#and it allows you to research something different from yourself if need be and allows you to learn :3

[hardware-sparks]

Uhhh your pinned post says tell me about things so… I wish we talked about Colon being Dutch more often, it isn’t an important part of his character but it means something to me. Like, Van Helsing (Dracula Famed Vampire Hunter) is ALSO Dutch, and there’s a lot we could do with them possibly being connected. There’s also a lot more cultural differences between the Netherlands and England/America, like, the Dutch swear with disease names and they’re way more comfortable with topics English and American people usually aren’t. Also, every European from a country known for its cheese I have ever met has something to say about American cheese and it’s never good ^^;

Idk, I know it isn’t that important to mention these things,, but it’s also a fun character aspect, and I think it’s neat and wanna do more things with it!

(Toast and Colon bickering during Eurovision…)

I think cultural background is also an important part of characterization! It affects how you speak, think, and dress. Also gives him more words to use because otherwise everyone sounds... too American.

[mrchoppedslefthand]

Homicipher Random Headcanons/Scenarios [NSFW]

Edit:11/07/2024

I desperately needed to post the random head canons and scenarios of our husbands that my brain kept cooking up (+ some from discord friends), so the list is not organized. Also, since we shape shift, I'm going to assume we can choose whenever we have a cock or pussy (because I want to be fucked and do the fucking) Anyways...enjoy the food thought.

Characters: Mr. Crawling, Mr. Chopped Mr. Silvair, Mr. Hood, Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, Mr. Scarletella

Warnings: mentions of NSFW, mentions of some canon-typical violence, implications of dubcon, mentions of somnophilia, implied cuckold

Mr. Crawling

He can be submissive top. Constantly asking you if you love him during intimacy. He would ask if you enjoy playing with him as you pound yourself onto him. He would be a moaning mess and probably wouldn't know what to do about it as he clumsily places his hands around your waist.

He would definitely eat you out without you asking once intimacy had been initiated.

Afraid of hurting you, he wouldn't be too rough, instead he would be more tender and gentler when it comes to intimacy.

He definitely would love it when you play with his hair, allowing you to braid it or do whatever as long it doesn't involve cutting his precious hair.

He actually gets jealous easily, but he doesn't verbalize it, instead he shows it through his actions.

He is better with his hands, than his cock. So sometimes you prefer that over his cock. His cock is more on the average/smaller side and it's cute.

He definitely has a praise kink.

Mr. Chopped

He lacks a body, so to make up for it he is extremely expressive and open with his feelings. Which makes him a little fun to bully, to see all those cute expressions he could make.

He probably would be very good with his mouth and tongue, let him be your personal rose toy/fleshlight if you will. He can't fight back and have no choice but to whimper about it.

Imagine getting sick and fainting with him nearby, he can't move or do anything but helplessly cry for you to wake up and starts crying out help for Mr. Silvair to come help him and you.

Maybe one day, for a day of tricks and pranks. Mr. Stitch will allow Mr. Chopped a day in his body, so they swap places, stitching Mr. Chopped in place of Mr. Stitch's head. It had been a very long time since Mr. Chopped felt sensations beyond his head, so he happens to be very sensitive and clumsy with his hands. Everywhere you touch overwhelms him, he melts and becomes a moaning mess, but Mr. Chopped isn't the only one feeling all these sensations. Mr. Stitch can still feel it too. He is intrigued by today's type of play.

He definitely would be more on the whiny and needy side when it comes to pleasure, he lacks a body, but he can still feel lust. He can't do anything about it, which makes him extremely needy and extra pouty.

Mr. Silvair

Definitely would have had intimacy with other ghosts/humans before to research the body and performance during mid transformation if it differed.

Imagine one day he finds a mysterious liquid that fell from the 'other world' and feeds it to you, himself and the other ghosts in your crew. Only to find out it was an aphrodisiac. It was the first time he felt such a strong sensation of lust. At first, he mistakes this strong desire to be violence, so he starts to self-inflict wounds onto himself. You attempt to stop him, but soon find yourself to be underneath him as he bites into your neck, drawing blood. Surprised at seeing the often-composed man, turning into a ravage beast. You somehow manage to find something to tie him up and have your way with him.

He probably likes overstimulation on you...but also himself. He would love to research on how much his body can go and handle.

He would actually be a switch, for research purposes. To take and give he'd do anything for research. It had been long long ago since his body used to be human, and he often forgets about his own experiences if he doesn't write them down, but no worries, he has you by his side now to keep remembering.

Mr. Hood

He is quiet but speaks whenever he finds it suited for. But if you need him, he would be happy to talk with you.

He is a bit insecure about his body, he doesn't have arms or hands or even legs, he is an entity of nothing. The clothes are what shape his form, and well maybe he not entirely a entity of nothing. You had a glimpse before, a small glimpse and sensation of a squishy and somewhat slimy part that had belonged to him. You never mentioned though, but if it was you'd love him still anyways.

He realized that some words had been a bit harder for you to keep in mind and remember and so he thought of a special way to get you learning. Learning with what humans call pleasure. He fucks you and asks you what certain things are, and if you get it wrong, he denies you from coming. You have become determined to learn your words properly even more so now. Because if you remember you get rewarded with the most absolute fulfilling fuck of your life.

Since most of his body is invisible or nothing. If you mouth fucked him you would be able to see that real good, it is strangely erotic watching your cock move inside his mouth.

Mr. Gap

When you're sleeping, sometimes he might just cuddle against your leg or lower half. He loves the feeling of warmth, compared to his hollow darkness.

He definitely seems like the type of person to eat you out while you're asleep. Playing around and waiting for you to wake up to watch your reaction. Of course, he would only do this though if he knew you'd allow it. He values consent.

Imagine taking your backpack to school and you have to take out a pencil for a test. When you open your backpack, you realize it is just an empty void and hear a voice asking for your heart in exchange for the pencil. Yeah... you accepted your fate. You just failed your exam...

When you become a moaning mess under him, he can't understand but he knows that from your sweet voice, and moans, that it's a good thing. He knows to keep continuing.

One day Mr. Gap gathers his usual newspapers that fall from the rubble or somehow manages to grab one from the human realm. He notices a magazine that discusses about marriage and giving rings on the fourth finger. Intrigued about this idea, he asks you for your all four of your fingers, but you misunderstand and refuse to give him your fingers. He's sad but soon you later find out that he was asking for your hand in marriage, literally but also figuratively.

Mr. Machete

We would wonder aimlessly for an eternity together searching for his/your home. But eventually our subconscious would recognize each other as home instead.

He would definitely mock and laugh at how fast you would falter/melt under his touch. Calling you "weak" for coming so fast but would give kisses here and there after the mocking.

He'd probably be into throat fucking and laugh at you looking pathetic, he loves reactions that aren't boring, so seeing you choke on his cock seems like a great idea.

He definitely would come inside most of the time.

When he fucks you, his cock would probably bulge out a little from your stomach, fascinated by it he'd roughly press his hand down near that area.

He is our beefy dumb macho, perfect.

If you mouth/fucked him he would tell you he feels nothing, but his eyes would already be red and tearing. He's a pathetic coward.

Mr. Scarletella

He belongs to you, and you belong to him, together forever, in a hellish world. He loves the destruction you bring into his life and does the same for you.

Oh boy, he would absolutely devour you, his queen, in pleasure. Fuck you stupid to the point you're just a blabbering mess, hands on waist, and long fingers in your mouth, as he pounds deeply into you.

He seems like the type of guy to fuck you during your period.

Definitely gets jealous easily and he makes it know when he gets that way.

Imagine your fucked/fucking another ghost and you hear static within the distance, the sound slowly starts to come closer and closer until you hear the static in the room. Your crimson servant arrives and witnesses your fantastic display of intimacy. Jealous, he kills them and becomes extra possessive and quite terrifying, but you love it so much. How he seems so lost and pathetic without you.

You don't know his name, but neither does he know yours. Despite this disconnect, you still manage to give him some sort of other named to be called. It's connected to your name, but he knows it's not all of it, he can't fully whisk you away, but he's okay with that. You are still bound to him for an eternity anyway.

If Mr. Scarletella went back to the human world with you instead, he would appear to be the one most suited for fitting in. Just slack some foundation on his face, make him wear gloves and he would blend in quite well. Well...except for his odd habit of asking every stranger for their name and laughing and giggling crazily each time.

He would have a praise and degradation kink, he's not a whore. He's YOUR whore. He likes being YOURS.

[phantomrose96]

Tumblr can never be my main means of engaging in politics and it comes down almost entirely to Tumblr's pathological need to distill The Right Opinion:tm: from any complicated issue.

It's always the most important thing. Not because it helps solve the issue or helps the people impacted, but because The Right Opinion:tm: is a proxy for you, morally, as a person. And every issue needs to be broken into the language that sets the stances of Make You Good or Make You Bad.

And I don't mean this in any generic statement about echo chambers or virtue signaling. Those are separate but related concepts. What I'm talking about is how people are nervous about a topic until one doctrine is crafted which defines the Sports Team Color of our Sports Team, so we can be identified as being on the Us Sports Team, and absolutely not on the Them Sports Team. Because this issue is actually about you and the proxy for you as a person and how people should perceive you so, really, the sooner we figure out the Home Sports Team Colors the sooner you can stop feeling worried.

The moment something new happens is usually the first and last time you'll actually see a range of opinions on it. And some of that is fueled by misinformation! Some in bad faith! When dust settles and clarity is achieved, this helps combat those things, but it's also the moment when the Loudest and most Articulate voices craft the Zeitgeist Opinion and everyone comes to roost around it.

You get people on this site pissed off at AI models that can diagnose cancer from a research paper in 2019 because The Right Opinion is that AI is bad. If you even see a post trying to articulate good uses of AI, well that's someone wearing Packers colors at a Vikings home game, and if you wanna make a point in the "wrong" direction you better be damn articulate about it.

A well-defined set of actions are transphobic. Another set are actually not transphobic, and you'd be transphobic for thinking so. Are you trans and actually your lived experiences differ? Get articulate real fast or shut up. You might be able to eek an exception for yourself, but it's going to require a 10-paragraph post justifying your claim. If you're REALLY good at it though, you might be able to rewrite the Zeitgeist and now anyone who disagrees with you is transphobic. Teams switch uniform styles every now and then, after all.

And it's such a farce because so often it's not actually about the topic at hand. It's about why you should be allowed to be perceived as a good person while toeing outside the fringes of The Right Opinion, why you aren't actually quitting the faith or committing blasphemy or deserving of exile for going off the written word. Or if someone really IS trying to make it about the topic at hand, the ensuing slapfight in the comments needs to be about whether OP has sinned against the covenant.

It's not helpful.

[xomakara]

Love On The Floor

SUMMARY |  You're on vacation with your girls and you can't help but be attracted to the hot DJ.

PAIRINGS |  Johnny x Reader

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked 

GENRE |  smut, non-idol au

CONTENT/WARNINGS |  DJ!Johnny, profanity, drinking, non-idol au, flirting, kissing, teasing, unprotective sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), outdoor sex, beach sex, fingering, marking, hair grabbing, riding, creampies, lots of dirty talk

LENGTH |  10,545 words 

TAGLIST |  @lovetaroandtaemin @aerangi

NETWORKS |  @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @keopihaus @neocity-net @cosyhomenet

AUTHOR’S NOTE | What was supposed to be a 2k fic ended up being a 10k fic lolol. I couldn't help it… DJ Johnny has got me feral.

NCT Main Masterlist

The beat pulsed through the outside venue as bodies moved together to the rhythm of the music, a sea of flailing arms, flowing dresses, and brightly colored alcohol in cups. The vacation resort was well known for its beach-side night parties that happened every evening, allowing people to dance all their cares away. It was a famous tourist destination, the huge tropical beach allowing its patrons to soak up the sunshine in the daytime, and then dance their heart away by the bright lights of the nighttime party. The whole island seemed to thrum with energy, the atmosphere electric from the beating rhythm of the dance music and the delighted cries from the partygoers.

"Earth to Y/N!"

Your attention turned to your friend as you realizedd that she was trying to get your attention.

"Oops," you laughed and smiled at her. "Sorry, just zoned out for a sec. Got distracted." You couldn't help your wandering gaze that took in the mass amount of scantily-clad girls writhing their hips against muscular, shirtless men. "This is so different from what I'm used to."

Mira raised an eyebrow, clearly in good spirits after already taking several shots. "I know this isn't your usual scene but the girls and I thought that you should stop moping over your breakup with Taeyong and actually have some fun! Go hit up on a guy or something, get your freak on."

You playfully punched Mira. "He wasn't like the rest, you know?" 

You looked down sadly. He had been a gentle soul and treated you right; you still weren't sure why he had cheated. It had hit you hard and your friends thought that a change of pace was needed. A vacation to relax and let loose was exactly what was needed, a way to let go of the stress and have fun.

"Look Y/N, you've been moping over him for four months already," Jinhee started. "You're here, on vacation in a tropical paradise surrounded by sexy guys who have their shirts off, showing off their chests," she fanned herself and looked off into the distance dreamily, "and gorgeous smiles andー"

"Calm your tits," Sowon jokingly hit Jinhee lightly. She looks back at you, pushing your usual drink closer to you. "Babe, we love you and want to see you happy again. Not cry over some guy who can't even tell you why he cheated."

"We're not telling you to date someone tonight, but just forget about him and live a little, ok?" Mira finished. 

You bit your bottom lip and thought, staring out into the night as you considered her words. You loved Taeyong, more than anything. You had hoped for a future together; the wedding, the children, the big family holidays and birthdays... but it was all shattered, left lying in tatters after your suspicions were confirmed with the one simple sentence, "I can explain." 

He couldn't.

After many arguments, broken tears and broken hearts later, you both parted ways. You thought you truly loved him, that he was your soulmate. He had made it clear to you how sorry he had been and wanted you to take him back. But your heart wouldn't let you go back, the pain from his betrayal being too raw and it left you aching. You threw yourself into work since then, finding solace in your research and volunteering. And so, for the past few months, the cycle continued: work, work, sleep, work. It was nice and constant, but this is where the girls came in and saved your life from boredom.

"Live a little, huh?" you questioned, fingers wrapped around the stem of the cocktail glass, twisting it absentmindedly before you took another sip. You took another look around the outdoor venue. The night sky stretched endlessly above you, twinkling with tiny stars, framed by palm trees and colorful banners. The smell of liquor, sweat, and body odor mingled with the scent of the warm evening air. Huge, bright speakers blasted music as the mass amount of bodies continued their movements, flashing their lights as they danced.

Mira was right. This wasn't your scene. You preferred the fancy lounge bars, expensive wine, soft spoken conversations and live jazz bands to accompany them. A place where you felt secure, safe, and comfortable. This place was raw, open, exposed. No fancy tables, chairs or bar. Just an open dance floor, large speakers, and drinks on the sand.

The bass hummed through your feet as it shook the ground. No one was fully dressed; the girls had on skimpy little dresses, the men wore brightly coloured swim trunks and shirtless. Heck, the air of arousal was so thick you could probably choke on it. You had seen several couples making out, feeling each other up or grinding their groins together out of the corner of your eyes. You licked your lips nervously as the alcohol coursed through your veins, heating you up from the inside.

"Come on Y/N! I love this song, let's dance!" Jinhee put her hands on her hips and pouted at you.

"Dancing is not really my thing..." you protested.

"It will be soon!" she winked and grabbed your arm.

You shrugged. There was nothing better to do, and you had finished your drink, feeling braver now that it was gone. You threw the last shot down the back of your throat, shuddering when the liquid burnt its way down your body and you accepted Jinhee's hand, pulling you close as you threaded through the crowd of warm bodies towards the floor. You tried not to bump into anyone, muttering small sorries to those you did. 

The girls pushed onto the dance floor, joining the fray and all linking arms together, facing outward. You giggled with giddy pleasure as Sowon and Mira pulled you in between them, each placing a hand on your hip, making your senses sing with delight from the alcohol and the atmosphere. Your friends swung you around, moving you like puppets in a full costume, keeping perfect time to the music. You threw your hands up and laughed joyously, allowing them to take the lead as you simply kept up, moving your body against theirs.

You swayed your hips, letting loose and deciding to just feel. 

Tonight, you're going to live a little.

And maybe find a cute guy and have some fun like your girls suggested, despite whatever happens afterwards.

Just enjoy the moment, they told you.

Alcohol flowing, the music blasting, and the lights blinding, time was simply lost to the ether and soon enough you could feel yourself being warm, happy, and buzzing. All nerves had melted away, drowned under the intoxication of the strong alcohol and being surrounded by friendly, loving people.

Time blurred and seemed to stop altogether when you caught the first sight of him.

Situated at the DJ booth with a set of mixer decks and a laptop at his disposal was a large, muscular man. Dark hair framing his beautifully sculpted face, his huge frame was decked in dark jeans and a gray muscle tank, effortlessly displaying his biceps, muscular chest, and torso. Tattoos adorned his left shoulder and arms, but you couldn't make them out as they were blurry from the angle. From the intense look of concentration, he sported a pair of large headphones over his ears while performing his set; however, every now and again you would catch him smiling from watching the sea of bodies bobbing their heads to his beats, bodies grinding as the songs melded together.

He caught your eye, taking in the spectacle that you and your friends presented. When he met your gaze, you felt electricity coursing through your veins, nerves flaring and the familiar pulsing sensation to the beat made itself known deep within your womb. And...was it just you, or did he look at you longer? Like he was admiring you as you got lost in his eyes; perhaps even took interest in you as you danced alongside the swarm of sweaty bodies that jerked and swayed to the music.

You snapped your head away. You were probably seeing things...

But you couldn't help it; your eyes drifted once more to the large hunk. Just dancing. Nothing else. Not with the way that his muscles moved smoothly when he tended to his equipment, the powerful biceps easily moving the tables. What would it be like to have his arms wrap around you, what would it be like to be pressed against those built pecs, those washboard abs, under his thick thighs as heー

You shivered at the thought. Alcohol. It had to be the alcohol.

"Oh my god," Mira started, "the DJ is so hot!"

"He's pretty cute and damn is he buff," Jinhee licked her lips. "With a body like that, the only chance I would give him is a ride up and down hisー"

"Finish that sentence, I dare you," Sowon raised an eyebrow daringly, a fierce grin creeping up her face and causing Jinhee to laugh nervously before she continued.

"What do you think, Y/N?" Mira looked at you eagerly, causing you to stare back surprised.

"Well..." You paused and hesitated slightly. "I mean, like, he is definitely very attractive, but..." Your cheeks burned and thoughts disappeared momentarily as your eyes locked with his, causing butterflies to awaken in your tummy. You looked away to see your group waiting expectantly for you to continue. You stuttered out, "But I don't know. He's probably already got a string of girls after him and I justー"

"Nope. Stop. Nuh-uh," Jinhee pointed a finger in front of you. "No second guessing. Tell us, would you fuck him?"

Your jaw dropped. "Oh come on."

"Answer the question, Y/N," Sowon pushed.

You chewed your bottom lip before sighing. "Oh god," you muttered, heart pounding in your chest. "Do I have to answer right now?"

"Yes!" all three chorused back at you.

You covered your face with your hands for a second before taking a deep breath. "Ok... yes." You looked down. "Yes, I would totally bang the shit out of him."

"YES! That's our girl!" Mira whooped before cheering loudly, raising her arms to the sky as she did so, the music and atmosphere causing her cheer to be swept away amongst the crowd. Sowon rolled her eyes as Jinhee patted you on the back in a show of congratulations, making you want to disappear. But you couldn't hide your crimson cheeks as embarrassment flushed through you.

The girls giggled happily and jumped around, continuing with their dancing. You hid your face in your hands before trying to lose yourself in the music once more.

Even though your gaze remained forward, you could still feel his eyes trailing on you.

Johnny looked out at the crowd moving and shifting as one when the beat dropped. All hands flew up, colored lights danced over everyone, making them glow under the spotlights that illuminated the darkened dance floor. It didn't matter if they were young or old, handsome or misshapen; the mass amount of bodies thrummed with pure energy. The crowd responded with another deafening cheer and cry in greeting as the beat switched over, Johnny mentally high-fiving himself for his excellent track selection.

While he enjoyed his job, the one thing he loved the most is seeing all the people have a good time because of his sets. And that moment, when the venue cheered and the dancers jumped up and down at their success in responding to the shift in the music, flooded his heart with pride.

Everyone was a dance master tonight, despite the drunken conditions. There weren't many fights and most seemed to be content with dancing the night away. And even the regular workers seemed to let their hair down and joined the fray, twirling to their hearts desire with wide, unabashed grins plastered across their faces.

It was the life.

"This set is so good!" The girl next to him gushed excitedly. "I'm absolutely loving it!"

He turned and smirked. Her hair was a long ash-blond, cascading down her shoulders. Heaps of glitter decorated her cheeks and forehead and skin-tight outfit that left little to the imagination. "Yeah?"

"Oh, for sure!" She spoke back, her attention focused more on his body than meeting his gaze. Her eyes dragged along the length of his body hungrily. "You should join me sometime."

He regarded her carefully. She was attractive, but frankly, it didn't feel right. "Tempting," he started. "But I can't."

"Pleaseeeee? I'd make sure you would have a great time," her lips curled into a lustful smile. "I would worship every single inch of you, baby. I would make you feel real good," she teased, pressing up against him.

He let out a sigh before looking at one of his friends that was working alongside him for the evening. They didn't need to speak a word. His buddy came to the rescue and steered the girl away from him towards the bar. The girl put up a bit of a struggle but once she noticed the handsome man beside her, her attention quickly switched and off she went.

He was used to it. Girls would throw themselves at him, not many cared about his skills and personality except for his music tastes, which usually sparked interesting conversations. Most only wanted a go with the big and muscular DJ who worked at the clubs, purely for sexual gain; to say they have done it, to slurp up the notoriety of bragging about their sexual exploits. Most usually bragged about who was better in bed, how quickly they could seduce him, or how big his dick was.

He shook his head with a sigh. He was a ladies' man, sure, but he was looking for more. One night stands were great, don't get him wrong, but he was looking for a lifelong love to spoil and cherish for eternity. To call his own, someone special to share his home, his music, his heart and soul.

He settled back behind the soundboard, adjusting the mix, scrolling through the folder of pre-downloaded songs while keeping an eye on the crowd. He couldn't help but glance at a particular group of girls as they joined the fray and a smile crept upon his features as they energetically turned away from each other and moved their hips to the music, finding a groove and sticking with it. 

But one of the girls caught his eye, and he felt his dick twitch and pulse at the sight.

There was something about the girl that stood out.

She was really beautiful. He had seen his fair share of beautiful women, no doubt, but this girl was different. She wore her hair up in a bun, but it was messy, and several strands fell freely to frame her face. She dressed a bit more modest compared to the rest of the folks here with a flowy red spaghetti-strap sundress that drifted fluidly down past her knees. While her dress wasn't fully form-fitting, it still showed off the full curves of her breasts, wide hips and ample ass. Even from the distance of the stage, Johnny was able to pick up that the dress had ridden slightly up her thighs from all the swinging and twirling, exposing more of her smooth legs.

Even then, he was rather enticed by her actions alone.

While she wasn't outlandish or loud like the rest, it was beautiful to behold how freely she moved. Her friends draped all over her, but she greeted their affectionate advances wholeheartedly, enjoying their company. Time seemed to melt away for Johnny as he enjoyed the view; while one part of his mind was set on the next track and the transition, the other half was entranced and intrigued by this beauty.

"Yo, dude," Yuta cut into Johnny's thoughts and slapped him on the shoulder. "There's some hot chicks in the crowd tonight."

Johnny playfully punched his friend in the shoulder. "Yuta, they have names, bro."

"Whatever," Yuta shrugged as he turned his attention back to the crowd. "You know, the girl by the speakers and over to the left is... very nice. Just saying."

Johnny raised an eyebrow and scanned the crowd. It didn't take long to find the girl that Yuta was talking about; her flaming red hair tumbling down her back in thick curls. A striking blue strappy little top that barely covered her breasts.

"Nah dude, not my type," Johnny shrugged. "I prefer a girl with more substance." He tilted his head in the direction of the other dancers.

"The purple one?" Yuta asked.

"Red," Johnny replied as he began setting up another song.

"Oh... Oh!" Yuta looked at Johnny with a smug grin. "Now that's a pretty babe. Bam! Score one for Johnny."

"Yo, what the fuck," Doyoung butted in, "you have all the pretty ladies."

"Sorry, Mr. Sulky," Yuta stuck out his tongue. "Your dating game sucks."

Johnny laughed. "You just haven't met the one yet, Do."

"Probably never will," Doyoung grimaced and went back to his regular position, playing around with some of the lighting equipment.

Johnny smiled and shook his head at his friends' shenanigans. They were a bit immature and stupid at times, but he loved them like brothers. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of the girl once again and he couldn't help the butterflies that formed in the pit of his stomach.

She caught him looking, and for the split second their eyes locked, the whole world seemed to move in slow motion.

Beautiful. She looked beautiful in the warm glow, sweat glistening lightly on her forehead, face flushed from dancing. Despite her makeup being a little smudged and messy, he thought it was cute. It made her real and adorable and hot all the same. Despite being surrounded by a mass amount of bodies, she stood out like a glittering diamond.

And for a split second, everything was right in his world.

If someone would have told him a year ago that he would fall in love at first sight, he would have laughed in their faces. He would have called bullshit, there was no way.

Turning his back slightly, he chuckled inwardly to himself. Johnny never had had such a strong physical attraction to a woman like this before. Sure, he was aware he was blessed with his looks, especially due to the numbers of fans and groupies he had garnered after the past gigs he had performed over the years. Beautiful women of all sizes often sought him out and flirted with him. If there wasn't much going on that night, he would find his way into the bed of a soft warm body, just for the comfort that nothing more, nothing less, could offer.

He didn't allow himself to get attached, to care too much or get too emotional. It was just one night, one or two evenings at best; but usually the passion lasted a few hours or sometimes throughout the night.

Johnny knew his limits and made sure he stuck within them. No kissing on the lips or cuddling the next morning. Breakfast and goodbyes were always offered at his door and after it closed, that was the end of it. Somewhere along the line, a few girls had his number and still tried to see him, others showed up at gigs he played hoping to see him, but his rules were airtight: no relationships, no commitments, no feelings.

Was his life lonely at times? Sometimes, but that's how Johnny liked it. Life was simpler, less complicated without a lover in his life. He wouldn't have had to make any excuses on where he was, or worry about what might happen if he wasn't at home when he said he would be. In fact, it was one of the reasons why he liked being a DJ; the world was too vast, too interesting, for him to stay still. And there was no need to check in with anyone, see if it was ok to go or ask for permission.

But maybe he wanted a change of scenery, just a bit. He desired to rest his head on something or someone warm, to tell them everything that ran through his head, to hold hands, share meaningful conversations. To have someone listen to him, give him a slice of normal in his ever-changing life.

And the feeling was almost stronger now, nearly overwhelming, as he stared at the girl before him.

The way his heart melted and the blood drained from his head down to his erection when this new beauty's gaze landed on him, it was an unfamiliar feeling. For all the groupies and attention he had received, he had never felt so entranced by someone, had wanted them so deeply, and so desperately. He wanted to meet her in the crowd, take her in his arms, dance with her, talk with her, listen to her, fuck her senselessly until they both couldn't stand and worship her gently afterwards like a queen.

He wasn't sure what she was doing here but he could care less what her plans were, as long as they involved him.

Her group laughed as they danced freely, and he watched carefully, mesmerized. He wanted to hear her laugh, wanted to be the reason why she laughed. His attention remained glued to this strange but beautiful new girl he had seen. Her gaze was focused back on the crowd, her attention away from him. Instead of feeling relieved, his muscles became tense at not being able to have her gaze rest upon him. He wanted to be the object of her attention. No matter how many times Johnny tried to focus his attention elsewhere, his thoughts would wander right back to her.

"Damn dude, I have never seen you look at someone like that before," Yuta pointed out after a short while.

"What are you saying?" Johnny kept his hands steady on the equipment in front of him.

"Just... you know what? Nothing," Yuta held up his hands in surrender. "I'll keep my observations to myself."

Johnny eyed Yuta carefully. "I am focusing on the crowd."

"Oh come on now, that cute brunette came right up and so did the red-head and you weren't the least bit interested. Are we changing things up now that you've got your eye on Little Miss Red Dress down there?"

Johnny rolled his eyes at Yuta's assumptions. "Dude, no. She's just...different, that's all."

"Uh-huh. Different," Yuta replied slowly, looking Johnny over with a raised eyebrow. "You really want to throw away all your freedom, Johnny?"

Johnny just shrugged, returning his gaze back to the red beauty dancing her heart out.

Who knows? Maybe she'll be a one-night stand.

Maybe she'll be something more.

Johnny smiled to himself as he focused on the music, allowing his senses to get lost in the rhythm, to become as one with the sounds around him. He mentally wished the girl's attention was back on him; but glancing over in her direction, she was consumed in an excited frenzy with her friends. And that was ok.

Some things would come, and some things would go.

He was certain he would see her around the resort.

"My neck hurts, my feet hurt," you complained the next morning. "My entire body hurts."

You moaned as you stretched and a feeling of delicious electricity sang from your muscles, making its way slowly to your spine and you sighed, your tense neck muscles finally releasing their tension. You were walking down one of the many pavillons lined along the white pebbled pathways. Sunlight dappled through the leafy trees, casting its rays along the pavement. The sun had risen high in the sky, and the breeze was soft; a perfect temperature to be out and about. The girls and you had stayed out late the previous night and now your entire body ached.

You're trying your hardest to keep up with the girls and for the life of you, you have no idea how they still have the energy to enjoy themselves. How can three women run on so little sleep and be so effortlessly productive with themselves? You shook your head slowly and took a deep breath. You could get through this.

You looked around, trying to find the girls but instead you ran into rock hard muscle. You stumbled, nearly falling down, but an arm shot out to steady you, grasping your forearm gently.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," a deep voice rang out in front of you. "You okay?"

You looked up and you realized that you bumped into the DJ from last night and your eyes almost bulged out of your skull, cheeks burning and jaw dropping before you could stop yourself. This close up, the man looked downright edible. He wore a sleeveless hoodie and loose fit jeans; although casual, it barely covered his muscular physique.

"Uh, y-yeah, I'm fine," you stuttered before managing a small, friendly smile. His hand released your arm and his face split into a charming grin, making your knees almost give in. "My mind is elsewhere," you admitted, looking down a little embarrassed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other and avoiding his intense gaze. "I kind of lost my friends."

"Want me to join you in finding them?" He offered, tilting his head a little as he studied you. The innocent question made you freeze, heart skipping a beat and butterflies suddenly awakened in your tummy and you gave him an embarrassed glance. Not taking offense, he stepped aside and gestured for you to go first. "After you. I'm Johnny, by the way. Johnny Suh."

"Y/N," you returned the sentiment with a broad smile. Together, you continued along the path, keeping up with each other in a comfortable silence. Every now and then, you stole glances at him, eyes drifting appreciatively to his tattooed skin. "So... This isn't usually my thing, to be honest," you offered casually, attempting at some conversation. You tried not to act awkward and focus on something else besides his toned arms.

"What isn't your thing?" Johnny glanced down and furrowed his brows questioningly.

"This place," you shrugged sheepishly.

"Sun, the beach, resorts, food and alcohol? You're lying," Johnny chuckled at his own comment, making you snort a laugh, eyes glistening and a happy grin graced his lips. 

Oh my god, he's even more attractive, you thought. What was it about a good man with a sense of humour that just simply, utterly destroys you? You averted your gaze, not wanting to give yourself away, especially at how much you wanted to jump his bones.

"Ok, fine. Party-centric environments," you finally responded, deciding to joke. "Sowon, Jinhee and Mira are... into this kind of scene, and they sort of dragged me along."

"Well, aren't you lucky," Johnny nodded, turning to smile warmly at you. "Because if you weren't, I wouldn't be walking with such a beautiful woman right now."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," you try your best to snort in contempt, despite your stomach going crazy from his words.

"No, only the pretty ones," he chuckled, crossing his arms and giving you a sideways look.

You simply roll your eyes and shake your head, refusing to rise to the comment, and ignore the way your face warms. "Ok, so you're smooth with a sense of humour. Are you even real?"

A laugh rumbled through his chest, resonating through you. His laugh is clear and melodic, and completely honest. Unable to keep a straight face, you cracked a chuckle yourself. "So where are you from, Y/N? If you don't mind me asking."

"Chicago but I moved to Seoul for college and have been there ever since," you replied honestly.

"I'm from Chicago too!" He seemed genuinely excited. "I moved here a couple years back with a couple buddies. We got a pretty sweet set up going on. We often tour together, and we support each other," Johnny stopped suddenly, eyeing you up and down and making you want to sink into the ground. "How about you? What do you do?"

"I got a master's degree in business. But after a while, it all seems kinda... boring?" you shrugged. "I'm currently unemployed at the moment," you giggled at the absurdity of the conversation. "God, if my parents knew..."

"That's a bummer," Johnny said, wincing. "No one likes a desk-job."

"It was nice while it lasted," you let out a small laugh as you walked down the stone steps towards the town area. Just ahead, you could see Sowon and Mira at one of the smoothie bars chatting. "I have no idea what's going to happen, so I'm just living day by day."

"Why not live in the moment?" Johnny's low voice murmured into your ear, making you stiffen slightly, feeling a sudden flush of arousal between your legs. "Nothing bad comes from that."

"Uh... yeah," you smiled a little awkwardly as you were both nearing your destination. Your heart was beating wildly inside your chest. "So, where are you at in the hotel?"

"Not really at a hotel, actually. In the bungalows, right over there. Like, right by the beach," Johnny pointed in the general direction, but you nodded all the same. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Just curious," you stammered as you neared closer to your friends. You weren't sure what this fluttery feeling was, the strange warmth flooding through you, all because of him. Was it excitement? This... pull towards him? It's thrilling, you had to admit; the whole scenario was. Johnny was incredibly handsome, sexy even; especially the way the shirt clung to the toned muscles of his body, but despite his looks, he seemed really down-to-earth and nice as well.

And that was the charm that pulled you in.

You liked being around him, plain and simple. Even though you just met him, you felt a connection, almost as if you've known him for years. It was comfortable. And... dare you say, safe, almost? He is, however, still very much a stranger, you reminded yourself.

"Ok. Well, I guess this is where I leave you," Johnny looked at you, smirking a bit at the proximity the girls presented. "And hey, not sure if you heard but I'm DJ-ing again tonight at the party tent. You are, without a doubt, welcome to come and see me. Or meet me afterwards? Whichever you prefer." He stepped even closer and leaned in until he was practically whispering into your ear, making the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise and your whole body flushes with electricity.

"Be a shame if I didn't see you there," he hummed and his warm, minty breath made you press your legs together tighter. It didn't help when he skimmed his fingers against your bare thigh as he withdrew. As he turned to leave, he waved goodbye and gave you a lop-sided, charming grin. You stared dumbstruck at him, still flushing, before forcing a natural smile and waving back a little, unsure and unsteady.

Your eyes remained rooted on Johnny until he was no longer visible amongst the crowd. Heart pounding against your ribcage, you turned and hastily found the girls.

"Um, hello, who was that sexy specimen you were walking with?" Mira made a flabbergasted, incredulous face, almost like she was being personally offended that you hadn't told her anything. You laughed and shook your head, smiling at their eagerness.

"That was the DJ from last night, right?" Jinhee asked, jumping up and down excitedly as her eyes sparkled mischievously. Sowon, ever vigilant and careful, rested her soft gaze on you and patiently waited for you to continue.

"Yeah, that was him," you replied, turning to Mira as you sat down next to her and ordered a round of smoothies for the table. "And yes, I bumped into him while looking for you guys. But, you know, a coincidence."

"One hell of a coincidence, considering he might be into you, Y/N," Mira emphasized her point, jabbing you on the shoulder.

"We were just talking," you rolled your eyes. "He said he's doing another set tonight and would love it if I came by to watch him."

"Of course he did," Sowon replied, arms crossed as she pondered for a second. "If you don't go, I will officially kick your ass."

"I swear..." you shook your head and buried your face into your hands, letting out a very heavy and annoyed sigh. "He could have just been really friendly. You can't possibly know his intentions."

"The DJ literally propositioned you. He's going to rock your shit tonight and god dammit you better let him," Jinhee ordered seriously. You shot daggers at Jinhee and shook your head disapprovingly, though giggling a little at her expression. The barista brought around the smoothies and you all eagerly grabbed your share. Jinhee immediately perked up at the sight and a light in her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Let's toast to Y/N. May you have a damn good fuck tonight," she winked at you playfully.

"Or... you know, to hopefully make a new friend? I like being friends first," you suggested, avoiding looking at anyone directly, secretly regretting your decision to tell them anything. Although flustered by Johnny, there was no denying you both clicked together so easily, but you decided to avoid any obvious physical attraction until you knew him a little better.

There was something familiar and easy-going about Johnny. You enjoyed being with him and wanting more felt exciting, intimate, and even scary. Never had you experienced a near-instantaneous connection with someone as you had with Johnny. And you wanted more of him, and more of his presence.

"Oh honey. I think his end-goal is to bury that pole so deep into you, you'd feel it in your toes," Mira punctuated the thought with a naughty smile. You blushed red and rubbed your hot face. The three women burst out in laughter and were unable to control themselves. You slowly melted into the ruckus; it was impossible not to join in.

Who was Johnny Suh, really? You'll soon find out, you promised yourself.

Johnny grinned as he pumped his fist to the beat, nodding his head in time as the crowd cheered and hollered as the music pounded through the speakers. Even in the tent, the atmosphere was loud, chaotic and primal and everyone was clearly having an amazing time.

His gaze landed on you for the upteenth time throughout the set. You were standing next to him with a group of other random girls since your friends clearly pushed you to do so. Dancing away, your face had gone a little flushed and you were laughing breathlessly; obviously a little tired, a tad bit tipsy, and totally happy. For most part of the night, you would casually meet his eyes and give him a warm smile whenever you noticed he was looking at you.

You were wearing another flowy sundress, this time yellow, and you looked nothing short of radiant. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you since he saw you earlier that day and he found himself eagerly anticipating the moment you appeared. Of course, a few other girls had stepped up to the booth of their own accord, or by a friend's persuasion, but no one had turned him on as badly as you had. Their looks were attractive but the connection wasn't there. At least, not the same connection that he had with you.

Leaning towards your ear, he laughed at your deer-in-the-headlights look. "So, did your friends force you here?"

"Only a little," you shouted, unable to contain your smile.

"Lucky me, then," Johnny responded. "I'm glad you came by."

"Lucky me. I'm enjoying myself," you quickly grabbed a cup of tequila, sloppily pouring yourself a shot in the middle of all the noise, oblivious that Johnny's eyes wandered down your slender neck, and back to settle at the low dip of your dress, exposing enough cleavage.

"Glad I could make your night fun," he murmured teasingly.

"Please," you scoffed, giving him a playful smile, raising an eyebrow. "Don't get ahead of yourself." 

Johnny grinned boyishly, then turned his attention to the massive crowd beneath him, bobbing his head and making sure the next selection of tracks were perfect. The next song kicked in and the sea of bodies below leapt in the air and swayed and shouted loudly. You stopped dancing and leaned back a little, watching him work diligently at his decks and you fought the urge to bite your lip.

Without glancing back, he tilted his head towards you. "Want a picture?"

"Shit. Sorry!" You let out a small snicker, blushing a bit. "You'll think I'm a total creep if I admit I'm staring at your hands." 

He only grinned and shook his head, a very definite glint of appreciation evident in his eyes. Without another word, he kept working his magic, playing and sampling until your jaw literally fell. You noticed right away his entire energy changed the moment he started working. You really wanted to feel those hands on you, to explore your body, to guide you and show you what he could really do...

Damn, get your head out of the gutter.

After a few more songs, the thumping bass began to calm down a little, which in turn made the crowd respond slower. People danced at a slightly more-rested pace, making it a little easier for people who had been dancing the whole time to really appreciate the rest of the environment.

"Let's take a break!" Johnny grinned at you and gestured to the side area where no one was behind the curtain. "Come with me for a bit."

"What about your set?" You worriedly glanced over to the booth.

"My friend Yuta can hold the fort. He's excellent," Johnny offered his hand and you took it carefully, the warmth and hardness beneath his skin sending pleasant shivers up your arm. "Plus it's called 'taking a break' for a reason."

"Better enjoy it while I can," you responded playfully, although you couldn't hide the giddiness and the blush on your cheeks as he turned, guiding you away from the party atmosphere behind the privacy of the curtains and into a much quieter world. He led you away from the tent, and through the wooden decks, towards the empty beach. It was cooler as the temperature dropped, but somehow you weren't bothered. 

The sound of the ocean against the quiet night was relaxing, calming.

"As much as I like my sets, sometimes a man needs to breathe," Johnny said quietly and sat down, patting the spot beside him as an invitation for you to join him. Sitting down, you pulled your knees to your chest.

"Tell me about it. I'm still not used to this party scene," you confessed. "It's not what I'm most comfortable with."

"Yet it doesn't seem to put you off," he offered as he looked around.

"Trying to live a bit on the wild side. Spice things up, you know? I've always been a very introverted person. Not the social type," you played with the pebbles beside you, idly pushing the white stones out of the way and scratching at the dry sand beneath.

"Spice it up for what?" Johnny's curiosity got the best of him. He shifted closer and bent his head down.

"I usually don't share these things with guys I just meet," you laughed. "But I've been moping over an ex, kinda just having existential breakdowns here and there, generally feeling alone in the world, so I thought...you know... now or never. Do shit while I'm here, right?"

"What a life philosophy," Johnny chuckled softly and smiled. "What happened between you two?"

"It just wasn't meant to be, I guess," you shrugged your shoulders as you hugged your knees a little tighter. "He cheated on me and pretty much made me look like a fucking fool, so that got me in the worst mental place imaginable. Took a lot of effort to get over the bullshit."

"People are assholes," Johnny agreed. "Is that why you travelled all the way out here, to forget it?"

You laughed ironically, looking up at the cloudless sky above. "Sort of. Definitely to get away. And, because my friends wanted an all-girls trip, and we did just that. There's no need to complain," you finished happily. Johnny's eyes lingered at the serene smile upon your lips and the wind swept a piece of hair from your shoulder, making him burn and want all the more for you.

The atmosphere was peaceful and it didn't take long for him to want to kiss you; you were beautiful in every sense of the word, and you were completely in your element, whether you were aware of it or not.

"Why do you travel the world, Johnny? Are you running away from something?" You looked down and at him, curious. It was Johnny's turn to laugh, and he averted his gaze, hiding his face a little.

"Always been like this. I was pretty wild, partied too much. Had a good ear for music, a natural talent," he scratched his cheek lightly. "Some people we went to school to better themselves and grew up and got normal jobs. I'm afraid I chose the reckless route. Good music makes a good party and a good party means a lot of money."

"You were a bit of a deviant," you teased.

"For a very, very long time," he nodded, turning to face you. He searched your gaze thoughtfully, pausing and seemingly pondering.

The air had become a little tense, and you could see a small furrow between his eyebrows, shifting ever so slightly at whatever emotion was going through him. You stayed silent as you shifted a little closer, resisting the urge to trace the details of his chiselled jaw and soft lips with your fingertips. His eyes flickered at the sudden closeness between you both.

"I don't think you're as bad as you claim, Johnny," you decided softly, lowering your gaze to your fidgeting fingers.

"You think so?" He murmured, barely above a whisper. "I've been thinking about settling down somewhere. Want to try and see how a normal life can work out, you know?"

"You? Settling down? What a funny thought," you chuckled teasingly, and was rewarded by his beautiful grin.

"Scary, isn't it?" Johnny laughed. "I like the tours and the parties, the music, but I'm not getting any younger. And... it can be lonely, you know? Sure, I have my friends but there are times when I crave a closer, stronger connection with someone. Someone that can listen to me, understand me and know all my thoughts, but not care because they still like me anyway, flaws and all," he admitted carefully, glancing at you for a brief moment, before his eyes drop back to your hands.

"Whoever dates you, will be an incredibly lucky person," you whispered earnestly, staring intently at him. You bit your lip shyly at the compliment. "It sounds... amazing. And fun. The person you're searching for is probably out there. Somewhere."

"I can only hope," his lips twisted into a gentle, warm smile. You felt Johnny's hand rest against your cheek, rubbing along your smooth, soft skin. Trembling, goosebumps littered your skin as his fingertips moved to tilt your chin up. His eyes darkened, pupils blown with desire as his thumb ran over your bottom lip, pulling it lightly down. Then he leaned forward, and his mouth captured yours.

Your eyelids fluttered closed and your hand rested against his muscled chest, feeling his steady heartbeat as his palm cupped your jaw. Warm and inviting, and soft, the press of Johnny's lips to your own became gentler before he withdrew carefully. Looking into your eyes, the lust and longing was evident in the shimmer of his own.

"Was that ok?" He asked, his rough voice tinged with raw restraint.

"Of course," you whispered, leaning in again and pulling him down by the hem of his shirt, placing another soft kiss on his delectable lips. Johnny didn't need any more encouragement. He drew himself in, clasping your waist and lifting you smoothly onto his lap, effectively positioning you on him. Surprised, you gasped at his brazen move. "Here? On the beach?"

Johnny grinned. "No one would find us unless they decided to take a midnight stroll. We can always stop," his large hands slowly moved to stroke your thighs. The touch burned into your flesh and made your head spin as his fingers dug into the smoothness of your skin.

Unsure, you didn't know how to reply; the thought of someone catching you didn't bother you at all, nor did the idea of it excite you. All you wanted was Johnny, Johnny, and more of his consuming heat and kisses. In an attempt to settle your growing nerves and butterflies, you lightly trailed your fingertips along his big arms, taking in the muscular beauty beneath the canvas of intricate and breathtaking tattoos.

You felt your courage rising and were growing increasingly aroused under his dark, half-lidded stare. There was no denying the effect his close proximity and smoldering gaze had on you. "What are we doing, Johnny? We just met," you whispered, the tension suddenly filling the space around you both.

"But our chemistry's off the charts," Johnny's gentle voice whispered into your ear and you shivered at the husky timbre, not bothering to hide the effect of his words. Leaning forward, he placed feather-light kisses along the column of your throat.

"You're only saying that because of what we're doing," you attempted to convince yourself. What was the rational decision at this moment? Your fingers were caressing his chiseled jaw, unable to stop, and unsure if you wanted to be stopped.

Johnny finally kissed you, slow and sweet, and your hand clutched the material of his shirt as you eagerly replied. Rough palms cupped your ass and squeezed your curves, grinding his hips against yours and you moaned into his mouth, pleasure pooling deep inside as an ache began to throb between your legs. His mouth left yours to slowly trace a path down to your collarbone, deliberately leaving light love bites, making you whimper and push your chest against his hot mouth.

"Just say stop, and I'll stop," Johnny pulled back to search your glazed eyes, seeing nothing but lust reflected there. "But fuck me, I hope you don't," he breathed softly.

"Johnny," you gasped softly, relishing in the way he kissed you so passionately, his hard and toned body melting against your softer, curvier frame. Gazing deeply into the caramel depths of his eyes, your head was swimming and your heart was fluttering. Kissing Johnny, and kissing him harder, you decided you weren't stopping. 

Not now. 

Not anymore.

"I've wanted to do this ever since I laid eyes on you," Johnny groaned as he gently pushed the hem of your dress up until the lacy edges of your black underwear were on show. He ran his fingers along the seams and he teased you by rolling and palming a thumb against the wet silk covering your clit. The friction made you moan wantonly, bucking into his waiting hand.

"Me too," you admitted breathlessly as his fingers slipped past the lacy fabric. "I wanted you from the second I saw you." You couldn't stop the words tumbling out, high off the way his thick fingers worked between the slippery folds. He found your clit and drew small, light circles until you were gasping and squirming.

"Then stay with me," Johnny moaned, gripping your jaw tightly with his other free hand. 

"Like, right here?" You managed a laugh, gyrating your hips onto his fingers and crying out, reveling at how fantastic he felt as he continued to send soft tingles up and down your spine.

Johnny chuckled, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive patch of skin near your throat. Suddenly, you felt his thick fingers dip inside of you and the fullness made you buckle. Pressing your forehead against his shoulder, you breathed a few shaking breaths, barely registering the cool night air as he pumped into you languidly.

"Damn, why not," Johnny groaned, drawing back and grinning. You whined at the lack of his warmth and you were left wanting more. You buried your face into his neck, embarrassed at the display, kissing and licking his heated skin until a low hiss escaped through his teeth. In response, his pace increased as he found an extremely pleasurable spot.

Then, without warning, he withdrew and he lowered his hand and unbuckled his trousers, causing you to hold your breath. He pulled his zipper down and his boxers, releasing his thick, heavy cock, long and bobbing. You couldn't help but watch in lust and awe. Even as you glanced back up to him, you saw his gaze darkened and a sly, naughty smile dancing along his lips.

"Don't look so surprised," he spoke carefully, his hands gripping your waist firmly and moving you up into a better position. You obeyed without thinking, guided by his soft touches and gentle grip. Slipping your panties to the side, you steadied his length beneath you and easily sank yourself, moaning with pleasure and feeling almost high as he entered, stretching and filling you to the brim. The thickness alone sent shivers of delight coursing through your veins. You love the feeling of being filled by him. You couldn't remember the last time you felt so full. "I can make you feel so damn good."

"Oh god," was all you were able to gasp out, tilting your head back in wonderment. Johnny left one hand at the base of your spine to support you and bring you up and down as you rode him, ensuring your hips never lost pace, while the other rested against the back of your scalp, fingers burying into the silky strands of your hair as he tipped your head forward.

It was a slow yet intoxicating kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. He let out a moan as your fingers delved into his hair, pulling tightly as his mouth moved to trace a soft line of butterfly kisses down your jaw and neck. You knew the power behind that kiss wasn't just the feeling of want, need and desire and it was the silent promise, a want for you and you alone.

In that moment, it felt like nothing in the entire world mattered except for this.

"You're driving me crazy," you let out. Never had you felt this passionate attraction towards someone, and you found the sensations overwhelming. Yet, rather than pull away, you yearned to have this and experience all of him.

"It's mutual," Johnny moaned against the flushed skin of your neck. And before you knew it, you let out an appreciative sigh as his hot tongue glided along the column of your throat, trailing down the front, teasingly across the top of your breasts and drawing patterns as his hand explored the soft mounds beneath.

"Don't stop," you panted as he thrust up into you harder, the friction, heat and passion mounting. His touch alone was enough to stimulate your senses beyond repair; you just couldn't fathom that someone could set your whole body on fire by simply touching, caressing and kissing you everywhere.

"I won't," Johnny replied, the arousal and desire clear as day across his striking features, pulling back his head to marvel at the way your body moved perfectly against his, the way you clenched around his cock and gripped his shoulder.

You grasped onto his broad shoulders and let yourself fall deeper into ecstasy as you both moved in unison. Johnny shifted slightly and his tip brushed against that wondrous sweet spot. The sudden contact forced a loud, shameless moan that escaped your lips, and you both chuckled and shared a gaze that spoke more than a thousand words.

Johnny's arms supported you as you shuddered and clenched around his hard member, finding the angle where you needed it most. Bouncing harder, faster, and leaning onto him, your hair grazed the side of his forehead as you both breathed heavily, sharing moans, gasps, and blissful sighs as you chased your high.

"Johnny... fuck..." you moaned, shutting your eyes tightly and breathing deeply.

"Be a good girl and cum for me," Johnny urged, and the need and desperation was clear in his voice as he moved one hand to stroke your sensitive, swollen clit. Your insides tensed and coiled, and your nails dug deeply into the warm, bare skin of his muscular arms. Reaching your peak, you moaned his name over and over like a broken mantra and seeing you come undone, Johnny let go as well and released a broken groan of pleasure, and with one final thrust, he emptied himself within.

Breathless, you rested your head on his shoulder. Both sweaty and trembling, Johnny allowed a grin to grow on his face. Before you could find a reply, he pulled you into another intimate, tender and gentle kiss. "We have all night, you know."

"What about your set? Shouldn't we go back soon?" You asked as you suddenly came back to earth, giggling slightly.

"They'll be fine. Yuta knows what he's doing," He smirked cheekily and slowly pulled out. Pulling your panties back in place, you smoothed your dress down and shifted off of his lap, sitting properly beside him. Johnny tucked himself back into his boxers and stood up with a smug, satisfied smile, grasping your hand and pulling you up. "Let's have tonight and not worry about tomorrow."

You bit your lip and nodded, allowing him to guide you to his bungalow and take you for a second round. And a third.

The following months had gone by quickly and you still couldn't get over the fling that happened between you and that irresistible DJ.

Sure it was just one night but the memory of the intimacy, the passion and the desire were still fresh in your mind. You thought often about that hot encounter as you still hadn't quite forgotten the night on the beach. It was still vivid and there would sometimes be moments when you would catch yourself daydreaming, mentally reliving the way his fingers and lips touched you, especially on quiet nights at the cafe with friends or during slow hours when business was dead.

Smiling as you relived the precious vacation with your friends, you flipped through the countless photos on your camera, laughing and sobbing, then giggling and feeling dumb. It had been half a year since you last saw Johnny, and it would probably be an entire year before you'd see him again. After all, he travelled the world all the time, bouncing from one stage to the next.

As soon as you returned to Seoul, reality settled. Life moved on, and it was business as usual. While it was fun, and an absolute dream to have had such an incredible and wild fling with a guy so hot and passionate, life changed after the memories faded into what really mattered.

You managed to find another job at an office, this time as a higher level administrative assistant, although that came with more responsibilities and deadlines and working longer hours than ever before. After all, bills didn't pay themselves and you would definitely need to splurge now that you were suddenly single again.

It was mid-afternoon when you settled into the seat next to Mira, chattering excitedly as she talked about a new club opening downtown. "Are you free tonight?" She asked hopefully, stirring her iced coffee.

"Maybe. I have loads of work," you frowned.

"Come on, doll. You and work. It's like you're an old married couple," Mira complained and sighed, seeing the deep frown on your face.

"I hate being an adult sometimes," you frowned, Sowon patting your back.

"Only sometimes?" Sowon joked dryly.

"Most of the time," you grinned. 

Jinhee pouted. "Will you please come with us? It will do you good to get out more. Do we have to drag you out again?"

"It's not good for the mind," Mira added wisely.

"I know. It's so boring and…" you started saying, until a dark shape passed the window. A large moving truck, boxes, and moving men. Some furniture. Looking outside, you noticed a man standing near the truck holding one end of a couch while another helper struggled with the other end. It didn't escape you that the man appeared huge in a way that made your breath hitch, and that familiar head of silky black hair.

He wore a deep blue silk shirt with a chunky white printed collar that didn't hide his golden skin, even from afar. The muscular frame of a well-built body underneath was easy to identify too, and somehow all those hot memories rushed back.

"Oh god," you muttered.

"Y/N? Y/N? Are you in there?" Jinhee chuckled. "Is everything alright? What are you staring at?"

"Oh my god!" You cried out, getting up from your seat and moving towards the cafe doors. Ignoring your confused friends' puzzled looks, you pushed open the doors and dashed out.

A lot of questions buzzed through your head, but the urgency to run and approach him was greater than anything else. Would it be bad if you ran right up to him and smothered him with kisses? Probably. Would it be bad if he rejected you? Definitely. And... would he even remember you?

"Hey," a gruff voice said softly from behind.

You jumped, letting out a surprised yelp as you whipped your head around. Upon seeing his face close up again, you were instantly hit by a sudden wave of hot memories. Heat made its way up to your face and you blushed from embarrassment.

How could anyone forget that face? It had been six months, but you would recognize it anywhere. Those beautiful, brown eyes gazing at you, tender and hopeful. That full mouth, making all sorts of naughty promises. And his thick locks, disheveled and sexy.

How did he look as perfect as that one night you met him? You had no idea. Maybe everything was just a dream. It was definitely too good to be true. But here, seeing him again... somehow everything felt right, like the gears had clicked into place. His simple presence eased the loneliness in your heart, and it only made you long for him more than ever.

"Hi," you replied weakly, suddenly aware of your fast heartbeat.

Johnny grinned widely, walking closer to you as he dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "What's wrong? It's like you've seen a ghost."

"Oh. Just wondering if I would run away. Or hug you. Either one," you managed to grin, blushing harder. The smell of him and the way his scent lingered around you felt comfortable and nostalgic. The warmth was a familiarity that you had no idea you craved again until it happened, and you wanted to fall headfirst back into it.

"Well, are you going to do either one? I wouldn't mind the second," there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Hmm..."

Johnny couldn't help but laugh as he stepped forward again, approaching your still form. Then, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him and hugging you.

"Yeah, this feels more like it," Johnny's voice vibrated through him, his touch alone bringing up overwhelming, vivid flashbacks. It was almost as if time had stopped in that small space, and everything blurred out of focus and only your mind processed his scent, his warmth, and his embrace. "Miss me?"

You clutched his shirt tightly and leaned your cheek against the hard muscles beneath, giggling madly at the sudden flurry of happiness enveloping you. "I can't believe you're here."

"Surprise," he laughed.

"I had no idea you were moving out here. Since when did you put down roots? With... neighbors and paying taxes and everything? I didn't think it was your style," you said curiously, pulling back to admire him up close.

"It's definitely not," Johnny snorted. "But I told you I moved around too much and thought the constant living out of a suitcase was finally getting to me."

"Is that so?" you said.

Johnny tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Well, I had to put down the roots somewhere."

"And that led you here," you breathed. "Are you close?"

Johnny looked up at the building behind him. "Just moved into the building right here. Third floor, 18C."

"Really? I live on the sixth floor. Apartment 23B" your heart skipped a beat.

"Damn, that's close too," he mused.

"Very," you let out a small laugh. "The odds..."

"Life can be amusing," Johnny chuckled, his big hand closing around yours. "After meeting you, I got to thinking about priorities. Wondered what the future looked like. Then, I thought about you. Maybe being just a bit self-indulgent can't be that bad, huh?"

"Nope. It definitely isn't," you giggled, gripping his hand tightly. Gazing up into the pool of rich, dark caramel, a warm fuzzy sensation pooled deep inside your stomach.

"Your friends are staring," Johnny whispered in your ear, making your knees weak.

Looking over his shoulder, you saw the three women watching your exchange. They averted their gaze quickly and all of them suddenly had a keen interest in their coffee. Your entire face warmed in a crimson blush and you hid your face against his chest again, smelling that wonderful musk and spice coming off him.

"Let's give them a show," he laughed, dipping his head down to kiss you, ignoring your small protests, holding you tightly as you giggled against his lips.

"What are we doing?" you murmured against his lips, kissing him back. "Are we really doing this again?"

"Something like that," Johnny grinned back. "But this time, with more nights and mornings."

"And everything else in between?" You added jokingly.

Johnny shrugged and pretended to frown. "Unfortunately."

"Good. You wouldn't want to get rid of me now, would you?" You teased, draping your arms around his neck.

The grin returned. "Hell no. One night was never enough."

There was no response or argument, no hesitation. He had shown up back into your life, having been hundreds and thousands of miles away, and it didn't seem at all far-fetched now as he stood here with his arms wrapped firmly around you.

It may have seemed sudden, or fast, or simply just impulsive and reckless, but it didn't feel wrong, and at least for this moment, nothing was going to change the fact that it felt very, very right. A rush of happiness engulfed you and your heart was lighter than it ever had been in a very long time.

And this, this, was undeniably where you wanted to be.

[esote-rika]

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Today, we’re going to talk about the Mars sign and how it influences the way you take action. Action is what drives our day-to-day lives. Without it, nothing would come to fruition. Your Mars sign shapes your approach to action in ways that many people have never fully explored. Let me guide you through how your Mars sign dictates how you take action.

Aries Mars

With an Aries Mars, your life is all about movement. You dislike stillness, boredom, and feeling useless. You’re a natural worker, and when you’re not working, it negatively impacts your self-worth and empowerment. You feel defeated and weakened without constant action.

In this position, Aries Mars doesn’t like to overthink. They avoid people who crowd their mind with too many ideas. Instead, they prefer to act based on instinct and what feels right in the moment. They are the ultimate guide and compass for their own life and dislike being told what to do. If you try to get an Aries Mars to listen to others, they will become aggressive and shut you down or refuse to listen. They want to rule their own lives.

As a cardinal sign, Aries Mars is quick to start things. They’re quick to apply for a job, try something new, or go after what they want. They don’t like being bossed around; instead, they expect others to take orders from them. If you’re interacting with an Aries Mars, you must listen to what they say and obey their rules.

Ruled by Mars, Aries Mars is hot-headed, creative, and aggressive. They don’t know how to dial back their energy. They express themselves directly, preferring a clear yes or no—nothing in between. Aries Mars loves to be dominant, and submissive roles never suit them. They won’t last long in situations where they aren’t in control.

They want to show strength and capability, so they’ll always gravitate toward opportunities that allow them to demonstrate their power. Aries Mars doesn’t like being told no; they’ll knock down walls just to prove they’re strong enough to do it. If you plant a seed of doubt in their mind, they’ll quickly show you why you’re wrong.

Fearless by nature, Aries Mars will often try to push through challenges—even when they’re not fully capable—driven by adrenaline. They run on this adrenaline, ensuring that everything they do is done in a big way. Their motto is “Go big or go home.”

With this placement, you might rise to the top or crash to the bottom. But even if you fall, you always have the resilience to get back up. Life for Aries Mars flows in cycles—cycles of danger and cycles of success. But no matter what, you have the ability to rise above it all.

Taurus Mars

You can’t be bothered with people who don’t understand how you do things, because it annoys you to explain yourself to those who aren’t willing to understand. You have the ability to be discerning, and you can easily spot when someone is asking you to do something just because it’s different from how you do things, versus when someone truly wants to assist you. However, in this action-oriented placement, you often move too slowly for Mars. While Mars is racing ahead, you take your sweet time, falling far behind. Although, one day, you will catch up with Mars—it just might take a while. For you, Taurus Mars, it’s all about being slow and steady, but sometimes, you might fall out of the race entirely.

Taurus Mars prefers to stick to tried-and-true methods. You dislike doing anything unconventional. You need traditional, proven, scientifically researched methods. You want to know what your grandmother did and replicate it because, frankly, you don’t care about modern technology or the latest ideologies. What works is what you’ll do, because you don’t have the energy to explore new ideas.

At your core, Taurus Mars is all about pleasure. You hardly want to move unless there’s something in it for you. You’re transactional—refusing to take on tasks for trivial amounts of money. You know your worth and won’t settle for small change. You need to know exactly how much you’ll be compensated before you’ll even consider moving.

Taurus Mars is motivated by pleasure. Anything that makes life feel more beautiful, relaxing, and luxurious is what draws you in. If you’re only offering exercise as an incentive, forget it. Taurus Mars doesn’t care about working out; it cares about sitting back and enjoying life. Your movements are slow and deliberate, as you’re playing a long game. You’re not concerned with building muscle or being the strongest—you’re aiming to enjoy life to the fullest in your own way.

Your actions are meticulous and intentional, and this often frustrates others who are always in a rush. While they’re eager to get somewhere, Taurus Mars is focused on enjoying the ride. You’re all about sensuality and taking pleasure in movement, but only in ways that make you feel beautiful, useful, and at peace. You don’t want to work at a construction site; you’d rather paint, water the garden, dance, or create something beautiful.

The Mars energy can be too strong for Taurus, causing a clash. Mars urges you to act quickly, but Taurus is reluctant to rush. This makes it take a long time for you to take any significant action because you need to know that what you’re doing will produce tangible results.

There are two things that are crucial for Taurus Mars to move:

1. It needs to feel like an investment. You need to see that what you’re doing is worth the effort and will yield results.

2. You cannot be bothered by things that require too much physical exertion or mental strain. You prefer tasks that allow you to use your eye for beauty and aesthetics rather than relying on brute strength or intense mental effort.

Taurus Mars sits between physical strength and mental power when taking action. You also need to know that whatever you’re doing is sustainable. If something requires too much energy, you won’t pursue it. But if it’s low energy and leads nowhere, you’ll also avoid it.

What sets Taurus Mars apart is that when they finally take action, they do so with such discernment and efficiency that they often produce far greater results than others who are taking constant action. While others might rush through their tasks, Taurus Mars moves slowly, but when they take that one step, the payoff is significant. People might get jealous when they see that after taking three months to decide, Taurus Mars ends up with more than the person who’s been acting every day. Taurus Mars doesn’t leap without thought—they only take action when they know it will work. And that’s why, in the end, they often end up in a better position than others.

Gemini Mars

How did the planet Mercury meet Mars? Well, they talked their way over to Mars, who was busy working, and now they’re distracting Mars from getting things done. Yes, Gemini Mars is always distracted from taking action.

Seeing a Gemini Mars take action is like seeing a rainbow in the sky—a rare and beautiful occurrence. Everyone gathers around to admire it, but it doesn’t happen often. For Gemini Mars, they are cerebral thinkers. They don’t care much about doing. In fact, they prefer to watch others do the work because they can’t be bothered to lift a finger.

Why would they exert physical effort when their strength lies in their mental capacity? Instead of doing, they prefer to instruct others who are willing to act. They’ll share their ideas, plan things out, and let others carry out the tasks. That’s the essence of Gemini Mars.

In this position, Mars is full of energy and ready to take action, but it’s facing Mercury, who is just talking. So, Gemini Mars doesn’t thrive here. Why? Because Mars is waiting for Gemini to act, but Gemini is too busy talking. If you meet someone with Gemini Mars, they’ll be a big talker—full of grand ideas, theories, and ideologies. They can talk about everything from social groups and celebrities to the latest trends. But when you ask them what they’ve actually done today, they haven’t done much because it’s all in their head.

One thing Gemini Mars is good at is meeting new people and finding ways to externalize their thoughts. They can convince others to be the ones who do what needs to be done. For example, a Gemini Mars might have a girlfriend who does all the cooking and cleaning, while the Gemini Mars doesn’t lift a finger. Why? Because the Gemini Mars has charmed and persuaded the person into doing these things, using their charisma and Mercury energy to convince them that it’s the best thing for them to do. Now, the Gemini Mars doesn’t have to cook dinner or clean clothes because they’ve convinced someone else to do it.

That’s the essence of Gemini Mars. They will persuade you to do what they don’t want to do. They’ll give you the ideas, make lists for you, and tell you exactly how to do it, but they won’t execute it themselves. They’re thinkers, not doers. Gemini Mars excels in jobs that require them to use their creativity and intellect but not physical labor. If the job requires them to be hands-on, they’ll likely fail or quit because that’s not where their strength lies.

When it comes to decision-making, Gemini Mars is also slow. They don’t like to make decisions because they’re constantly processing information. They’re never set in stone with their conclusions. Instead, they’re always transitioning between different ideas, theories, and thoughts without committing to one. This indecisiveness makes Gemini Mars a poor decision-maker.

While this might not be the best placement in times when people were expected to take action and do physical labor, Gemini Mars functions well in modern, intellectual eras where new ideas and technological advancements are valued. In today’s world, Gemini Mars thrives in environments that require efficient thinking, ideation, and constant mental stimulation. They’re not going to do the work—they’re just going to tell you how to do it.

Cancer Mars

When we think of Mars, we think of action—raw, animalistic, pure energy. And then here comes the soft, subtle Moon. Mars doesn’t even notice the Moon because it’s too busy working, while the Moon is focused on comfort and feeling. Mars has no time for that.

Now, imagine the position of Cancer Mars. Mars doesn’t like this placement. Mars wants the Moon as far away as possible because the Moon brings “yucky, icky” feelings. Mars is all about action—so why sit in emotions and feelings without doing something about it? For Cancer, they’re such strong feelers, and in the Mars position, this impedes their ability to take action because they’re stuck in the realm of emotions, comfort, and familiarity. Action feels chaotic, aggressive, and all over the place. Cancer Mars prefers to stay in their comfort zone.

As a cardinal sign, Cancer wants to lead, but they also don’t want to take action. They feel propelled to act but may impulsively start something before their emotions take over. Once that emotional wave rises, Cancer Mars becomes paralyzed by feelings—overwhelmed by emotions, unsure of where to go, and unsure of what action to take. One minute they feel happy, the next minute they feel sad, and then they might feel angry. They don’t know where to go or how to move forward because they’re consumed by their emotions.

So, Cancer Mars takes a long time before making any moves. They’re the type to feel sudden inspiration to do something because they have cardinal energy and they’re ready to start—but once they feel that urge to begin, their emotions kick in. The overthinking starts, and now Cancer is uncertain. They wonder if they should take action, or if it’s the right time to do so. They’re caught up in their emotions and not sure which direction to take.

A Cancer Mars needs to process through cyclical emotional states before they can make a decision. If you’ve ever met a Cancer Mars, you might have noticed they can never make a decision on the spot. That’s because they want to say “yes,” but they know their emotions are going to influence them, and they can’t make a firm decision until they’ve worked through those emotions.

By the time Cancer Mars is ready to make a decision, they’re trying to operate from the highest emotional state possible. So if they’re feeling down or going through a somber period, they’ll wait to make any decisions until they feel like they’re in a more elevated emotional state. This can slow things down even more.

Cancer Mars is like the person you rely on, but you never know what mood they’ll be in. On Monday, they say they’ll pick you up on Thursday, and you think you can count on that. But by Tuesday, their emotions have shifted, and they change their mind. By Wednesday, they may change it back to “yes,” and now you’re left wondering if they’ll actually follow through. This fluctuation creates uncertainty, and by Thursday, you’re on pins and needles, wondering whether or not Cancer Mars will show up.

This placement is terrible for decision-making until Cancer Mars grows emotional intelligence and learns to understand their emotions without being completely absorbed by them. In the meantime, they’ll make decisions slowly. Even when Cancer Mars does make decisions, there’s still that cardinal energy. Sometimes the decision is impulsive—just a sheer desire to take action—but it might change repeatedly.

So while Libra might be known for being indecisive, Cancer Mars is even more indecisive because their moods and emotions create a barrier to taking action. However, once Cancer Mars finally takes action, they’re committed. After all the back-and-forth and emotional processing, when they do move forward, they really want to do it.

But remember, Cancer Mars doesn’t like aggression, harshness, or fast-paced action. When they take action, they’ll want to do it with grace, moving demurely and with class. That’s the Cancer Mars way.

Leo Mars

When we think of Mars, we think of action—raw, powerful energy. Now, imagine the Sun coming into the picture. Mars looks over its shoulder and smiles because the Sun brings enthusiasm, positivity, and light. With the Sun’s radiant energy, Mars feels motivated to do more, shine brighter, and keep pursuing what it wants. This is the essence of Leo Mars.

For Leo Mars, they bring positivity to action. While some Mars placements can make action seem serious, Leo injects fun, joy, and light-hearted energy into it. Mars feels it can smile more with Leo around. Leo Mars doesn’t just want to do things—they want to do them with purpose, passion, and the best energy they can offer. When they act, they are fired up and unstoppable. However, because Leo Mars is a fixed sign, they’re not always the initiators.

Leo Mars isn’t as original as people often assume. Unlike Aries Mars, which is known for being a leader and trailblazer, Leo Mars tends to follow in the footsteps of the Cardinal signs. They observe and then act, especially when they see something successful. Leo Mars is drawn to established success and often finds themselves following what’s already been built, rather than starting something from scratch.

For example, if Leo Mars sees someone doing well—gaining followers, making money, or growing influence—they’ll jump on board. As a fixed sign, they don’t want to create something new but will instead take what already works and build upon it. They want to enhance and magnify what is already established. So, if you’re making money or gaining followers, Leo Mars will take notice and figure out how they can make it bigger, better, and more powerful.

This tendency to build on existing success is why Leo Mars often develops a big ego. They want to outdo the person who showed them the way or introduced them to something new. If you teach a Leo Mars anything, be prepared for them to want to do it better than you. If you have more money, expect Leo Mars to eventually surpass you in that area, too. This is the nature of fixed energy—it makes decisions with confidence and believes it can work because they see the potential to build on what’s already there.

When Leo Mars takes action, they need recognition for it. They thrive on praise, acknowledgment, and admiration. This is why Leo Mars tends to follow trends or go after what’s already working—they know that if they master it, they will receive recognition, whether it’s through more followers, more money, or more praise.

While this is a great position for Mars, as Leo Mars is not afraid to take action and doesn’t overthink things, it does have its shadow side. Leo Mars often hops onto trends or opportunities that are already established, simply to get the best out of them.

I’ve personally seen Leo Mars individuals outdo others by taking what’s already successful and making it their own. They’re great at making friends and gaining popularity, which is part of why they can take action so easily. Leo Mars knows how to charm people and make them feel good, often offering compliments and encouragement. But secretly, they’re calculating how to rise to the top of the group, become the leader, and take control.

So, if you have a Leo Mars around you, watch out. While they might seem friendly and encouraging, they’re often quietly working their way to the top, taking what’s already established and making it theirs. As with all fixed signs, Leo Mars can be sneaky, as they tend to build off of what’s already there, rather than creating something entirely new.

Virgo Mars

When we talk about Virgo Mars, we’re talking about the energy of Mercury. Just like Gemini Mars, Mercury talks its way over to Mars, distracting Mars from its hard work. Mars gets irritated because Mercury just keeps talking while Mars wants to focus and work. Virgo Mars is similar, but unlike the mental energy of Gemini, the Earth energy of Virgo is more pragmatic and focused on tangible results, rather than just conveying information.

This placement isn’t ideal because Mars’ energy is fast and impulsive. It wants to work quickly, get the job done, and move on—without worrying about every single detail. But Virgo? Virgo is all about analyzing the details, and Mars hates that. This creates a conflict. Even when Virgo Mars does take action, they’ve already burned through most of Mars’ energy by overanalyzing and overthinking the details. Mars doesn’t care about the details—that’s Mercury’s domain. When Mars is in play, it’s about taking action, not slowing things down with unnecessary analysis.

Virgo Mars struggles because they feel the need to make decisions, but they can’t until they’ve gathered all the information. They’re caught up in the details, unsure of what’s right or what they should do. While Mars is already down the street, Virgo Mars is still at home, trying to decide what shoes to wear or what hat to put on. By the time they’ve made a decision, Mars has already moved on.

Because of this tendency to overthink and focus on the minutiae, Virgo Mars misses many opportunities in life. They’re great at making good decisions, but they take so long to decide that by the time they’re ready, the opportunity is gone.

For example, if a Virgo Mars has a crush on someone, they will notice every detail about that person: how their eyes look, how they talk, how they dress, even their strengths and weaknesses. Virgo Mars will analyze the person deeply, thinking about how they would fit into their life if they were to date or marry them. All of this is happening in Virgo Mars’ mind—yet, they never take action. They think, think, think, but don’t do anything.

By the time Virgo Mars finally decides to act, months have passed, and the person they had their eye on is already in a relationship. They took so long to make a move that the opportunity slipped away. This is how Virgo Mars works—slow to take action but very detailed and prepared when they finally do.

Similarly, if Virgo Mars is applying for a job, they might miss out because they’re too focused on getting the perfect resume, researching everything about the company, and preparing for the interview. By the time they’re ready, someone else has already gotten the job. Virgo Mars moves too slowly and overthinks everything. They’re obsessed with getting everything right, but by taking too long, they miss out on opportunities.

Virgo Mars is different from Taurus Mars. While Taurus Mars takes their time to pursue what pleases them, Virgo Mars focuses on the details of the process. They want everything to be perfect, down to the smallest detail, but that can cause them to miss out on life’s bigger opportunities. They think they’re doing things the right way, but they can’t get out of their own mindset and, as a result, they get stuck.

Virgo Mars is driven by the need to function and operate efficiently, but that drive often results in paralysis by analysis. They get caught up in the small stuff, and because of their perfectionism, they end up taking too long to act. Their need for everything to be perfect in a certain way, in a certain form, often prevents them from taking action at all.

This is how Virgo Mars takes action—slow, methodical, and focused on details. But their overthinking and obsession with perfection often cause them to miss out on what’s really important in life.

Libra Mars

Libra Mars, like Taurus Mars, is ruled by Venus. However, with Libra Mars, the energy is in the air element, making things more complex and trickier. Venus, as we know, doesn’t like Mars because Mars is aggressive, feisty, and action-oriented, while Venus just wants to relax, look beautiful, and be pampered. These two energies are quite different and often collide.

For Libra Mars, the Venus energy can’t handle the raw force of Mars. Mars is too harsh, too demanding, and too forceful for the more balanced and calm nature of Libra. Libra doesn’t like demands—it values space, balance, and harmony. So, when we look at Libra Mars, we see a person who is very much in their head. They don’t want to take action, because Air signs are more about mental energy than physical action. They prefer to have others do things for them while they create ideas and communicate what needs to be done. They want others to bring their thoughts and theories to life, but they don’t want to do the hard work themselves.

Libra Mars is great at interpersonal connections. Like Gemini Mars, they enjoy talking to people, but Libra Mars tends to be more one-on-one and personal. While Gemini Mars is sociable in a larger sense, Libra Mars seeks to build meaningful connections with individuals, not groups. They find someone they can communicate their ideas to, and once they find that person, they feel empowered to share their thoughts. They will have many conversations, but their goal is to find someone who can act on those ideas.

Libra Mars, much like Taurus Mars, doesn’t like to move for petty change or engage in hard, physical labor. They’re not like Aries Mars, who thrives on action and strength. Libra Mars wants to show their intellect and creativity, not their physical strength. They prefer to relax, enjoy themselves, and talk to others. They’re charismatic, charming, and flirtatious, able to make people feel good with their words. They’ll often inflate someone’s ego, encourage them, and make them feel like they can achieve anything.

Once they’ve made someone feel good, Libra Mars will convey their ideas and ask that person to carry out the work. They’re all about balance and think they are providing the mental energy while others bring the physical action. For example, Libra Mars may have a business idea they think is great, but they don’t like to take action. They’re too caught up in the details, the balance, and the perfection of the idea. They’re always overthinking, trying to make everything perfect, and this prevents them from moving forward.

What Libra Mars wants is for others to do the hard work. They want someone to make the money, build the business, or take care of the physical aspects of a project while they sit back and be the brain behind it. They don’t mind working in a team, as long as they don’t have to take the lead in the execution. Libra Mars thrives when they can make connections and delegate tasks to others.

However, this placement isn’t always the best. Libra Mars can be so focused on balance that it takes them a long time to figure out exactly what they want or need. They’re constantly going back and forth in their mind, weighing options, and trying to make everything “just right.” This overthinking process can delay their ability to take action or even decide what they want others to do. They may lead others on with their charm and ideas, but when it comes time to act, they often don’t know what they want or how to proceed.

By the time Libra Mars figures out what they want, they’ve worn others out. They have a lot of ideas, and since they’re cardinal energy, they’re always coming up with new thoughts and inspirations. However, the problem is that they often don’t follow through. They have no follow-through because they’re too focused on the mental side of things and not the action side.

The best thing Libra Mars can do is build relationships with others who can help them bring their ideas to life. But it takes time for them to fully understand what they want, communicate it clearly, and work harmoniously with others to make it happen. This results in a delayed, sometimes chaotic process before they can achieve their desires.

Scorpio Mars

When Mars is hard at work, taking action, and making things materialize, Scorpio sneaks up from behind. Mars feels Scorpio’s energy permeating through them—Mars can feel both the Mars energy from Scorpio and the deeper, darker, murky energy from Pluto. When Mars turns around, they see nothing but Scorpio Mars.

Scorpio Mars is a strong placement because Mars rules Scorpio, and because of this, Mars appreciates how Scorpio operates. Scorpio gets straight to the point and doesn’t waste time, which is something Mars loves. However, Scorpio has a deeper, darker side that Mars doesn’t fully understand. While Scorpio Mars is effective at getting things done, using Mars energy to take action without overthinking or becoming too emotional, Pluto’s energy slows them down.

Mars wants fast results—it’s quick, action-oriented, and aggressive. But Pluto, which rules Scorpio, is about long-term, transformative results. Pluto doesn’t rush; it seeks to change things profoundly. This creates a collision. While Mars seeks quick results, Pluto requires a deeper, more gradual process. Scorpio Mars, therefore, tends to take longer to accomplish their goals because they’re focused on transformation and regeneration.

This long-term focus is actually beneficial because, unlike Aries Mars, which can burn out quickly, Scorpio Mars aims for lasting success. However, this comes with its challenges. Pluto demands hard work and persistence. In this placement, Scorpio Mars is fixed energy, which means it prefers to build upon what already exists rather than start something new.

When Scorpio Mars wants to transform something, they look at what’s already progressing or developing and decide, “I can make this better.” They thrive on improving what others may overlook. This makes them different from Aries Mars, as Scorpio Mars has the foresight to see potential before it’s fully realized. They don’t plan like Virgo Mars, which overthinks; instead, Scorpio Mars intuitively senses what could be improved and has the stamina to work toward that goal.

Scorpio Mars is the “rags to riches” type. They start with nothing, but they can see potential in what others view as broken. Their intuition and ability to transform situations make them smarter than Aries Mars in some ways. They see what others can’t, and they use their fixed energy to continue working toward that vision.

They also have Pluto’s energy, which grants them incredible resilience. When something breaks or fails, Scorpio Mars rises from the ashes, powered by Pluto’s regenerative force. This resilience is even stronger than Aries Mars because Pluto can endure harsher challenges. Pluto doesn’t just get through tough situations—it transforms them.

As Scorpio Mars ages, they begin to notice that things others have given up on, or neglected, are the very things they’ve transformed into something greater. By the time Scorpio Mars is older, they have profited and thrived from opportunities that others overlooked.

Scorpio, being a water sign, brings intuition to the action-oriented Mars energy. Mars is instinctive, while Pluto’s energy is intuitive, allowing Scorpio Mars to make decisions quickly. They don’t need to overthink because they trust their intuition, which often leads them to success. This combination of Mars’ action and Pluto’s depth makes Scorpio Mars incredibly powerful.

In summary, Scorpio Mars is a placement of transformation and power. Mars loves Mars, and Pluto’s energy makes it even stronger, adding depth and resilience. Scorpio Mars has the ability to endure, transform, and achieve success through their intuition and unyielding determination.

Sagittarius Mars

Now, let’s talk about Sagittarius Mars. Sagittarius is ruled by Jupiter, the planet of expansion, abundance, higher learning, and beliefs. But does Mars really care about beliefs or philosophy? Not at all. Does Mars care about higher learning? No. What Mars does care about is the energy of Sagittarius. Jupiter is all about expansion and abundance, and when it meets Mars, Jupiter makes Mars feel like it can work for more—more energy, more results, more success. This creates a sense of greed in Sagittarius Mars, making it feel like it can keep pushing for more, building stamina in the process.

Additionally, Sagittarius is a fire sign, and fire signs are action-oriented. When Mars is in a fire sign, it feels lit up and encouraged to take action, so Mars actually doesn’t do too bad in this placement. It’s not the worst position for Mars, but there are some challenges. Let me explain why Sagittarius Mars also isn’t the best placement for Mars.

As I mentioned, Jupiter is abundant, optimistic, and always looking toward the future. It overextends itself and tends to be overly hopeful. When this energy is placed in Mars, a doer and worker by nature, Mars becomes prone to overworking itself. Sagittarius Mars can overexert its energy in pursuit of action, and the combination of Jupiter’s optimism and Mars’ drive can lead to burnout. Sagittarius Mars tends to keep going, pushing forward without realizing it until they crash. This overexertion is a downside of having both Mars and Jupiter in one placement—Mars wants to work, but Jupiter’s energy encourages overdoing things without grounding or realism.

Another issue arises because Jupiter represents freedom, and Mars is all about action. Mars is not like Saturn, where discipline and hard work are the focus. Mars likes to get things done, but Sagittarius, being ruled by Jupiter, can often prioritize freedom and fun over hard work. Sagittarius Mars can be impulsive and abandon its drive for action when it finds something more enjoyable or adventurous.

Sagittarius Mars is mutable energy, which means it’s constantly moving, exploring, and looking for new experiences. It doesn’t like to stay in one place or focus on one task for too long. This lack of focus means that, while Sagittarius Mars is action-oriented, it may abandon the task at hand in favor of pursuing something more exciting, fun, or liberating.

Sagittarius Mars tends to split its energy: half the time, it’s burning through action, overexerting itself in the process; the other half, it’s seeking freedom and excitement, abandoning work to explore new ideas or enjoy life. This creates a 50-50 balance where Sagittarius Mars is both productive and lazy, depending on where their curiosity or desire for adventure takes them.

Overall, this is not a bad placement for Mars, but it’s a bit of a split energy. Sagittarius Mars is better than some placements like Earth or Water signs, as it brings action, but it’s also prone to distractions and overexertion. The key challenge is balancing the desire for action with the need for freedom and exploration.

Capricorn Mars

Capricorn Mars is a great position for Mars because Saturn, which rules Capricorn, is all about hard work, and Mars is all about action. Saturn’s influence means that Capricorn Mars is willing to put in the work necessary to take action. People with Capricorn Mars succeed far greater than other signs because they’re willing to do the hard work that others shy away from.

Unlike the Air Mars signs, who often want to facilitate, convey ideas, or translate thoughts, Capricorn Mars wants to get their hands dirty, dig in, and do the work. With Saturn’s influence, Capricorn Mars has the strength and endurance to push through any obstacle, giving them the longevity needed to reach their goals. They have the discipline and focus to achieve results.

Capricorn Mars is in a powerful position because Saturn loves discipline, and Mars is action-oriented. Saturn’s influence brings structure and focus to Mars’ energy, ensuring that it’s not scattered or impulsive. Instead, Capricorn Mars has a clear plan, a solid strategy, and a well-thought-out approach to materializing their goals. They use tried-and-true methods to turn their desires into reality, rather than relying solely on intuition or instinct.

Not only does Capricorn Mars take action, but they also do the dirty work that others might avoid. Just like the Capricorn sign, which is known for ambition, Capricorn Mars is decisive and knows exactly what they want. When they take action, they do so with purpose and drive. They can execute much faster than someone who is indecisive or overly emotional, as they know what they want and are focused on achieving it.

Saturn’s influence also teaches Capricorn Mars to take their time and understand that obstacles will come. Having the foresight to recognize potential challenges means they have the endurance to face them and still succeed. Capricorn Mars is methodical, patient, and determined to reach their goals, even if it takes longer than expected.

This makes Capricorn Mars an excellent placement for both work and action. Capricorn Mars doesn’t get caught up in emotions or overthinking. They focus on the facts and truth of the situation and take action based on that. They’re pragmatic and clear-sighted, working with what is in front of them—right or wrong—without getting lost in feelings or excessive analysis.

Capricorn Mars has a clear, steady approach to life, hitting milestones and achieving goals, even if it takes longer than others. Think of Capricorn Mars as someone who can go through years of schooling to become a doctor. Yes, an Aries Mars might make money quickly or lose weight rapidly, but Capricorn Mars is in it for the long haul. By the time they reach their goal, they are not only highly skilled but also financially secure in a sustainable way.

While an Aries Mars can achieve fast, short-term results—like earning money or achieving a quick transformation—Capricorn Mars is about long-term sustainability. An Aries Mars may make money quickly, only to lose it, or might shed weight fast but struggle to keep it off. In contrast, Capricorn Mars thinks ahead, planning for the future and building solid foundations for long-term success.

Thirty years from now, the payoff for Capricorn Mars will be immense, as they’ve built something lasting and sustainable. This is how Capricorn Mars operates—they don’t rush. They think about stability, longevity, and how their actions today will pay off in the future. They don’t force this process; it’s a natural way of working that ensures lasting results.

Aquarius Mars

Aquarius Mars brings a lot of goodness to the Mars energy. It introduces innovation, progressive ideas, and a future-oriented focus. Aquarius is great at facilitating change and progress, especially with an eye toward the future. In this position, Aquarius Mars helps the action-oriented Fire Mars take action and seize the moment through initiatives that benefit the long term or create a more cohesive, humanitarian society. They excel at organizing groups of people to work toward a collective goal and can guide others to take action toward creating positive change.

However, the downside of Aquarius Mars, which sometimes makes it a less effective Mars placement, is the rebellious and chaotic energy of Uranus, which rules Aquarius. Uranus brings abrupt changes that people may not always understand. It’s often focused on big dreams and ideals, which can be far-fetched and impractical. These ideals focus on the potential for success, but sometimes they don’t account for the practical steps needed to achieve it.

Because of this, Aquarius Mars can sometimes clash with others when it comes to their ideas or when trying to get others to act on them. Their ideas, though progressive, can be too disruptive or unconventional, leading to disagreements or friction within a group. It can take time for Aquarius Mars to find like-minded individuals who align with their vision and can help bring their ideas to fruition.

When it comes to decision-making, Aquarius Mars is good at making decisions about the future, but not as effective when it comes to the present. They are less interested in the mundane, day-to-day tasks or the practical details of life. These tasks don’t capture their attention. As a result, they might struggle to make decisions that require focus on the here and now. They’re more adept at communicating ideas and getting others to act on them, but actually taking action themselves can be challenging. Like other air Mars placements, Aquarius Mars may prefer to let others do the hard work while they contribute their ideas and vision.

Aquarius Mars can also struggle with making realistic, tangible decisions for the present. They tend to get caught up in their lofty, future-oriented goals, which can make them detached from what needs to be done in the moment. This detachment can cause them to neglect the practical actions needed for their own life, focusing more on larger, collective goals.

Moreover, Aquarius Mars is more focused on groups, social circles, and communities than on the individual. Their drive to take action is often geared toward collective causes, which can make it difficult for them to make decisions for their personal life. For example, they may struggle to make decisions regarding their personal relationships or daily routines because they’re more focused on their contribution to a larger, overarching purpose.

In the process, Aquarius Mars may shift their energy away from their own personal goals in favor of collective goals, sometimes causing them to lose track of what’s necessary for their own growth. This can lead to actions that may not be as functional or grounded in practicality. Their focus on the future, while valuable, may result in decisions that don’t necessarily pay off in the present moment.

Ultimately, Aquarius Mars can lack the functionality needed for practical decision-making. While their future-oriented ideas may pay off in some cases, they can also fail to produce results if not properly grounded in the present.

Pisces Mars

When we talk about Pisces Mars, we’re discussing a watery, elusive energy in the position of action. Mars, with its fiery, action-oriented energy, doesn’t align well with the water element. Water puts out fire, and while Mars wants to take action, the water from Pisces slows it down. Pisces Mars is more focused on emotions than on taking action. It’s caught up in the realm of imagination, sensitivity, and feeling, making it difficult to act.

Mars energy is too aggressive, direct, and passionate for Pisces Mars. Pisces prefers soft, subtle actions. They’re focused on their imagination and want to manifest their dreams and visions into reality. These are the true dreamers—not doers. Pisces Mars envisions everything they want out of life, but they struggle to make those dreams a reality. Why? Because they’re caught up in the passivity, subtlety, and emotional essence of their energy. The harshness of Mars pulls them away from their true nature, causing them to internalize too much.

Pisces Mars is a visionary, but their vivid imagination sometimes prevents them from taking action. The water energy of Pisces makes decisions based on feelings, not just action. Pisces Mars tends to feel out what they can do, and as a result, their dreams are often watered down by self-doubt or a lack of belief in their ability to follow through.

Pisces is a passive sign, a lover who doesn’t like aggression or harshness. They prefer calm and serenity, and taking action can feel too intense for them. It requires too much energy, and it’s not aligned with the peaceful energy they crave. Pisces Mars struggles with the mechanical, action-oriented nature of Mars, and may find it difficult to execute their dreams and make them real.

This makes Pisces Mars a challenging placement because they often just dream and envision but struggle to accomplish or do anything. Pisces Mars is highly sensitive, so any form of aggression, hardship, or rigidity—qualities inherent in Mars—will cause them to retreat. They may become introverted, withdraw into themselves, and shy away from the demands of the outside world. Mars’ direct energy doesn’t know how to deal with Neptune’s elusive, intangible qualities, and Pisces, ruled by Neptune, can’t easily channel Mars’ aggressive energy into concrete actions.

Furthermore, Pisces is ruled by Jupiter, and being a mutable sign, Pisces often flows through different stages and places in life. This makes it hard for Pisces Mars to focus on one task or goal. The mutable energy of Pisces doesn’t lend itself well to a constant, decisive course of action. Pisces Mars often craves freedom and choice, avoiding grounding themselves in any one thing for too long. Taking action can feel too rigid and confining, as Pisces just wants to explore, have options, and enjoy life on their terms.

This is the type of person who struggles to take things seriously, or to assert themselves and their ambitions. Pisces Mars may find themselves retreating into their imagination rather than stepping forward and actively pursuing their desires.

The combination of Pisces’ elusive energy with Mars’ direct energy makes it difficult for Pisces Mars to gain clarity. The lines between action and inaction blur, making it hard for them to pin down their direction. This confusion ultimately makes it harder for Pisces Mars to take decisive action in their life, further delaying their ability to turn their dreams into reality.

[dollfacefantasy]

Baby Bunny

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!bunny-hybrid!reader

summary: leon helps his sweet baby bunny through her heat.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, masturbation, breeding kink, daddy kink

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i'm not sure how i feel about this one, but let's go with it. again, thank you everyone for reblogging and commenting, it means the world to me <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld

In his personal life, Leon never wanted to be depended on. That was his job. He didn’t want that stuff following him home. He didn’t want to be tied down, to be responsible for someone like that. People depended on him in Raccoon city and look how that turned out. Every mission he’s been on for the last few years, he’s responsible for someone. It’s exhausting.

But as he nears 30, he starts to look at it differently. An aching sense of isolation grows in his heart. He starts to think about what it would be like having someone, having a companion of some sort. Suddenly, he’s not looking at being relied on as a detriment. Being depended on means having someone to care for, someone to love. There would be someone at the end of long days and the starts of his currently lonesome nights.

That’s how he finds himself with you scampering around his house. The sweetest little thing he’d ever seen. Your long floppy ears, cute little cottontail, those big sweet eyes. From the moment he saw you, he was a sucker for all of it.

A while back he had briefly heard of human-animal hybrids, but he didn’t think much about it. It didn’t really apply to him. If anything, the idea weirded him out a bit.

That was until he started thinking more about his dilemma. It seemed like one of them might be a good solution. He talked to a few people and did some online research and decided to at least look into it. It couldn’t hurt to visit an adoption center right?

He visited the place and was still a little freaked by the whole concept. He walked through the rooms, watching different hybrids move about and mess around. The lady guiding him throughout asked him different questions, trying to decipher what type of hybrid would best fit his needs. But all of her questions were irrelevant as soon as he spotted you.

You were undoubtedly the one. His baby bunny. Not only did he not want any other hybrid, but he didn’t think he could physically leave that place without talking to you at the very least.

He walked over to you cautiously. You kept to yourself, and he could tell from your body language alone how timid you were. He spoke with the softest, most soothing tone he could manage, but you were still so shy.

You’d told him your name so quietly he could barely hear. He didn’t touch you at all, fearing you may cry at something that personal. But he kept talking to you because while others may have found it challenging, he could see you fitting right in with him.

You’d be dependent, sure, but clearly you wouldn’t be overly needy for affection. It would be a good way for him to transition from being alone into having someone.

He kept getting to know you and trying to get through some of your walls. He talked with you about all sorts of things and let you ask your own questions so you could get to know him. By the end of the day, you hesitantly allowed him to stroke your ears.

It was that exact day he told you that he was interested in you coming to live with him. You were still very reserved, but you seemed receptive. You did a little trial run over the course of a week, and just as Leon thought, you were a great fit.

You had grown more comfortable with him in the months since that week even though your core personality hadn’t changed. You were still generally quiet, never asking for much and being appreciative of whatever he gave you. You’d talk with him openly now, mostly responding to him rather than starting conversations but speaking nevertheless. You slept in your own room, but as soon as you woke up, you’d come find him to hang out. It was a nice balance with you.

But Leon still wanted a little more. He would never push it on you, knowing it would make you withdraw again, but he always cherished the moments of progress with you. You warmed up enough that you came around to enjoy cuddling. Leon couldn’t believe how soft he’d become when you curled up to his side and tucked yourself under his arm. The first time you fell asleep in his embrace, he loved it so much he felt chest pains. Once or twice, he’d gotten you to fully sit on his lap, and he couldn’t stop beaming.

He could give you little kisses on your face now, and you’d give him a sweet smile in return that he couldn’t get enough of. You’d never kissed him yourself, but you would nuzzle his cheek in return which was enough to make him happy.

You were just such a sweetheart, a perfect companion for him. You didn’t complain when he had to go to work, but it wasn’t like you didn’t miss him. He could see the way your ears would slump and your eyes would dim as he gathered his stuff and headed for the door. But you also got so happy when he came back. You tried to seem as subdued as possible, but the way you lit up again in his presence was obvious.

The only thing you were still completely closed off about was when you went into heat. Leon understood what it was, he had been nervous about it since bringing you home, but he had no clue about how you dealt with it at all. Every time it happened, you’d shut yourself up in your room for however many days it took, and then return to him as if nothing had happened.

For your sake, he played along. He got the sense it was a touchy subject after bringing up the possibility of getting you some more toys for it and having you immediately shut it down. Your voice had become higher pitched with defensiveness, and your eyes wouldn’t meet his for the next few hours.

He had only wanted to help, but he couldn’t tell you why. Couldn’t tell you that your desperate moans kept him up at night when they echoed down the hall. Those broken whimpers that made it sound like you were crying, so worked up and in need of release that it brought you to tears. 

He also couldn’t share how it made his cock rise to attention. How those pretty little noises had him fucking his fist, other palm covering his mouth to muffle his grunts, searching for relief of his own. His precious baby bunny didn’t need to know all of that.

Today had been a long day. He was tired after dealing with all the bullshit that came with his job. Although, unlike in months prior, he wasn’t all doom and gloom driving home. The thought of his sweet girl at home waiting for him by the door kept his spirits somewhat up as he made the commute back.

To his surprise, you weren’t in the living room like normal. He walked through the room cautiously, a little on edge from the disruption to his routine. He goes into the kitchen and still doesn’t find you. He starts to walk to the back of the home and that’s when he hears something. Those soft, needy sounds of pleasure.

His eyebrows raise, but he continues walking. As he gets closer, he realizes something that adds another level of shock to this situation. The noises were coming from his room.

At this point, he was more concerned than anything else. He makes his way down the hallway to his room and slowly opens the door, cracking it open to peek inside.

His eyes widen as he sees you on his bed. You’re kneeling, doubled over though so your face is in the blankets, his pillow between your legs, and your hips rocking back and forth violently. You’re nude from the waist down, only wearing a shirt of his. One of your fists is clutching the blankets while you keep your face shoved against them in a weak attempt to muffle those cute noises.

His jaw goes slack at the sight. He wills himself to remain calm and not succumb to some of his own primal urges. He carefully steps into the room, trying to be quiet even though he couldn’t see a way to not startle you with his presence.

“Baby…” he says, using the most gentle voice he could manage.

You shoot up in bed, now kneeling vertically. Your eyes are wide like you’ve had the fright of your life, your expression clearly horrified that he’d caught you like this. And even though he tries not to look, he can’t help but notice that despite your reaction, your hips don’t stop rutting against the pillow.

“Daddy!” you gasp.

That short circuits his brain. He pauses for a good five seconds to grapple with what you just said. You’d never called him that before. Not that he minded necessarily… but it still gave him whiplash.

His reaction seems to cause you to realize what you had just blurted out. In the blink of an eye, you go from visibly horrified to completely mortified. Your eyes fill with tears as you whimper out “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

Oh god, and now you’re crying. Leon was still silent as he tried to keep his composure, force the heat building inside of him to cool off before he approached you. Looking at you though, that sweet face with tears leaking down those round cheeks… It made him want to bounce you on his lap till you were crying for a whole other reason.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he reassures you as he walks to the bed. He sits on the edge, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on your face. “Is it… Are you in heat?”

“Yes,” you say, tone dripping with shame. You bite your lip and try to restrain any further whimpers. Your hips were slowing down but still moving. After a few moments though, another wave of choked cries erupt from your throat and more hot tears of humiliation slide down your skin. Your hands fly up to cover your face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. It’s ok,” he says softly. He cautiously takes your wrists and pulls them away from your face. He takes one of your hands in his, soothingly rubbing the back of your palm. You whimper at the touch, but he doesn’t say anything. “It’s ok, honey. I’m not mad. You can’t help it. I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

You look into his eyes with your tearful gaze. Your breathing was a little ragged from crying, but it seemed like he was calming you down slowly. You nod with uncertainty, waiting for him to make the next move.

He was also unsure of what to do. This was so unlike you, he’d never seen you this emotional for one, but he’d also never expected to see you in this position. And the entire time your hips were still grinding on that pillow, back and forth like a pendulum.

“Is it more intense this time?” he asks, keeping his tone gentle to not upset you again.

“I guess,” you whimper, “I just… I wanted you.”

It pained him to see you so uncomfortable and stressed out. He wanted you to be able to come to him with these types of things, to trust him with yourself when you’re in your most vulnerable state. It was clear that you desired that too, to some degree. You were in his room, humping his pillow, wearing his shirt.

“Well… I’m right here, baby. I want to help if I can. If you want me to,” he says.

Your skepticism is written all over your face. But you needed this even if you were a little nervous. He pats his lap encouragingly, and that’s the final push you need to let go of the pillow and crawl into his lap.

“There’s my baby bunny. Sweet girl,” he says softly as he gets you situated. He peppers a few tender kisses on your head and strokes your back.

You had only been there for a few seconds, but your hips were already squirming.

“What do you need, baby? Just tell Daddy, and you can have it,” he whispers. The title rolls off his tongue as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It had caught him off guard when you said it, but after it rattled around in his head for a bit, it took root. Now, he just wanted to hear you say it again.

You whimper, looking at him through your lashes with those sweet eyes. At this point, you were all but riding his thigh. There’s a pause as you decide how to articulate your desire.

“I need… I need you,” you offer timidly.

“I know that, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “Try to be more specific for me. Daddy only wants to know so he can help you. Give you exactly what you need.”

He reaches up and cradles the back of your head, bringing you in to rest it on his shoulder. His other arm wraps around you and rubs your back. He holds  you as close as he can to give you that physical reassurance he knew you longed for in your condition.

You still hesitate, obviously working up your will to explicitly state your cravings.

“I want Daddy inside, wanna be bred,” you whimper, turning your face against his shoulder to hide your eyes. Your whole head felt hot with the weight of what you said. It was almost dizzying, but he swoops in with his cooing voice and gentle praises to keep you together.

“Poor baby,” he croons, “I don’t know how you handled this alone for so long, honey. That’s so unfair to you, all these big feelings you had to work through by yourself. So frustrating.”

You knew he was being excessively caring now, but you had no complaints. The loving cadence of his voice made your mind melt. All you could do is whimper and nod against his shoulder.

“You could’ve come to Daddy anytime you wanted. I could never say no to my sweet baby bunny, especially not about this,” he says, kissing your head and giving your ears a few loving strokes.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you say.

“Nothing to be sorry about, sweet girl. I’m here now. We’re gonna fix it. Daddy’s gonna make it all better,” he says.

He shifts you around a little so he can slide his pants down and free his hard cock. Your curious eyes dart back to his face after a quick look at the flushed tip and the veins spanning the shaft.

“You ready?” he asks softly.

“Mhm, need it,” you whimper in return, helping him get your hips into position.

He lowers you on to his cock. Both of you let out hushed noises of pleasure as the sensation strikes pleasure within you. His fingers are digging into the flesh of your hips as he slides further into you. Your arms tighten around him and your eyes already start to flutter at the snug fit.

You whine and babble out some nonsense when you’re finally flush against him. His cock twitches inside of you.

“I know, baby, I know,” he hushes you. You could hear the tension in his own voice from exerting so much restraint. “You feeling any better?”

“Little bit, need more Daddy,” you mewl.

“Just give yourself a second to adjust, angel,” he grunts. You were pulsing around him, making it harder for him to not let go. 

But it seems you’re feeling the same way. You shake your head in response to his words and start haphazardly squirming around, trying to move up and down while still in his hold.

“Need it Daddy,” you whine, “Can’t wait. Pretty please.”

Like he’d said, he couldn’t say no.

“If you’re sure, honey,” he says and loosens his grip, “Be a good bunny and bounce for Daddy.”

That’s all you need to hear before you’re bouncing up and down. Wet noises fill the room as your slick pussy takes him in and out. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the embarrassment fade and just feeling the pleasure running through you.

Leon focuses on helping you keep your balance as you ride him. His own belly was twisting with ecstasy as your heat engulfs him over and over.

“That’s it, good baby,” he grunts, “Keep going, honey. Get it all out.”

You whine and continue on, up and down, up and down. More cute noises spill from your mouth as the head of his cock nudges all the right places. You ramble on, mumbling things like “love my daddy” over and over.

“Daddy loves you too, sweet girl,” he says softly.

He notices you starting to cling and whimper more. You were still riding, but your rhythm was becoming more awkward. You seemed more desperate even though you literally had him as close and as deep as physically possible.

He tries to help and do more of the work. He pulls you in close again and holds you against his body. Your face is pressed to his neck while he rubs the back of your head. His hips start to do the majority of the thrusting, bucking up into you fervently.

More incoherent strings of words escape you as you melt into his chest. You press a few sloppy kisses to the base of his neck. Despite him taking over, you were still being whiny and squirmy. He knew you were in discomfort, but it should be getting better, right?

“What is it, babydoll? What else do you need?” he coos.

Your head falls back and a sound of general pent up frustration escapes you. Your hips roll into his thrusts in large, needy movements.

“It’s not enough,” you cry, almost near tears from the ache between your thighs, “Need you more. Closer. Need it.”

You tug at his arms trying to get him to wrap them tighter. There wasn’t much Leon could do though. You were already as close as possible, any closer and you wouldn’t be able to move, which he was sure wouldn’t go over well with you. He felt so bad for you though. His sweet baby bunny suffering like this.

He watches you, your weak attempts at getting yourself off by rising and falling on his lap. He can’t take watching you struggle like this. Doing the only thing that could think of, he boosts you up and quickly flips you over.

You’re now pinned beneath him. His toned body is all over yours, heated skin pressed to you in every way. He spreads your arms out and holds your wrists down. His hips are against yours. He’s just grinding into you now, not even pulling out with his thrusts. He was as deep as possible. If this wasn’t enough, he didn’t know what else to do.

“How’s that, pretty girl? Is that how my baby bunny wants it? Wants Daddy nice and deep, ready to spill his cum and breed her cute pussy,” he breathes.

You nod eagerly, eyes rolling back at the relief you felt. This is what you needed. Feeling his weight on top of you, unable to move anywhere else.

“Mhm, this is what you need, sweet baby. You’re gonna take every last drop. Gonna keep it all in to make sure it takes too. If any leaks out, that just means I’ll have to fuck it back in. We’ll just have to go as many times as we need to,” he groans.

“Yes Daddy. Wanna take it all. Gonna be full of your cum for days,” you whimper.

“Yeah you will be. I think that’s what I’ll do from now on. Whenever my baby bunny goes into heat, I’ll have to stay home, make sure to keep you in bed, keep you plugged up full of Daddy at all times. That pretty little head won’t have to think about anything but being bred,” he says.

You just nod again, unable to get proper words out at the minute.

“I feel you squeezing, sweetheart. You getting ready to cum for Daddy?” he coos and reaches up to stroke your ears. He hikes your thighs up more, giving him a deeper angle to drive into you with. You gasp from the change, and your noises get higher as he rams in as much as he can without it being painful.

“Daddy!” you cry out. It’s all you can say. You had more, but it could only come out in the form of that one word right now. He’s all that was on your mind. Daddy daddy daddy.

“Yes, baby. Yes. Daddy’s here. Gonna fill you full of cum and then love on you for the rest of the night,” he purrs, “My baby was so brave, dealing with this all by yourself. But doesn’t it feel so much better when Daddy takes care of you?”

“Mhm, mhm,” you agree quickly.

Your hips start bucking while your body spasms. Leon knew this was it.

“Good girl, baby. Cum whenever you want. Let it feel good baby, get perfect and tight,” he says.

You do just that. You let the release wash over you. You shudder and dig your fingers into his muscles as the feelings bubble over.

“My perfect little bunny,” he praises softly while watching you let go.

It’s not much longer until his cock his pulsing violently within you. He thrusts as hard and as deep as possible before letting out a loud groan and burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck, baby, baby, baby,” he mumbles.

He spills it all inside you, hips twitching and arms locking around you. In the end, you’re both panting. He pulls back a little to kiss your forehead again. He looks down into your eyes.

“How’re you feeling now, sweet girl?” he asks softly.

“Better for now,” you answer. Your head starts to clear and return to its normal state.

He nods and kisses your head again. He rolls over onto his back, scooping you up against his chest while staying inside you. He rubs your back gently.

“You did so good, baby,” he whispers, “Now you see you don’t have to do that alone. You can trust me, sweetheart. I only want to help you. Keep you happy.”

You nod and look up at him lovingly.

“If this is what you need, this is what you need. We can get through it together,” he says softly.

“Together,” you agree softly and scoot up slightly, kissing him gently on the lips.

He smiles big and holds you closer somehow. He leans in for another kiss and another. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough.

[dyaz-stories]

JUJUTSU BOYS + PDA

how the jjk boys are when you're in public with them

including: gojo, nanami, choso, yuuji, megumi, maki

word count: 3.6k (500-600 words for one character)

cw: intended as canon compliant, established relationships, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, public demonstrations of affection, can't think of anything else tbh

a/n: been reading some fics in this format so wanted to try my hand at it again. it's been years since I wrote short pieces like that, so I hope you'll enjoy them!

GOJO

Gojo has no concept of personal space, and that is something you had to get used to since you started dating — if anything, since before you started dating. Even when the two of you were at a more flirtatious stage, he’d always be leaning towards you to talk to you, face inches away from yours, hands on your hips if he needed to move past you, arm casually around you if you were sitting next to each other. It was all the better if it flustered you.

None of this has changed, except that he’s much more extra about it now. Holding your hand while walking? Nah, that’s boring. He’ll have his arm around your shoulders, even if it’s not convenient given the height difference. He’ll also try to put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pout if you tell him not to do it. If you’re waiting in line with him, he has both of his arms around you, is resting his chin on top of your head, and wants nothing more than for you to lean back into his chest, relaxing into his embrace. You can both be doing totally unrelated things — you’re reading and he’s checking his phone — but you’re slotted against each other, and that’s how it is ideally for you.

You’re waiting for him to show up to your date when you feel yourself surrounded by familiar arms, and then his cheek is pressing against yours as he surveys the book you’re holding in your hands.

“Whatch’ya reading?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Just doing some research on emerging curses,” you say with a shrug as you close it and put it in your bag. “So, did you want to check out that new bakery?”

He hums in reply, and you wait for him to move so you can start walking.

He doesn’t.

“…do you plan on letting go of me?” you ask after a while, turning your head to look at him.

He pouts at you, inches away from your face.

“I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet…”

“We’re in public, Satoru,” you say, feeling your face heating up.

“So? Let ‘em stare. They might as well, if you ask me.”

You want to roll your eyes — one day, you’ll have to talk about that exhibitionist streak of his — but in the meantime, you just have to crane your neck a little to peck his lips. They’re soft, as always, and he follows greedily when you pull away, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up gently as he presses more kisses on the corner of your lips, then on your cheek.

“You’re impossible,” you say, badly hiding your laughter. “Let’s go, or we won’t make it to closing time. You’re late, by the way.”

He lets out a heartbroken sigh, but finally frees you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you start walking towards the bakery. He keeps his strides short, so you don’t have to run to keep up with him, instead allowing you to keep a comfortable pace.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just too good at my job, they can never get enough of me.”

“Aw, poor darling,” you say. You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and bring it to your lips to press a kiss on the back.

He lets out a cough that doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that he’s getting flustered, and you grin, satisfied. Two can play that game.

Fortunately, neither Satoru nor you have any intention of forfeiting any time soon.

NANAMI

Nanami is a private man. There is no reason for the whole world to know his business, and he doesn’t feel the need to put his relationship on display for everyone to see. His softness for you is still plain to see in how gentle his voice gets when he speaks to you, in how carefully he chooses his words, in how fond his eyes are when he listens to you tell him about your day. He knows you like him holding your hand, though, so he’ll indulge you, especially when you’re walking by his side through crowded streets.

That is for practical reasons, of course. First, it just wouldn’t do to lose sight of you. Second, people tend to steer clear of him, his serious expression and his broad frame, and that means they realize quickly to steer clear of you. It has nothing to do with how soft your hand is in his, or how the way you use your thumb to stroke his skin sends shivers down his back.

“That’s a lovely restaurant,” you comment, eyes drinking in the elegant decor while Nanami is examining the menu.

“It had excellent reviews,” he answers, not going into details as to the great lengths he’d gone to in order to ensure that this date was as perfect as humanly possible.

“I’ve been in the neighborhood so many times, and I had no idea this was here,” you say. The place is very small, only a handful of tables, all of them now filled. You’re sharing an alcove with Nanami, creating some distance with other customers.

“There aren’t many tables available, so they don’t advertise much,” he explains as he sets the menu down. “But they’re known for their excellent cuisine.”

You give him a smile, then lean closer to him to kiss him on the cheek. Your lips linger just a little too long, and then you move them close to his ear, which is already turning quite red.

“Thank you for planning all that,” you say sweetly. “It looks wonderful.”

He clears his throat when you pull away, avoiding your eyes.

“Of course,” he answers, voice wavering imperceptibly. “Anything for you.”

And you know he means it, too.

Under the table, his hand finds your leg, large palm easily covering your knee while calloused fingers carefully rub your calf. You bite your lip, welcome the warmth that spreads in your body. You know Kento well enough to be sure that that’s as far as he’ll go, that he wouldn’t dare to do anything more in such a public setting, and that makes you enjoy the intimacy of the gesture all the more.

Later that night, while the two of you are walking out, his jacket is around your shoulder at his insistence — “It’s cold outside” — and he’s getting ready to call a taxi.

“Kento?”

He lowers the phone to look at you, and you push yourself on your tiptoe, hand closing around his tie to pull him down towards you.

It’s late at night, he tells himself. There’s no one around, he tells himself. That’s why he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, regretting it when you pull away too soon and catching himself before he grabs you by the hips to get you closer to him.

“I had a great evening,” you say. “Should we take this to somewhere more private?”

How much more merciless can you get?

“Certainly,” he says. “Just give me a second.”

There is nothing he can deny you.

CHOSO

Choso cannot wrap his head around what he can and cannot do around you. The rules for what is proper, what is acceptable, have shifted so much since he was last around, and he would die before he embarrassed you — or worse, before he did something that would make you push him away. He knows that you wouldn’t, and yet the fear is like a weight that tugs on his heart every time he thinks about it. He walks by your side, glancing at your hand that’s freely hanging between the two of you, and though he brushes his knuckles against yours, he just cannot bring himself to do it. It’s to the point where it’s the only thing he’s thinking about — and he just can’t do it.

Then you see something that catches your eye and you grab his hand and pull him with you in that direction, and he thinks his heart could just fall out of his chest. You make it look so easy, so natural, being with him coming as easy to you as breathing, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more. It takes him many other tries, many other dates, before he can take your hand in his. When he does, you glance down in surprise, then grin at him, and kiss his knuckles softly — and he’s so happy he could die.

“So,” you say, sitting on the park bench, knee pressed against his while you’re leaning into him to show him your phone, your hair tickling his neck, “that’s the movies they have on tonight. Think we should call Yuuji to ask him what to watch?”

“Hm,” Choso says, not really focusing on anything you’re talking about, not when you’re this close to him, “isn’t— isn’t that the one franchise he’s always talking about?”

You burst out laughing, then rest your head on his shoulder.

“No offense, babe, but there is no one in the world I’d go see a Human Earthworm movie for. Even if this one is supposed to have romance in it,” you shudder at the thought, “I’d like to go see something actually. You know. Watchable.”

Choso’s mind is going in overdrive. You’re so close, and he knows he should have gotten used to this by now. He isn’t usually like this, but some passers-by are looking — not necessarily being judgmental, though there was an old lady earlier who scoffed and shook her head, but… looking.

“Then I don’t know if Yuuji is going to be much help,” he manages to say as you keep scrolling on the cinema’s website.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, standing up from the bench, and even if he can now think again, he misses your warmth and your smell right away. “Well, maybe we drop the movie and just go get something to eat, what do you say?

“Sounds good,” he answers, standing up after you.

Hesitantly, almost clumsily, he reaches for your hand, fingertips brushing against your thigh as he does, then tightens his grip around your palm, ensuring that it wouldn’t slip away from you. You give him a fond smile, then take a step to get closer to him, and kiss him gently. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart around the mostly empty park.

“T-there’s people around,” he says quietly, and he hates that you step back to look around.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

He takes your hand to pull you with him, and you follow him through the grass as he finds a more secluded spot, behind a tree.

“There,” he says, and you chuckle at how satisfied with himself he sounds.

“Oh Choso,” you coo, leaning against the tree while you grab his shirt to pull him down towards you. His mouth is warm, eager, and his cheeks remain a fierce shade of red as he kisses you back insistently.

You would have missed the beginning of the movie anyway.

YUUJI

The thing about Yuuji is that any type of public demonstration of affection feels so natural coming from him. It’s almost never meant to be suggestive, it’s not something he thinks through, it’s just something he does. You’ll be sitting with Nobara when he appears, and he just puts his arm around you while talking to her, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re walking with him when he lifts his head up like he’s forgotten something, and what he forgot was to hold your hand, silly him.

If you walk by him while he’s sitting, he’ll grab your hips to pull you in his laps, fingers rubbing circles on the skin of your arms, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as he holds your hand. After all, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t even realize that it flusters you, and it just feels so natural for him to show his affection like that. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes while you speak, not seeming to realize that his face is so close to him while you’re sitting in his lap.

No one pays attention to it anymore. You arrive just as Nobara is starting the movie — she’s putting on an action movie, thank you very much, even if Gojo just bought the collector edition of Human Earthworm 4 for Yuuji, with the director’s cut — and with all the students crammed in the room, including Panda, who’s taking most of the space on the couch, there’s nowhere left for you to sit.

“Come here,” Yuuji says cheerfully, waving you towards the armchair where he’s found his spot, “it’s about to start.”

You glance around the room for a reaction, but no one is paying you any mind. You walk over to him, perching yourself on one of the arms, legs over his. He doesn’t seem puzzled by it, just puts an arm around your waist casually.

Of course, you end up still sitting in his lap eventually, just slipping in it at some point in the movie. Can you be blamed? He’s warm and comfortable, and he wraps both arms around you so he can tuck his chin in the crook of your shoulder, nose brushing against your cheek when he turns his head. Not that he seems to notice how it makes your pulse quickens, eyes focused on the movie.

“What are the themes even supposed to be,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

“’Military good’?” you suggest quietly as a guy gets blown up on screen.

“The first half of the movie was about military bad,” he protests. “They can’t just act like that never existed.”

“Would you two shut up,” Nobara shouts from her spot, “or Maki will come beat you up!”

The two of you pipe down, knowing the threat is very serious and not one to take lightly.

When the movie ends, everyone gets up, stretching, but you’ve gotten comfortable against Yuuji’s chest, and you don’t feel like doing that just yet.

“That was terrible,” Yuuji comments, and you let out a brief laugh. Gojo has somehow made a cinephile out of him, and you love how worked up he gets over that stuff.

“Yeah, we should have been watching Human Earthworm 4 instead,” you say.

“Exact— oh, you’re making fun of him.”

You giggle, then tilt your head to kiss him. For a second, he freezes, eyes going wide. Kissing is the one thing he rarely initiates — but when you do, you get to see his gaze soften, before his whole body goes soft. His hold on your waist tightens — and then a pillow thrown with impressive precision hits him, and only him, on the ear.

“Not in public,” Maki shouts from all the way into the kitchen.

“Hey,” your boyfriend protests, “I’m not the one who—”

“You’re such a traitor,” you gasp, struggling to pull yourself free from his arms — but it’s no use against his strength, and he refuses to let go.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Now, where were we?”

You might have been at fault for the first pillow, but that second one is all on him, as far as you’re concerned.

MEGUMI

Megumi is a private guy. He can be affectionate in public, but there is a side of him that he only wants you to see. He especially doesn’t want any of your nosy friends, or worse, his adoptive dad to see how he can be around you. They would never stop teasing him after, and he doesn’t think he could live with that.

Or that they could live with that. Because he’d kill them.

It does annoy him that he’s supposed to deny himself because of them. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his time alone with you, preferably in a small house in the middle of a forest with no one around, no curses, no sorcerers, no nothing. That, sadly, isn’t an option though, so he has to find his own way to do things.

“Don’t move,” he says sternly. “You have something on your face.”

You roll your eyes, but tilt your head up towards him, as he carefully runs his thumb under your eye, then over your cheek, blowing on it once it’s done.

“What was it?” you ask.

“Just an eyelash,” he says with a shrug. “You’re good now.”

You study him, waiting for him to give something away, but he doesn’t, just staring at you with the same expression he always wears.

“Should we get going?” he asks. “I thought we were supposed to catch a movie.”

“Sure,” you relent. “We should get moving.”

The streets are quite full at this time of the day, and you have to step aside frequently to let people pass, sometimes losing sight of Megumi. Eventually, with a sigh, he grabs your hand, pulling you with him as he walks, sending murderous glares to anyone who stays in his path.

“You’re going to get lost at this rate,” he mutters as he pulls you with him.

“I mean, worst case scenario we meet back at the theater,” you say, and you grin at the offended look he gives you. He notices it, but doesn’t answer, a light pink dusting his cheek as he glances away.

He hates the idea of being away from you on a day that’s supposed to be about the two of you — but since he refuses to say the quiet part out loud, you get to tease him all you want.

To be fair to him, having Megumi as your scary guard dog does make it much easier and much faster to reach the theater. He gives you a pointed look when you get there, and, to your regret, lets go of your hand quickly, though his touch lingers there a second longer than necessary.

“Should we get a couple seat?” you ask innocently as you approach the register.

Megumi glares at you once more while you give him a sweet smile.

“It’s better that way, right?” he says, clearing his throat. “Otherwise strangers might have to share one.”

“Sure,” you nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “It’s just more practical, right?”

“Right,” he says stiffly.

Even once you are in the couple seat, he keeps a thoroughly appropriate distance from you, one that you might find a little hurtful if, at the end of the commercials, he didn’t fake a yawn to put his arm around you, in the least smooth way known to man.

“You know you can just do it,” you say quietly as the lights turn off, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

Reaching for his face, you tilt his head towards you, and push yourself to meet his lips for a sweet, soft kiss. For the first time since you’ve stepped foot outside, his whole body relaxes into yours, and he stops trying to pretend.

“You had something on your lips,” you whisper when you pull away.

He snorts, then quickly goes back in to steal one more kiss from you before the movie starts.

“Liar,” he says.

As if he’s one to talk.

MAKI

Maki isn’t a demonstrative person as a general rule. She does compliment you without hesitation, words falling from her mouth so genuinely that it never fails to fluster you, but physical demonstrations of affection don’t come easy to her, maybe because she received so little of it as a kid. She does it sporadically, and she does very much enjoy teasing you, loves knowing that she can get those reactions out of you.

It’s the more spontaneous gestures that get to you though. She’ll kiss your forehead after a battle that left you bruised, a way of comforting you. She’ll pat your head after you managed to pull an impressive move during training. On one occasion, when you got injured, she carried you in your arms to Shoko, demanding that you be taken care of right this instant. She’d been the one to get flustered after that, hiding her face in her hand in embarrassment when it was brought up later on.

It might not come easy to her, but she does love it when you do it — when you show her your love in that way.

“You’re late,” she scolds you when you reach her for one of your dates, needing to take a second to catch your breath because you’ve been running since getting out of the subway.

“Sorry,” you say between deep breaths, “there was an emergency.”

Worry flashes on her face immediately.

“A curse? Were you hurt?”

She reaches for you, tilting your face towards her as she examines it, then study your body to make sure you weren’t injured. You let her, surprised at first, then endeared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she frowns once she realizes how soft your gaze has become.

You grin, then push yourself closer to kiss her. You don’t care that you’re in public, and though it wouldn’t have occurred to her to do it, neither does she. The kiss is sweet, gentle. I’m alive, you’re alive, it says. No need for more.

“See?” you ask cheerfully. “All good. Now, I’m pretty sure you were going to buy me dinner…”

She clicks her tongue, but she’s grinning. It’s nice to see her so at ease, so relaxed. It’s a side of her you’d never see within the walls of Jujutsu High, nor on a mission. You’re the only one that can bring it out of her, and man do you love it.

“I’m buying? Again?”

“I did almost just die.”

“Nice try, but you told me you were fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you insist, “but…”

“Well, I was disowned by my family, so I don’t have money. You’re buying.”

The two of you keep bickering, but, as you walk, you reach for her hand. She pulls away at first, years and years of reflexes kicking in instinctively, and once she realizes what you were doing, she’s the one who takes your hand in hers. She holds it delicately, careful not to break it — to be fair, her strength would probably allow her that.

It’s so sweet and light, being out there with you like that. So normal. She hopes it never ends.

You squeeze her hand, and she lets you guide her across the street, content with just following, knowing that she can trust you to fill in her shortcomings in the relationship, like she does it for yours.

The sky is grey, the forecast said it might run later tonight — Maki’s planned an umbrella, she’s sure you didn’t think of it — but as far as she’s concerned, the day is as beautiful as it could possibly be.

this is my first time writing for... pretty much everyone here except gojo lol. i hope you enjoyed it and that the characterization wasn't too off, but any feedback is welcome! if you want to support me and my writing, please reblog/leave a comment or send me an ask, i'd love to chat! i'll see you later for some more jjk writing ^-^

you can find my gojo x reader work here

[covenofagatha]

Okay but hear me out…

Agatha and Reader meet at a BDSM club? Kink level as far as you’re comfortable writing (though it would me amazing if there was a strap-on and maybe a fucking machine but only if you’re comfortable with it)

Hope I did it justice!

There's something in here for everyone

What's your fantasy?

Word count: 4600

Warnings: smut, exhibitionism, fingering, strap on, sex toys, degradation, praise, gagging, spanking, blindfolds, restraints, fucking machine, mommy kink (hope this is all)

This is a bad idea. 

That is the only thing going through your mind as you walk up to the doors of “The Velvet Hex.” 

Westview’s only BDSM club can be found in an unassuming part of town, in a relatively plain building. 

Definitely not what you were expecting. 

You aren’t even sure what you’re doing here, but your best friend Wanda had told you that you desperately needed to get laid and to go out and have some fun. 

But her idea of “fun” had come when she had plopped down in the chair of the library next to you and told you to take the BDSM test, gleefully holding up her phone with her results.   

So you had taken the test right there, turning more and more red as the questions went on, and when you finally finished, Wanda had looked over and let out a low whistle. 

“Damn, girl, you are kinky,” she had said as you compared yours to hers and you felt your cheeks burn even more. 

And then she had whispered, in the Westview University campus library, that her girlfriend’s roommate knew a woman who owned her own club like that, and they were having an exclusive invite-only night where anything was on the table. 

You had looked at her with questioning eyes, wondering where she was going with that, and Wanda had smacked your knee for being oblivious. 

“Nat’s roommate told us she could get us in if we wanted. We said no, but I’m sure Rio could get you an invite. You should go and explore,” she explained, a smirk plastered to her face while she wiggled her eyebrows at you. You weren’t surprised that Natasha and Wanda hadn’t wanted to get involved in that world, but you couldn’t ignore how the offer piqued your interest. 

You hummed casually. “Oh yeah?” 

And Wanda had grinned, seeing the wheels turning in your head. You were curious, that’s all. Obviously you weren’t looking for anything.

The next day, she gave you a letter on purple cardstock with a date, time, location, and password. 

At the moment, it seemed like a good idea. 

But standing here now, outside alone the club with the paper clutched in your hand, your heart is racing. 

You should turn back now and go back to your dorm. You could lie to Wanda, tell her that it was just okay, and no one would ever have to know. 

But a small part of your brain nags at you and tells you to go inside. You’re not sure why, but it feels like something from the club is calling to you, drawing you in. 

So you take a deep breath and knock on the door. 

A slot slides open and you can see a man’s brown eyes. 

“Password?” He asks. 

You clear your throat and hold up the cardstock. “Katoptronophilia.” You’re not even sure if you’ve sounded it out correctly, but the slot closes and the door swings open. 

You step inside hesitantly and take in your surroundings. 

The room is dimly lit with different colored LED lights glowing in different corners over doors that lead to different rooms. There’s a good amount of people in here, just mingling at the moment. There’s people dressed in leather outfits, or tight, short dresses, or nothing at all. 

Anything is on the table, you remember Wanda saying. You had done some research, just to see what you were getting yourself into, and the website had said that it was a tame environment, normally no sex allowed. But the exclusive, invite-only event tonight must be cause for an exception. 

You move a bit further into the main room, eyes darting all over the place. A woman yanks on a leash that’s connected to a younger man’s neck, forcing him down on all fours and making him crawl after her. A waitress bends over in a man’s lap to pick up a napkin she dropped, exposing her naked ass to him and his friends. Two women 69 on a couch while a third woman watches, slowly fingering herself to the sight. 

Feeling a little overwhelmed, you head to the bar. You’re really not sure what you’re doing here. 

And of course, the bartender ignores you. You try several times to get their attention, but people come up next to you, order something, and they get their drink immediately. 

You’re about to give up, maybe even just call it a night, when an older woman saunters in next to you. You don’t even look at her, rolling your eyes at how she will inevitably get a drink before you do. 

“Your usual?” The bartender asks her, and that makes you glance over. She’s a bit taller than you, long dark hair, bright blue eyes. She’s wearing a black blazer and pants, but under the blazer is a see-through bra. 

Your mouth runs dry. This is the first person you’ve seen here tonight that you actually find attractive. 

“Yes, please,” the woman next to you says, and then she turns her head to look at you and it almost stops your heart. “And what do you want?” 

You’ve been ignored so many times you’ve almost forgotten. “Oh, um, a Dirty Shirley, please.” The woman nods at the bartender, who starts working. “Thanks,” you say. “Do you come here often?”

The moment you say it, you cringe. Is it weird to ask someone if they’re a regular at a BDSM club? But the woman just laughs and shakes her head. 

“I’m the owner, darling,” she says and your mouth drops open. “Agatha Harkness.” 

“Oh,” you reply, completely dumbfounded. You introduce yourself and she reaches out her hand. You take it, feeling a spark at the contact. 

“So,” she drawls, eyes raking over your body, taking in your short dress and the amount of skin on display appreciatively. Your body burns under the intensity. “What brings you here for the first time?”

You frown. “How did you know it was my first time?” You don’t know why you’re even asking, it’s got to be obvious based on your tense composure and general awkwardness at being in this environment.

But she just smirks. “I would’ve remembered seeing you around here.” Surely the owner of this club is not flirting with you. “So?” 

Your brows furrow. “So?” 

“What brings you here?” She reminds you of her earlier question and you inwardly smack yourself. 

What exactly should you say? Your best friend thinks you should get laid and that you’re kinky? “Just wanted to try something new,” is what you settle on. “Get out of my comfort zone.”

Her grin widens and you see a slight resemblance to a shark about to get its prey. “And now that you’re here, how do you feel? Are you good with sitting here, or–” She leans in closer until you can feel her warm breath on your lips. You shudder at the proximity. “–do you want more?” 

“What are you suggesting?” You whisper back, a playful lilt in your voice, and you see her eyes light up before dropping to your lips. You close the gap before you can think too hard about it, brushing your mouth against hers. Your boldness surprises both of you and she chuckles darkly. 

“Whatever you want. Surely you have some things you want to explore, or else you wouldn’t be here,” she says, thumb coming up to tug at your bottom lip. You flick your tongue out against it and her eyebrow raises, urging you on. 

You shrug noncommittally, suddenly feeling much more confident. “Just wanted to spice things up a bit. See if there was any trouble I could get in tonight.” 

Agatha rests her head on her hand, dark eyes drinking you in. “Do you really want trouble though? Or do you want to be a good girl?” A tiny gasp slips out at the praise. 

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” you answer honestly and she draws you back in for a real kiss this time, all tongue and teeth and lips, and you can taste a hint of cinnamon in her mouth. She devours you like she can’t get enough until you have to stop to breathe. 

Agatha steps back and tugs you away by the hand, leaving the drinks the bartender had just put down in front of you. 

Figures that when you finally get your drink, you don’t even get to have it. 

But you can’t complain, because Agatha is weaving you through the crowd of people on the main floor, giving you the grand tour of the place. You see groups experimenting with ropes and someone teaching how to tie safe knots, you see spanking and flogging, the list goes on. 

Your head is spinning. 

Agatha stops outside a door in the back and looks back at you. “You don’t have to do anything that you won’t want to do, okay? You can say no at any point.” 

You gulp at the serious tone in her voice and nod. She pushes the door open and turns on the lights so you can see. 

Stepping into the room, your breath catches. Three out of four walls, including the one that the door is on, is covered from ceiling to floor in mirrors. The fourth wall, the one to the right of the door, is glass, looking into an adjoining room with couches facing you. 

In the middle of the room, there’s something akin to a hospital cot, although more comfortable-looking, a machine of sorts with a dildo attached to it, and then a table in the corner with more sex toys than you've ever seen in your entire life combined. There’s a chest under it and you can only imagine what’s in there.

“Jesus,” you rasp, taking it all in. You know you should be terrified, but with Agatha standing next to you just carefully watching, you feel eerily calm. “Do you – uh, what do you want me to do?” 

She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and cups your chin. “What do you want, sweetheart? I can give you anything.” 

Your mind goes a hundred miles a minute to try and figure out what you want, eyes darting back and forth between all the things in the room. “What are my options?” 

“Well,” she says slowly. “The second I hit this button –” She motions to a circle on the wall. “The light above the door to the other room will turn green and unlock and people can come in. I can hit it or not, completely up to you. Or it could just be the two of us in here, and I could make you feel so good, baby. Fingers, mouth, strap-ons, the machine, any toy you’d like. Whatever you want to explore or try, we could do it.” 

Her clinical words have you dripping. Hearing her say all the things she could do to you only makes you want all of it more. 

One thing gives you pause though. “People…would watch?” You say, trying out the words. You’ve never thought about having an audience for sex before. 

Agatha’s eyes darken. “A pretty young thing like you? Honey, people would do more than just watch.” 

You let out a small gasp. You know you should feel dirty, but the way she says it, like people would be so turned on watching you and Agatha that they’d have to do something about it, makes you feel like you’re floating. 

“But the door can stay locked,” she reassures, taking your silence as a bad thing. Little does she know, heat is coursing through you at the thought. 

“No,” you peep. “It’s okay.” 

Before doing anything, she grasps onto your cheeks and pulls you in for a long kiss. You swoon, knees almost buckling when her tongue slides into your mouth, and she moans at your taste. 

You didn’t know having this affect on an older woman would be this addicting. 

“Fuck, baby,” she groans, tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth and making you whimper. “I think you’re the most delicious thing we’ve ever had in here.” 

“Agatha,” you pant and you don’t miss her sharp inhale at the way you say her name. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I want you,” you tell her, kissing her earnestly again, and you did not imagine this was how your night was going to go in your wildest dreams. 

She finally breaks the kiss for air, resting her forehead against yours. “Get on the bed,” she orders, and you see a hardened glint in her eye, like something has shifted inside her. 

There’s no way to ignore how much that turns you on. A small noise escapes from your lips and you scramble to obey, sitting upright on the cot. 

She starts to make her way over to you slowly, but you stop her. “Can you hit the button?” You ask, voice small and timid, but sure of yourself. 

You see desire flit over her face as she smirks knowingly. The moment her hand presses it, you let out a quiet groan and clench around nothing. 

There’s a clicking sound and the door to the other room opens. Five people file in and take a seat on the couches and your breathing becomes heavy. There’s a slight murmur from the other side of the glass, but it’s all incoherent. 

But by the way they’re all looking at you, you don’t have to try that hard to figure out what they’re talking about.

“First things first,” Agatha says, now walking over to you. She’s whispering so your audience can’t hear. “Do you know what a safeword is?” 

You nod. 

“What do you want yours to be?” 

Your heartbeat picks up. “Will I need one?” 

Agatha shrugs. “Better to be safe than sorry. I promise I’m not going to go hard on you. At least not for your first time.” She winks and you feel a visceral ache inside of you. 

“Purple,” you say after thinking about it for a minute. She smirks at your choice and runs a hand through her hair. 

She looks you up and down again, just to make sure there’s no sign of hesitation. “Do you want to take your dress off?” She asks and you feel a pang of longing inside you for her. 

You stand up, nodding, and turn around so she can help you with the zipper. You can hear her chuckle from behind you and you watch in the mirror on the wall as her eyes drop lower as she unzips you. 

She peels the dress down your body and you step out of it, the entire thing feeling a bit surreal. Watching the scene through your reflection makes you feel like an outsider, like it’s not actually you in the mirror. 

Same hair, same face, same body, same lacy lingerie you put on earlier, but not the same person.

But when you watch Agatha plant kisses on the person’s neck and you feel them, you’re reminded that it is you. 

Your head drops back as her teeth scrape against your taunt veins and she sucks harder, pulling more sounds from your mouth. 

It’s a sight to see, the marks on your neck, the darkness of Agatha’s eyes, the way it looks like when her teeth sink into your skin.

Your breathing is ragged now and you can feel your slick on your inner thighs. 

“Please,” you beg, although you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for. Just more. 

Her grin in the mirror shows you that she understands completely. “Get on the bed.” This time, her voice is sharp, all traces of the softness from earlier gone. 

The scene has started. 

You clamber onto the cot, hoping it looks more sexy than you feel, and lay down on your back. Agatha comes to the side of you and pries open your legs, baring your covered, dripping pussy to the audience. You notice that more people have come in, and they’re hanging onto every movement. 

“God, you’re soaked,” she remarks, hand roughly cupping you and your hips buck. “Really getting off on this, huh? What a slut.” Her tone is scathing, but her eyes are watching your face carefully, just to make sure she’s not crossing a line. 

She’s not. 

It only makes you wetter and she can feel it. She chuckles condescendingly and you squirm. 

“You want me to touch you?” She asks and you nod your head so hard that it hurts. “Want me to show all these people what a good whore you are for me?” 

“Yes, please,” you gasp out, trying to ride her hand to feel just a little more. The hard pressure against your clit already has you feeling the tension building up in your stomach. 

She smirks and slides your underwear down your legs and holds them to her nose, breathing in your scent. 

“How would you feel about using these as a gag?” She questions conversationally, like she just asked you about the weather instead of something that sears your stomach and turns your world upside down. 

“Yes,” you breathe, desire raw in your voice. You feel like you’re drunk off her and she’s barely done anything to you. 

She grins and nods approvingly. “If you need to stop at any time and you can’t speak, tap me twice. Got it?” 

“Yes,” you say again and open your mouth wide so she can ball up your underwear and shove them inside. You moan at the musky flavor and you had no idea it would be so hot to taste yourself like this. 

Her fingers clasp your throat and you look at her with wide eyes, chest heaving with anticipation of what she’s going to do next. She trails her hand down and pinches your nipples through your bra. You stutter out a curse as she bends down and nips at your skin, tearing the fabric off without removing her mouth. 

And then her tongue swirls at your nipple and you keen, back arching off the bed. You can see the dazed looks on all the voyeurs’ faces, how they shift their weight watching, and it makes you want to show off more so they know just how good Agatha is making you feel. 

You garble around your panties incoherently, fingers twitching against the bed to stop yourself from showing her exactly what you need. 

She chuckles against your skin. “What do you want, baby? What do you need from Mommy?” 

At the pet name for herself, you let out an embarrassing whimper and a flush spreads throughout your body. 

“I thought you’d like that one,” she says smugly and before you can react, she sucks hard on your nipple and shoves two fingers into your waiting and wet cunt. A noise rips its way out of your throat and you throw your head back, hips frantically meeting every thrust. 

She lazily fucks you like she’s barely even trying to make you feel good, but it’s enough for you to get closer to the edge. 

You can’t do anything except take it, matching her thrusts, and your sounds get louder and louder, her fingers twisting and hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, and you’re about to cum –

– and she yanks her fingers out of you, leaving your hips faltering against nothing. 

She sucks them into her mouth, eyes closing at the taste. “Sorry, baby. But you’re not allowed to cum yet.” She slaps your cunt with her open hand and laughs at the reverberating sound of your wetness.

You whine pathetically around the as she walks around to the table and picks up a dildo and harness. 

“Do you want me to fuck you with this?” She asks, showing it to you and then to the audience. You glance at them to find several bobbing their heads with even more enthusiasm than you have. “Sweetheart?” She says to get your attention. 

You jolt out of the stupor you were in watching them watch you with bated breath and nod breathlessly, babbling senselessly again around the gag.

She smirks and puts the harness on over her clothes. You’re not sure why, but being completely naked while she is still fully clothed only makes it feel dirtier, hotter.  

Agatha attaches the dildo, pours some lube onto her hand and strokes it, and then grabs two silk cloths back over to you. She fishes the underwear out of your mouth and trails of saliva connect it back to your mouth. 

“Get up,” she says roughly and you scramble out of the bed immediately. She turns the cot like it’s nothing, angling it so it’s parallel to the glass instead of perpendicular. 

So the audience will be able to see everything with Agatha fucking you with her strap. The realization makes you squeeze your thighs together, feeling the waterfall between them. 

She beckons you back over and each step you take puts pressure on your aching clit. It’s agonizing and yet, the most alive you’ve ever felt. 

You get back on the bed and she maneuvers you into a position where you’re on your knees near the edge, resting your ass on your heels. You watch yourself in the mirror as she takes both your arms and ties them behind your back with one of the silk cloths. And then she puts the other one around your eyes, so you can’t see anything. 

The change in your body is almost instantaneous. Goosebumps spread all down your skin, you can hear the rustling of Agatha’s clothes behind you, you can feel just how wet you are, you can even smell yourself; every sense has become so much more heightened. 

Her hand gently presses on your back and guides you down, positioning your face against the bed so your ass is up in the air with your hands behind your back. She rubs your cunt, smearing your wetness everywhere. 

“You like being watched don’t you?” She taunts, and while yes, you apparently do, you think it’s more because of her. “Dripping all over my club like a slut, just needing to be fucked.” 

You whimper and sway your hips because it’s all that you can do. And then there’s nothing. She removes her hand and you strain your ears to see if you can hear anything. 

And then without warning, there’s a loud smack on your ass and your body jolts forward, a surprised grunt coming out of your mouth. She soothes the pain with her hand and then the tip of her strap is sliding against your folds and you whine. She presses it against your clit which makes you shudder.

“Beg for it,” Agatha demands and you don’t hesitate. 

“Mommy, please, please I need it so bad, please fuck me,” you chant and are rewarded when she slowly enters you. 

Your mouth falls open but no sounds come out as she begins to thrust, gripping your hips so tightly you know you’ll have bruises. 

You want them.

“God, look at my baby girl taking my cock so well for me,” she coos but you can hear the exertion in her voice as she starts to pound harder. “Such a good slut, such a good pet.” You whine involuntarily and you can practically hear her smirking. You wish to god more than anything that she would take the blindfold off you so you could look in the mirror and see what you looked like. 

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak, after already being denied earlier, and you’re about to cum when she pulls out. 

“No,” you sob, convulsing uncontrollably, the feelings of your orgasm tamping down. 

She spanks you again. “What did I say earlier? You’re not allowed to cum yet. And stop pouting before I make you.” With another swat to your ass, she pushes back inside of you and sets the same bruising pace as before. 

It takes you even less time for your lower stomach to tighten, and she pulls out again right as you’re on the precipice. 

“Please, please, Mommy, let me cum,” you cry, your entire body shaking. 

She laughs cynically and starts fucking you again. You’re fully unable to move, just being rocked back and forth with her thrusts, nothing more than a glorified toy for her to use. 

And she does use you. She brings you to the edge and then stops at least five more times, and you’ve completely lost the ability to think. Words spill out of your mouth like you’re drunk on Agatha, which you think you might be. 

You’ve never felt this thoroughly ruined before. 

But this time, when she pulls out, she doesn’t push back in. You feel her hands untying the restraint on your wrist and then on your hips, flipping your pliable body over so you’re on your back. She bends your legs up on the edge and rips the blindfold off and the light, even though dim, hurts your eyes. 

“How are you doing?” She murmurs, scanning your blissed out face for any sense of discomfort. 

You babble something along the lines of “I’m good” or at least you try to. You’re not actually sure what she hears. 

But she smiles genuinely nonetheless and leans down to peck your forehead. “You’ve done so well for me, pet. I think it’s time for a reward.” 

“I get to cum?” You ask weakly and she chuckles. 

“Oh yes, baby. You’ll get to cum as many times as you want.” Your heart leaps at the promise and she drags over the machine with the dildo. Your breathing quickens and she angles it up so it’s positioned right at your stretched-out cunt. 

Before you can even breathe, she smiles wickedly and turns it on. Your head falls back and your back arches up violently when it begins fucking into you. The pace never falters and you cum almost instantly. 

Agatha leaves your side but comes back seconds later, holding a vibrator. You moan pornographically loud when she turns it on and positions it against your clit. 

You cum again shortly after. 

The machine keeps thrusting inside you, faster than you’ve ever been fucked, and the direct stimulation against the most sensitive part of your body has you practically sobbing at the pleasure. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re cumming again, and then another one weakly rolls over your body. 

But it’s too much now, all the edging and now the overstimulation is hurting so you start to squirm away from it. 

She instantly catches on and drops the vibrator before rushing to turn off the machine. 

You pant heavily on the bed, completely spent, and she lets you calm down, gently stroking your hair. 

Even though you know you have an entire audience, all you can see is her. 

“How was that?” She asks. “Too much?” 

You shake your head, feeling the slight sheen of sweat everywhere and all you can think about is needing to shake a shower. 

And when you can see Agatha again. 

“No, it was perfect,” you say truthfully, your voice hoarse. She smiles and kisses your lips. 

“We’re open Thursdays through Sundays,” she says and you laugh. “Come back anytime, baby. Although, keep coming back and putting on a performance like that, I might have to keep you all for myself.” 

Nothing has ever sounded so good. 

[m0chisenpai]

Hi, could you do a Louis x Fem!reader x Armand? Like something where they are both obsessed with her and maybe she a little oblivious even tho they give her what ever she wants. I love your others too by the way.🫶🏼

desires of the heart

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

in which she has two immortals wrapped around her little finger

Author note: this sounds similarish to a loumand fic I got previously so I’m gonna build off from that one

Time in the penthouse seems to move slower. The days and nights felt blurred from adjusting your schedule to the ‘vampires’ Daniel interviews. And with each passing day, more and more do the vampires find themselves falling deeper into your heart. It is your own fault for falling for a pair of supernatural fanatics, though now they have proved their inhumane nature.

You had their own dead ones in the palm of your hand yet you remained so oblivious to it.

You find yourself spending your time less in your room and more in their company as they approach an ending. Daniel mentions during one of your dinners together that he believes them to be stalling. Louis speaks slower, finds himself struggling to remember certain parts. You only raised a brow and wondered why either of them would feel the need to drag this on longer. And Daniel wonders how someone so sharp can be so oblivious.

He wants to be irritated but as you sit across him, writing in your own journal, he grunts out some form of a response that says 'you're probably right.'

“Those books, are the older ones right?” You watch Armand hover above in the collection looking for more pictures of Claudia for your personal “research”. In your spare time you’ve begun compiling information from her journals and diaries, looking for pictures to put a face to the voice of the woman trapped in a child’s body.

“Yes, some of these are beyond your time,” he looks down at you slowly allowing himself to settle in front of you. You push your frames back up the bridge of your nose so you can properly look at the elder vampire.

“Can I see them?”

Louis watches amused from his seat as Armand holds you close to show you the books. Slowly he glides back up with you in his arms following your direction till you pick a small stack to sit with Louis and look through.

These are older photographs from his years in New Orleans. Family pictures, pictures from his childhood.

"Aw what happened to the fro? That's the cutest baby afro I have seen!" you pout as Louis pulls a family picture out. And he rolls his eyes as you pull your phone to take a picture.

"Times were different," Louis rolls his eyes and you scoff at his vague response. You page through the album carefully with gloved hands as you look at the dearly protected aged photos.

"Is that him?" your eyes settle on a duo picture, him and his brother side by side. Louis can only nod, his lips pressed in a line as you stare. In the picture his brother stands behind him, hand on his shoulder. He remembers that day fondly. They bickered on what to wear and settle on a pair of their late father's suits. "He was handsome. Definitely a sweetheart, I can tell by how he's looking at you here in this one."

When you look up at you him, you smile "I see you take after him." Before Louis can respond one of the workers has entered. Interrupting your bubble of peace. "Mr.Molloy has requested you in his room ma'am."

Armand's face immediately ices over into a glare, his response fiery. "Tell Mr.Molloy if he wishes for his help to return he can come and get them himself. She is not a dog."

"It's alright, the old fart does this all the time in the office." You go to stand stretching your arms overhead and quickly rubbing your forearms for friction. You're cold, Louis observes the goosebumps across your freckled shoulders from the slouch neck sweater you wear.

When you are are out of ear shot Louis speaks to the worker.

"Have the shoppers come in tomorrow morning for Mr.Molloy's intern. The girl needs proper clothing. My companion will be there to assist further."

Much to Daniel's distaste. you are like a child in a candy shop pointing to sweaters from Ralph Lauren's upcoming fall collection. But he hides his distaste giving you a smile when you happily show him the sweater that was 'giving Rory Gilmore but I wear it better.' Armand sits watching as you soar through racks and picking your items of choice.

You hesitate when a woman approaches holding a cases of lenses, "we offer these in prescription of course."

"Oh no these are fine."

"Pick one." Armand finally speaks up. When you look at him he is now sitting up, but the way he sits with his legs crossed, an arm draped across the back while the other rests atop his knee. His eyes a show of dominance, as if daring you to say no to him.

You settle on a thick marbled brown pair. But he stands to move in front of you, picking up a few for you to try. You try on several till you are pushing his hands away.

"The jade green ones as well as the golden wired ones for her," you grumble watching as he picks up the two for the woman to box. "We will have your prescription sent as soon as possible."

"Thank you but, this a bit much for a few days stay."

"We have no issue providing you your comforts whilst you work on the novel."

"Ok but-"

He raises a brow that silences any opposition. When you offer no more pushback, Armand places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the women who begin to drape you in abayas and scarves for your hair.

Daniel can only huff and look back to his laptop.

'CLEARLY three idiots in love with one another. Female is too incompetent to discern vampires obsession, affections.' He underlines idiots smirking to himself as he scribbles more notes about the three of you down.

The end of the interviews is approaching, Louis could only stall for so long. You can tell as they spend any bit of time of the days glued to your side under the guise of fact checking and clarification. You don't bring it up, you accidentally mentioned it in passing to Louis and his entire demeanor once so warm and gentle became...rigid.

He didn’t speak to you that night, but Armand was there to placate your worries.

Louis sits beside you on the couch now, in a silent way of apologizing for his emotional outburst he brings you a midnight snack. The entire time he is watching you listen and take notes. One earbud in whilst your hand pauses and moves to write at the most random of moments.

He’s eerily still with the only movement behind his eyes watching and hearing every single thing.

These days he's become more brazen in his affections. Sitting closer, allowing his hand to linger when he passes your chai, playing with the baby curls at the nape of your neck. But there is something even more intimate as he sits beside you, watching you.

"Gonna keep staring me down like a creep?"

His lips perk up, "sorry cher. Just memorizing your face."

Your fingers stop typing, your train of thought halts for a second till they both return at the steady pace you had going. You’ll give him that one, your heart did feel fuzzy. But you’ll be damned to cry in front of him.

"Can a vampire love?"

Louis shifts a bit in his seat tilting his head upward, you wonder if he is avoiding your gaze or truly in thought. "I believe we feel immensely. Everything feels...deeper. Almost too much if I am quite honest. I think that’s why so many of us choose the sleep, eternal rest from these overwhelming emotions. These feelings are magnified and beyond anything a mortal can comprehend."

Now it’s your turn to look up. "But if your entire being is dead, what is it that allows you to feel again? Your heart no longer works, your brain must not function, or maybe it does. But you are dead. How can the dead feel?"

Ah, that mind of yours. Louis loved it deeply and he will miss is dearly. His eyes flicker to his joined palms which rest atop your knee till they return on you.

"I've heard stories, seen elder vampires that lived many lifetimes take their life because of the loneliness. At times, I myself felt it. It’s the silence that kills us, but as I said before you feel it double, hell even triple than the loneliness you may feel at times. Had our feelings died with us, then I do not think they would put an end to themselves."

You nod, pausing for a moment again. To feel that much it’s scary. It must be even scarier to love. Falling in love now, heartbreak even feels like it takes over your whole body. But to feel that even more, how can anyone survive through that?

"I feel it too," you pause for a moment, "it's the worst." When Louis doesn’t respond, you blank your lack of sleep or the stress of work that leaves you open and vulnerable. “I don’t think I could survive it. Loving at least. It hurts and it’s always taking. Leaving you high and dry in the end. I don’t….I couldn’t handle that again.”

Though Louis respects your boundaries, he feels the buzz in your bones. He hears the tremor in your voice, sees the mist of tears sitting in your eyes. A desire sitting on your lips. “What do you need?” It comes out as a whisper, yet it feels so loud.

And your response is just as quiet, “can you…can you just hold me. Please, Louis.”

The laptop is shut and atop the table, and he is holding you close. Your eyes slowly fall shut as you wrap your arms back around him. He pulls you atop him and you squeeze him back hiding your face in the nook of his shoulder.

He must be shushing you or speaking but you can’t hear it, all you can do is soak this in.

You feel complete again, so whole.

[lostinlovingrevery]

"You know how animals have displays to attract mates? Logan is no different. When hes in the mood, hell puff himself out to you, do things he thinks youll like. I mean, i suppose avg males do this too but logan gets repetitive over it until you notice. "

This is too cute 🥹 Could I maybe request a drabble based off this? (Sorry if you already got a message similar to this, my wifi is being weird and I can't tell if it actually sent lol)

A/N: Thank you for this ask!! Aren't drabbles supposed to be 100 words? IDK, but this is more of cute fanfic with 1400+ word count! I hope this is what you wanted!

I imagined a F!Reader but I didn't use any pronouns or describe readers body so it could be GN!

I pictured trilogy! Logan too bc I felt like he was the one most likely to act like this honestly LOL. I tried to use the 4 things you'd see when it comes to mating displays - Looks, Strength, Food, and Gifts. (I just kept picturing him like those birds from birds of paradise video)

Courtship Rituals

Warnings: Just Logan being needy ;), Suggestive ending ;) ;)

It’s been an extremely busy day. 

Aside from the meetings, the classes, chores, and various other activities that had taken up the schedule, it left little time for you to be with Logan. 

Which he was totally fine with by the way. He knew you were busy. 

Still, he’d stop by your study. “You done yet bub?” he’d ask, as he put his palms on your desk, seemingly puffing out his chest, the muscles of his arms bulging out as if he were flexing them. It was hard for you to not get distracted by him, especially since he was wearing a white t-shirt that fit very tightly around his torso; You swore you could make out his pecs through them. He actually looked really good since you’ve seen him early this morning- still asleep in bed. His hair looked especially good today, and he trimmed his beard to look a little neater. Not to mention he had on those jeans that fit his ass snuggly - the ones that you can never stop staring at. 

God he’s so hot

You couldn’t allow yourself to be distracted though- Charles absolutely needed you to finish some research by tonight, so you couldn’t stop. 

“Sorry baby,” You said sympathetically, “It’s gonna be a bit. I’m busy today y’know?” 

You felt so guilty the way he visibly deflated, you reached out to grab his hand. “Later, ok?” You kissed the space between his knuckles, and he forced a smile, before leaving you alone to do your work. 

Later you were in your classroom, getting things set up and preparing for your next class as you write your lesson plan on the chalkboard, you happened to turn your head to the window- where Logan was conveniently outside your classroom window in the yard, working out with nothing but his sweatpants on and his shirt off. You could see the sweat glistening off his skin, once again- you felt an incredible urge to go be with him, but you couldn’t- since your next class is in 20 minutes. 

You went to the window and watched him, where he spotted you eventually after he finished doing a set of pushups- you lost count at 50. He greeted you with a small wave of his hand, a smirk plastered on his face. You gave him a polite wave back, and blew a kiss to him. He waved for you to come out, but you shook your head- tapping your wrists and pointing to the classroom with your thumb. He shrugged, and nodded understandingly- but deflated once again. 

During lunch, you stopped into the kitchen to grab something to eat, finding Logan in there already. He looked up at the sound of you entering, and smiled. 

“Was just about to get you. Made you lunch.” He says, turning around and presenting the plate- one of your favorite lunches. Grilled cheese (Extra cheesy of course with 3 different types of cheeses) Homemade fries with sea salt, and a small cup of tomato soup. Your stomach growled loudly.

“Lo!” You smiled taking the plate, “That’s so sweet, thank you-” You reached down to take a bite of a fry, your eyes rolled back and groaned dramatically. “Oh that’s SO good.” You reached up to peck him on the lips, as he smiled proudly down at you. He figured, if his impressive muscles and body weren’t enough to sway you away from your work - then this would.

The way to anyone's heart - food. 

“You done for the day? Maybe we could spend some time-”

“Professor!” 

The sound of Rogues voice came into the room, distracting you and Logan. “Hi, sorry- you said you would help me out with my science project?” She asks you, you swallowed your fry and nodded. 

“I did, just give me a moment-” You inform her, turning back to Logan who’s deadpan expression made you want to laugh. “Sorry sweetheart, later?” You ask, pecking his lips again with a loud smooch.

“Yeah, sure.” He nods, his very best to not show his disappointment, watching you walk away with Rogue- and the plate of food in your hands. 

You were talking to Jean in the hall, complaining about all the work you had to do. Some of it your fault- stuff you had been procrastinating, but some of it just piled on suddenly. Not to mention it was your turn on the roster to cook everyone dinner, and you had tons of laundry to do- another thing you put off. 

Logan came around the corner, his arm sliding across your waist as he kissed your cheek. “Hey sweetheart.” He says lowly to you in that deep timber voice that drives you crazy- and he knows it too. He gave a courteous nod to Jean. 

“What you got there Logan?” Jean asks, noticing he was holding something behind his back. He pulled his arm from his back, revealing to you a bouquet of wildflowers. You gasped.

“Lo, these are beautiful!” You smiled taking them. Jean chuckled, 

“I’ll leave you lovebirds alone.” She teased, turning and walking away, leaving you and Logan alone. He braced an elbow against the wall looking down at you as you admired and sniffed the wildflowers. 

“Thought you’d like them.” He says. You beamed up at him, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I was thinking…” His other hand went to your hip, as he straightened his back out- practically towering over you. “If you got some free time now we should-”

“Hey! You busy?” Scott interrupted, pointing at you, then noticing the flowers, and Logans demeanor over you. Not to mention the absolute scowl Logan was giving him. “Uh, nevermind-”

You laughed, playfully hitting Logans arm. “What do you need Scott?” 

Logan let out an exasperated sigh. He loved you, but boy do you always jump at the chance to help someone out… Guess that’s why he loved you. You were always great at lending a hand. You, however, have been terrible at picking up signals. He dropped his arm from the wall, stepping back to give you space. Tuning Scotts annoying voice out and looking down at you with adoration. It wasn’t just the sex that he was wanting- he was just feeling needy for you today, but you were too busy and had a lot on your plate.

He took the bouquet from you, telling you he’ll put them in a vase while Scott stole you away from him. Rejected twice, and stolen away from him twice. It did not boost his ego. 

Finally, the evening came, and you were in bed, relaxing with a book. You had changed out of your clothes and into Logan's shirt, while Logan was in the shower, the steam and scent of soap wafting through the bathroom door of your shared bedroom. You heard the tap turn off, and you closed your book, setting it on your bedside table- next to the vase of flowers he got you- as you waited for him. 

He came out, towel wrapped low on his hips, droplets of water dripping down his hairy chest and torso, and he looked surprised to see you in bed. “Oh, hey.” He greets. “Didn’t know you when you’d be back.” He mutters under his breath.

“Came in just as you got in the shower.” You smiled, tilting your head and crossing your arms, noticing his slight attitude. He nodded, turning to pull out some clothes. “Logan.” You called out, and he turned his head. You brought your hand up and beckoned him with your finger. 

His grumpy face disappeared and he smiled, turning back to you and walking to the bed, dropping the towel to the floor as he kneeled onto the bed and climbed between your legs, his arms wrapping around your waist and upper back. 

You brought your hands up into his hair, intertwining your fingers through the wet locks and you giggled. “You were missing me today weren’t you?” You smiled. His expression went soft, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his lips upturned to a small smile. 

“Yeah. I was.” He says softly. 

“You were like a peacock. You were totally strutting your stuff around me.” You teased. He rolled his eyes. 

“Didn’t work clearly.” He mutters. 

“So you admit it!” You laughed. “Cause since when did you work out outside my classroom window?”

A deep blush came across his face as he became embarrassed, looking away, before looking up at you with big pleading eyes. You hummed, leaning forward and giving him a soft kiss that he quickly deepened, pressing himself deeper against your body.

Parting with a gasp, you ran your thumb across his cheek. “For the record, I missed you too.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

When your Characters Need to Build Trust in their Relationship

High trust levels are key to a healthy, lasting relationship—here are a few tips on how to build trust from psychotherapist and relationship expert Esther Perel.

Trust - the act of feeling comfortable, safe, and cared for in a relationship.

It is a vital bedrock of a successful relationship because it allows each person to be vulnerable with the other and continue to feel supported and sustained.

It encourages teamwork, collaboration, and healthy interdependence and is a sign of emotional intelligence (or, as Esther calls it, “relational intelligence”), effective communication, mutual respect, emotional intimacy, and overall well-being.

In a romantic relationship without a foundation of trust, partners may feel uncomfortable, insecure, or anxious. Sustained trust issues or a complete lack of trust in a long-term relationship can lead to overwhelming emotional strain, burnout, breakup, and even physical and mental health problems.

How to Build Trust With a Romantic Partner

Trust is one of the building block of a healthy relationship. Here are a few different ways to build trust according to Esther:

Determine your relationship to trust and risk. In Esther’s experience, building trust starts with understanding your own needs. “Do you see yourself as someone who needs to trust first? Or do you see yourself more as someone who is more quick at taking risks?” Taking stock of your own needs allows you to “ground yourself in the reality of the here and now” before building trust with a partner. “Some people say that you need to trust someone, a relationship, before you are feeling okay to take risks with that person. But some people will say—and this is how the research divides around trust as well—that it is actually by taking risks that the trust develops.”

Embrace taking micro-risks with your partner. Esther recommends taking very small risks as a way to practice trust-building in a relationship, creating a little trust at a time as you work toward deep emotional intimacy. “A micro risk … is not a specific thing,” she explains. “It’s the thing that I don’t usually do.” Examples of micro risks may be sharing information about your personal life, making an observation of the other person, challenging yourself to say “no” to something, or challenging yourself to ask for something—as long as it’s something you don’t normally do. Once you take the risk, you can see how the other person responds to it and continue building levels of trust (or identify that something isn’t working). “It's an experience that is built through mutuality and reciprocity,” Esther explains.

Learn to navigate breaches in trust. “When [trust] breaks, it feels shattered and unable to ever be put back together,” Esther says. That response is completely normal—breaches in trust hurt, especially in lasting relationships. “But, in fact, [trust] is quite malleable,” she says. “Life and new experiences, like grafting new cells on top, slowly allow us to experience the trust again.” Avoid jumping to conclusions or making hasty judgments—instead, give the other person the benefit of the doubt, allow yourself time to recover from breaches in trust, and then check in with yourself using your new life experiences to decide how to move forward and whether you can repair things. Even when trust decreases, it is possible to slowly rebuild trust through careful, hard work.

“Trust is one of these concepts that suffers from a definitional vagueness. We all know when we feel it, and we all know when we don’t. But what is it? Is it a feeling? Is it a condition? Is it an outcome? Is it a state? What is trust? And the research is all over the place. At the end of many, many, many papers, what you hear is the sentence, ‘The research could use more research on how to define trust.’” —Esther Perel

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[waddleonmywaywardducks]

How to get back into your practice after a burnout

Alot of times in our practices, we often just straight up forget. Not going to lie to you I didn't practice much until I got out of my mom's home...which was one year ago. And I also have a theory that since paganism isnt dogmatic and is meant to be ran by a community we fall out really easy, it's natural, paganism is different now. But anyways here is chaos's master guide on how to put on your big girl panties and get back the work.

(disclaimer: just because these things worked for me doesn't mean it's going to work for everyone else, this post is completely upg. I'm just offering advice.)

Starting out small

What never stuck to me is those post that are like: "stir your intentions into your coffee, light incense, pray" because like yeah thats a good way to start off I really dont think itll set in our brains to do this everyday. Instead what I recommend is finding days to practice and sticking to that day. Find a day where you useally do nothing and dedicate it to getting back into your practice.

You could use this day to research on all the things you forgotten (been there)

Or you could just leave offerings out for your deities and call it a day

I think if you uphold a certain schedule your mind will get into the habit of "oh today's witch day, time to do witchcraft" this is basic psychology, and I promise it works 😭😭

Deity work and getting back into it

Little reminder: your gods are not mad at you. They do not hate you. They love you.

I have had so many falling outs with deities because I just couldn't uphold a schedule. Hekate being one of them. Hekate really showed me the way once I moved out of my mother's house, and after so many ins and outs of my worship to her, she still showed me love and compassion. I promise your gods will do the same. They understand our mortal lives more then you comprehend. After all, this is their earth.

Stuff you can do to get back into worship with your deities:

- offerings, big or small

- dedicate days to them, in my schedule Hekate is worshipped on Monday, and Aphrodite on Friday.

- research ways to connect with them more

- don't make big promises that you will get back into your practice and never fall out again, thats just putting yourself in more responsibility, your gods will now expect that responsibility. I've done this before and I definitely got side eyed by Hekate 😭😭

I recommend reading over these lovely post by @/khaire-traveler

Subtle deity worship

I honestly used this alot to get back into worship with my deities 😭😭 these posts go into worship you could do for deities while you are either hiding your practice or just want to do something for your gods. Really helpful post 10/10.

Getting back into witchcraft

I know I kind of went over this already, but I feel like there needs to be some small steps to getting back into witchcraft before we get to rituals, spells and stuff of that sort.

To get back into witchcraft, I recommend meditating, either by yourself or with your deities. Meditation allows you to just focus on the present and let go of all your stresses. I like to meditate with my deities because I get visions from them easily this way, it's easier for me to communicate.

From there you can do research on the basics of witchcraft and work your way up to rituals and spell work... hopefully all of this makes sense

Anyways yeah that's all the advice I have to getting back into your practice, if I have anything else to add I'll reblog this and add more. But yeah! I really hopes this helps at least someone lol.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 3 - I Get A Little Dizzy

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Truly a disgusting amount of tabs open on my computer to research different monsters of the week for this series. Enjoy!

Chapter title from Imposter Syndrome by Abbie Roberts

Word Count: 16.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: For the first time, you run into Dean alone. Usual warnings, slight emphasis on self-harm.

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

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Read on A03!

The library is quiet when you feel it. When the White starts to rear and whine inside of you, the world goes technicolor, and you feel an odd sense of unwelcome harmony. You feel Dean.

And you could’ve pretended it was nothing, that you were simply losing your mind, if he hadn’t spoken only a second later.

“Hey, sweetheart, can you point me to any books you got on ghosts?” He’s drawling—his voice is still deep and pretty and very distracting—but there’s something tight in his words. Like he’s frowning. “And, uh, a table? Might need to sit down.”

The girl at the desk starts to fawn over him—asking if he’s okay, if he needs some of their shitty earl gray tea, how it’s so cool that he’s interested in cult and theology—and you realize you’re on your knees. Just the fucking presence of Dean sent you to your knees. 

You’re fucked.

He’s not supposed to be here. This is your case. It’s the kind of case you live for. The years blur together—all covered in blood and sweat and spit—and your nightmares only get worse as the darkness grows, but these cases are easy. Not deadly, just odd. Cases no other hunter tries to touch, because everything about them is downright strange, there’s often nothing to shoot, and the solution is usually more complex than just kill the monster. That’s the other reason you love these cases. No danger. No threat of a hunter watching you bleed into the darkness, of them seeing a monster simply ignore you like you’re not even there or doing something a regular person—hunter or not—should never be able to do. 

Sometimes, on the rare occasion you do run into a hunter, and you just have to be careful. Stay out of their view, handle the case, and vanish in the dead of night without ever being seen. 

And that’s exactly why you’re so goddamn fucked.

You can’t ignore Dean. You can’t avoid Dean. It’s been two long, strange years, and seeing him isn’t any less intoxicating than before. It might even be worse. Stronger. Because you kept reminding yourself that John would kill you—not might, would—and that Dean didn’t seem to feel this baffling, magnetic connection, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming about him. It didn’t stop his name being like a shot of some sort of painful, needy, glorious drug right into your bloodstream, or your brain from searching for him in shadows.

And you’d really tried to stop that. You’d played both days over and over in your head, dissecting every reason to hate him, every reason to be angry, every reason to forget that he ever existed. And you had hundreds of them, starting and ending with he left you. He vanished without a trace, had the nerve to pretend like he cared about you, and then act like he had the right to care when he left you. He was an arrogant, charming, handsome asshole, and he left you. You were allowed to hate him, because he’d made you smile and feel like maybe you could be wanted, and then he fucking left you.

You’ve repeated it a million times. You’ve set that anger deep into your bones to try and make it stick. Carved it into your skull to try and make it real. At this point it might be, because you’ve spent two years practicing it.

But you’ve never managed to throw out his shirt, or stop your heart from twisting and withering whenever Bobby mentions that the Winchesters had a bad hunt, or extract green eyes and a boyish smile from fantasies in your sleep. 

You don’t know how to not feel like there’s saltwater on your raw skin when he indulges the girl at the desk with sweet words, say she’s too pretty to be stuck around all these books. You can’t figure out how to make the White finally realize that it’s not an option to give into its desperation to see him. To crawl around the bookshelves and just look at Dean, to make sure he’s real and this isn’t another unwelcome dream.

There are so many reasons that would be a bad idea. John might be here, ready to put a bullet in your temple. Dean might see you, and you’ll have to explain why you’re staring at him from the floor. Onceyou see Dean, you know you’ll have to talk to him, and if you talk to him the whole hunt will be ruined. It’ll become a long week of trying to figure out the case, dodge Dean, and hide what you are from him.

Maybe he already knows. Maybe John told him. Maybe he’d be just as ready to kill you, and all you’d see is cold, unwavering fury and hatred in his eyes before he killed like the monster you might be.

And you are. You’d have nothing to offer in your defense, because the darkness has only spread in your body, and you’ve only fed it. You still don’t understand exactly what it is, but you know it’s powerful. That whatever you are, you’re rare, and that’s probably for a reason. You’ve spent hours in Bobby’s library—sitting at his desk and reading until dawn cracks and Bobby half-drags you to bed—trying to just find a name for what you are, why you’re like this, but you only ever have more questions.

You can’t stop the spells and rituals from appearing in your head, but you also can’t find most of them in any books. You still call yourself a witch, but most witches spend decades studying to learn how to do things your body just does. More and more monsters respect you. More and more ghosts have burned away with only your hands. It’s grown harder and harder to stop the darkness from slipping out, and when it does it can be dangerous to everyone around you.

Dean doesn’t need to see that. You don’t need another reason to feel like you’re wrong. Just inherently wrong. 

So you should go. You need to go. If you were smart, you’d go now, and never look back.

But you haven’t learned how to do that either. Because you rise to your feet slowly, walk silently towards the door with your head down, and can’t stop your eyes from flicking to where Dean should be seated. 

His jacket is there—hanging off a wooden chair—and there are a few books on the splintering table, but there’s no Dean. 

You go rigid, a weight dropping into your lungs as you whirl around to run, and a hand catches you by the elbow. It’s big and strong and warm through your shirt, and you don’t have to be drowning in grass and spice and leather to know who it is. 

Dean pulls you right back into his chest, his grip remaining firm, and his voice near your ear is low and mocking. “Hey, Princess. Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Fuck.

You should lie. Pretend you don’t know him, wait for his grip to loosen, and run.

“Well, Winchester, I’m not sure you ever think at all.”

Fuck.

He laughs, and you also apparently haven’t learned how to not feel molten and soothed from the deep, rolling sound. “That ain’t your best,” he drawls your name, squeezing your arm lightly. “I’ll give you another shot, though. This time try to go for my looks.”

You scowl into the air. “I don’t think I could, Deano. That’s all you got left, and I’m not that mean.”

He clicks his tongue. “Ouch. You might be meaner, sweetheart. I’d say you’re a downright bitch.”

“I’d say you’re an animal in jeans and a leather jacket.”

“You’re forgetting about my boots.” Dean shrugs, and you can feel his muscles flex at the movement. “I’m an animal in jeans, boots, and a leather jacket.“

You roll your eyes, finally managing to yank your arm away from his hold and spin around. “What do you want, Dean Winchester.”

He’s grinning at you when you see him. A smug, crude smirk that tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, that he might not be trying to kill you, but he does hate you. And yet the shine in his eyes still sending you into a trance, and you’re still leaning a little forward to be closer to his body, and your nails are still digging into your skin to stop your hands from either punching him or grabbing him and never letting go. 

You hate it. You hate that he can still do this to you, that he doesn’t seem at all affected by it, and that you feel tiny fragments—catching light and scattered through your body—withering under his loathing and blooming under his attention. 

You hate that you’re staying instead of running. You’ve promised yourself over and over that, if you ever see any of the Winchester’s again, you’d run and keep yourself alive. If not for yourself, for Bobby. If not for Bobby, for Rufus, who’s told you that he had no interest in watching Bobby drink himself away if you die. 

And you’re breaking that promise. You should’ve made it an oath.

But you’d probably break that too. You might do anything to keep yourself crashing back into Dean, to stay in his shining gravity. 

You hate that most of all.

“I’m just saying hi, Princess.” He’s still grinning at you, but there’s something spiked and furious in his eyes. It’s guarded and hostile, and all aimed at you. “Am I not allowed to do that?”

“Hi.” You raise your chin, and he chuckles.

“Hey.” He scans you over, and you wish you couldn’t feel the heat of his gaze on your skin. “You look good.”

“No, I don’t.” You didn’t look bad, but you’re also sleeping in your car, so this is far from your best. “Why are you here?”

“Shit, Princess, I thought you were smart.” Dean gives you an amused, taunting look, and you want to punch him. “I mean, you can’t think I’m on vacation.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re hunting.”

“Bingo!” Dean spreads his arms wide, a shit-eating on his face. “Look at that, folks, we have a winner! The hunter is hunting-“

“Alone.” You raise your brows at him, crossing your arms. “Dean Winchester’s hunting alone.”

He falters slightly, barely a slip—his voice slightly harsher, his face a little tighter—but you catch it. “Maybe I am, but that’s not your fucking beeswax-“

That makes you stand taller, your spine snapping to attention as darkness pushes at your skin and teeth. “Is your dad here?”

He scowls. “No.”

Your grip on your own body tightens, because Dean doesn’t hunt alone. Bobby says that he’s only ever alone at all because John’s off on a hunt alone, and even then, Dean just waits. 

Briefly, you wonder if he’d wait for you. It’s a pointless hope—and you loathe your brain for thinking of it—but that doesn’t stop the idea. Dean wouldn’t wait for you. You’re not someone anyone waits for.

But you’d like to feel his pure, undying loyalty directed at you. For Dean to talk about you how he talks about John and Sam. 

He wouldn’t. And you hate him for making you want him to.

Dean must read something on your face, because he’s speaking again before you even open your mouth. “And this is a one-time thing, sweetheart, it’s not the same-“

“As me hunting alone?” You tilt your chin a little higher, holding his glare. “Why’s that?”

“Because you- You’re young and this shit isn’t a joke or game-“

“I never said it was a joke or game.” You snap. “And I’m not that much younger than you-“

“You’re young enough.” He hisses. “And you don’t get to act like you understand this life-“

You narrow your eyes. “I understand it just fine-“

“Yeah, sure you do.” Dean rolls his eyes, lowering his face to yours. You’re not sure when he got this close, or why you haven’t moved away, but he smells really good. “I actually fucking know what I’m doing, Princess. This is my life, and I’ve got people around me who-“

“You think I don’t have people?” You lean closer as you sneer, because you’ll be damned if you’re the first to cave and pull away. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? Don’t forget, Winchester, I’m the one who got the moroi and the poltergeist-“

“But you’re still hunting alone.” Dean’s voice is stiff, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think his own words were hurting him. “Which means you don’t have people. If you did, they wouldn’t let you do this shit by yourself.”

You let out a dry laugh. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite, you’re literally hunting alone right now-“

“This is a one-time thing.” He dismisses you with a glare. “Not the same.”

And you’re back at the start. “It’s the exact same. I’m just alone by choice.”

Something pained flares in Dean’s eyes, and the guilt floods you in a second. Wrapping around your lungs like iron, churning in your stomach as your nerves start to feel raw and cower into you, because you shouldn’t have said that. He’s not alone, not at all. He has John, and John’s an asshole but he does seem to at least care about his son, as much he seems capable of caring about anything. And Dean can find company wherever he wants. He just has to weaponize that cocky, euphoria inducing charm, and you think people would give him the world. 

You are alone. You’ve been alone. You have Bobby but you’re still alone. Nobody wants to give you anything, and they shouldn’t. You’d break it. Just like how Dean’s voice is now low and strained, and the guilt is ripping at your guts, and you’re just darkness. Just dark and sick and infectious, spitting venom that erodes everything it finds. 

“I wouldn’t say you’re alone by choice either,” Dean says your name, his voice only taut anger. “You just haven’t managed to trap some sorry son of a bitch into look after you.”

Your nails break skin. “Fuck you, Winchester.”

“Right back at you, Princess.” 

There’s a long moment where neither of you move or speak,  and the only evidence you haven’t become statues is your breath. You’d been so lost in shoving down to darkness—roaring through your blood and a little electric—that you hadn’t realized Dean was walking you backwards. That you were pressed between his body and the table, or that his arms were braced on either side of your body, holding you there. And you’d been so lost in your fury at him—how it had lived in your mouth and surrounded your every thought—that you hadn’t looked at him. Really looked at him.

You’re looking now. And he’s still pretty. Somehow, he might be prettier. His eyes seem to have more shades of green, more little flecks of gold—his attention even more drug-like than before, as if you’re being dragged underwater but learning to breathe it at the same time—and there are a few freckles on his skin that weren’t there last time. His hair is a little longer than, too, but still close cut and spiky, and your fingers still remember how soft it had been. They want to touch him again. You want to touch him again, maybe shove him, maybe slap him, maybe yank him down so you can feel his lips against yours-

“You’re gonna try to do this one alone too, aren’t you.”

You blink at Dean, frowning slightly. “What?”

He sighs. “You’re gonna go off and hunt by yourself.”

“Yeah, I am.” You shift your weight on your feet, trying to not be consumed by how fucking close Dean is. “And I’m-“ You swallow, the words falling out you like vomit as the guilt gnaws at your tongue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean the shit about you being alone. You’re not.”

Dean stares at you. “You’re sorry.”

You nod—because you are, you can’t fucking live with how this is eating at you, and you really don’t need another reason to be sick—and Dean shakes his head.

“You think- forget it.” He’s scanning over your face, his expression still tight. “You’re fucking, you’re impossible.”

You frown. “What does that mean.”

Dean just hums. “That I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, I just said that-“

“No, Princess.” He grins, and it creates a tiny line on his cheek you want to touch. “I’m not alone. I got you.”

“You do not have me-“

“Why not?” 

His question sounds so genuine it makes you pause, your expression slack with confusion. “What?”

“Why don’t we hunt together? Hell of a lot safer.”

You shake your head slightly, mostly trying to destroy how the White is trying to grab your tongue and pull on your lips until you spit out yes without a thought. “Why would I do that. I’ve-“

“You got this, I know.” Dean raises his brows. “But you’ve also got me. And I can be helpful, sweetheart. We’ll be done in half the time.”

You do not have Dean. If you did, there wouldn’t be a single problem in the world. 

But you still examine his painfully sincere face, your words cautious. “How can you be helpful.”

“To start, I can use a gun.” He smirks at you. “Bet you don’t have that.”

“I can use a gun, Winchester, I just choose not to-“

“And now you don’t have to choose.” Dean wiggles his brows at you, and you feel the White flutter. “I’ll be the knight, Princess, you’ll just have to do…” he pauses, staring at you with a small frown. “Whatever you do.”

You can’t do what you do. Not anywhere near Dean. Not when he’ll freak out and leave you again, maybe this time returning with John in tow to put you down like a feral animal. You honestly don’t know why he hasn’t done that already, because there was no reason for John not to have told him about the poltergeist. 

But he’s just grinning at you, and his offer sounds genuine, and you really want him to stay. It would be really nice if—no matter what alternate intentions Dean had for you, no matter how he planned to look at you or speak to you—Dean stayed. Everything feels simpler when he’s right here against you. The White has already begun to blend and blur with the darkness, and everything already feels clean and silver under Dean’s attention—devoid of the loathing you’d expected, but still burning and wild and magnetic—and God, you’d like it to stay that way.

And you’d just been ready to fucking kill him.

And you don’t care.

“You’d listen to what I tell you to do.”

Dean shrugs. “Sure.”

“Winchester-“

“Cross my heart.” He pushes on hand off the table, holding it over his chest. “Scout’s honor.”

You snort. “Were you a scout?”

“No, but you don’t have to be a scout-“

“Yes, you do, that’s why it’s called scout’s honor-“

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to say-“

“Pinky promise?” You suggest, your cheek painful as you bite down a grin at his adorably offended face. “All you need is a pinky.”

Dean scowls. “I am not pinky promising.”

“Fine,” you shrug. “Then we’re not hunting together.”

His face splits into a cocky, wide grin, and you realize what you’ve said too late. “So we were gonna hunt together?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, your face growing warm. “I was thinking about it-“

“You make up your mind?”

“Not yet-“

“I’ll listen to you.” 

You stare between Dean’s open gaze and his hand. Raised between your bodies, the pinky sticking out. “I don’t need you, Winchester.”

“Yeah, I bet you don’t.” He mutters, and you frown at the bitterness in his words. The way they sound sour, when Dean shouldn’tbe allowed tobe sour. He left you. “But I’m here whether you like it or not. Might as well make this easy.” 

He flexes his pinky, raising his brows expectantly, and your hand moves almost against your will. Looping your pinky with Dean’s, shaking it once, and freezing once you’re done, locked against him. It’s like you’ve been struck by lightning, and you won’t be able to pull away until you’re ash and smoke for Dean to breathe.

“Awesome.” He winks at you, but doesn’t pull away. Neither of you can pull away. “You got what we need?”

“Not yet,” you mumble. “But I’m working on it.”

He smirks. “Lucky you, Princess, I’m here to help.”

“I don’t need-“

“Yeah, you do.” He makes a wide, sweeping gesture to the table, his finger dropping from yours. “Sit down, sweetheart, cause I’m about to blow your mind.”

You roll your eyes—the loss of his finger, his fucking finger, feeling like you’ve been set adrift through space without a way to come back—and drop into the free chair.

Dean does not blow your mind. He’s adorable and charming as he explains his theory that you’re dealing with a spirit that uses madness to get to its victims, and he’s incredibly wrong, but it’s still cute. His chest is puffed like he’s just slain a dragon, he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for a treat, and it breaks your heart a little to give him a close-lipped smile and shake your head.

“That’s… not correct.”

He blinks at you. “Yeah, it is. I read everything,” he slaps the pile of very closed books in front of him. “And Bobby told me that powerful ghosts can inflict madness.”

You raise your brows, twisting a ring on your finger. “I don’t know who Bobby is.”

“Oh, uh, he’s like my uncle.” Dean shrugs, dropping into his own chair. “Helped my dad out a lot, with me and Sammy. When Dad had to go off on hunts, and needed to keep us somewhere safe.”

You know that. Dean doesn’t know you know that, and something feels bitter over your heart as you lie to him, but you can’t help yourself. “You like him? Bobby?”

Dean nods. “Hell yeah, he’s awesome. And he’s a great hunter, only one almost as good as Dad. Plus he’s got this room of books that Sammy loved, all about monsters. He says this is a spirit,” Dean drums his hand on the table, giving you a pointed look. “It’s a freakin’ spirit.”

“Bobby said it’s a spirit?”

Dean nods, and you pull your lips between your teeth to stop a grin. If he wouldn’t get pissed about you hanging out with Dean—where John might arrive any second, something you know but can’t really bring yourself to care about—you’d call him right now to brag.

“Bobby’s wrong.”

“Bobby’s never wrong.” Dean frowns. “And you told me you didn’t have anything-“

“No, I told you I didn’t have what we need.” You hum, allowing your smug smile to cover your face. “But I know what we’re dealing with.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You wanna keep bragging, or-“

“It’s a pagan god.” You say, and Dean just blinks at you, so you continue. “I’m not sure which one yet, but it has to be.”

He shakes his head slightly. “It doesn’t have to be-“

“Yeah, it does. The madness is spread through the town, Deano. It can’t be a spirit.”

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “It is.”

“I know-“

“But,” he points a finger at you, his features stern, and it makes the White sing. “That doesn’t mean it has to be a pagan god, Princess. We could both be wrong.“

You give him an amused look. “What have you heard about the madness?”

“They’re basically trying to killing themselves outta nowhere. People with promotions lined up, folks with families just losing their marbles-“

“How are they losing their marbles?”

He scowls. “I dunno, I haven’t been invited to their suicide attempts-“

“They’re dancing.” You run a hand through your hair as you lean forward, your smile growing. “They start waltzing, and don’t stop until someone makes them. It’s not deadly, but-“

“It could be,” he nods slowly. “If we don’t gank it.”

“If we don’t figure out who it is,” you push a book towards him, pulling another off his pile for yourself. “And kill it.”

“That’s what I said-“

“You said gank.” You flip open your book, giving him a pointed look. “That’s not a real word.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You don’t know every word ever, sweetheart-“

“Yes, I do. Shut up and read.”

“Bossy- Shit-“ Dean swears your name as you kick him under the table. “That was my good shin.”

You giggle. You haven’t giggled in two years. “As opposed to your bad shin?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, and you watch him settle into his book in your periphery. “I’m basically useless now, Princess. You killed me.”

“Maybe I saved you,” you shrug. “You can’t dance to death now. I think I’m the hero in this scenario, actually.”

He chuckles, poking your foot with his. “That would be a dumb way to go. I mean, what are we, in a reserve Footloose town? A handtight?” 

You glance up to see that he has the boyish grin—the one that makes you want to grab his face and hang against him because for some reason, you feel like nothing could ever hurt you as long as Dean was smiling like that—and is obviously incredibly proud of his joke. It makes something warm and gooey in your stomach, makes everything in the world smooth and illuminated. Flowing easily with the darkness, no pain required to keep yourself in control.

“Handtight?”

“Yes, opposite of footloose. Awesome, right?”

“I could do better.” You look back down to your book, and Dean scoffs.

“You’re just bitter about me getting a name for this first-“

“Vitus.”

You can hear the confused frown in his voice. “Wha-“

“Vitus.” You flip your book for him to read. “Sicilian martyr saint, who was associated with that French dancing plague in 1518.”

Dean blinks between the you and the pages. “This guy’s a saint, aren’t they kind of not supposed to kill people?”

You give him a flat look. “I don’t think anyone’s supposed to kill people-“

“Shut up, you know what I meant-“

“I don’t think I did. I think you should explain it-“

“I-“ He glares at you, and your grin is manic. “How the hell did you even find that so fast-“

“I’m good at my job, Winchester.” You flip the book closed with a half-shrug. “And this is literally just the 1518 plague, but in Texas. Which is, very famously, exactly like France.”

You grin at Dean—proud of your own, horrible joke—and he gives you a half-amused look with something in his eyes that you don’t know how to place. Not soft, but not hateful, like you’re blinding him, and he doesn’t care to look away. 

You clear your throat—he’s just looking at you, and it’s making your thinking hazy and your skin ache to touch his—and press on. “Now we just need to figure out why they’re doing-“

“A handtight?” Dean jumps in, and you give him a flat look. “I’m gonna get you to call it that, sweetheart, you’ll see.”

You ignore him, even as your smile grows. “And how to stop it.”

Dean gives you a look of mock curiosity. “Stop what, exactly?”

“I’m not calling it that.”

“C’mon, it’s good-“

“Nope.” You push up to your feet, still smiling at him as he almost pouts at you. “Never.”

“I bet I can get you to.” He rises as well, side-stepping to block your way to the door. You’re not sure if it’s on purpose. “Twenty bucks.”

You snort. “You don’t have twenty bucks.”

Dean’s jaw ticks slightly, and he almost recoils away from you. It’s a small movement, but you still see it. And it still hurts, because you don’t know why. That wasn’t too mean. Not meaner than usual. And he’s recovering quickly—his smile returning, the playful arrogance in his voice back in a heartbeat—but you’d still struck something you hadn’t meant to. And you can feel the sickness take root inside your veins at the thought. All those shattered, pretty pieces that line your whole body start to become heavy, because you hadn’t even meant to, and you’d hurt Dean. You hadn’t even be trying, and you’d still managed to show him just how horrible you were-

“I’ll find them.” Dean says, but he sounds a little far away over the ringing in your ears. “Gimme your number.”

That yanks you out of it, everything rushing back down to Dean as you gape at him. “My number?”

“On your phone, sweetheart.” He smirks at you. “I’m shocked you’ve made it this far alone if you don’t know-“

“Oh, fuck off, Winchester.” You flip him off. “I know what a number is-“

“Sure you do, Princess-“

“Shut up-“

“Here,” he leans down, scrawling his own number on a small paper and sliding it across the table. “That’s mine.” He pauses, his gaze on you suddenly weary. “For, uh, for the case.”

You nod, taking the paper with careful hands, like it might fly off and vanish. It had last time. Dean had last time. “You, um-“ You take slow breath, forcing your voice to remain firm and even. “You don’t need to give me this.”

Dean shifts in front of you, but you’re not quite strong enough to look up and meet his gaze. “Do you, uh, you don’t gotta take it, if you don’t want it-“

“No!” You flush at your high voice, staring at your fingers as you fold and unfold the paper between them. “I just already know where we’re off to next. So I don’t need it.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, his voice dropping to a tone you wish wasn’t so cautious and soft. “You can still take it. Safety first, right?”

You glance up, and see that he’s smiling at you. He didn’t take the out you offered him, and he’s still there, and if you reached out you’d feel warm skin and lean muscles. He’s real, and he’s not flickering away. 

And that makes the Silver—the White folded and blended perfectly into the darkness—begin to bloom. Growing like ivy over the sickness, soothing it into an easy quiet. It makes you high as you smile at him, cautious but real. This might be real. You know better than to hope, but you don’t care what you know. This time, something about this glow—mending parts of you with gold, refracting light over the Silver—feels like it might not fall to ruin. Like it will remain tangible, and not shrivel under your touch.

“Okay.” You tuck Dean’s number in your pocket, standing a little taller as his own grin grows. “Can you meet me at the town hall in an hour?”

His brow furrows slightly. “The town hall? Are we interviewing the mayor or something?”

“Or something.” You hum, and Dean gives you a questioning look. “I think it might be a political thing,” you explain. “I mean, it’s not footloose-“

Dean nods. “It’s handtight-“

“Shut up. It’s not footloose but it is town wide. Targeting random citizens.” You tilt your head at Dean, raising your brows slightly. “So that could mean it’s-“

“Political?” Dean frowns, rubbing his chin. “Like a really weird power play?”

“Really weird.” You agree. “But not impossible. Fear mongering is a very real political tactic, it could be that.”

“You think it’s that?” Dean’s watching you closely, and it’s doing something to your brain. Making it fuzzy and warm. It’s not helpful.

“I think,” you say slowly, crossing your arms over your chest. “That we don’t have any other leads. And it can’t hurt to look.”

“You’re really inspiring confidence, sweetheart-“

“Do you have anything better?”

“Nope.” Dean shrugs, tucking one hand in his pocket as the other finds your back. Resting with a flat palm between your shoulder blades, seeming to suck every bit of tension from that spot, to make you almost lean into him. He pats your back once, a little awkwardly, but then he doesn’t move away. His mouth is still open, your mouth is open, and this shouldn’t feel as powerful as it does. It’s just a hand, but you feel safe and tended to, and it’s Dean’s hand but you feel wanted, and he doesn’t want you-

Dean doesn’t want you at all. He’s looking at you like he sees you—right down to the darkness, then a little further—and he’s not flinching away or revolted by it, but he doesn’t want you. He’s touching you, and maybe he’d like that, but he doesn’t want you. 

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, his hand still flat and frozen on your back. “We should go.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your eyes seemingly trapped on his. “Figure out this reverse footloose.”

A smirk pulls at his lips. “Handtight.”

“I’m not calling it that, De.” You roll your eyes, but don’t shrug him off as he starts to guide you to the door. “Reverse footloose is already pushing it.”

He clicks his tongue, holding the door open as you walk through. “And I’m the one that’s not fun?”

You flip him off, he lets out a loud laugh, and you’re not sure what the hell is happening. He’s only looking at you, even though the lady at the desk keeps trying to get his attention with cleavage and pouting lips. He’s still touching you, even though you’re giving him no signs that you’re going to offer him what he probably wants. He’s still talking to you, walking with you, even though you’re you. Blooming with silver over your ribs but still destructive. Still sick.

“You got a car?” Dean scans over the parking lot with a small frown, and his thumb has started to trace small circles against your jacket, making it hard to think of anything but daydreams of that small motion on your bare skin.

“Um, yeah, it’s over there.” You manage to point, and Dean’s lips fall into a small, pouting frown. “I can meet you-“

“Actually, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, his voice becoming low and sheepish. “I’d take a ride, if you’re good with that.”

You blink at him. “Do you not have your car?”

“Dad’s car.” Dean mutters. “He’s using it.”

“How’d you get here-“

“Hitchhiking,” he shrugs, not fully meeting your gaze. Like he’s worried hitchhiking will make you recoil. Like the car you hadn’t just pointed at isn’t the fifth car you’ve stolen this month. “I’m not that far, anyway. And I tried to rent a car but they only had minivans.” Dean makes a sour face, and it’s adorable, but you don’t think he’d apprentice you saying that. “I’m not driving a freakin’ minivan.”

“Alright car boy.” You give him a sweet smile, and when he finally glances up at you his eyes widen slightly. “You wanna drive?”

You might as well have offered him ice cream. All his features light up, a grin that’s sort of mind-numbing breaks out over his face, and you could swear he’s suddenly taller. Bigger. “You sure? I- It’s your car-“

“I don’t give a shit.” You shrug—it’s not your car, but he doesn’t need to know that—and push the keys into his hand. “Let’s rumble, Deano.”

You start to move, but he catches your arm, and when you look back his expression is weary. Untrusting.

“Is this…” He trails off, glancing down to the keys in his hand like they’re going to jump up and attack him. “You’re sure. You’re not- I’m not gonna get in that car and you’ll start yelling at me-“

“Why would I yell at you?” You frown at him, and his grip tightens slightly. “I mean, I will yell at you about other stuff, but not this. That would be dumb.”

He blinks at you, nods slowly, and releases your arm. He could’ve held onto it. You really wouldn’t have minded. 

You’re not sure what just happened—you’re learning that, with Dean, there never seems to be any logic to what’s happening—but you know Dean relaxes again the moment he’s in the driver’s seat. Talking about the buttons, which ones are genuine improvement to the model and awesome, and which ones are freakin’ useless, and really adorable. 

Dean’s adorable. You shouldn’t be allowing yourself to crash back into him so fast, not when you’ve spent so long teaching yourself to hate him, but it’s simple. Natural. The air feels sharper in your lungs when you breathe and he’s next to you. Everything smells like grass and spice and it’s like an anesthetic to everything in you that’s usually only pain. Every feverish and furious piece in you feels calmed, and Dean’s eyes are filled with boundless color, and it’s like you could move right into them and exist in a warm, peaceful world for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t. But you can smile and laugh with Dean on the ride to the town hall, listening to him explain something about engines that you don’t really care about, but he does, which is somehow more than enough. You work together to come up with a cover story, which mostly means shooting down Dean’s ideas about being Wilson and Wilson, no relation, or just flat out breaking into the building.

“You know city halls are public places, right?” You tilt your head at him, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “Anyone can be there, as long as we’re not going into private offices. We could just be two college students, looking to interview our representatives for a paper.”

Dean frowns. “Is that what college students do? You’re telling me Sammy’s off in California just talking to a bunch of nerds in offices?”

“Maybe.” You shrug, watching him carefully. You haven’t actually heard him talk about Sam that much, and everything is so precariously good right now. You refuse to be the one to blow it up. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, but you’re kinda just like that.”

It’s your turn to frown. “Like what?”

Dean waves a hand, giving you a flat look as he parks to car. “You know.”

“I don’t know-“

“You’re all books, Princess. You found that Cletus guy-“

“Vitus-“

“Yeah, whatever, you found him really fast. And you don’t use a gun.” He makes face like he’s smelt something foul. “How the hell don’t you use a gun.”

“With incredible talent and skill. And I am not all books-“

He smirks. “You’re pretty much 90% books, sweetheart.”

You glare at him. “Shut up-“

“Nah.” He turns off the engine, glancing out the windshield to the city hall. “So we’re college students?”

“Or grad students.” You tilt your head at the air, hugging your knees as you think. “Might be easier to sell.”

“Alright.” Dean claps his hands, shooting you a wink as he turns to fully face you. “I’m Robert Page, and you’re-“

“I’m me.” You let out a long sigh, giving him a flat look. “And you’re Dean Winchester. I don’t think we need aliases for this one, De, that’s the point of public places.”

“I’m trying to make it fun though-“

“It will be fun.” You smile at him as you unbuckle from the seat. “We’re going to gank a martyr who’s reverse footloosing a whole town. What’s more fun than that?”

“Handtighting a whole town,” Dean mutters, but he’s smirks again. You won. “I’m gonna get you to say it, Princess, just wait.”

“I am waiting.” You step onto the curb, grinning at him over the hood of the car. “I believe in you, buddy. You can do it.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling as you walk up the steps of the city hall, and throughout the entire, exhaustive process of combing through department after department, looking for any sign of Vitus. It’s long and boring work, but you’re both still smiling, nudging each other to whisper stupid jokes and making fun of the strange artwork lining the hallways, standing far too close together and laughing far too long at nothing at all.

It’s jarring. Frightening. You hate him. You’re supposed to hate him. He’s given you so many reasons to hate him, and he’ll give you more when he leaves again. When he presses on another raw nerve that only he seems to be able to find, and you snap because you’d crashed fully back down to him in just a few hours. 

But God, it’s so comfortable down here. Peaceful in your head and silver in your chest, everything exactly how it should be. Dean keeps placing his hand onto your back as you move through the building, and it feels like it’s burning and branding you, pressing it’s way under your skin until there will always be a place for Dean’s hand to fit. He smells so good, and you could drown in it. He looks so pretty—fidgeting with his jacket and tossing you thoughtless, charming grins that make your heart glow—and you could get lost in him. Get high on him and the deft, careful fingers that are spinning a pen and brushing against your skin. They must be filled with lighting, because they’re jumpstarting and feeding the White until it’s all just silver, and nothing is waging war inside you.

You could fall further. You could fall so much further. All the way down until you never had to be worried about being pulled back up. Until you were shining with lightning all the time.

You won’t. You’re just strong enough not to. But you’re not strong enough to not stare at him as he interviews another random secretary—pinned up gray hair and a sickly-sweet voice—or to not imagine if he’d go down with you. To fight it as everything starts to grow, and you can feel the humming joy of the electrically through the building, or the safety of the coffee in the secretary’s mug, or leather of Dean’s jacket, and how it feels like it belongs right where it is, on his body-

“Do you play the piano, Honey?” 

You blink, because the secretary’s talking to you. “Sorry?”

“I was just telling your lovely friend about how music has lost so much of its joy in these heathenistic times.” The secretary sighs, shaking her head. “No one appreciates a good classical piece anymore. It’s like water, dear, it needs to flow smoothly, in time and key. And nothing better for that than a piano.”

You glance at Dean, who shrugs and mouths crazy, just out of the secretary’s view. You give him a stern look that makes him wink at you, and turn a gentle smile to the secretary. 

“I do play, actually. Could I ask why-“

“You play the piano?” Dean’s frowning at you, and there’s something rough in his voice you don’t understand. “Like, well?”

“I’d like to think so.” You shrug, looking back to the secretary, but Dean keeps going.

“What, did you have like a freakin’ tutor-“

You shoot him a glare, because this is really not something to get stuck on. “No, my uncle. He had a piano, and I used to visit him a lot.”

You’d visit Rufus when Bobby had other hunters over—had the Winchester’s over—and eventually he got sick of you shuffling around and causing small accidents when you got lost in your own head. It became a tradition for him to sit you down and make you play until everything shrank back down to the right size.

Dean doesn’t get to know that. You have to remember that, despite every part of yourself Dean seems to be finding without effort, he can’t be allowed to find that.

“Sorry about that, ma’am.” You turn back to the secretary as Dean keeps staring at you, and she smiles.

“No worries, men can be foolish.” 

You seal your lips in a tight lip to avoid a loud snort as Dean huffs—looking like a kicked puppy in your periphery—and the secretary continues like he’s not even there.

“Do you dance?”

You nod, and Dean’s going to get stabbed later if he keeps acting like it’s shocking you could do anything at all. 

“You can dance-“

“Anyone can dance, Deano.” You shoot him a grin, and he shakes his head.

“Not everyone-“

“Not the sick.” The secretary corrects, and you feel a tendril of darkness creep up your throat, vile on your tongue. “The pious dance, boy, it is God’s will that we have music.”

Dean nods, giving you an amused look. “I’ll amen that, sister.”

You roll your eyes, looking back to the secretary. “Why do you ask?”

She hums. “You have the energy of beautiful music, honey. It would be an act of the devil if you didn’t.”

Dean was right. This lady was crazy. But you mumble your thanks, and keep your tone sweet. “What type of music do you like, ma’am?”

The secretary beams at you, and she leans forward, pulling at a charm around her neck as she speaks. “All of the classics, honey. The good, well-designed music-“

Dean nods in seeming agreement. “Like Zeppelin-“

“Dear Lord, no!” The secretary gapes at Dean, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a laugh. He looks like he’s been shot. “That’s devil music, boy! So much art has been lost to youth like you, corrupted by Satan’s song-“

You side-step, blocking Dean’s path to the secretary as his jaw clenches, holding your gaze on the secretary. “I love your necklace, ma’am, where did you get it?”

“Oh, this?” She lets out a soft laugh, running her fingers through the chain. “It’s protective, from the demons. You like it?”

“It’s very beautiful.” You say, and it’s not. It’s a large, lumpy shape and horrible, slate shade of gray, but you’re not dumb enough to say that aloud. “And thank you for your time-“

“Wait,” the secretary pulls off the necklace, grabbing your wrist and shoving it into your palm. “A lovely young woman like you should have protection for devils.” She shoots a glare over your shoulder, at Dean, and you glance back to see him scowling.

“I, um,” you turn back to the secretary, trying to return the pendant to her desk. “I appreciate it, but-“

“Take it.” Her voice is almost stern, and you feel Dean tense behind you. “And remember, no pleasure is worth more than the love of the Lord, honey. And he loves to sing for us.”

You nod slowly, backing away from the desk with the pendant still in your hand. “Of course. Love of the lord. De?”

He grunts your name from behind you, and you grab his hand without looking away from the desk. “Wha-“

“I’m hungry.”

“Well, we can get you some chips from that vending machine-“

“Yeah, let’s do that.” You drag him out of the room, down the hall—past the vending machine—and right into the women’s bathroom.

“Princess, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I don’t think I’m allowed-“

“Bigger issues.” You pull him into the large stall, dropping your voice to a hushed whisper. “It’s her.”

Dean frowns. “The mean old lady who called me a demon?”

You nod, passing him the pendant. “Cauldron. Vitus’ symbol, he was boiled alive in one-“

“Gross-“

“Yeah. And the lady’s a fanatic, so it wouldn’t be unbelievable that she thinks she’s cleansing the town of sinners or something.”

“So… she’s using this Vitus dude to what, punish those with taste?”

“Yep. Not a spirit.” You grin at him, taking the pendant back and flushing it down the toilet. There’s nothing in it that feels magical, and it’s really fucking ugly. “I love being right.”

He scoffs. “Whatever, sweetheart-“

“You were right, too.” You offer, dropping down to sit on the toilet. “It’s a handtight. Similar motivations, too.”

Dean’s eyes flash, and you think you might melt under the focus of his smug grin. “You called it handtight.”

“Yeah.”

“Because you realized I’m right?”

You give him a close-lipped, grimacing smile, and he groans.

“It doesn’t count if I didn’t earn it,” he grumbles, dropping down to sit against the wall. “You have to call it handtight because I’m a freakin’ genius.”

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll get you later.” He shoots you a half-smirk, and you roll your eyes, because he has got you. Against all odds and logic, you’re not leaving this bathroom stall unless Dean goes with you.

“You really believe that.” You give him an amused look. “That’s cute.”

“Shut up.” He mutters, scanning over your face with a frown. “Why did you say it? Cause you feel bad about saint lady calling me the devil?”

“No,” you pick at the skin around your fingernail as you sigh. “I said it because I want you in a good mood.”

Dean blinks at you. “Why?”

“Because we’re about to deal with Vitus,” you hold Dean’s gaze, leaning down until your only a breath apart, and you can see every freckle, scar, and line on his face. He’s beautiful. You can’t focus on that right now. “And we’re doing it my way.”

—————————

Her way was insane. Her way was a crime. And Dean didn’t have a problem with that—crime was hard to avoid for any good hunter—but it was fascinating to watch Her dance around the words breaking and entering. 

It would be fascinating to watch Her dance at all. Dean’s mind was stuck on that image, scratching like a vinyl record of Her siren-like voice saying De, and a stuttering film of Her dancing. Crazy Lady had been right. It didn’t make any fucking sense, but She had the energy of beautiful music. She was a melody that had engraved its way into Dean’s brain with a scalpel, too amazing for him to every really pull it out or forget it. A melody that, even after two years, he’d still known to follow down and chase to hear just a little more.

She was fucking infuriating.

He’d spent those two years pretending he’d forgotten Her. Two years with Dad on the road and in motels—as he always had been—acting like his heart didn’t do a stupid little flutter when he saw hair like Her’s in a crowd, acting like he didn’t check every palm he touched for a scar. When he didn’t pretend, he told himself he was looking for Her to shout at her. To warn Her to stay the hell away, because he wasn’t a goddamn toy to be lured and trapped and thrown out. For Her to smile at, for Her to make vast and certain that he was being looked at, only vanish. To just go, right when he’d been in pain, right when he’d been so close to placing that fruity smell and learning how to ask Her if she was sorry, if she’d start over and if she could feel this too.

But She’d gone. Dean had woken up with a spinning head and sore body, Dad had told him She’d run right after they’d ganked the poltergeist, and Dean had forced that not to matter. Dean still dreamt of brilliant eyes and a star in his hands, but that wasn’t real, and didn’t matter. Everyone left, so that didn’t matter. Mom was gone, Sam didn’t want him, and Dad would get sick of him soon.

Dad was already a little sick of him. Dean wasn’t Sammy. He wasn’t useful except as a blade or gun, and he was too fucking empty to try and be more. And nobody could be Sammy. The kid was brilliant and kind and deserved the whole world, he was made for more, and Dean was just a selfish asshole who wanted Sam to stay with him. Who wanted to stop being lonely, who’d wanted the one person he knew would always be next to him to stay next to him. 

But Sam could see the pit. She could see the pit. Dad could see the pit. The only people who couldn’t see the pit were people who passed him in the dark and never heard him speak words that were true.

They were the people Dean had planned to waste his time with while Dad was off on one of his solo hunts. He’d had a motel, a scammed credit card with a full line, and week to kill.

But he’d gotten restless. And there was some strange dancing shit going on just a town over, so Dean was technically staying put like Dad had told him to. And it was barely a case anyway. It had been more of a reason to do something. To not be flat out useless until Dad returned.

Then he’d seen Her in the library, and everything else had vanished. It had just been Her, real and touchable in front of Dean, looking like She’d landed from the sky once more for Dean to orbit around. 

And he had. Damnit, he really had. They fought, and She’d bitten him, and he’d bitten back, then the dust settled and Dean still wanted Her. He wanted to walk in Her wake wherever she went. Let Her flood him however she wanted, because at least then he’d be full of that flowing light again. Just for a day, he’d pretend he wasn’t pathetic and caked in mud and dirt under his skin, and exist in Her wake like it could be as easy as it felt. He could look into Her blinding eyes until She looked back and he felt electric and alive, he could figure out what the hell that fruit smell was, figure out if She was really just an illusion. If She was working some kind of voodoo on him, and that’s why he kept forgetting the ache of Her lying, playing, and using him when just She looked at him—truly fucking looked at him—and said Deano like it was a note in the best song she could ever sing.

Why Her leaving had left a scar a little to the left of his heart, when he’d never seen Her for more than a day. What She’d done to him to make it so that as the years had passed, he could sometimes feel Her hand in his, although it had never been there in the first place. Why She haunted in him the dead of night—lonely or filled with fake company—by calling his name. His name. Just Dean, echoing in his ears until he was driven mad.

She’d never just called him Dean, either. 

Even now, in the car, She hummed De and brushed Her skin against his like it wasn’t a searing, painfully glorious mark She was leaving on him forever. 

“You’re gonna have to leave the guns in the car.”

Dean frowned at Her. “No, I am not going in unarmed like a dumbass-“

“What did we say, Winchester?”

She raised Her smooth brows at Dean, and he rolled his eyes.

“We’re doing it your way.” He muttered. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not bringing my gun-“

“Yes, it does.” She crossed Her arms, pushing her tits a little further up her chest, and Dean needed to get a hold of himself. He’d seen boobs before, there was no reason this should be making him short-circuit.  

No reason but they were Her’s. And they looked soft. All of Her looked soft. Soft and pliable, ready to be touched and tended to, capable of Dean sinking some part of himself into until it stuck and She’d remember him forever-

Dean blinked as Her hand waved in front of his face. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, course I am-“

“What did I just say?”

Dean had no idea—his mouth slightly open and brow furrowed as he raked his brain for a guess—and She sighed.

“Guns will be useless here, Winchester.” She said, and Dean opened his mouth to protest that guns were about safety when you were a freakin’ hunter, but she pushed on. “All we need to do is destroy the alter. We can use our hands.”

“What if crazy devil lady discovers us?” Dean snapped, giving Her a pointed look. “You’re gonna ask nicely for Her not to sick that dancing son of a bitch on our asses?”

“She won’t discover us, that’s exactly why we’re waiting until she’s gone to go inside.” She paused, frowning into the air. “There is a chance she’s got Vitus patrolling her house-“

“What-“

“But it’ll be fine.” She shrugged, twisting a ring on Her finger. “We’ll get through it.”

Dean scowled. “I am not dancing to death tonight, Princess, I’m bringing my fucking gun-“

“No, just-“ She sighed. “It’s really unlikely she’s doing that, it’s just a chance-“

“I don’t know about your luck, but mine luck isn’t good enough to go on chance-“

“We don’t need guns-“

“We do.” Dean leaned over the arm rest until he could see the little bit of spit on Her lips when she pulled them between her teeth. “What if one of us is in trouble? Gunshot will let the other know.”

She gave him a flat look. “I am not using gunshots as a safety system. That’s paradoxical.”

“Well unless you’ve got something better.” Dean smirked, because he was going to win this one. They’d gone to the town hall, and he was breaking into Crazy Ladies house to destroy the alter and leave town—She said something about saints and pagan gods not liking to be caged, and how Vitus would almost certainly take care of Crazy Lady for them—but Dean would be damned if he didn’t win one thing today.

She was scanning over his face, Her eyes narrowing, and just when Dean was ready to declare victory and tell Her they were going to his motel room so they could grab Her a gun too, She turned away. Pulled fully back and started rifling through the glove compartment, Her brow in an adorable little scrunch as she searched. 

Dean watched Her, trying not to let his brain latch onto the pretty pout of Her lips from focus, or how quick and deliberate Her fingers were. “What are you-“

“Here.” She rose back up and shoved a flashlight into Dean’s hands. “We can use signals with these. Like morse code.”

Dean frowned. “Do you know morse code?”

“No-“

“Then how the hell-“

“I said like morse code, Winchester, keep up.” She angled Her own flashlight down, her mouth hanging slightly open as she thought. Dean wanted to push his thumb between Her lips. “What if-“

“What if I brought my gun-“

“Shut up. What if we did one to check in.” She flicked the light on and off,  Her words picking up pace as she continued. “Two for I’m in danger, three for I’m safe.”

“Why not one for danger, so we’re not wasting our fucking time-“

“Because if you accidentally turn the light on and off I’ll come running, you’ll be fine, and I will kill you for making me run.”

Dean pushed down how the idea of Her running to him made his head a little fuzzy, and scoffed. “You don’t run or use guns? How the hell are you still alive?”

She shrugged. “I run when I want. And I can shoot, I just choose not to.”

“What, on fucking principle-“

“On lack of necessity.” She raised Her chin slightly, an odd look flashing over Her pretty features that felt hollow. Felt bigger than the bored, amused pride in Her voice. “I told you, Deano. I’m just that good.”

Shit, She really was. She was blinding. Burning into Dean’s eyes until he’d keep seeing Her everywhere for a million years, pulling him in with that fruity smell and causing strange explosions along his ribcage and up his spine, lighting up every nerve something raw and golden, and he wasn’t alone, how could he be alone when the universe was in front of him and had all been concentrated for him to collide with-

“She’s out. Let’s go.”

Dean blinked, and pulled his gaze away from Her’s to look out the windshield, right in time to see Crazy Lady’s car pull out of the driveway. “So we’re just breaking in?”

She nodded, shooting him a small, teasing grin as she moved out of the car. “Unless you have an objection on principle-“

He couldn’t stop the low chuckle the fell from his mouth. “You’re think you’re really funny-“

“I am funny. I’m hilarious.” She ducked down to give him a mock-stern look. “Haul ass, Winchester, we got a saint to kill.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean rolled his eyes as he stepped onto the curb, smirking at Her as she rounded the car. “Bossy.”

“Suck my dick.” 

Dean laughed, and didn’t fight his hand as it found its way to Her back, resting easily between Her shoulder blades as they moved around the back of Crazy Lady’s house. He couldn’t stop doing that, but his hand felt right there. It grounded him—Dean thought it might be like waking up in your own bed—and he told him She was there. That this wasn’t another dream, and he could keep Her down here—in the blood and dirt, Her strangely ethereal presence perfectly in harmony with how fucking mortal Dean was—for as long as possible. That he could hold onto Her if the wind tried to take her away, could keep Her from bruises and pain with one strong movement.

And She wasn’t shrugging him off, and it made everything worse. Dean didn’t know how to fight this instinct to wrap Her in metal, then trail after Her like a lost puppy. He wanted Her to keep shining on him, and him alone, and stay safe but with him. She was a spoiled brat and a liar and Dean would end up alone again when this was done, but right now he felt useful. He felt wanted. 

And it was a sickness he’d never want to cure.

Not when She was smiling at Dean as she picked Crazy Lady’s lock, or flushing as he pushed open the door and guided Her through. Not when She was walking right against him, so he could feel the warmth of Her body, could brush their skin and make it look like an accident. Not when She tripped over the carpet, Dean’s arm shot out, and She was steady and safe. Pressed right against him. Squirming slightly and tilting Her head back to meet his gaze, Her eyes like a searchlight that reached right into the darkest place in Dean’s body as She—at least for now—didn’t seem to be disgusted. 

“Do you have your flashlight?” She whispered in Dean’s ear, and he held it up with a grin.

“One to check, two bad, three good.”

She nodded, her hand squeezing on Dean’s arm, and she probably hadn’t even been thinking about the movement—Her attention focused on the doors and stairs with a small frown—but it was going to haunt him for a hundred fucking years. 

“We can split floors.” She muttered, Her voice a little far away as she thought. “I’ll take up, you take down.”

Dean made a low noise of agreement, and dragged his body away from Her’s. She’d be fine. He was right down the goddamn hall, this was far better than Her hunting all by herself, and it wasn’t at all Dean’s job to protect Her. She didn’t need it. She was here by choice, She’d thrown herself into this life, and Dean had enough shit to worry about without being responsible for Her safety.

But that didn’t stop the way his stomach clenched and twisted in those brief moments when he’d angle his light out into the hallway, up the stairs, flash it, and then wait for Her response. He didn’t know why they couldn’t just fucking shout. She’d mentioned something about sound being an attractor to music-based saints and deities, but that seemed like bullshit. All of this felt like She was trying to fuck with Dean, make him get sick and tight when She’d take too long to answer, make his focus more on the heaviness over his chest between the second and third flashes. 

He wasn’t finding anything. No alter, no suspicious books, no big sign that said Go This Way To Gank Evil. Crazy Lady even seemed downright boring. She had yarn. Who the hell has yarn.

Dean groaned as he existed one of the last rooms—no summoning ritual guides next to the toilet—and sent a flash up the stairs. 

Nothing. Not one, not two, and definitely not three.  

Then there was a clattering sound, and Dean roared Her name before he could think, sprinting up the stairs and grabbing his gun out of his pants. She hadn’t fucking patted him down and checked, or asked, and he hadn’t planned to use it unless it was necessary, and it was. She was in fucking danger, and She’d thank Dean when he saved Her hot, annoying, insufferable ass-

She was not in danger. Dean burst into the room, raised the gun to eye level, and froze at sight of Her. Standing with Her hands on her hips over a flipped table, turning to look at him with raised brows.

“We said no guns.”

“You said no guns.” Dean grumbled, shoving his own pistol back into his jeans. “I never actually agreed, sweetheart. Shoulda had me shake on it.”

She rolled Her eyes as Dean moved to stand at Her side. “You’re an ass.”

“I know.” He winked at Her, and felt something at the very bottom of his gut coil and spark when She flushed. “Why the hell didn’t you flash back?”

“I didn’t see it, De.” She shrugged, surveying Her mess with a smug expression. “It’s not a great system, in a place with walls.”

“Then why the hell did you make it-“

“You looked like you’d lose your mind if I didn’t.”

Dean stared at Her for a long moment before shaking his head in slight disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiled, Her eye barely flicking to him as she hummed, “I know.”

He scoffed, his hand returning to Her back. His hand kept returning to Her back, like a goddamn magnet, and She kept letting out a slow breath at his touch, and Dean was going to lose his goddamn mind. He might have already lost it, given how She was so close to his body, and he couldn’t think of anything outside of how every part of Her should be touching every part of him-

Every thought vanished from Dean’s head when She moved. Sent Dean stumbling behind Her as a blonde man covered in burn scars flickered into the room, his face painted in anger and his arms outstretched to grab at Dean. 

And now She was in his way.

Dean’s heart was in his ears, his blood too fast in his body, and his tongue was heavy and made of sandpaper, because She wasn’t even goddamn running-

He fumbled behind him as he regained balance, the boiled son of a bitch barely a second from grabbing Her, and fired right as grayed and jagged nails reached the space right over Her head.

Saint Ugly exploded into the air as the bullet pushed through him, and Dean lunged forward, grabbing Her wrist as she remained rooted in place.

“Why the hell did you push me-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook her head, still rigid in Dean’s grip.  “Fuck, we’ve got to go, now, he might come back-“

Dean scowled. “You said he wouldn’t go after us!”

“I was wrong, okay!” She shouted, but she was also moving. He’d fucking take it. “Maybe he liked being trapped, I mean it’s not like a bunch of people are worshipping first century Sicilian saints right now!”

“Goddamnit, just-“ Dean’s jaw ticked, but he shook it off as he pulled Her out of the room, into the hall. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” he muttered. “Before that crazy music bitch gets back and Saint Ugly turns this place into a blood-“

“Wait, Dean!”

He froze at Her shout of his name—just his name, like he mattered—turned to Her as something kicked and flared near his heart, before stumbling back as the door slammed, and Saint Ugly appeared right where he’d been standing before.

“Shit-“ Dean ducked Ugly—he didn’t really seem like a saint right now—and pulled Her backwards into a bathroom, slamming the door behind them. “How the hell are we supposed to keep him-“

She let out a strangled gasp, and Dean turned to find Her back pressed to the wall, Her eyes glassy and wide as her hands curled into tight fists.

He half-shouted Her name, grabbing one of Her shoulders and holding her steady as he angled Her face around, looking for a cut or bruise or bump or evidence that Ugly had gotten to Her. “Fuck, sweetheart, you gotta talk to me-“

“I can’t- I don’t-“ She looked bloodless, Her lips pulled into a tight line. “I’m sorry-“

“You’re sorry-“ Dean shook his head. “Shit, what’s wrong with you-“

She made a choked sound, still frozen against the wall, and Dean groaned.

“Just, just fucking point to where he got you-“

“No, I-“ Her hand shot to his wrist, gripping him like iron as he stared at Her. “Deal with Vitus, I- I’m okay-“

“I’m not blind, you’re losing your fucking mind-“

“I’m just, don’t-“ She dropped Her head slightly, flinching as the lights started to flicker over Her head. “Fire, Dean, he’ll hate fire-“

Dean glanced around the bathroom. “How the hell am I supposed to torch the douchebag in here-“

She opened Her mouth to answer, and all that came out was a high noise of fear as She grabbed Dean’s arm, grabbed him forward, and he narrowly missed another attack from Ugly.

The bathroom was not a good place to fight an evil Saint, but Dean could manage. He’d kicked into high gear the moment he collided with Her body once more, found his footing, and moved. This was what he knew how to do. It didn’t matter that She kept saving his ass, or that Ugly seemed hell-bent on Dean and not Her, Dean was comfortable here. Fighting. Trusting his body—not his mind, never his mind—to know when to duck, when to pull Her to the side to keep her out of Ugly’s warpath, and knowing how to fight.

And he was fucking fighting. She’d been right, anything warm seemed to do Ugly in, because when Dean shoved him back into a heater he roared and vanished again. Dean could work with that. He could grab the thermostat dial and crank it all the way up, turn on the hot water until steam was rising from the sink, and keep his gun raised until he figured out something more permanent. Firing and swinging with his fists, unhooking to iron towel hanger and brandishing it like a blade, splashing the hot water in Ugly’s face-

The son of a bitch didn’t like that. He screeched, the scars on his skin starting to bubble and blister like they were new, and Dean felt everything settle. There it was. He had Ugly now.

Dean kept Her within arm’s reach as he grabbed the fancy, stupid little paper cups from the sink and started to fill them up.

“Dean,” She hissed, and when he glanced at Her she was hugging herself, fingers curled on her arms. “What-“

“I’ve got it Princess, just-“ Dean’s head snapped up as Ugly reappeared—seething and downright disgusting—and his face cracked into a wide grin. “Shower time, bitch.”

He threw the cups, splashing the water right on Ugly’s face, and grimaced at the sound of pain that echoed through the bathroom as Ugly melted. Turned into a puddle of slightly brown water on the floor. 

“Is it-” Her voice was soft as She grabbed the hook of Dean’s elbow, looking over his shoulder with a frown. “It’s glittering, right?”

Dean nodded, letting out a long, slow breath. “You wanna go?”

“I, uh-“ She swallow, leaning a little into Dean’s back, her breathing still shallow. “Yeah. Yes please.”

She was really quiet. As they moved out of the house, into Her car, and took off down the street, She barely said a single word. She just stared at her hands and picked at her skin, barely humming when Dean spoke and closing Her eyes for long moments when the silence stretched on. It was fraught and painful, like a live wire Dean had to brace himself against. Like something that could snap.

It was driving Dean insane. He hated it. She was downright docile, not protesting or arguing with Dean when he muttered that he was taking them back to his motel room. Not angry at him about the gun, or telling him how he could’ve handled Vitus better, or doing anything but sitting there and shutting down. 

And he had to fix it. She didn’t even have to smile, She just had to look at him, and breathe evenly, and stop making Dean feel like he was failing Her without ever having Her to begin with. 

When he parked Her car, Dean sighed, and move his hand to grab Her’s. Raising it out of her lap as She frowned at nothing, placing it carefully on the armrest.

“Stop doing that.” He muttered, tapping the raw, bloody skin around Her fingers. “You good to stay here for a minute?”

She nodded—so small he almost didn’t see it—and Dean ran a hand over his face, shaking his head before dragging himself out of the car, watching Her for a long moment through the windshield before he moved on. Her face titled down and cast in shadows, Her fingers curled on the armrest, and Her body so small he’d think she was trying to hide from something.

He wasn’t sure She’d be there when he got back. And he had to move some shit around, but he didn’t know what he’d do if he returned and She was gone. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t even glancing up to see where they were or where Dean had gone, but he didn’t trust it. It could be another con, another trick, another scam that didn’t make sense, that he was all too happy to fall for. 

But he didn’t want to drag Her inside. She looked fragile like this, and Dean was not soft or gentle. He didn’t care for things. He killed them. 

And She didn’t really look like she could afford to be handled by someone who didn’t know how to be gentle right now. 

And that made Dean sick. 

But he still, somehow, made himself turn away and walk into the motel room. She might have vanished when he returned, and Dean couldn’t know if She was truly just turning to stone and he wasn’t doing anything to fix it.

He moved faster because of that. Made sure his bed was passably made before he grabbed his bag, pushed through weapons and cassette tapes and clothing, and found what he was looking for in a matter of minutes. Stuffed all the way at the bottom, exactly where they always were.

Dean tossed Her jacket and flask into the closet, thought about it for a second longer, and tossed all of his laundry in there as well. She didn’t need to see his boxers. At least, not the dirty ones.

When he walked back outside, She was still there. She hadn’t moved an inch. Fuck, She barely even flinched when Dean knocked on the window. If he didn’t know better, Dean wouldn’t be sure she was breathing.

He opened the door, hanging off the hood of the car as he lowered himself down to Her eye level. 

“Hey,” he said Her name slowly, and She still didn’t look at him. “Are you living in here now?”

She didn’t respond, but She did move. Her eyes dragged to Dean’s, and he felt like someone was grinding his bone to dust and sticking needles into his skin. He didn’t know what the hell was up with Her, but she looked lost. Like She didn’t know where she was, why she was there, or who  She even was. She was watching Dean like he wasn’t Dean. Like he was more, and She didn’t know what that meant.

“Are you, uh…” Dean trailed off, and She still just stared at him. He didn’t have a freaking clue how to deal with this, not like She probably needed. He’d handled Sammy’s freak outs, when he was a kid. When Dad had grunted that of course you should be careful ‘round strangers, Sammy, they might try to fuckin’ kill and eat you, and the eight-year-old hadn’t taken that very well. But that had been easy. Dean knew Sam, he knew what calmed him down. 

And he didn’t know Her. He couldn’t move away from Her, and he kept liking everything he learned about Her against his best judgment, but Dean didn’t really know Her. Everything he did know was what She probably didn’t want him to, and what he wished he could unlearn. And everything else was useless here. He knew She didn’t drink. He knew She knew a lot about monsters, that she wore the best perfume he’d ever smelt. He knew She liked stupid things, and smart things, and telling Dean what to do. He knew he dreamt about dragging Her down into him and kissing Her until she was as dumb as Dean always felt in Her presence. Good dumb, where She rolled around his head and made everything illuminated so Dean knew there was something. That in his pit there was something, that She really was something, and whatever the hell he couldn’t stop feeling about Her was something.

He knew how he’d imagined Her being dumb, just for a moment, just for him. How he’d imagined Her being slack jawed and all his in a way he couldn’t afford to have, or lose. 

But that wasn’t real. Dean didn’t know which parts of Her were real. Dean didn’t know Her at all.

Yet he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t move, couldn’t walk away, couldn’t let Her rot in the car. It felt unforgivable, and Dean wasn’t looking to be forgiven, but he didn’t want to be damned. 

Not for this. Not when it seemed like it might cost Her too.

“C’mon.” Dean grabbed Her carefully, helping Her out of the car and into the motel room. She didn’t fight him. She only moved with him like she was rain, and he was wind pushing Her where he wished her to fall.

Down on his bed, Her back flat on the mattress, Her chest starting to rise and fall in a slower pattern. 

Dean dropped at Her side, bracing his elbows on his knees as he cleared his throat. “So, uh, you were right. Didn’t really need the gun, I guess.”

She sighed, and when she spoke Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. “You used the gun, De.”

“Didn’t kill the son of a bitch with it, though.” He shrugged, watching Her carefully. Her eyes were closed, her face slack, and Dean wished it didn’t make his blood flow lower than it should. “If we had just brought Hot Pocket’s we’d have ganked the asshole right off the bat.”

“You’re a genius.” She mumbled, and that sounded better. She still wasn’t moving, so Dean wasn’t sure. 

“I know, sweetheart.” He kept going. Just until She smiled, and the whole world lit up because of it, he’d keep going. “With my brains and your criminal skills, we’ll have all the boring, anti-good music puritans out of the handtighting business in a week.”

She opened Her eyes, and they were filled with something Dean didn’t recognize. “We?”

Dean blinked at Her. He hadn’t expected Her to hang on the we. He’d expected Her to tease him about being the brains, or get adorably offended over being called a criminal, or scold Dean for saying handtight again. But Her gaze was intent, and Dean had to acting like his whole body wasn’t rioting against him from it. 

“Yeah. We.” He offered Her a small grin, and hoped She’d take it. Dean really needed Her to take it. “We ganked that asshole together, Princess. We’re an okay team.”

Her eyes sparked slightly, and let out a small huff that didn’t sound like pain. “A team.”

“Think that’s what they call it, yeah.”

“What would you call it?”

Dean paused, scanning over Her features. Open. Soft but no longer fragile, and open. And he could see the universe in Her eyes again. “I’d call it a team.”

She hummed. “Good. We can make a business card. No more handtights under our watch.”

Something Dean exploded, and his grin was probably dopey and too wide, but he didn’t care. Not when he felt lit up like this. “You called it handtight again.”

“Yeah.”

“You mean it this time?”

She tilted Her head at him, and that wasn’t a smile, but it was closer. “I think so.”

Dean scoffed. “C’mon-“

“I meant it.” She said, Her smile growing slightly. “I think it’s stupid, but I meant it.”

He narrowed his eyes at Her. “And you’re not gonna try to make me go back and kill Crazy Lady-“

“No, I don’t have an ulterior- Shit!” She sat up straight on the bed, Her eyes wide. “We didn’t deal with the secretary-“

“Fuck, we didn’t.” Dean ran a hand over his face, frowning into the air. “Do you think she’ll be able to summon Vitus again?”

She shook Her head. “No, he’s dead. But she might be able to summon another saint-“

“Will she be able to do it tonight?”

“I don’t think so.” She said slowly. “I mean, he was probably like her patron or something, and that’ll take a minute to replace.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Then it can wait.”

She blinked at him. “But-“

“Look,” Dean said Her name, giving Her his best stern look. She was in no shape to confront Crazy Lady, Dean didn’t really want to leave Her here alone—He was certain She’d sneak out after him anyway—and this hadn’t been fatal. For once, there was something that could wait, and he was going to take full advantage of it. “Either I go deal with it alone, or we stay here. But you just-“ He paused, looking Her over slowly. “You need five. Take it.”

She glared at him. “You’re not in charge of me, Winchester.”

“No.” Dean winked at Her. “But if you get up, I’ll push you down, and I think we both know who will win that wrestling match. I’m warning you, Princess. I play dirty.”

He knew that flush, and he knew how to grab onto it like fuel. He hadn’t seen the hitched breath before though, or the way Her mouth parted slightly.

It made his heart volcanic in his chest.

“You’re the worst.” She mumbled, and Dean laughed.

“Sure, Princess.” Dean moved his hand to Her chest. Just the top of it, nowhere obviously inappropriate, and slow enough to give Her time to shove him away. She didn’t. “Down.”

He gave Her a light push, and She moved. Went flat on Her back with a tiny pout and glower at Dean, and he just grinned. 

“You can stay here, for the night.” Dean spoke before he could think, and didn’t know how to stop. “Just to, uh, save time. When we track down Crazy Lady in the morning. Get it over with sooner.”

She blinked at him, something glazing over Her eyes slightly as she nodded, Her voice soft once more. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dean nodded. “Awesome.”

“Sure,” She held Her hands over her head, her nails scraping at already raw skin. “For the case.”

Dean frowned, but pushed past it. “So you, uh, you want some food-“

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what-“

“Act like you want me here.” She mumbled. “Like you’re not just trying to make sure I don’t run off and handle the secretary by myself.”

Dean frowned. He wanted Her here. He wanted Her here more than he should. He just didn’t want whatever that had been to happen again, because it made him feel foul and rotten and useless, just watching Her breathe too fast and stare at nothing and pick Her skin bloody.

He didn’t know how to say that in a way that didn’t sound pathetic. 

But he also hated how She was small again. How She wasn’t looking at him. So he took a long breath, and made his words steady. Not certain—not when they weren’t the full truth—but steady.

“I’d like you here, Princess.” He lowered his back flat onto the mattress, keeping his gaze trained on the ceiling as he settled at Her side. “I’d get bored without you. And I think I owe you one question, anyway.”

She sighed. “I- I don’t want to answer questions right now.”

“Okay.” He turned to look at Her, and found her already watching him. So close. “You’re still staying, though.”

She looked at Dean like she’d never seen him before. Like he’d dragged himself up from the center of the Earth—drenched in dirt and something sticky—and she wasn’t sure what she was seeing was real.

He knew the feeling.

“Okay.” She whispered, and that was it. Dean gave Her a small smile, She returned it, and this silence didn’t feel like a live wire. It felt like the whole world, just in Dean’s shitty motel room. She turned her head back to look at the slightly stained and cracked ceiling, Dean looked at Her, and he couldn’t sit up. If he sat up, She’d find a way to leave. He didn’t want Her to leave. Breathing was easier when She was next to him. The world felt more colorful, and he felt like something had moved and found a home in a strange depression in the cavity of his chest. It washed always all the foulest parts of him and made him feel clean, shining so brightly that the remaining filth didn’t seem all that bad to live with. 

And it was fake. It was irrational and fake, another scam this enigma of a woman was probably trying to pull on him, and Dean still didn’t give a fuck. He’d believe lie after lie if he could keep feeling useful to someone like he was useful to Her. Just a voice and hands and a mouth who’d made Her smile again, and cleared that glassy look from Her eyes. 

He should ask Her now. Demand to know why the hell Dad had found all that shit on Her, demand for there to be an explanation. A reason that made him think this moment could last.

But he didn’t ask. He just basked in the glow and gravity of Her, and didn’t bother to fight his hand as if drifted across the mattress between them. Brushing his pinky with Her’s, and doing nothing more. Keeping his breathing steady as She didn’t move for a long moment, blinking at the ceiling and not looking at Dean—but not moving away either—and grinning wide and dumb when Her pinky hooked into his. 

“I can sing, too.”

Dean blinked at Her. “What?”

“You were shocked I could play the piano and dance.” She whispered, and even in side-profile Her smile was blinding. “I can sing too.”

“Your uncle also teach you that?”

“No. I taught myself.” She sighed. “Growing up I didn’t… I didn’t have much else to do.”

When She turned to look at him, Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut. All the air was gone from his body as She scanned over him, and Her eyes were made of stars, and Her face had fallen right from a heaven that wasn’t real-

“Led Zeppelin, huh?”

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you dare trash Zeppelin, Princess-“

“That was a neutral statement.” She gave him an amused look. “I wasn’t going to make fun of you.”

He scowled. “Yeah, sure-“

“I wasn’t!” She rolled on Her side—Her pinky still locked in Dean’s—and his body was either going numb or coming alive for the first time. “I don’t make fun of things people like, De. Art is inherently subjective.”

He chuckled, ready to poke and tease Her, but she looked so goddamn sincere that the words died on his tongue, and he had to cough slightly to find his voice again. “You got thoughts on Zep, then?”

“I have thoughts on everything.”

That pulled a low laugh from Dean’s chest. “No shit, Princess-“

She scowled. “Sorry I care-“

“No, you’re not.” Dean grinned at Her. “And it’s better than being a boring fucking bum with no thoughts.”

“I guess, yeah.” She gave him an odd look, her words slow. “Do you… do you want to hear my thoughts on Led Zeppelin?”

Dean nodded, shooting Her a wink. “Be careful, sweetheart. You’re not the only one with thoughts.”

She was not careful. She spoke so fast and gestured like a mad woman, sitting up on Her knees for more dramatic motions and saying every word like a spell that just drew Dean further into Her. Her thoughts on Led Zeppelin were acceptable—there was always room for improvement, not everyone could appreciate their genius the way Dean did—but neither of them seemed to know how to finish a conversation. Dean certainly couldn’t remember. He kept following Her down every path she dragged him, until he was talking about food andcartoons, and She told him a story about making her father watch old Disney movies, and He was telling Her a story about Sammy trying to reenact a whole episode of Scooby Doo with toy soldiers for him on his birthday. 

Dad didn’t even know that story. He’d been off hunting. But She was giggling and smiling and leaning down over Dean’s body, so he’d tell it to Her a million more times.

“And Sam, he-“ She was covering Her mouth to stifled Her laugher. It wasn’t working. “He tried to make you kiss the Daphne solider?”

“He thought it was the best present he could give me.” Dean smirked up at Her. If he hooked his arm around Her waist and tugged her down, he could kiss Her. “Am I gonna lose you if I tell you I did it?”

She snorted—it was the cutest fucking thing Dean had ever seen—and gave up completely on trying to cover her sheer joy at his embarrassment. He was okay with that.

“Did you,” She took a long breath to control her laughter, Her eyes glowing on Dean’s. “Did you use tongue?”

He placed a hand over his chest, acting offended at the very question. “Course not, Princess, I don’t put out on the first kiss-“

She raised her brows. “Put out your tongue?”

“It’s my second-best limb, sweetheart.” He winked at Her, savoring every bit of Her reaction—flush, hitched breath, widened gaze—that told him She might feel this. She could, maybe, feel this, and nothing else would have to matter again. “Girl’s gotta earn it.”

She rolled Her eyes, but her voice was a little higher than before. “The tongue is a muscle, dumb dumb.”

“Huh.” Dean paused, furrowing his brow in thought. “Second best appendage?”

“I mean, I think ranking them in the first place is stupid-“

“You only say that,” Dean cut Her off with a smirk. “Because you don’t have one that’s obviously the best like I do.”

She gave him a flat look. “And what appendage would that be, Winchester.”

Dean wiggled his brows at Her. “Why don’t you guess- Ow!”

She’d shoved his arm, and Dean grabbed it as dramatically as he could, acting like She’d stabbed him.

“God, I’m dying, you’ve killed me-“

She snorted again. “Oh, fuck off, you big baby-“

He pouted at Her, barely containing his grin. “That’s no way talk to your victim-“

“Shut up- Dean!”

He grabbed Her arm, yanked Her back down to the mattress, and Dean would never allow Her to stop calling him his full name again. It sounded awesome when She said it. Not just a name, but Dean. She said Dean like it could only be him, and no one else. It was just them in the room—a little bit just them in the universe—but there could be a million other Dean’s but he’d still know She was only calling for him. 

“You’re such an asshole-“

He shrugged, not flinching as She glowered at him and slapped his hand away from Her. She was half fallen over his body, wiggling slightly but not trying to pull away, and he didn’t really have the brainpower to think about anything but that. “It’s payback, Princess.” He smirked up at Her. “Teach you to shove me.”

“Yeah,” She swallowed, and Dean was deeply aware of how She was molded perfectly into him. Too perfectly. “I learned my lesson, Winchester. Good work.”

Dean could taste the shift. It was sudden, but had still lay under everything, just waiting to be dragged back to the surface. 

And here it was. Here She was. The sugar was gone, but the fruit was strong, and Dean was intoxicated by it. Intoxicated by Her, so close and beautiful above him, beautiful in a way that made him sure She was royalty. There was no other explanation. That must be where Her wealth came from, from being created to be worship and obeyed like a living god. To be followed down, down, down, shining wherever She could be seen and coming apart only in the dark.

Dean could be Her dark. He could be the one to stand near Her in the shadows and unravel her where it was only them. The one who smirked when She told him what to do because he’d do it then and make Her scream his name later. Scream it like that. Like She had before.

And he still didn’t know where the hell that desire came from, but it didn’t matter. He felt it, more than he’d ever felt most things. And She was so fucking close, and Her eyes were wide and unreadable and infinite on his, and Her breath was warm on his face, and all it would take is a small movement to find out if he’d be worthy of being Her dark-

Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and they both tensed. She stared at Dean, he stared at Her, and he tried not to dwell on how empty he felt when She rolled away, giving him space to pull his phone out of his pocket, glance at the contact—Dad, shit—and put it to his ear.

“Hey-“

“Dean, there’s a bus down to Louisiana that should be leavin’ in about an hour. Pack up and catch it.”

Dean frowned, sitting up on the bed and adjusting his grip on the phone. “Dad, I don’t-“

“This son of a bitch is two-man job.” Dad snapped, his word clear through the phone static. “Need you here by the morning. Room’s paid for ’till next week, we’ll come back and grab everythin’ when we get this asshole.”

Dean swallowed, glancing over at where She was watching him with a far too neutral expression. “It leaves in an hour?”

“That’s what I said, boy.” Dad paused, his voice dropping in a way that Dean knew meant he was frowning. That meant he was, rightfully, sick of Dean speaking. “This gonna be a problem?”

“No, sir.” Dean muttered, running a hair through his hair, suddenly unable to meet Her gaze. “I’ll be there by morning.”

“Good. I’ll be waitin’ at the station.”

That was all Dean got before the line went dead.

“Was that your dad?” Her voice was small, back to the soft tone from before, and Dean grimaced inside as he nodded.

“Yeah, I, uh, I gotta go.” He gave Her an apologetic look, standing from the bed and pulling his shit into his bag. “Dad needs my help on his case.”

“Oh.” She nodded slowly, Her voice growing back to its usual tone, but still not easy. Still not fully Her. “Okay.”

“You can stay here.” He offered. “It’s paid for. And I’m, fuck, I’m out in an hour but we can go back to Crazy’s house now, I guess-“

She shook Her head, and something in Dean dulled at the fucking passiveness on Her face, in Her voice. “It’s fine, Winchester, I know how to handle a religious fanatic.”

He couldn’t just nod and let go. He couldn’t just walk out the door. “I’m serious, if we leave now-“

“I’m serious too.” She crossed Her arms, still watching him from the bed. “I’ve had… a lot of practice. I’ll be fine.”

He made a low, grumbling noise, and glanced at the closet. “You gonna stay here?”

“Yeah,” She said, watching Dean carefully. “I mean, if you’re really okay with it-“

“Yeah, like I said, it’s paid for.” He moved to the closet, blocking Her view of the mess inside with his body as he shoved the jacket and flask into his bag. Whatever this was felt like it was growing, and he was not about to bomb it with how much of a freaking creep he’d been for the past three years. “I, uh,” he rose back up, giving Her a small, nervous grin. “I’ll call you. To check on how dealing with Crazy went. And you need me, call me.”

She sighed. “Yeah, got it.”

Dean frowned. She didn’t believe him. “I will call you, Princess.”

“Okay, Winchester.” She gave him a close-lipped smile, and Dean’s brows furrowed. “See you in a few years, I guess.”

“You’ll see me sooner.”

“Sure-“

“Tell you what.” Dean dropped his bag, marching across the room to stand above Her at the foot of the bed, and not allowing himself to get caught up in the euphoria of standing above Her at the foot of the bed. “I’ll call, and we’ll see each other by three months.”

“De-“

“Pinky promise.”

He stuck out his pinky, and She gaped at him.

“Are you serious?”

“As cancer, sweetheart.” Dean flexed his finger, raising his brows. “I take my pinky promises very seriously.”

She rolled Her eyes, but didn’t say anything as she scanned over his face. Dean just reminded silent and still. Whatever She wanted to see She’d find, and it was all Her. Her call. Her choice if Dean remained alone until they collided again, if he’d keep forgetting, over and over and over, how to hate Her until the very idea of hating Her was just a far-off fog.

And when She raised her hand and locked her picky with his, Dean felt something settle a little to the side of his heart. Something he hadn’t felt in two years, and came back with an almost brutal force as She smiled at him, and Her voice fully regained that siren-like quality that might end up the death of him.

He’d just have to see.

“See you soon, Winchester.” She said, and he grinned.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You gonna take my car?”

Dean blinked, realizing the keys were still in his pocket. “I was actually just gonna walk, it’s a small town-“

“Take it.” She shrugged. “You can take a long route, spend some time driving. I’ll walk and find it by the station in the morning.”

Dean stared at Her, unable to wrap his head around what exactly She could be. A princess, an angel, the hottest lady he’d ever seen, sent to tempt him and make him go goddamn mad with whatever the hell She was doing to him. 

“Are you-“

“I’m sure. Bye, Dean.” She gave him another smile, and he felt like he was drowning in the moon. 

That didn’t even make any goddamn sense.

“I, uh, bye.” He made a stuttering motion to the door, and—before he could think better—turned around, leaned down, and pressed a small kiss to the top of Her head.

And he was a goner.

Because this time as he left Her, everything was still made of color.

And nothing felt lonely at all.

End Note: John Winchester winning terrible parent of the century three chapters in a row he’s on a roll folks.

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

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[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 37

(Ace and Deuce are considered close species wise, the same way Sirens and Harpies are considered to be in the same vein of species. As a Satyr, Ace is technically more 'domestic' but known to be more chaotic versus Fauns who are much calmer yet considered closer to wild. Deuce is technically stronger than Ace, but ace is quicker to anger. Both eat anything the Human offers, even if it is not food.)

Prior Chapter Links

Warnings: yandere, yandere monsters, platonic and romantic yanderes, yandere vs yandere conflict, the triumphant return, research, protective yanderes, new players have entered the arena, several new yanderes, Platonic Yanderes step up, Hellcat, Shinigami, Harpies, Alicorn, Unicorn, Yeti, Faun, Satyr, Werewolf,

~~~~~~~~

It was nice to be back in your home in this insane world. Waking up with Grim laying on your belly and purring as he relaxes in your shared nest. The simple morning to yourself was something that was rare yet very welcome.

You wanted to allow yourself to wake up slowly, but a delicious scent in the air drew Grim's nose upwards and woke the kit quickly. He looked around for you- wondering if the good scent was caused by you- and seemed confused yet happy when he realized you were still laying in the nest with him. The both of you were curious what the scent was as you got up and got dressed, stretching your body as Grim combed his fur.

When you both emerged from your room, you could hear the faint sound of conversation down the hall and you vaguely wondered who it was. There were several different voices talking and you somewhat recognized the voice of Alistair talking to whoever else was in your dorm.

Bringing Alistair back with your group caused quite the stir among the Housewardens and you could have sworn both Vil and Azul were going to burst from rage. Even Kalim was upset about the new semi-permanent resident that would be living in Ramshackle with you. Idia was the only one who wasn't overly bothered by this, knowing he was going to be in Ramshackle more thanks to the new research that needed to be done.

Ambrose of Royal Sword Academy was present as well, as he was technically still Alistair's Headmage despite the Alicorn temporarily transferring to Night Raven College until his health improved. Where you had expected Ambrose to be unhappy about letting the Alicorn stay in Night Raven, he was actually moved to tears to know Alistair was alright. The Snowy Owl Harpy just wanted to know that his student was safe and protected, making it clear that he was happy so long as Alistair was happy.

His warm behavior towards the situation was calming enough for the other Housewardens and it seemed to relax the tensions in the room. Alistair also seemed happy that things were calming down, his white uniform of Royal Sword being switched over to the black of Night Raven.

The true issue that arose was when Crowley announced Heartslabyul was going to be guarding you for the next week. Vil was already ruffled and upset by Alistair's presence, but to hear he was once again not selected was clearly infuriating to the Harpy. Though he was typically put together and composed, Vil let out a screeching scream that actually caused cracks in the windows only emphasizing his anger as his beautiful violet eyes blazed with rage. Rook had to step in to calm the Harpy, but Vil was not interested in being calmed by anyone.

It took you holding the Harpy in a hug to finally make him take a breath and calm down. He seemed much more composed when he was able to rest his chin on your shoulder and whine about the unfairness of it all. You even heard him mutter something about how Overblotting was resulting in Alistair and Riddle getting everything he desperately wanted handed to them.

His words were concerning enough that you decided to to try and smooth things over to prevent the Harpy from willingly Overblotting to gain your favor. You told him about your plan to start the culinary class and promised him a spot in the class as soon as it got started up. This seemed to placate the huffing Harpy enough to make him calm down fully, pushing his hair back into that neat arrangement and smoothing his feathers down so he could get a hold on himself once more.

Getting Alistair settled was far less of a hassle as he chose a room several doors down from your own. It was nice that the Alicorn was keen to give you your space and not intrude upon it despite living in the Ramshackle dorm with you. He didn't seem at all put off by the more run-down state of the room and actually seemed to be more relaxed in the Ramshackle dorm than he did in his own palace.

When you reached the main lobby area of the dorm, you saw several unfamiliar faces and some familiar faces. Papa Hades was back and conversing quietly with Riddle and Alistair. Next to the tall Shinigami stood two masked individuals that looked like Shinigami at first glance, one with tidy blue flame hair and one with wild magenta flame hair. The magenta one seemed more effeminate in the build of their body and the blue one seemed more masculine. Both had the elongated limbs, wings, and flames, so you figured both were Shinigami as they took notes on floating tablets.

Standing not too far from the group was Idia, Headmage Crowley, and one other new face. This one seemed much more out of place than the others, as he was covered in thick hair excepting parts of his face and hands. He reminded you quite a bit of a brown furred Gorilla or even a Bigfoot from your home world's legends.

He was first to notice you had arrived and was quick to nudge Crowley.

"Good morning, my little bird! Glad to see you are awake."

The enthusiastic greeting of the Crow drew the attention of the others very quickly to your almost timid figure as you held Grim close. Your tight grip on the Kit interested the magenta Shinigami as they quickly approached, slowing down when they noticed your near immediate withdrawal from them. Though you trusted Papa Hades, you didn't know this Shinigami and didn't feel comfortable being rushed by them.

"Anastasi- my love- give the Human a bit of room, she doesn't know us yet."

The gentle yet chiding tone of the blue masked Shinigami seemed to get through to the lovely magenta Shinigami- Anastasi- as they made sure to keep a distance from you to not upset you. Still, they seemed immensely interested in you and Grim.

"Sorry about that, Alexandros. You know how I get with all these new data points. Anyway," the magenta Shinigami turned back to you after calling over to the blue Shinigami, "I'm Anastasi, Idia and Ortho's mother. I have heard quite a bit about you from little Idi."

Idia groaned loudly at the nickname and the female Shinigami just giggled in response, clearly happy to gently tease her son. You enjoyed the sound of her voice- so much like Ortho's that you felt a little more at peace around her- especially knowing now that she was your friends' mother. Grim also seemed to take several cautious sniffs in her direction as you calmed down.

"If I may, Papa Hades told me about your kit's predicament. I wanted to take a look at his wings so we can figure out how to graft new webbing onto them. If the scarring is clean enough, grafting shouldn't be too difficult. We've been growing several different wing sets from Hellcat stem-cells so you two can choose ones that he likes!"

You were stunned to hear this, knowing that Papa Hades had brought up the idea prior but you were surprised to know he went ahead and started trying to create different grafts to repair Grim's wings. Though it would be a slow healing process, Grim getting his wings back would be a wonderful thing for the kit. He was young enough that the graft shouldn't reject and his wings should be able to grow with him.

"I can get my wings back?"

"We are certainly going to try."

"Mama! Did you hear? Did you hear? I can get my wings back!"

Grim was so happy and excited that you refused to put a damper on his joy. It was not a certain fact that Grim's body would accept the graft. There was a chance that Grim wouldn't get his wings back if his body rejected the grown webbing.

"I did hear! We're going to have to teach you how to fly again once you get your wings back."

He purred excitedly while his entire body wiggled in joy, his fur floofing out as he squealed in delight and flapped his- currently- useless wings. The small kit was thrilled at the prospect of getting his wings back. So long as you could help it, you would try to make sure that Grim could get his wings back.

It was as you were cuddling and snuggling Grim that Crowley approached, the new man at his side. Up close he seemed even more like a Bigfoot as he glanced down at you with a kind smile. You got a vaguely uncanny feeling from him and you wondered if he was one of those Ape monsters you heard about from Ace.

"(Y/n), I have decided to bring on an extra staff member. There is a clear need for you to be able to defend yourself and you need a skilled teacher to do that. Professor Clay Burrows here is a Bounty Hunter that often deals with Ferals and Poachers. He will be teaching you the basics of self defense and will be the new professor of Spell Casting. Many unfortunate events keep taking place and your protection is very important to us. Given all of the 'visitors' to your dorm, it is better for us to have as much in place to defend you as we can."

The man- Clay- held out his hand, giving you a firm handshake. His hands were cracked and weathered from use, silver patches clear among the brown fur on his body and face. On either hip sat a weapon; a crossbow and a machete. He wore a yellow unlike the orange of Savanaclaw but even his red ascot seemed to fit him rather well.

"A pleasure to meet you, Kid. The old Crow tells me that you're going to need some training to protect yourself. Three Ferals is a lot, especially for someone who is magicless. I understand there's something more going on with your interactions with blot, but there are poachers too. I specialize in hunting down those of both categories."

"Nice to meet you, Professor Burrows."

"Please, just Clay is fine. I never did have a taste for titles."

"Well, I do hope you can help me. Goodness knows there is no shortage of those looking to claim me for any and every reason."

"I understand you are new to this lovely world of ours here, so allow me to offer this bit of information. I am a Silverback Yeti. We're the ape folk of this world, and closest living relatives to Humans. We were the lucky ones who got the magic Humans didn't."

Papa hades interjected then, his large body seeming oddly normal compared to the large and stretched limbs of the three other Shinigami present. You were happy to see the ancient Shinigami and smiled up at him as he crouched near you. He always had such a soothing and affectionate presence, likely the one responsible for the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.

"Good to see you again, Little One."

"Hi, Papa Hades!"

The ancient Shinigami grinned at this, chuckling as he patted your head with a gentle hum. He was rather fond of you and it did wonders to soothe his rather painful withdrawal to hear your happy voice chirp out to him. Ages of feeling as if his heart were being ripped from his chest day in and day out has weathered and worn on the old Shinigami's mind, but your happy expression and trusting gaze soothed the ancient being's aching soul.

He found himself able to breathe around you and able to finally let his turbulent soul settle much in the way he would lay souls to rest. As aware as he was of his own painful addiction, he felt it unfair to force that feeling of responsibility for the addiction onto you. It wasn't like you could possibly comprehend the true depth of how addictive you were or possessing the willingness to misuse this addiction others had.

No doubt you were smart enough to understand and notice that the masses treated you differently. You were surprisingly sharp to what took place around you. This was on top of how prickly you became when it came to others trying to force you to do anything you didn't want to do or openly harm one of your friends.

He had seen the video that Ortho's gear uploaded of how adeptly you soothed the Dragon Prince, an ever present and threatening guard that clearly cherished your every move. Your willingness to yell at the cruel Unicorn Woman who attacked young Riddle. The way you reproached the poor behavior of the Mermaid that sneered at Young Leona. Even the way you held to the sobbing body of the Feral Alicorn as blot leeched across your skin and darkened your eyes, pulling the blot from his body into your own.

He would never let you know how painfully addicted even he was to your presence. The ancient Shinigami had to try and treat you as normally as possible despite your abnormal abilities and his own addiction. You were kind and soft, so he couldn't possibly bring himself to lay that heavy knowledge on you. No doubt you would blame yourself for the addiction others had to you, and he refused to let that information dampen your smile.

"Young Ortho has shared all of his data on this interaction you have with blot. I understand that you likely wish to get back to your normal schedule, but we will have to find time to look into how much you can affect blot accumulation and the presence of blot still in those recovering. I also understand that there was a third individual who has Overblotted, but he is not welcome here given his work with poachers against you. Worry not, he will not be allowed here any time soon. We have plenty of data points here with young Alistair and young Riddle."

"Okay. Thank you for helping out with Riddle's schooling. His mother... Well, she's a nasty piece of work, that's for sure. I would feel awful if he were unable to keep attending because she wanted to be petty."

"Of course, Little One. I told you once that I am willing to support you in what you need if you ask it of me. Young Riddle deserves emancipation from those who seek to harm and control him just as much as Humans deserved their freedom from gilded cages."

"It is appreciated all the same."

~•§•~

You stood watching from the sidelines in Flying class, observing the others practice with their brooms and feeling somewhat outcast when a dark shadow fell over you. Quickly turning to face whoever it was, you noticed it was the new professor, Clay.

"Not much to participate in here, is there?"

"Not when you don't have magic, no."

"Feel like getting started on weapons training?"

"Sure!"

The Yeti brought you a few paces away from the group, so you had room to move as he summoned what looked like a crossbow. It seemed less intense than his own and had a mechanism to pull the bowstring back using the weapon itself instead of strength.

"Here we are. That anxious flame kid whipped this up for you right away when I mentioned starting weapons training. He even said he would make a few more things for you before I could stop him, so we should have no shortage of tools to train with."

You nodded along, listening as the Yeti started to talk about proper form to hold a crossbow so you don't damage your wrists. He seemed very down to earth as he discussed the importance of only aiming your weapon if you intended to take the shot. For a man that was a famed Bounty Hunter- Ace and Jack almost having heart attacks when you told them who the new professor was- he seemed less blood thirsty and more stoic. Based on everyone's reactions to him, he was supposedly an absolute beast when hunting something with any seriousness.

Even Rook was impressed with him.

"Bolts on a crossbow are shorter and sturdier than that of an arrow but can penetrate thick hide effectively when needed. Bows require intense upper body strength, and as you have no time for such a regimen, a crossbow will be most effective for you."

Unbeknownst to you, eyes wandered from the simple flight practice as they were doing basic drills. Coach Vargas was taking his time teaching the Hellcat kit how to stabilize his broom effectively and that allowed others to slack off. Those others happened to be Ace, Deuce, and Jack.

"Why d'you think the Headmage chose him of all people?"

Ace muttered, watching the famous Yeti Bounty Hunter teach their beloved and gentle Human how to hold a crossbow. He had heard stories of this Yeti bringing down an entire smuggling ring spanning several countries single-handedly while tracking a vicious Feral in one of the most hostile jungles. This guy was a legend and he was almost brave enough to ask for an autograph from the terrifying male.

"Probably because all of the poachers. Leona told us in Savanaclaw that a poacher tried to attack (Y/n) in broad daylight in the Rose City marketplace. But even I am impressed he got someone so busy and decorated to agree to be a professor."

Jack huffed, watching the man he grew up admiring teaching that wonderful Human to protect herself. He was raised on stories of the Bounty Hunter Clay when he was a pup, even going as far as to pretend to be the famed Yeti whenever he played pretend with the other kids. It was one of his most cherished dreams to get to meet and talk to the man who was now going to be his teacher.

"Wait," Deuce interrupted, looking confused, "who is he?"

Both Jack and Ace stared at the Faun who seemed put off by their surprise, flushing a deep red under their watch. He had never heard of this mystery professor and found himself curious of the Yeti's apparent fame.

"You've seriously never heard of the Bounty Hunter Clay Burrows before? Damn, Deuce, I knew you were clueless, but this is an all new low even for you!"

"Oh, shut up, Ace!"

"Make me!"

"You-!"

Jack sighed and got between the two who were obviously squaring up to headbutt one another in the air. Even the Werewolf knew it was a dumb idea.

"Clay Burrows is a renowned Bounty Hunter who has taken down extremely dangerous Ferals like the Shadowed Feline, the Whispering Snake, and the Nine-tailed Wraith. On top of that, he was the one who broke up the Golden Market trafficking ring in the Scalding Sands. In short, he is a legend of a Bounty Hunter."

"Is he safe to leave around (Y/n)?"

"Of course he is. Though he is a powerful and well known hunter, he is always humble when interviewed and has his machete right on the neck of most illegal trade. He even stopped to save a little Bakeneko girl who had gotten stuck in a tree. He's one of my personal heroes."

"So long as he is safe with her. Heartslabyul is her assigned guards this week and I have no intention of letting anyone hurt (Y/n)!"

Ace then got distracted, remembering he still had to pack some clothes so he could bunk up in Ramshackle for the week. Riddle already moved what he would need for the week into the Human's dorm that morning, but he gave Cater, Ace, Deuce, and Trey the whole day to get their things in order. About time they got their chance to prove themselves! Ace was just looking forward to the heavenly food that awaited him.

While the three first-years chattered about the new professor and their plans for the week, you were aiming down the sights of the crossbow at a target not too far from you. The kindly Yeti patiently giving pointers as you lined up the shot. You were a little more than surprised at the kick of the crossbow and how deep the bolt pierced the target in front of you.

A less than affectionate part of you imagined what it would be like to fire the bolt into someone like Erikír, but you pushed the thought from your mind. You had to make sure you could fight well before you devoted too much energy into the thought of dealing with the prince yourself.

"Well done! Usually the kick from a crossbow can be enough to put anyone flat on their ass the first few times firing it."

The Yeti was a comforting presence as he had you try again, this time controlling your breathing and you got even closer to the center of the target. This simple task of hitting the target was also aiding in how you adjusted to the weight of the crossbow, familiarizing yourself with the weapon itself. Part of learning to wield a weapon was understanding how that weapon worked.

Perhaps you could have a fighting chance now once you learned how to use these weapons. Who knows, this new professor may even be the boundary maker that keeps the more intense of these beast at bay.

[princesssascha]

Get all your desires within a week

Have you been having trouble manifesting? Are you sick and tired of waking up everyday in your current reality and it feels like you tried every single possible manifestation technique out there yet nothing seems to work? I have come up with a 7 day challenge for you.

How do I know this works?

The universe doesn't give you what you want, it gives you what you ARE. By doing this challenge you will be matching the frequency of your dr which will allow your cr to transform.

This is a very powerful technique. Please make sure you know exactly what you want.

So, here are some of the rules:

You identify your desired reality as your current reality

You do EVERYTHING you would do in your dr, even if uncomfortable (for example, if your desired self(ds) goes to the gym at 5am everyday that's exactly what you're gonna do. It's only a week.)

Your "Cr" is your past. It is not your reality, it's imagination. Your dr is your only "correct and real" reality. After all you're doing everything you would in your dr, so that makes it your current reality.

You do this for 7 days. No cheating!

Feel free to add your own rules for yourself!

Now for the process

1.Write down your goals

What does your desired reality actually look like? Think about it and write it down. Yes, WRITE it down. Don't just think about it. Whether you do it on your notes app or on a piece of paper, write down clear habits of your ds. Some examples:

Goes to sleep at _ and wakes up at _

Works out

Works on her business/skills

Etc. anything. It doesn't have to be something important. Anything you can think of that you desire.

2.Identify your blocks

Now it's time to be brutally honest with yourself. WHY do you think your desires aren't here yet? What is blocking you from receiving your manifestations. This is the part that most people fail at, which causes them to not get their desires. Releasing those blocks can be difficult, but without it you are literally blocking your manifestations. I suggest you really research this topic, but here are some of the most common ones:

You see your 3D as your REAL reality.

You keep stressing about getting your desire NOW.

You have a lack mindset.

You don't trust yourself.

You check your 3D for your results.

3.Find the difference

Now that you know what you want it's time to find the differences. Now it might seem obvious, but again, you need to write it down. Since you already have what your desired reality looks like, here's how I do it in the easiest way. You write down your desired reality on one side and compare your current reality to it on the other side. For example: (let's just act one is on the left side and one is on the right side).

Dr: Wake up at 7am.

Cr: Wake up at 10am.

This will make it easier to change your habits later.

4.Act like you're in your dr

Now that you know what your goal is and what the difference is you are going to switch. Your desired reality is your new reality. Your current reality does not exist. It's your past. You are now in your desired reality and you KNOW that. Do everything you would do in this reality. From waking up to going to sleep. The whole day. Does your ds wake up at 5am and goes to the gym? Good. That's exactly what you're gonna do because it's your current reality. You are your dream self and your dream self is you.

5.Ignore your reality.

Now it's time for you to decide that your current reality is just a mindset. And you need to switch that mindset. You want the best for yourself and you will get it. You just need to allow it, so, from now on your only right reality is the reality you created for yourself. All the outside noise doesn't change that, because it is your reality now.

Ok, when will I get my results?

Immediately. The moment you start doing this and actually believe and persist that's the moment it becomes your reality.

But when will I see it in my 3D?

Once you accept you really have it. You need to actually believe it, and when that happens, you won't be looking for your 3D to confirm that. That's exactly when it appears in your 3D. It can be the same day, same week, same month, same or next year. You decide when you trust the universe. This is just an exercise to help those who keep stressing about their 3D. And it works magic.