Theo turns his attention back onto me, “Well now that you’re here,” He drags me over to a chair and pushes me down into, “I can finally give you the talk.”

“What talk,” Elijah asks confused.

Theo looks at him like he’s stupid, “The sex talk, dumbass. Since you,” He points to Elijah, “Like to spend the night in my sister’s bed without asking me permission. And you,” He points to Klaus, “Like to slobber all over her like the dog you are. I thought it would be a good idea to have this discussion before things move further. Now gentleman pick your bananas back up.”

“Theo! NO!”

Theo ignores me and smiles at Klaus and Elijah, who haven’t moved.

“One more dog joke out of you, Theodora and I swear I’ll-”

“Niklaus!”

Elijah and Klaus eye each other and Theo just stands there tapping his shoe on the hardwood floor. 

“Theo go to your room, right now,” I stand up and glare at him, “We are not having this discussion right now…or ever!”

“But the vampire STDS!”

“Theodore there are no such things as vampire STDS! GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

My yelling has all three men looking at me wearily. 

Theo raises his hands in surrender, “Ok, fine. Just trying to help.”

“And leave the condom here!”

Theo halts and turns back to the table and Klaus, Elijah, and I watch as Theo empties maybe 30 condoms from his jeans. 

“Bloody hell,” Klaus mutters.

I glare at Theo as he skips out of the living room and down the hall to his room. As soon as I hear his door close I run a hand over my face.

“Elskan-”

I raise a hand stopping Elijah before he can continue. 

“Nope. Whatever you’re going to say…just nope.” 

“Well, I’m never going to look at a banana the same way,” Klaus’ says sarcastically and I’m silent for a moment before a loud laugh escapes my mouth.  

I move my hands from my face and find Klaus smirking at me, and Elijah smiling softly at me with a bright look in his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you both just leave,” I asked incredulously, “You two are the strongest and oldest creatures alive, and yet you stayed to have a teenage boy teach you how condoms work?!”

Klaus and Elijah side-eye each other. 

Elijah stands from his seat and fixes his suit jacket, “When we heard that you were in danger we hurried over here as fast as we could…but when we came inside and found this,” He gestures to the table of condoms and bananas, “We were going to leave.”

“And then Theodora locked the door behind us and told us that if we didn’t sit down and shut up he’d never give us his approval. And then said that we can bet our asses that if we don’t have his approval, you’d never speak to us again. I of course told him to go to hell but my brother here sat down like the good boy he is,” Klaus says and rolls his eyes.

“And yet you’re still here,” Elijah mutters. 

“So let me get this straight,” I look to both of them, “You endured Theo’s company for 30 minutes, just because you want his approval?!”

“If his approval means you accepting us…then of course we did.”

Klaus mutters something about Theo and daggers, but I ignore him. 

“You really care that much?”

Klaus and Elijah both give me “Are you serious” looks. 

“Love, I thought we made our thoughts about you quite known,” Klaus says as he stands, “We want you. Even if that means you come with a less than exceptional little brother as baggage.”

I snort at Klaus’ words and Elijah walks across the table and over to me, “There is nothing in this world I desire more than your company and happiness, Y/n. Please believe me when I say that.”

I feel my face heat up at the attention of the two men and I nod.

“I believe you.”

“Great,” Klaus says then pauses, “Also…I was just wondering what exactly was discussed by you and Theodora to warrant all of this,” He gestures to the table with a smirk. 

Oh fuck.

[solarhysm]

"what’s your name again?" | JEON JUNGKOOK [FOLLOWERS POLL’s CHOICE]

one shot

> summary: jungkook met you at a costume party for the new year eve. you're bold, drunk and horny.

> pairing: jungkook x reader

> genre: small smut, one shot (shorter than i thought tho)

> warnings: smut, protected sex!!, public quickie in the female restroom (i'm not good with warning)

> word count: 2.8k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

Jungkook never likes masked parties. But when Hoseok suggests going to one where everyone is in costumes, he reluctantly agrees. He has nothing better to do for New Year’s Eve anyway, and it seems better than drinking alone in his apartment. He sighs as someone bumps into him—that’s why he avoids crowded places.

Everyone wears costumes as if it’s Halloween. He’s not surprised to see most of the women in tight, short dresses. Jungkook considered dressing as a character from Squid Game but decided against it—there are already too many of them here.

Instead, he throws on his old Spider-Man costume from Halloween three years ago. It’s been gathering dust in his closet, but it saves him time and money. To account for the cold, he adds gray joggers and an old black sweatshirt. Tonight, he’s not Peter Parker but Miles Morales. He doubts anyone will notice the reference, though.

“Damn, I didn’t expect it to be this crowded,” Jimin says, handing beers to his friends.

Jungkook glances around and nods. It’s New Year’s Eve, so of course, people their age are out celebrating.

“It’s been a shitty year,” Taehyung groans, downing his beer in one gulp before heading to the bar for something stronger. His girlfriend dumped him last month, and he’s still obsessively checking her Instagram, where she flaunts her new boyfriend.

Jungkook shakes his head, amused. It was a rough year. His grandfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, none of his romantic flings went anywhere, and the company he worked for went bankrupt. Now, he’s living with his parents –again- and working a terrible job under an abusive boss. He sighs and takes a sip of his beer.

“At least we’re still standing,” Hoseok says, ever the optimist.

As the night goes on, the four friends drink steadily in their corner of the nightclub. Taehyung ends up crying on Hoseok’s shoulder, while Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Taehyung whines. “I’m a good boyfriend! I used to bring her flowers all the time and give her all the attention she wants.”

“She’s a bitch. You’re a good guy,” Jungkook says, leaning closer so Taehyung can hear him over the music. “Stop wasting your tears on someone like her.”

“Maybe I’m bad in bed?”

“Stop it,” Jimin groans, grabbing Taehyung’s shoulder. “With your third leg, it’s definitely not about sex. Some women are just terrible people. Go find someone new tonight.”

“What?” Taehyung sniffles, while Jungkook silently gestures for Jimin to stop talking.

“Yeah, Tae,” Hoseok chimes in. “Find a girl, have some fun, and forget about her.”

Jungkook buries his face in his hands. Taehyung is too drunk for this advice. He’s not a one-night-stand type of guy and will probably end up vomiting on whoever he approaches.

“I need a smoke,” Jungkook mutters, getting up and wiping his hands on his joggers. He weaves through the crowd toward the exit, hating how packed the nightclub is.

“I’m sorry!” a voice gasps as their bodies collide. Jungkook instinctively grabs the stranger’s arm to steady them. Both of them are clearly tipsy, but they look more unsteady than he does.

His gaze falls on the person in front of him—his very own Gwen Stacy. The mask hides all of their face, but the costume piques his interest immediately.

“It’s my fault,” You begin. “I didn’t—” You stop mid-sentence when you look up at him. “Oh, Miles Morales!” You giggle, recognizing his costume. And your laugh makes him smile.

“Hi, Gwen,” Jungkook smirks, the alcohol making him bolder.

“Hi,” you reply as you both step outside into the chilly air. It’s a welcome relief from the stifling crowd inside. Jungkook pulls out a cigarette and lighter.

“I like your costume,” he says, noticing you scanning the crowd inside, probably looking for your friends.

You remove your mask and smile. Jungkook doesn’t expect you to be this attractive—especially the kind of attractive he’s drawn to.

“Thanks. I like yours, even if it’s a little inaccurate,” you tease, making him chuckle.

You pull out your own cigarette, accepting his lighter with a nod of thanks.

“It’s too cold to be Spider-Man.”

“Well, not Tom Holland’s Spider-Man,” you quip, freeing your hair from the costume.

Jungkook’s eyes linger on you briefly before smirking. “Marvel fan?” he asks.

“Hm, you?”

“Hm.”

You’re pretty and a Marvel fan? Jungkook looks up at the dark sky, silently thanking the universe for this coincidence. Before he can come up with something to say, you speak again.

“I almost dressed as Wednesday Addams, but it’s way too cold for that,” you explain, and he nods.

“Wednesday was my first choice, too,” Jungkook jokes, making you laugh.

“I’m Y/N,” you say.

“Jungkook,” he replies.

“Did you come alone, Spiderman?” you ask, and Jungkook shakes his head.

“I came with some friends.”

“Yeah, me too. It was either this or sleeping early. I figured it’d be more fun to get drunk,” you say, tossing the bud of your cigarette. Jungkook licks his lips with a smile. He guesses you’re a yapper, which is a good thing because he’s not drunk enough to talk freely without embarrassment. “Do you drink tequila shots, Spiderman?”

“Are you offering?” he teases, and you nod. “Alright.”

Even though he asks, once you’re at the bar ordering a round of six tequila shots, Jungkook is the one handing over his credit card to the bartender. You scold him, insisting you’ll pay for the next round. He’s just happy that you’re thinking about continuing the night with him, though he’s a little apprehensive about drinking more.

“Alright, on three,” you say with a smile, counting down before you both toss back the first shot and bite into a lemon. “Where are your friends?”

“Somewhere in the club,” Jungkook replies, his head nodding to the rhythm of the music.

You grab his hand and guide him to the dancefloor. Jungkook marvels at how easygoing you are. Most girls he meets play hard to get, but you’re different—just here, vibing with everyone around you. His smile widens as he watches you mimicking the dance steps of a guy dressed as a banana.

You burst into laughter when you mess up the choreography, and the banana-guy spins you back toward Jungkook, probably assuming the two of you came together. You stumble into his arms, your rosy cheeks and bright giggles captivating him even though he can barely hear it over the music.

After the fourth shot, Jungkook has to stop, reaching his limit. He isn’t used to drinking this much, especially tequila. But he chuckles, watching as you confidently take down two more. When you turn to him, he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Already?” you tease, giggling, and he rolls his eyes, amused. You finish the remaining shots by yourself, and he’s genuinely impressed. How can someone as small as you handle so much alcohol?

Jungkook blinks a few times, shaking his head. He’s almost certain you’re going to regret this if you keep bouncing around to the music like that.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, leaning closer, and he nods, patting his chest to settle the burn in his throat.

He grabs a bottle of water he ordered, takes a sip, and offers it to you. But you shake your head, and Jungkook can’t help but feel a strange responsibility to make sure you’re okay. You’ve only just met, but he’s already trying to sober you up a bit—anything to avoid you ending the night sick.

“Do you drink often?” Jungkook asks, grimacing as he takes another sip of water. He’s already done with tequila—probably for life.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you chuckle, your tone playful as you make him smile and shrug.

“Just that you definitely know how to hold your liquor.”

“I just needed to get drunk and forget this year,” you admit, tossing your hair over your shoulder.

“Do you want me to walk you to your friends?” Jungkook offers, his voice laced with concern.

“Are you tired of me, Spider-Man?” you joke, swaying slightly as you both half-dance to the pulsing music.

“W-What? No!” Jungkook stammers, looking adorably flustered, and you laugh at his reaction.

“I’m kidding,” you say, nudging his shoulder with a grin.

“Can… I have your number? Or maybe your social media?” he asks, leaning closer to your ear to make himself heard over the music. You pull back to meet his gaze, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders for balance. Both of you have hooded eyes, softened by the alcohol and dim lights.

Jungkook feels a rush of admiration for your boldness. You don’t care about the people around you or their opinions. His hand hesitates before resting on the small of your back. You tilt your head, your nose brushing his as your lips hover dangerously close.

“Do you want to have fun?” you murmur, your mouth brushing his ear, the music muffling everything else.

“What kind of fun?” he asks, his breath caressing your cheek. He feels himself leaning into the moment, emboldened by your energy. Why not? There’s nothing wrong with a little flirting with a stranger on New Year’s Eve.

You smirk slowly, your hand slipping into his to guide him off the dancefloor. Jungkook frowns slightly in confusion when you lead him into the women’s restroom. Before he can ask why, you cup his face, pulling him into a kiss that sends his heart racing.

He finds it thrilling—kissing someone he just met, in a place he’d never expect. It’s not the kind of fun he was imagining, but he’s definitely not complaining. You guide him blindly into one of the stalls, closing the door behind you as he presses you against it.

“What if someone catches us?” he whispers, his lips trailing along your jaw.

“We can stop if you want,” you reply, threading your fingers into his hair before pulling him into another heated kiss.

“No,” he says honestly, making you smile. “But we’re drunk.”

“Can’t get hard when you’re drunk?” you tease, your lips brushing the column of his neck. Jungkook chuckles darkly, grabbing your hand and guiding it to his joggers. Your eyes light up as you feel his growing arousal beneath the fabric.

Jungkook’s breath hitches as your hand starts to stroke him above his jogger. His mind races—this is new for him. He’s had his share of casual flings, but never with a stranger and never in public. Surprisingly, the thrill of possibly being caught makes the moment even more exhilarating.

He wonders if you’ve done this before—you seem so at ease. But before he can ask, your hand slides under the waistband of his joggers, palming his growing bulge. His eyes close almost instantly, a soft groan escaping him as your touch sends heat coursing through his body. His own hands find your backside, squeezing gently, grounding himself in the moment.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you whisper, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin of his neck.

“What—I—right now?” he stammers, wide-eyed, and you nod. Pressing your back against the door, you reach behind to unzip the bottom of your costume, your movements deliberate and teasing. Jungkook’s gaze remains locked on you, his mind racing.

His eyes widen further as he begins patting the pockets of his joggers in a frantic search for his wallet. He knows there’s a condom in there—he’s certain he hasn’t used it. A chance like this? No way he’s letting it slip by. He’s just a guy, after all, and if a beautiful woman wants him, Jungkook isn’t about to say no.

“What are you doing?” you ask, laughing as his wallet slips from his fumbling hands. He scrambles to catch it, earning another amused giggle from you.

When he finally retrieves the little plastic wrapper, he holds it up proudly. You smirk, pulling him into a heated kiss while he helps you peel off the bottom half of your costume. The black panties underneath match the dark tights perfectly, a sight that makes Jungkook’s breath hitch. His hands twitch at his sides, trying to maintain control.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits softly, hiking your leg up to wrap around his waist, pressing you against him.

“Yeah, me neither,” you reply with a playful giggle, one hand gripping his shoulder for balance while the other threads through his messy hair. “New year, new experiences, right?”

“You’re really something else,” he chuckles, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. His eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, and his hand slides between your thighs, fingertips brushing against you through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your head falling back against the door as your hips instinctively press into his touch. Your reaction sends a shiver down his spine; he swears he’s never heard anyone curse so beautifully.

Jungkook frees himself from his boxers, giving his cock a few slow strokes while watching your every reaction. His gaze flickers between your face and the way your body trembles under his hand. When he pushes your panties aside, he hesitates momentarily to open the condom.

“Tell me to stop,” he says suddenly, his voice wavering as he tries to cling to the last shred of his rationality.

“Don’t you dare,” you reply with a grin, tugging at his boxers to free him completely. He groans, any semblance of self-control slipping away as he feels your hand stroke him again, this time skin-on-skin.

The muffled music from the club outside only adds to the surrealness of the moment. Every so often, someone walks into the restroom, and Jungkook tenses, half-expecting a knock on the door. But the thrill of being caught only seems to heighten his excitement. When you grab his face to focus him on you, your lips brushing against his, he realizes he’s long past the point of no return.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as he rolls the condom over his length. His other hand pushes his joggers just low enough to give him room to move. “Are you sure?” he asks one last time, his voice trembling with need.

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation, guiding him to your entrance. His fingers dig into your hips as he presses forward slowly, the stretch eliciting soft gasps from both of you. He stills for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he adjusts to the overwhelming sensation.

“God, you’re so tight,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

“Please, move,” you urge him in a whine, your nails digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hips pull back before snapping forward, setting a steady rhythm that has you biting your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

Jungkook’s movements grow more erratic as he loses himself in the sensation of you. The cramped space of the stall, the muffled music, and the ever-present risk of being caught only add to the intensity. His hands roam your body, gripping your thighs and waist as he thrusts into you with increasing urgency.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

“Faster,” you gasp, your hands sliding down to grab his ass and urge him deeper. He obliges, his pace quickening until the sound of your bodies colliding fills the small space. “Fuck –“

You bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moans, and he curses under his breath, the combination of your teeth and the tight grip of your walls pushing him closer to the edge.

“I’m close,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. His thrusts grow rougher, the door rattling slightly with each movement.

“Me too,” you manage to reply, your voice shaky as the tension in your body builds. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to send you spiraling over the edge. Your walls tighten around him as you climax, your muffled cries vibrating against his skin.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, his hips stuttering as he follows you, spilling into the condom with a final deep thrust. He collapses against you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. The countdown outside ends in cheers and shouts of celebration, but neither of you notices, still lost in the aftershocks of your high.

For a moment, the two of you stay like that, tangled together in the aftermath. Then Jungkook pulls back slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The sounds of celebration seep back in as you both begin to steady your breathing.

“That was…” he trails off, unable to find the right words. “Hot.”

You smirk, cupping his face to leave a lingering kiss on his swollen lips.

“Happy New Year,” you whisper, your voice soft but playful.

“Happy New Year,” he replies, his hand snaking behind your neck to pull you into another kiss, this one just as passionate as the last. Jungkook knows he has to go back to his friends soon.

“What’s your name again?” you laugh, your breath mingling with his as he chuckles.

“Jungkook. Yours?”

“Y/N.”

hiiii!! first of all, happy new year to you all. may 2025 be a better year for you. secondly, i know, I KNOW, i'm a little late with the one shot i promised, i'm sorry! i was too busy those last few days. to be honest, the one shot didn't result as i was hoping for. I had a few ideas about it and it doesn't look like... what i expected. but i promise you a jk one shot for the new year so here it is. i'll do better next time, i swear!! but i do hope that you enjoyed reading it <3 I'll see you around, and on that, i'm going back to write the DOU chapter 6 now that i have free time!! luv y’all — Riza

[rafecameronssl4t]

I need to see reader calming Rafe down during a meltdown in a match and maybe she’s being firm and like telling him to stop and listen to her and to calm down and he shuts up because reader can get scary when mad lol 😂

Fault lines || Tennis player!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: wag!reader stands on business 😙

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,441

MASTERLIST (tennis player!rafe au masterlist)

The sun hung heavy over Sydney’s Ken Rosewall Arena, and the crowd’s energy buzzed like static electricity. Team USA’s match in the United Cup had been one of the most anticipated games of the tournament, but all eyes were on Rafe Cameron. Not just because he was one of the best players on the circuit, but because his temper had become almost as famous as his forehand.

Today, the storm brewing inside Rafe was palpable. He was down a set and struggling to keep up in the second. The opponent, an unseeded underdog from Russia, was playing like a man possessed, returning every shot with precision that only fueled Rafe’s growing frustration. The boiling point came during a controversial call.

“Are you serious? That was in!” Rafe shouted, his voice echoing across the court. The crowd’s murmurs turned to gasps. His face was red with anger as his hands rest on his hips, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The chair umpire remained stoic, unmoved by the outburst. “Out. No let, Mr. Cameron,” the umpire announced, his calm voice doing nothing to quell the fire in Rafe’s eyes.

Rafe strode to the net, pointing furiously at the spot where he was convinced the ball had landed. “Are you blind? It literally hit the fucking line!” The umpire’s expression didn’t falter. “Warning for Mr. Cameron, please return to your position.” Rafe’s jaw clenched, his grip on the racquet so tight his knuckles turned white. “This is bullshit!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the tense silence as he stormed toward the baseline.

With unrestrained fury, he slammed the racquet against the ground—once, twice, three times—until a deafening fourth strike splintered it into shards of graphite. The crowd gasped collectively, shock rippling through the stands as fragments scattered across the court. “Unbelievable!” Rafe yelled, tossing the mangled remains aside before stalking toward the Team USA bench, his frame vibrating with unspent anger.

His teammates and coach looked uneasy, unsure whether to intervene or let him vent. In the vip seats behind Team USA’s area, you sat with your arms crossed, your sharp gaze fixed on Rafe’s theatrics. Rafe threw himself onto the bench, oblivious to the camera following him as he mutters curses under his breath, ripping open a new racquet from his bag, his jaw clenched so tightly.

From your vantage point, you leaned forward, resting your arms on the barrier in front of you. You could feel the heat of his frustration from where you sat, and you knew he needed someone to pull him out of his spiral before he self-destructed.“Rafe!” you called down, your voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd and the chaos on court. He looked up, his brow furrowed, still fuming. “What?”

You didn’t flinch, meeting his glare with the same intensity. “You need to calm down. Right now.” His lips curled into a frustrated sneer. “Are you serious right now? Did you see that call? It was bullshit!” “I don’t care about the call,” you snapped, your tone sharper than the sun’s glare. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Stop acting like a child.”

Rafe blinked, letting out an exhale. The crowd had gone quiet, all eyes were on the exchange. Even the cameras were trained on the two of you, capturing every moment of the heated conversation. “I’m not—” he started, but you cut him off. “Be the bigger person,” you demanded, your voice low but commanding.

“Do you think smashing your racquet and yelling at the umpire is going to change the call? Get your head in the game.” Rafe leaned closer, his voice lowered but still defiant. “You don’t get it. That point—” “I do get it,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes. “What I don’t get is why you’re wasting energy on this instead of focusing on winning.”

“And now you’re handing the momentum to him on a silver platter,” you shot back, your voice firm but quiet. “Do you think your opponent cares about the call? He’s focusing on the next point while you’re sitting here sulking like a brat.” His jaw worked as he struggled to find a retort, but before he could, you leaned in even closer.

“Screw your head back in, Rafe,” you hissed, your words like ice water on a fire. “And get back out there. Now.” The way you said it left no room for argument. He stared at you, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly as your words sank in. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really not letting me off the hook, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you replied, leaning back slightly but keeping your gaze locked on his. “Now shut up, get your head in the game, and play like the champion I know you are.” A flicker of something—respect, maybe even a little fear—crossed his face. He nodded, more to himself than to you, before standing and grabbing his racquet.

As he walked back onto the court, he glanced back at you over his shoulder. You raised an eyebrow, silently daring him to argue again. He didn’t. The crowd began murmuring again, their attention shifting back to the match. But you stayed still, arms crossed, shaking your head in exasperation. The cameras, however, lingered on you for a few more seconds, capturing your unimpressed expression as Rafe got into position to serve.

The commentators couldn’t resist. “Well, that was quite the reaction from Y/n,” one said, chuckling. “I don’t think Rafe’s girlfriend approved of that outburst,” the other added. “And who could blame her? That’s another fine coming his way.” The match resumed, and while Rafe’s temper was still simmering beneath the surface, your words seemed to have had the desired effect.

He channeled his frustration into his game, hitting with renewed focus and precision. Each shot landed with a ferocity that made the crowd gasp, and slowly but surely, he clawed his way back into the set. When he finally won the second set in a tiebreak, the crowd erupted into cheers. Rafe allowed himself a small smile, glancing toward your seat in the stands.

The third set was a masterclass. Rafe played like a man possessed, leaving no room for error. By the time he won the match with a blistering ace, the crowd was on its feet, applauding his comeback. As the players shook hands at the net, the commentators couldn’t help but bring up the earlier exchange.

“Well, it looks like Rafe Cameron had some help keeping his cool today,” one of them quipped. “I’d say his girlfriend’s pep talk worked wonders.” Back on the sidelines, Rafe grabbed his bag and towel, his eyes landing on you. When he reached you, he leaned against the barrier, his expression a mix of sheepishness and irritation. “Happy now?” he asked, his tone teasing but softer than before.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I’ll be happy when you stop smashing racquets.” “Fair,” he admitted, glancing down at the broken one still lying near the bench. “I guess I owe you for that.” “You owe me a lot more than that,” you replied, your smirk turning into a genuine smile.

As the crowd began to disperse, you sat back in your seat, finally allowing yourself a small smile. Rafe might be a handful, but if anyone could handle him, it was you. And judging by the camera footage that was already going viral, the world was quickly realising the same thing.

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART EIGHT

paige x azzi

word count: 3.5k

A/N: I’m sorry 😔 it’s necessary for the plot. It’s also kinda all the other writers fault because they broke my heart too many times with their updates recently so I was being a masochist. Leave some live reactions and I’ll make it up to you before the weekend is over.

—————————————————————————

September 2022

It had been a whirlwind of a few months for Paige. Between tearing her ACL during a pickup game in August and spending weeks avoiding everyone—including Azzi—things had been rough. At first, Paige couldn’t stand to be around anyone, the weight of her injury crushing her spirit. She didn’t understand why this kept happening to her. The most she could manage was sitting silently on FaceTime with Azzi, who didn’t push, didn’t prod—just sat there on the other end, offering quiet support.

Eventually, Paige started to miss her. Not just the quiet presence on the phone, but Azzi herself. She missed her laugh, her teasing comments, and the way she always seemed to know when Paige needed someone to hold her together. She knew she wouldn’t get better by sulking, so she started physical therapy. Azzi, of course, was by her side every step of the way, cheering her on through the grueling sessions and sneaking in snacks when she thought the trainers weren’t looking. One day Paige even pointed out that Azzi didn’t have to sneak her snacks, she could just give them to her and Azzi shushed her saying it was no fun that way.

The connection between them was undeniable, and as soon as they were back to spending every moment together in person, they fell right back into their old habits—flirting, teasing, and, inevitably, sleeping together. They had been doing that a lot since that night in the Jeep.

Now, their situationship was as confusing as ever. Best friends, friends with benefits, something more—they didn’t bother defining it. What mattered to Azzi was that they were together in some way, even if it wasn’t official.

The team’s popularity had skyrocketed since their championship run, with Paige’s popularity growing right along with it. It seemed like every time they went out, someone stopped her for pictures or autographs. Paige always said yes, her natural charisma making her a magnet for attention. Azzi usually found it amusing—until recently.

She’d never considered herself a jealous person before, but watching people fawn over Paige had started to get under her skin in ways she didn’t want to admit. Paige always teased her about it when they got back to their room, whispering in her ear about how she only had eyes for Azzi. Those moments usually ended with clothes scattered across the floor and all frustration Azzi had prior completely gone.

Tonight, the team was at Ted’s, their usual hangout spot. Paige, still on crutches, sat at their table while Azzi headed to the bar to grab them drinks. Insisting that she didn’t want Paige hobbling across the crowded room.

While waiting for the bartender, Azzi glanced back toward the team’s table—and froze. Three random girls had surrounded Paige, their body language a little too friendly for her liking.

One of them leaned in, her hand brushing against Paige’s forearm as she laughed at something the blonde said. Another one tossed her hair over her shoulder, clearly trying to get Paige’s attention. The third girl just stood there, starry-eyed, hanging on Paige’s every word, though Paige wasn’t saying much.

Paige just smiled and nodded as they spoke, her natural charm working its magic even though she wasn’t meaning for it to.

Paige’s gaze suddenly shifted, locking with Azzi’s from across the room. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face as if she could feel the possessiveness simmering behind Azzi’s dark eyes. She winked, and Azzi’s jaw clenched.

Azzi grabbed their drinks from the bar, her grip tight around the glasses as she made her way back. When she reached the table, one of the girls noticed her approach and immediately lit up.

“Oh my god, you’re Azzi, right? Paige’s teammate?” she asked, her tone overly friendly.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, placing the drinks down. “Yeah. Teammate,” she replied coolly, slipping into the seat next to Paige—closer than necessary, her shoulder brushing Paige’s.

Paige looked over, biting back a smile at Azzi’s obvious claim of space. “Thanks, Az,” she said lightly, reaching for her drink.

The girls, undeterred, continued talking over one another, their eagerness to capture Paige’s attention almost comical. Paige didn’t lean into it, but she didn’t shut it down either, her polite demeanor keeping the conversation going.

“So, Paige,” one of the girls said, a playful edge to her voice. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi froze beside her, her grip on her drink a little tight.

“No,” Paige said simply, her tone casual.

Azzi scoffed, the sound loud enough to draw Paige’s attention. Paige glanced at her briefly, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the girls. “Not really looking, though,” she added.

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to make a smart comment, but before she could, one of the girls leaned in closer to Paige. In her attempt to get Paige’s attention, the girl bumped Paige’s injured knee.

Paige winced, her hand immediately going to her leg. The sharp intake of breath she let out wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make Azzi snap.

“You need to be careful,” Azzi said, her voice a little tight, cutting through the noise around them.

The girls all froze, surprised by the sudden shift in Azzi’s tone. She glared at them, her usual calm replaced by an edge of irritation. “I think you guys should go,” she said, her voice low and laced with a little venom.

The three exchanged glances, murmuring awkward excuses and apologies to Paige as they shuffled away, leaving Paige and Azzi alone at the table.

“You didn’t have to scare them off,” Paige said, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice as she reached for her drink.

Azzi turned to her, her gaze softening as it dropped to Paige’s knee. “You okay?”

Paige nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine. Didn’t know you were so protective.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “Someone has to be, considering how much you clearly love the attention.”

Paige chuckled, leaning toward her. “Only yours,” she whispered, her voice teasing.

Azzi’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, her earlier anger melting away as Paige’s words settled between them.

…

The night continued with its usual buzz, but Paige and Azzi remained in their corner, the tension between them slowly dissolving as they sipped their drinks. They’d fallen into their familiar rhythm, laughing and leaning close as they talked about everything and nothing all at the same time.

That was, until another woman approached their table, her sights set squarely on Paige. Azzi noticed her immediately—the confident stride, the deliberate way she positioned herself in Paige’s line of sight, and the overly friendly smile she flashed.

“Hi,” the woman said, her voice smooth as she directed her attention toward Paige, completely ignoring Azzi. “I just wanted to say I’m a huge fan. You’re incredible on the court.”

Paige, immersed in her conversation with Azzi, looked up, her expression polite but distant. “Thank you,” she said, her tone kind but not inviting.

The woman didn’t take the hint, shifting closer as she spoke again. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you ever have time, I’d love to pick your brain about basketball. Maybe over some dinner sometime?”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, and Paige caught the subtle shift in her posture. Without missing a beat, Paige reached for her drink, her free hand brushing against Azzi’s under the table.

“Sorry, but I’m not really looking for anything these days,” Paige replied smoothly, her eyes flicking briefly to Azzi before settling back on the woman. “But I appreciate the support.”

The woman hesitated, clearly not expecting the polite rejection, before finally backing off with a forced smile. Once she was out of earshot, Paige let out a soft sigh and turned to Azzi.

“Alright, I think that’s our cue to call it a night,” Paige said, standing carefully and grabbing her crutches.

Azzi stood as well, her expression still unreadable, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Yeah, before I have to fend off another one.”

Paige laughed, leaning on her crutches as they made their way out of Ted’s. The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and Azzi stayed close, her hand lightly brushing Paige’s arm every so often as they walked to the car.

When they got back to Paige’s apartment, the teasing smile was back on her lips as she closed the door behind them. She turned to Azzi, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know,” Paige began, her voice low and playful, “I think it’s cute how jealous you always get.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the slight blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I wasn’t jealous,” she said, her tone defensive but unconvincing.

Paige grinned, stepping closer until they were nearly chest to chest. “Really? Because it definitely felt like it when you tensed up anytime somebody looked at me.”

Azzi crossed her arms, though her resolve was clearly slipping. “I was just protecting my teammates space,” she said, though the way her eyes softened as she looked at Paige said otherwise.

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “I can show you why you don’t need to worry about nobody else.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her arms falling to her sides as she looked at Paige, her expression caught between exasperation and anticipation.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “But you better make it convincing.”

Paige smirked, her eyes darkening as she pulled Azzi closer. “Oh, I will.”

…

The next morning Paige stood in Azzi's room, leaning on the edge of the dresser as she pulled on her shirt. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric. She glanced at Azzi, who was seated on the bed scrolling through her phone, and decided to fill the silence with something she had been thinking about.

“I was thinking we could check out this spot downtown,” Paige began casually. “It’s got these cozy booths, good food—kinda intimate but not over the top. I think you’d like it.”

Azzi’s head looked up, her brow furrowing. “That sounds like a date, Paige.”

Paige shrugged as if the words didn’t sting. “Nah it doesn’t have to be a big deal. We can just grab some food.”

Azzi set her phone down, her voice a little firm. “Just because we don’t call it a date doesn’t mean it won’t feel like one.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, the easygoing front she tried to maintain cracking. “Is it the worst thing in the world for us to go on a date, Azzi?”

“Yes,” Azzi said immediately, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “Considering we aren’t dating.”

Paige let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Here we go with this again. So what is this then?” she asked, gesturing between them.

“It’s...complicated,” Azzi said, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair. “I really don’t want to argue about this today Paige.”

“No,” Paige said sharply, her voice rising. “It’s not complicated. We make it complicated. You make it complicated. God, Azzi, we spend every night together. You let me whisper all kinds of shit in your ear, you let me touch you—hell, you beg me to touch you—but you won’t let me take you to dinner? What the hell is that about?”

Azzi frowned, her frustration building. “You never get it, Paige. This isn’t just about us. I’ve told you that.”

“Then explain it to me,” Paige demanded, stepping away from the dresser, her crutches clacking against the hardwood floor.

Azzi sighed heavily, clearly reluctant to have this conversation. “You’ve already made a name for yourself. You could never play another game, and you’d still be drafted. Me? I’m still proving myself. I can’t afford distractions like that.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, her voice tinged with anger. “Oh, so I’m a distraction now? Is that all I am to you?”

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” Azzi snapped.

“Then what are you saying, Azzi? Because honestly I’m getting a little sick of this half-in, half-out bullshit!” Paige’s voice was rising now, her emotions spilling over.

Azzi stood, pacing the room as she tried to collect her thoughts. “I’m saying this...this thing between us could complicate everything. The team, our careers—”

“So what, we'll just keep sneaking around forever in your mind?” Paige cuts her off, her tone incredulous as she says things she knows aren't true. “I’m good enough to sleep with but not good enough for you to actually be with. Is that what it is?”

“That’s not fair,” Azzi said, her voice tight.

“No, what’s not fair is what we’ve been doing!” Paige shot back. “You’ll scream my name all fucking night, let me do whatever I want to you, but God forbid I want hold your hand in public or call this what it is. Do you even hear yourself?”

Azzi stopped pacing, her face hardening. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Azzi?” Paige pressed, her voice cracking. “Because from where I’ve been standing, it looks like I don’t mean that much to you.”

Azzi’s expression softened for a moment, guilt flickering across her face. “You mean the world to me, Paige. You know that.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Do I? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it when you won’t even agree to a simple date with me.”

Azzi threw her hands up in frustration. “I’m not dating my fucking teammate, Paige! I’ve told you that so many times. It’s too messy, and it’s not worth the risk.”

“Not worth the risk?” Paige repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. She grabbed her crutches, her movements sharp. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi stepped toward her, her voice softening. “Paige, don’t—”

“No,” Paige interrupted, her voice rising again. “You don’t want me to leave? Then stop treating me like I’m just some convenience for you. Because I’m not doing this anymore, Azzi. I’m not just some fuck toy for you to play with when it’s convenient. Find somebody else to fuck you if that’s all you want from me.”

“You know that’s not all I want!” Azzi protested, her voice desperate now.

“Then what the hell do you want, Azzi?” Paige asked, her voice a little raw.

“I don’t know!” Azzi yelled, the words hanging in the air.

Paige hesitated, her chest rising and falling as she fought against the lump in her throat. Finally, she looked Azzi in the eye, her voice quiet but trembling. “I love you, Azzi.”

The words hung in the air, heavy. Azzi froze, her expression unreadable as she stared at Paige not expecting her to say that in this moment. For a few agonizing seconds, she said nothing, and then softly, “Paige...I–”

The silence was all it took. Paige’s face hardened, her jaw tightening as she turned away. “Forget it,” she muttered, grabbing her crutches and heading for the door.

Azzi reached out, panic flashing across her face. “Paige, wait—it’s wet outside. Your crutches…You shouldn’t—”

“I really don’t want to look at you right now,” Paige cut her off, her voice icy. “I’ll be fine.”

With that, she walked out, the sound of the door slamming behind her echoing in the room. Azzi stood there, staring at the empty doorway, her chest tight as the weight of their argument settled over her. Azzi realized just how much she just fucked up and she didn’t know if she could fix it this time.

…

Azzi tried to give Paige some time to calm down so she left her alone for the rest of the day. But the next day after their fight, Azzi couldn’t stop thinking about her. She stared at her phone, her fingers flying across the screen as she sent text after text.

💗: Paige I’m sorry about yesterday, Can we please talk?

💗: I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you P.

💗: You mean everything to me, P.

💗: Please just let me fix this

💗: Paige, please…Just answer me

💗: Are you okay?

💗: How was physical therapy? Who took you?

💗: I thought about going but I figured you didn’t want me to.

💗: I hate how we left things

💗: I miss you P

💗: I know I messed up, please don’t shut me out.

By midday she had sent at least twenty messages and about a dozen phone calls to Paige, each one unanswered. She was about to give up for the day when her phone buzzed.

P 💗: ok.

That was it. Just two letters, but it was enough to send Azzi flying out the door.

Now Azzi was sitting in Paige’s room, the tension between them so suffocating it felt like the walls were closing in. They’d been talking for some time, exchanging quiet apologies for some of the harsh words they had thrown at each other the night before. But the heart of the issue still lingered, unspoken.

Azzi broke the silence, her voice soft but insistent. “I do love you, Paige.”

Paige’s breath caught for a moment before she exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “No, Az. You don’t.”

Azzi frowned, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “How can you say that? You don’t know how I feel.”

Paige met her gaze, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “Because if you loved me—really loved me—we wouldn’t be in this situation. You’d want to be with me, Az. Not just here, not just like this, but completely.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, her hands clasping together tightly in her lap. “Paige, it’s not that simple.”

“It is to me,” Paige said quietly, her voice breaking just slightly. “I love you Azzi. I love you so much I’d give up anything for you. Do you understand that? I’d leave this team, this school, all of our friends, my dream of winning a championship here... I’d walk away from all of it, because none of it matters to me as much as you do.”

Azzi’s eyes began to glisten, but she stayed silent, the weight of Paige’s words settling over her.

“I’m not saying you have to do that to prove you love me,” Paige continued, her tone soft but firm. “But I know you don’t love me the way I love you. Not yet. Not even if you won’t let us try to be together.”

Azzi blinked, a tear slipping down her cheek. “That’s not fair, Paige. Just because I’m scared doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Paige’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she held back her own tears. “You might love the idea of me. Of us. Of what we have when no one else is looking. But love—real love—it’s more than that, Az and you know it. It’s being willing to take the risk, even when it’s scary. Even when it’s complicated.”

Azzi’s voice was a whisper. “It’s not just fear Paige I’ve told you that. You’ve already made a name for yourself. You could never play again and still be drafted. But me? I’m not there yet. I can’t afford to let anything get in the way of what I’ve been trying to build since I was a kid.”

Paige nodded slowly, her heart breaking even as she forced herself to stay composed. “I get it Az. I do. And I promise I’m not mad at you for it. I’ll keep supporting you But I can’t keep doing what we’re doing, Az. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with having only part of you when I want so much more.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her tears now falling freely. “So that’s it? We’re just... done?”

Paige hesitated, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Yeah I think we have to be.”

Azzi reached out, her hand holding Paige’s as their fingers intertwined. “I love you so much, Paige. Maybe not the way you want me to yet, but I promise I do.”

Paige closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek as she shook her head. “I can’t do ‘maybe,’ Az. Not with you. Not right now”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging between them. After a moment, Azzi stood, her movements slow and reluctant.

At the door, she paused, glancing back at Paige. Her voice was barely audible. “You’re still my best friend, right?”

Paige gave her a small, sad smile. “Always, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded, her expression filled with sorrow as she whispered, “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want yet P.”

Before she stepped out, Azzi turned back one last time, her heart heavy with everything she felt like she couldn’t explain to the girl she loved more than anything. She moved toward Paige and, without a word, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, her lips touching one of Paige’s tears, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Her lips whispered against her skin as she pulled away, her voice barely a breath.

“I promise this isn’t the end of our story P. I just need time.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat, but Azzi was already turning to leave. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that echoed in Paige’s heart. Alone now, she let out a shaky breath, her hands covering her face as she laid back and the tears finally came.

[d-z20]

One Last Drink (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're out for casual drinks with your friend Agatha, who you may or may not find extremely attractive—it's too bad she doesn't like you like that. She convinces you to stay for another round but this drink sends you over the edge and Agatha has to help you home

- OR -

Agatha spikes your drink and then fucks you in your bed like the good friend she is

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dub/non-con, smut, Dark Agatha, alcohol, drugging/drink spiking, thigh riding (A doing), fingering (R recv),

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains drink-spiking and non-con smut so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

The hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air, mingling with the faint melody of a piano drifting from a corner of the dimly lit bar. You and Agatha have claimed your usual spot—a small, worn booth tucked away near the back, where the shadows seem to linger longer than they should. It always feels a little darker here, but it doesn’t matter when you’re with her. Agatha’s presence has a way of consuming everything else.

She sits across from you, an effortless vision of elegance. The soft glow from the overhead lamp catches the curve of her cheekbone and illuminates the knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She nurses a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily in her hand as her eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. Agatha always has this way of looking at you—like she knows more than she lets on. Like she knows you inside and out.

“You’re quiet tonight, doll,” she says, her voice a velvety thread winding its way around your mind. “You alright over there?”

You tear your gaze from the half-empty cocktail in your hand, giving her a crooked smile. “Yeah, just… thinking. You always make me pick my poison, and somehow I still end up blacking out by the end of the night.”

Her smirk widens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she takes a slow sip of her wine. “You’ve got the tolerance of a baby bunny, darling. Not my fault you can’t keep up.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling as you lean back in the booth. “You’re probably right. But it’s weird—it only happens when we come here. What do they put in these drinks?”

The comment is light, a joke meant to tease, but Agatha’s smile sharpens at the edges. She tilts her head, her gaze slipping down to your drink and lingering there for just a beat too long. “Oh, honey,” she teases, leaning closer, allowing you to see down her top. “They’re just making sure you have a good time.”

Your breath hitches, the heat of her proximity sending a shiver down your spine. You’ve always found Agatha attractive, but it’s a secret you keep buried deep. There’s no way she feels the same; her flirty nature is just who she is. It’s not real. It can’t be.

You laugh, shaking your head as you lift your glass for another sip. “Well, here’s to waking up in one piece tomorrow.”

Agatha’s lips quirk as she raises her glass in a mock toast, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll drink to that,” she says smoothly, her tone carrying an edge of amusement. But as you glance away to scan the bar, her gaze darkens ever so slightly, her smile fading as she mutters something low under her breath—something just out of earshot.

—

“Alright,” you say, setting your glass down with a thud. “I think I’m done for the night. I should head back.”

Agatha’s lips curve into a sly smile, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not so fast, doll. Just one more round—my treat. What do you say?”

You hesitate, your resolve already wavering under the weight of her gaze. It’s those eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to strip you bare every time they meet yours.

“Fine,” you relent, trying to sound casual. “But just one more.”

Agatha’s smile widens, and she gives your cheek a playful pat. “That’s my girl. Sit tight.”

You watch her glide to the bar, her movements unhurried, deliberate, and far too mesmerising. The way her hips sway under the dim lights makes your breath hitch, and you curse yourself silently for the hundredth time that night. This is agony. Agatha isn’t just beautiful; she’s magnetic, commanding the attention of anyone with the misfortune to look her way—including you.

You drag a hand through your hair, a quiet groan slipping past your lips. What are you even doing? Agatha is your friend. Your friend. The idea of being anything more is a fantasy you let linger too long after nights like these. She couldn’t possibly know how she makes your pulse race or how the heat of her gaze seems to settle between your thighs. And even if she did know, why would it matter? Women like her don’t look at you like that.

By the time she returns, her signature smirk is firmly in place, two glasses in hand. She sets one down in front of you with a deliberate slowness that has your heart skipping a beat. As the amber liquid swirls in the glass, you think you catch the faint remnants of something dissolving at the bottom, but the hazy glow of the bar lights and the alcohol coursing through you make it easy to dismiss.

Agatha slides into the booth beside you, closer than necessary, her thigh brushing against yours and staying there. “Cheers, sweetheart,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. She raises her glass, her piercing gaze locking with yours as the corners of her mouth curl into a devilish smile.

“Cheers,” you manage, clinking your glass against hers. You take a sip, the liquor’s burn sliding down your throat and pooling in your stomach like molten heat. You lean into her just a little, the warmth of her body grounding you as the room begins to feel a bit fuzzier from the alcohol.

“Y/N,” Agatha drawls, her voice thick with a teasing edge. “Are you getting tipsy on me now?” She reaches up, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch lingers longer than it should, her dark eyes gleaming with something you can’t name. “Poor thing. You really can’t handle your alcohol, can you?”

You laugh weakly, the sound catching in your throat as the warmth in your chest grows into a pleasant haze. “I can handle it,” you protest, though your slurred words betray you. You slump slightly against her, your cheek brushing her shoulder, and her hand comes to rest on your arm, steadying you.

She mock-coos at you, her voice dripping with a patronising sweetness that makes your stomach flutter. “Oh, honey,” she says with a soft laugh. “You’re so cute like this. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

The promise in her tone sends a thrill through you, but you quickly bury it beneath another sip of your drink, hoping more alcohol will drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. She doesn’t mean it the way you want her to. She could never.

—

When you finally leave the bar, the cool night air is a welcome relief against your flushed skin. Agatha’s arm is around your waist, steadying you as you stumble slightly on the uneven sidewalk. You can feel the strength in her grip, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your hip where your shirt has ridden up.

“I’ve got you,” she teases, her breath warm against your temple. “You’re safe with me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

Agatha chuckles, a dark, velvety sound that makes your stomach flip. “Oh, sweetheart, I insist. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in this state—there are some real creeps in the world.”

Her tone is light, but there’s something else beneath it, something darker that you can’t quite place. You glance up at her, but her expression is unreadable; her eyes are fixed ahead as she half-carries you toward your apartment.

When you reach your door, Agatha helps you inside, her touch lingering just a moment too long as she steadies you against the wall. You watch her through half-lidded eyes as she moves around your small living room, turning off the lights and drawing the curtains.

“Alright, darling,” she says, turning back to you with a gentle smile. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your lips as she steps closer, her hands resting on your hips. She guides you toward your bedroom, her touch firm yet gentle, and you can’t help but lean into her.

“You’re too good to me,” you utter, your words slurring slightly.

Agatha’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “You deserve it, doll.”

She helps you sit on the edge of your bed, her hands lingering on your arms as she crouches in front of you. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt, the air between you thick and heavy.

When you sway slightly, still perched on the edge of your bed, Agatha’s hands steady you again, her touch warm but searing, her fingers curling gently around your arms. Her smile softens into something almost tender, her sharp eyes roaming over your flushed face.

“Let’s get you comfortable, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice low, dripping with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can respond—as if you even have the strength—her hands are already at the hem of your shirt. Her fingers brush your bare skin as she lifts it over your head, the cool air against your torso making you shiver. You blink sluggishly, caught in the haze of exhaustion and alcohol, watching her through heavy eyes as she kneels in front of you, utterly unhurried.

“I can do it myself," you protest weakly, barely able to form words.

She silences you with a chuckle, her dark curls brushing against your thighs as she leans forward slightly. “Hush, darling. Let me take care of you.”

Her hands work deftly, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down your legs, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver again. She hums softly, a pleased sound in the back of her throat, as she folds your clothes neatly and sets them aside. You start to question why she always seems so at ease, so practiced, but the thought slips away like water through your fingers when her gaze meets yours again—steady and smouldering.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” she murmurs, her lips curling into that familiar smirk. But there’s something darker behind it now, something that sends a tingle racing down your spine.

Heat rises to your face as you try to look away, but her hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back to her. The room feels impossibly warm as she leans closer, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first. But then she presses harder, her tongue slipping past your lips with a confidence that leaves you breathless.

You can’t think, can’t do anything but let her guide you as she kisses her way down your neck, her lips and teeth grazing over the sensitive skin there. “I’ll make you feel so good, doll,” she whispers against your collarbone, her voice a dark promise that makes your pulse quicken. “I always do.”

The words don’t quite register—blurred and hazy—but you can’t focus on anything except the way her lips trail lower, her hands bracing your thighs to part them slightly. She presses you back against the bed, her weight a gentle but undeniable force as she crawls over you.

Agatha straddles your thigh, and you can feel the heat of her arousal even through the thick fabric of her pants. You gasp softly, the sound catching in your throat when her lips close around your nipple. Her tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper, your body arching instinctively into her touch.

“Shh, that’s it, darling,” her voice vibrates against your skin as her fingers trail lower. Her hand slides over your stomach, then further, her touch maddeningly slow as she brushes against the edge of your underwear. “Let me take care of everything. You trust me, don’t you?”

Her words melt into you, warm and liquid, as her fingers slip beneath the fabric, her touch firm but teasing. She drags her lips from your chest, her gaze catching yours as she smirks again, her expression dark and knowing. 

You couldn’t stop her even if you wanted to.

And somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you feel the faintest flicker of familiarity—of déjà vu, as if you’ve been here before, like this, with her. But before you can grasp the thought, it disappears, swallowed by the sensations overtaking you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, her hand moving in deliberate, measured strokes as she leans in to kiss you again, her lips claiming yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “You’re mine, sweet girl. Always have been.”

Agatha’s fingers dip lower, teasing for a moment before sliding inside you with a deliberate push. You gasp, your body tensing briefly before melting into her touch. Her other hand grips your thigh, urging you to press up against her as she grinds herself down on your leg. The raw desperation in her movements sends shivers through you; her rhythm measured but insistent.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” she groans, her voice dripping with amusement and hunger. Her hips roll against your thigh, breath hitching as she finds her rhythm. The friction between her and your skin sends a flood of heat pooling in your stomach, the coil tightening with every slow, deliberate movement.

You whimper as her fingers thrust inside you, brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your breath catch. “A-Agatha…” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

“Hm?” she hums, her lips quirking into a smirk as her pace quickens. She presses her forehead to yours, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts. “You gonna come for me, sweet girl? I can feel how close you are.”

You nod helplessly, your nails digging into the sheets as waves of pleasure build higher and higher, your thighs trembling beneath her. The noises spilling from your lips are shameless, needy, and only seem to spur her on.

Agatha’s own moans fill the air, low and breathy, her hips grinding harder against your thigh as her fingers work you with precision. “You make it so damn difficult,” she huffs through her moans, her voice tinged with frustration. “If you’d just make a goddamn move when you’re sober, I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble to make you feel good.”

Her words barely register in your haze, too intoxicated to make sense of anything, your mind too clouded by the overwhelming sensation of her touch, the push and pull of pleasure that threatens to undo you. Her hand grips your thigh harder, anchoring herself as her movements grow more frantic and desperate.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you cry out, your body arching as the climax crashes over you in waves. Agatha follows moments later, her hips jerking as a guttural moan escapes her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She doesn’t stop right away, her fingers and hips moving through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re both breathless and spent. Slowly, she stills, her lips brushing over your damp skin as she catches her breath.

Agatha climbs off you with a satisfied smirk, the weight of her absence both a relief and a strange ache. “Stay put, darling,” she mocks softly; you’re too drugged up to move anyway. Then she disappears into the bathroom.

You barely register the sound of water running before she returns, a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water and some aspirin in the other. She cleans you with practiced care, her touch gentle but efficient, before setting the glass and aspirin on the bedside table.

“Agatha…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But the words catch in your throat as she cups your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“Hush, darling,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Just rest.”

You nod, your head still feeling floaty, letting her pull the comforter over you. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel her fingers brush against your hair, her touch gentle yet possessive.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” she purrs, her voice carrying a dark undertone that sends a shiver down your spine.

And then she’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering scent of her perfume.

Outside your apartment, Agatha adjusts her coat, her smirk widening as she descends the stairs. She knows you won’t remember a thing by morning—you never do; she always makes sure of that.

-----

Yes, reader wants to be fucked by Agatha but drunk (and drugged) people cannot consent. That is why I marked it as non-con rather than just dub-con

Not that you needed reminding but please don't do this in the real world, folks it is very much illegal and just a dick move in general

-----

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[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

When You Lose Yourself

“John. Wake up. You’re here. Safe. Home.”

Sherlock’s dark and hoarse voice was full of worry. He knew he mustn’t touch John when he has a nightmare. It could end badly. John might perceive Sherlock as a threat to his own safety, lost in the Afghan desert as he was.

“Please, John.”

He raised his voice, desperate to get through to his lover, but still John was lost to him. His wailing broke Sherlock’s heart.

Violin. Get your violin.

Sherlock’s inner voice coaxed him into action. Swiftly, though reluctantly, he left the bedroom and picked up his violin from the case. Soon, Bach’s Lullaby sounded in the sitting room. His instinct told him to stay there instead of returning to their bedroom. John wasn’t accustomed to hearing it in there, which probably would confuse him.

Familiarity is what John needed.

“I know,” Sherlock answered himself through gritted teeth, and continued playing John’s favourites.

His entire body longed to be close to John, but he heeded John’s previous warnings.

“I hurt Sarah when she tried to wake me from a nightmare. Gave her a black eye, and her throat was bruised for more than a week.”

After that, John had stopped dating, and it took him an agonising six months agreeing to share Sherlock’s bed. He always went up to his room when they’d had sex, though, too afraid to assault Sherlock in his sleep. When Sherlock had protested, vehemently so, John just set his jaw, and refused to listen.

“Anything could happen, Sherlock. It was horrifying enough what I did to Sarah. I didn’t love her. But you…no, I just can’t.”

It had been an accident when John fell asleep in Sherlock’s bed the first time. He’d been exhausted and sleep-deprived, just as Sherlock had been. The case was solved, but in the aftermath, after John had been abducted, again, they craved to be close. It wasn’t sexual. They needed to assure themselves that they’d got through it unscathed.

John had panicked the morning after, but Sherlock told him to shut it, and stop being an idiot. So, that was the end of them sleeping alone.

The nightmare came as a shock. Sherlock had naively thought that his presence would keep them at bay.

Stupid. Stupid!

He realised that his anxiousness could be heard in his playing, so he zoomed in, focused solely on the music. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard John’s voice.

“You are so beautiful when you lose yourself like this.”

Sherlock blinked but didn’t stop playing. When the piece ended, he lowered his bow and violin, placed the items in his chair, and opened his arms. John came willingly and they stood close for an eternity, not speaking, just breathing and wallowing in the other man’s familiar scent and form.

“Thanks for not trying to touch me,” John said finally. “Did you speak?”

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered, still heartbroken that he couldn’t wake John from his night terrors.

“I’m sorry, my love,” John murmured and caressed Sherlock’s cheek.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault, John. I…I just felt so…helpless. I’m supposed to solve puzzles, be the smartest man in the room at any given time, but – “

“Shh. This is not a case, Sherlock. It’s trauma. And…well, it can’t be fixed, not entirely at least.”

He took a firm grip of Sherlock’s upper arms, urging his beloved detective to look at him.

“It is better than it was. Before I met you, it happened every night. When I moved in with you, they only appeared once or twice a week. And now, I’ve shared your bed for almost a month. What does that tell you?”

Sherlock looked down at his best friend, his blogger, his doctor, his captain, his John, seeing nothing but love and affection on his face. Gone was the agony from half an hour ago. He gave John a smile, and the one he got in return could light up all of London.

Instead of answering the question they both knew the answer to, Sherlock cradled John’s face with his hands and kissed him. Strong arms pulled him closer, and when they returned to the bedroom, an uncertain number of minutes later, Sherlock’s anxiety had evaporated. Tightly tangled in each other’s limbs, they slept without any interruptions until the sun bathed their sanctuary in a golden light the following morning.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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[princess-luvvv]

A GOLD RING AND COLD FEET

Rafe Cameron x fem!exgirlfriend!reader

A/N: (This is lowk 4.3k words I’m sorry) Hey guys lol I literally do not know what I’m doing help. I did not proofread idek how to work this app so if this sucks just don’t tell me bc this thing is the biggest pain in the ass lol. Like I am so genuinely sorry I’m such a grandma. Also this is what I listened to while writing this so feel free to listen as well :)

WARNINGS: AUTHOR CANT FIGURE THIS APP OUT, there’s no smut (not going to traumatize you guys with my brain on the first post), girl reader, marriage (basically the whole theme), cheating (sort of from reader but like it’s fine), ermmm just bad writing im sorry lol. Just a man yearning (like good). Okay Im sorry byeee.

14 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: THE BRIDAL SHOWER

Rafe Cameron was going to be the death of me. I knew it.

We had dated for 7 years. He asked me out when we were 14 after knowing each other since we were 6. He broke up with me when we were 21. He said he “couldn’t be tied down in his 20s”.

After that I thought I was completely broken. I had never even imagined loving anyone else - having to love someone else.

But here I was. 14 days away from my wedding to a man I didn’t love. A part of me felt like such an asshole. Marrying a man who I knew I’d never love. But Jackson had his faults. He raised his voice too much. He never opened my door…not since our third date at least. He worked all the time. He regularly forgot important events like anniversaries and birthdays.

We started dating 10 months, 1 week, and 4 days after Rafe broke up with me.

Even though most people said it was time to move on it still felt too soon to me. 3 years later and it still feels too soon sometimes.

But here I am. At my bridal shower. Wearing a silver ring when I haven’t touched a piece of silver jewelry since I was 9.

I was opening gifts when only one remained. A small black box with no tag attached.

“Who is this one from?” I ask the crowd of giddy women surrounding me. They all share confused looks. Shrugging and comments like “It’s not mine” falling from their lips. This only furthered my confusion as I opened the box.

I gasped.

Inside was a beautiful - gold - ring. It was my dream ring.

“Oh my gosh it’s just beautiful!” My best friend Grace said.

“Jackson must have picked it out for you since yours is missing.” Grace says causing me to furrow my brows.

I looked down to my left hand and noticed the absence of my ring.

Since when was that gone?

“Oh yeah…I guess he did.” I smile and tuck the box away. Making a mental note to ask Jackson later. Even though I knew he didn’t get it for me, a part of me hoped.

As my friends went on and on about how beautiful this wedding would be and how happy they were…I couldn’t help but wish their joy was infectious.

At least someone is excited right?

12 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: BACHELORETTE

I was sitting in an expensive restaurant in downtown Charleston sipping a cocktail I’m pretty sure costs more than my salad. Jackson and I had decided to have our Bachelorette/Bachelor parties in the same city in case anything happened. He was out having a guys night while I was out with my girls. I hadn’t had this much fun doing anything wedding related well ever.

“It’s not a coincidence that you think that and Jackson isn’t here” a little voice inside my brain taunts me. But I push it down. Along with the bile rising in my throat. From the alcohol or the impending commitment of forever to a person who I know I don’t love - which, I’m not sure.

“How are you babe?” My friend Ava says as she turns her entire body to face me. I was tracing shapes on the condensation on the outside of my barely touched drink while I tuned out the rest of the chatter.

“I’m wonderful how about you Ava?” I smile and meet her eye. She gives an unconvinced smile and repeats her question: “Come on. How are you really? Cold feet? We can get on the next flight out of America just say the word.” She says with a laugh. And I know she’s joking but part of me is screaming “YES!” Inside of my head.

I laugh and shake my head.

“No cold feet. Just lukewarm maybe.”

Lukewarm. It’s funny cause that’s basically a word that sums up the entirety of Jackson and I’s relationship. I hadn’t felt fire, sparks, passion…any of it. Not since-

“Lukewarm is okay. Marriage is big. But…you’ll be okay.” Ava says cutting off my thoughts. And I can see her trying to hide her real feelings. She wants me to talk to him. Not him. Him.

The him who left me in a hotel room in Key West on what was supposed to be our 8 year anniversary trip. The him who wouldn’t stop sending letters to my house. The him who sent me 127 texts and 87 voicemails since last Tuesday. Which is apparently the day the Cameron’s wedding invitation arrived. I wasn’t going to invite them but I felt I needed to. Sarah and I were still friends and I adored Wheezie. The him who took up every inch of my heart. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself he didn’t.

LATER THAT NIGHT AT THE HOTEL…

I entered my private suite in the hotel. I had gotten my drunk pack of bridesmaids back to their rooms…well the ones that were sleeping in their own rooms tonight. I had my own room this trip. My bridesmaid Lila insisted on it in case Jackson wanted to sneak over from his hotel…that’s what she said. But I knew she secretly wanted to give me my space away from the wedding buzz and events. I was grateful for that.

Until I was not.

Because the second I opened my door and ripped off my crown that said “BRIDE” I looked up and saw a man sitting on the couch in the suites living room. His elbows resting on his large thighs as he hung his head.

He looks up when I walk in.

I should’ve been scared…but I knew exactly who it was.

I flicked on the light. “Rafe what- what are you doing here?” I say in half anger half disbelief. OBX was at least 7 hours from here.

What the hell was he thinking?

“I had to see you…” I shake my head as he stands up and walks towards me. I take a step back.

“No. No. You can’t do this to me.” He walks closer. I put out my hands. Placing them on his chest to keep distance between us.

“Please just hear me out….” He gently grips my wrists that are placed on his chest. He paused for a second. Looking into my eyes to see if I would stop him again. I let him continue.

“I know…I know I have no right to be here. No right to do this. But please just listen to what I have to say…” He sighed before continuing. “You can’t marry him. Baby you can’t….I’m begging you. He doesn’t treat you right. You know that. I have so many regrets in my life…but I’d live them all over a million times if it meant I never let you go. I regret that every breath I take.”

My eyes gloss over. His touch was so gentle unlike Jackson’s. He didn’t raise his voice at me. He didn’t do anything but love me exactly the way I wanted while also being everything I needed.

He sighs seeing my eyes tear up. “Baby don’t- don’t cry….it’s just-….I can tell you’re not happy.” He says as he wipes a tear that escaped my eyes.

“I-I’m happy…” I say weakly.

But I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince. Me or him?

He sighs. Bringing a hand up to my cheek to wipe away another tear. His hand not moving. “You’re not. I can see it. I know you…I see it in your face when you look at him. Those beautiful eyes have never told me a lie.”

“You don’t know me anymore…” another lie. He knew me. He knew me. He knew my coffee order at every coffee shop on the island. He knew my favorite songs and the lyrics to all of them. He knew my favorite movie. He knew my favorite animal.

He laughs softly in disbelief.

“I don’t know you? I know you. I know your order at every Mexican restaurant on the island. I can recite your coffee orders in my sleep. I know every word to your favorite Taylor Swift songs. Your favorite movie is Beauty and the Beast and you love the soundtrack. You love penguins and you’re a dog person. I know you baby.”

I cry harder as he recites everything about me. On surface it’s not much. Small talk topics he could’ve figured out from social media. But it goes so much deeper. He knows what makes me tick. What I need when I’m sad. How to cheer me up even through tears.

If only he could do that now…

“Does that asshole even know your favorite Jane Austen book? Huh? Does he? Cause I do. And it’s Emm-“

“Stop! Just stop Rafe! Just- just go! Why-why are you doing this me? This isn’t fair.” I say wiping my tears. I was full on crying now.

“I can’t just sit back and watch you marry someone who’s not going to make you happy. You deserve so much better. You don’t deserve someone who’s never there for you, or doesn’t treat you well. You deserve someone who treats you exactly how you deserve to be treated - like the woman I love. I know I was stupid to let you go. I was young - and I thought I wanted freedom, but I was wrong. I haven’t known a minute of freedom since you left. I miss you, I miss us. And I need you more than I need air to breathe…”

“Please. Don’t marry him. Please baby…” He’s begging now. I’ve never seen Rafe Cameron beg for anything.

“Rafe I’m-I’m getting married in 12 days I can’t-“ I cut myself off with a sob.

He pulls me against his chest. I don’t protest as I cry harder. Pretty much sobbing now.

I clutch onto the end of his shirt. “I have to marry him Rafe…”

“Why? Why do you have to marry him? You know this isn’t what you want.” He says pleading with me. Running a soothing hand up and down my back. Providing me more comfort than I’ve known all of my relationship with Jackson.

“I know.” I say softly. My voice hoarse.

“Then don’t do it. Don’t marry him. I made the wrong choice a few years ago, but I’m here now. I want you not some false pretense of freedom. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I can give you a ring that you actually like, and a house that we build together. I’ll give you anything you want, just don’t marry him. Be with me.” I pause when he mentions the ring. I look down to the gold ring on my left hand. Silently piecing things together.

“Did you send me a new ring?” I look back up him. Brows furrowed. My face puffy from crying. When I meet his eyes I see how utterly heartbroken he looks. It breaks me a little bit.

“I-uh…yeah I did.” He says. And as he confirms my theory I step away from him. Letting out sobs as I turn my back towards him. One hand cradling my stomach as the other covers my mouth.

“Hey - hey what’s wrong. Talk to me.” He says as he walks up behind me placing a soothing hand on my shoulder letting his hands rub me gently.

“Y-you remembered the ring.” I had shown him the type of ring I wanted back when I thought we were going to get married.

I was so stupid at 20. Or maybe I was just naive.

“Of course I remembered the ring. You showed it to me a million times. I know it was your dream ring and I couldn’t bear the idea of him giving you something you didn’t actually want…” He explains with a confused expression. Not quite sure why it was hurting me so bad.

The thought that he had gotten me a ring I wanted even though he didn’t want me marrying Jackson made me want to cry…and vomit.

“I-I can’t-“ My legs give out and I drop to my knees. Rafe immediately goes down with me. Pulling me into his chest. I was now cradled in his lap as he rocked me gently while I cried.

“Please don’t cry baby….it hurts me so bad.”

That night I fell asleep in Rafes arms.

THIRD PERSON POV:

As Rafe brought her to her hotel bed and tucked her in he couldn’t help but feel the urge to get in bed and hold her as she slept. But he knew how awful she’d feel if she woke up next to him knowing she betrayed Jackson. So he left a note next to her bedside and pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaving. The words “I love you” mumbled softly as she slept.

ELEVEN DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: THE NEXT MORNING.

THIRD PERSON POV:

As Jackson walks into the hotel room of his future wife he can’t help the guilt eating at him. He brings in the takeout bags and starts to place it onto a tray.

He takes out the water and Advil he got from the pharmacy and brings it over to her bedside.

As he’s placing the hangover cure on her nightstand a paper written on hotel stationery catches his eye.

He reads through the paper.

“All my love, R.C.”

He folds up the note and places it back in his pocket before going back to the takeout bags. Ready to act as if nothing happened.

FIRST PERSON POV

I wake up with an empty feeling in my stomach. The same one I’ve had for 3 years, 7 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days.

I hear someone walking around the suite and as much as I know it’s probably Jackson…a part of me hopes…

Seconds later Jackson comes into my room with a smile. Holding a tray of food.

Odd. He’s never done sweet gestures for me like this.

“Good morning my love…I thought this would help cure the hangover. I ordered breakfast from that place you like downtown. You always talk about how much you wish we had one back at home so…” As he explains his reasoning for being here the sick feeling grows in my stomach. And I wish it was hangover sickness. I felt like such crap. Here he was being so sweet to me and I cried in the arms of another man last night.

I look around the room for any evidence Rafe was here. Feeling slightly disappointed but relieved that I didn’t find anything.

“Have fun last night?” Jackson says as he picks a blueberry off my plate.

“Uh yeah….it was really fun.” I smile and lie. But he can’t tell the difference so he nods his head before getting up and kissing my forehead.

“Well I have to go into work early tomorrow so the guys and I are heading back home but…I love you.” He says. He rarely says those three words. And that itself wouldn’t be weird. We’re getting married of course we tell each other we love each other. But paired with the weird domestic wake-up I had this morning it left an icky feeling in my stomach. But I smiled and nodded. Swallowing my food before replying.

“Okay…love you too.”

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING DAY: THE REHEARSAL DINNER

“Have you seen my gold earrings?” I ask Jackson. Walking around our shared bathroom while he was shaving. We were getting ready for our rehearsal dinner before we left for the wedding venue in the morning.

“Which earrings?” He asks. Not pausing his movements of shaving his face.

“The ones I always-“ I huff in defeat knowing it’s no use. I’ve worn those earrings everyday for the past 9 years. They were Rafe’s 2 year anniversary gift to me.

I walk around the bedroom looking under a few things before my phone pings distracting me for a second. I walk over to it and turn the screen over to see an Instagram DM message request.

“Hey…I want to say I am so sorry to do this to you. I know you’re getting married in 2 days but there’s something you should know…”

THREE HOURS UNTIL WEDDING DAY: THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING

I was pacing around the cabin of my private room on the property of our venue.

The venue was a family owned property on the mainland. It was gorgeous. Jackson was in the cabin across the venue in the Groom’s cabin. I was staying in the Bridal lodge.

I felt nauseous. My throat felt like it was closing and the white matching way too expensive PJ set I was gifted especially for tonight felt like it was constricting my air. The cabin suddenly felt stuffy and like the walls were about to close in at any minute. I was all alone.

I pull out my phone quickly going to the only number I had on speed dial.

He picks up on the first ring - he always does.

RAFES POV

The whole day I had been sulking at home watching football and drinking whiskey. My lab Daisy sitting by my side as she watched me drown my sorrows.

Was she really going to marry him?

I had dozed off for a few hours before a phone ringing woke me up.

I look at the screen and immediately picked up.

“I need you.” I was standing up running to my shoes before the sentence was even over.

“I’m coming baby…I’m on my way just stay put okay?” Her shaky voice was breaking my heart. I grabbed my keys and made an hour long drive less than 40 minutes.

FIRST PERSON POV

I was sitting with my knees tucked to my chest. My eyes puffy and crying, sitting at the edge of the bed when Rafe barged in. He immediately dropped to his knees next to me. Pulling me into his lap. Cradling me as he rocked me back and forth.

“I’m here baby…I’m here.” He repeats the words like a mantra to ease my mind. And it does. But it doesn’t fill the pit in my stomach that seems to have taken a permanent residence.

“Talk to me baby…please you’re scaring me…” I could hear the fear in his voice. And I felt like such a dick. I called my ex boyfriend to help me the night before my wedding to another man.

I’m the worst.

“I-I’m so sorry….I didn’t know who else to call.” I get out between sobs. He shakes his head. Grabbing my face with both of his hands.

“Shhh….I just need you to tell me what you need. I’m right here. Just tell me how to help. Okay?”

How does he always know what to say? It’s ridiculous.

“I need out of this…” And at that sentence Rafe was pretty sure he could’ve cried a happy tear. But he needed to be sure.

“Out of what baby?” He knew. But he needed to know.

“You know what.” I pause before continuing. Sniffling and wiping my tears. “Jackson cheated on me. His bachelor party…she texted me the night our rehearsal dinner. She was their bartender in Charleston. But that’s not even the worst part…” I shake my head in disbelief at myself. “The worst part is I don’t even care. My fiancée cheated on me less than two weeks before our wedding. And I can’t find it in me to care.”

I knew I never loved Jackson. And that’s part of why I was marrying him. Because I knew that if I never loved him he’d never be able to hurt me…not like Rafe did at least.

I continue:

“I’m literally incapable of loving him because every inch of my heart belongs to you. And it kills me. I should be devastated right now. But- but all I can think is that I need you. And it’s so cold and you hate driving at night but this is the second time you’ve driven over an hour for me in two weeks.”

In reality it didn’t take Rafe an hour to get here. But he let me continue anyways.

“I’m terrible-“ He cuts me off.

“No. You’re perfect. I know you think you have to settle for this but you don’t. I’m not leaving you. I’ll always be here. Whether or not you get married in 12 hours I’m always going to be there when you need me. I don’t care what it is or where you are. You call and I’m there. You need me…and I’m right here baby. I’ll always be right here. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

I look at him as he says that. And suddenly nothing about this makes sense. Why am I getting married to Jackson?

He sucks.

I stand up. Grabbing Rafes hands pulling him up with me.

“We need to leave.” I look around the room at my things. Rafe immediately nods and starts packing my things into my suitcase with me.

“Where do you need to go? I’ll take you anywhere baby. Car? Train? Plane? Boat? Fuck I’ll swim across the Atlantic for you baby.”

I pause and glance up at him from across my suitcase that we’re both knelt over. I meet his gaze. His eyes show me nothing but seriousness. Standing 10 toes behind his words. I wrap an arm around his neck and place an arm on his shoulder to steady myself as I lean in and kiss him.

He’s so taken aback but he kisses back after realizing this isn’t another one of his dreams that have felt like nightmares these past 3 years.

I pull away and he slightly sighs at the disconnect.

“Anywhere that’s not here. Just need to be with you. Please.”

2 HOURS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: AN HOUR LATER ON THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT

I look around the room once more to make sure I have everything.

“You got everything you need baby?” He asks me and I nod.

“I’m gonna take this to the car.” I was carrying my pillow and blanket I had brought. Rafe insisted on carrying my bags. He nods but stays in his place before speaking up.

“Okay I’ll be there in a second I’m gonna take one last look around.” I nod before walking to his truck and getting inside.

THIRD PERSON POV:

Rafe pulls the object out of his pocket. Placing it on the dresser.

He grabs her bags taking one last look at the wedding dress hanging on the closet door before shutting the door behind him.

The silver ring shimmering in the moonlight sitting on the dresser where he left it.

FIRST PERSON POV

Rafe gets back in the car and looks over at me.

“If you change your mind I don’t mind-“ I cut him off.

“I’m not changing my mind. Now drive.” He smiles before putting the truck in reverse.

As we drive for a few minutes a question plagues my mind: Why didn’t he say anything the morning after the bachelorette party?

“Can I ask you something?” He glances over at me. He had a comforting hand on my thigh as he drove.

“Anything.” I smile at his answer while look at my lap before continuing.

“Why didn’t you say anything the morning after that night in Charleston? Not a text or a note or anything? I know you didn’t have to I just…hated waking up with no evidence that you had even been there.” Rafe’s brows furrow.

I did leave a note. He thought to himself.

“Baby I left a note on your dresser…didn’t you see it?” He says confused.

“No…the next morning I woke up and Jackson was…” I trailed off. Suddenly piecing everything together. Rafe seemed to as well. His grip on the wheel tightened and his jaw clenched.

“I left a note. I promise. But it’s not anything I won’t tell you to your face everyday for the rest of our lives. So don’t worry about it, pretty. Okay? I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Rafe.” And I truly meant it.

On the way to the airport we sang along to Taylor Swift songs we both knew. And suddenly the pit in my stomach was slowly being filled with laughter and the way he didn’t even ask me what I wanted when we stopped at McDonald’s.

To be loved it to be seen. And I had to have been invisible to Jackson.

23 MINUTES UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: AT THE AIRPORT 11:37 PM

“Flight 237 is now boarding. This is the final call for passengers to LaGuardia Airport.”

Rafe looks at me as we get ready to board the plane.

“You ready?” He sticks out his hand. I smile at him.

“Yeah…I’m ready.” I take his hand and lean up and kiss him as we walk onto the plane.

I glance down at the gold ring on my finger. And I realize no one will ever see me as clearly and perfectly as Rafe sees me. And that’s all I could ask for.

“Hey” he looks back at me. Glancing up from his sports magazine. His brows raised waiting for me to answer.

“I love you.” I continue and smile. His gaze softens and he pulls me into another quick kiss. I hated PDA but I didn’t care. Not with him.

“I love you more than I can even describe.” He pauses before continuing. “If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more.”

I don’t know a lot…but I know I’ve found my person. And everything’s okay. And for the first time in 3 years, 7 months, 4 weeks, and 2 days…I felt like I could breathe.

[chevroletdean]

sibling!reader dealing with demon!dean headcanons (req.) ── ✮⋆˙

Pairing: None, just platonic Winchester!Reader (fem) and her brothers Genre: Angst, fluff To note/warnings: Hurt/comfort, grief (temporary character death, as in Sam and Reader think Dean died), canon level violence A/N: A great way to start the year is definitely getting a cool request by @midnight--raine! Tysm, dear, your praise means a lot to me <3 and I 100% agree, Demon!Dean is terrifying. Still my favorite arc ever, because I’m a sucker for the nitty, gritty, dark and scary, but yes. Credit & links: dividers ──〃★ request here

Sam’s heart breaks twice that day. For one, there is the crushing grief that comes with watching the life disappear from his brother’s eyes. Then the realization: How could he possibly tell his sister what happened? Dean’s death is tearing him apart, and he knows it will absolutely destroy her.

There’s no easy way to deliver the news. But, alas, he’s spending a good amount of time sitting alone in the Impala, Dean’s lifeless body in the backseat. The ride back to the bunker was the hardest ever, the silence nearly driving him insane. Sam is thinking back and forth on what to say, what to do.

He knows waltzing in, carrying the corpse is not an option. If anything, Sam doesn’t want her to see Dean like that at all. Though he figures she’ll probably want to see for herself.

She probably already knows something bad happened the second Sam enters the bunker. Of course she does, her brothers have trained her to stay alert 24/7, to look at her surroundings with a keen eye — Dean would be so proud of her people reading skill right now. Sam’s by himself and his expression… he’s devastated, though he tries to keep it together for her sake. It can only mean one thing.

It feels wrong right away. She can tell. It’s obvious when he doesn’t answer her questions. “Where’s Dean?” Silence. It speaks volumes. “It’s not funny, this is a dumb prank.” Sam still can’t bring himself to speak up.

She runs past him, straight outside to look for Dean, even when Sam tries to stop her.

Sam’s glad he thought of draping a jacket over Dean’s body before talking to his sister. She shouldn’t have to see her brother so lifeless, after all. This view alone, even just through the car window, is enough to traumatize her.

What happened isn’t his fault, but Sam still apologizes over and over again. He can just stand there and feel guilty while he’s holding her shaky form.

It’s not their first rodeo with death and while it doesn’t make it any less sad, her tears convince Sam even more that he has to fix this, somehow.

That night she can’t sleep. Nothing can console her, not even Sam. Though she is grateful to have him at her side.

It’s the same for Sam, honestly. With both of them restless, they dig through the library, they try to find anything to bring Dean back.

In the end, she’ll probably fall asleep right at the desk, her eyes heavy and sore from crying and reading. It’s not a peaceful slumber by all means, it’s more like her brain and body just shut down.

Sam carries her to her room, but the second he tucks her into bed and wants to leave again, she wakes and sobs again.

She’s terrified to spend the night alone, nightmares haunting her. If it were for her, she’d be up and in the library again, but Sam manages to make her agree to a compromise: She will try and get some rest and he will stay with her.

None of them get another wink of sleep that night, she’s staining Sam’s shirt with tears while he’s busy brushing his fingers through her hair.

The next couple of days are rough. The bunker feels like a graveyard, Dean’s presence is definitely missing.

She finds herself wanting to prank her brother like every morning — she’d always exchange his shampoo bottle with the ketchup bottle, shed secretly put a Celine Dion cassette in the Impala. Now, there’s no point for any of that.

Instinctively she grabs onto any piece of Dean she still has. She takes one of his shirts to wear, his scent still lingering in the fabric. She doesn’t touch the piece of pie in the fridge, which she’d usually steal, but she wants to keep it there, preserve it, just in case Dean will magically return.

When Dean’s body disappears, it’s like losing him all over again at first. He’s suddenly gone, again, and panic sets in. And it feels even more permanent. However, it’s also a glimmer of hope, right? He has to be somewhere, so is he alive after all?

Sam’s more reluctant to get his hopes up high. He’s dealt with heavy losses before. Seeing his sister motivated to find Dean is a double-edged sword. It’s the first time since Dean’s death that he sees her eyes sparkle again. But he’s also scared she’ll break down even more when this turns out to be another tragedy.

It’s because of that very reason that Sam’s working on this without telling his sister. He hates keeping secrets from her, he hates lying to her, but he can’t bring himself to feed into her delusions only for her to end up even more hurt. So, when he’s able to track Dean down, he’s not telling anyone.

It bites him in the ass. While Sam’s out trying to find Dean, Dean’s already on the way to find her.

She looks like she’s seen a ghost, honestly. Wide eyes staring at him and filled with tears. Suddenly all her hunting skills are out the window. She doesn’t care to throw holy water at him, she doesn’t think of nicking him with silver. Demons, skinwalkers, none of it exists to her in that moment. All she can think about is her big brother being back.

She jumps right into his arms, scolding him, whining and sniffling and hugging him with a death grip.

Dean’s quiet, eerily so, but that’s not enough to make her suspect anything just yet. Maybe he’s tired, maybe she’s confused, it’s so much all at once. She refuses to let go of him, afraid he’ll slip away again, so she drags him to the kitchen and happily presents the piece of pie to him.

Dean doesn’t even touch it. Hell, he’s not even looking at it.

She quickly texts Sam, letting him know Dean’s back at the bunker. Then, when she looks up from her phone again and sees Dean not eating, she’s starting to get doubtful.

Dean not digging into pie? Is he sick or something? “You okay?”

There’s a grin on Dean’s lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it feels off. It feels dangerous. “Never felt better.”

The wheels are turning in her head and her blood runs cold. She didn’t do any of the routine checks. Why didn’t she do any of the routine checks? Sam and Dean have taught her better, but she was so caught up in the moment and…

Her phone buzzes and Sam’s reply is simple. ‘That is not Dean.’ Her eyes widen. ‘Demon. Get away.’

The three or four seconds she spent looking at her phone are what almost gets her killed. It’s plenty of time for Dean to grab the kitchen knife and aim it at his sister instead of the pie.

She manages to dodge, somehow, although Dean makes it sound like he just enjoys playing with his prey. As his eyes turn jet-black, she knows she’s in trouble.

“I’ll give you a headstart, sis,” he hums and even his voice sounds so twisted, so wrong.

“Headstart?,” she echoes. “Dean, please, you don’t wanna—”

“Ten… Nine…”

He absolutely wants to. Sam’s right, this isn’t Dean. Not their Dean.

She bolts out of the kitchen as fast as she can. The bunker is big, but the problem remains that they all know it inside and out — where can she possibly hide? Should she lock herself in the dungeon? Should she ditch the place altogether?

“Six… Five…”

Panicked, she just makes a run for it, not knowing where to quite yet, but knowing it had to be away. As far away as possible. She scrambles to find a weapon, anything to fend off a demon, though she hates the thought of fighting against Dean. Not only would she not stand a chance against her brother, she could never bring herself to harming him or his vessel.

“Ready or not here I come.”

She’s definitely not ready. He could’ve given her a minute, an hour, a freakin’ year, nothing could prepare her for such a chase.

Stupidly, she decides to hide in Dean’s room. It’s far from the safest option, but it’s where her feet have carried her. She can’t really think of any room in the bunker that could protect her from the demonic version of her brother, but here at least, she’s surrounded by happy memories, right?

She’s holding her breath, clutching Ruby’s knife in her trembling hand.

It’s only through a trick that she’s able to survive. Of course, Dean finds her, but she’s fast and able to (a) distract him long enough to make preparations and (b) then lure him to the dungeons.

Dean’s not dumb, he knows there’s a devil’s trap. But he didn’t know there were two of them. She’s haphazardly drawn one he didn’t see until he is standing in it.

Bless all the times she has cursed in the past. She has complained to Sam so often whenever he had forced her to practice drawing pentagrams. She’ll make sure to thank him for it later.

Speaking of the devil, Sam returns just a bit later. He must’ve broken several traffic laws racing back to the bunker, but between that and his sister’s safety, she obviously came first.

He thought she’d be pissed at him for lying to her, but she has a priority too right now: Turning Dean into a human again.

It’s definitely not an easy task. More specifically, it’s downright nauseating to witness the purification process. Dean’s clearly suffering, the pain must be agonizing, but they are able to heal him.

Dean’s back, and he’s human again and it’s all she could’ve ever asked for.

Now, for Dean? Shit, he won’t be able to look into the mirror for a very long time. He always sees himself as the family’s protector. His siblings are his world and to think he attacked his baby sister? It’s killing him.

He feels so guilty he’s not able to look her in the eyes, let alone talk to her or touch her.

Which is why when she hugs him, clinging to his form sobbing, he thinks he doesn’t deserve that kind of trust. His greatest fear is that she’s now scared of him. She’d have every right to be, he attacked her with a damn knife.

“It wasn’t you. It was your body, but not your mind. I mean, that thing comes up with all sorts of dumb things, but not that kind of dumb.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that, of course she’s already back to sibling banter. How she manages to pretend like nothing happened is beyond him.

The events stick with him for a very long time, they never fully disappear from his conscience. He wishes he could wipe the memory of your panicked eyes from his brain, but that image will still haunt him in his grave.

Something has changed though. His shampoo is shampoo and his cassettes are his cassettes. There’s always pie in the fridge and she’s not playing any pranks on him anymore.

It makes him feel even worse. Especially when she explains to him that she’d rather be nice to her pain-in-the-ass brother and have him alive than be mean and have him dead.

“You know one thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other, right?”

It almost sounds like she’s blaming herself. As if Dean’s death was her punishment for bickering 24/7. It’s not right, if anyone should be feeling guilty, it’s him. And he does. God, he does.

It’s very obvious that she’s more afraid of losing him again than she is of the monster he’s become.

He’s set out on playing double the amount of pranks on her then, in hopes of getting some normalcy back. Of reminding his little sister that he’s still here, he’ll always be there. He’ll always be her pain-in-the-ass brother that’ll look out for her and keep her safe and play pranks on her.

When one morning he finds his toothbrush in a jar of pickles, bristles soaked in the vinegar-y liquid, it’s a small victory. Her post-it note with a smug smiley drawn on it is a step in the right direction.

Dean Winchester Taglist (Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist): @ladysparkles78 @ariasong11 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126

@zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46

@midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

@whump-loverz @cassieriddle713 @ilovedeanwinchester4

Sam Winchester Taglist (Put a book emoji 📚 in the comments to be added to the Sam x Reader taglist): @s7nburn @whump-loverz

Please note: Ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts!

[2knightt]

Alrrr so can you make an imagine abt Johnny just not wanting to leave her? Like she has to get up from bed but he won’t let her and jsut tries to put all his weight on her so she can’t move and just wants to stay

— I’M RIGHT HERE .

…IN WHICH; Johnny doesn’t want you to leave.

tags/warnings: gn!reader fluff, clingy!johnny, reader does tease him (that’s the reader ur getting i’m sorry), kissing, rushed asf, and nothing else.

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ i’m doing in this second period cuz my teacher has given up on making a teaching plan LMFAO and i finished it in the same hour

“johnny, i gotta go make us breakfast,”

you muttered. your hand was entangled in his dark locks, trying your coax him into freeing you from the rather tight grasp he has on your waist. your nails gently scratched his scalp, enticing a small groan from him.

“i can wait.”

he insisted as he pulled himself closer to you, his face hidden in your chest. johnny then, as if on cue, pressed his whole body weight against you; effectively trapping you beneath him.

“c’mon, johnny!”

you tried to shove him off of you, but it was like he called upon the gods themselves to make sure that he wouldn’t even move a muscle. each shove you gave him, another whine vibrated through his throat.

“i don’t want you to go hungry n’ have people thinkin’ i’m starvin’ my boyfriend!”

he shifted his position, moving upwards slightly, his head resting against your collarbone. a sigh left your lips as the realization of your situation for the next few hours set in.

“jus’ a lil’ longer, baby. swear by it, jus’ a little longer.”

johnny seemingly begged for just the slightest bit of attention from you, the slightest bit of anything from you.

you stayed silent of a moment, staring up at the ceiling as you pondered your options. well, more like your only choice. but, whatever.

“don’t go, not yet.”

you huffed before your eyes shifted downward, seeing johnny’s messy hair cover his eyes as he tried his best to look up at you. his eyes seemed much wider than ever, like he was trying to give you puppy-dog eyes to convince you more.

and goddamnit, can johnny cade do puppy-dog eyes well.

you roughed up his hair, johnny lightly smacking your hand away from his already tangled hair.

“i guess i gotta give in. all because my boyfriend wants to be a big baby, huh?”

“..‘m not a baby, y/n.”

“it’s okay, you can be honest with me.”

a huff left johnny’s lips this time out of slight annoyance at your teasing. though, he always kinda liked that you didn’t soften when he was around. always tough.

his lips were suddenly pressed against your skin, lightly kissing your neck.

“nobody’d believe me if i ever told ‘em how mean you are to me.”

he joked, another kiss being planted as he spoke, taking pauses between his sentence to do just that.

it wasn’t his fault that kissing you was so nice.

“i ain’t mean to you. ‘s jus’ tough love.”

a chuckle left his throat, shaking his head as best as he could.

“jus’ say you love me normally.”

“..love you, johnny.”

“i know.”

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Where You Belong

Fem!Reader When you move into a house with 8 men for six months, one seems to be do everything he can to make you stay.

<pt2 pt3 pt4>

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

You sat at the dining room table, feeling as if you were under some sort of interrogation. The one you had met first- Minho, if you remembered correctly- was nowhere to be found as you sat across from the seven other men.

So much for heading to bed, you thought to yourself.

Now, instead, you were riddled with a crippling kind of anxiety. With the chaos of earlier gone, the reality of your new arrangement set in.

Concerns, both imagined and realistic, swirled in your mind.

Were they regretting accepting you? Would they kick you out? This was never the intended arrangement, but would they blame you for the miscommunication?

"So... Y/N?" A man with a prominent nose and a thick accent broke the silence.

"Yes?" you responded a bit too quickly, mentally kicking yourself for sounding nervous. Your leg jittered under the table, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by the undeniably adorable, chubby-cheeked guy sitting to your left.

"Are you anxious?" he asked softly, his warm gaze meeting yours. "We’re not going to do anything. We’re not perverts! Well, I’m not a pervert-"

A reserved-looking guy with tired puppy eyes clamped his hand over the other’s mouth, muttering something in Korean that you couldn’t entirely understand but recognized as scolding.

You laughed nervously, shaking your head. "Not exactly," you mumbled, unsure how much to reveal. Across the table, the soft-looking boy with freckles cocked his head at you, his curiosity evident.

"You don’t have to worry," the man with the thick Australian accent finally spoke, his expression kind but slightly strained. "If you’re uncomfortable with anything, you can tell us."

"I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t okay with it," you reassured him, though your voice wavered slightly. "It’s just...a big change for you guys and I feel bad for the miscommunication."

"That's understandable, but its no one's fault. Slip ups happen," the freckled boy chimed in, his tone soothing, and his accent mimicking the other guy's. "We’ll do our best to make this easy for you."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and you slowly began to relax. They introduced themselves one by one, though the names blurred together in your mind. The freckled boy was Felix and the other Australian was Chris, you remembered that much. The others’ names- Hyunjin, Changbin, Seungmin, Han, Jeongin - felt like puzzle pieces you’d need time to fit together.

"Wait," Jeongin piped up suddenly, his voice playful. "Do I call you noona?"

The table burst into laughter as you blinked, caught off guard. You waved your hands quickly. "I don't know much about honorifics." you clarified, your cheeks warming.

When you pieced together your birthdays Jeongin cackled maniacally.

"I can make her call me Oppa-"

"Thats perverted!"

"What did I say about the misuse of that word-"

Chaos ensued and you could see the brotherly affection between all the guys, making you curious about their stories. Your mind trailed to Minho, and you wondered where exactly he fit in the puzzle.

I hope I didn't upset him...I haven't seen him since the boys came back...

The teasing eventually died down, and the conversation flowed naturally. You couldn’t help but notice how each of them made an effort to include you, easing your initial fears. But as the night wore on, one absence grew more noticeable- Minho still hadn’t returned.

You stirred awake in the middle of the night, the unfamiliar setting still making it difficult to stay asleep.

A faint pink glow spilled into the hallway from the bathroom, catching your attention. Rubbing your eyes, you wandered toward it, your curiosity piqued.

As you reached the door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. The glow wasn’t from the usual light bulb but a neon sign that read, "Slay! Go Piss Girl!" bolted above the toilet.

Inside, Minho stood near the switch, his hand hovering over it as he squinted at the sign in a cringeworthy pain, like he couldn’t decide if it was brilliant or a mistake.

You hesitated in the doorway, unsure if you should interrupt, but the soft creak of the floor gave you away.

Minho turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly before his expression settled into something unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stood awkwardly in the pink glow.

"Uh...sorry," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as Minho stepped back slightly, giving you space to pass.

"It’s fine," he muttered, his tone clipped but not unkind. He smelled clean, as if he had just showered, though his hair was dry, and he was in the clothes he had been in earlier when you had your first unexpected meeting. He glanced back at the sign, then at you, his mouth twitching like he was debating whether to say something else. Finally, he did.

"Jisung said on FaceTime that you’d like it. He thought it’d be funny."

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected explanation. "Oh...well, it is funny," you said, trying to ease the tension. "It’s definitely unique."

Minho’s brows furrowed slightly, and he crossed his arms self-consciously. "I wasn’t sure it was appropriate...for, you know...a lady," he added stiffly, his gaze flicking to the sign and then back to you. "But Jisung insisted. He said it was the way people joked abroad, but I think he was just being ignorant..."

The way he said "a lady" made your lips twitch, though you bit back a smile. "People back home joke like this," you assured him, your tone light. "I think it’s...charming in its own way. My boyfriend never even decorated so even if it was the worst sign ever- the fact that you guys cared enough to decorate for a stranger means a lot."

Minho froze and then nodded curtly, but the stiffness in his posture didn’t ease. The silence stretched uncomfortably between you as the pink light bathed the small space. He shifted his weight and itched his neck, and you got the sense that he was struggling to find the right words, though it seemed like a losing battle.

"I didn't mean to make it awkward bringing up my ex-"

"About earlier," he said suddenly, his voice low but deliberate. His eyes didn’t meet yours, instead focused somewhere past your shoulder. "That...thing. With the, uh...in the kitchen. I didn’t mean...yeah."

You blinked, unsure where this was going. Then it clocked.

"Oh. It’s okay," you said quickly, trying to save him from the awkwardness. "It wasn’t a big deal."

"It looked bad," he continued, ignoring your attempt to let it go. "I didn’t mean for it to- well, you probably thought it was...an odd situation."

The corners of your lips twitched, and you had to fight the urge to laugh at how stiff he sounded. "I didn’t think anything," you said, trying to sound earnest. "Really. Other than I might have made you upset but it doesn't seem like it so everything is fine. Gwenchana 's the word right?" You said in a teaaing manner.

You managed to crack a smile from him, the pink accenting the curve of his lips.

"Yes, gwenchana."

Minho finally glanced fully at you, his expression unreadable but his ears noticeably red in the neon light. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was frustrated with himself.

"Good then," he muttered. "We sorted things out. Because it wasn’t intentional. I want you to feel comfortable in this house. So...there's other stuff for you too." He said motioning to the living room. "We...you can sort through it tomorrow..."

You nodded, though the tension still hung in the air. "Thanks for saying that," you said softly, trying to sound genuine. "And thanks for the gifts.

You stood in another awkward silence.

"Anyway, I was just checking the sign," he said, his tone abruptly neutral again. "It works." He nodded again, the movement jerky, before stepping back toward the door.

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at his obvious retreat. "It does," you agreed. "I'll make sure to tell Jisung it’s a hit."

Minho made a noise that might have been agreement before he slipped out of the bathroom, his figure disappearing down the hall.

You stood there a moment longer, shaking your head as you wondered if all your conversations with him would be like- if he'd always seem this uncomfortable; or if it was just the pink neon light playing tricks on both of you.

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[darksturnz]

DRAWINGS AND APOLOGIES

CONTENTS:・soft angst/fluff-heavy plot (??) ・star!reader ・mild language ・some fruity activity・artist!chris ・bambi!madison + more WC: 2.1K (not proof read)

play this song. on repeat !

The faint smell of nail polish filled Madison’s living room, the kind of chemical sweetness that mixed oddly well with the lavender candle flickering on the coffee table. Star sat cross-legged on the floor, her hoodie sleeves pushed up as she tried to carefully paint Madison’s nails a deep plum color. Comet, however, had other plans. The fluffy cat had sprawled across Madison’s lap, purring loud enough to rival the ambient playlist humming in the background.

“Hold still,” Star muttered, furrowing her brows as she hovered the brush over Madison’s thumb.

“I would if your son wasn’t crushing me,” Madison teased, scratching Comet’s chin.

Star rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t love the chunks”

Madison grinned, holding up her hand for inspection. “seriously, not to body shame but he’s huge now! He wasn’t this big in that picture you posted.”

Star snorted. “Yeah, he’s been eating like a starved Victorian child who just discovered McDonald’s for the first time.” She capped the polish and leaned back against the couch. “And he’s been rotting in bed with me all day. We’re both a little pathetic.”

The comment came out casually, but Madison’s eyes flicked up, watching Star closely. “Rotting, huh?” she asked, keeping her voice light. “Very Girl, Interrupted of you.”

Star snorted and shrugged, fiddling with the bottle of nail polish. “I’m very Winona Ryder, we know this already. Life’s just been… a lot, I guess.”

Madison shifted slightly, gently moving Comet off her lap and onto the couch beside her. “What’s been a lot?” she asked, dipping her fingers into the nail polish remover as if she wasn’t paying too much attention.

Star hesitated, the words stuck in her throat. But Madison’s quiet presence, her calm patience, made it easier to start. “My dad’s been…” She trailed off, her voice tightening. “He’s just been worse lately. Everything’s my fault, y’know? The house isn’t clean enough. I’m not enough. He just—” Her breath hitched, and she shook her head.

Madison didn’t interrupt, just nodded slightly, her hands folded in her lap.

“And Chris,” Star added, her voice quieter now. “He was such an asshole. Like, I get it—he’s stressed. He has so much going on. But it felt like everything he said was aimed right where it’d hurt the most, like he was just… unloading all his shit on me.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her hoodie, and her words spilled out faster now. “And the worst part is, I’m not even mad at him. I just—” She swallowed hard, her eyes shining. “I care about him so much, it makes me feel stupid. It’s like I can’t stop caring even when I know I should.”

Madison stayed quiet, her expression softening as she leaned closer.

“And I miss my mom.” Star’s voice cracked, and the first tear fell before she could stop it. “I miss her so much. I just… I wish things were different. I wish she was here.”

The tears came faster now, slipping silently down her cheeks. Comet, sensing her distress, immediately leapt down from the couch and climbed onto Star’s chest. He curled up there, his warm, heavy weight grounding her as he began purring softly.

Madison slid down to the floor beside Star, leaning against her. “Do you remember that time your mom took us to the pool?” she said, her voice soft and steady.

Star blinked, looking over at her.

“She jumped in fully clothed because you were too scared to go in,” Madison continued with a small smile. “And then she made a huge splash on purpose so we’d all get soaked. I thought the lifeguard was gonna kill her.”

A shaky laugh escaped Star’s lips. “I remember. She had to drive us home in her wet jeans.”

“And then there was the time she tried to help us bake cookies,” Madison added, her own laughter bubbling up. “But we didn’t read the directions, so we added like three tablespoons of salt instead of sugar. She ate one anyway and said it was the best cookie she’d ever had.”

Star laughed again, the sound soft and bittersweet. “She was such a liar.”

“She really was,” Madison agreed, nudging Star’s shoulder gently.

The laughter faded, but Star felt a little lighter. She wiped her face with her sleeve, looking over at Madison with a sad smile. “I think I might miss him,” she mumbled.

Madison shook her head, smiling knowingly. “Really? You’ve only been a little bit obvious with the whole Bella Swan vibe you’ve got going on.”

Star’s eyes widened, and then she burst into laughter, hitting Madison’s arm lightly. “Okay!”

“I’m just saying,” Madison teased.

“Well, now I need to binge Twilight,” Star said, still laughing.

Madison grinned. “Say no more.”

They quickly set up for a movie night, grabbing blankets, snacks, and, of course, Comet. Star curled up on the couch, a sense of ease washing over her for the first time in weeks.

Chris sat at the dinner table, staring down at his sketchpad. The drawing was finished, the lines crisp and deliberate, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop fidgeting with it. His pencil tapped against the table in a steady rhythm.

“Can you stop?” Lila mumbled from the couch, her eyes glued to the TV. “You’re bein’ annoying.”

Chris sighed softly, glancing over at her. “What’re y’watchin’, bug?”

“Snoopy in Space,” she said, barely looking at him.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t Snoopy from, like, when Mom was a kid?”

Lila giggled. “Star said you’d be a hater about it. That’s why we only watch it together.”

Chris’s stomach dropped at the mention of Star. He hummed in response, his fingers tightening around the pencil.

“I miss Star,” Lila said quietly.

Chris looked over at her, struggling to find the words. “I know, bug,” he said finally, his voice soft. “S’bedtime though, c’mon.”

Lila pouted but didn’t argue when she caught the exhaustion in his eyes. She grabbed her bunny and walked over to him, wrapping her small arms around his neck. “Goodnight, Chris.” She kissed his cheek and padded off toward her room.

Chris blinked, stunned for a moment, before following her. He caught her just as she climbed into bed. “What was that about?” he asked.

“What?”

“You just tried to put yourself to bed. Since when’re y’too good for my tucking-in?”

Lila shrugged. “I didn’t wanna bother you.”

Chris’s chest ached, but he forced a smile. “Kid, you could never bother me. I’m tuckin’ you in ‘til you’re 50, alright?”

Lila rolled her eyes with a giggle as Chris flopped onto her bed, tickling her sides until she squealed.

When the giggles subsided, Chris looked at her seriously. “You know how much I love you?”

She nodded.

“You know how much Ma loves you?”

Another nod.

“Is Star mad at us ‘cause Momma’s not here?”

Chris’s heart clenched. He shook his head. “No, bug. She’s not mad at you or Momma. I was just an idiot and said some mean things I didn’t mean.”

Lila scowled. “What? Why! Go say sorry!”

Chris shrugged softly. “S’ not that simple.”

“Yes, it is!” Lila said, her small voice fierce. “You just say what you say to me—“I’m sorry let’s get feel better ice cream”— duh.”

Chris shook his head. “It unfortunately doesn’t work like that, kiddo.”

Lila yawned, snuggling deeper into her blanket. “You’re just bein’ a scaredy-cat.”

Chris kissed her forehead, tucking her in tightly. “ yeah, Goodnight, bug.”

Lila was sound asleep in her room, her bunny clutched tightly to her chest, the soft rise and fall of her breathing the only reminder that someone else was there. Chris sat at the dining table, staring down at the sketchpad in front of him.

The drawing was delicate but deliberate—a blend of shadow and light. The background was dark, with faint, swirling shapes blending into the shadows, but the stars stood out, scattered across the page in sharp, bright white. It wasn’t anything obvious, but it felt like it captured something he couldn’t put into words: the feeling of being adrift, of wanting to reach for something but not being sure if it was still there.

He’d started it thinking about Lila, about Evelyn, about how everything in his life felt like it was slipping out of his control. But somewhere in the hours he’d worked on it, his thoughts had drifted to Star. To the tears in her eyes, the way her voice had broken as she tried to reach him. To the silence that had stretched between them in the days since, heavier than he wanted to admit.

Chris folded the corner of the paper, unfolding it again, his jaw tight. He couldn’t shake the memory of her face—hurt, but not angry. Just sad. Like she was already bracing for him to walk away.

Finally, he stood up, grabbing his jacket and the drawing. He glanced into Lila’s room one more time, making sure she was still fast asleep, before slipping out of the trailer as quietly as he could.

Chris reached her trailer faster than he thought he would. It was cold, his breath visible in the night air, but he barely noticed. He stood at the door for a moment, staring at the chipped paint and the flickering porch light. His hand hovered over the door before he knocked, sharp and quick.

The sound echoed in the stillness, and for a second, he thought she might not be home. Then the door opened abruptly, but it wasn’t Star standing there. It was Danny, his expression hard and irritated.

“She ain’t here,” Danny said flatly, his words clipped. Before Chris could get a word in, the door slammed shut.

Chris stood there, frozen, his mind racing. He thought about leaving, about heading back to his own trailer and letting the silence win again. But instead, he pulled the drawing from under his jacket and reached into his pocket for a pen. The stars stared back at him as he scribbled on the back of the paper, the letters quick and messy but clear: Can we talk?

He folded the drawing carefully and walked to the side of the trailer where he knew her room was. The window was cracked open slightly, the tapestry hung over it swaying gently in the breeze. He slid the paper through the gap, hoping it would land somewhere visible, before stepping back. He stood there for a moment longer, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, then turned and walked back toward his trailer.

Breaking Dawn: Part 1 played on the TV, the overly dramatic music swelling as Bella stared broodingly out the window. Madison couldn’t help but snort. “Okay, but who actually stares out the window like that?” she said, shaking her head.

Star, sprawled out on the couch with Comet curled up at her feet, grinned. “It’s iconic, Madison. Don’t question the art.”

Madison rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. She wasn’t really paying attention to the movie—not when Star looked so relaxed, her face lit up with laughter for the first time in weeks. Every time Star laughed, something warm bloomed in Madison’s chest, her heart beating just a little faster than usual.

She tried to focus on the TV, but her gaze kept drifting back to Star. The way her hair fell over her shoulder, the way her lips curved when she smiled, the way she absentmindedly scratched behind Comet’s ears. It wasn’t the first time Madison had noticed these things, but it was the first time she let herself admit what they meant.

Star shifted, leaning over to grab a handful of popcorn, and then settled back down, her head resting in Madison’s lap. Madison froze for a second, her breath catching, before she gently rested a hand on Star’s hair, letting her fingers trace soft patterns. Her heartbeat quickened, but she kept her movements steady, careful not to let Star notice.

The room felt warmer now, the flickering light from the TV casting soft shadows across Star’s face. Madison barely heard the dialogue on the screen, too focused on the way Star’s breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely.

For now, she didn’t say anything. She just brushed a strand of hair out of Star’s face and let her fingers linger there a moment too long, hoping Star couldn’t feel how her hands trembled ever so slightly. She studied the curve of her face, the way the faintest smile lingered on her lips even in the quiet. Madison felt a soft ache in her chest—not painful, but full, as if her heart had grown just a little too big for her ribs. The moment felt fragile, suspended between comfort and something else entirely, but Madison didn’t dare break it.

AUTHORS NOTE: TWILIGHT MENTION😸😸

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[soft-beams]

Hellooooooooo

Ok first off I LOVE YOUR WORK THERE SO GOOD AND SO WELL WRITTEN THAT I WANNA EAT THEM TO GAIN POWER

Second I wanna submit a request if that’s ok

An x reader with Vi where the reader is touch repulsed but at the same time touch staved?? How would Vi react to that and how would they as a couple get through it and make reader comfortable with being touched in an affectionate way ?

I have no clue if this makes sense

This is me self reflecting and it shows I’m sorry

If you don’t want to write it I completely get it you don’t have to if you don’t want too.

Thank you

aah thank you so much, lovely!! YOU'RE TOO KIND!!! and this was such an interesting prompt to get, thank you for sending it!! hope you enjoy!

vi notices that you don't like being touched.

she sees how you shy away from her hands, how you can only last in a hug for a second before you need to escape.

it confuses vi in the beginning, makes her wonder if it's her fault somehow. maybe she's too rough, too heavy-handed. maybe you can only tolerate her from a distance; only allowing her to get close for a moment before it's too much.

it hurts; it fucking does.

and it leads to an argument that has both of you screaming at the top of your lungs. she's furious and confused, and you're furious and crying. it doesn’t end until you're storming out of your shared home, disappearing for hours.

you don't come home until it's midnight, and by that point, vi's called everyone that she knows if they've seen you. she's about to go out herself when the front door suddenly opens, revealing a puffy-eyed and sniffling you. you stare at each other for a moment before vi's reaching for you, her own expression crumpling with the weight of her tears.

you allow her to draw you in, only this time you don't pull away. this time, you withstand it until vi's had her fill. until vi's sure that you're alright and safe and home.

one am finds you both on the couch, facing each other as you fidget with your hands. vi watches you carefully, sees how you struggle to form words before you sigh.

"it isn't you," you begin. "it's never been you. it's just something i've struggled with since i was young." you stay quiet for a second. "being touched freaks me out. i don't like being held for too long because it feels like i can't escape. makes me feel vulnerable..." you close your eyes. "that happened once and i just don't want it to happen again."

vi's heart shatters in her chest, millions of pieces raining down on the pit of her stomach. she feels sick; she feels like she wants to throw up. she wants to punch something, scream, hunt down the very bastard who dared laid their hands on you in such a way.

you who is the sweetest, kindest person she's ever known. subjected to be trapped against your will.

vi swallows, feeling tears well up behind her eyes.

"i'm so sorry," she murmurs softly, and you aim a weak smile her way. "i didn't think that—"

you shake your head. "you couldn't have known," you say. "the sad thing is that i love it when you touch me. when you hold my hand or curl your arm around my waist. when you pull me in for a hug...i love all of it." you then pull in a shaky breath. "but my body can't seem to recognise your touch as safe, and it hurt so much because i want to—" your voice chokes up around a sob and vi's flying across the couch, sitting close to comfort but not close enough to startle.

"hey," she soothes. "i love you so much, y'know that? and love goes beyond touching. it's about how we feel towards each other, and that goes above anything else." she takes a gentle hold of your finger, ensuring you can let go if you wish to. "do i love touching you? yes. but do i love you? more than fucking anything. so don't worry about this, okay? whatever you want to do, we'll do it and go at your pace."

at this point, you're freely sobbing now, tears rolling down your cheeks as you take in shuddering breaths. you use your free hand to wipe at your tears, giving a wobbly smile as you say, "how did i get so lucky with you?"

vi huffs a laugh, eyes soft as she squeezes your finger.

"i ask myself that question about you every single day."

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 15✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language, Angst, Fluff, Dean being hurt-badly

Word Count: 7917

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

Four days later, the door slammed open as Sam and Cas half-carried, half-dragged Dean into the motel room, his boots dragging along the carpet. The sight of him made your stomach twist. His face was pale, his body drenched in blood that stained his shirt and jeans, and his movements were sluggish at best. Yet, somehow, Dean was still holding on, still conscious, though it was clear he was barely hanging on.

Sam wasted no time, easing Dean onto the bed with Cas’s help. Dean grunted as his back hit the mattress, his jaw clenched tightly against the pain. Sam’s voice was sharp and urgent as he barked, “Get me the emergency kit. Now!”.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands moved on autopilot, grabbing the kit from its usual spot in Dean´s bag and rushing it over to Sam. Dean’s breathing was shallow and uneven, his face twisted in discomfort as Sam yanked up his shirt to reveal the extent of the damage.

The wound was gruesome, a deep gash that ran from his stomach up toward his chest, jagged and bleeding profusely. His broken arm hung limply at his side, and his entire torso was bruised and battered. It was a miracle he was still alive, let alone conscious. Sam swore under his breath as he examined the wound, grabbing supplies from the kit.

Dean, of course, couldn’t just let the seriousness of the situation sink in. Even as blood dripped down his sides and his whole body screamed in pain, he managed to tilt his head toward you, his swollen eyes searching for yours. “You good?”, he asked, his voice hoarse but laced with concern. “They didn’t get you, right?”.

Tears pricked at your eyes, both from relief that he was alive and from frustration at his stubborn selflessness. “Dean, you’re the one bleeding out on the bed, and you’re worried about me?”, you snapped, though your voice cracked with emotion. You couldn’t help it—you were scared. You’d never seen him like this, so close to the edge.

Dean tried to grin, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Yeah, well… I gotta know”.

Sam shot him a sharp look, pressing gauze against the wound to slow the bleeding. “Dean, shut up and stay still”, Sam ordered, his tone firm but edged with worry. “You’re lucky to be alive. Stop wasting your energy on questions”.

Cas hovered nearby, his face stoic but his eyes heavy with regret. Ever since the thing with Michael, Dean couldn’t be healed with angelic powers, and you could see the guilt weighing on Cas like a boulder. “If I could heal you, I would”, Cas muttered quietly, his hands clenched into fists.

Dean waved him off weakly. “S’not your fault, Cas”, he mumbled, his voice slurring slightly from the blood loss. His eyes flicked back to you, his expression softening despite the pain. “You okay?”, he asked again, his voice quieter this time, but no less insistent.

Your heart clenched at the sight of Dean, bloodied and broken, yet still stubbornly focused on you. His insistence on knowing you were safe made your chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable. You swallowed the lump in your throat and moved closer, kneeling at the edge of the bed so you were at eye level with him.

“I’m fine, Dean”, you said firmly, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “You don’t need to worry about me right now. Let us take care of you”.

Dean blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy, but his gaze stayed locked on yours. “Always worry… ‘bout you”, he murmured, his words slurred slightly as he struggled to stay conscious.

Sam’s hands moved quickly, pressing layers of gauze against the wound to stem the bleeding. The sharp hiss of pain that escaped Dean’s lips made your stomach churn, but Sam didn’t stop.

Sam worked with the precision of someone who’d been in this situation too many times before, his hands moving swiftly to clean and stitch the gaping wound on Dean’s stomach. The room was tense, the air heavy with worry and unspoken words as you stayed by Dean’s side, gripping his hand tightly. His blood still seeped onto the bed despite Sam’s efforts, staining the sheets a deep crimson.

“This is going to hurt like hell”, Sam muttered grimly, glancing at Dean. He already had the suture kit in hand, the needle glinting under the harsh motel room light. “Dean, you need to stay still, or it’s going to get worse”.

Dean, ever the stubborn one, let out a weak, gravelly chuckle. “Yeah, no kidding”, he rasped, his lips twitching into a faint smirk despite the blood smeared across his face. “Not my first rodeo, Sammy. Just… get it over with”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head but not arguing. “Alright”, he said, his voice resigned but determined. “Here we go”.

The first puncture of the needle into Dean’s torn flesh made him flinch, his entire body tensing under the pain. He let out a sharp grunt, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the strain in his neck. You tightened your grip on his hand, your free hand brushing against his damp hair in an attempt to comfort him.

“Breathe, Dean”, you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You’ve got this”.

“Easy… for you to say”, Dean gritted out, his voice strained but still laced with his trademark sarcasm. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his breathing shallow as Sam worked carefully to stitch the wound.

The process was excruciatingly slow. Each tug of the needle and thread through Dean’s skin made him flinch or let out a low groan of pain, though he tried his damnedest to keep still. His knuckles were white where he gripped your hand, his strength ebbing and flowing as he fought to stay conscious. You could see the sweat beading on his forehead, mixing with the blood that streaked his face.

“Almost there”, Sam muttered, his hands steady as he tied off another stitch. His voice was calm, but you could hear the urgency beneath it. He was pushing himself to work faster.

Dean let out a low, guttural sound as the needle pierced his flesh again, his body jerking slightly despite his efforts to remain still. “Son of a bitch”, he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse. “You tryin’ to kill me, Sammy?”.

“Not funny, Dean”, Sam shot back, his tone sharp with worry. “You’re lucky you’re even alive right now. Just hold still, okay?”.

Dean let out a weak laugh, though it turned into a groan as Sam continued stitching. “If this is what alive feels like… might rethink my options”.

Sam ignored Dean’s attempt at humor, though you caught the faintest twitch of a smirk on his face as he focused on tying off another stitch. The room felt stifling, every groan or wince from Dean making your heart ache. His usual bravado, even in this state, was so him, but it only made the moment more painful to witness. He was in agony, and he was still trying to lighten the mood.

“Dean”, you said softly, leaning closer, your free hand gently brushing through his damp hair. “You don’t get to ‘rethink your options’. You’re stuck with us, so just keep holding on, alright?”.

Dean’s green eyes flicked toward you, dull but filled with the faintest glimmer of warmth. “Bossy”, he rasped, his lips twitching into a weak smile. “Kinda like it”.

Sam rolled his eyes as he finished another stitch, pulling the thread taut. “Can you two save the flirting for when you’re not bleeding out?”, he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration but also relief that Dean was still conscious enough to crack jokes.

“Who’s flirting?”, Dean shot back, his voice weaker now but still defiant. He gritted his teeth as Sam pushed gauze against the wound to clean away the excess blood. “I’m just—ahh, son of a—”.

“Hold still”, Sam snapped, his hands steady but his face tight with concern. “I’m almost done, but if you keep squirming, you’re gonna rip these stitches out before I even finish”.

Dean let out a heavy, pained breath, his head lolling slightly toward you. “You hear that? Sammy’s always been the gentle one”, he joked weakly, though his face contorted with another wave of pain as Sam moved to tie off the final stitch.

“You’re lucky I am gentle”, Sam muttered. “Otherwise, I’d leave you to patch yourself up”.

The tension in the room lessened just a fraction as Sam pulled back, finally finished. The deep gash was now closed, a neat row of stitches lining Dean’s torso. But the sight of it still made your stomach twist—it was a brutal reminder of how close he had come to losing his life.

“Alright”, Sam said, his voice calm but firm. “That should hold. Now, you need to stay still, Dean. No sudden movements, no heroics. You’ve already lost too much blood”.

Dean let out a tired huff, his head sinking further into the pillow. “Yeah, yeah. You’re like a broken record”, he muttered, though his voice was softer now, his strength clearly fading.

Sam reached for the bottle of antiseptic, his expression tightening as he unscrewed the cap. “Ready?", he asked, his voice low and serious, “We can’t leave it untreated. Infection isn’t an option.”

Dean opened one eye, glaring at Sam with as much annoyance as his battered state would allow. “You already stitched me up, Sammy. How much worse can it get?”.

Sam didn’t answer, his silence making it clear the answer was a lot worse. Instead, he grabbed a clean cloth, pouring the clear liquid onto it until it was soaked. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air, making you wince in anticipation. Dean didn’t flinch, but you could see his jaw tightening, his hand clenching weakly at the bedsheet.

Sam leaned in, pausing for a brief moment to give Dean a warning look. “Ready?”.

Dean let out a breathy, exasperated chuckle. “Just do it”.

The moment the antiseptic-soaked cloth made contact with the gash, Dean’s entire body tensed like a coiled spring. A guttural growl of pain tore from his throat, his hand gripping the sheet so tightly you thought it might tear. His face contorted in agony, every muscle in his body straining against the pain. Despite himself, he let out a string of curses under his breath, his voice ragged.

As the searing pain overwhelmed him, Dean’s body tensed one last time before his head lolled to the side, his grip on the sheets slackening. His labored breaths evened out slightly as he slipped into unconsciousness, his face finally relaxing from the pain.

You froze for a moment, panic bubbling up in your chest. “Sam!”, you called sharply, your voice tinged with fear.

Sam sighed, his hand already moving to check Dean’s pulse at his neck. “He’s fine”, he said quickly, his tone reassuring but tired. “He passed out from the pain. Honestly, it’s probably for the best”. He gave a faint, humorless chuckle as he pulled back, shaking his head. “Now I can finally finish patching him up without him squirming or complaining”.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding as you settled back into your spot beside the bed. “Guess that’s a silver lining”, you muttered, though the sight of Dean unconscious still left you uneasy.

Sam moved swiftly, grabbing the materials he needed to set Dean’s broken arm. The break was clean, but it would still take time to heal—and knowing Dean, time and rest were luxuries he rarely allowed himself. Sam unwrapped the temporary splint he’d fashioned earlier in the field, wincing slightly as he saw the swelling and bruising around the break.

“He really did a number on himself this time”, Sam muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.

You watched as Sam mixed the plaster, his movements methodical and practiced. He’d done this more times than either of you could count, but the gravity of the situation never seemed to lessen. Sam carefully wrapped Dean’s arm in fresh bandages, his hands steady as he secured the splint in place before beginning to apply the plaster.

“He’s lucky it’s just a clean break. Could’ve been a lot worse”.

You nodded, your eyes flicking between Dean’s still form and Sam’s hands as he shaped the plaster, ensuring it set evenly. “Yeah, well, ‘lucky’ isn’t the word I’d use”, you muttered, your voice laced with frustration and worry.

Sam glanced at you as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration as he smoothed the plaster over Dean’s arm. His voice was quiet, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. “You know why this happened, right?”.

You frowned, looking between Sam and Dean’s unconscious form. “Because Dean can’t go two seconds without throwing himself into danger?”.

Sam let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s more than that. He thought you were in danger”. He kept his eyes on his work as he continued. “That’s why he wasn’t paying attention to his own safety. He saw you struggling with that demon and just… reacted”.

Your chest tightened at Sam’s words, guilt washing over you like a tidal wave. “I had it under control”, you whispered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your confidence. “I didn’t need him to…”.

Sam finally looked up, his gaze softening as he saw the emotions flickering across your face. “You know Dean”, he said, his tone gentler now. “He wasn’t going to take that chance. It doesn’t matter if you had it under control. If he even thinks you’re in danger, he’s going to put himself between you and whatever’s coming”.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Dean. His face was pale, his breaths shallow but steady. The sight of him so broken, so vulnerable, was a stark contrast to the man who always seemed invincible to you. “It doesn’t make it okay”, you muttered, your voice cracking. “He almost died, Sam”.

Sam nodded solemnly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I know”, he said softly. “But that’s who he is. He doesn’t think about himself when it comes to the people he cares about. You, me, Cas, Jack—we’re all he’s got, and he’ll do anything to keep us safe. Even if it costs him”.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you looked at Dean, your hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “It’s not fair”, you murmured, your voice barely audible. “He shouldn’t have to keep doing this—sacrificing himself for everyone else”.

Sam sighed, his hands stilling as he finished wrapping the cast around Dean’s arm. “No, he shouldn’t”, he agreed quietly. “But try telling him that. He’s been this way his whole life—it’s not something you can just turn off”.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of Dean’s bruised face.

Sam wiped his hands on a towel and reached into the first-aid kit for a fresh, damp cloth. He handed it to you, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smirk. “Here”, he said softly, nodding toward Dean. “I think the cleaning part’s more your department”.

You took the cloth, feeling the warmth of Sam’s subtle teasing cutting through the heaviness in the room. “Thanks”, you murmured, glancing at Dean’s battered face and knowing Sam was right. Sam stood, stretching his back as he packed up the remaining supplies.

“If anything feels off, call me”, Sam added, his tone serious again. He gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading toward the door. “I’m gonna check on Cas and Jack. We’ll get the Impala ready to roll as soon as Dean wakes up”.

“Alright”, you said, your voice soft but grateful. You watched as Sam exited the room, leaving you alone with Dean. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady, shallow rhythm of Dean’s breathing.

You turned back to him, your heart aching as you took in his injuries up close. His face was pale, bruised, and smeared with dried blood, and you could see the tension still lingering in his features even as he rested. You dipped the cloth into the basin of water Sam had left, wringing it out before carefully pressing it against the dried blood on Dean’s forehead.

“I swear, Dean”, you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You scare the hell out of me when you do this”.

You worked slowly, gently wiping away the blood and grime that clung to his skin. Every bruise and cut felt like a testament to how much he gave, how much he sacrificed for the people he cared about. The thought of him throwing himself into danger for your sake was both humbling and infuriating. You wanted to protect him just as much as he protected you, but Dean never seemed to let anyone do that for him.

As you finished cleaning Dean’s face, your heart ached at the sheer number of cuts and bruises scattered across his skin. You dipped the cloth back into the water, wringing it out before moving lower to clean his chest and arms. His torso was a mess—dark bruises marred his ribs, and patches of dried blood stuck stubbornly to his skin.

You worked carefully, your touch gentle as you wiped away the blood and grime. Dean remained still, his breathing steady but shallow, and you couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable he looked like this. Dean Winchester, the man who always seemed larger than life, reduced to a battered heap by his own stubbornness and selflessness.

As you moved to his stomach and the deep gash Sam had stitched, you swallowed hard, the sight of the angry red wound making your chest tighten. The bandages around his torso were soaked with blood in places, but they were doing their job, and for that, you were grateful. You worked around them as delicately as possible, not wanting to disturb Sam’s handiwork.

Finally, your attention shifted lower to his blood-soaked jeans. The fabric was dark and stiff with dried blood, and you knew it would have to come off to properly clean him up. You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip, before reaching for his belt. Your fingers worked to unbuckle it, but the leather was stubborn, and you struggled for a moment before finally getting it undone. The zipper was just as uncooperative, but you managed to tug it down carefully without jostling him too much.

Sliding his jeans down was no easy task. The fabric clung to his legs, and you had to work slowly to avoid causing him any unnecessary pain.

As you reached the waistband of Dean’s boxers, your hands stilled, a deep flush rising to your cheeks. You weren’t sure how far you should go—this wasn’t something you’d ever done before, not like this. The intimate act of undressing him, especially in such a vulnerable state, felt different. Necessary, yes, but undeniably personal.

As your hands hovered at the waistband of Dean’s boxers, he stirred, his body shifting slightly under your touch. His eyelids fluttered open just a crack, and a faint, teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, despite the exhaustion etched into his features.

“Well, sweetheart”, he rasped, his voice hoarse but still carrying that unmistakable Dean Winchester charm, “didn’t know you were this eager to get me out of my clothes”.

You froze, the blush on your cheeks deepening as your mouth opened to respond. But before you could form a single word, Dean’s expression shifted slightly, the smirk fading as something flickered behind his eyes—pride, discomfort, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Then, with a low grunt of effort, Dean pushed himself upright, his movements slow and deliberate. “That’s enough”, he muttered, his voice gruff, his tone leaving little room for argument. The sudden motion caused more blood to seep through the bandage on his torso, the dark red staining the already battered fabric.

“Dean!”, you exclaimed, alarmed, reaching out to steady him. “You’re going to rip the stitches! Lay back down”.

He ignored you, his jaw set as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine”, he said tersely, though the wince on his face betrayed the words. “You’ve done enough. I’ll handle the rest”.

You frowned, your worry mounting as you watched him try to shake off your care. “Dean, stop. You’re not in any shape to—”.

“Just… stop”, he interrupted, his voice low but firm, his eyes avoiding yours. His hands fumbled at his sides as he tried to stand, his stubbornness overriding all logic. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his pride was battling against his vulnerability.

You stepped closer, your hands hovering near him in case he lost his balance. “Dean, you’re being ridiculous. You’re hurt, and you need to let someone take care of you”.

Somehow, through sheer stubbornness, Dean managed to pull himself together enough to get dressed. His movements were shaky and clumsy, but his pride wouldn’t let him sit still any longer. His shirt, hastily thrown on, was already beginning to soak through with fresh blood, and his jeans hung loosely on his hips, the zipper still undone and his boots untied.

“Dean, stop this”, you pleaded, stepping in front of him as he stumbled toward the door. “You’re not in any condition to move on your own”.

He shot you a hard look, though the exhaustion in his eyes dulled the usual sharpness of his expression. “I’ve gotta… gotta check on the car”, he muttered, his voice weak but determined. “Can’t sit here doing nothing”.

You reached out, grabbing his arm in a desperate attempt to stop him, but he shook you off with more strength than you expected. “Dean!”, you called after him, frustration and fear mingling in your voice. “You’re going to kill yourself!”.

He ignored you, his steps unsteady but dogged as he opened the motel door and stepped outside. The cold air hit him immediately, and for a moment, he seemed to steady himself, his hand bracing against the doorframe. But it didn’t last long. As he took another step, his body swayed dangerously, and his knees buckled beneath him.

“Dean!”, you shouted, rushing forward, but you weren’t fast enough.

Sam, who had just been walking up from the Impala, saw the scene unfold. His eyes went wide with alarm, and within seconds, he was at Dean’s side, catching him before he could hit the ground. The anger on Sam’s face was evident, his jaw clenched tight as he heaved Dean back up to his feet with a strength born of pure frustration.

“Are you kidding me, Dean?”, Sam growled, his voice low but laced with fury. His eyes flicked to the fresh blood soaking through Dean’s shirt, his anger deepening. “You’re bleeding all over the damn place, and you think it’s a good idea to wander around like this? What the hell is wrong with you?”.

Dean groaned, his head lolling slightly as he tried—and failed—to straighten himself up. “I’m fine”, he muttered weakly, his voice slurring. “Just needed some air”.

“Air?”, Sam snapped, his grip tightening around Dean’s arm as he practically dragged him toward the Impala. “You need a hospital, Dean, not a walk in the parking lot!”.

You followed close behind, your heart pounding as you watched Sam wrestle Dean into the backseat of the Impala. Dean protested weakly, but Sam silenced him with a sharp glare, his patience clearly worn thin.

“Sit down, shut up, and don’t move”, Sam ordered, his tone brooking no argument. He grabbed a fresh towel from the trunk, pressing it firmly against Dean’s torso to try to stem the bleeding again. “You’ve already done enough damage for one day”.

Dean let out a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a groan of pain. “Always… so bossy”, he mumbled, his eyes half-lidded as he slumped against the seat.

Sam shot you a look as he climbed into the driver’s seat, his face a mix of anger and concern. “You’re riding with him”, he said firmly. “Make sure he doesn’t try anything stupid”.

You nodded, quickly sliding into the backseat, after getting your and Dean´s stuff inside, next to Dean. As the Impala roared to life, you reached out to steady him, your hand resting gently on his arm. He looked at you through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips twitching into a faint, tired smile.

“Sorry, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Didn’t mean to scare you”.

You squeezed his arm gently, your heart aching at the sight of him so weak. “You’re impossible, you know that?”, you said softly, though your voice was filled with more relief than frustration. “But you’re going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it”.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, his head resting against the window as the Impala sped off into the night.

A few hours later, the bunker was eerily quiet. The tension from earlier had simmered down, but the weight of the close call still lingered in the air. Sam, Cas, and Jack had taken turns keeping watch outside Dean’s room to make sure he didn’t try anything stupid again. It wasn’t just precaution—it was necessary when it came to Dean’s bullheaded stubbornness.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was different. Dean lay completely still, knocked out from the pain meds you’d practically forced him to take. His breaths were deep and steady, his body finally given a chance to rest after the relentless beating it had endured.

You were tucked at his side, your head resting gently on his shoulder. One of your hands lightly brushed over the fresh bandage on his torso, where a tiny blotch of blood had seeped through. You frowned slightly, your fingers ghosting over the edge of the gauze, careful not to disturb it. Even asleep, Dean looked tense, as if his body couldn’t fully relax even with the meds dulling the pain.

Biting your lip, you shifted closer, your arm draping over his chest carefully. The heat of his skin beneath yours was grounding, a reminder that he was here, alive, and slowly recovering. The fear from earlier still lingered in the back of your mind, but the steady rise and fall of his chest was enough to soothe it—at least for now.

Dean stirred slightly in his sleep, his head tilting toward you. A low, unintelligible murmur escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile faintly. It was rare to see him this vulnerable, this unguarded, and despite the circumstances, it felt like a privilege to be here with him like this.

Your fingers brushed over his bandaged torso again, trailing lightly as if your touch could somehow will him to heal faster. You leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering for a moment. “You scared the hell out of me today”, you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. “But I’m not going anywhere, Dean. So you’d better stick around, too”.

Dean didn’t respond, still lost in the haze of painkillers and exhaustion, but his body relaxed just a fraction more against yours. You stayed like that, cuddled up beside him, your hand resting gently over his heart.

The next morning, the tension that had weighed heavily in the room the previous night seemed to have eased just slightly. Dean remained still, his body finally allowed the time it needed to recover. You sat on the edge of the bed, your knees tucked beneath you, watching him stir for the first time since the pain meds had knocked him out. His face, still bruised but more rested, twitched as he began to wake.

Sam stood at Dean’s side, meticulously checking the bandages wrapped around his torso. The bleeding had stopped, thank God, and his stitches were still intact. Sam gently pulled up the edge of the bandage, peering at the wound to make sure it was clean and hadn’t reopened. You winced slightly at the sight but couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Every moment felt like progress now, a step closer to Dean being himself again.

Dean let out a low groan as he stirred further, his head shifting against the pillow. His green eyes cracked open, blinking groggily at the light. His gaze landed on you first, and for a brief moment, his expression softened. “Hey”, he rasped, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Hey yourself”, you replied softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. Relief flooded through you at hearing his voice, even if it was rough and tired.

Sam gave Dean a look as he finished checking the bandage, his hand pressing lightly against Dean’s shoulder to keep him still. “Stay down, Dean”, Sam warned, already seeing the stubborn glint in his brother’s eyes. “You’re not getting up yet”.

Predictably, Dean tried to sit up anyway, his jaw set in defiance. The movement was slow and strained, his muscles protesting loudly, but he managed to lift himself just a fraction before Sam firmly pressed him back down with one hand. “Dean, don’t”, Sam said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Dean let out a growl of frustration, his teeth gritting as he glared at Sam. “I’m fine, Sam”, he muttered, though the weakness in his voice betrayed the claim. “I don’t need a damn babysitter”.

“You’re not fine”, Sam shot back, his tone exasperated but edged with concern. “You almost bled out yesterday, and you’re still healing. You’re not moving until I say so”.

Dean grumbled under his breath, his irritation clear, but he didn’t fight Sam’s hand anymore. Instead, he turned his gaze back to you, his expression softening again as he took in your worried look. His voice, though hoarse, carried the familiar edge of determination. “You’re not hurt, right?”, he asked again, his tone soft but insistent.

Before you could respond, Dean winced, his breath hitching as Sam adjusted the position of his broken arm to ensure it stayed in the sling. “Damn it, Sam”, Dean muttered through gritted teeth, his irritation bubbling up even as he struggled to stay still. “Little warning next time?”.

Sam rolled his eyes, unimpressed by Dean’s grumbling. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that”, he said dryly. “Just stay still, Dean. You’re lucky it’s a clean break. If you screw this up, you’ll be stuck in that sling even longer”.

Dean groaned before he tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he waited for your answer. “You good?”, he asked again, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he didn’t trust his own strength to ask the question properly.

You reached out, placing your hand gently on his uninjured shoulder, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Dean”, you said softly, your voice steady despite the lingering tension in the room. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”.

Dean’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good”, he murmured, his voice heavy with relief. “I just… I needed to hear it”.

Sam glanced between the two of you, his expression flickering with something unreadable before he stepped back, giving you both a moment. “I’ll go check on breakfast”, Sam muttered, grabbing the used gauze and other supplies before heading for the door. “Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone, Dean”.

Dean let out a low chuckle, though it was weak and short-lived. “Define stupid”, he called after Sam, earning only a muttered “Don’t push it” in return.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence in the room felt heavy but not uncomfortable. You shifted closer, brushing your fingers lightly over the edge of his bandages, careful not to cause him any pain. “You need to stop worrying about me, Dean”, you said gently, your voice almost a whisper. “You’re the one who almost died”.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he opened them again, meeting your gaze. “It’s what I do”, he said simply, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “I can’t turn it off”.

You leaned in closer, your hand resting over his heart. “Then let me take care of you for a change”, you whispered, your voice full of quiet determination. “You don’t have to do this alone, Dean. Not anymore”.

Dean didn’t reply, but the way his hand moved to rest over yours, his fingers brushing yours lightly, told you everything he couldn’t say. For now, that was enough.

Two days later, the tension in the bunker had eased slightly as Dean slowly regained his strength. He was finally able to walk again without collapsing with every step, but it was clear he was still struggling. His movements were slow and deliberate, though he tried to mask the discomfort with his usual stoic determination. He hated feeling weak, and you could see it in the tight set of his jaw and the way his hand frequently rested over the wound on his chest and stomach, as if trying to hold himself together.

You and Sam were in the kitchen, working together to prepare breakfast. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the air, and the clatter of pans and utensils provided a comforting rhythm. Dean’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, a little uneven but steady enough to reach the kitchen doorway.

He paused there for a moment, leaning slightly against the frame as he surveyed the scene. His face was still swollen and bruised, a deep cut running from his forehead down to his brow and a split lip adding to the battle scars. He looked tired, but his gaze lingered on you, his expression softening as he watched you move around the kitchen.

What bothered him the most, though, wasn’t the pain or the slow recovery—it was the distance. You hadn’t kissed him since the accident, and it gnawed at him. He told himself it was understandable—you were worried about his injuries, focused on helping him heal—but it still left him feeling unsettled. Still, he wasn’t about to bring it up while Sam was around.

As if on cue, Sam grabbed a few empty bottles from the counter and muttered, “I’ll go grab some drinks from the garage. Be back in a minute”. He shot you both a small smile before disappearing down the hall.

The second Sam was out of earshot, Dean straightened slightly, though you could see the effort it cost him. He walked toward you, his broken arm awkwardly tucked against his side, his good hand resting on the counter for support.

“Hey”, he said, his voice rough but warm. His green eyes flicked to yours, searching for a reaction. “Need a hand?”.

You glanced over at him, your brows furrowing slightly. “Dean, you should be resting”, you said, the concern in your voice impossible to hide.

Dean smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Resting’s boring”, he quipped, his tone teasing. He stepped closer, his gaze locking on yours. “Besides, I think there’s something I’ve been missing”.

You raised an eyebrow, pausing your movements. “What’s that?”.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his usual bravado tempered by the vulnerability he couldn’t quite hide. “You”, he said simply, his voice low. “Haven’t had a proper kiss in days”.

Your breath hitched slightly, your heart fluttering at his words. His expression softened further, a small, hopeful smile playing on his bruised lips as he waited for your response.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, as Dean’s words hung in the air. The way he looked at you, with that small, hopeful smile on his battered face, made your chest tighten. He was bruised, broken, and still healing, yet his focus wasn’t on himself—it was on you.

“You’ve been keeping track, huh?”, you teased softly, though your voice wavered slightly. You turned to face him fully, setting down the spatula you’d been holding.

Dean’s smirk widened just a fraction, the gesture tugging at his split lip, but he didn’t seem to care. “Hard not to”, he muttered, his green eyes locking on yours. “Kinda gets to a guy”.

You bit your lip, glancing at his hand, which still rested on the counter for support, and then at the arm awkwardly tucked against him. “Dean, you’re still recovering”, you said gently, your voice tinged with both affection and concern. “I didn’t want to—”.

“Didn’t want to what?”, Dean interrupted, his tone soft but insistent. “Didn’t want to hurt me? Sweetheart, you’ve patched me up more times than I can count. A kiss isn’t gonna kill me”.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at him. He always had a way of making things seem so simple, even when they weren’t. But this wasn’t complicated—not really. You had missed him, too, and now that you were looking into his eyes, you couldn’t resist any longer.

Carefully, you stepped closer, your hands reaching out to rest lightly on his good arm and his chest, avoiding the bandages. His warmth radiated through you, grounding you as you tilted your head up toward him. Dean’s gaze softened, and he leaned down slowly, his movements deliberate to avoid causing himself more pain.

Your lips met in a kiss that was gentle but filled with all the emotion you hadn’t been able to express in words. Dean’s hand slipped from the counter to rest lightly at your waist, his grip weak but firm enough to pull you closer. The kiss was tender, slower than usual, but it felt perfect.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the quiet moment. “Happy now?”, you murmured, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Dean let out a soft chuckle, his good hand brushing lightly against your side. “Getting there”, he replied, his voice low and warm. “Might need a few more of those, just to be sure”.

You laughed softly, your hand coming up to gently brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, careful of the cut. “We’ll see”, you teased, though your smile gave away your willingness.

Before either of you could say anything more, you heard the faint sound of Sam’s boots approaching from down the hall. Dean sighed, rolling his eyes as he straightened slightly, his smirk returning. “Perfect timing, as always”, he muttered under his breath.

You stepped back, your cheeks still flushed as you turned your attention back to the stove. Dean leaned against the counter, trying to look nonchalant, though the small, satisfied smile on his face was impossible to miss. When Sam entered the kitchen, drinks in hand, he gave you both a curious glance but didn’t comment, much to your relief.

Dean adjusted his stance subtly, as if trying to mask the discomfort he was clearly feeling.

“How you feelin’?”, Sam asked, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of concern. He turned to help you with the food, setting plates on the counter while glancing back at Dean.

Dean shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement, though he quickly tried to cover it with a smirk. “Like I just walked away from a fight with a Mack truck”, he replied, his voice laced with dry humor. “But, you know, still handsome as ever”.

You rolled your eyes with a small smile as you flipped the pancakes. “Still milking the charm, huh?”.

Dean’s smirk widened just a fraction, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Sam, however, wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. He set down the utensils he was holding and crossed his arms, giving Dean his signature big-brother stare.

“Dean, seriously”, Sam said, his voice dropping into that stern tone that always managed to cut through Dean’s deflection. “You shouldn’t even be standing, let alone wandering around the bunker like you’re fine”.

Dean huffed, straightening up slightly, though his hand instinctively went to his chest, resting just above the bandages. “I’m not ‘wandering’, Sammy”, he shot back, his voice tinged with irritation. “I’m walking to the kitchen. Big difference”.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Your shirt’s already pulling blood through, and you’re favoring your side like it’s about to fall off. Sitting down wouldn’t kill you”.

Dean grumbled under his breath, his pride refusing to let him admit that Sam was probably right. Before he could retort, you cut in, your voice firm but gentle. “Dean, maybe you should listen to him. Breakfast is almost ready, and you can sit at the table while we finish”.

Dean’s gaze flicked to you, his irritation softening as he caught the concern in your eyes. “Fine”, he muttered begrudgingly, pushing off the counter and making his way—slowly—to the table. His movements were stiff and deliberate, and you could tell he was in pain despite his best efforts to hide it.

Sam sighed as he watched Dean sit down, the tension easing from his shoulders slightly. “Stubborn as hell”, he muttered, shaking his head before turning back to help you.

You smiled softly, glancing over at Dean as he settled into his seat, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. Despite his protests, you could see the relief on his face as he finally allowed himself to rest. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

After breakfast, you and Dean made your way to the small room where the TV was set up. Dean insisted the couch would be fine for him, brushing off any suggestion that he should head back to bed. You could see the determination in his eyes, but it was tempered by the clear discomfort in his movements. His hand stayed pressed to his chest over the bandaged wound, and the crimson stain on his shirt—a new one, his tenth in just two days—was all the proof you needed that he wasn’t as fine as he claimed to be.

“You know”, you started as you grabbed the remote and sat down beside him, “I think at this point, we should just skip the shirts altogether. It’d save me from constantly doing your bloody laundry”.

Dean smirked faintly, his head leaning back against the couch. “What can I say? Red’s my color”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Seriously, though, Dean. You’ve bled through more shirts in two days than most people do in a lifetime. Maybe that’s a sign to, oh, I don’t know, stay in bed?”.

Dean waved you off, clearly not interested in entertaining the idea. “The couch is bed enough”, he said, adjusting his position with a slight wince. “I’m not gonna spend the whole day lying around. I’ll go stir-crazy”.

You gave him a skeptical look, but you didn’t push. You knew how much Dean hated feeling weak, and while you wanted him to rest, you also knew that sometimes, it was better to let him have these small victories.

“Fine”, you said, leaning back against the couch. “But if you pass out again, I’m dragging you back to bed whether you like it or not”.

Dean chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with fatigue. “Noted, sweetheart”, he said, reaching for the remote. “Now, what are we watching?”.

As he flipped through the channels, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His face was still bruised and swollen, the cut above his brow stitched neatly but still angry and red. Despite his stubbornness, he looked exhausted, and the sight made your heart ache.

“You okay?”, you asked gently, your voice cutting through the sound of the TV.

Dean paused, his thumb hovering over the remote’s buttons. He turned to look at you, his green eyes softening slightly. “Yeah”, he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I’m okay”. He shifted slightly on the couch, a faint grimace crossing his face as he tried to get comfortable. He let out a low grumble, his hand still pressed lightly to his chest as he glanced at you. “Now, c’mere”, he muttered, his voice soft but insistent.

You blinked at him, tilting your head in slight confusion. “Dean, you’re supposed to be resting—”.

“Yeah, yeah”, he cut you off, waving his good hand weakly before letting it drop to the couch. “I’m resting. Just… get over here”. He slowly and awkwardly lifted his uninjured arm, the movement clearly a struggle but one he was determined to push through.

A small smile crept onto your lips as you saw the stubborn look in his eyes. “Dean, you’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met”, you said softly, but you moved closer anyway, sliding toward him on the couch.

“And you love it”, he teased, his voice rough but warm.

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t argue. Carefully, you nestled yourself beside him, mindful of his injuries as you rested your head gently on his shoulder. His arm came around you slowly, his hand settling on your waist with a surprising gentleness. The warmth of his touch was comforting, grounding, even as you could feel the tension in his muscles from the effort.

“There”, he muttered, his voice quieter now. “That’s better”.

You glanced up at him, your head still resting against his shoulder. His green eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion clear in his expression, but there was a soft smile on his bruised lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”, you murmured, your tone fond.

“Yeah”, he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as his head leaned back against the couch.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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The First Time, Every Time: Darkness Falls

Rated X / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Scully’s eyes snap open and she sits up abruptly, disoriented and immediately afraid. She grabs at the back of her neck and swipes her hands down her forearms over and over. She can’t see, but she can feel the creeping sensation all over her skin, down the backs of her legs and in her hair. She’s afraid to breathe, to open her mouth and scream, to try and call for help. She flails, and twists, and panics completely unproductively, just like she did before. She already knows there’s nothing she can do. 

“Scully!”

Mulder’s voice cuts through her panic like a dull blade, slowly bringing her back to reality. She feels the weight of his hands on her shoulders, smells the heat of his breath as he leans in close. Sour, like he may have been sleeping. Like quite some time has passed since she accepted his offer to stand watch while she attempted to sleep with the lights off for the first time since they arrived at the containment center over a week ago. 

“Sorry,” she breathes out, quickly slipping from panic to embarrassment.

Mulder sighs and his hands slide across her upper back before he pulls her into a hug. Against her better judgment, Scully lets her head fall against his chest. It just feels good to be held. 

“It’s okay,” he says. His voice vibrates against her ear and she closes her eyes, exhausted but too hopped up on adrenaline to fall back asleep. 

“I had a dream,” she explains.

“I know,” he says. 

They’ve been cooped up with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to talk to but each other. Time moves strangely here, making hours feel like days. They’ve been one another’s lifelines, their tie to reality. 

“I can’t sleep,” she tells him tearfully, wetting his T-shirt, and he pulls her closer. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

She’s spent the better part of the week trying to convince him that it’s not all his fault. That he doesn’t owe her anything, apologies or otherwise. He still doesn’t believe her. But she needs him to, because his guilt is too heavy, even by proxy, and it doesn’t help her sleep. 

“Stop it,” she chastises, lifting her head and looking up at him through the inky dark. 

“If it weren’t for me—”

She presses her fingers to his lips to quiet him. Soft, warm lips. 

“Please don’t do that,” she begs. 

His lips twitch under her fingers, threatening to speak. Instead, they purse against her skin with a soft smack. 

She might be delirious, she thinks. She might have imagined it. She might be imagining pulling her hand away and replacing it with her mouth. Reality moves strangely here, making it feel as though any moment she might wake up in a cocoon. Is her tongue in his mouth? She’s not completely sure. 

Mulder’s hands on her are greedy and urgent while his words are tender and placating. He stuffs his hand down the back of her sweatpants, grabbing at her ass. 

“Is this okay?”

He pushes her T shirt up to expose her breasts, hungrily scooping a nipple into his mouth. 

 “Can I take this off?”

 Two thick fingers push into her, and she gasps at the sweet stretch. 

“Am I hurting you?”

It’s so dark that she can’t see her hand in front of her face, much less his naked body, but she feels it. The heat of his skin, the firm planes of his chest and belly, the silky stiffness of his cock in her hand. It’s like a dream. Is it a dream? Is he moving over her? Is she spreading her legs wide for him, guiding him into her wet heat?

He’s big, and not just because she’s small. As gentle as he is, it hurts, and she squeezes her eyes shut tight while her mouth opens in a silent cry. Mulder stills, breathing hard, and after a moment the sharp sting fades away. She arches up into him, and he heaves a ragged sigh. 

He fucks her slow and deep, drawing all the way out before he slides back in and presses his pelvis tightly against hers. She feels him everywhere: his hands, his lips, his bare skin brushing over hers, the length of him stroking her from the inside. She’s not in a cocoon. She doesn’t think. She hopes not. 

She tugs him down by the neck, bringing him close enough to kiss. Close enough to grind against her clit while he fucks her. Close enough to make her come. 

“God, you feel incredible,” he mumbles, and it makes her cunt pulse. 

It was supposed to be a nice trip to the forest. That’s what he keeps saying. They are, technically speaking, still in the forest, and this….this feels very nice.  

“What do you need?” he asks tightly. 

She doesn’t understand the question. What else could she possibly need right now?

Mulder shifts his hips down, changing the angle at which he’s sliding into her and making her toes tingle. 

“Yes,” she whispers, her nails carving a path across his back. “Like that.”

He groans with restraint, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. He won’t say it, but she knows he’s close. She won’t tell him that she is too; that would be too real. 

She’s surprised by the force of her own orgasm, the intensity of the build up. It just keeps going higher and higher, twisting her muscles up so tight she feels like a rubber band about to snap. 

Mulder’s breath catches and his hips quicken. Does he feel her? Does he know?

She lets out a single, unrestrained yelp when it hits her, blinding her with pleasure from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Her whole body comes, clenching and releasing, rising and falling around her clit at the center of its universe. Mulder grunts and swears before she feels the heat of him leaking out of her, running down the seams of her legs. That makes her come even harder. 

It lasts forever, or maybe less than a minute. Time moves strangely here. She doesn’t remember getting cleaned up, but they’re back in the bed and her eyes are so, so heavy. His arms around her feel safe, even with the lights off. 

She sleeps, deep and dreamlessly. She doesn’t wake up in a cocoon.