#bj's fic library

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Calling A Professional, part a

Series: Professional, part 1a

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader, Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore

Synopsis: 'You' are a career-oriented young Omega too preoccupied with school to have a dating life. Your image-oriented family decide enough is enough and give you a screamingly inappropriate present -- a night with a full-service Alpha escort, emphasis on full. And stuff happens.

Tags:  Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, ABO, Omegaverse, AU, Alpha Dean Winchester, Omega You, Omega Reader, Sam Winchester, Zachariah, Balthazar, Gabriel, Naomi, Castiel, Benny LaFitte, Arthur Ketch, Abbadon, Becky Rosen, Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha Zachariah, Alpha Balthazar, Alpha Gabriel, Alpha Castiel, Beta Benny LaFitte, Alpha Abbadon, Omega Jessica Moore, Charlie Bradbury, Billie the Reaper, First Time, Sex Worker Dean Winchester

AN:  Blame the walking talking PWP device that is Dean Winchester. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

“Are you kidding?”

Your cousin Rebecca shakes her head, flying that damn blonde mane all over the place.  Glaring, you wave a breeze past your nose.  Rebecca’s between boys again and she’s broadcasting interest signals to every Alpha within smelling range.  You check your watch.  God dammit, as it is you’re going to have to sacrifice another hour of sleep because this was supposed to be your study hour.  You do not have time to do lunch.

Except Rebecca’s speaking on behalf of one of the Family heads, an Alpha you’re supposed to call Uncle Zachariah.  You know him mostly as a signature on your tuition checks.  He’s not exactly pleased that you’re working on a degree instead of chasing a good Alpha but he’s never objected.

Apparently his patience has limits.

“Look, this service has an impeccable reputation--"

“I do not have time for this.”

“Make time, babyboo.”

You grind your teeth.  “Do not call me that.”

“Quit behaving like a child,” Rebecca says.  “Daddy made it clear.  Maybe it was okay to play it like you’re the cerebral ice princess when you were sixteen but you’re a grown Omega now.  People see you -- no Alpha, not dating, working all the time -- and they talk.”

No concern about your well-being or what you actually want, of course.  Once again you curse the absurd twist of genetics that caused you -- a surprise pregnancy between a couple of middle-aged Betas divorced from terrible first marriages -- to Present as Omega.  Things are expected of you, if you want to achieve your quietly ambitious goal of a scholar’s life without having to assume a mountain of debt.

“You hired a for-God’s-sake prostitute--"

“Escort, babe!”

“Someone receiving financial remuneration for sexual activities is a prostitute,” you say.  Because that’s what this is about; you have Alpha friends who’ll happily squire you around formal occasions just for the networking opportunities.  It’s making the conservative generation of the Family nervous that a healthy Omega with a legitimate blood tie is running around without making herself available to the right sort of Alphas, and as far as they know you’re still a virgin.

Which is correct.  That moment, when an Omega catches a scent from a compatible Alpha, gets all soft and slick and ready for mounting?  That’s never happened.  Certainly not with the frequency it happens to any of your Omega cousins.  Anael seems to fall in love every other month on average.  It all strikes you as ridiculous and it’d be nice to tell the Family to go to Hell and let you alone.

You’re more pragmatic than that.

“Look, it’s already set up,” Rebecca reminds you.  “There’s really nothing to be worried about.  It’s one party.  You and the escort get a chance to get to know each other.  Then he gets a call the next time you go into heat.”

“This is so humiliating,” you say.

Rebecca reaches across the table.  You yearn to throw your glass of water in her face but refrain.  She really is trying to be sympathetic.  “There’s nothing to be scared of.  Daddy told me this agency has Alphas that specialize in first timers.  All you have to do is relax.”

“Not helping,” you say.

“Just do it,” she sighs.  Because that’s what everything from the Family boils down to.  “You don’t have to enjoy it, but just do it.  Once it’s over Daddy and Great-Aunt Naomi will find something else to obsess over and you can go back to doing,” she waves a hand, making her bracelets rattle and her rings sparkle, “whatever it is you do.”

“It’s called anthropology,” you grumble as the waiter serves your quiche.  Rebecca tips her head and the waiter helps himself to a discrete noseful of her scent.

Disgusting.

---

A week later you’re dressing in your favorite gown and tying your hair up.  It’s Great-Aunt Naomi’s birthday party and you’re obliged to show up for a few hours and let yourself be counted amongst the Family’s membership roster.

If that were all, you’d be fine.  Take the chance to catch up with the least boring of your relatives.  But this is the night the guy your uncle’s paying to deflower you is coming to meet you.  And you’re nervous.

You open the portfolio sent by the agency.  The contract is a dense block of gobbledygook.  Someone’s highlighted the salient points, specifically in case you don’t feel absolutely comfortable and safe you can always terminate the service on the spot.  How the hell that’s supposed to work in the middle of a heat cycle, you have no idea.  Your heats are short but once you’re riding the tide your brain is good for nothing.

The opposite page has a profile of the specific professional who drew the short straw:

WINCHESTER, Dean M.  Six-foot-one, 190 pounds, brown hair, green eyes.  Cute enough, going by the snapshot paperclipped to the profile sheet.  There’s also a scrap of fabric tucked into a little pouch, a scent article that smells mostly like leather.

He’s also several years older, no higher education, and from his list of interests you anticipate a deep conversation about sports.  God damn your designation anyway.  If you were a Beta nobody would care if or who shared your bed.

“Bonsoir, cherie.”  Uncle Balthazar taps on the powder room door.  You’re staying at his condo while he spends most of his time abroad.  He’s volunteered to be there when your escort shows up, just in case.  “Are you ready darling?  I just heard the most awful racket from the garage and Harold tells me that’s your date.”

“Not my date,” you correct.  “My hooker.”

Uncle Balthazar winces.  “Mind your manners young lady.  It’s not the gentleman’s fault Zachariah has no sense of the appropriate.”

“I know,” you say.

Uncle Balthazar gives you an arm as you step into your highest heels.  “Darling, hold your head high and shine like the treasure you are and you’ll be fine.  I’ll be waiting in the sitting room.”

As he leaves you check the mirror.  Everything is in place and from photo distance you look like you belong amongst the Family rich and powerful.  With a little luck you’ll be back in time to get a little work done before going to bed.

“There she is!” Uncle Balthazar says as you stride into the sitting room.  There’s a man in black tie standing next to him.  “You look exquisite, my dear,” Uncle Balthazar brings you near with a light touch on your back and kisses your cheek.  “This fascinating gentleman is Dean Winchester.”

“How do you do?” you offer your hand.

Your gigolo takes it and brings it to his lips.  “Pleasure to meet you.”

The photograph does not do him justice, is all you can think as his eyes meet yours.  They’re green, all right, like spruce needles or forest moss or dark jade but not really like any if those things.  They study you with a warmth.  Delight, like this isn’t a business transaction and you’re the best surprise he’s ever seen.  His hand is warm, and his full pink lips are soft against your skin.  The touch sparks, like flint on steel.

“Yes, well,” Uncle Balthazar clears his throat.  “I’m going to go pick your aunt up.  I’ll see you at the party.  Au revoir ma petite.”

“Yeah, um,” Dean blinks like he’s just waking up from a trance.  “Come on, my car’s downstairs.  Let’s get going.”

“Yeah, of course, right,” you shake yourself, taking Dean’s offered arm.  Closer proximity doesn’t help, because now you can catch his scent.  He’s sweet, all caramelizing fruits and hardwood smoke and leather.  A hazy picture floats through your mind, one with less clothes and more heat and you on all fours arched and wailing as--

“Oh merde,” you say under your breath.

---

The car is an old but impeccably clean black Chevrolet.  You know nothing about cars but fall in love with this one immediately because the inside is saturated with Dean’s scent.  Warm and sweet and it’s working on your mind and body in ways you were not prepared for.

“Uht-oh, the vultures are circling,” Dean says as he pulls up to the hotel.  Sure enough there’s a gaggle of photographers perched behind velvet ropes.

“Lovely.  The more pictures they get now the more they’ll ignore me later,” you say.

“Not your first rodeo?”

“Very far from it,” you tell him dryly.

Dean accepts a token from the valet and gets out.  Waving aside the kid in uniform going for your door, he opens it himself and hands you out, standing just far enough back to be out of focus as flashbulbs pop around you.  You do the little half turn pretending to adjust the strap of your bag, and right on cue Dean steps up with his arm cocked.  He sets a leisurely pace, facing forward with a blank expression, letting you draw the eyes.

“Not your first rodeo either?” you ask in a low voice as the photographers focus on the next arrival.

“Nope,” he says, shrugging.  “Usually when I take clients to these kinds of parties, I hang out with the bartender, eat my weight in finger sandwiches, and try not to start food fights.”

You cough out a giggle at the mental image of your cousin Castiel launching a pie into Great-Aunt Naomi’s face.  “You can do that if you want,” you tell him.  “I mean except for the food fight part.  I’m used to entertaining myself at these things.”

“Nah,” Dean says.  “I want to see if I can hear you laugh some more.  You’ve got a great laugh.”

He keeps doing that.  Giving you little compliments like statements of the obvious.  Like how pretty you look with your hair up.  And an impressed, “Awesome!” when you tell him you graduated high school two years early.  And when you try to brush off what you study as boring stuff, he looks you in the eye and says, “Anything you want to talk about, I want to listen.  I’m interested.  I’m fascinated.”  He’s either the best damn actor in the world . . . or he’s being completely sincere.

Something else is happening too.  Assorted relatives keep orbiting by, insisting you introduce them to Dean.  He identifies himself as your date and nothing else.  He barely looks at them, even ones like your cousins Toni and Bela and Annmarie, Omegas firing off interest signals like fireworks.  He speaks when spoken to, can participate in conversations, but he keeps orienting on you like no one else is real to him.

Or so you imagine because that’s how you feel.  The low-level paranoia that makes events like this an unpleasant chore isn’t there.  Not when Dean keeps touching your arm or your back.  During the dinner part of the party, as your cousins do their thing around your assigned table, Dean keeps holding up morsels of his food for you to try, keeps sneaking bits off your plate.  It’s an intimate thing to do and doesn’t feel out of place at all.  You wish you were alone, just the two of you.

You stiffen when you hear your name.  It’s Zachariah, and the way he’s looking at you makes your skin crawl.  “Enjoying the party?”

“Of course,” you say.  Just listen and nod in the right places, you remember your mother coaching you as a child.  Your Uncle Zachariah likes to think he’s in control.  Give him that and he’ll leave you alone.

“Good, that’s good,” he nods.  One hand goes on your arm, the other goes on Dean’s, and he leans in close.  “Just wanted to make sure you kids were hitting it off,” he says, shaking you in what probably feels like a gesture of affection to him but feels intrusive to you.

“Mr. Adler,” Dean says, and the cold formality of his tone is jarring compared to the easy and pleasant affect he’s had so far.  “We’re fine, thank you.”

Uncle Zachariah’s smile curdles a bit.  “You’re in good hands,” he tells you, and you unconsciously draw back.  His hand cups the back of your neck and the part of you that’s been basking in the warmth of Dean’s attention all evening recoils like a startled snake.  “The agency tells me Dean’s the best they have with first timers.”

It’s not like everybody in the Family doesn’t know.  Your cousins gossip worse than retirees at their favorite diner on weekday mornings.  But to have it tossed back in your face-- you honestly want to throw up.

Abruptly Dean stands.  Conversation for ten feet around goes quiet.  Brushing back Zachariah he pulls you to your feet.  “I think I could use a drink.  Don’t you.”

You nod, and when Dean puts an arm across your shoulders you press closer.  Dean’s warm, sweet scent chases away the cold chills and the instinct to run and hide.  Alpha will protect you, those instincts say, and you’re too freaked out to retort that you can protect yourself, thank you very much.

Dean leads you to a smaller secondary bar tucked in a shadowy corner of the ballroom.  “Tequila, straight,” he tells the bartender.

“Make it two,” you say.

“Woah,” Dean says.  “No way you’re old enough to drink.”

“I’ve been taking wine with dinner since I was twelve Dean.  I could probably outdrink you.”

The bartender serves it up without a word and you both slam it back.  The liquor acts like a slap in the face, clearing your head a little.

“This probably isn’t any of my business,” says the Alpha that’s getting paid to pop your cherry, “but does he usually pull that kind of shit with you?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean does a double-take.  “You’ve never had an Alpha come on to you like that?”

“Like what?” you ask, getting a little irritated.

“Babygirl when an Alpha starts rubbing the back of your neck like that it’s a dominance display.”  Dean gently lays his hand in that same place.  He applies just a little pressure and oh God, your heart starts slamming in your chest and you can feel slick at the tops of your thighs.

“Stop that,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says and backs off.  Part of you cries out, wants to leap into his arms, bare your throat, your body, everything.  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Why stop now?”

“You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you work hard and kick ass.  Why are you putting up with,” Dean flicks a hand at the party proper, “this shit?”

“You tell me.  Why’s an intelligent good-looking guy like yourself turning tricks?”

Dean flinches.  The anger in his eyes almost spurs you into a run, but there’s something else lurking at the edges.  Shame?  Disappointment?  “I’m sorry,” you backpedal.  “It’s none of my business.”

“There aren’t many jobs for high school dropouts that let a guy gross eighty K a year, and I’ve got a father in assisted living and a brother in law school,” Dean tells you in a flat just-the-facts monotone.

You laugh without much humor.  “I’m aiming for a doctorate, the Family pays for my education, and Zachariah controls the money.  I’m ineligible for financial aid because my mother was an Adler of the Grand Rapids Adlers and student loans would put me in debt until I turn five hundred.”

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment.

“You wanna go out, get some air?” Dean runs up the Truce flag.

“So bad.”

---

Outside the fall air is cool and smells like peace.    You lead the way to the back end of the hotel courtyard, where there’re benches looking across the river.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again.  “I got no high ground to stand on when it comes to how anybody makes money.”

Dean huffs out an unamused little ha.  “My dad still thinks I hustle pool and scam credit cards for a living.  If he knew I work for an escort service he’d have a heart attack.  Then come back to life and shoot me.  Then have another heart attack.”

“Aren’t you worried he’ll see you on one of those daytime tabloid shows?”

“Nah.  Dad only pays attention to the ABCs.  Automobiles, Booze and Cowboys.”  Dean pauses, looking across the river at the softly lit rotunda of the museum.  “Doing this means Dad can stay in a good place and Sam doesn’t have to hold down a job while he’s at school.  Once he graduates, he’ll be able to start helping with Dad’s bills and I can quit and do something else.  Or keep doing it and retire young.  I dunno.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”

“I’m not, just thinking out loud I guess.”  A breeze blows in from the west and you shiver as it pulls gooseflesh from your bare arms and back.  “Oh, here,” Dean says, shucking out of his tuxedo jacket and draping it over you.  His arm goes over your shoulders and you let him cuddle you close.  It’s easier to see now, the firm layers of muscle on his arm and chest, how small your body is by comparison.

There it is again, that melting feeling deep in your core.  A part of you that only comes alive in your heat cycles is awake now, making you want to curl around Alpha the way a cat curls up in a friendly lap.  You’d purr if you could roll an R.

You feel Dean’s chest rise as he takes a deep breath.  “You’re not used to having someone take care of you, are you?” he asks.

“I can take care of myself,” you say, but it doesn’t have the hard snap it usually does when you point that out.

“Yeah I can see that.  That’s not my point.  You looked scared to death in there, but you didn’t look around for help.  How long have you been dealing with his crap on your own?”

You shudder, and Dean pulls you closer.  “I barely know Zachariah.  I only see him at events like this and when I have to give him my schedule every semester.  He pays for my tuition, so I have to at least be nice to him.”

“Fuck.”  Dean’s quicker than he lets on.  “I just dropped a damn mess in your lap didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault.  Look,” you say, trying to push past the way being in his arms makes you feel warm and alive and wanting, “if you want to back out, I’ll make sure you still get paid.  It’s pretty clear Zachariah didn’t give a damn about me or the Family.  He . . . I don’t know what he wants.”

“I got a pretty goddamned good idea.  When you get home, check for cameras.”

You shudder again, feeling sick.

“You also might want to talk to a lawyer about your options as far as family money.  An independent lawyer.  You get me?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, Zachariah isn’t the one calling the shots.  You are,” Dean says.  “Do something for me, would you please?”

“Okay.”

“Close your eyes.”

You do.

“Just breathe with me a minute.  There’s nobody else here, just us.”  Dean lets the quiet hang.  He tips his head to rest on top of yours, taking your scent.  His own Alpha scent gets stronger, more complex.  More delicious.  “Pretend we just met.  It’s up to you, where we go from here.  If it’s what you want, I’ll take you home right now and you’ll never see me again--"

“No.”  You open your eyes and turn your head, meeting Dean’s surprised look.  “No I don’t want that.”

“Oh thank God, me neither,” Dean breathes and presses his mouth to yours.

You’ve been kissed before, and mostly it felt gross.  This is not that.  The only thing you can think is soft.  One of his hands cups the back of your neck and you sigh into his mouth at the way you go soft and slick under the touch.  The picture in your mind is in sharper focus now, now that you know Dean’s palms are a little rough and how his lips taste.  How would-- how will that feel when you’re in heat and every sensation jumps by a factor of ten?  “Oh God,” you whimper.

Dean pulls back and smiles.  “Dean’s fine, babygirl.”

You swat at his chest, giggling.  “No egotism in your family.”

“When you’re as great as I am,” Dean tells you, trying to keep a straight face and not quite making it, “it’s hard to be humble.”

You burst out laughing.

“Oh, share the fun?”  Uncle Balthazar, his dark red silk shirt open at the throat and smelling strongly like Aunt Anna’s perfume strolls up.

“Inside joke,” you tell him.

“Already?”  He smiles down at you.  “Just came over to tell you not to wait up.  I got a call from Gabriel.  I have to catch a flight to Madrid in a few hours.”  He makes a face.  “God, I despise Spain this time of year.”

“Did they make the toast already?”

“Yeah.  If you want to make a discrete exit now would be the time.”  He pecks your cheek, frowns, sniffs.  “My goodness.  May I suggest a quick dip in the river before you go?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not entirely joking, ma cherie.”  Is he blushing?  In the dark it’s hard to tell.  Uncle Balthazar turns his attention to Dean.  “It goes without saying that if you hurt our darling girl in any way I’ll have your legs broken, yes?”

“Understood,” Dean answers.

“Splendid.  I’ll call in a few days.  Goodnight sweetheart,” he smiles at you and strolls away, whistling Hall of the Mountain King.

“He’s right,” you say, trying again to behave like you don’t want to climb Dean like a curtain.  “We can sneak out through the access alley that comes out by the old post office.”

Dean frowns thoughtfully, one finger waggling as he takes his bearings.  “Got it.”

You stand.  Dean doesn’t.  “Come on, we gotta get before the valets get busy.”

“Gimme a minute,” he says, pushing himself to his feet.

“Why?  What’s wrong?”

“God,” he says to himself, looking down into your confused face, “you have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me do you?”  At your very eloquent ‘huh?’ Dean pulls you tight to him and kisses you.  Reflexively you stretch to try and match his height, and Dean groans as your belly drags over the bulge at the front of his pants.

Blushing as your blood turns to lava, you say, “I’m sorry?  I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Never,” Dean says, “ever, ever, apologize to me for getting me hot.”

“H-ha-have you been like that all night?” you stutter.

“More or less.”  Gently pushing you back to arm’s length, Dean puts his arm across his face and takes several deep breaths.  “Okay.  I’m okay.  Let’s get out of here.”

---

You keep it together up until the elevator to Uncle Balthazar’s condo opens on the foyer.  Dean takes his jacket back and puts his face in the fabric, smelling your mingled scents.  “I’m never getting this damn thing cleaned again.”

“I will not be your excuse for dirty laundry, Alpha,” you say without thinking.

Dean’s smile widens.  “I could get used to hearing that,” he tells you, pulling you close for another kiss.

What was probably intended as an affectionate good night turns into something else, as the simple facts of safety and privacy make themselves known.  Dean backs you into a wall as your legs go weak.  He bends his knees and you moan as that bulge rubs exactly where you need it.  For the first time in your life you wish you were in heat, right now, Presenting, taking Alpha’s knot.

“Put your hands behind my neck-- good girl,” Dean says.  Your dress has a slit up the left leg; Dean pushes it up until the slit starts at your hip and reaches through.  “Fuck,” he breathes when he feels your slick sliding down your thigh, “you’re dripping for me, aren’t you babygirl?”

“Yes,” you whimper.  “Yes Alpha.”

“Tilt your hips up a little-- other way.  Let me get at that pussy.  Good girl, just like that,” Dean says, and you gasp as he touches you there, gentle pressure through the fabric of your panties.  You’ve tried doing that for yourself a few times but it never felt like this, nothing like this.

“Do you like this?” Dean asks.  “Does it feel good?  You have to tell me babygirl, I can’t read your mind.  Be a good girl and tell me.”

“Feels good,” you say through a tight throat.  “Feels so good, Alpha.”

“Makes your pussy feel good?”  You nod, biting your lip.  “Say it babygirl, tell me I’m making your pussy feel good.”

“Making my pussy feel so good,” you whine, being a good girl for Alpha.  Just the idea, being a good girl for Alpha, makes you weak, makes you want to fall to the floor and Present right now, let Alpha take you right there next to the umbrella stand and whatnot table.  “Please,” you moan, feeling the bliss adding and multiplying and clinging to Dean otherwise you’re going to fly apart.  “Please Alpha--”

“Come for me Omega, be a good girl and come in your panties for me.”  You choke on a whimpering howl as the coil in your middle snaps and pure pleasure floods every cell in your body.  Dean kisses you through it, swallowing all your moans and whines.

“Shhh, quiet babygirl,” Dean says as you beg him for anything, everything, just more.  “You need to get a shower and get some sleep and I need to go.”

“No Alpha, please, I need you, I need your knot, please--”

“Shhhh.”  He holds you until your body stops shaking, until your legs can hold you up on their own.  “It’s okay Omega.  I’ll be here when you need me.”

“I need you now,” you beg.

“If I get inside you right now,” Dean tells you, his voice hoarse, “I’ll last for almost ten whole seconds.  And to take care of you the way I want to, I’m going to need to be better than ten seconds.”  He gulps.  “A lot better.”

“No,” you moan as he puts your hands back down at your sides and sinks to his knees.  Your panties slither down your shaking legs and you almost fall taking your feet out of them.  Your pussy clenches and fresh slick floods out of you as Dean noses you through your dress, and from the look in his eyes it’s causing him physical pain to tear himself away from you.

“It’s okay,” he says, pulling you into a hug and kissing you, deep and desperate.  “Be good for me, go in and get some sleep.  I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And he’s gone, stuffing your slicked panties into his pocket.

---

The next day you float through your TA hours for Professor Visnyak and writhe through your Issues In Classical Archeology lecture, mind full of Dean and body longing for same.  In the cold routine of your life as usual he doesn’t seem real, like you were visited by some fairy prince with a taste for virgin Omegas.  You keep catching yourself sniffing at the air, searching for Dean’s sweet, smoky Alpha scent.

Your phone beeps a notification as you grind through a stack of Geology papers written by freshmen with zero interest in the topic, nibbling at a sad excuse for a Caesar salad and wielding a red pen like a Sith lightsaber.  Thinking it’s your father confirming he made it to Florida with the rest of the snowbirds you swipe the unlock and damn near drop the phone when you see a selfie of Dean posed next to the open hood of his car.  You barely believe it but in casual clothes and sporting some whiskers he’s even more handsome, and you thank God for the foresight that caused you to wear a liner in your panties today and double up on the scent blockers.

hi bbygrl

changing babys oil

whatre u up to?

Giggling, you lay your head on the pile of papers covering the TA’s desk and pose like you’d fainted, red pen clutched in your hand.

Grading.

Barf.

You set your phone down and go back to work, but a moment later it chimes again.

giv all As

less time, students luv u

After a moment’s thought, you type.

And miss making freshmen business majors suffer?  Can’t do it.

A second later, Dean replies.

as u were

(devil face)

---

RU on FB?

Yes but I barely use it.

When he asks you text your username.  The app on your phone chirps with a notification-- DM Winchester wants to be Friends.  Smiling, you accept the request.

would u do something 4 me?

Depends.  What?

take a picture every day

doesn’t hav 2B selfie

just whatevr ur doing or looking at right then

hav 2 go out of town a few days

might not B able to text every day

Out of town?  Why?

family bizness

10 hr drive to ks

HATE flying

do that 4 me?

Okay.  Why?  My life’s boring.

The three little I’m thinking bubbles bounce for several minutes before Dean’s answer pops up.

not 2 me

bbygrl

(kiss face)

---

Another thing Dean said to you on the bench that night’s been bouncing around in your head.  You’ve always just sort of taken everybody’s word for it that Family money is accessible to you, but only under certain conditions and only if somebody else approves.  When you posit the question -- in carefully worded hypotheticals on a Q&A forum run by the university law department -- the answer comes back to consult a specialist in inheritance law to be sure, but since you’re eighteen now and legally an adult, that might not be the case anymore.

You also do some reading on Alpha-typical body language.  Because you had to be overreacting, right?  Zachariah had just caught you in a strange mood, Omega instincts working like they’re supposed to for the first time in your life and preening under Dean’s focused attention.  But the more you read, the colder and more repulsed you feel.

“You’re awfully quiet.  Is something the matter?”

Screwing up your nerve, you ask, “Uncle Balthazar, do you know if Mother made arrangements for me in her will?”

“Of course she did dear, she met with Chuck’s people when she first got sick and had everything put in order.  You’ll never want for anything, she made sure of that.  Why do you ask?”

You hesitate.  “Why did Zachariah really pay for Dean to go out with me?”

Uncle Balthazar sighs.  “Sweetheart he was worried.  We all were.  It isn’t normal for a young and healthy Omega like you to show zero interest in Alphas.  He thought that once you’d had a complete heat, whatever the problem was would sort itself out.”

“I looked it up.  According to the doctor’s guidelines being a virgin isn’t something to be worried about unless an Omega’s almost thirty, not eighteen!  And the way Rebecca talked-- I mean, she didn’t come right out and say Zachariah would cut me off if I didn’t do it but she didn’t have to.  And as far as making people talk, compared to the crap Uncle Gabriel gets up to, me being a frigid bore isn’t news.”

Uncle Balthazar doesn’t say anything.  You sag against the kitchen counter, the strength going out of your legs.  God you wish Dean were here, warm and solid and safe.  The Omega in you craves Alpha’s protection, and you don’t like it but the rational parts of you agree right now.

“Uncle Balthazar--”

“This isn’t something we should discuss over the phone, cherie.  Your Uncle Gabriel and I are flying back to Michigan.  We’ll be there tomorrow morning.  Can you meet us for breakfast?”

You mentally reshuffle your day.  “I think so.  At the café?”  The café is the tearoom overlooking the river in the hotel owned by the Family.  Everybody eats there.

“No, we need somewhere we won’t be paid attention to.  That luncheonette in Caledonia Gabe likes, eight AM tomorrow.  We’ll see you there.”

You just stand there speechless, the hum of a broken connection ringing in your ear.

---

Later that day you’re bent over a table in the library, grinding through your Introduction to Statistics homework and listening to Mindless Self Indulgence.

Your phone vibrates.  It's Dean-- where r u?

Campus library.  Stats homework.

Kill me now.

nope.

bad luck to kill someone when ur holding their underwear

(leering face)

You gasp, covering your mouth when you see dirty looks coming from the other students.

DEAN!

A hand taps your shoulder and you almost hop straight to Heaven.  Dean's got a hand over his mouth turning red from holding in a huge laugh.  You drop your Statistics text and throw your arms around his neck, kissing the laugh right out of his mouth.

Some sarcastic soul starts a round of applause.

"Thank you, thank you, you're a wonderful crowd, try the veal, tip your waiter," Dean says, waving it off.  “I come bearing caffeine,” he tells you, plunking a carrying caddy with two big cups and a baggie full of sugar and creamer and flavoring packets on the table.

“Oh bitter fuel of life, come to me,” you sigh, grabbing one of the cups and taking a long sip of the hot black liquid.

“You take it black,” Dean says, like he’s making a mental note.

“Just like my metal,” you cap the line, but not surprisingly Dean doesn’t catch it.

“Quick-- favorite Led Zeppelin song,” Dean says.

“Houses of the Holy,” you say without thinking.  “Yours?”

“Ramble On.  Can you take a break?  Just for a few minutes?”

“Sure, I was about done here anyway,” you say, packing your stuff.

---

“This is where you took your picture day before yesterday isn’t it?” Dean asks as you walk with him across the pedestrian bridge spanning a deep crease in the earth cut when the glaciers retreated.  Far below a streamlet of rain runoff flows down into a storm drain.  The trees growing on the edges of each slope are in full color, brilliant oranges and yellows and one maple tree that turns purple-red every year.  Dean points to it.  “I recognize that tree.”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You sit on a bench set against the bridge railing.  Dean doesn’t sit with you.  Instead he goes to his knees in front of you and wraps you in his arms, nose pressed against the side of your neck.  You breathe him in and shut your eyes as Alpha’s scent wraps your spirit in warmth.  You turn your head and Dean’s right there, meeting your lips in a tender kiss.

“Missed you,” Dean says.

“Me too,” you admit.  “A lot.”  It’s been two weeks and feels like a million fucking years.

You put your hands on either side of Dean’s face, feeling his afternoon scruff scrape your palms.  In daylight he looks even more gorgeous than he did that night, sunshine picking up golden and coppery tones in his hair and bringing out amber tones in his green eyes.  But there’re deep shadows under his eyes and his skin is too pale.  You’ve spent too much time around people functioning on caffeine and stress to miss the signs.  “Are you okay?  You look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Good guess.  I’ve been driving since four this morning.  I gotta go home and crash but I wanted to see you first.”

“Aw,” you kiss him again, smiling.  “I can spare an hour until my next class if you want to grab a snack or something.”

“I can’t babygirl  I’ve gotta get a few hours rack time.  I got a job tonight.”

You stiffen.  The reminder of just what it is Dean does for a living feels like a faceful of icy water.

Dean’s arms are firm around you and before you can get up enough torque to really struggle he clarifies, “Not that kind of job.  It’s a bodyguard gig.”

“Oh.”  You hang your head.  It’s not like you didn’t know the score, and you’re both adults, and it’s really not appropriate for an Omega to get possessive.  You’ve known Dean a grand total of a fortnight and change.  You don’t have any special claim on his time.  Or his body.

Like hell I don’t, that Omega-voice says, quiet but steely.

“Bodyguard?”

“I spent a few years in the Army.  I got good reflexes, I’m a dead shot, and I can do double-duty as arm candy.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly.  “It’s not really any of my business.”

“Before you ask,” Dean says, “I take the other kind of gigs because the pay is about ten times better and there’s a lot more demand.”

Assuming Dean can’t talk about his job particulars, you change the subject.  “Can you meet me tomorrow for, I dunno, lunch or dinner or something?”

“I should be back in town after seven.  We could get something to eat, sure.”  Dean sits back on his heels, your hands held in his.  “Is something wrong babygirl?”

Briefly you explain what you’d found out poking around online.  “I tried to talk to Uncle Balthazar about it but he told me he didn’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

Dean swears.  “I hate it when you’re right Sammy,” he grumbles.

"What?"

"I mentioned my brother's in law school, right?"  You nod.  "Last time I talked to him I asked him whether or not you could get locked out of any family trusts after you turned eighteen."

"From what I found, I need to talk to an actual lawyer for a definitive answer," you say.

"That's what he said too, but he pointed something else out."  Dean squeezes your hands.  "Look, I hope I'm wrong about your uncle.  I . . . I could've been overreacting, I really don't like watching Alphas act like that around Omegas.  Especially when it's family."

"But," you prompt.

Dean sighs.  "Imagine how it looks to anybody who doesn't know you.  Grew up rich--"

"Not hardly."

"Let me finish.  By the standards of people who make up most of the taxpaying public around here you grew up with a silver spoon up your butt, okay?"

You roll your eyes but concede his point.

"Never been in a serious relationship, never been in a casual relationship," Dean goes on.  "From the info Mr. Adler provided, you've barely even dated.  Then you go out in public with a," he grimaces a little, you're not sure he knows he's doing it, "professional escort once, and all of a sudden you want access to the family checkbook?"

You feel your face drop in shock.  You'd thought your parents raised you as a rational, skeptical, borderline cynical person.  Not even close.  "To anyone who doesn't know me," you echo Dean's phrasing, "I either look impossibly naive or like a greedy bitch.  Emphasis bitch.  And you look--"

"--like a knothead asshole taking advantage of an Omega kid with a crush."  Dean smiles into your ashamed face.  "Don't worry about me babygirl, I can take care of my own reputation.  Such as it is.  I'm just saying, until you know for sure whether or not your uncle's trying to do something shady--"

"--I probably shouldn't be talking to you about it," you finish.  You feel like you need to curl up and cry.  The list of friends you can take something like this to doesn't exist; the few who don't have some sort of connection to the Family, you don't feel you know them well enough to confide in.  Not something like this.

"Hey," Dean says softly, brushing a hank of hair back off your face, palming your jaw.  "Whatever happens, I got your back.  Count on that."

"I do," you say, meaning it.  "Meet me anyway?  I just . . ." you laugh a little helplessly, "I don't care if all we do is fall asleep on the couch watching the Lions lose."

Dean looks down a second, his Adam's apple bobbing on a gulp.  When he looks into your eyes again, your mouth goes dry.  "Babygirl.  The next time I get you in private, we will not be sleeping."

---

You're still flushed from all the thoughts that sentence put in your head as you walk into the Salt Shaker Grill the next morning and find Uncle Balthazar and Uncle Gabriel at the corner table.  With them, to your surprise, is your cousin Castiel. 

"Darling," Uncle Balthazar says, standing and kissing your cheek.  "You look well.  Infatuation agrees with you."

"Yeah, you're all pink and glowy," Uncle Gabriel adds with a sardonic little grin.  "Who are you and what've you done with our girl?"

"Up yours Uncle Gabe," you say.

"I took the liberty," Uncle Balthazar says, pointing to a plate heavy with bacon and eggs, toast on the side.  "You hardly eat enough to keep a mosquito alive."

"Okay kiddo," Uncle Gabriel says after giving you a minute with your breakfast.  "Before we tell you why we wanted to talk face-to-face, I need you to be honest with me.  Okay?"

"Sure Uncle Gabe," you say.

"What exactly happened, to make you ask Balthy why Zach went and hired an escort for you?"

You explain about the incident at Great-Aunt Naomi's birthday gala.  When you tell about how Zachariah touched your neck, Uncle Balthazar interrupts, "Show me how he touched you, love."

You put your hand just under where your neck becomes your skull and squeeze.  The Alphas at the table exchange a look.  "I thought I was just-- I don't know, maybe the shrimp wasn't agreeing with me?  Dean told me Alphas do that as a dominance gesture."

"Yes they do," Uncle Balthazar says.  "Pressure, right in those spots," he rubs just behind one ear, "stimulates the pheromone glands.  It's a little like rubbing the small of a woman's back."

"That's a foreplay move, kiddo," Uncle Gabriel says.  "When Balthazar told me about it, I thought it was Zach just being a dick.  He gets like that sometimes when he drinks.  The only time you're around Zach is at Family crap like that party.  You're never alone with him."

"But it occurred to me," Uncle Balthazar says, more serious than you've ever seen him, "that that's not true."

"I saw the incident," Castiel says in his gravely voice, making you look at him in surprise.  You vaguely remember seeing Castiel at an adjoining table, deep in conversation with his date and not paying much attention to the party.  Castiel's a shy duck, and a bit socially awkward.  He works with Zachariah, one of the many spiders keeping the money web snug.  "I'm sorry I didn't intervene.  By the time I realized what was happening, your escort had already taken control of the situation."

"Zach insists on vetting your class schedule and making out your tuition payments personally, right?" Uncle Gabriel asks.

"Yeah, every semester."  You shrug.  "I take him my schedule, he pretends to be interested, he makes a big production out of writing the check, and I leave."

"And are you alone with him when you have these meetings?" Uncle Balthazar asks.

"Yeah," you say.

Uncle Balthazar hesitates.  "Darling, please know I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you.  But we have to know.  When Zachariah's alone with you, does he do things like this?"  He takes your hand and his thumb rubs the nerve cluster just below your wrist.  He puts an arm around you as though to hug you but his fingers press into your waist in a way that makes your breath catch.  His hands span your back, one between the shoulderblades and one low on your spine.  You can feel him tracing your bra strap as he pulls you close, pressing your breasts into his chest.

"Stop that," you say, pulling back.

"You legit didn't realize those were dominance gestures."  It's not a question.

"As I pointed out," Uncle Balthazar says to Uncle Gabriel, "she wouldn't.  Most of us learn those tells as we start dating.  Or by watching our parents."

"Except your parents were both Betas, and you don't date," Uncle Gabriel concludes.  "Puts kind of an unpleasant spin on Zach hiring a sex worker to pop your cherry."

"Oh for God's sake Gabriel," Uncle Balthazar says, "have a little consideration for the child's feelings will you?"

"She's not a child Balthy," Uncle Gabriel says.  "Us overlooking that is the whole reason this has gone as far as it has."

You push your plate aside, the appeal of the food gone.  "What am I going to do?  I have at least six more years until I get my PhD and financial aid is out of the question."

"That will never be a problem,” Uncle Gabriel says.  “Even if Zach cuts you off you'll be taken care of.  We owe your mother that much.  I'm putting that in writing."

"Me too."  Uncle Balthazar tips you a wink.  "Not all of our money is Family money, cherie."

"Overseeing the Family trusts is part of my job duties," Castiel says.  "Your mother set up a trust in your name when she had her will updated, to be held by the Family until you turned eighteen.  The process of turning that trust over to you should have begun months ago.  When I asked Zachariah, he told me things was on hold until your summer break when you would be free for court dates."

"Except that doesn't make sense," Uncle Gabriel says.  "Your birthday was in January.  Chuck's a gutless wonder but it's not like him to be inefficient."

A silence falls over the table.  You sense a boundary’s about to be crossed, and you ask, "Why didn't you want to talk about this over the phone Uncle Balthazar?"

"Because if what I think is happening is happening," Uncle Balthazar tells you, "it dovetails rather neatly with some suspicions Gabriel and I have had for years."

"We think Zach's been filching the Family fortune," Uncle Gabriel says it, bald and ugly.

"Irregularities have been appearing consistently in the bookkeeping," Castiel says, his usual frown deeper than usual as your mouth drops open in shock.  "Someone going to improbable lengths to conceal cash transactions, source and destination."

"The only people who have the access to do that kind of Catch Me Fuck Me with the books are the Old Lady," Gabriel is the only one alive who gets away with calling Great-Aunt Naomi the Old Lady, "Michael," the public face of the Family, "Raphael," the Family politician and a state representative in Lansing, "and Zachariah."

"Naomi has no motive or need.  Neither does Michael.  Raphael wouldn't be that stupid, not while he's running on an austerity platform, a corruption charge would destroy him politically," Uncle Balthazar says, ticking his points off on his fingers.  "Until recently, I would have said Zachariah had no motive or need either."

"You don't know him the way I do, Balthy," Uncle Gabriel says.  "Zach's always relied on being the Old Lady's favorite son.  I don't like thinking this way, kiddo," he says to you, "but if he's doing what I think he's doing, he's going to start openly courting you to mate and he's worked really fucking hard to make you think you had to stay in his good graces or risk losing everything."

"Oh my God," you say, swallowing hard to keep from throwing up your eggs over.  "He can't do that-- he's my fucking uncle--"

"Great-uncle, a few times removed," Castiel corrects.  "Legally there would be no barrier."

"Legally shit!"

"Agreed, my love," Uncle Balthazar says.  "Zachariah miscalculated when he purchased your new friend's services.  Fresh eyes see clear.”

Zachariah?  Thinking of you as his?  "I'm gonna be sick," you croak and scramble for the ladies room.

---

“It wasn’t your fault Pamela,” Uncle Gabriel’s explaining to a dark-haired woman in an apron.  “My niece just got some really crappy news.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize on your own behalf.  “Everything was really good.”

The woman’s stern expression melts.  “Oh that’s okay sugar.  Do you want me to bring you some ginger ale?  It’ll help settle your stomach.”

“Thank you,” you nod.

“So anyway,” Uncle Gabriel says, “what Balth and Cas told me got me thinking.  Cas doesn’t have any hard proof Zach’s been skimming, he’s just the likeliest suspect.”

You remember what Dean said and just like that you know something.  “It’s Chuck isn’t it?  Chuck’s covering for him.”

“Very good,” Uncle Gabriel says, giving you a chilly smile.  “And if Chuck is dirty, none of us are safe.  He knows where all the bodies are buried.”

“Literally?”

“Best you be able to say for the record that we never answered that question,” Uncle Balthazar tells you, and you hush up.  Balthazar’s role in the Family business has never been completely explained to you.  “Look, the point is, if Zachariah’s been foolish enough to illegally block your access to your mother’s money, and if we can prove it, it could be the smoking gun we need.”

“We get control of the Family business away from Zach, we get Chuck disbarred and possibly thrown in jail, and we avoid a situation with the IRS and the Feds,” Uncle Gabriel winds it all up.  “If the law gets involved we could lose everything.”

“Not everyone in the Family has independent support,” Uncle Balthazar says, “and while I couldn’t give a damn about some of them that list includes you.”

“Okay,” you say, accepting the cool cup of ginger ale from Marybeth.  “What do you need me to do?”

“For right now?  Act normal,” Uncle Gabriel says.  “I know you’re still seeing this Dean guy--”

“Don’t ask me to stop.”

“I wouldn’t kiddo,” Uncle Gabriel says.  “Balth tells me you two hit it off.  Big time.”

“They certainly smelled very cozy with each other,” Uncle Balthazar says.

“The way Mr. Winchester immediately acted to keep her away from Zachariah,” Castiel observes, “it was not the action of a detached professional.  A detached professional would have been more concerned about appeasing his patron than ensuring your comfort.”

“I’m not going to be the one telling you to quit seeing a guy who was ready to throw down for you an hour after meeting you,” Gabriel says.  “But for the love of God be careful.  If Zachariah starts throwing money around--”

“Dean wouldn’t do that,” you defend your Alpha.

“Not saying he would.  I did some digging,” Uncle Gabriel says, “and a quick hundred thousand would solve all sorts of problems for him.  Zach can write that kind of check, easy.  He probably spends more replacing the towels in the hotel after New Year’s.”

“And if someone got the idea Dean was only seeing you to get access to Family money,” Uncle Balthazar says.

“That’s what he said.”  You tell them about the conversation the two of you had earlier.

“Guy’s not a complete dumbass,” Uncle Gabriel notes.

“And he’s completely besotted with her.  Anyone with eyes could see it,” Uncle Balthazar says.

“I agree,” Castiel adds.

“When do you see him again?” Uncle Gabriel asks.

“Later today.”

“If he tells you that his boss, or Zach, or Chuck got in touch with him and asked him to do something with you off-contract,” Uncle Gabriel says, “you need to tell me right away.  An unscrupulous escort can make a lot of extra money in blackmail too.  I’m not saying,” he says, holding up a hand as you open your mouth, “that Dean would.  Just the insinuation might be enough to fuck us up.”

“Zachariah,” never again will you think of him as Uncle, “is acting like he’s my Alpha-in-waiting.  Is blackmail an option for us?”

“That’s not a discussion you need to be privy to.  You neither, Castiel.  Let us old men handle the scheming,” Uncle Balthazar says.

The four of your rise and Uncle Gabriel leaves a pile of tens on the table.  “Thanks Pamela.  Take her easy.”

“Incidentally,” Uncle Balthazar says as he escorts you to your car, “I’ll be staying with your Aunt Anna whilst I’m in town.  You young people might need a little privacy.”

“You’re supposed to tell me Dean’s a prostitute and I can’t trust anything he says or does is real,” you say, feeling very tired suddenly.

“Darling, how often do you think a professional takes time out of their day to just take their clients for a walk?  Or leave absurd little memes on their social media?  Or indulge your ridiculous love for cartoons?”  Uncle Balthazar puts his arm around your shoulders, an affectionate, comforting weight.  You take in his familiar scents of lilies and sandalwood.  “I’m not going to say it’ll be anything lasting, cherie.  First loves almost never are.  But just because a relationship proves temporary, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worthwhile.”

“Better to have loved and lost?”

“Good God, no.  The only person who can decide what’s an acceptable risk when it comes to your heart is you.  Don’t let our cynicism ruin a chance at a little genuine happiness.”

His characteristic smirk reappears.  “And do try not to break any of the furniture.”

---

“You can sight-read Latin?”

Dean shrugs, picking a cheese stick out of the basket.  “Long story.  And wouldn’t you know-- none of the high schools I went to would give me a language credit for it.”

You look up from the pictures you took in lab, of linen and parchment scrids covered with heavy block printing.  “How may times did you change schools?”

“Lost count,” Dean says.  “When I finally gave up I was like two years behind.”

“Why?” you ask.  “You’re a smart guy.”

“That’s an even longer story, babygirl.”

You put your phone down.  “I have time.  These damn parchments have waited three hundred years.  They can wait another couple minutes.”

Dean stares at you, taking a sip of his drink.  The two of you are holding down a table in your favorite greasy spoon just off downtown, Harvelle’s Filling Station.  It’s open 24 hours and the management doesn’t care if you take a few hours to get some homework done in the relative peace and quiet.  The urge to apologize for prying comes but this time you resist.

“Our-- me’n’Sammy, our mom died when I was four and Sam was a baby.  House fire.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” you say.  You reach for Dean but he shifts out of your reach.  It hurts, but you leave your hand there, an invitation for Dean to take or leave.

“Dad never got over it.  Something up here,” Dean taps his temple, “just broke.  He started saying he saw someone in Sammy’s room, that whoever it was was out to get us.  Then our grandma died of a stroke and he started drinking.

“Would you believe until I got my discharge the longest I ever lived anywhere was ten months?  Dad would move us somewhere, get a job -- legal or otherwise -- we’d start to settle in, but then the nightmares would start up again.  He’d disappear a lot, sometimes for weeks.”

“Jesus.  Who was taking care of you?”

“We took care of ourselves, pretty much,” Dean says.  “But it got bad sometimes.  Dad would come home and start screaming at us in Latin, crazy shit about the sixty-six seals and the end of the world.  I forged a work permit when I was thirteen and started working.  Did a lot of other shit I’m not proud of.”  Dean shrugs.  “School just wasn’t as important as making sure Sammy was fed and safe.  I got caught hustling poker when I was seventeen and the DA gave me a choice-- Army or jail.  I picked Army.  At least then Sammy got a steady income.”

“Where were you deployed?”

“Afghanistan.  Three years into my contract, my Uncle Bobby had a heart attack and I got a hardship discharge to come back and take care of him and Sam.  Don’t look at me like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I’m some three legged puppy or something.  Dad’s okay, Sam’s okay, I’m okay.  That’s what matters.”

You can’t help it though.  It’s too damn easy to picture Dean as an underfed kid fighting tooth and claw to keep everybody’s shit together.  Dean comes by his cynicism honestly, you realize, more honestly than you in any case.

“Anyway, it’s not your job to take care of me.”

“I thought we left the job thing about six exits back,” you say.

“Not what I meant,” Dean says.  “I’m an Alpha.  Alphas take care of Omegas.”

“If we’re bringing designations into it,” you say, “it’s just as valid to say,” you point your thumb back at yourself, “I’m the Omega, it’s my job to be caring and nurturing to my Alpha.”

A light comes in Dean’s eyes and he smiles.  “Your Alpha?”

You replay your last sentence.  “Did I say that?”

“Yep.”  Now Dean takes your hand, bringing it up to scent your wrist.  He meets you halfway across the table for a soft kiss.

“Hey hey hey,” the night shift fry cook says.  “Get a room you two.  This is a family place.”

“I gotta go,” Dean says, getting into his coat.  “I got an appointment BFE then I have to go out of town again.”  He pauses.  “You’re on cycle meds, right?”

You nod.  You have to be, in order to get the necessary time away from school to deal with your heats.

“When do your meds change?”

“Sunday.”  Switching from suppressant to contraceptive means a heat within 24 hours.

“Call me the second-- the second, you start getting the shakes.  You hear me?”

“Yes Alpha,” you say.

The frission of nerves must show on your face, because Dean smiles and gives you another kiss.  “Try not to worry babygirl,” he says softly.  “I’ll make it good.  I swear, I’ll make it good.  Take such good care of you.”

“Yes,” you moan, ever so softly.

---

A couple of days later you’re in the lab wading through a dig site inventory reconcile.  Behind the dust mask over your face you wiggle your nose and sniffle like some kind of half-assed rabbit.  Every damn time you mask up you get a runny nose.

It’s a relief when your phone purrs with a bass guitar D chord, the custom sound you picked out for Dean’s number.  A break would be lovely right now.  Going into the other room you unmask and blow your nose.

morning bbygrl

gimme a smile?

You snap a mirror selfie of yourself blowing your nose.

Stupid dust.

Dean replies with a laugh-to-tears face, and you respond with The Finger.

do u know this guy?

A second later your phone flashes a fuzzy pic of a dark-haired square-jawed man wearing a motorcycle jacket.

That’s Mr. Ketch.

PI that works for family law firm, Sturley and Kline.

I think hes tailing me

unless there’s another reason for him 2B in lansing

Maybe?  Uncle Raphael lives in Lansing.

Why are YOU in Lansing?

Dean texts back an embarrassed blushy face.

speeding tix

wasn’t paying attn

nailed doing 88 in 70

You reply with an eye roll.

ur fault

comin home 2U

You took a speeding ticket for me?

(Bambi eyes)

break speed limits

crash barricades

slay dragons

wash dishes

don’t do windows

mans gotta draw the line somewhere

---

Sunday is the one day a week you make it a point to leave completely open.  After Mass at St. Mary’s By The Freeway, you wrap yourself up in your overcoat and stroll across a couple parking lots to the Filling Station for a late breakfast.

“Hey-hey!”  The peace of your divinely mandated day of rest dies bloody as you spy Zachariah leaning against your car.  “There’s my favorite niece!”  He pulls you into a crushing hug and you almost gag when you get a noseful of stagnant water and wet dead leaves.

“Good morning Uncle Zachariah,” you say warmly even though your lips have gone numb.  Now that you know what to look for, Zachariah’s body language screams of overbearing Alpha.  Nothing at all like Dean.  Dean, dammit, where is he?  You need Alpha, like right fucking now please.  “Join me for breakfast?”

“Sure.  I could eat.  Meet me at the hotel?”

You tic your head at the Filling Station.  “I usually eat here after church.  Their omelets are delicious.”  And the owner knows your face.

Zachariah’s smile does that souring thing.  “Sure.  Good to get out of the comfort zone once in a while.”

Because apparently you’re a closet sadist you order Zachariah an Ash Special with extra peppers, just the sort of thing to give him heartburn the rest of the day.  Zachariah sits on the booth bench like it’s covered in something nasty and his nose wrinkles at the stench of cigarette smoke.

“So!” he says, as you attack your omelet and gulp coffee, “big day tomorrow.”

You pause.  How did he know your heat’s coming-- your omelet turns to ashes in your mouth.  The university requires Alphas and Omegas to give estimates of the days you have to be absent because of ruts and heats.  That’s why Zachariah insists on vetting your schedule even though he’s utterly indifferent as to your field of interest.  He’s been following your cycle for the past two years, at least.

Swallowing the bite in your mouth, you smile at him, coquettish little Omega.  “Yeah.  I’m a little nervous, but Dean was so nice at the party.”

“Oh boy,” Zachariah sighs.  “Sweetheart, there isn’t an easy way to tell you this so I’m just going to tell you.  Out of his ever-present briefcase Zachariah pulls a folder stamped with the Sturley and Kline logo.  Your blood runs cold when you see the name printed on the tab-- WINCHESTER, D.M.

“The escort service Dean works for wasn’t totally honest about his background,” Zachariah says as you flip open the folder.  “Because Dean’s bonded we assumed he had no criminal record.  He doesn’t because it was all sealed as part of a plea bargain-- the prosecution agreed to seal his juvenile record and drop an assault charge on the condition he enlist in the Army.”

This is shocking but not for the reasons Zachariah thinks.  Your flip past photocopies of newspaper columns you’ve already read.  Based on the biographical information provided by the escort service and the things Dean had told you . .   my God, in this exact spot, you’d gone and done a little research.  In the process you’d gathered enough background about the Winchesters of Lawrence, Kansas to confirm Dean’s story-- the fire, his mother’s death, his father’s eroding sanity, everything.  You know the “assault” charge was Dean breaking some high school senior’s jaw when he caught the bastard beating up his little brother.  You also knew his father lived in Kansas instead of Michigan because he was forbidden to leave the state as a condition of his suspended federal prison sentence.  John Winchester’s luck with evading the law had finally run out when he was caught with a cache of narcotics and a bunch of bomb fixings and assault weapons.  Homeland Security had even gone so far as to put John on a terrorist watch list, never mind he’d been living quietly in an assisted living community in Topeka since his sentencing.

“Wha-- what are you saying?  You think Dean might hurt me?” you ask in a tiny voice.

“I think where there’s smoke there’s fire.  He spent years living on mail fraud and credit card scams while his crazy father ran around screaming about the end of the world.  I know, you’re a tough kid but you’re still so young.  I don’t want to take the chance of him claiming you and acting like he can help himself to your money.”

“No, no he wouldn’t do that,” you say, mind racing to write the script a few lines ahead.  “Besides, except for pocket money I don’t have anything to my name except my car.”

“I know that but he might not,” Zachariah says, leaning forward into intimate space.  “Don’t worry baby.  When Chuck called the escort service they terminated the contract and offered us another Alpha.”

“No!” you snap, panicking.  “Uncle Zachariah, I can’t go to bed with a total stranger.  I can’t, I can’t, please don’t make me--"

“Hey hey hey, shh, that’s enough,” Zachariah soothes, pulling your head forward and kissing your forehead.  “If it makes you feel more comfortable we’ll wait until your next heat.”

You nod, sniffling back genuine tears.  “Thank you.”

Zachariah settles back into his seat.  He takes your hands at the wrists, encircling them like handcuffs.  “I know it hurts,” he says, “going through your heats alone.  Hopefully this one will be the last one.  The escort agency offered to keep this Alpha available for you if you want.”

Just what you always wanted, your very own professional mistress.  “And Dean?”

“You’ll never have to see him again.  Chuck has Mr. Ketch tailing him.  Last report says he’s driving towards St. Louis in that ridiculous land yacht of his.”

You nod, gulping.  “Thank you, Uncle Zachariah.”

“Just looking out for my favorite niece,” he says, with that who-loves-ya-babe smirk.  He gets up, leaving his food barely touched.  “Go home, get some rest.  Do you want some company?  I could call Rebecca to come stay with you--"

“No thank you Uncle Zachariah.”  You paste a weak smile on your face.  “I have a paper I need to finish.  I wouldn’t be very good company.”

Zachariah doesn’t have a reply to that, and after an uncomfortably close embrace he leaves.

Once he’s safely out of sight you plonk your head on the table and concentrate on keeping your food down.  You manage, but it’s close.

“You okay sugar?”  Ellen, the Filling Station’s owner and manager asks, coming over with a fresh pour of coffee.  “Something wrong with Ash’s cooking?  I’ll fire him right now if you want.”

“Not the food.  The food’s fine,” you say.

“Who was that guy?” Ellen asks as she tops you off.

“My uncle,” you say.  “And after the conversation I just had I may never eat again.”

---

You didn’t tell me you got fired.

The dots dance.

?!

they didnt fire me I quit

“What?” you ask it as you type it.

More dot polka.  This time it goes on for a full five minutes.  Finally, a text pops up.

do u hav time 4 vid chat?

You look around from your driver’s seat.  The parking lot is empty and deserted.  A wind sweeps at stray oak leaves with a sound like castanets clacking.  Autumn in Michigan can get pretty damn dreary, you think.  Right now you don’t mind, it matches your mood.

You call and a moment later Dean’s face fills the screen.  He looks tired, but his smile is still like the sun coming up. “Hey babygirl.”

“Hi Dean.”

“What’s wrong?  You look like a guest at your own autopsy.”

“Zachariah ambushed me on the way out of church this morning.  He told me the escort agency terminated your contract because you lied about having a criminal record.”

Dean’s smile dies.  “Babygirl I can explain.”

“Dean.”  You hold up your hand.  “Please don’t be mad at me.”  You explain about what you’d found on the Internet.

“You couldn’t have just asked me?” he says, and you can tell he’s fighting not to lose his temper.

“I did ask you,” you point out.  “When I found your Dad’s arrest record, I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”  You take a breath.  “Dean, I don’t care.  If you were the kind of Alpha Zachariah wants me to think you are, you wouldn’t care enough to be kind to me.

“I’m seducing you, you idiot.  I do it for a living!”

“Oh yeah, a cup of coffee and a fingerbang and we might as well be bonded.  Take me, I’m yours,” you drawl sarcastically.  “Besides, Zachariah probably made it a point to tell you every single last thing about me, up to and including the time I got caught shoplifting candy bars from the party store near my parents’ cottage in Indian River.”

“Three Musketeers?”

“I was a nougat fiend at the time.”  You replay your last sentence.  “I was kidding but he seriously told you about that?”

“Said your mom had you on a diet that summer.”

Thank God, it looks like you’ve pulled the fangs from Dean’s anger.  “What do you mean, you quit?”

Dean sighs.  “It’s why I’ve been having to go out of town so much lately.  The place Dad lives in isn’t cheap, but they can make sure he stays sober and keeps up with his meds.  If I can come up with enough money to buy into his building, Medicare and Social Security will cover the monthly facility fees.”  Dean pauses.  “I’ve been fighting not to, but Sam finally talked me into selling our grandma’s old house in Lebanon.  Between the sale and what I got saved, I have enough.  Just barely.”

“Why hang onto the house for so long?” you ask.

“I always planned on moving back to Kansas after Sam finished school,” Dean says.  “Sam kept telling me I could do that anyway and we needed the cash more than the memories.”

You nod.  Given what you know of Dean, it was the memories that mattered, not the asset.

“Babygirl,” Dean goes on, “I didn’t say anything because it didn’t matter.  I don’t want to be with you because of a job, and . . .” he trails off a moment, thinking.  “I went in to see Becky and told her I wanted to stop doing full service.  She said that wasn’t acceptable, shit got spoken, and I walked.”

"Zachariah said the agency had another Alpha lined up and ready to go," you say.  "I told him I wanted to wait until my next cycle."

Dean doesn't say anything.  His eyes have gone glacial, and you're suddenly glad he's not in the car with you.

"I bought us some time.  Didn't I?" you ask, hating a little how small your voice sounds.

"I'm not angry at you, babygirl," Dean says, reading your face perfectly.  "I want you to get what you need to hole up for a few days and go home.  Do you still have the folder the agency gave you with the contract in it?"

"Yeah, it's on my desk."

"Look for the sheet with the red border.  It's the form saying you officially refuse the agency's services.  The instructions will tell you to take a picture of the form with your phone after you sign it and send it straight to Becky.  When someone from the agency calls for the follow-up report, tell them you got cold feet when you found out about my record.  After that, Zachariah stops being a concerned uncle and starts being a fucking pervert.”

"What about you?  Zachariah told me he has Mr. Ketch following you to make sure you stay away from me."

"Don't worry about me honey, I've dealt with guys who’re a lot scarier than him.  Give me fifteen minutes and a good rush hour.  I’ll lose him on the Indiana turnpike."

You nod.  "Dean?  I'm scared," you admit.  "I never really noticed it before, but Zachariah's always freaked me out a little."

"That's your Omega instincts, babygirl.  They knew he was bad before you did."

"But what if he decides to make a move?  I mean, directly?  I already changed meds this morning, I can’t risk skipping a cycle.  Last time I tried I had to go to the hospital.”

"Seizures?"

"Yeah."

"Don't do that.  Get home, lock the doors.  I’ll be there when I can.  Just hang in there.  You hear me?”

“But what if he pays somebody to--”

“Another Alpha touches you,” Dean says, his tone so cold you shrink in your seat, “over my dead body.”

---

The next hours feel a little anticlimactic by comparison.  You bury yourself in Statistics homework, seeking refuge in the total focus and concentration required.  When the elevator buzzer goes off you about drop dead of a heart attack.  "Miss?" Harold the parking lot concierge calls over the speaker in the foyer.  "There's a lady here to see you.  Says she’s from the agency."

The representative from the agency Dean mentioned.  "Yeah.  Buzz her through."

A minute later the elevator opens and an attractive redheaded woman in a black overcoat and power boots strides in like she owns the world.  Dark green eyes light on you and she smiles.  "Good evening.  I'm Abbadon."

"Hi," you say, your throat suddenly dry.  A scent of cinnamon candy and grilling meat is crawling up your nose, sharp and savory.  "You're here from the agency, right?"

"Yes darling.  Here at your service," she says, in the least servile tone you've ever heard.  She tsks, looking at you.  "Such a shame, to hide such a beauty," she says.

She's an Alpha.  Your brain blanks.  Trans-designations -- female Alphas and male Omegas -- are rarer than red diamonds.  You've only met one in your whole life, an Omega in high school everybody called Mick.  Abbadon pulls a deep breath in through her nose.  "You smell like roses, right after a rainstorm," she says, closing her eyes and sighing in pleasure.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," you say.  "I signed the cancellation sheet and sent it to Ms. Rosen a few hours ago.  Your services aren't required."

"From that pretty blush," Abbadon says, coming closer and fixing your eyes with hers like a hypnotizing snake, "my services are very much required.  Your heat is coming, isn't it sweet?"  She closes her eyes and takes another draught of the air.  "So sweet."

She strokes your jawline with a finger, turning her wrist up.  On reflex, you scent her skin.  Abbadon's candy and cooking meat scent is pleasant, but that's all.  The memory of Dean’s perfect smoky sweetness makes you want to turn your nose up like an offended cat

"Oh dear," Abbadon says.  "It's Winchester isn't it?  You've imprinted on him and it makes you think you'll never quicken for another Alpha again."  She shakes her head, her expression warm and sympathetic, except for her eyes.  Her eyes are cold as lumps of green glass.  "That's normal, but it isn't real.  We provide company,” and she takes your hand, stroking the soft skin across the back, “and pleasure.  Not mates.”

“Unless you’re here to take down my reasons for refusing your service,” you practically squeeze the words out in a stilted run-on of sounds, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“There’s no need to be frightened, Omega,” Abbadon says, still low and smoky.  She comes in closer, and you’re horrified to find yourself softening in the core.

“I’m straight,” you croak, “I don’t like girls.”

“When you’re wrapped around my knot, that won’t matter.  Designation always wins, Omega.” One hand, then the other, slides up each side of your neck.  You grab her wrists but she’s strong, you can’t pull her hands away.  Her palms press down against the pheromone glands in your neck and you gasp.  The glands are swelling with blood, filling the air with your enticing Omega scent.  The pressure sends a trickle of heat down through your body and your legs start to tremble.  “Designation always wins,” Abbadon repeats, coming closer and closer.

The elevator door buzzes and slides open.  You and Abbadon both jerk like you’ve been shot, and just like that whatever spell she’d been weaving breaks up and floats away.

Castiel comes in calling your name, and just behind him comes a tall, beefy man you don’t know.  “What’s going on?” he asks, looking at you with his striking blue eyes.

“It’s all right, I’m from the escort service, Rosen Entertainment?”  She smiles at Castiel.  “We were just introducing ourselves.”

“I thought she was here to do an exit interview,” you say, willing some strength back into your legs.  “I don’t want any servicing.”

Castiel, bless his bumblebee tie tack, deliberately shuffles a little to one side, putting himself fully between you and the woman Alpha.  “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.  Consent has been withdrawn.”

Abbadon’s red lips part in a predatory grin.  “The Omega’s body is consenting.  It’s calling for an Alpha.”  She scents, and sighs.  “So sweet.  You smell it too, don’t you?”

Castiel’s shoulders go stiff.  “You’re in rut.”

She what?  You sniff the air, trying to sort out competing scents.  As you do, your knees do that wobbling thing and you sit on the coffee table.

“Of course.  The smell of an Alpha in rut relaxes timid Omegas.  They can’t help it.  You know that--"

“I do believe,” the beefy man says, his voice soft and round and Southern, “that you’ve been asked to leave.  However good this little girl smells she obviously don’t want what you’re sellin.”

He must be a Beta, you realize.  Otherwise he’d be reacting to the miasma of scent in the air.  He looks over at you and smiles.  “Hi there.  M’name’s Benjamin LaFitte.  Call me Benny.  I’m a friend of Dean’s.  He said to tell you he’s still got ‘em in his pocket.  Said you’d know what that meant.”

Groaning, you hide your red face in your hands.

“Figured it was sumpthin dirty.”  Cajun?  You think you can hear the French lurking under his sentences.

Abbadon’s not smiling any more.  “Sweetheart, this is ridiculous.  You need a knot.  You don't have be shy about your body and what it wants.”

“I said no,” you say.  You see the portfolio with the agency’s original contract and snatch it, flipping it open and showing the red-bordered page with your signature and date at the bottom.  “See?  Service refused.  I do not want this.”

“That only applies to Winchester’s service contract,” Abbadon says as though explaining something dead simple to a stubborn child.  “A new arrangement’s been made.”

“Nevertheless,” Castiel says.

All the softness disappears from Abbadon’s body language.  “That Omega is mine,” she snarls.  “Get out of the way.”

Benny comes up beside Abbadon.  “I do believe the lady's said no.”

Snarling, Abbadon throws herself in your direction.  Castiel takes the hit, immovable as granite.  Benny grabs her by the arms and bodily drags her to the couch across the room.  “Stop it with those heels,” he grumbles as Abbadon’s spiked heel rips his pant leg.  He puts her down and keeps her there as she tries another lunge.  “Uht-uh lady, we’re all gonna sit quiet and behave ourselves.  Understand me?”

“Are you all right?” Castiel asks you.

“Yeah.”  You look up at him as your brain starts trying to make the last ten minutes make sense.  “What are you doing here?  Either of you?”

“I have a monitoring program on the accounting software that tracks the Family’s cash accounts.  About an hour ago three large sums were wired out.  The destination accounts were Rosen Entertainments, Rebecca Rosen’s personal deposit account, and another deposit account under the name Abbadon Diablo.  I found the incident alarming enough to contact Balthazar, and he asked that I come to make sure you were all right.”

“I got a call from Dean this morning askin me to catch a plane to Detroit,” Benny takes his turn.  “Said he was havin trouble shaking a tail.”

“Why didn’t he just fly in himself?” Castiel asks.

“The Chief’s scared of planes.  Our last tour, the corpsman had to give him a shot to keep him from throwin a hissyfit all the way to Kabul.”  Benny shakes his head.  “Not afraid of heights but terrified of flying.  Who can figure?”

“You guys were in the service together?” you ask.

“Sure were cher.  First time I met him was when he dug me out from under a truck.”  He slaps one leg.  “Put a tourniquet on it.  Wasn’t for him, I’d’ve bled out or be walkin with a peg leg right now.”

You ask the small talk questions.  Benny answers-- he’s from Metarie, Louisiana, served five years before getting discharged for failing a drug screen, works as a bouncer in a bar in Baton Rouge owned by his wife Andrea.

“And you just hopped on a plane?” you ask.

“Sure did.”

“To come babysit a stranger a thousand miles away.”

“Course,” he shrugs, like it’s something people just do.

“Why?  You don’t know me, you don’t know what kind of a shitstorm you’re walking into here.”

Benny looks at you.  His eyes are blue too, paler than Castiel’s, clear and striking.  “I owe Dean one.  A big one.”

Something else occurs to you.  “How did you guys even get in?  Harold should’ve stopped you at the elevator.”

“Balthazar gave me a spare access card just before he left for Buenos Ares,” Castiel explains.

“I ran into bumblebee here trying to talk the doorman into buzzin him up,” Benny says.  “He’ll be all right but he’s gon’ have a sore jaw when he wakes up.”

---

The waves of fury Abbadon’s putting out strangles any further conversation.  You keep your seat on the coffee table, curling up more and more as the heat really starts sinking in.  Abbadon watches you like you’re the most fascinating thing ever, and every minute goes by her smile gets a little wider.  Her rutting scent is calling to you, and to your shame your body is calling back.

“You poor thing,” she says when you hiss through a cramp.

“Quiet,” Benny rumbles.  “Like an itty-bitty church mouse.”

Even Castiel can feel it.  Red slowly creeps up from under his collar and he starts to shift a little in his seat.  You hope that he and Hannah are still an item.  He needs someone to be nice to him, you think.  It’s not his fault he’s better with bees and butterflies than people.

Finally, finally, the elevator buzzer goes off and you bolt across the room.  Dean opens his arms just in time to catch you and pull you into a tight hug.  You take a deep breath from his neck.  Alpha’s scent, strong and sweet, blowing Abbadon out of your head like a wind blowing away smoke.  Every cell in your body trembles.  Slick starts to seep between your legs.

“Babygirl,” he breathes between soft kisses.  “What happened?  Are you okay?”

“I am now,” you say.

“Hola, Chief,” Benny says, shaking Dean’s hand and smiling.  “Commet ce vas?”

“Thanks a bunch Benny, I just spent ten minutes talking Harold out of calling the cops.”

“Is he okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, nothing hurt but his pride.  What happened?”  Dean takes a sniff at the air and freezes.  His eyes go dark and his upper lip lifts in a snarl.

“Well, if it isn’t the white trash Adonis,” Abbadon sneers.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asks.  Gently, he pushes you behind him.

“Cleaning up your fuck-up, Winchester,” she says.  "And earning myself a big fat bonus in the process."

"Good evening," Castiel greets Dean, introducing himself and telling him what he'd told you about the money.  "I believe Zachariah specifically requested a female Alpha because he reasoned she would not admit a man."

"Correctly," you mumble.  "God I'm an idiot."

"Not your fault," Dean says, pulling you close to kiss your forehead.

As he pulls back you notice his cheekbone is swollen and there's a scrape going up into his hairline.  You touch it gently.  "What happened?  Why didn't you call me?  Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"Ketch," Dean says.  "Did you know he used to work for the SAS?  He got the drop on me just outside Kankakee.  Bastard broke my phone."

"Jesus Christ-- are you all right?" you ask, patting Dean over anxiously, looking for more injuries.

He smiles.  "It's just bruises, babygirl.  I'm fine."

"What'd you do with him?" Benny asks.

"Left him tied up in a Porta-Potty with the door bolted shut.  The construction crew'll find him tomorrow morning."  You bark out a laugh.  You've met Mr. Ketch once, and that was one time too many.

Dean holds a hand in front of Abbadon.  "Phone," he orders, snapping his fingers.  When she doesn't move, Benny rolls his eyes and digs out her pockets.

"Are you there yet?  The feeds are still dark," a woman's voice answers.

"Hi Becky," Dean says.  "Feel like explaining why you sent fucking Abbadon to service a virgin Omega who'd already red-sheeted us?"

"Dean!  Hi!" Rebecca Rosen, the proprietor and manager of Rosen Entertainments chirps.  "Now you gotta know I can't disclose the terms of a contact to third parties--"

"I'm not a third party!" you snap.  Now that Dean's here and it's really sinking in what almost happened, what might have happened if Castiel and Benny hadn't shown up, you're pissed.  "I put it in fucking writing I didn't want any of your Alphas!"

"Y-you did?" Ms. Rosen stutters.  "Oh my God-- I am so sorry, our e-mail servers are being exchanged, I never got--"

"Red sheets go to your phone.  Which is working," Dean says.  "You wanna try again?  Boss?"  When Rosen doesn't answer, Dean growls, "Answer me, or the next call I make is to Detective Mills in Lansing."

"You wouldn't," Ms. Rosen says.

"Wanna bet?  How much is Adler paying you?"

Castiel reads off some figures.  Some astronomical figures.  Figures far above and beyond anything you could imagine anyone spending on one thing, and for someone used to hanging around your idle rich cousins that’s saying something.  "Le je vous Salue Marie," Benny whispers.

"What did he want you to do to me?" you ask Abbadon, clenching your hands together to hide the shaking.

"Oh, stop acting like a frigid little prude," Abbadon sneers.  "All I was hired to do was help you through your heat.  Knot you like you're supposed to be knotted."

"He said maybe the problem was you liked girls but were too shy to tell him so," Ms. Rosen says.

"He told you to take her to the cottage, didn't he?" Dean says.  A wave of scent pushes out of him and you curl in on yourself.  Alpha is angry, Alpha is in a rage.  The pointed tips of claws sprout from the tiny ridges under his nail beds, and you can see his canid teeth have dropped and twisted into full fangs.  The skin over the pheromone glands in your neck twitch.  That's where Alpha will put his mark and claim you, and the thought makes slick pulse out of you.

"Mr. Winchester," Castiel says, putting a hand on his arm.  His own Alpha scent of honey and wildflowers has thickened, but bears none of that sense of threat.

"Don't get in my way Cas.  There's not a jury in the world that would convict me if I tore this bitch's fucking head off right now."

"That might be true Chief but is that really what the situation calls for right now?" Benny asks.  "The bitch ain't really the core problem here if I'm reading things right."

"No," Castiel agrees.  "Ms. Rosen, by accepting Zachariah's money you've made yourself and your business an accessory before the fact to an attempted rape.  I've examined the," you can hear him put it in quotation marks, "'red sheet' and found it in order.  A forensic examination of your phone will prove it was received and all instructions were followed."

"The red sheet only voided the contract between us and Mr. Adler that named Dean as the service provider--"

"You're not that stupid Becky," Dean cuts her off.  "Zachariah hired you to provide a rutting knothead, and paid extra to take her to a place where he could film it happening."

"What?!?" you cry.

"The cottage is a house Becky owns just outside Rockford.  It's wired for video and sound.  We take clients there that want to star in their very own pornos," Dean explains.

You grope out with one hand.  Benny, bless his silly golfer's cap, grabs the nearest wastepaper basket and holds it under you as you vomit.

"An associate of mine will be contacting you shortly.  I strongly suggest you call your lawyer and go on record that he will have your full cooperation," Castiel says, and if he wasn't acting the dominant Alpha before he is now.  "If you choose not to," his raspy voice deepens and he seems to grow a foot in front of you, "I swear by the Lord God I will break you."

Dean knows a dramatic cue when he hears it and disconnects.

“There.  That should buy us some time,” Castiel says.

“What d’you mean, jellybean?” Benny asks.

“He was bluffing,” you explain, wiping your mouth and grimacing at the aftertaste of bile.  “He’s an accountant, not a lawyer.  He doesn’t have associates.”

“Not exactly,” Castiel admits.  “Balthazar’s flight is scheduled to land at Ford International in twenty minutes.  I’m sure one of his associates can secure Ms. Rosen’s cooperation.”

Dean stares at Castiel for a long moment.  "You're all right, Cas," he says.

“Splendid,” Abbadon says.  She stands and plucks her phone out of Dean’s hand.  “As my contract has been cancelled I believe I’ll--”

“Aht-uh, I don’t think so,” Dean says, shoving her back down on the couch.  “You’re not stupid Abbs, you know Becky’s gonna throw you off the cliff to save her own ass the second the cops start talking deal.  I’d take some time and think seriously about your options.”

“This’s nice place to get some thinkin’ done,” Benny points out.  “Quiet.  There food in the kitchen cher?”  You nod.  Benny takes off his coat, and you gasp when you see a gun tucked into a shoulder holster.  He follows your eyeline and smiles.  “Your man’s prob’ly packin too.  I bet my boots that’s what he was doin in Kansas.”

“One of the things,” Dean says.  He reaches around his back and pulls out a chromed pistol.

“You brought a gun here?” you hiss.

“Let’s hope nobody’s stupid enough to make me use it,” Dean says, putting it back where he got it.

A wave of heat rolls through you, bringing hot blood under your skin and a fine film of fever sweat.  Your pussy trembles, clenches, throbs.  “Alpha,” you whine under your breath.

“Hey.”  Dean pulls you close and cuddles you against his chest.  “Just breathe, babygirl.”

“I think we can handle things here Chief,” Benny says.  “You need to get your girl somewhere safe.”

“Benny is right,” Castiel says.  His face is red but, God bless him, he’s composed otherwise.  “I’m not confident Zachariah will react rationally when he learns his scheme failed.”

“Yeah me neither.  Can you walk?” Dean asks you.  “I need you to go pack.  Just the essentials-- your toothbrush and enough clothes for a few days.  Make it quick.”

You nod and head for your room.  Picking out some jeans and T-shirts takes maybe five minutes.  Talking yourself out of taking every piece of frilly underwear you own is harder.  Packing up the work you need to get done before you go back to class-- the thought is almost surreal after everything that’s happened, what’s still happening.  Is normal even a thing any more?

You emerge from your room with a backpack, a stuffed duffel bag, and a hardshell suitcase on wheels.

“That’ll work,” Dean’s saying to Benny.  “Andrea’s threatening to carve my knot off again isn’t she?”

“Just cuz she loves you don’t mean she don’t want to kick your ass Dean,” Benny says.

“Tell her I love her too.”  Dean looks you over and takes your duffel from you.  He smiles into your frightened face.  “It’s okay, babygirl.  I’m just taking you somewhere safe.  I know a place.”

“Where?” Castiel asks.

Dean gives him a look.  “You don’t need to know.”

Castiel’s stance softens.  “You’re right.  Of course.”

“Your job,” Dean says, “is to do whatever you gotta do to nail her uncle.  My job is to keep my Omega safe.”

“What’s my job?” you ask.

Abbadon laughs.  “Get on your belly and take a big fat knot, Omega,” she says.  “Your body’s crying for it, I can tell.  You were born to be on your knees, sweet.”

“Shut your mouth,” Dean growls.

“Or what?” Abbadon taunts.  “She smells so delicious.  You can’t wait to get her alone and fuck her.  You never could own up to just being a shitty mutt sticking his knot--"

“That’s enough,” Benny cuts her off.  “Can I borrow your tie, Mr. Castiel?”

Castiel pulls off his tie and holds Abbadon by the arms as Benny gags her with it.

“Benny, I--” Dean starts.

“Go on now.  We can handle things here,” Benny says.  He smiles at you.  “Sure was a pleasure to meet you, miss.  Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing now.  Me’n the bumblebee got it covered.”

---

You sit in the shotgun seat of Dean’s Chevy, trembling as your fever intensifies.  You have no real idea where you are.  Absent a stop at a Thrifty Acres to get some groceries, Dean’s been driving on side roads and two-lane blacktop with flat-footed confidence, constantly checking his mirrors and sometimes telling you to duck down out of sight.  You’re trying to keep yourself still, not break his concentration.  It’s hard.  Slick is oozing from you in a steady trickle, so much you can feel it’s soaked through your jeans.  Dean’s reacting to it, you can tell.  He’s all but squirming in his seat.  His scent’s turning darker, more intense.  You keep thinking of how it felt, when Dean made you come just by touching you through your panties, when you were a good girl for him.  You can feel your heartbeat between your legs, making everything swollen and sensitive and ready for Alpha, for Dean--

Finally, after a long crawl down a rutted track through some second-growth tangles of tamarack plants and tree saplings, you spy the dark outline of a house.  Dean pulls the car next to it and kills the engine.  “Here we are,” he says into the silence.

“Where?” you ask.

“Friend of my Uncle Bobby owned this place,” he says.  “It’s got propane and a generator for the lights and a well and septic for water.  We can hole up here until everything blows over.”  He reaches past you and punches open the glove compartment.  “I’m gonna go in first and make sure it’s empty.  You know how to use a gun?”  At your headshake, he pulls out a revolver.  “Pull the hammer back,” he demonstrates, “and squeeze.  I’ll be right back.”

After five minutes that feel like fifty fucking years, you hear a clack and a chug as a machine starts up.  A dim yellow light flicks on inside the cabin.  Dean comes back out, tucking his gun into the small of his back.  “We’re clear,” he confirms and you sigh in relief, putting down the revolver.  “Help me with the bags.”

Inside, the cabin is a one-room shack with a tiny part sectioned off in what you assume is the bathroom.  The walls are knotty pine paneling and you can smell decades of old cigarette smoke.  A woodstove slouches in one corner and there’s a galley kitchen against one wall.  The cabin’s only furnishings are a bed, a saggy couch, and a little café table with a couple of chairs.  Dean plugs something in and the refrigerator starts to hum.  “Put the groceries away.  I’ll get the rest of our things.”

A cramp seizes you as you finish putting the food away and you grind your teeth, bracing yourself on the counter.  By now, at home, you’d be in bed full of muscle relaxants and painkillers, riding your heat out like a little boat in a choppy sea.  “Keep it together bitch,” you mutter to yourself, straightening.  Doing your absolute best to ignore the disgusting sensation of slick-saturated fabric between your legs.

Dean comes in and slings his duffel bag onto the couch.  "The only other people who know about this place," he says, brushing by you without looking at you, turning on the kitchen faucet and nodding at the clear stream of water that results, "are my brother and Bobby.  We should be safe here for at least a few days."

"That's good," you say.  What's happening here?  Why isn't he touching you?  Your body is sobbing for him, you can feel it.  Another cramp twists your insides and you suck in a breath.  Oh, that's bad-- the room is filling with scent, yours and Dean's, mixing together into something that's squeezing your chest in a steel fist.

Dean turns around and braces himself against the kitchen counter.  His eyes dart to the corner, where the bed waits, neatly made with a gray blanket.  Your eyes dart below his belt and yes, even through his jeans you can see he's hard.  He sighs, "God, babygirl, I am so sorry."

"What?" you ask, totally dumbfounded.

"This wasn't what I had planned at all," he says.  "You deserve so much better than a dirty bachelor shack in the middle of nowhere for your first time--"

"Jesus Christ Dean, you think I give a shit about a little dust and mouse turds?" you cut him off.  "Just how fucking shallow do you think I am?"  You curl your arms around yourself, shaking. 

"I don't," Dean says.  "I don't think that at all.  God, you're gorgeous and you're smart and you smell so fucking sweet."  He gulps.  "I've never-- you won't believe me, but nobody's ever gotten under my skin like this before.  What the fuck are you even doing with a bum like me?"

"I thought," you gulp, "I thought you wanted to take care of me."

Dean's eyes darken and a fine tremor makes his body quiver.  Slowly, he pushes himself upright.  One step, two steps, and he's looming over you.  He reaches out and slides his hand up your jawline, turning your head up and your eyes to his.  This is happening, this is really happening, and you feel the knowledge like a punch straight between your legs.  A tiny sound peeps out of you.

That must've been Dean's cue.  His mouth slants over yours.  The relief that sweeps over you makes you melt against him, clinging to keep your balance.  Dean's hands are everywhere, strong and confident, pressing you against him.  You moan when you feel him, hard and seeking through both your jeans.

"Gonna take care of you," Dean growls against your mouth.  He touches your leg, feels the heavy cotton damp with your slick.  "Your pussy's hungry for me, isn't it babygirl?  I've been smelling it all fucking night.  Got me hard soon as I got out of that elevator."

"Really?" you pant.

Dean nods.  His hand curves around your shoulder and slides down.  Your entire body shakes as his hand fits itself to your breast, learning the weight and the curve.  His thumb finds your nipple and swishes back and forth over it, making it painfully hard inside your bra.  Your head drops back and he kisses down your neck.  More slick runs out of your pussy, hot and thick and slippery.

"Can I take this off?" Dean asks, pulling your shirt out from where it's tucked into your jeans.  He kisses across your collarbones as you moan out a yes, raising your arms as he pulls if off over your head.  Bare hands on your waist, feeling him skin-to-skin, your mind reels.

You're at the bed, Dean half-dragging you because your legs have quit working.  The two of you topple over in a great squeak of stiff bedsprings and a puff of dust.  You giggle at Dean's cuss, taking the opportunity to put some kisses of your own under his jaw, down his neck.  His heart's hammering fast as yours, and the texture of his skin against your lips is a mystery you could spend the rest of your life exploring.

Groaning as you press down against him-- against his cock, you correct yourself, his Alpha cock, Dean sits up and shrugs out of his jacket and plaid button-down, shoving them to land on the floor somewhere.  "Take my clothes off," he tells you as he pulls you to straddle his lap.  You pull his T-shirt up and off.  You undo his belt and the top button of his jeans.  Dean lets out a sigh of relief as his trapped erection springs free, stretching out his underwear.  Your bra clasp pops open with a twist of his fingers and you sling it off as your tits swing free.  "Beautiful," he moans, tipping you back and covering your chest with kisses.

"Dean," you whine as he pulls a nipple into his mouth and sucks.  The sensation goes straight to your pussy, which for God's sake is starting to burn.

"Told you," he says, his mouth full of your nipple and his fingers gently pulling the other one, "I needed time to take care of you.  Nice," he says, suckling you long and strong and making you cry out, "and slow.  Make you howl for me, babygirl.  Unzip your pants for me."

You do as you're told like a good girl, and Dean rewards you by shoving his hand down your panties.  He groans when he finds a puddle of slick.  Your cunt clenches, more slick runs over his fingers.  It was good when it was just pressure through your panties; skin to flesh, a rough palm rubbing over your clit and fingers gently threading through your soft inner lips, and you're almost weeping with need.

"Feel that?" Dean asks.  "Your pussy's trying to lock around my hand, babygirl.  You're so slick, I'm gonna just slide right in, right all the way in.  Get in you so fucking deep, you'll feel me for days."

"Please Alpha," you beg, arching to rub yourself over his hand.

"Uht-uh," he grunts.  The fingers that've been stroking you right where you open slip through and slide inside, finding tight and soft.  They move, wiggling deeper, touching secret places you've never even touched yourself.  "Gonna feel so good to make you come on my cock," he says, "feel your pussy lock my knot up nice and tight."  His other hand takes yours and puts it over his tented underwear.  Your palm curves around him and Dean moans.  "That's it, babygirl.  Feel how fucking hard I am?"

"Yes Alpha."  Your hand reaches further into his open jeans and you cup his knot in your hand, feel it pulsing and swelling a little with each throb.

Gently, you squeeze and Dean groans your name.  "Just like that babygirl.  Not too hard-- wait, stop a second."

"No, please, I need you, I need your knot--"

Dean pulls your hand out of his pants and his hand out from between your legs.  His fingers are running with your slick.  Like he's got a palmful of syrup, Dean licks his hand clean.  He presses a finger to your lips and you take a timid lick.  It's . . .  weird, salty and weird.  Not bad, but weird.

"So good.  Later," Dean says, kissing more of your taste into your mouth, "I'm gonna put you up on that table, and spread you out, and eat you out until you scream.  I promise.  Lay back."

You arch to lay back down Dean's legs.  A laugh coughs out of you as he fusses with your jeans, helping you straighten and raise your legs high so he can pull them off.  Your panties go with them, leaving you bare to Alpha's eyes.  Under his burning gaze, you suddenly want to curl up and hide.  You're barely rounded anywhere, skinny rather than slender, your bush spraying everywhere because it's never occurred to you that it might need trimming, much less shaving.  Not like the lushly curved, voluptuous, beautiful Omegas he's probably popped his knot into on a regular basis.

"Hey hey hey," Dean says as you cover your tits with one arm and your pussy with the other hand.  "Don't do that."

"I just--" you snap your hand back over yourself as Dean tries to pull it away from your bush, "look at me."

"I am," Dean says.  "Be a good girl for me.  Let me see you.  Come on.  Babygirl," he says, settling a hand low on your belly, rubbing down and making you shudder as you feel it deep inside your core, right at the source of all the burning, "you will never have to worry about disappointing me.  Not ever.  You hear me?"  He leans over you, filling your vision with his face, with his eyes.

You seize his face and pull him down for a kiss.    How easy it is, to wrap your legs around him.  Dean unconsciously grinds against you.  Frustrated little grunts pop from him as his clothes keep him from sinking into you.  The glands in your neck start to ache, as your body puts out more and more scent.  Alpha is here, right here, he’s rutting, he’s in rut, you need him, now, oh God now, before your body catches fire and burns away.

Grunting, growling, Dean pins your torso flat to the creaky mattress.  “Let me go Omega, just for a second.  Gotta get my pants off.  Hold still, just for a second.”

You let your legs relax.  Dean pushes himself up off you and reaches down under his waistband to free his trapped cock.  Your first thought, as you get your first look at a cock, an Alpha cock, standing up from Dean’s groin like an iron bar and equipped with a pulsing mass of knot at the base, is disbelief.  Dean’s fingers are long and thick and felt huge inside you.  His cock is . . . to your inexperienced eyes it looks like a fucking baseball bat.

Dean busts out with a laugh and you flush, mortified.  “I said that out loud didn’t I?”

“Just call me Miggy Cabrerra,” Dean teases, shoving his jeans down and peeling them off.  You shift to roll over and Present properly.  Dean stops you with a hand on your hip.  “No babygirl.  I need to watch your face.”  You curl yourself upwards a bit to see what he’s doing-- putting his hand under your pussy and cupping his palm.  The answer comes when he takes the slick that’s gathered and spreads it down his cock.  The sight makes your cunt throb so hard it hurts.  You drag a hand through your pussy and Dean jumps as you smear your slick down his shaft.  His cock is a length of warm stone in your hand, the skin soft and fine, the softest skin you’ve ever touched.  Dean shudders as you gather more slick and use both hands on him.  “Good girl,” he says through a strangled throat, “getting me so fucking hard for you.  Lay back.”  He puts his hands on your thighs and pushes them as far apart as they’ll go.  “God, perfect, spread yourself out nice and wide for me.  Sit up a little.”  A pillow slides under your back.  “Now what did I say about reading minds, babygirl?”

It takes you a second.  “That you can’t.”

“Yahtzee.  If I do something that hurts or that you don’t like, you have to tell me.  I promise, I will not be mad no matter how far gone we are.  Tell me to stop and I will.  Understand me?”

“Yes Alpha,” you say.

“Good girl.  Being such a good girl for me,” Dean says, the words making you shudder.  He smiles and tips your face up to look him on the eye.  “You like being my good girl don’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod.

“Hold still.  Keep being good for me, hold still.”  You gasp as his fat, wet cockhead slides across your pounding clit.  It slips down, a blunt mass seeking where your body unfolds.  Dean says your name and points to his eyes.  “Watch me.  Right here.”

You fight to keep your head up and your eyes open, as Dean’s cock lodges between the innermost of your pussy lips.  Between, and through.  You pull a breath in through lungs that won’t inflate.  He’s . . . big, thick, massive, heavy-- your brain runs out of adjectives.  Your Omega instincts howl in completion.

Dean moans as you clamp down on him.  “Oh my God.  So fucking tight.”  He holds himself still, puts a hand on your belly to hold you still.  “You gotta relax, babygirl, relax, let me in, can you do that for me?  Come on, you can do it.  Let me make you feel good--” and your pussy unclenches and Dean slides straight in, all the way to the knot.

Oh.

So this is what all the fuss is about, is your first thought.  Alpha’s cock filling you to the limit and his knot pressing against where your pussy will lock him in place.  It . . . you ache, down there, where the nerves are going crazy processing new sensory input.  Dean’s weight lays down against your belly.  For a moment you can’t breathe and you squirm under him in a panic.  Then he shifts and puts his forearms on either side of you, bracing himself and taking his weight off you.  Never breaking eye contact, Dean’s hips roll.  Sliding, friction, deep inside where you’re most tender--

Dean sighs, “Squeezing me so tight, Omega.  Tightest little pussy.  How does it feel, feeling me deep like this?”

“Full,” is the only word that comes to mind.  “Feel so full.”

Dean smiles, brilliant but bracketed with tension.  You breathe in his scent and it’s heavy and dark.  You slide your knees up and your legs fall open wider.  Dean shifts back, slipping away and he thrusts, filling you back up full and no, this is what all the fuss is about, this, this.

--mate knot breed mate knot breed mate mate MATE--

Groaning, Dean keeps moving inside you.  Hot and alive.  You’ve used knotting toys before, all Omegas do.  Dean feels nothing like that.  “C-c-can I go a little faster?  Babygirl you feel so fucking good on my cock.”

You nod, gulping.  Your eyes drift closed, going inside yourself, concentrating on the ache and the bliss deep within.

"Eyes open babygirl."

Your eyes fly open and you moan.  Balancing himself on one arm, Dean brings his free hand to your face.  "Suck on my fingers.  Get 'em nice and wet for me.  Good girl," he says as you lick down each of his first two fingers, take them both in your mouth and suck them.  "You're gonna come on my cock, babygirl," he tells you.  "Squeeze my knot so fucking tight.  Lock me right the fuck up."

You cry out as his wet fingers find your clit, arching underneath him.  Your bodies find a beat and you wind your arms and legs around Dean, kissing his lips, his face, his throat.  You suck a bruise at a warm spot in his throat and Dean cries out your name.  Your fangs drop and you only realize at the last second what you're about to do and duck your head, taking your mouth away from where Dean's mating gland throbs.

Dean's movements are getting shorter, the thrusting harder.  You meet him as best you can, pulling him to you, wanting him to melt into your skin, become part of you.  You cry his name as the pleasure just rises, and rises, and critical mass oh God--

You go rigid as you come, harder than you ever have in your life, your pussy squeezing around Dean and the muscles along the lips spasming.  Dean cries out as his knot pops free of them, once, twice.  His hips stutter and you feel him . . . inside you, painting your insides with his seed.  His knot swells and your pussy clamps down, locking him in place as he comes.  The Omega within you screams in completion.  Dean's cock shifts and his knot pulls as his orgasm wrings him dry, the sensation making you whimper through another mini-orgasm as your body squeezes to keep him in place.

You lose a few minutes.  When you come back to yourself, Dean's laying full on top of you.  His hips stutter and jerk every few seconds, his cock twitching as he leaves little dribbles of seed.  Weakly, he wraps an arm around you and rolls you both over, arranging you to lay draped overtop him.  He strokes down your back, cards his fingers through your hair, brushes away tears that've leaked from your eyes.  You don't remember starting to cry.  His chest heaves under your ear and his heart is beating like it's about to burst.

"Dean--"

"Shh," Dean says, and you shush up.  You kiss what skin you can reach, just to feel his skin against your face.  It's so nice, not like what you'd imagined.  Little aftershocks make your cunt flex around Dean, pulling little helpless noises out of him.  Content, that's what you are, the burning under your skin mellowed to a pleasant heat.  You want more.  Later.  Now is for laying in Alpha's arms.

---

continued in part b

[bigmouthlass]

Oh my.

That’s How It Should Be

One-shot - Sheriff Dean Winchester/Reader have to escape, quick - but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time…

He pulls you into the room, his grip on your hand firm, and your heart feels as though it could leap from your chest.  This is bad.  This is wrong.  If anyone knew, they would think…. But as he closes the door behind you, he pulls you into his arms and kisses you, and you gasp softly as his tongue touches your lips, then slips past them and you melt into his chest, all resistance gone, all inhibitions abandoned.  His hand slips up the back of your head, and he starts removing pins from your hair until the soft waves fall down, cascading over your back.

He takes off his Stetson with one hand as the other spans your lower back, pressing you close to him.  You have never felt like this, even with your husband, God rest his soul.  He never - never - kissed you like this, like you were the only thing in this world that mattered.  He never made you so weak at the knees that he had to hold you tight against him to keep you from falling to the ground.  He never touched you except in your bed, in the dark, and then it was just a physical act that fulfilled his need, over quickly and leaving you numb, glad it was over.  This man, Sheriff Dean Winchester, was awakening feelings you didn’t even know were possible, and they were overwhelming you.

He  raises his head slowly, looking down at you, his eyes narrowing a little as his tongue darts quickly over his full lower lip, and he steps back, shedding his duster and tossing it behind him.  You are trembling as he touches you again, his hands going to the buttons on the back of your dress, and he watches your face intently as he loosens it, then lets it drop to the floor.  His fingers find the ties to your petticoats, and they fall around your feet.  He takes your hand, helping you step out of the billowing skirts, and picks them up, laying them over the back of a chair.

Keep reading

[honestsycrets]

miguel o'hara masterlist

please double-check the tags of the fic you would like to read prior to reading.

full length fics

Amor y Respeto

➳ discontinued || miguel o'hara x reader, platonic!hobie x reader || tw: explicit, jealousy, fbs, mention of wounds. 

❝ the moment you want a sign of love from Miguel is the moment that your relationship is fucked. ❞

Starved | Mío

➳ oneshot || papi!miguel o'hara x mami!reader || tw: explicit, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing.

❝ peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just… adjusting to less time with his wife. ❞

❝ mío: after baby sitting mayday, miguel develops a serious case of baby fever and longs for a family of his own.  ❞

Stung

➳ oneshot || miguel o'hara x reader || tw: explicit, sex pollen, mention of a wound, slight chase, miguel o'hara doesn't like to be ignored, cum eating, creampies, abnormal amount of fluid, nsfw, venom bite, slapping, some insecurity.

❝ after a discus malfunction, you're bitten by an anomaly and refuse medical attention. you're in a state that you refuse to show to miguel-- at all costs. ❞

Dedication

➳ oneshot || young scientist!miguel o'hara x reader, || tw: explicit, virgin reader, f!reader, plot heavy, loss of virginity, jealousy, overprotectiveness, objectification, aftercare, corruption, heel-foot fetish, somewhat romantic.

❝ alchemax is a dangerous place to work. miguel's new assistant may be over her head. maybe he can help her, though. ❞

Enfocate

➳ oneshot (?) || tutor!miguel x reader || tw: explicit, spanish tutor!miguel, jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❝ jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.❞

Before Anyone Else

➳ doubleshot || admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader, || tw: forced marriage, plot-heavy, royal!au, mention of character death, treason and betrayal, some angst-fluff, f!reader, persuasion inspired.

❝ once upon a time, miguel loved a princess. upon learning about her engagement to his father, King Stone, he's back with a plan in hand.❞

Exclusive

➳ oneshot || miguel o'hara x reader x hobie brown || tw: explicit, jealousy, somnophilia, fbs, undisclosed sexual relationship, dubious consent: aggression/revenge, f!reader, lying, angsty, break-ups.

❝ miguel learns his fuck buddy is fucking Hobie and feels some type of way about it.❞

Querido

➳ multi || outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader || tw: mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.

❝ it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.❞

Playing House

➳ oneshot || single parents: mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader || tw: explicit, some mention of hurt, heavy voyeurism, protective miguel, very light mutual jealousy.

❝ gabi's on a hunt to get a mami. miguel doesn't really need help with it. or, Miguel trades mechanic work for love. ❞

drabbles

Idle Hands

➳ drabble || miguel o'hara x reader || tw: overprotectiveness, fluff, size difference.

❝ you’re a little bit of a show-off-- but Miguel likes it anyway. ❞

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[hannieween]

lunacy | city lights series | h.js

You could no longer hide your infatuation over Joshua Hong. It was becoming painfully obvious, though you weren't sure to what extent he was aware of this. Or if he even cared, for that matter.

✮ pairings: joshua hong x female reader ✮ genre: angst, smut (18+) ✮ aus: rock singer joshua, neighbors with benefits ✮ word count: 18.8k

↣ part i – part ii – part iii – navi post – other fics

₊🎧: underwater - baekhyun ♡︎ | shutdown - moon byul and seori ♡︎ | beautiful liar - monsta x ♡︎ | more - i.m ♡︎ ₊ nsfw warnings under the cut!!

✮ warnings: mentions of menstruation, smut with plot, dom Joshua, sub reader, big dick Joshua, phone sex, dirty talks, foul language, corruption kink, praise kink, exhibitionism: bj in a public space, cum swallowing, multiple sex scenes, masturbation, oral sex (f, m), brat taming: orgasm denial and pussy slaps, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names: pretty girl, baby, princess, sweetheart, bunny (hers) baby boy (his)

part iv

In your few years being a full time writer, you've made little traditions to keep for yourself.

For example, each time you started outlining your drafts, you'd go to a special spot in your favorite library, near the windows to watch people walk by on the streets. It helps your brain flow with ideas and brainstorm for hours.

Whenever you need to come up with stronger ideas for a plot, or find yourself in a bit of a writer's block, you go to the rooftop of your building. A tradition which has started to taint under the memories of you and Joshua, because quite inevitably, you start thinking of him.

And whenever you submit a finished draft, you tend to go elsewhere. Literally, you buy a ticket and go somewhere else, distract yourself for a little while, even sometimes, you give yourself the luxury to stay in a hotel for a night or two and come back feeling like a new person.

This time, you only bought a ticket for same day travel. But the method of transportation was by train. Which suited your needs a little bit more: you could see the landscape roll by your eyes, the openness of the outskirts of your city was beautiful—so different from looking out the window and seeing big tall buildings and billboards.

You've only visited this city once, when you published your first book years ago. As a young writer, you didn't have much money to go anywhere but there.

But you came across a gem: the town was colorful, it had its own quiet magic of a place loved and celebrated by the people who lived there.

When you first visited, you felt alien to the silent movement of the day. It was so strange to you that at first you got an eerie chill that maybe you got to a ghost town by accident, being so used to the buzz of the city throughout the day.

That's why you chose to come here as soon as you submitted your finished draft. It felt like sending a love letter and then hiding under your bed covers.

There was a small creek in the middle of the beautiful town, and a wooden bridge stood above it. You sat on a bench near the creek, the only noise filling your brain was the current of the stream.

Until the buzz of your phone interrupted that peace.

[9: 14 AM] Yen ✿: good news! [9: 14 AM] Yen ✿: you've been green lighted the second installment to your trilogy   [9: 14 AM] Yen ✿: yay! 🥰 [9: 15 AM] you: What? they already finished reading it? I sent it at midnight ???  [9: 15 AM] Yen ✿: of course you're up already  [9: 15 AM] Yen ✿: they haven't read it yet, that much i can tell you but  [9: 15 AM] Yen ✿: idk what to say girl [9: 15 AM] Yen ✿: they already want to know you're working on book 2

That doesn't make sense, you said to yourself.

[9: 16 AM] Yen ✿: why do i feel like this is bad news  [9: 16 AM] Yen ✿: are u not excited or  [9: 16 AM] you: I am! this is great!  [9: 16 AM] you: I'm already working on book 2 :) [9: 16 AM] Yen ✿: great i'll tell them  [9: 16 AM] Yen ✿: btw what happened to mr hot neighbor  [9: 17 AM] Yen ✿: 👀👀  [9: 17 AM] you: Can we have that conversation on another day? I don't want to think about him right now [9: 17 AM] Yen ✿: fine

But it was entirely too late.

Memories of the last night you spent with Joshua started to flood your mind. You saw him last that Saturday night when you asked him to continue with your little agreement of being fuckbuddies.

He agreed. So you agreed to not see each other on Sunday, but what did happen was that he finally asked for your number. Though as expected, he hadn't texted yet.

That was another reason for your departure today. As soon as the clock hit midnight and it was Monday, you sent your file with the finished draft of your book and booked a ticket for the magical town you remember having visited in your first publishing experience.

Will he text? He hadn't all Sunday, so you didn't see it foreseeable that he would on Monday. Well, what do you actually know about him? You knew a few things. You seemed to have measured his behavior really well but what else did you know?

Nothing.

Not his birthday, his favorite color, his favorite song or movie. Does it matter? He's your fuckbuddy. There are no rules as to what you should know about the person you're fucking.

There may be a few details that are pertinent to doing what fuckbuddies do, yes. Like protection and being tested and such, a thing that you already had covered with Joshua, obviously.

But, should you know your fuckbuddy's favorite color? You knew that he didn't like to kiss you while fucking you, for example. And he conveniently fucks you in positions that distance your hands from his face so you can't touch him either.

Why does that feel like a bitter pill to swallow? Ah, yes. You have a terrible infatuation over him. Like a thorn that you do not dare to remove. In fact, you like the pain you get from it because it's the only thing you'll get.

You let out a broken sigh, swallowing your tears. You felt particularly emotional that day—a sign of your upcoming cycle, so your hormones were working twice as hard.

Another reason to stay away from Mr. Hot Neighbour, if you will.

Despite the sunny day, the temperature was growing colder, so that the season was changing to winter. You liked the mixed taste of it, the sunny sky and chill in the air, sitting by the peaceful creak of the ghost town.

You had a pending decision looming in your mind from the moment you took the train in the break of daylight. Should you tell Joshua how you feel? Is it something you thought helped your situation?

There was nothing you could compare your situation to your past experiences. Your past lovers never got to be as relevant as Joshua. No lover ever shook your heart so hard to the point of hurting. It wasn't just the sex, or his crushing beauty—you were well aware of that. 

You just fell in love of the way your bodies synced together. The way that he seemed to hear your thoughts and read the way your body moved so well. He made you feel seen.

Maybe it's not a great idea to confess to him. But you could try another way, maybe taunt him with silly questions about love, like you did before. 

After what seemed like an hour had passed, you opened the small portable cooler you brought with your person. You came prepared with a meal to have in the quietness of the creak, hearing the sounds of nature and the quiet life of the little town around you.

It was a peaceful day, the only thing that disrupted it was your pending talk with Joshua, which still resided in your head, wasn't even a fact yet.

You planned to stay until sunset, which due to the fact that winter was onset, happened early. You chose to read a book on the two hour trip back home, which was a good choice since it had been a while since you read something other than your own work.

In the elevator of your building, you found yourself wishing for a night of peaceful uninterrupted sleep. You didn't want to suffer from insomnia for a good while, although you knew that with your second book green lit, that might be happening soon.

You stifled a yawn as you got to your apartment. It was 7 PM and you decided that it might be a good idea to prepare yourself for bed. You drew yourself a bath, had a small meal and went overboard and induced yourself to sleep with melatonin—for good measure.

The good thing was that it was a dreamless, heavy sleep.

You woke up the next day feeling incredibly groggy and much to your demise, felt the silent announcement of the beginning of your cycle. With a groan, you dragged yourself out of bed and kick started your day.

[11:55 AM] joshua: bunny, are you busy today?

You stared at your screen for a good while. You were in the middle of your daily chores, cleaning your mail and responding to some others when your phone buzzed on your desk.

You turned the silent mode on and decided to respond to it later.

Why does he have to call you that? Does it hurt him to call you by your name?

Easy, you told yourself.

[18:31 PM] joshua: i'll take that as a yes ? [18:34 PM] you: I'm free tonight

You bit your lip. God, why do you feel like a teenager that time you first talked to the person you had a crush on?

[18:34 PM] you: But we can't do anything [18:34 PM] joshua: what do you mean ? [18:37 PM] joshua: are you in?

Your stomach dropped.

[18:37 PM] you: Are you outside my door right now?  [18:37 PM] joshua: where else? [18:37 PM] joshua: open up [18:37 PM] you: Let yourself in

You removed your cancellation headphones from your head and attempted to smooth your hair to appear at least decent and not like the little study mouse you were the whole day.

"Bunny? Where are you?" you heard his sweet voice call from the living room.

"In the study," you replied just as Joshua pushed the door open, sneaking his head in first.

"Hi there," he smiled at you sweetly, looking around like a child in a toy shop. "Wow, this room is so... you."

You laughed. "Is that so?"

"I like it," he nodded, looking at the shelves upon shelves stacked with books and clutter, collection toys and figures from your favorite media. Fairy lights on the walls, a couch on the side that hosted your small army of squishmallows that moved the first night that Joshua slept in.

"Thank you," you replied with an excited smile.

"So? What do you mean we can't do 'anything'?," he did bunny ears over the word.

"I'm... going through stuff," you said, making a circle motion with your palm toward your lower belly.

"Oh," he blinked, then cocked his head to one side. "And?"

It was your turn to blink in bewilderment. "What do you mean 'and'? Is it not super gross for men to even hear the word menstruation?"

"Maybe, for some. I don't know. I don't care," he shrugged with ease. "You've never had period sex, I take it?"

"Joshua! No!" you chastised, your stomach fluttering uneasily when he laughed.

His nose wrinkled as he giggled. "Sorry, but you can't expect me to be grossed out by a little blood. I've done it before, if it makes you feel better."

"It does not," you replied with sincerity, crossing your arms and standing from your armchair.

He was wearing what he usually wore when he was home. Sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. His hair was unlike the last time you saw him, it hung loose and you just loved it, it made you want to run your fingers through his dark locks.

"Well, if you don't want to have sex tonight, maybe we can chill instead, if you want," he shrugged as he took some aimless steps in your office room.

Your stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"

"We could watch a movie," his hand brushed his hair distractedly.

"I-I was actually about to go out," you blurted.

"Oh, you were?" his eyes scanned you briefly.

"To the drugstore. I'm... running out of supplies," you muttered, feeling your blood run to your cheeks.

He smirked. "Bunny, you don't have to be shy with me. Come on, I'll come with."

"O-okay," you muttered. "Let me get a bag."

It felt weird to walk down to the drugstore with Joshua strolling by your side. Doing simple ordinary things with him was something new to you, since you only saw him in your bedroom, and occasionally on the rooftop of the building you both live in.

When you found yourself wishing he would take your hand, you dug both your hands on the large pocket of your hoodie.

"How did it go? Your book thing," he asked, breaking the ice.

You smiled at his choice of words. "It went well. They want me working on the second book already."

"Oh, that sounds good," he gave you a gentle smile. "But they don't give you like, time to rest or something like that?"

"Well, I screwed up a bit because I was a little ahead of deadline and told them the second book was in the works, so there's no time to rest," you shrugged.

"I get it," he nodded. "I don't get days off either. It's either recording vocals, writing music, networking or something else."

"Did you have to work yesterday too?" you asked with genuine curiosity.

"I went back to the studio because Jihoon wanted me to re-record some lines. We went on a rabbit hole after that 'cause he's nervous about possibly working with major producers. We're self-produced for now," he smiled and rolled his eyes at the memory.

"Was it good though, at the end?"

"Oh, yeah. The perfectionist he is, he didn't stop until he okayed it," he nodded and opened the door of the drugstore for you and you muttered a word of thanks. "And the day before... Sunday. Yeah, I normally go out with my mom—or try to."

"Oh?" you pushed your eyebrows up. "What did you do this time?"

"We had lunch and then visited a botanical garden. Drove her home after that," he told you with an absent smile, probably remembering his day with his mom.

Your heart swelled with fondness. "That sounds really nice, Joshua," you replied, trying not to show the emotion you felt.

"Yeah," he seemed to snap himself from his train of thought, looking up to the aisles. "I don't know where I'm going, I'm following you."

You laughed. "Don't worry, you won't get lost baby boy," you said with an air of confidence as you turned to the aisle where you'd find what you needed.

"Did you just call me baby boy?" he giggled goofily.

You ignored him, throwing in the basket your supplies.

"You told me you needed supplies, bunny. What's this?" he said, looking up to the shelves. "Snacks?"

"These are my supplies," you said with a whine. "Don't judge me."

"I'm not judging," he lifted his palms to your view. "Whatever you need."

"I actually do need to collect something from the counter," you said, fishing your prescription from your pocket but not showing it to him.

"Oh, are you sick?" he inquired as he followed you out of the snacks section and toward the counter.

You kindly handed your prescription to the lady and she handed back birth control pills. Then when it was time to pay, you tried to hide your blushing face to Joshua, who could probably notice your natural shyness kicking in, no matter if he stood behind your back.

"Are you on the pill? Why did you never tell me?" he muttered beside you as you both walked out of the drugstore with your bag full of supplies.

"Not yet," you frowned, though your face felt hot. "In theory and according to this, I begin today," you told him, keeping your eyes glued to the sidewalk.

"I see," he replied, seemingly thoughtful. But then, he asked: "So we're watching movies tonight?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice," you admitted. "It's been ages since I watched a movie at home—or at the cinema, for that matter."

"Cinema," he smiled. "Sometimes I forget that you're an old lady."

"Shut up, Joshua," you scoffed but couldn't help the growing smile on your face.

The only way you could describe your apartment was something akin to a fortress: never short of food or supplies, you had everything you ever needed for entertainment, you worked there most of the time. You were lucky to have made it your little fortress—and well, also you worked hard to keep it that way.

When you got back home with Joshua, you freshened up in the bathroom and changed into comfier clothes and brought a blanket to the living room, where you had a decent tv screen.

"What do you prefer for tonight, princess?" Joshua asked as you returned to the living room wearing your comfiest attire.

"Aren't you choosing tonight?" you asked as you sat beside him on your couch and threw the blanket over your legs.

"What, you're not sharing?" he asked, looking at your fluffy blanket.

"I can bring another blanket for you," you blurted, feeling deeply embarrassed.

"What if I only want to share yours?" he pouted cutely, he even made puppy eyes.

Don't torture me like that, your inner voice pleaded to him. 

"I- we can share," you smiled abashedly. "Sorry, I just didn't think-"

"I'm just playing with you, bunny," he laughed merrily.

You stopped cold. "I- what do I do?" you blurted. "Do you want to share or not?"

"Oh, you sweet thing. Alright, let's share," he exhaled. "We're watching horror, then."

"O-okay," you muttered, feeling deeply flustered at the whole exchange.

The blanket covered you and Joshua perfectly. It was large enough to cover your whole bed. So you confidently propped your feet bundled up in fluffy socks on your coffee table without the blanket falling off or uncovering Joshua.

"You can do the same," you suggested to him after he saw you put your feet up on the surface of your otherwise neat coffee table.

"You're weird," he muttered, but followed you nonetheless, extending his large legs on the coffee table with yours.

"Why?" you frowned.

"You don't seem like the person who would tolerate feet on a table," he laughed. "But you always prove me wrong in something."

You felt your cheeks grow hotter. "What- why? Why does that make me weird? I just wanted to stretch my legs."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," he shrugged. "I mean, your apartment is always super clean and you're a bit haughty about certain things so I just thought-"

"I am not haughty!" you gasped.

"Ah, there we go again," he let out his high pitch giggle.

"Shut up, Joshua. You're not perfect either," you muttered with a pout.

"I know, sweetheart," he laughed harder.

"You-you're cocky," you blurted. "You're... you're..."

Joshua arched his eyebrows, waiting for your best worst descriptor.

But you just sighed: "God, you might be perfect."

He laughed harder. "Are you sure you're not ill? Let's take you to the doctor," he joked.

You scoffed. "Ugh, I'll take it back. You're the worst."

"I'm anything but perfect, baby. Far from it, actually. But I appreciate your lukewarm compliment," he said, sliding a hand under the blanket and finding your thigh, to which he gave a gentle squeeze.

With a jolt, you rose from the couch, visibly startling him. "I almost forgot my snacks! D-do you want something to drink?"

You hid yourself in your kitchen and heard his distant reply. "I'll have whatever you're having."

A silent sigh escaped you. You needed to find some kind of rein to your emotions when Joshua was around you.

"Does hot tea and milk sound okay?" you asked.

"Sounds great. Thanks," you heard.

You returned with a tray with two mugs and a plate full of your favorite sweet snacks. Joshua frowned slightly then you set the tray between you and him, setting a clear barrier between you two.

If he noticed you were creating some distance, he didn't say anything. And you silently thanked him for it.

Joshua chose a horror movie. If he did it because he enjoyed horror, he didn't look the part, not one bit. His face wore a frown in disgust throughout the whole thing—and it wasn't only because of gory depictions.

The film was deeply disturbing, to anyone in their right mind, it would seem. But you occasionally giggled at certain moments when Joshua flinched or even jumped on the couch. You never bat an eye, you even found the story a bit flimsy, reliant in shock value and with very evident plot holes.

"That was... something," you muttered as the credits rolled on the screen.

"You are scary," he told you, still looking deeply startled.

You let out a laugh. "Why?"

"You laughed when the lady found out that her daughter was dead!" he pointed with an obvious tone.

"What, it was funny," you shrugged. "I dunno, the face she made was funny. Thought it was a weird cry face."

His mouth parted, frown deepening. "That's psycho talk," he shook his head.

"Chill, it's just a movie," you huffed.

"You pick next time," he rolled his eyes. "But let's not watch horror in a while. I've had my fill."

You laughed. "You want me to hold you?" you teased.

"Yeah, that would be nice. Please and thank you," he mumbled in a low tone.

You realized he seemed serious for a moment. "Wait, you're not joking?"

"Yeah, I am," he laughed. "Unless you want to, though," he nodded at you with a cheeky smile that could only mean that he was now teasing you.

"I'm fine, thanks," you shook your head. "I don't find cultish things scary."

"What do you find scary, then?" he inquired, he leaned his head back on the sofa and turned to see you.

You were eating on your snacks. You were not hungry, just felt the need to keep your hands and mouth busy.

"I... don't know," you replied after a long minute.

"Interesting," he muttered.

"What is?"

"You are," he frowned slightly.

"Were you expecting me to curl up in a ball and ask you to hold me?" you taunted.

"Kind of? Yeah," he said, his eyebrows arched a bit.

"Well, maybe we can keep searching for the one horror movie that makes me want to do that," you suggested with a playful smile on your face.

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you might be a bit crazy," he joked. "Lucky for you, I'm a bit crazy too."

"Oh, yeah? And why does that make me the lucky one?"

"Because I might say yes," he muttered with a smirk.

"Deal it is, then," you lifted your chin almost proudly and tended your hand to him.

He shook it contentedly. "Deal. But not tonight, though. Maybe in a month—or two."

Your chest tightened at the sound of that. Time with him, making plans, made your heart flutter in your chest.

"Sure, whenever you're ready, baby boy," you replied with a grin.

He closed his eyes slowly. "God, why did I do to deserve this," he muttered with a downturned smile.

You rolled your eyes, then threw the blanket off your legs. "Bathroom break," you announced for the nth time, since during the movie you had a few. "I'll be back."

When you finally returned, Joshua was fast asleep on your couch, breathing deeply with his arms crossed on his chest.

The sight of it was warm, almost too cute to even process. You felt the urge to grab his cheeks and pinch them or squeeze the air out of his lungs.

Maybe you are crazy.

You picked up the tray from the couch, the barrier that kept his hands away from you and placed it on the kitchen counter, deciding to clean up the following morning.

Deciding on what to do with the large man asleep on your couch, you sat quietly beside him. Twiddling with your fingers. Should you wake him and tell him to go home? Should you suggest that he stay the night? He lived right next door, he could just walk to his bed in less than a minute.

But you wanted him to stay with you.

Then suddenly, he jerked awake with a loud grunt, throwing his hands at you like big claws. "Bwaaah!"

You let out a screech in sheer terror at having him give you the scare of your life. "Goddamnit, Joshua!" you slapped him on his shoulder repeatedly.

He laughed himself silly. "Got you," he muttered with teary eyes, not even trying to dodge or cover himself from your attacks.

"Yeah, yeah," you stuck out your tongue at him, making him laugh harder again.

"You're too cute," he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Screw you," you pouted.

He rolled his eyes. "Oof, don't go around saying that. You potty mouth," he teased with a grin still plastered on his stupidly beautiful face.

You scoffed, but fell short of witty replies to give him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

It took you two seconds to understand what he was referring to.

"Oh, I'm okay. Well, not okay but I just don't feel like dying yet," you muttered with an offhanded air.

He pouted cutely. "I'm going to pretend I know what that means."

Joshua was a few inches away from you, just at hand's reach, but you didn't dare touch him. Even if you were dying to.

You laughed. "I'm fine, Joshua. I can deal with the pain just fine."

"Oh, okay," he shrugged slightly. "I was about to offer a back rub, but given that you're okay..."

"I'd like that," you nodded, feeling your cheeks grow hotter. "I'd like that very much, please."

Joshua grinned. "Lie down, princess," he instructed, patting on his thigh once to indicate the place where he wanted you to lie your head.

You did so, lying on your tummy, head resting on his thigh and stretching your legs on the sofa. His large hands started massaging softly on your lower back, over your comfy clothes.

"Oh, oh? That feels good," you exclaimed, feeling bewildered. "You're really good at this."

"Why do you sound surprised?" he asked and you darted a look at his face, he flashed you a grin as he caught your eye.

"I-I'm not—well a little," you muttered as his hand pressed softly on your lower back alleviating the stress from the cramping you've had all day.

You scrunched up your face when he got to a region that activated your nerves, it didn't exactly hurt, but it made you clench your muscles in response.

"Does that hurt, bunny?" he muttered.

"It feels weird," you replied. "Keep going."

You heard a soft chuckle. "Do you like this?"

He used both hands to rub your lower back, fingers digging at the sides of your hips, applying just the right amount of pressure to your skin to make you groan in satisfaction.

"Yeah. Feels so good," you muttered, closing your eyes.

You could feel yourself letting loose, so much that you weren't aware when you fell asleep on his lap. What woke you up with a start was feeling your drool dripping from your parted lips and onto his lap.

The back rubs had stopped, in fact everything had stilled and when you darted a look up, you found Joshua asleep, still in the same sitting position he was when he was giving you back rubs.

It was 2 AM, you suspected that you had fallen asleep around 11 PM. So Joshua didn't dare move under the risk of waking you up.

He slowly stirred after noticing that you had moved from his lap.

"Hi there," he whispered groggily with the ghost of a smile.

"Let's go to bed," you muttered, not caring that you could simply tell him to go home.

You got up from your couch and dragged him along, silently thanking him for not protesting against your wishes.

He took off his large t-shirt as you threw the bed covers and climbed your bed before he did.

"What?" you asked when you saw him standing by the foot of the bed, his bare torso exposed to your view.

"Do you have an issue if I sleep in my briefs only?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You laughed. "Please. We've slept naked before," you muttered, but he didn't budge. "Yeah, 'm okay with it."

He took his sweatpants off and climbed to your bed, lying next to you.

You instinctively scooted closer to him and he smiled, sliding an arm under your body to drag your body so that now his chest was pressed to your back, his arms circling you so he was practically hugging you from behind.

"Are you feeling better?" he muttered, his nose slightly bumping the back of your ear.

"Yeah. Thank you Shua," you replied, snuggling in his embrace.

"Here to help," he whispered before pressing his lips on your hair.

The rest of the week went smoothly.

Joshua had taken a liking to texting you when you least expected him to. Sometimes, he'd ask random questions, just to taunt you and make you blush. As if he knew the effect he had on you even without interacting with him in person.

[18:23 PM] joshua: are you free tonight princess? [18:23 PM] joshua: wait don't tell me [18:23 PM] joshua: you're working

You had been keeping him at bay all week by telling him you have to outline book two of your trilogy. Which was true, you unburied some old drafts, but decided that given the fact that book one underwent a lot of changes, book two would have to adopt those changes too.

But the reason why you made yourself busy was to keep yourself away from him. You were too nervous to face him again after that Tuesday night—in which you purely hung out together, no sex.

You let out a sigh.

[18:24 PM] you: I'm free tonight  [18:24 PM] you: Why?

It was now Saturday. You hadn't expected to see Joshua that night, since he usually had something planned during the weekend.

That being said, you totally weren't expecting a call from him.

"Yes?"

"God, you might be an old lady. Who answers the phone by saying 'yes'?" you heard him laugh.

"I'm hanging up," you cooed, trying to hide your smile.

God, how can he get you this flustered already?

"Wait, wait," you heard a giggle. "What are you wearing right now?"

"Really? Really, Joshua?" you gasped.

"No, wait I mean—don't hang up. I'm picking you up in an hour. We're going out," he told you, and you could tell that he was walking hurriedly, his breath hitching up as the buzz from the street filtered through the phone.

Your stomach dropped. "What, where? Jesus, give me some warning next time," you stood up from your desk and went to your bedroom.

"I am giving you a warning, right now. We have a gig tonight and it's a big thing for me. I want you to be there," he spoke in a lower tone, as if not wanting anyone else to hear.

"Well, I'm in my pyjamas. Hope that's fine with you," you joked. You were in fact not wearing pyjamas, but comfy clothes.

"The bunny pjs?" he inquired in a lower tone, but you could tell that he was smiling. "Oh no, sweetheart. I love to see you in that but I'm afraid that's not going to do."

"Well that's what you're getting," you smiled despite the blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Come on, baby. Wear something nice for me?" he purred into your ear. 

You sighed in pure delight and felt lucky that he wasn't there to see that you were aroused already.

"What do you want me to wear?" you almost mewled, not caring about how lewd you sounded.

"Whatever you want, princess. You look good in anything," he muttered.

"I'll wear something cute," you responded, your voice high and almost sweet for him. "And I'll wear something underneath for you only, if you want."

"Fuck, I'm getting hard already," you heard him sigh.

Your eyes widened. "Really?" your voice rose an octave higher. "Why?" you asked innocently.

"Just thinking about you gets me hard," he groaned, but you could tell he was smiling by the sound of his voice.

"Joshua! You're in public! Don't say those things aloud," you chastised him, but couldn't ignore that hearing that made you instantly wet and your core flutter in excitement at his words.

"I just got to my car, princess. Calm down," he laughed faintly. "No one can hear me here. Or see."

"Well, in that case, I'm really, really wet for you right now," you muttered with a sigh as you sat on your bed and slowly lied down.

"Fuck, baby. I love hearing you say that," he purred in a raw tone.

"Yeah? What else do you love hearing me say?" you dared ask.

Maybe your newfound confidence was due to the fact that he wasn't present in your bedroom right now. Your heart was thumping hard against your chest, and your face felt hot at the daring words that were escaping your mouth.

But you didn't care, all your focus was on the voice in your ear.

"I love the way you say my name," he confessed almost sheepishly, as if he was almost admitting that to himself.

"Shua?" you asked, playing dumb. 

"No, no. That's not my name, baby," he muttered in a tone of false reprimand.

"Joshua," you smiled.

"Mmm yeah. I love hearing you say my name. Love it when that's all you can say while I fuck you silly," he admitted, his voice dangerously low.

"Mmm, yeah?" you echoed as your free hand sneaked beneath the band of your sweatpants, burying itself beneath your soaked panties.

You let out a mewling sound when your fingers found your already pooling core.

"Are you touching yourself, princess?" he asked after he heard you sigh in pleasure.

"Yeah," you admitted. Your wet fingertips had already started rubbing circles around your swelling clit. "Wanna come and see for yourself?"

"Fuuuck," you heard him sigh heavily. "I'm a bit far away right now. But I'd love to be there, princess."

"Can y-you talk to me?" you asked with a tiny voice then bit your lip to avoid moaning louder, feeling your legs starting to tense up.

"Are you touching yourself with your fingers?" he asked and you said yes. "God. I'd love to see that one day."

"Yeah? Why?" you asked with a frown.

"I think it's really fucking hot. I want to see you play with your toys until you're spent," he sighed and you imagined him smiling. "I want to hear you say my name while you do it, too."

"You think that I think of you when I touch myself?" you dared ask again as your fingers gently swirled around your sensitive bud.

"You don't?" he bit back.

"Yeah, I do," you admitted despite yourself. "How did you know?"

"Just a small hunch," he sighed, is he smiling?

"I always think of you when I come. I imagine it's you that's making me come," you blurted.

"I'm right next door," he groaned. "You know you can just tell me and I'll be there."

"But what if it's super late?" you pried.

"I don't care,"  he confessed with a low groan.

"Are you touching yourself too?" you asked with a high pitch whine.

"I can't. Not unless I want to be charged for public indecency," he muttered and you could tell he was smiling.

"Are y-you hard?" you asked as your fingers pinched your swollen and slick covered clit.

"Yeah, baby. I am," he sighed. "You've been ignoring me a little this week," he laughed.

Your heart clenched and a moan escaped your lips as your fingers toyed with your clit. "Y-you're not seeing other people, then?"

"You're asking me right now if I'm fucking other girls?" he muttered with a groan that didn't denote his arousal anymore. "Why would I want to do that?"

"I dunno, I figured-"

"You're the only one I'm fucking. I haven't been with anyone else since you," he muttered reproachfully. "We've talked about this before—does this get you off, baby? Do you like to hear that you're the only girl I want?"

"Yeah," you admitted, shutting your eyes close as your body responded with a wave of heat at the sound of his words, you groaned and twitched in your bed a little.

"Is my pretty girl possessive? Is that it?" he muttered again, and in your inner eye you saw him grinning like an idiot.

"Yes, I am," you gasped as your fingers pressed on your clit and massaged it in the only way you knew would get you closer to your sweet release.

"Oh, you greedy, greedy little thing," he tutted. "Are you close, baby? By the way you're breathing I can only assume that-"

"Yes, 'm close, Joshua," you whimpered, your fingers working faster on your clit.

"I wish I could see that right now," he replied. "You don't know how much I've needed you this week."

"Fuck," your legs twitched and a moan coiled in your throat.

"I'd have you every day of the week if you let me, baby," he let out a stressed sigh. "Don't think I would rather have someone else before you."

"Joshua-," you muttered in a broken moan, trying to bite your lip as you came on your fingers, gasping and whining as the wave of pure bliss washed over you, making your jaw go slack and let out his name in low whimpers.

"I know, baby," he muttered as he heard your moans: "I know."

Your body went limp after a long minute and you slowly came back to your senses.

"God, that was embarrassing," you sighed to yourself, moving your hand out of your pants.

He giggled. "Why?"

"I—never mind," you rolled your eyes. "See you in a bit?"

"See you in a bit, bunny," was the last thing he said before you hung up.

The cold shower you had afterwards served two purposes: a cold slap back to reality and a reflection on your crazy toxic behavior.

Joshua was not your boyfriend. So what if he were fucking other people? Even if he were, you didn't have a say in it. You were just fuckbuddies.

You decided to wear something you thought never would, something you bought on a whim. A little black dress that hugged your body in a flattering way and accentuated your beautiful body, it showed some cleavage, but you felt confident enough to wear it now.

You waited in your living room for Joshua, tapping your fingers impatiently and checking your phone every now and then until you heard him knock, and you ran to get your door.

Joshua pushed through the door, grabbing you instantly by the waist and pushing you to the nearest surface where he could sit you down. The table felt cold against your ass when he set you down harshly, making the skirt of your dress fly up as he slotted himself between your legs.

"I'd take you right here on this table if we didn't have to be somewhere else right now," he said in a low tone, grabbing your chin with his fingers.

"Please do," you urged as his lips locked on yours chastely. "Fuck me, please Joshua, please."

"I think it's your turn to wait now," he muttered with a grin.

"But I need it, please," you whined, wrapping your legs around him.

"Touching yourself an hour ago wasn't enough, baby?" he lifted your chin to angle your head for him to press his lips to your own.

"No. You know it wasn't," you mewled. "I want you to fuck me. Right now," you moaned with a sigh.

Your fingers hooked on the hem of his black jeans and pulled him toward you, sliding his zipper down and undoing the button in one move.

"Fuck baby," he muttered in awe at your wild behaviour as your hand slid beneath his jeans to find him already hard beneath his underwear.

"I need you," you whined, ignoring the awe-struck look on his face.

He grabbed both your wrists and pulled them out of his pants, firmly clasping them together, his hand was large enough to secure them together in his fist as the other hand grabbed you by the jaw gently.

"You have some nerve after ignoring me all week," he muttered darkly. "Now you'll have to wait baby until I say so. Can you do that, sweetheart?"

You looked at his lust-lidded eyes bore into you and his smile slowly appeared on his face as you nodded.

"I can wait," you replied with an innocent tone.

"That's my girl," he cooed and sighed into your lips as he captured them with his own, giving you a heated kiss.

You broke the kiss abruptly and brought up a finger to caress his lower lip that was covered now with your saliva.

"You can fuck me raw now, Joshua," you whispered with a soft smile, almost kicking your feet in the air as you still sat on your table.

The audacity that possessed you to say that was totally new to you, it showed up in your crazy outbursts of assertiveness every time you were near him. Maybe you felt confident enough to be like that with him.

He shuddered slightly, but it was enough for you to see. "We're never getting there if you keep going, princess," he pressed his forehead against yours.

"So you're going to?" you asked, your voice dropped to a whisper.

"If that's what you want, baby," he muttered.

He was already breathing hard, his hands had dropped on your bare thighs, where he had started to knead on your skin anxiously.

"I want to," you replied instantly. "I need you to."

"You're killing me right now," he laughed softly before fixing his pants. "We need to go now, or we'll be regrettably late."

"Fine," you sighed. "Let's go."

He grabbed your head with his hands before crashing his lips with yours briefly but heatedly.

"Let's go," he muttered.

The ride there was longer than you expected. Joshua told you beforehand that his bandmates were already at the location where the event was going to be held.

And as he drove there, he started to get more and more jittery: anxiously licking his lips and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Are you okay, Shua?" you asked. "You're quiet."

He sent a look your way, but focused on the road ahead. "I'm okay. Just a bit nervous."

You gave him a reassuring smile, although he didn't get the chance to see it. "It's going to be fine. You'll see," you tried to comfort him by placing a hand flatly on his thigh.

He gently grabbed your hand and took it to his lips, pressing them on your knuckles. "Thank you, bunny. That's why I'm bringing you with me tonight."

Your heart fluttered a little. "Yeah? Why is that?"

"You give me good luck," he smirked.

You snorted, trying to play it cool. "You're so corny," you muttered.

He flashed you a downturned smile, briefly looking your way. "Shut up, I'm trying to flirt with you."

"Why? You're driving, there's not much we can do," you laughed, but then your laugh fainted. "Unless you want me to do something for you."

He blinked slowly as he let out a soft laugh. "Are you suggesting to blow me, baby?" he asked incredulously, glancing your way.

You shrugged. "Mmm, yeah. I thought that's where this conversation was headed."

"God, you are terrible at flirting," he said with a low chuckle, but you couldn't ignore how he leaned his head back and shifted on the seat a bit.

"Yeah, shocking," you smiled.

Joshua frowned, but didn't press any further. "I'd accept your proposition," he smiled slightly. "But we're arriving in about two minutes."

"I feel like there's a joke to be made here," you muttered with a smile.

His jaw dropped slightly. "Oh, no. Don't," he laughed.

"I just need one minute," you burst out laughing by the end of the joke.

He rolled his eyes briefly, but his smile was the biggest you've seen. "You have the humor of a child," he said while shaking his head.

You collected yourself, feigning to brush a tear from the corner of your eye.

"Are you done?" he asked, looking torn between amused and disappointed by your bad joke.

"Come on, laugh a little," you pushed his shoulder slightly.

Your joke wasn't even remotely funny, you knew that, but Joshua was still smiling when he parked in a large parking lot There were a lot of cars around and people gathering and walking in groups towards the entrance of a park.

"Where are we?" you asked as you unclasped your seatbelt.

Joshua appeared to be in a hurry, probably reverting back to his state of anxiousness after being distracted successfully by you. "Come on, bunny."

He jumped out of his large jeep and went around it to get your door.

"Oh, what a gentleman. Thanks," you smiled as he offered you a hand to climb down.

"Here," he muttered as his hands clasped on what appeared to be an access pass, which he put around your neck.

"Oh? Thank you, Joshua," you grabbed the tag to read that it was an all access pass.

"Don't mention it," you looked up to see a light smile on his face. "Follow me."

He led you to the side entrance which was fenced off, a sign at the entrance reading "AUTHORIZED ONLY" and you practically followed him through the maze of sound and lighting equipment carefully arranged on the floor.

There was a lot to be on the lookout for as you tried to keep up with him. There were rows of cables taped or secured to the ground that you almost tripped over.

Joshua seemed to notice your struggle and reached out to grab your hand firmly. "Careful, princess," he showed you a downturned smile, jittery eyes glancing down to his large hand grabbing yours. "Is this okay?"

You felt your heartbeat on your throat as you could only muster up a nod. "Yeah," you breathed, holding onto his hand.

The place he was walking through and to which he was practically dragging you with him was a large tent with long tables, people gathered around, chatting and drinking.

The smell of weed and tobacco permeated the air, laughter and the hum of the crowd with that of the music in the distance filled your ears.

"There you are, Shuji—oh, I see why you're late," Jihoon politely nodded your way and waved.

"Hi," you waved back shyly.

Joshua released your hand gently, smoothly using it to fix his dark hair with a labored sigh. "I thought I was on time," he frowned. "Isn't our go in an hour?"

"Yes, but we were asked for our instruments for soundcheck half an hour ago," the drummer shook his head nervously.

"And?" Joshua smiled playfully. "Did you need me to do that?"

"No, I don't need you, I'm just—forget it. In thirty minutes we go backstage for them to mic us up," he informed, just as jittery as you saw Joshua some minutes ago.

"Got it. Thanks Jihoon," he nodded and then turned to you. "You get drinks and food with your pass. I have to stay here, but you're free if you want to explore the festival," he tugged at the access pass hanging on your neck.

"Right, okay," you pressed your lips into a smile.

"We can meet back here once our gig is over," he offered. "Or I can join you where you are."

You looked up at his doe eyes. "You're going to do great, Joshua," you smiled reassuringly.

God, you wanted to kiss him so bad. In front of everyone, you didn't care who saw. But you also felt pathetic, anxiously eyeing his plump lips then back at his curious eyes.

He read you well. With a soft smile, his hand slid in the nape of your neck to hold you in place as he dipped his head to kiss you sweetly, one peck, then another. A sigh falling on your parted lips as he tenderly slid his lips in between your own.

"I'll be in the crowd," you promised with the faintest voice.

"I'll look for you," he smiled slightly at you, meeting your gaze with such fondness that you almost forgot where you were.

"I better be there then," you smirked at him, trying to contain your eagerness.

"Look at you being flirty with me," his smile grew and you almost died inside when his eyes turned into two crescent moons from how happy he looked.

"I–that wasn't flirting," you stuttered. "I'd better get going so you can get ready," you pulled away awkwardly.

Your heart sank as the smile on his face slowly faded.

Joshua looked at you the way he always did when he figured you out, but just nodded with his head, if he had anything else to say, he kept it to himself.

"See you in a bit?" he asked with a playful smile.

"See you in a bit, Shua," you smiled back and turned around and followed your way back through the crowds of artists and crew men and women and into the actual music festival.

The sun had already dipped, the chill of the air in the beautiful park surrounded by tall trees seemed to be setting in despite the huge crowds of people amassing around the stages, those which were three in total.

In your little exploration around the merch and food stalls, you found out that Midnight Haze were presenting on the main stage, two bands before the headliners. So that's why Joshua looked reasonably anxious: this was hugely important for a local band such as his.

You thought that this could prove an opportunity for them to be scouted for plenty more gigs. And you hoped that would be the case. You honestly wished for his band to have more recognition, they deserved it.

You explored all the food stalls, not feeling really hungry but yet indulging in what appealed to you the most. Everything was free for you, having an all access pass circling your neck, but you didn't feel the need to overuse it.

Except for strawberry mojitos, you were sipping on the third one by the time you circled back toward the big stage, showing your pass to security and they pointed you to the VIP section, directly in front of the stage where Joshua's mic stand stood.

Behind the mic stand the stage crew rolled a platform with Jihoon's bright red drum set, surrounded by a number of large cymbals. The crew expertly made a brief soundcheck and left. Your stomach tightened in excitement for the members of Midnight Haze, not just Joshua.

It seemed they had a plan, Jihoon stepped on the stage first, walking to the platform the crew had set with his large drum set. He sat on the stool and shifted a bit, finding his preferred way of sitting.

You spotted Vernon's bass guitar carefully placed on a guitar stand. It was white and had stickers all over it, some of them had washed over around the pickup area. When he picked it up and threw the red strap around his shoulder he also seemed to shift and get ready.

The crowd pushed you softly around as the people around you moved to get closer to the fences. Even if you stood in the VIP section, it was completely packed, the murmur of the crowd rose, some people whistled loudly impatiently.

When Joshua stepped under the stage lights, the crowd went completely insane. The large screens framing the stage showed the full stage, now complete with the lead singer as he grabbed a white guitar, lifting the strap to place it on one of his shoulders.

Joshua turned around and you saw him nodding his head at Jihoon, who returned the gesture at him to then raise his arms in the air to clash his drumsticks three times before starting off with a loud bang.

The booming sound of the towers of speakers filled your body, vibrating in your insides and making your bones feel the energy that instantly ignited the crowd, including you.

Midnight Haze started their set with one of their songs you liked the most. And you were pleased to see that Joshua smiled as he sang to the lyrics of the song.

The electrifying presence of the lead singer was so mind boggling to you, for a second it didn't seem like you were seeing your next door neighbor singing and playing his guitar as he danced side to side, banging his head slightly to the beat.

People screamed and applauded as the first song came to its end and Joshua bowed his head politely. Then he paused to remove one of his in-ear pieces to listen to the cheering of the crowd properly. He approached the stand, wrapping one hand around the mic.

"How's it going Rock Fest?" his voice boomed with excitement, a small chuckle came out of his plump lips when the crowd responded with wordless screams.

"We're Midnight Haze and we're really excited to be here," Joshua spoke into the mic, his starry eyes lost in the sea of faces, marveling at the sight of how extensive the crowd was.

"I want to see you all singing and dancing. Come on!" he screamed energetically just as the music swept in again.  

You cheerily sung along all of the songs in their set list, swaying your body mindlessly from side to side, looking over at the stage where Joshua also sang and played his guitar.

He looked devastatingly beautiful. His big eyes closed briefly, his brow furrowing slightly in focus, the vein in his neck popping up as he sang his lungs out.

The stage lights bathed his face with red and pink lights as the music wrapped him in a moment for his guitar solo, he looked hypnotic to you, almost heavenly.

You were so attracted to him you felt like a moth flying straight into the flame. You simply couldn't contain your urge to grab your phone and snap a photo of the moment.

God, you're screwed for life, you realized as you watched him.

Their setlist was about to come to a wrap after another one of your favorite songs ended on a strenuous note and Joshua's eyes went through the sea of faces. The stage lights danced around and pointed at the crowd at the same time his eyes zeroed on you, his brow relaxed and he smiled slightly.

"We've come to our last song," he spoke into the mic, his smile broadening when the crowd responded in wordless discontent. "We thank you for being here and for being such an amazing crowd," he paused, seemingly enjoying the roar of the sea of people in front of him. "We were Midnight Haze. Thank you, Rock Fest!!"

They started playing what their last song was, which was a song that you didn't know yet and apparently was a new song, since no one around you seemed to sing along with Joshua, who kept his big smile throughout as he sang and danced around the stage with his guitar.

He looked at you once as he strolled with his guitar directly in front of you. The people standing behind you screamed in your ears and you smiled at the sheer commotion he caused just by stopping by.

You twiddled your fingers at him, which he caught immediately and nodded his head at you, smiling tiredly with his tongue dangling between his chapped lips.

"He's so fucking hot oh my god," someone said with a raw voice from screaming, you turned and you saw two girls holding each other in excitement from the brief exchange.

It was amusing to think that you weren't the only one subdued by the beauty of the lead singer. It was also somewhat amusing that you were exhilarated at the fact that he singled you out from the crowd, but obviously no one around you knew that.

Joshua returned to the mic to sing the last verse, to then thank the other two members of Midnight Haze and say goodbye, promptly leaving the stage as the crowd screamed and applauded for them.

You quickly made your way out of the VIP section and found the nearest entrance back to the tent where you last saw Joshua. There were still some people hanging out in the tent, though admittedly not as many stuck around, possibly enjoying the festival and the food.

When Joshua came back, he looked a mixture of euphoric, tired and happy. As he spotted you, he opened his arms in excitement and you threw yourself in his embrace, lifting you in the air as your lips met briefly in an affectionate kiss.

"You were amazing," you told him, looking at his face briefly before he returned you to the ground.

Then you slowly came to your senses and stepped back from him slightly.

"You think so?" he asked, unaware of your sudden change in behavior. "Cause that felt amazing! That was the largest crowd we've ever performed for."

Your heart swelled at seeing him so excited, he grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you and you laughed at the crazed energy he still had from the stage.

"Come with me," he grabbed you by your hand as he led you out of the tent and to an even larger tent that was more crowded than the one you just left and right behind the stage.

It looked somewhat like a private party, the people in there, the majority of them, looked already intoxicated. The atmosphere was one of fun and a bit of mischief, however, you couldn't help but think that the energy of the packed room wasn't exactly inviting. Despite being hand in hand with the lead singer of one of the bands that had just come off the stage.

Your innate shy behavior kicked in, and you partially hid yourself behind Joshua, lowering your gaze as people not only looked at him, but also noticed you.

Joshua finally found the rest of his bandmates, who were already drinking a beer and talking about the very fresh experience. Jihoon, naturally, was retelling everything that just happened to a couple of faces you've never met before.

"Ah, there you are, Josh," one of them said, which was a woman. "We were wondering about you."

"Sorry, I had to go collect her," he nodded towards you. He then introduced you to the couple of strangers by name. "They're Chaewon and Taewon, from Wilted Willows."

"Hi," you waved at them, pressing your lips into a shy smile. You briefly saw the last bits of their performance, which was very unlike Midnight Haze's.

Chaewon's dark eyes scanned you up and down, making the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

"Is she your new girlfriend?" she asked bluntly, her eyes moving from your face to Joshua's face.

"Oof, this is going to get weird," Jihoon muttered beside you and sipped from his can of coke zero.

Joshua released your hand. "No," he responded flatly, clearly setting a boundary between him and Chaewon. Then you felt his arm sliding on your shoulders, pulling your body into a tight side hug. "Not yet, at least."

Your stomach dropped, your gaze met his and he immediately winked an eye at you, a thing for your eyes to see only.

"Mmph," the girl flipped her luscious blue hair aside. "When you get bored of that, you know where to find me."

It happened fast: Chaewon took a step forward, her lithe fingers reached out to Joshua's chin, and he instantly pulled back with a flinch, his arm pulling you closer to him as an act of instinctive protectiveness.

Looking deeply startled and just about when he seemed like he was going to tell her off, she left and her bandmate had no choice but to leave with her after the deeply alarming exchange.

Joshua released a labored sigh. "Seriously, Jihoon?" he dropped the arm from your shoulders.

"What, they came to me," he shrugged. "I didn't know she was going to pull all that."

"Who is she... is she your ex?" you asked, trying to appear fine and controlled.

"No. God, no," Joshua shook his head furiously. "She's just really self-absorbed."

"She is also obsessed with Shua. Crazy stalker level of obsession," Jihoon explained briefly.

"Ah," you frowned.

The only reason why you thought she might've been Joshua's ex was because of how comfortable she was to attempt to put her hands on him.

Even if she were his ex, she overstepped by trying to touch him like that.

"Fucking hell," Jihoon muttered to himself, spotting something in between the groups of people. "Vernon's getting fucked up again."

Jihoon left abruptly, towards the direction of the bassist. Leaving you and Joshua alone. 

"I'm so sorry about that," Joshua's face had contorted into a frown. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you smiled calmly despite yourself, trying to not let your anger show. "That was unsettling."

"Yeah, I agree. Really disturbing," he sighed again, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with that, Joshua," you offered with a downturned smile.

"Don't be," he shook his head. "I'm more worried about you, she undermined you and I couldn't say anything about it."

"But I'm unaffected," you countered. "Her problem is not with me, that much is evident."

He flashed you a relaxed smile. "Sorry about the girlfriend stuff, I panicked."

A sudden painful feeling made you almost flinch. "Don't worry, Shua. I would've panicked a little too."

But you were thankful that he was being honest. He still looked agitated from the unfortunate exchange, but his shoulders went slack when you reached out to grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, don't let that ruin your night," you told him encouragingly.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," he frowned.

"You want me to fuck her up?" you asked bluntly.

His doe eyes widened. "What?!" then he understood you were joking and laughed hard, almost bending over with laughter. "Where did that come from?"

You broke your act and smiled at him. "I wanted to make you laugh. It worked," you shrugged.

"You fighting... now that would be fun to see," he admitted with a smile. "Fun and weird. Can't imagine you doing that."

"Well, don't try me," you quipped.

He chuckled again, brushing a tear from his eye.

A bunch of people stopped by to say hi to him and you stood idly by, watching Joshua expertly navigate through small talks, compliments and questions. And though you mostly didn't get attention within these exchanges, you were happy to be there, experiencing him.

"You are famous," you pointed, impressed by the amount of people that came to say hello and even take pictures with him.

"I'm not famous, bunny. This is kind of a network, everyone here knows everyone," he explained, but the tip of his ears were red.

"Right," you scoffed. "I don't see a lot of people asking others for their photo."

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up, it makes me feel weird."

"Are you blushing?" you gasped dramatically. "The Joshua Hong is blushing?!"

He arched his pierced eyebrow at you. "Don't make fun of me," he muttered shyly but you just couldn't help but laugh at how cute he looked when flustered. 

"Aw, baby boy is shy?" you pouted at him.

He blinked slowly, biting his lower lip to attempt and stop his smile. "This is the last time I bring you to something like this."

You simply continued. "Can I get your photo, Shua? Joshie, can I get your autograph?" you laughed as his smile grew, rolling his eyes at you again.

Joshua nodded at you once, letting out a breath through a smirk. "Having fun?"

A shiver ran down your spine. "A bit, if I'm honest," you admitted, but were actually more excited about his sudden change in attitude.

"Alright, princess. Let's have fun," he muttered, clasping his hand around yours to drag you once again through the crowd of people and outside the tent.

"Joshua!" you squealed, your smile had since vanished from your face as you looked around to see that he was dragging you towards a line of parked bus trailers.

You assumed that there was no one around since Joshua confidently shoved your back against the side of a bus trailer, making you gasp at the sheer force he used with you.

His eyes widened in disbelief when you smiled at him deviously. "You wanted this," he realized. "Do you enjoy this, baby?"

"I do," you nodded, breathing hard in anticipation already as Joshua closed in on you.

His fingers grazed your chin. "You want me to toss you around, pretty?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

A shudder ran through your body. "Yeah," you sighed. "I want you to do whatever you want to me, Joshua."

Joshua looked at you in pure fascination, he even let out a soft sigh that brushed your face slightly.

"You..." he breathed but stopped, seemingly at a loss of words.

His head dipped and you closed your eyes, blindly grabbing his head with your hands as he kissed you hard on your lips. 

"I want you, Joshua," you whimpered into his hot mouth, the words felt urgent as you uttered them. "Now."

"What if someone sees?" he incited, his voice low and raspy.

"I don't care," you confessed, the statement shaking deep in your bones.

The fleeting confidence in you stirred something in your brain, telling you to act quick.

It was your turn to push him against the bus trailer behind him. He gasped in surprise as his back hit the metal wall, his eyebrow raising a bit.

You clasped your lips with his, earning a low groan from him that reverberated in his chest and against your hands that were sliding down to the belt of his pants.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his hands stopping you.

You faltered instantly. "I-I want to suck you off," your eyes read his face. "Can I?"

His hand released one of yours to cup your chin. "Why?"

You frowned. "Why, what do you mean, why?"

He nodded briefly. "Tell me you're not doing this because you feel bad for what happened earlier in the tent."

"I want to pleasure you," you explained, then you quickly relaxed, understanding the situation. "Don't think I'm doing this for any other reason than just for you."

His eyes scanned your face, his other hand released you to graze your cheek with his knuckles, the features of his face relaxing. "What's our safeword, bunny?"

You blinked slowly, showing him a smile before giving him your safeword.

"Fuck," he let out a puffy breath as your fingers resumed undoing his belt, to then get the button of his black jeans.

"You're so hard already," you cooed softly, and eyed him as your hand felt him over his underwear.

Joshua was biting his lower lip, looking strained already. "All for you, sweetheart."

You smiled at him sweetly. "Such a sweet talker," you tilted your head as you rubbed his hard cock through his underwear.

You stuck your hand through the slit of his boxers, grabbing his hard cock firmly and effectively pulling it free from the stretchy and wet fabric of his underwear. 

"You're being so naughty, princess," he chuckled at you faintly but he faltered completely as you lowered yourself to your knees before him.

The ground was hard against the soft skin of your knees, the thin layer of your stockings was not enough to protect them. But you knew you wanted to see the bruises by the following morning.

"Fuck," he muttered again, shuddering visibly when you kissed the tip of his cock, to then press your tongue on the slit to lick his precum as you locked eyes with him.

One large hand cupped your cheek, his eyes trained on you as your tongue gave a few strokes to his shaft, feeling the vein that marked in the underside, tracing a long line with your tongue until you wrapped your mouth around his cockhead.

You heard a low guttural groan leave him when you took him deeper in your mouth than you could before, your tongue lapping on the length of him as you moved your head back and forth. 

Darting a look at him, Joshua leaned his head back on the wall behind him, eyes closed and swallowing hard as you bobbed your head back and forth on his throbbing cock, swirling your tongue around his cockhead.

"God. Your mouth feels so, so fucking good, baby," he moaned faintly, his hands grabbing a handful of your hair.

The back of your mouth had started to hurt already from the intrusion each time you tried to take his cock deeper in your mouth. But you didn't care, all focus was in getting more sounds of approval from him. Sounds that were also making you aroused. 

Drool had started to drip down from the corners of your lips and onto your chin, wet sounds coming every time you pulled your head back, hollowing your cheeks to suck hard on his cock just as if it were a lolly.

"Fuck," he exhaled. "You don't know how much I needed you, baby."

A moan coiled in your throat, your walls throbbing desperately at the sound of his words. Your chest swelled proud when you felt his fingers tense up on your hair and you heard him moan faintly, cussing and muttering incoherently about your mouth and how good it felt.

"Fuck, fuck—I think someone's coming," he whispered but didn't make an attempt of stopping you, so you didn't.

Voices echoed in the distance, but you couldn't make out if someone actually saw you and Joshua. There was no actual acknowledgement towards what you were doing, but you felt euphoric all the same.

Being on your knees for him, sucking him off for anyone to see made you moan on his cock. You sneaked a look at Joshua's eyes, that were trained on you while your head bobbed back and forth, committed to the act of pleasuring him.

"Someone just saw you giving me head," his voice sounded raw. "You like this, don't you? Like taking my cock in your mouth for anyone to see."

You moaned a sound of confirmation, making the smile on his face grow just a little. He let out a weak sigh, the tension in his beautiful features showing that he was close.

"I'm close," he sighed and threw his head back a bit. His hand tightened on your hair slightly when you sucked him harder. "Fuck, baby. D'you want me to cum in your pretty mouth?" his thumb brushed your cheekbone gently, as if calling for your attention back to him.

You blinked at him, moaning the same sound again.

"Can I move, princess? You think you're ready for that?" he asked, his face and voice both strained.

You nodded with your head as you pulled your mouth back to suck on his cockhead, blinking an adoring look up at him.

"Tap my thigh if you need me to stop," he grabbed your head firmly and started thrusting his cock on your mouth.

Sloppily at first, almost as if he wanted you to adjust your mouth to his pace as he started to push his cock down your throat faster. You lifted your eyes to see his face deep in focus, probably containing himself to avoid hurting you by accident.

The feeling was so deeply arousing that you were tempted to sneak a hand between your legs and start touching yourself. But you were rendered immobile, not by his hands precisely, but by the sight of him fucking your mouth.

"Fuck, baby—I'm cumming. You're gonna take it all, right baby? Gonna swallow it all?" he groaned, revelling at the sight of you taking his cock, your eyes brimming with tears, your chin dripping with your own drool.

You were gagging loudly on his cock, but managed to get the slightest of nods.

"Yeah, you are," he cooed faintly when he saw the way you responded to his words.

Then he threw his head back, his face contorted in pure pleasure and you almost swore you could come from the sight alone. 

"God, fuck," his voice was a mere whisper as his cockhead bumped on the back of your mouth, his cum spurting down your throat and you instantly swallowed it.

Joshua groaned through clenched teeth as you swallowed the last drops of his cum, he screwed his eyes shut, exhaling elatedly at the same time that his hands gently released your hair.

"That was insane," he muttered slowly, appearing to come to his senses.

Gently, he pulled out of your mouth, a string of saliva falling out of your mouth and landed on your chin. He fixed his pants quickly before grabbing your hands that were previously resting on his thighs.

Joshua helped you stand up and immediately wrapped you in a tight embrace. Bringing a hand up to clean your face from your drool and tears.

"You did so good, bunny," he muttered in your lips after kissing you chastely. "So fucking good."

"'m glad you liked it," you smiled in his lips.

"Let's take you home, princess. I want to make you feel good too," he gave you small pecks on your lips. "Is that okay?"

"Can't you take me here? Right now?" you whined jokingly.

"No, baby," he whispered into your lips. "As much as I'm dying to do that right now, I don't want to risk anyone seeing you."

"But you didn't have an issue with it five minutes ago," you quipped.

"Yeah, but that was different. You were fully clothed and the person who saw us didn't see our faces," he pointed. 

"So the problem is that you don't want anyone to see me naked?" you pulled back to meet his gaze. "In that case I can keep my dress on." 

The conversation had shifted between you, and you could tell that he was no longer trying to keep you aroused—he didn't even look like he just got blown. You didn't know what it was, but it troubled him.

Joshua looked up at the night sky, seemingly looking frustrated for a second as he looked for words to say.

"What if I'm a little possessive too?" he asked, meeting your eyes.

You physically recoiled in his arms in a mixture of excitement and uneasiness. "W-what?" you blurted in disbelief.

"What if I don't want anyone seeing what I have with you?" his eyes searched your face. "Even if you kept your dress on, I don't want anyone seeing how good you are for me."

Your heart dropped, pain sinking into your chest. This was totally not what you expected to hear from him. Even if his possessiveness was entirely revolving around a sexual aspect, you weren't ready to hear it.

"Joshua-," you started.

"I know I said that I'd fuck you anywhere but I just can't give you that right now," he smiled, seemingly ashamed of his words.

"No, it's alright," you frowned. "It's just really confusing hearing you say this."

"What, you don't think I'm capable of feeling a little jealous too?" he asked. "You don't like the idea of me seeing other girls, I don't like the idea of someone seeing you."

Was this something you needed to talk in more depth with him? Totally, yes. Were you going to ask him to do so? No, probably not ever.

"Fair," you muttered, mustering a smile to him before capturing his lips with your own. "Take me home, then."

Joshua took your hand again, making your tummy flutter with nervousness that only intensified when he led you back to the tent.

As you both pushed through Joshua's friends and unknown faces, you swore that everyone looked at you differently; not in a bad or good way precisely, just different. As though everyone knew why you and Joshua disappeared, and judging by the fact that someone saw you, they probably did already.

Joshua kept you close, almost as though wanting to make his point across—he felt possessive of you. And you didn't want to know to which extent he felt like this over you. 

But you knew one thing, whatever it was that made him look this deeply troubled, paired with your unspoken feelings for him was starting to taint your already messy relationship of fuckbuddies.

Joshua drove faster this time around, keeping a hand on the wheel and the other placed flatly on your thigh.

"Did you enjoy the festival?" he asked, his thumb had started to draw invisible circles on your thigh.

"I did," you smiled. "Drank mojitos and ate corn dogs," you told him, looking at his large hand. You resisted the urge to grab it and lace your fingers with his.

"Mojitos?"

"Strawberry mojitos," you added. "I took some photos too, of you, on stage."

"You did? Will you show me?" he eyed you excitedly.

"Of course," you smiled at him.

"So you got a good spot to see me?"

"Yeah I got to see you throughout the whole set," you saw him smile faintly.

"I saw you singing along," he seemed to remember suddenly. "You've been listening to our music."

"Yeah," you admitted. "Almost everyday. Does that make me your groupie?"

He chuckled. "I'm convinced that you don't know what a groupie is, bunny."

"Shuddup," you smiled.

"Hey, but it's not fair—you can listen to my music but I haven't read your book," he frowned.

"I'll lend you the hardcopy of my manuscript," you promised.

"I actually looked for you, do you use a pen name?"

Your heart sank. He took the time to search your books using your real name?

You told him your pseudonym and he repeated each name silently and nodded. 

"Yeah, I might've confused the lady at the local library," he laughed.

"You went to the library looking for my books using my real name," he nodded and you laughed. "You should've asked me first."

"You never answer my texts on time," he reproached. "Well but I wanted it to be a secret, actually."

"Why?" you frowned.

"I wanted to impress you," he shrugged.

"You don't have to, Joshua," you told him sincerely.

"But I want to," he pouted cutely. "And now that I know you've been listening to my music, I feel like I have to catch up with you."

"I like your music. I'm not sure if you're going to like my books," you warned him.

"Let me decide that," he smiled at you.

Joshua parked his car expertly with one hand, his other hand still resting on your thigh. He had stopped rubbing circles through the thin fabric of your stockings, but your skin felt hot at his touch nonetheless.

Your fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of the skirt of your little black dress as you stepped on the elevator, Joshua stood closely behind you.

"Are you nervous?" he asked in your ear, leaning closer to you.

"A bit," you breathed, turning on your feet to see his face.

"Why?" he slowly smirked. "We've done this before."

You were lucky that no one else was in that elevator, but you still waited until you got to your apartment to continue that conversation.

Joshua gently pushed you against the wall as soon as he closed your apartment door.

"Mm? Why are you nervous, bunny?" he asked in a soft tone.

"I've never been fucked raw," you confessed, fighting the blush that crept immediately on your face.

His eyes searched your face briefly. "We don't have to do that tonight, we can use protection."

"No, don't get me wrong—I want to... do it raw," you breathed, your hands fidgeting with the collar of his meshy black shirt. "I'm just..."

You bit your tongue. You felt excited to try new things with Joshua, and what really got you feeling that way was that you were trying these things with someone you were actually falling in love with.

"What?" he egged you on, his curious eyes still trying to read your face.

You licked your lips anxiously and shook your head, reluctant to continue.

"We can take it slow, if that's what you want," he offered.

"No, do-don't hold back," you stuttered. "I want everything."

"I got you. Don't worry," he muttered before placing two fingers to grab your chin and leaned to kiss you.

You melted into his lips, feeling every nerve in your body respond at his touch when he slid his other hand on your waist, giving it a soft squeeze.

"I almost forgot to tell you," he breathed after pulling back from your lips. "You looked beautiful tonight, baby."

"Did you like my dress?" you darted a look down to your little black dress.

"Thank you for wearing it tonight," he grazed your cheek. "I liked it very much." 

"It's a good thing I didn't wear the bunny pjs then," you smirked though your blushing face.

He laughed faintly. "Yeah, good thing," he echoed dazedly, leaning to kiss you again.

God, if you could only just ask him. Does he feel the same way too? When your mouths join, when you breathe against each other, moaning and gasping at the slightest of touches against each other's skin.

Your fingers started undoing the buttons of his shirt, your hands sneaking between the split of his shirt to feel his hard chest, the defined muscles of his pecs.

Joshua moaned into your lips, his hands sliding from your waist to find your hips. His hot mouth placed open mouthed kisses on your chin, groaning in approval when you tilted your head back for him to kiss on the underside of your jaw.

Your back was pressed against the wall as his hands searched for your thighs and expertly lifted you up from the floor. You let out a squeal in surprise, your arms instantly locking around his shoulders.

A laugh in sheer joy left your lips when he carried you to your room. "We could've walked here."

"Shh, let me do nice things for you," he muttered as he let you back to the floor of your room and you got to the lamp on your nightstand.

He grabbed you by your waist, pulling you to his body as he sat down on your bed, leveling down to see eye to eye with you. His large hand slid on the nape of your neck as his lips found yours, tenderly locking you into a kiss.

Joshua was still wearing his shirt on his shoulders, the split parting as your fingers caressed the defined lines of the muscles on his abdomen, and then he moaned on your mouth when you reached his lats, that being a sensitive area for him.

"How do I get you out of this?" he smiled sheepishly when his fingers searched on your back and then on your sides.

"It's a slip dress," you explained, smiling too.

Your fingers grabbed the shoulder straps, sliding them from your arms and the dress simply fell from your frame, leaving your body with the light pink lingerie set you chose for tonight.

"Do you like it?" you asked sheepishly when he seemed unable to look back at your eyes.

Joshua swallowed hard, tearing his doe eyes from the lacey fabric barely covering your body and found your expectant eyes. "Yeah, baby," he released a breath through a weak smile. "I love it."

Your hands went to grab the clasp of your pretty bra, but he raised a hand from your waist.

"No, not yet," he muttered. "I want to take it off myself. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. More than okay," you sighed, repurposing your hands to remove his meshy black shirt from his shoulders, caressing his beautiful skin in the process.

His large hands busied themselves exploring your bare skin too, what your thigh high stockings didn't cover, caressing your bare waist as he leaned to press wet kisses down your chest, to the swell of your breasts.

"So beautiful," he muttered, as if to himself.

"Joshua," you moaned with a sigh as his hands circled on your back and slid down to cup your ass with a low guttural groan from his part.

"Don't rush this," he muttered against your skin, then glanced up to meet your eyes.

"Okay," you breathed, your skin already prickled and covered in goosebumps.

He smiled, his fingers reaching up to graze your chin. "We have all night, you don't have to rush anything."

"Oh, so you're going to fuck me all night?" you quipped with a grin.

"If that's what you want," he replied with a small shrug.

"I do. But what do you want, Joshua?" you retorted.

His gaze darkened as it met yours, he seemed to struggle with his words for the second time in the night, something that did not go unnoticed by you, but you decided not to make a big deal of it at the time.

Joshua didn't reply to your question verbally, instead he stood from your bed, your eyes following him now that he regained his natural height, now his frame towered over you.

He pushed you to sit on the bed, wordlessly making you understand that the roles were reversed for now and you resumed to undress him. Undoing his belt and button from his black jeans, hooking your fingers to push his jeans down on his legs for him to step out of them, socks included.

It was your turn to swallow hard at the sight of him nearly naked. He was hard already, as you could see the bulge in his underwear, your hand instantly rubbing his hard cock through the stretchy fabric.

"Lie down, princess," he muttered, nodding to the bed.

You scooted back on your bed covers and lied down as Joshua climbed on top of your body.

"Are you okay?" you asked, your voice laced with a bit of concern.

"Yeah," he breathed, pressing a kiss on your lower lip. "Never better."

He grabbed your legs and you wrapped them around his body, pressing down on his hips to join them with yours, earning a soft moan from him.

"Joshua?" you breathed when his lips trailed from your mouth, pressing wet kisses down the crook of your neck.

"Mm?"

"Ca-can I be on top?" you asked.

"Do you want to ride me, baby? Is that what you're asking?" he asked with his sweet voice.

"Let me be on top," you muttered, lowering your legs from his body.

He laughed against your skin. "Okay," he sighed, rolling over so his back was fully against the bed and you followed his body promptly, straddling him.

You wasted no time, leaning your body to press your chest against his, burying your fingers in his black hair before capturing his lips with yours.

His hands caressed your back, the pads of his fingers tracing the line of your column and stopping only to unclasp your pretty bra, his hands removed it completely, you heard when it landed on the floor.

His breath hitched when you pressed your tits against his hard chest, moving your lips to kiss his chin, then under his jaw and  down the crook of his neck, essentially mimicking what he does when he's on top of you.

"Can I mark you?" you asked shyly, darting a look to his face.

A small groan fell from his lips as he nodded with his head. "Yeah," he whispered with a light smile.

You returned the smile as your head dipped on the crook of his neck, his hands kneading on your hips as you landed love bites on the crook of his neck, his throat and finally reaching his toned chest.

Joshua was sensitive. It made you feel so stupid to realize it this far into your countless sexual encounters. He so rarely let you touch him during sex or kiss him that you never knew just how sensitive he actually was.

His hands were going to leave marks on your skin, you were sure of it. Kneading on your ass and hips, fingers digging harshly on your skin as you took your time marking his chest, marveling at the sight of his toned pecs.

"Fuck," he breathed softly, his eyes were closed tightly, so he never saw you smile at his downright restless behaviour. You and him had that in common, at least.

You couldn't ignore how big and hard he felt under you, so you started grinding on him to maybe help him release the growing tension on his cock.

Then you wanted to try something—you ran your tongue on one of his sides, feeling his toned lats, tasting cologne in his skin.

"Mmn—fuck!" his body hardened, his fingers threatening to pierce your skin.

The tip of your tongue traced a circle around one of his nipples to then press your wet lips and repeated the same actions on his other side, earning similar reactions.

A groan bubbled in his chest and suddenly you were being flipped to your back, startled you looked at his dark eyes. Unable to say a word, his mouth was already clashing with yours, kissing you fervently.

"Are you going to tie me up tonight?" you asked shyly.

His pierced eyebrow arched slightly. "Do you think you deserve it, pretty? Have you been bad?"

"Mmm, maybe a little," you admitted.

"Mmm yeah, I remember that you were, baby. Do you like being bratty? Do you like being tied up?" his fingers hooked on the thin fabric of your thong, pulling his body back to slide the thong down your legs, leaving your stockings on.

"Yeah, I do," you breathed, your eyes trained on him as he pressed soft kisses on the softer side of your thighs.

"Then I won't tie you tonight, princess," he smiled deviously to then run the tip of his tongue on the sensitive side of your thigh, dangerously close to your core.

You let out a soft whimper, your body tensed up and your legs instinctively closed a bit, one of your legs bumped with the side of his head.

"Maybe I'll get restraints for your legs too," he quipped, laughing softly. "Would you like that, baby?"

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes when he continued placing loving and soft kisses on your mound. "Mm, I think so," you muttered clumsily.

He used his hands to splay your thighs open for him, dipping his head on your mound to place wet kisses on your soft skin, sighing in the process of kissing your pussy lips, groaning softly with you when he heard you moan and whine.

"Joshua," you called softly when his tongue swiped a line between your folds, humming in response at the taste of your arousal.

One of his hands slotted in your lower tummy, while the other one remained holding your thigh. His face was practically buried in your cunt, slowly licking every inch of it, dipping the tip of his tongue on your entrance to make you cry out and moan his name.

You held onto his hand that was on your tummy when his tongue swirled around your clit a few times. "Oh god," you whimpered

The bed underneath you groaned when you sank your body, completely subdued in pleasure. Your fingers clenching on his fingers, the other had found the soft strands of his black hair, pulling softly when he started flicking your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue.

"F-fuck—Joshua," you breathed, screwing your eyes shut, trying to remain still on your bed but couldn't help but writhe slightly when he switched from flicking your clit to sucking at it lightly.

You propped yourself with your elbows on your bed to see him practically making out with your cunt. The sight of it alone made you almost climax—his dark hair between your fingers, his hands holding you still for him as he lifted his eyes to find yours.

A moan coiled in your throat, your fingers tugged his hair as you felt your orgasm drawing near, and he seemed to know it from the sounds you were making, so he started sucking your swollen bud harder, moving his head up and down slightly.

"Joshua, 'm close," you breathed, your body trembling slightly. "Fuck! Don't stop, please. Joshua!"

You threw your head back, your jaw going slack too as raggedy breaths broke in your chest, twitching and groaning lewdly on your bed. You moaned loudly, your hand pressing on his head as your orgasm continued to wash over you, the waves of pure bliss left tingles on your limbs and face.

You eased your body back on your bed, your chest heaving embarrassingly hard, soft moans spilled from your lips when Joshua's mouth left your throbbing cunt after showering it with tender kisses.

"Feel good?" you heard him ask.

You opened your eyes to find him still between your thighs, smiling fondly at you.

"Amazing," you sighed weakly. "I love how you eat me out so much."

He laughed. "I love eating you out, princess."

"Oh, yeah?" you breathed.

Joshua climbed back on top of you. The dim light from your lamp let you see the pretty features of his face, you reached to wipe your arousal from his chin and he smiled as he pressed his chapped lips with your own.

"Yeah," he answered and you were reminded of how much you liked it when he said that.

He got on his knees to take his sweet time taking your stockings off, his hands caressing your legs in the process, his lust-lidded eyes locking with yours as he did so. 

Then he lied on his side, using his elbow on the bed to support him as his other hand slid between your legs, his pointer finger slid between your pussy lips, playing with your wetness as his eyes searched your face.

Your eyes shifted to the finger disappearing inside your cunt, pumping in and out a few times until you were ready for another finger.

"Joshua," you whimpered pathetically when his two fingers massaged your walls, but really what had you on the verge of insanity was his doe eyes trained on your face.

"Mm?" his eyebrows arched slightly. "What's wrong?"

"I want you so bad," you breathed, your hand cupping his cheek to pull him into a needy kiss, nibbling his lower lip with your teeth when his fingers scissored inside you.

"You think you're ready for me, sweetheart?" he muttered, his voice strained with tension.

You nodded a bit too eagerly.

"No, I don't think you're ready, baby," he replied, introducing a third finger inside you.

"Joshua," you whined, knowing that he liked hearing you beg. "Please. I waited all day. Please take me,"

He smiled, immediately telling on your little game. "Yeah, you waited all day for me princess, after ignoring me all week. Why should I give you what you want?"

"Because you want it too," you replied boldly. "I know you want me as much as I want you."

"Mmm, yeah baby, you're right. I want you but I wait for you," his doe eyes locked with yours. "Can you say you do the same for me, baby? You like having fun by pushing me away, so why shouldn't I have fun too?"

"You're being mean, Shua," you frowned. "I didn't push you away, just–"

"Careful, princess," he warned, the corner of his lips twitching. "I don't like when you lie to me. You know that."

You moaned then he pressed the palm of his hand on your sensitive clit while still pumping three fingers in and out of your wet walls.

When you gave him no response nor explanation, he smiled. "So you were pushing me away. Again, baby?"

You remained quiet and looked away from his darkened gaze.

"Why do you do that?" he pressed, his voice sounding soft, alluring.

You groaned and bit your lip as he continued to massage your walls with his fingers, his palm stimulating your clit slowly toward another orgasm.

"Joshua," you sighed, closing your eyes. "Joshua, I'm cumming."

"No, you're not," he muttered softly, pulling his fingers out of your cunt when your walls had started clenching harder.

You gasped in frustration. "Joshua!" you whined. "I was close."

He let out a breathy chuckle and pressed his lips against your cheek. "I know, baby."

"Then why..? Why did you stop?" you asked.

"You're cumming when I want you to," he replied shortly.

You sighed your frustration, not caring how childish you were being. "You're mean," you pouted.

He laughed softly when your fingers hooked on the band of his underwear and yanked it down, his hard cock slapping his lower abdomen as he lifted his hips for you to tear off the last piece of clothing he wore.  

"And you lied to me, again," he countered as he climbed back on top of your body, pressing loving kisses to your cheeks and chin, each kiss seemed to leave a trail of tingles on your skin.

"I'm s–"

"Sorry?" he muttered, kissing your jaw.

"Joshua, please," you moaned weakly. "I'll be good, just—fuck me. Do whatever you want. Punish me but please, fuck me."

His eyes glinted with awe, and you remembered that he liked it when you begged. "You'll let me do anything I want, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you breathed. "I'm yours."

Joshua cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. "Say that again," he whispered, giving you another soft kiss now on your lips. And another.

"I'm yours, Joshua."

He hummed in satisfaction. "You're mine," he repeated, savoring the statement with his sweet lips.

"Only yours," you echoed dazedly.

"Oh, you cruel thing," he said darkly. "You know what you're doing, don't you?"

No response came from you. If he wanted answers, that was the best you could give him right now. And for a moment, he appeared to know that too.

A shudder invaded your body when Joshua grabbed his cock on one hand, dragging his cockhead on your wet folds. A soft breath spilled from his lips when he felt you, skin on skin.

"Ready?" Joshua searched your eyes again.

You nodded. "Ready," you breathed.

A low whimper coiled in your throat when he slowly eased himself in. Your hand held onto his shoulder, your eyes brimmed with tears from the pain of how big he actually felt without the extra lubrication that the condoms provided.

But you also moaned at how insanely good he felt raw. It was so good to finally feel him, every naked inch of him inside your walls, that you swore you would climax from just having him like this. 

"Breathe, baby," he whispered, kissing your moans with such tenderness that you almost broke.

"Joshua," you whimpered, your fingers digging on his shoulder.

"It's okay. I know, baby," he frowned slightly. "Do you want to stop?"

"No, no. I'm fine. Please," you begged, although you didn't know what you were begging for.

He released another breath when he finally bottomed out, your walls throbbed desperately around his length and he pressed his forehead against yours.

His eyelids fluttered closed before pulling his hips back, the feeling of his cock sliding out your wet walls felt good—so good that you were already whimpering and trembling.

"Okay?" he gasped, starting to push in and out of you.

"Yes, more than okay, Joshua," you stuttered, closing your eyes with a sigh.

"You're crying, baby," he pointed, he was still moving achingly slow.

"It-it's big—you're so big," you stammered pathetically.

He paused. "Am I hurting you?" his voice was laced with concern.

"No, it's not bad, Joshua. I can take it," you breathed.

It actually wasn't that bad—as he pushed his cock in and out you could feel your walls easing and stretching around it, adjusting to his size.

Joshua looked tense, he let out a groan when his hips started moving faster on you, then he pulled his body back, making you cry out in pleasure when the position of his cock inside you shifted, pressing on your front walls.

He brought a hand on your lower abdomen, his thumb finding your clit to start rubbing on it.

"Better?" he asked. He was still weary, his big eyes searching your face as he pushed his cock in and out on you, rubbing your clit to ease you from the lingering threads of pain.

"Yeah. Feels so good, Joshua," you sighed, swallowing thickly at the drag of his cock inside your walls. "So, so good."

"Yeah, I know," he replied with a low groan. "You feel good too, sweetheart. Fuck, so good."

You whimpered at the sound of his words, the way he pronounced each one with a tight jaw, his brow furrowing as he pushed his cock inside your walls at a delicious pace.

"So warm and wet, so fucking good, baby," he sighed.

His thumb pressed on your clit, rubbing it and teasing it senselessly, making you moan and squirm. It was too much, your hands clenched on your bed covers when you sensed your orgasm drawing near again.

"Oh, god. Fuck," you whimpered, writhing against your bed as Joshua dragged his cock in and out your clenching walls.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips buckled for a second. "You're close. Right, bunny?"

You shook your head on your pillows.

Then, his fingers landed a slap right on your clit, making you yelp loudly. Clearly telling on your weak lie.

"Yes! Yes, I'm close, Joshua," you cried out.

He smirked in response, his hands holding your hips a second before he started ramming his cock faster inside your cunt. Your eyes widened at him and bit your lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Fuck," he muttered again before pulling out of you, right as your walls started clenching deliciously near your release.

"Joshua!" you whined, breathing furiously at him.

"Remember what I said," he was breathing hard too, probably because he was resisting his own pleasure only to edge you.

He carefully lowered his hard and wet cock on top of your tummy, you stifled a moan at the sheer size of it and the weight of it too. The reddened tip, the soft marks of a vein along the wet shaft, you bit your lip.

"Shua, please," you pleaded with a desperate sigh.

"That's not my name, baby," he snapped with a dark look.

"Joshua, I'll be good, just-"

"Tell me why I should believe you," he muttered as he moved to slide within your walls again, your heart swelled with a little satisfaction when he groaned in pleasure too. 

"I'll show you," you said weakly.

"Not good enough, princess," he shook his head as he slapped your pussy again, right in your sensitive clit.

"God, fuck!" you yelped loudly. "I'm sorry, Joshua. I'm sorry for pushing you away."

You moaned helplessly when leaned down a bit and spit on your cunt, covering your clit with his saliva to start rubbing circles on your swollen and oversensitive bud.

"Why, do you like to have me at your beck and call? You enjoy to fuck me and toss me away like one of your toys?" he muttered darkly.

Suddenly you regretted telling him to punish you, because he only wanted the truth from you, unlike last time he punished you and you had to try not utter a word while he fucked you into the bed.

But you could see that he was struggling to hold back, swallowing hard, his brow furrowed.

"No! You're not my toy—you're... you're," you stammered. Were you about to confess? Like this?

Your orgasm was threatening close, so you squirmed on your bed, trying to create some distance from his fingers teasing your clit. Joshua understood what you were attempting to do and started caressing it lightly, thinking that he was over stimming you.

"You're close?" he asked, realizing when he heard you sigh a moan.

But he didn't wait for your answer. Joshua pulled out again, his cock landing with a soft slap on your lower tummy. A single drop of cum dripped from his tip, but he wasn't cumming yet, you knew that by the way he was breathing in deeply, trying to contain himself.

If he only wanted the truth, you were deep in trouble. Because you push him away to avoid your growing infatuation over him.

"Joshua?" you called abruptly.

"Mm?" he lifted his gaze to find yours.

"What's your favorite color?" you asked breathlessly.

"What, why?" he frowned.

"Tell me," you pressed.

"Pink," he responded, his brow not relaxing.

"Really? That's cute," you sighed, Joshua's hips retracted from your body and he positioned himself again on his knees, his cock aligned with your core.

"Yours?" he asked with an air of reluctance.

You told him your favorite color.

"Why did I know you'd say that," he replied with a small smile.

"Your birthday?" you asked, feeling utterly pathetic.

He chuckled breathily. "What, why're you asking me this right now?"

"Tell me," you insisted. "Please."

"December 30th," he responded, looking confused.

A loud moan reverberated across your room, so loud that you almost wanted to cover your mouth when his cock sank into your walls again. He thrusted slowly, but then he continued rubbing your clit with his two middle fingers.

"What's yours, princess?" he asked, appearing to be following whatever you were trying to do. 

You told him your birthday through broken gasps.

"Still, I don't get why you ask," he breathed tiredly.

"I want to get to know you better," you told him with a whine.

Joshua smiled sweetly at you and that might've done it for you.

Your walls clenched around him and he groaned loudly, slamming his hips against you, the sound of his skin slapping against you filled the silence that followed between you.

Something you weren't expecting happened:  Joshua seemed to have forgotten about edging you, closing his eyelids tightly, his mouth parting a little. You loved to see when his face scrunched up like that, when he was so close that the muscles around his mouth relaxed, but his frown would deepen sweetly. 

Joshua threw his head back a little, a moan muffled in his mouth, his throat bobbing a little as he seemed to be immersed in pure pleasure. He didn't relent his hard thrusts on you, pushing his cock in and out your sopping walls while rubbing your clit expertly.

"Fuck, I can't—Joshua," you gasped. "I'm close. Please, please. Let me cum?"

Joshua groaned before lowering his gaze back at you. "Where do you want me, baby?"

It took you two seconds to understand what he was implying.

"Inside," you breathed. "Please. Cum inside me."

He nodded before he started ramming his cock in your walls faster, moaning loudly through clenched teeth. You moaned with him and sank your head into your pillows, back arching as the tension in your body only grew more intense.

"Joshua, oh god—Joshua," you called, not knowing what else to say, feeling all sanity slipping out of your mind, coming undone under waves of pure bliss washing over you.

"Baby," he called to you. "Say it again."

You blinked weakly, his words bringing you back to reality.  

"I'm yours, Joshua," you breathed.

"You're mine," he replied with a raw tone. "I'm gonna make you mine, right baby? You want that? Want me to stuff your pretty pussy full of my cum?"

You moaned and nodded desperately, your walls squeezing him hard the moment you heard his words.

"Yes, oh god, yes please," you whimpered.

He cussed and moaned as he came inside you, pushing his hips against you sloppily.

"You're mine," he whispered, his eyes glazing over the sight of you cumming hard with him.

"Only yours, Joshua," you responded wildly.

He groaned, your name spilling from his plump lips, pushing his cum deep inside you with lazy thrusts and came to a stop with heavy breaths.

His head thrown back slightly, his eyelids fluttering shut, his mouth parted. He looked so unreal, ethereal even.

Oh god. What have you done?  

Joshua seemed to come down from his high when you shifted on your bed ever so slightly.

"What was all that?" he demanded in a tone that still denoted his confusion still. "The questions."

"I know nothing about you, Joshua," you explained shyly.

And yet, you told him you were his.

But he blinked slowly and started laughing, his cock was still buried inside your walls.

"Don't laugh at me," you pouted through your hurt ego, though he had no idea why you started quizzing him mid-coitus.

"You couldn't wait till we were done?" he asked and giggled again when you shook your head.

He leaned forward, placing his arms above your head on your pillows and pressed his chest against yours, his eyes looking at you fondly.

"What other questions do you have for me?" he asked.

"I-I have plenty," you admitted meekly.

"Is there a reason why you want to know now? Or can it wait?" he kept his eyes trained on you, you noticed, he was gathering every reaction you showed.

"It can wait," you nodded. "Why?"

"Because you asked me to fuck you all night and I'm in the middle of that," he booped your nose with one finger. "Can you keep your questions until I'm done?"

A sweet smile crept on his face when your core fluttered around him and you groaned in utter embarrassment.

"Is that a yes?" he laughed.

You groaned again and slapped his shoulder slightly.

"I'll get something to clean you up," he muttered with a smile still, pulling his hips from you.

He returned some minutes later with a hand towel, which he had soaked with warm water and he gently cleaned the cum that had already spilled from your entrance.

"I found it in the cupboard. I hope you don't mind," he darted a look at you briefly.

"It's fine," you assured him. "I need to go to the bathroom to take care of everything else."

"Do you want me to carry you there?" he asked, getting up from the bed.

"I'm fine," you sat up on your bed. "Can we shower later?" you asked meekly.

"Sure, baby," he sighed softly.

When you came back to your bedroom, you had half-expected to see him asleep from how tired he actually looked. But he was lying on your bed, one leg crossed over and absentmindedly looking at his phone screen, one arm tucked under his head.

God, he was a sight to see. Chest and throat covered in hickeys, his black hair ruffled slightly, the bedroom eyes when he noticed you walking in.

You climbed your bed and lied on your side next to him.

"You're okay?" he asked after he left his phone on the nightstand and turned on his side to look at you.

"Yeah," you sighed. "Never better."

His fingers cupped your chin softly and you leaned to lock his lips with your own in a tender, hot kiss. Joshua moaned softly in your mouth when you felt his tongue slid in your mouth to mingle with yours.

You gathered in your mind what little and fruitless information you got from your long day with Joshua. Maybe you got it wrong this whole time, and you don't need to know what his favorite color is, although you did want to learn his birthday.

You could no longer hide your infatuation over Joshua Hong. It was becoming painfully obvious, though you weren't sure to what extent he was aware of this. Or if he even cared, for that matter.

There was one more painful realization to all of this, one that you didn't expect and probably overlooked because you were worried so much about your infatuation with him that you didn't care to see him with clarity.

Joshua was lonely.

✮ a/n: i'm sorry

i have nothing else to say.

not really, haha

i love joshua, i loved writing this

if you liked this chapter please show it some love? 🥺

and happy holidays!! ヾ(•w•`)o

READ PART 5

→ join my taglist — to read the previous chapters: navi post

[bigmouthlass]

I need to watch this damn movie now don't I?

Outstanding. 👍

Cherry Wine

A Tale from the 'My Bloody Valentine' Universe

~Tom left town in a hurry, escaping capture by faking his death. On the run and distraught, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.~

Tom Hanniger x Rose (OFC)

2,453 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sexual Scenes. Torture. Bondage. Psychosis. Movie Level Blood and Gore.

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "Be good for me and I'll untie you."

This takes place immediately after the film and shows Tom still dealing with his issues, namely murder. If you're unfamiliar with the movie, I doubt it will matter. Just know that he is insane and dangerous. Hope you enjoy!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't go home.

He didn't even know where home was anymore. Was it back in Harmony surrounded by memories and the corpses of his childhood? Or back in the hospital with all of his twisted pain and overly medicated thoughts?

He didn't know.

So he drove.

He drove until the sun rose and hung high in the sky, blossoming over the Pennsylvania landscape like the face of God. Bright and warm, it beat down on the maroon truck as trees blurred in his peripheral.

When the gas tank was as empty as his stomach, he pulled off of the interstate and parked, taking only his wallet and jacket with him.

The late afternoon was warm. February had been uncharacteristically mild, and he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, readjusting the hood behind his head.

Bill’s Diner was open and crowded. Tables lined the big front window, each red vinyl booth filled with locals who chatted over never-ending cups of coffee and plates of over-done french fries.

A little bell rang overhead as he walked in, and a pretty brunette with long hair pulled back into a tight bun smiled.

“Sit anywhere, hun,” she called to him while navigating the sea of tables with her hands full.

Tom nodded and looked around for an empty spot before deciding on a stool at the counter. He sat and slumped forward, clasped his hands on the sticky linoleum. He stared at his hands, willing the trembling to cease, but it never really went away. He was always just a little bit anxious, some part of him always shaking even if no one else saw.

Trauma had slashed at his soul and the scars ran deep.

A deep breath steadied him and Tom looked up as the waitress came into view.

“Hey there. Welcome to Bill’s. Can I getcha something to drink?”

Her smile was captivating. Her two front teeth were adorably bigger than the rest and her plump bow lips were tinted gently with a red gloss that made them look forever wet.

He couldn’t help but stare.

She blinked and looked away, pale skin blushing a soft pink under his gaze. Bright blue eyes gleamed when she turned back and Tom’s chest ached.

She reminded him of Sarah but a little plainer, a little softer all over.

“Hello?”

She waved a hand in front of his face and Tom startled, sitting up straight and shaking his head to clear his vision.

“Sorry,” he said with a sigh. “Long drive.”

The waitress nodded and grabbed a mug from below the counter. “I bet.” She filled it with coffee and slid it to Tom who smiled and closed his hands around the cup. “You coming or going?”

He bit his lip, wondering how to answer. Where was he coming from? Where was he going? To hell, probably.

Tired green eyes swept over her. The plastic buttons on her white shirt were tiny and struggling to keep the thin fabric from pulling open across her breasts. Her dark jeans were tight and dusted with flour and a few drops of marinara that had slipped past her black apron. Her curves were decadent and she smelled like vanilla.

He cleared his throat. “Just passing through.”

She smiled kindly and laid a plastic covered menu next to his coffee.

“Well, alright then, stranger. My name’s Rose. When you’re ready, just holler.” She winked and turned away, leaving him to scan the day’s specials alone.

The giant clock in the corner ticked the hours away. Customers came and went. Coins were dropped; tips were thin. Empty plates smeared with ketchup stacked up in the kitchen; spilled salt was wiped from table tops with a dingy rag.

Rose was busy most of the evening, but never too busy to stop back at the counter and talk with Tom. She lingered near him, pretending to clean while they chatted about how it hadn’t snowed in a few weeks and how the price of gas was going down a bit. She was sweet and Tom liked being near her. She was beautiful and her voice was like a calm breeze that lulled and comforted him.

When the windows were dark and the fuchsia neon glowed bright, Rose set her hands on the counter and looked down at him.

“Closing time, buddy. You don’t have to go home, butcha can’t stay here.”

He looked up through thick lashes and smiled flirtatiously. “Already?”

Rose licked her lips. “Sadly, yes. All good things must come to an end. Or so I’m told.”

“That’s a shame.” Without looking away, he drained the sweet swill from the bottom of his mug. “There any place to get a drink around here?” He paused, calculating her interest, and then went for it. He had nothing to lose. “Or maybe I could walk you home…”

Rose’s cheeks burned and her smile was impossible to hide. “Maybe both.”

Tom rolled onto his back and stretched, rolling his head on his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He hadn’t slept so well in a long time; hadn’t felt so good in forever.

Rose had been just what he needed.

They sat on her cinnamon couch and drank sparkling pink wine. Tom hated it, but the bubbles felt nice and each sip seemed to loosen her up a bit more.

When the bottle was empty and the glasses drained, Rose scooted closer and set her hand on Tom’s knee. He bit his lip as her fingers climbed higher, held his breath as she palmed his dick through his jeans, let his eyes close as she climbed into his lap.

She was heavy and warm. He ran his hands down her sides, slid his fingers around the curve of her waist. She pressed her ass down over him and rolled her hips.

He hissed at the friction and pushed a hand through her long hair, dragging her down for a kiss.

Her lips were plump and delicious. The gloss on her mouth tasted so familiar to him but he couldn’t place it.

“I never do this,” she whispered, half laughing as she ran her hands down his chest.

Tom grinned and traced the soft flesh above her jeans. “I don’t know, you’re pretty good at it.”

She chewed her lip and blushed. “I mean, take customers home. I haven’t done this in forever.”

He stared deep into her eyes and popped the bottom button of her shirt. “Well, I’m glad you decided to.” He scraped his nails down her sides and Rose’s head tipped back, her eyes fluttered shut, she hummed lustfully.

“Me too…”

He smiled and tossed the sheet off of himself; sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. He’d have to shave soon, but it wasn’t a priority. He scratched at his scalp and yawned.

“Mornin’.”

Tom sucked a strawberry nipple between his lips and melted at the sound she made. Rose arched her back, pushing her tits against his face and grinding down on his cock.

They were mostly naked, shirts and jeans tugged away and tossed into random corners of the small living room. Only thin fabric separated them now, and Tom rubbed his middle finger against her covered slit. Her raspberry panties were soaked.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Rose nibbled on his ear. “Wanna see the bedroom?”

He jerked his hips, bounced her in his lap. “Absolutely…”

The bedroom was flooded with mid-day sun that filtered through the thin curtains, and he stood up in a sun puddle, feeling the warmth instantly. He sighed and walked to the adjoining bathroom.

The tile floor was freezing and he tiptoed in, pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the tap.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick shower, do you?”

She was total perfection.

Stretched out over the bed, her pale skin looked like fresh cream against the burgundy sheets. She moaned as he tied the silken sash tight around her left wrist, squirmed as he leaned over her to secure the right.

“Another thing I never do,” she teased, reaching with her mouth to catch a kiss.

“What’s that? Let a stranger tie you up?” His smile was devilish yet sweet and he gave in to a deep kiss.

“Not exactly a safe thing to do…”

He licked into her mouth; savored the taste of her. “No,” he laughed, pulling back to look down at her. “It’s really not.”

Blue eyes fluttered as Tom drew his hands down her nakedness. He cupped each breast, pinched her nipples, scraped his teeth against the stiff buds.

“Fuck, you’re driving me nuts,” she whimpered, tugging at the restraints, needing to touch him.

He settled between her thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them open wide. “That’s kinda the point.”

His tongue burned like fire against her clit. He nuzzled into her, lapped at her slick heat, teased her to the edge of ecstacy.

Rose bucked her hips into his handsome face, held her breath as he slipped two thick fingers inside. Her body tensed. Her mind blanked. Her pulse quickened.

“Fuck. Please…”

Again, she tugged at the sashes holding her tight and Tom lifted his eyes. He grinned at her struggle.

“Be good for me,” he breathed, “and I’ll untie you.”

Heavy, warm steam filled the room as Tom lingered by the sink. He toyed with her toothbrush, sifted through her medicine cabinet. There wasn’t much inside and everything was expected. Floss, antibiotic ointment, a few hairpins. Half a bottle of aspirin, tweezers, lotion.

He smiled. Her skin was so soft.

He slipped in like a knife through warm butter, filling her up with his thick cock.

Tom thrust against her; dug his fingertips into the soft flesh above her hip bones. “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he moaned, his eyes closed, head thrown back as her body tightened around him.

Rose held her breath, wriggling harder beneath him with each jerk of his hips.

“Please!”

He looked down at her wet, ruby lips and smiled. Leaning down, he folded her nearly in half and scratched hard down her sides. She squirmed and garnet lines erupted in his wake.

“So gorgeous…”

His pace quickened. She moaned loudly over the sound of his thighs slapping against her ass.

“Please!”

Each scream egged him on. Every twist of her body beneath him made his heart race.

Rose was panting, choking on her pleasure as he fucked deep into her.

“Tom-”

He closed a hand around her delicate throat, massaged the sacred arteries on either side.

She thrashed against the bindings; eyes wide and lips growing pale.

He squeezed harder and he felt her cunt pulse as she came. Blue eyes were fading in a sea of wine, blood vessels bursting as his grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he grit, riding her through the pleasure. “Just like that. Fuck!”

Tom closed the cabinet door. He swept away the fog with his palm and looked into his own eyes. He was happy, sated and beaming.

His lips were ruddy and swollen a deep red. He pressed his fingertips to them and sighed. He could still feel her kiss, taste her on his tongue.

She tasted like cherry wine.

He kissed her gently yet deeply, memorizing the feel of her plush lips against his and the way she melted into him. His cum ran down her leg, warm and messy.

He pulled away and rolled onto his side, yanked the thin sheet up around his shoulders.

She slept soundly; he mumbled in his sleep.

Tom stepped into the hot water and moaned happily. The pressure was sublime. Water pounded his aching muscles, burned his skin blissfully.

He ran his hands through his hair and turned around to face the spray. It washed down his cheeks, flowed into his mouth. He looked down at the drain and gasped as a whirlpool of crimson swirled around the chrome and disappeared.

“The fuck?”

His mind raced.

His hands were stained with dried blood; his forearms scored with claw marks.

He panicked, panting as the water washed the night away and his memory returned.

He ripped through her skin like a knife through warm butter.

Tom jabbed the blade into her; dug the tip into the soft flesh above her hip bones.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, green eyes wide as he watched the blood flow from her sides.

Rose gasped for a breath and wrenched her arms free of the silk sashes. She slapped at his chest, shoved his face away.

“Please!”

He looked down at her gaping ruby lips and smiled. With a murderous gleam in his eyes, he scratched hard down her side with the knife and watched the garnet stream erupt in his wake.

“So gorgeous…”

She kicked at him, summoning all of her strength to push him off even as her energy seeped away and soaked into the sheets. “Please!”

Each scream egged him on. Every twist of her body beneath him made his heart race and his cock twitch.

Barely able to breathe, Tom burst from the shower and steadied himself on the sink, knuckles blanching as he held on tight. He forced himself to look at his reflection and nearly broke as he saw the lingering blood on his cheeks. The splatter had been fast and furious- an arterial spray that painted his face from temple to chin.

“Fuck…”

He closed his left hand around her delicate throat, harshly pinching the sacred arteries on either side.

Rose clawed at his arms, drawing blood as she fought for her life.

He squeezed harder and felt her pulse slow. Blue eyes were fading in a sea of wine, blood vessels bursting as his grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he grit, lifting the knife to her jaw. “Just like that.” He sliced through her vocal chords, silencing her cries forever. A sanguine tide covered her milky breasts, stained his steady hands.

Through a cloud of steam, Tom stumbled back into the bedroom and bit back a scream.

Rose was laid out on the right side of the bed, her naked body posed as if sleeping. Her throat was torn, her sides split, chest carved open exposing the pale bones caging her heart.

He swallowed down a wave of bile and fell to his knees.

“Not again…”

Above the bed, drawn in Rose’s blood, was a simple heart.

Tom laughed as the last bit of life drained from her beautiful face. He bent to kiss her cold lips, savoring the last taste of her, memorizing the soft push of her lips.

He licked the blood from his fingertips as he rolled over, tired and sated.

She tasted like cherry wine.

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[cipher-fresh]

unfinished fic about hawkeye returning home to Maine

The army had flipped him the bird once again. Hawkeye thought he’d blessedly be free of military incompetence once he was home, but the air attendant bringing people’s bags to them off the flight hadn’t found anything for a Pierce-comma-Benjamin. The man had assured him the military air service was working on it and it would be shipped to his home address. Hawkeye had rolled his eyes and dryly thanked the man. Nothing but the clothes on his back. He blinked, and tracked the other people at the airport. He didn’t see anyone else in military garb. Hawkeye swallowed. No wallet, no money, everything was at home or heading there. The military wasn’t kind enough to drive their doctors home, the only thing it’s teensy-weensy little budget could afford was sending them there in the first place with all their guns and Jeeps. 

Hawkeye rubbed his eye and sat down at a bench, eyeing the rest of the airport. It was sparsely populated, some signs on the side with airport procedure, but drab and uninviting. Would it be too much to hope for that he’d get a federally-funded escort home? …Probably. He needed to look for a payphone. 

Hawkeye fished coins from the fountain with his hand, rolling up his sleeve as pennies and nickels slipped through the cracks in his fingers. He shook the coins in his hand and then dropped them in his pocket. He’d spotted a telephone booth outside of the airport, to the side of one of the runways. He walked on the tarmac over to the phone booth, and for a quick moment mimed ripping his shirt open like Superman from a comic Radar had let him borrow.

Hawkeye slotted a few coins into the payphone and called his dad’s number, one he didn’t even need to look at the keypad to type perfectly. 

“Can you hear- Hi…Hi! Dad! Yeah, it’s me. I’m home… Yes. Well, I’m at the airport. … No, I need a ride. I don’t have any money on me… no, something screwed up with all my stuff. Yeah. …Yeah. Bangor airport. …They’re sending it to you, I don’t have it,... yeah, I can wait. Thanks. ..I love you. See you soon.” 

Two hours. Hawkeye could wait that out. 

A car navigated down the road to the airport. Some people moved out of the way, walking on the path. Hawkeye dusted off his jacket and scanned for the door, walking out of it with confidence. 

His dad rolled the window down, making that creak it always did when it was at its highest position. 

“Hawk.” said Dad, smiling through the window. 

Hawkeye smiled back. Dad got out of the car and walked around the front and wrapped him in a bear hug. Hawkeye squeezed him back. 

Hawkeye shuffled to the passenger’s seat silently, and sat down. He blinked hard, and put a hand to his face. He rubbed his eyes. 

“You look exhausted,” said Dad, who turned to him in the driver’s seat. 

Hawkeye nodded. “Couldn’t get a wink on the plane.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get home.”

Hawkeye sleeps. 

It wasn’t too long before familiar sights came back into view. Some miles of farms, the long road with the worn-down park leading to the library. The lake. The field him and Maggie Tyler kissed in the night before finals. The patches of apple trees scattered awkwardly across dusty roads.

He stared forlornly out the window at all these old places. The car made a sharp right and they went down Main Street. He recognized all the buildings, none of them were all that different. The barber shop where James Petersen got all his hair shaved off in a $20 dare by the football team. That diner Tommy’s mom worked at. The hardware store that had a hanging plant pot with a bell to sound when the door was opened. 

Hawkeye felt cold. He rubbed his arms and stuck his head out of the window to feel the sun. 

He and BJ had once celebrated a ceasefire announcement with a drink on the ‘porch’ of the Swamp. Not the ceasefire, but ones that happened so rarely that it felt like maybe, maybe this time it would be the real thing. They’d just dragged some chairs out, but they handed back and forth a bottle of booze they’d received from a patient. 

“Payment.” the man had said. 

The patient’s bag was next to him in Post-Op laying in his cot, he’d maneuvered his arm- moving the rest of his body as little as possible to not rip the sutures in his stomach- and hoisted the bottle onto the bed. He’d looked at BJ and Hawkeye with an expectant smile. 

“No, we just wanted a job well done.” BJ had comforted, checking his clipboard at the bed. 

“Just take it. The booze here must suck.” 

Hawkeye walked up to the bed. “C’mon, Beej. If the man wants to pay with alcohol, I say ‘let him.’” 

BJ rolled his eyes affectionately, and walked to the patient’s bedside. “Okay, fine, but just this once.”

They’d sat on those chairs and stared out into the sky. Back and forth went the bottle of booze, a full moon illuminating the camp. They both put their lips on the top and took swigs from their prize, not bothering with martini glasses. Hawkeye had stared into the moon, and felt entranced. 

BJ tapped his hand. “Hawk. You’re crying. Are you alright?” 

Hawkeye lifted a hand to his face, and wiped the stray tear from his eye, and blinked hard. 

“I was just thinking…” he said. “It’s the same moon my dad looks at. Same moon from my childhood. Still there.” He sniffed. “I, uh, didn’t even realize I was crying.” Hawkeye admitted. 

BJ moved in his chair. “Same moon Peg and Erin look at in the sunroom.” he responded helpfully. 

“Yeah.” Hawkeye said. He reached for the alcohol. 

The car finally came to a stop in their driveway. Hawkeye blinked a tear out of his eye and shut the door closed. His dad headed to the door, but Hawkeye stood still. He breathed the air. It smelled different than the air in Korea. 

He met his dad’s eyes from the door. “You coming inside?”

“Gimme a minute.” Hawkeye called back. He stood there, feeling the wind on his face and hearing the rustle of the leaves. He followed his dad inside. 

The house wasn’t the same. Well, it was, but it didn’t feel like it was. The shadows in corners felt darker, the stains on the ceiling in the hallway had grown, the creak of the floorboards felt obnoxiously loud as Hawkeye walked to the kitchen. 

Dad put his bag on the kitchen table. “I’ve got an appointment in an hour, I’ll be back as soon as I can. There’s, uh, food in the refrigerator.” 

Dad walked up to him, and wrapped his arms around him again. Hawkeye closed his eyes and hugged him back. He buried his face in his dad’s shoulder, and held onto him like the wind might scatter him into a million pieces. 

The car’s engine started up again and left. Hawkeye separated the blinds of a window on the back wall with his fingers. He could see the creek behind the house, some scattered trees. He’d climbed trees as a kid, though never as well as his friends. Hawkeye rubbed his arms again and retreated from the window. 

Home. 

He breathes the air and looks around at the familiar sight. There’s a window with the curtain drawn, brightening up the place in absence of the lights as all of them were turned off. A clock ticks in the kitchen. 

It’s jarring, the house feels like when he visited his aunt’s house when he was a teenager after not seeing her for years. When he’d visited, the house felt wrong because he was so much taller, seeing it from a completely different height. This is what his dad’s house feels like now, even when he knows that it looks almost exactly the damn same. The refrigerator's new, though. 

There’s a cardboard box on the kitchen counter. Its position is precarious, half of it hanging off the counter. If he had been more distracted he probably would have knocked it to the ground. Hawkeye walks over to it and peers inside- there’s envelopes, stacks of them. Letters. He digs a hand inside and picks one up. 

Dr. Hawkeye 

1268 High Creek Street

Crabapple Cove

Bremen, Maine 04547, 

United States

Huh. His mail. Was everything in this box his mail from Korea?

Hawkeye grabbed another letter, and it was addressed similarly, but with a number off in the house address, also addressed to ‘Doctor Pierce’. Another letter said ‘Doctor Hawkeye’, ‘Benjamin Pierce’, and ‘Benjamin Hawkeye’. He chuckled at the last one. The soldiers who passed through the 4077th would manage to spend hellish amounts of time needing to be patched up but also so little they couldn’t get the right name of their doctor. 

There was a set of letters rubber-banded together, he grabbed the bundle and ripped the band off. This set all had doodles in pen on them, the Red Cross symbol and Kilroy and some other things. These must’ve been drawn by a group who came in together, handing pens back and forth as they wrote letters at the same time. He wondered who had bundled the letters together- the postman in Korea? Had Dad found the ones with the doodles and figured they were made by people of the same squad?

Hawkeye put the letters back in the box and brought it over to the living room. He put the box on the ground and took out the ones on top he’d looked over, putting them on the space on the couch next to him. Looking closer inside, there was a rag covering some of the letters on the bottom- Hawkeye grabbed the stack of letters above the rag and placed them down, then grabbed the stack covered by the rag. 

Oh. These were bloody. 

Bloody fingerprints, or just dried drops of blood. All of them had dried before the rag had been put on it, and he couldn’t imagine that the Korean postman had decided to waste valuable rags by wrapping letters home, so it must have been Dad. 

The letters were then re-wrapped in the rag, the doodled-on letters returned to their rubber band, and tossed back into the box, unkempt and unorganized. He’d hold off on opening them for now. He ran a hand through his hair, and it registered to him how long it had been since he’d showered. My god, he could have a nice, hot shower without anyone in line and hounding him about water usage or how long he’d been in there. 

He takes off his fatigues, still in his sweaty olive drab from four days ago. He would very, very much enjoy a hot shower. 

Hawkeye waits for the water to heat up, then steps into the shower and hangs his head. It occurs to him he has no clothes other than his sweaty fatigues, but decides that’s a problem for Clean Hawkeye to deal with. It unfortunately comes with the territory that BJ is not in the stall next to him to hum some song or make jokes, but…

BJ. God, he needs to send BJ a letter. 

He lets the warm water fall over him, closing his eyes and resting his hands at his sides. What would he even say to BJ?

[serpercival]

for the asks #8-12 for mating habits universe <3 but also number 5 for specifically unconventional pest control solutions! truly foxtrap is taking over my mind mwah <3

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

The lady who's nasty to Trapper in the department store (Boston - Part Two/Chapter 21) is just one of my great aunts. Do not like her.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

There were some changes in Mating Habits specifically between the outline and the actual fic! BJ was originally supposed to figure things out much slower. He was too clever and went to the library without my permission lmao

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

Beejtraphawk as the ship is 100% the product of the people who were involved behind the scenes in most of the outlining. Given it's an extraordinarily Trapper-centric verse it was always going to be traphawk, but the incomparable @ RemyFire did a huge portion of the outlining and their BJ is phenomenal, so he became a massive presence in the story. Also helps that beejtraphawk is my favorite MASH ship :3

11: What do you like best about this fic?

This thing is 100k (so far) so I've got a few things!

The little addition to The Interview, Chapter 6. I watched that episode and Hawk fucking possessed me, I don't think I've ever gotten his voice quite so well and I don't think I ever will again.

Essentially the entirety of Crabapple Cove - Part Four/Chapter Ten. The dinner scene with Daniel, the hallucination of Hawk, the prose poetry section, the conversation with Daniel afterwards... I really think I nailed every single beat in that chapter and it's far and away my favorite piece of it.

The front step gag

The Frankenstein pieces in the entirety of Boston/Part Four! Particularly the resolution to it in Boston - Part Seven/Chapter 27.

Also Morel. Love her.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

ough. I'm still in the process of writing it so I haven't done too much reflection on this, but initial thoughts are that I think my BJ characterization is a little weak. I'm doing my best but he's a serious enigma to me, and Part Four is from his perspective so.... idk. I think it's probably narcissistic but I generally enjoy my own fics!

Actually, to be fair, I think my smut's a little weak, too. I'm not great at internal dialogue so smut scenes tend to fall a little short imo, but I'm working on that! Practice makes perfect yadda yadda

And then for Unconventional Pest Control Solutions:

5: What part was hardest to write?

Okay this is an insane answer but that fic came to me practically fully formed. The main problem was that I was trying to write smut while on a road trip in the back seat of the car with my parents. Genuinely I felt like I was transferring a story from the ether into the computer with barely any input from my brain however it was written while desperately trying to make sure that the window wasn't reflecting my screen and also without looking embarrassed. Literally in the middle of the smut scene I was interrupted to have a serious conversation about world politics and then I just went back to it. This was definitely not the answer you expected but it's the answer you're getting

[hyunniebuns]

Hello! I need help looking for a fic >..< it’s a two part, one with sunghoon as y/n’s fwb (they do the nasty in a library) and the other part is about giving heeseung a bj and like sunghoon gets jealous. I came across them both on my dash and can’t seem to find it anymore :(( (I HATE BACKGROUND APP REFRESH SO MUCH) pls let me know if u find it!

[remyfire]

Fic ask meme!! A, L, and/or Q <3

Fanfic Ask Meme A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

Ahh, Rosie, you didn't give me a specific fic title, so I'll go general!! —54% are song lyrics —6% are prompt-based —40% are completely random, just what came to mind when I considered the content of the fic

I go for song lyrics more frequently nowadays but I also do not have as modern or expansive of a music library as much, so I do a lot of repeats of the same songs!! I'd love to start using poetry as well, but I still am having trouble digesting poetry with my focus disorder. Work in progress.

L: What’s the weirdest AU you’ve ever come up with?

I still think traphawkahy seminary incubus AU—with or without the optional addition of B-girl content—is probably the silliest possible title at this point. Notably I am not responsible for all of it—shout out to @hesgomorrah—but I'm very fond of it so I am putting at least a wee bit of claim on it.

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

I have the very very very bad habit of entirely deleting scenes that I edit out rather than saving them in another doc for possible later use, but I still have a few moments from Scratching The Itch kicking around. Multiple ones, so they're unedited under the cut for anyone curious.

When I was brainstorming how to get to the massage/sex scene in chapters 4 and 5, originally I had Hawkeye playing a little bolder and BJ meeting him competitively in the middle and overruling him. It ended up not working for my purposes, and I appreciate getting to go the more tender route with BJ especially. iirc correctly, this snippet was going to take place directly after Freddie's departure, with Hawk teasing BJ about how hard he is and how he's refusing to go take care of it. But you can see the thread that I carried over into the actual shower chapter itself.

"I've done without for this long," BJ drawls, lips quirked in that hint of a smile that teases what California sunshine must look like. "I can last a little more."

"But why bother?" Hawkeye tucks one finger in BJ's belt loop, just barely fitting between the smooth leather and the rough fabric, and gives him a tug. "We don't want a Sunday pot roast, Beej. The longer you let that sit and stew, the more tender it's gonna get, and how's that fun for anyone?"

BJ puts his hand square in the middle of Hawkeye's bare chest and gives the gentlest nudge, and Hawkeye is so taken aback that he lets him, lets BJ walk him backward one step at a time. Those lips turn upward just a hint more as blue eyes sparkle down at him like the sea and the sky have swapped. "Because the first time that you make me come," BJ murmurs, "is going to be when I'm fucking you."

Hawk's eyes widen so far they feel like they might bulge out of his head. It's not the first time he's felt BJ's hand on his skin, but there's intentionality here beyond just pulling him to sit beside Beej on a bench when they're 8 straight hours into surgery, beyond the way BJ's fingers would find the slim gap between Hawkeye's shirt and pants while they stumbled laughing back from Rosie's.

Those beautiful fingers are a weight on him—but a grounding one.

The back of his knees hit the bed and he tips into sheets that still smell like sex and sweat, and suddenly he's desperate to know how BJ's pheromones are going to mix.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" BJ's voice is barely over a murmur. "You want to know what it feels like to be as full as you've made all those pretty girls your whole life." BJ lifts his eyebrows, wrinkles spreading across his forehead. "You want. To be. Fucked."

Finally the words creep in fully through the post-orgasmic haze, slithering around his brain, squeezing, ready to make a meal of him. His blood goes cold and leaves goosebumps along his entire body.

BJ is a prankster. He's as mercurial as the god that word is named for. He takes delight in teasing, needling, but never in a cruel way. Right? Has BJ ever been cruel to him—intentionally, sadistically, curving his wrist to make a bleeding gash in Hawkeye's heart? Suddenly he can't recall, can't be perfectly sure. Those glimmering eyes are waves crashing down to drown him.

"I-I..." Hawk fights to find the light he had in his chest only moments ago.

And these are assorted bits of dialogue that ended up not being used, originally used regarding Freddie and in the shower scene respectively.

"I think the war's aged me fucking fifty years. Jesus. You're gonna laugh, but I'm so tight, I think I almost pulled something just from fucking her."

~~

"You're telling me this because if I ever said a word about you and Peg being open, you'd be able to take me down with you."

"I'd never take you down over anything, Hawk. But if that's what you need to believe, then go ahead."

This is the original ending of the R&R scene in chapter 6, right before the pivot back to camp. I wrote this before doing anything else with chapter 6, and then when I started from the beginning, I realized BJ had a lot more rage and grief regarding how his attempt to be domestic with Hawk (has BJ done this before with men? Has it worked? Is Hawkeye special?), so I couldn't use it, and again, I prefer how it ended up moving, even though it left a lot up in the air for me to play with when I circle back. (notably I had also forgotten I gave them three days of R&R, so I couldn't send them back that easily anyway when they still had a full day left to go hfdkd)

BJ clicks his tongue against his teeth. "You've been touching me this casually since I puked my guts up in front of you and nobody's said a word." When he glances over his shoulder, the flatness is gone. "Yeah. Of course it'd be casual. What else would it be?"

Hawkeye opens his mouth, shuts it again, and forces himself to think before he speaks. "I'm, uh, glad we're on the same page."

BJ chuckles and pats Hawk on the cheek just a little too firmly. "Can we head out before they leave without us?"

"Oh, sure, sure," Hawkeyes drawls. He goes to grab his own bag in turn. "I'm in such a hurry to get back. I wonder if they're serving liver or liver tonight in the mess tent."

"At this point, probably sewage soup."

Hawk laughs. "Perfect meal for denizens of a swamp."

[amrv-5]

HI PARKER!!!!!! for the fanfic ask meme: D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with Somewhere To Get To or Sailed Calmly On? F: Care to share a favorite hurt/comfort fic? N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you? Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

HELLO LISA!!!!! thank you for the ask!!!!!! Hope you're having a good evening!!! These were really good askdjflaksdjf I forgot how how strongly I was inspired by a song for Sailed Calmly On!!!

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with Somewhere To Get To or Sailed Calmly On?

I wouldn't say a formal playlist but there are definitely songs I was playing a lot while writing! For S2G2, I've mentioned CSNY's "Our House," which, BeejHawk song ever to me. Wilco's "Hate It Here" (I'll check the phone, I'll check the mail, I'll check the phone again...) for BJ's Hawk-less chapters. And (so sorry) Billy Joel's "Summer, Highland Falls" is undeniably S2G2 to me (Though we choose between reality and madness / It's either sadness or euphoria!). I had much less going on musically for SCO, BUT!!! I realized I never stated that the beach scene in chapter 2 (in which Hawk looks at BJ and Erin on the beach and realizes she's not going to be young forever as his own dad holds his shoulder) I wrote with Tom Rosenthal's "We Can Always Come Back" in mind (I even gave BJ the song title verbatim!!):

F: Care to share a favorite hurt/comfort fic?

Not sure if it formally COUNTS as a hurt/comfort BUT Granspn's "or, the children's crusade" is one I come back to a lot when I want to spend time in Hawk's head and also read people looking after him a lil <3

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Waugh LOL I answered this a little over here in response to Al but !! Generally because I am giving up on shame I am Boldly Proclaiming that I have a million unfinished projects where the plot arc is (ever-repetitive, and always fun for me to write) Hawkeye has a bad or generally stressful time in some way and then gets treated soooo special by BJ for like a couple hours. Every time one of them gets finished another appears, one-tenth written, in my google drive, and well IDEAS FREE TO A GOOD HOME!!! ANYONE TAKE THEM AWAY FROM ME IF DESIRED!!!

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

Absolutely. Not sure how many of these I've mentioned in the past, but I originally had kicked around the idea of BJ's parents showing up in S2G2, there was going to be a scene where they went to the library together with Erin, and I just recently found a note where (surprise?!) apparently at some point I'd considered a version of the fic where Hawkeye, at the end of his rope and feeling miserable with no real idea of what to do, ends up pulling sort of a Crazy Ex-Girlfriend maneuver and moves to San Francisco for his slow breakdown, but also goes to drastic measures to never cross paths with BJ because he managed to get himself across the continent but bridging the last, like, five miles and/or phone call it would take to ask for help is too difficult, which I can't even remember how I thought this would work in re: resolution except that there would be some sort of Incidental Meeting, but, hello? I am glad I did not write it this way but it was a really intriguing little note to find, and I'd kind of be fascinated to imagine a version of the Leviathan where I DID take that (arguably?) sadder and much stranger route.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  A Strange Detour

Series: Holler Me Home, part 1

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: 'You' are an Omega fresh off a daring rescue of Alpha!Dean. Fate wouldn't be so cruel as to bring on a heat when you're seeing him home-- oh wait.

Tags:  Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, ABO, Omegaverse, AU, Alpha Dean Winchester, Omega You, Omega Reader, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, Dubious Consent,

AN:  If I've misused any of the ABO tropes, I apologize. There's a lot about ABO dynamics that bother me, I tried to play with it a little so it doesn't come off quite so . . . squicky. There is content referencing sexual abuse of minors but it's offstage, non-explicit, and not meant to be in any way titillating.  All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

The first flush hits as you climb through the door and lock it behind you. "Oh shit!"

The body stretched out on your bed murbles something.

"Never mind, go back to sleep."

An affirmative grunt is the only response, and you shut yourself in the RV's tiny bathroom. Pinching in your back dispenses with the notion that you can get by using regular drugstore suppressants; the damn things don't work when the show's already on the road. Instead you reach for the neutralizer and smear it over your scent points. Not much you can do about your privates, except stick a thick pad there and hope for the best. Cussing, you eat some aspirin with a cup of coffee, get in your captain's chair, and hit the backroads.

Your guest wakes up about the time you pass the state line. Tall, very handsome, stiff with the aftermath of an ass-whuppin’, the bruise on his cheekbone turning a nice shade of plum and lilac. "Morning sunshine. There's coffee in the cupboard over the stove. Make yourself useful."

Dean Winchester grunts something obscene but he goes to do as he's told. "What's with the cigarettes? Thought you quit."

"I did," you confirm, crushing your cigarette out and lighting another. "I've been up for thirty-six hours since I got the SOS from Garth to come save your dumb ass. Cigarettes keep me awake. Next step up is speed and that shit makes me sick." And the smoke should cover any scent that gets past the neutralizer.

"Alright you've made your point. Open a window or something."

"Can't. We'll lose the air conditioning."

"Don't care. Those things reek."

Conceding his point, you get him to open the windows. Whether or not that improves the air quality is debatable. Downwind of Gary stinks of burned oils and bad decisions. On top of that it's one of those overcast days where the world feels like a steam room on half power. Dean's flannel and your jean jacket get tossed up into the upper front bunk within minutes. Lord have mercy but why did he have to pick today of all days to wear a tank top? In his mid-thirties, Dean looks his age, and his age looks pretty damn good.

Of course short sleep is only part of the story. Thanks to the scrambling your hormones got from ten years of experimental suppressants, your heats are hard and painful. You scrap the plan to escort Dean back to Kansas yourself and make a new plan to hit up a fixer you know who lives in Illinois. Izzy’s got a bunch of beaters with clean titles and he owes you a big one.

Dean's not in a much better mood than you are. With how often he gets kidnapped and thrashed you'd think he'd be used to the process, but no. The ride turns into one giant bitchfest, Dean ignoring your growls to shut the fuck up as he complains about everything-- how much his back hurts, how he mashed his fingers in the cupboard door, how the radio isn't picking up anything but bad country western and whiny preachers. Battling the backroads of Indiana in a C-class RV in ninety degree weather and no air conditioning, with a bad heat coming on and the world's biggest fussy baby whining in your ear, is going in the books as one of your special Hells. You wish Sam was here. Nobody's better at Dean-wrangling than he is. You should be so lucky; Sam's holed up at the Winchesters' super secret hideout, fresh off surgery to repair a torn tendon in his knee.

A stop for gas and some fried chicken helps. "I'm sorry," you apologize, swallowing a big hunk of drumstick. "I don't think I've eaten since lunch yesterday and I'm a total bitch when I'm hungry."

"'M sorry too," Dean says around a mouthful of coleslaw. "I try to be nice to people who save my ass."

"Dude," you say, "saving your ass is not only a service to humanity, it's my distinct pleasure." Your reward is a blinding grin and an eyebrow waggle, and you try not to blush. The man is hot as a lit match and if things were different-- well, you'd have to take a number, people a lot cuter'n you have drawn blood for the pleasure of his company.

Your pussy clenches and a brutal cramp seizes your innards. Fresh slick oozes, the sensation making you cringe. You seize on Dean's casual, "So what's the plan?" like a drowning woman grabbing for a life ring. "Well my nearest fixer lives outside a little town name of Union Hill. He can hook you up with transportation and gas money." And you can park the RV in the middle of nowhere and howl out your heat in peace.

"You don't want to come back and visit?" Dean asks. If you didn't know better you'd think he looks a little . . . hurt. "Sam would love to see you. He told me to say thank you for that print you sent."

"Everybody should have a Van Gogh in their first house," you say, smiling. "It's like a national law." Your smile breaks on a massive yawn.

"Hey-- go get some sleep," Dean says. "I've got a CDL, I can drive this tin can."

"Watch it Winchester, this is my home you're talking about," you grouch. A power nap sounds nice right now, if for no other reason than it's a excuse to put some space between you and Dean. Far as he knows you're a Beta, and you intend to keep it that way. "You know how to get to Kankakee from here?"

Dean gives you a look.

"Sorry, my bad. Wake me when we hit the city."

"Yes ma'am," Dean says.

"Salute me when you say that."

Without looking back as he settles into your captain's chair, Dean flips you off. "Hey," he asks as he fires up the engine, "you know of a good barbecue joint around where we're going?"

"There's a truck stop on 57, maybe two or three exits south. They've got a pit out back. Why?"

Dean makes that dunno shrug sound. "I could seriously go for some ribs.”

---

You're deep under, dreaming of plush lips and -- of all things -- chocolate fudge and cheesecake when the RV lurches.

"Sorry," Dean calls back as you climb out of bed. "We're making a pit stop. I gotta find a pharmacy."

The RV lurches again, damn near throwing you off your feet. The coffeepot crashes to the floor. "Fuck-- Dean!"

"Sorry," he says, unconvincingly. Someone outside blares a horn and Dean hollers something you're sure he didn't learn in church. You peer out through the curtains and see a Walgreens. Dean wheels into a bank of parking spaces and cuts the engine.

"Wait a-- Dean! chill!" Too late, he's out the door and jogging across the parking lot. You stare at the remains of your coffee maker, source of the bitter fuel of life. How Sam has not strangled Dean in his sleep, you have no idea.

Well as long as you're here-- grimacing through the intensifying cramps you pick up a new coffeemaker and stock up on protein drinks and bottled water. Omegas can, and have, died of thirst or hunger while deep in heat. As you leave the store you see a Confinement Notice posted on the wall. Shit. You forgot, Illinois is a Confinement state-- unless you get your horny ass inside the cops can pick you up and stash you in a closet next to the drunk tank until your heat runs its course. For Your Own Safety, For Their Own Safety. It's tempting to rip the damn thing off the wall and burn it.

Dean's in the bathroom when you get back, grunting something about an upset stomach. Whatever, Dean locked in the bathroom means less chance you'll do something dumb. Maybe, just maybe, you can get out of this with your dignity intact.

If you can fight through the haze drifting across your brain. Thick killer fog, smothering logic and reason, turning off anything but a fierce longing for bare skin, lips, hands, knot. Your skin is burning, clothes are starting to chafe. You’re running out of time.

When you get to Izzy’s hideout -- a cozy basement cave on an abandoned farm with a yard full of rustbucket cars, the house and barn lost to a fire years ago -- you're in a state. Febrile, trembling, every erogenous zone on your body aching. You have to take a minute to get your knees under you when you climb out of the RV. Jesus, you've never had a heat hit this fast.

"No." With shaking fingers you touch the note caught in the storm cellar door, staring wide-eyed and disbelieving at heavy duty padlocks. "No no no no no no, Jesus fuck no--" you dash back into the RV and pound on the bathroom door. "Dean get out here! My fixer's gone, you gotta see if you can get one of his beaters running--"

"I can't." Dean's voice is even hoarser and deeper than usual.

"What? Why the hell not? Your legs broke?"

A choke of laughter. "If only."

"Dean this isn't funny," a crinkle of plastic gets your attention and you pick a shopping bag up off the floor. The receipt is inside and as you read the brand names your insides collapse into a void. Neutralizer and suppressants, Alpha formula. Oh Jesus died in vain and legally changed his middle name to Fucking, Dean is in rut.

"Why didn't you tell me?!?" you shrill. "Dipshit, it's really not a good idea to be riding around in a mobile home full of fucking guns when you've got a rut coming--"

"I didn't know!" Dean roars and you flinch. "My rut's not due for another three fucking weeks! Maybe one of those assholes dosed me. Maybe those painkillers you gave me did something-- I don't know." Dean goes on, oblivious to your silence. "Fucking thing comes every thirty-three days, has ever since I was fifteen. I could set my watch to it. I wake up this morning, I feel fine, three hours later I start getting the shakes. I thought if I loaded up on suppressants I could hold it off until I got home but the fucking things aren't working!"

"How bad is it?" you ask.

"I could pole-vault over myself right now," Dean says. "Look I know you're probably exhausted but you gotta get me back to the bunker--"

"Dean you see the bag hung over the towel bar on the door?"

A pause. "Yeah?"

"Open it up and look inside." The bag, an old army medic first aid kit, is where you keep the stuff from the drug trial-- copies of questionnaires, doctor's exam notes, charts of the side effects, the empty glass vials with their color-coded labels. You listen as Dean opens it up and rifles through the contents, and cringe when the anvil drops and he starts snapping out swears. "What the fuck?!? Omega?"

The contempt in the word gets you mad again. "Because it wasn't your business and my heats aren't regular. I wouldn't have shut us up in a box together if I thought I wasn't safe!" Your uterus clenches into a hard fist and your knees buckle, your palms smacking on the kitchen counter.

"Oh fuck. Do not tell me you're going into heat."

You cough out a laugh. "You tell me. Alpha."

Dean sniffs. "Oh Jesus Christ. How-- oh God you smell good. How did I never notice?"

"The shit I was on worked." There had been side effects of course-- your hair falling out all over, a uterus full of fibroids and scar tissue, the increased cancer risk, irregular and painful heats . . .

Not fun. But a breeding Omega is a liability as a Hunter, and you need Hunting more than you need a mate and pups. However vehemently your body disagrees right now.

"I knew you were something," Dean says, surprising you.

"Oh fuck off Winchester, I'm not one of those slobbering Betas you pick up in bars who want a walk on the wild side with a real-life Alpha. Did any of them ask you for a bite?"

"You're a vicious bitch when you're in heat, you know that?"

Your reply is lost in a high squeak of pain. The latch on the bathroom door rattles and you lock it from the outside-- you'd installed the bolt years ago. Just in case. Dean throws it a shoulder. Panicking, you shriek, "Dean stop!"

He slumps against the back wall. He takes a deep sniff, like a little kid smelling a flower. You can't help it, you pull a deep breath and moan as Dean's scent hits your brain, filling your senses with fudge and leather.

It takes every bit of your disappearing willpower to stagger to your bed.

---

The next hours are pure misery. Wave after wave of need racks your body, your cunt clenching around nothing, every fiber of your being desperate for a knot, for seed. The tiny little space left where you live is just as desperate, cracking you with a whip of you are not your biology, you are not some hole for an Alpha to hump their come into, you are not some fucking brood mare, you are not, you are not, you are not--

Again and again you cry out as the words fail you. Your own hands and the toys in the nightstand drawer work overtime, wringing climaxes out of your body to the point of pain. They just make it worse. Your body doesn't want to come, it wants Alpha. Surrounding you, holding you down, pulling you close, knotting, biting, marking, mating-- just in time you sink your fangs into your pillow and howl.

When the first wave recedes it's dark outside. Your body feels like a clenched fist and you hiss in pain as you unwrap yourself from your pillows and pull yourself straight. It's agony but you know from bitter experience that you have to use these lucid periods productively. Your knotting toy lays at the foot of the bed, sticky and stinking. Tears of frustrated rage in your eyes, you pick it up and hurl it overhand, hard enough to dent the wall.

"Jesus!" Dean snaps from the bathroom.

"Sorry. Are you okay?"

"Well," Dean says as you lurch to the kitchen table and crack a bottle of protein drink, "I've got a hard-on that won't die and a really embarrassing mess to clean up--"

"Dude!"

"You asked, genius. And I am starving. I could eat a dead skunk if you put some onions on it first."

"There's a box of ration bars under the sink and the clear water tank is full. Just in case," you add, "there's a pistol and a silver knife in the toilet tank and some holy water in the medicine cabinet." You do what you can to clean off some of the sweat and slick, the cool water soothing on your skin.

The next wave hits and you're on the floor dragging the washcloth back and forth through your pussy, spread out on your front with your ass in the air. Dean's crouched down on the bathroom floor. You can see his face pressed against the little slats in the door, hear the hissing of breath through his nose. Gobbling up your scent like a kid with a sackful of Halloween candy. Shuddering, disgusted with yourself, disgusted with him, you crawl back into your bed for round two.

---

"You gotta let me outta here," Dean says, several hours later.

"You can't leave," you tell him tiredly. "Illinois has Confinement laws." You getting caught with an RV full of unregistered firearms, pipe bombs, drugs of all functions, magic supplies both holy and otherwise, and maybe one or two satchel charges is one thing. Dean getting picked up? The FBI would put him under the jail.

You hear Dean sit on the toilet lid. "Shit."

"Yeah. Don't suppose there's anybody you can call--"

"Phone's on the table. Besides," he adds, "everyone I can think to call is-- they shouldn't be coming here."

You hear the unspoken point. Garth's a Beta but there's a full moon coming and he won't risk being caught away from home. Sam is out of commission and an Alpha besides. Castiel is . . . well, he is what he is, but he's in the wind. "Shit.”

"I just said that."

"Hoho, very funny. Ha ha, it is to laugh."

Dean snorts. “Look, ‘Mega--”

“Don’t call me that! Don’t you ever call me that!!!” you yell.

“Okay okay okay-- just listen. Is it really so awful?”

"Do I have to dignify that with an answer?" you snap back. "This shit fucking hurts, you dick."

"That's not what I meant," Dean says. "I mean-- the thought of me. Is that really so awful?"

Oh God, what a question. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? I'd have to fight for you with anyone with eyesight and a libido that works."

Dean doesn't say anything for a moment. "So. Any Alpha that's good-looking?"

"Fuck you," you spit. "You have any idea how fucking demeaning this shit is? I'm going on about my day and all of a sudden I wanna drop my drawers for any twitching dick that walks by? When I was in school I had fucking Betas grabbing me in the halls. 'Present for me Omega.'" Your voice almost breaks. The memory of your first heat is one you don’t want back. "One of them was my fucking history teacher. Said it was his duty as an Alpha."

A bitter sound that might've started as a laugh comes from the bathroom. "Librarian," he says. "Dragged me into the science wing supply closet. Said her husband went noseblind and she was dying for a knot."

"Jesus." Would they? Of course they would. Young, attractive, bad reputation, mostly on his own-- to a certain kind of scum Dean would've been catnip. "How old were you?"

"Seventeen." Dean pulls a breath. "There were some others at that school. I got passed around like a fucking trophy." Or a whore, you think but don't say. "I never said nothing to anybody but I kept getting these looks from some of the seniors. Big bad Alpha, even the teachers want a piece. I tried-- I swear, I tried to stop. One of them, she taught one of Sammy's classes-- he started taking high school English when he was in sixth grade. She told me if I didn't fuck her she'd call the cops and get Sammy taken away."

You touch the surface of the locked door. The one threat Dean would never, ever take as anything but serious, the one thing that would scoop his guts out and make him nice and tame. "They can go straight to Hell," you say. Your tongue hits your fangs, fully descended. As if you could go back in time and rip the bitches to pieces for daring to lay a hand on your-- on him. "Every last motherfucking one of them."

Silence, no engine noises, no crunch of tires in the distance. Just insect wings and an owl hooting in the trees. Just you two and the angels right now, and you hope to God they're not paying attention.

"You're the first person that didn't instantly make a joke about it," Dean says finally.

"I make jokes about funny shit. That shit ain't funny."

"Yeah." You hear something light, leaflike-- Dean flipping a page. "Did someone hurt you? Is that why you signed up for this?"

"Omegas get hassled. It comes with the territory," you dodge the question. "I volunteered because--" you think a minute. "I went into heat once when I was tracking a tseste. Damn near died. OTC meds weren't strong enough, so I started doing some digging. Pfizer’s been working to develop heavy-duty suppressants for a while now. High dose hormone regulators. I sighed up for a clinical trial. Stuff works great-- no scent, no mating drive. The drug part of the study ended about a year ago. I just have to go to the doctor twice a year for follow-ups."

Dean snaps his fingers. "That's why you didn't take that case in Buffalo. That ghost ship."

"Yeah. I was parked outside Sault Ste Marie scaring the mosquitoes." Ashamed, you add, "I really am sorry about that, I heard you and Sam damn near drowned."

"Wasn't your fault." That leafy sound again. Of course Dean's read through everything in the bag. Nothing else to do in there but play with himself, you think and wish you hadn’t. Those big hands and nimble fingers, strong enough to bend iron, gentle enough to suture a wound or wipe a tear. "Did the jerks from the drug company tell you how bad the side effects could get?"

"They had to," you reply. "This isn't a super secret project to neuter all the Omegas in the world. Pfizer gets a suppressant formula that actually works, they'll be the richest bastards since the Pharaohs. I'd sell my soul not to have to deal with," your lip curls in revulsion as you take yourself in, soaked in sweat and slick and ready to throw yourself at any swelling knot, "this."

"Please tell me that’s a figure of speech."

You roll your eyes. "Even I'm not that desperate. It's not you, Dean. If it were just us--" why in God's name are you saying these things?

"It is just us," Dean points out. "Nothing here but you and me."

"You, me, and a mating instinct that still gets people off the hook for murder in 36 states." The words flow, like blood from a deep cut. "I took a shitload of drugs that killed my uterus and will probably give me cancer because that's better than pumping out pups by the boatload until my body gives up and dies. And don't tell me it doesn't have to be that way. It might not be legal to throw out job applications from Omegas but it still fucking happens. You know what I wanted to do before I had my first heat? I wanted to go to West Point. Be the first woman on the Joint Chiefs. But nope, the Corps loves Alphas but Omegas are too much fucking hassle--"

"You're not hearing me," Dean interrupts your tirade.

"And you aren't hearing me. I can't afford to forget I'm a fucking sow. It's gonna get me killed one of these days. You got the same classes I did Winchester, you know the life expectancy of Omegas tops out at fifty-five. Fifty for male Omegas."

"And thirty-five for female Alphas. That's not the point."

You gulp. Dean in rut and out of patience was not something you ever wanted to see. You clutch your midsection, another wave of heat stirring, sucking at you, pulling you under.

"I wanted you the minute I looked at you," Dean says, making your eyes pop wide. "I didn't make a move because I thought you couldn't stand Alphas. Remember that night, when Sammy and me met you?"

You nod. "The harpy nest."

"We had to pull you off that frat boy Alpha when he grabbed your ass." Shit. You remember the incident, sort of, you were pretty drunk at the time. You'd forgotten about the part where Dean had to drag you kicking and screaming off the premises while Sam talked the bouncer out of calling the cops.

Dean's voice goes even rougher, lower. It feels like he's speaking right to that surging, stinging want spreading through you. Your hind brain plucks the same old song on your nerves, mate-knot-breed, mate-knot-breed, the same old breedslut’s waltz. The animal inside wants to dance, and relishes the thought of taking Alpha’s lead. "If I wanted to knot you 'til you bleed I would. I can break through this damn door in a New York minute and you know it. And for the record," you shudder, "I can feel exactly how much you're hurting right now and you have no idea what it's like having to feel my mate in pain and just stand here with my dick in my hand."

The sensation of total stop gets underlined by another murderous cramp. Curled with pain, you shout, "MATE?!? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?!?"

"It's the only way this makes sense," Dean says. "You said you've never had your heat take you this fast. I've never been more than a couple days off-schedule. Either we've been hit with a curse and fuck I hope not or we're a match and our cycles are synching up."

"You don't honestly believe in that true mates crap," you say, digging your nails into your sides hard enough to break skin.

"I've seen it. There were these two guys. Hunters. We ran into them on a case. I saw the claiming bites. Sam asked them when they got together and Jose said they met on the streets. When they scented each other, they knew. Jose said it was like somebody distilled happiness. You know what you smell like to me right now?" Dean takes a long sniff. "Grape popsicles.” Another sniff. You can picture him scenting, head back, lips parted, skin flushed and shadowed with beard, a Renaissance angel in bluejeans, those eyes looking at you, wanting you. “Barbecue, with brown sugar and lots of pepper.”

You aren't aware of scenting and the words just sort of come out. "Mackinac Island fudge.” One hand slides down and between “My mom's old motorcycle jacket."

Faintly, you hear the clink of a belt buckle. "Cinnamon."

Your fingers glide over slicked flesh. "Cedar shavings."

A soft groan, a breathless voice. "Irish whiskey."

Both hands, seeking, circling, inside. "Toasting marshmallows."

You can hear the rhythmic sliding of skin against skin. A soft plosive sound, Dean spitting into his hand. "Hot engines."

Your body clenches at your fingers, the bands of muscle meant to lock behind Alpha's knot flexing and fluttering. "Gunpowder."

Dean's panting as he sinks to his knees. "Peanut butter--" he moans your name.

Climax breaks over you and you curl your fingers into a bony knot, your other hand rolling your clit like a marble in oil. "Baked apples," you cry out as Dean gasps from the other side of the locked door. Scent and seed and slick and tears. You crawl away from the bathroom crying out in pain as the heat rips and drags you under.

---

Never ask if things can get worse. God takes it as a personal challenge.

You didn't even make it into the bed. Instead of climbing up onto the sheets you’d curled up into a tight ball on the floor, and there you remain. You'd assumed the scent of an Alpha in rut made heat as bad as it could possibly get. Misss-stake. The paradigm has shifted, your instincts have seized on the idea (the truth, a little part of you cries) and that's not just an Alpha in the other room (mine!), it's Dean. You can't pretend the Alpha, the man, you're scenting is just some knot that happens to look like your friend (mate). Dean's hands on your blazing skin, Dean's mouth kissing yours, Dean's knot locked in your cunt, Dean's seed pumping into your body. Oh the things he could do to you, body and spirit so much stronger than he lets on.

Your scents have intensified to the point where you can taste them on the air, bite them off and chew them. A filmstrip voice from fifth grade sex ed class drones in your memory-- 'like their animal counterparts with similar mating cycles, Alphas and Omegas in season produce pheromones to indicate their status to potential mates. In the correct conditions, pheromones can be detectable up to a mile away. An unmated Alpha or Omega's pheromone production will increase the longer a breeding cycle continues without a successful mating.' The sound of hateful sniggering, always in your ears. Breeder, cum sink, momslut, Omega.

The sense of Dean's presence drags across your senses like fish hooks over your skin, and cruelest of all it's not demanding, it's begging, pleading. Alpha feels your agony and longs to take the pain away. Faintly you can hear Dean's voice, thick with his own need. He keeps asking you to answer him, laugh at this, say something at that, breathe like a train engine, anything to help you emerge from the Hell of your own body.

And something just . . . gives. Breaking strain, tipping point, limit reached and breached. "Dean!" you cry, sobbing so hard you can't breathe. "Help me! Dean, please--"

A crack like a gunshot, and the bathroom door splinters into matchsticks. You turn your head and there he is, barechested, jeans hanging open, his cock jutting up and out, the knot at the base dark and pulsing. You look for Dean and instead it's all Alpha and your heart crumbles to ash. Weeping, you do what's expected; head down, spread your knees as wide apart as they'll go, press your chest down into the floor, arch your back to flare up your rear. A proper presenting, showing Alpha you're ready for breeding. Like a stinking beast and worth half as much.

"Please," you cry into the floor. If dignity is cheap why does it hurt so much to lose? "Please, it hurts, it hurts so bad."

"I know baby, it's okay, I got you," instead of spreading you wider or grabbing you by the nape Dean takes your shoulders and pulls you gently upright and against his chest, the heat of his skin matching the heat under yours, "c'mere, it's gonna be okay, shh," softness pressing to your face, your head, your mouth, "can you stand? c'mon, put your feet down--" he pulls one of your limp arms over his shoulders and stands, drag-marching you the last step to your bed. By the time he's got you laid down he's shuddering almost as hard as you are.

You whine when Dean pulls away, gasping out pleas, grabbing his hand and interlacing your fingers. Whatever he was going to do gets abandoned and Dean drags himself overtop you, jeans boots and all. You wind yourself around him, soaking up the feel and the smell and the everything the way cracked skin soaks up lotion-- pain and relief all at once. His cock drags across your belly, leaving a hot trail. A hand gropes your cunt and you let out a high whistling gasp. "Hang on baby," Dean says. He tries a smile. "Left my lube in my other pants."

You smack him somewhere meaty. Dean grunts but his attention doesn't waver. Two fingers slip inside and wiggle while Dean murmurs how tight, how wet and warm, how good it's gonna feel, how good he's going to make you feel. The tip of his cock brushes you and before you can freeze he rolls his hips and oh.

There's no resistance at all. He just glides, fitting up into your body like a key in a lock. Every single muscle in your body pulls tight tight tight and you scream, Dean half-sobbing a curse against your lips. The spasm lets go just as you feel yourself starting to pass out and clarity returns to the feel of your Alpha painting your face with kisses, your bare skull held gently between his hands. Blood and sensation surges back and you moan as Dean puts an arm around your back and thrusts.

He's big inside you, and the way he's got you tipped makes every movement light sparks along your nerves. Gentleness goes by the boards as your body clutches at him, as your claws cut furrows in his back and your heels dig into his butt. The rest of reality doesn't exist, all that matters is Dean in your arms, Alpha's knot swelling, starting to catch.

The world goes upsie-daisy as Dean grabs tight and rolls the whole works over. "Wanna see," he pants, holding your hips until you get your balance. "My knot-- oh my God you're beautiful, you're so goddamn beautiful."

You don’t have words, just touch, your hand pulling Dean up for a kiss. Your bodies find their stride and you’re rocking hard together, moaning against each other’s lips. Hours on the edge has you in a place beyond, need and pain and bliss all smashed and melted together. You’re desperate for the end, you want this to never end.

“NO!” you scream in denial when Dean’s knot pops and your cunt locks him in place. His back arches as he comes and the pain in your body drains away as his cock pumps you full of seed. You start to cry, your own peak denied, release out of your reach--

Beneath you, Dean sprawls, crying out at each pulse of his cock. His hands clamp on your hips hard enough you can feel him clutching bone. Unconsciously you follow his unspoken lead, rotating your body around Alpha’s knot, making every millimeter of him stroke and drag. Jaw clenched as your pussy pulls at his overstimulated cock, Dean strokes your clit, his touch light as bird wings and intense as fireworks. His eyes lock with yours and what’s left of the world fades to nothing. All that’s real is this, Alpha and Omega, you and Dean.

Everything in you stops and flashbulbs pop behind your eyes as you finally come, crying out Alpha’s name, and the last thing you hear is Dean shouting as another load of his seed bursts into your womb. Your body folds over and everything goes black.

---

Just before dawn, when the terminator passes and everything is shades of blue, you open your eyes, flat on your back. On his side, curled up next to you, Dean sleeps. One of his arms lays across your belly.

Well. You lie still, utter peace rubbed up against utter shock. 24 hours ago you were giving your wounded friend two Oxycontin with a bourbon chaser and worrying about gas money. You take a whiff, noting the change in your mingled scents. Lord it's weird, relaxing and tensing up all at once.

Dean mumbles a little and you shut your eyes, going boneless. You don't want to see his face when he opens his eyes and realized he's not in bed with a gorgeous, well-fucked, ready-for-more Beta. He'd said he wanted you and he wasn't lying -- you give yourself at least that much credit -- but an Alpha in rut would find an Omega in heat attractive no matter what.

Dean takes a deep sniff at your neck. Is he purring? Moaning? Whatever it is, it's going right to that worried place, soothing it away. "Hey," he says, so softly. "You awake?"

"Mmm," you grumble, turning on your side and into Dean's arms. Dean doesn't turn away, doesn't grope you, doesn't mutter obscenities as he rolls you over to present. You can feel him moving around you, making his body into a safe little harbor, and you can almost believe there's nothing else in the world he'd rather be or do.

For all that he's a Hunter and one of the strongest personalities you know, for all that you'd never doubt for a minute that Dean's an Alpha, the thought of Dean being Alpha as you understand Alphas doesn't click. Alphas don't get all soft and googoo face when they're holding someone else's pup. Alphas don't turn down sex from cooperative partners even when said partner is a little short of legal or too drunk to tapdance. Unmated adult Alphas don't exist cooperatively for years on end even when they're related. Sam behaves more Alpha than Dean does and Sam's a sweetheart most of the time.

Another wave of heat swells in you but there’s no pain, just want. You nuzzle your way up Dean’s throat and meet him for a kiss.

Both of you pull away with a disgusted noise. “Ew. Dragon breath,” you say.

“Yours is worse,” Dean, no gentleman, tells you. “Least I don’t taste like an ashtray.”

“Hold your breath,” you order, reaching down and feeling him rise to attention.

Pouting-- he’s actually pouting-- Dean pushes your hand away. “Sorry baby,” he says, kissing your forehead, “but I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

“Charming. Make it fast.” You make a face as you roll out of bed. At least these aren’t the good sheets. An Alpha in rut leaves behind one fuck of a wet spot.

Dean picks up a piece of wrecked door. “Holy shit.”

“You’re paying my deductible,” you tell him, reaching around the doorframe and snatching your toothbrush.

Ten minutes later and you’ve got minty fresh breath, a protein drink in your system, and your butt squeaking a brisk one-two beat on the kitchen counter as Dean fucks you to within an inch of your life.

---

“Well this is awkward,” you say.

Dean pants out a laugh. “Ya think?”

You try to shift yourself off Dean’s knot and hiss in pain. “Um . . .” you give him a pained grin, “I like Captain Solo where he is?”

That gets you a glare. “Seriously?”

“Sorry. Pop out on three-- one, two--”

“No no no no no, you’ll tear.” Over your protests, Dean picks you up off the counter, careful of your knotted together bodies. He sits on the dining table, draping you over his lap and making your mewl as his cock shifts around inside you. Dean sighs as you get your knees on either side of his hips. “That’s better.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Why the hell not? I’m not going to just rip out of you. What kind of an asshole do you think I am?”

“An Alpha. And you’re not an asshole you’re a dipshit. There’s a difference.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You can’t help it, your lip curls in a snarl. “Not much I could do to stop you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Oh am I offending you now?”

That’s worth a glare. “Yeah, kinda, it pisses me off that you think you gotta prove something to me.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, confused.

“I mean--” Dean cuts himself off, thinking, holding you still when you try that swivel trick around his knot. “Stop that.”

“Whyyyy?”

“Because I’m trying to have an adult conversation--”

“Whyyyy?”

“Because you’re starting to remind me of Sam when he was ten and it’s annoying--”

“WHYYYY?”

“Because I really do not want to be thinking of my brother right now--”

“WHYYYY?!?”

Dean’s fighting a grin and losing. “Animaniacs references will not save you--”

“WHYYYY?!?!?”

“Knock it off!”

You suck in a breath for the whine to end all whines, only to breathe crosswise into coughing as Dean starts tickling you. Swearing through your giggles, you attack his ribs.

Somewhere in there tickling’s led to stroking, caressing, kisses, soft bites. Gently you drag your lips across Dean’s collarbones, down to mouth a nipple, up to nibble over his tattoo. Just touching him feels good.

His mouth slips down the side of your neck and pauses on the mating gland. You stiffen. Hurt shines in Dean’s eyes, before he covers it in irritation. “Jeez-zus Christ I’m--”

Making a decision, you touch his lips and shush him up. “Look. When this is over we’ll talk. For real talk, I promise. Until then, can we table the deep soul-bearing heart-to-heart shit?”

“You’re regretting this already?” Dean asks, the hurt shining through more strongly.

“God no.” Pounding the point home with a kiss. “I just don’t want you to. If you’re right, about us I mean.” You stare into his eyes, nearly lost in shining green, one of your hands over his beating heart. “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

Dean takes your face between his hands and kisses you, deep and sweet. You barely notice when his knot collapses and he slips out, leaving a mess of mingled come all over you both.

---

It’s getting hot, sweat making your bodies slide deliciously as you gently, softly, agonizingly move against Alpha. His cock fills you beautifully, the fat head rubbing against a spot inside that brings tears to your eyes. Slow, stoking the heat burning through your body.

Dean lifts your leg a little higher, goes a little deeper. “Hold your leg like that,” he whispers. His newly freed hand goes to your belly and presses down against the shallow curve of tummy fat. “Feel that?”

You can. Your insides fluttering as Dean pushes against them. From inside. Makes every movement more there, more immediate. Head, ridge, shaft, knot-- you moan when Dean starts gently rubbing your clit, making him answer in kind when your cunt spasms around him.

It lasts, Dean makes it last, until you can’t anymore and he flips you to your back and fucks his knot into you. You cry out as your body takes another load of seed and you lie there, bodies heaving for air, the two of you glued together with the heat.

---

“You’re a genius,” you tell Dean.

“I know, I know,” he smiles, almost too beautiful to look at in the rich sunset light. Your nose can still pick up his scent, mixed with green leaves and burning citronella. The two of you sit on your old air mattress, sharing some dried fruit and venison jerky, passing a jug of water. In the west the sun vanishes in a riot of rose and orange and purple. High up on the roof of your little home on wheels, it really does feel like a tiny slice of Heaven.

“I still do this, whenever I hit a hunt away from the cities,” you tell Dean. “Especially out in the desert country, like Lake Taos? I always freeze my ass off in the morning but the sky’s just . . .”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “We were on our way across Nevada once and we got caught between towns. Dad had to stop and get a little sleep. So Sammy and me lay on the windshield and watched the stars. I was dozing and Sammy woke me up when he saw a whole buncha shootin’ stars-- we must’ve caught the tail end of a meteor shower.”

Dean’s gaze has gone inward, his voice rough and loose with that bit of Texas that comes out sometimes. When Dean reminisces, it’s usually centered on Sam, or him and Sam as a unit, the Winchester Boys, Butch and Sundance, Martin and Lewis, Heckle and Jeckle. Truly impactful memories aren’t something either of them talk about much. You know why. The truth of who people are is a treasure and it’s shockingly easy to steal. This is a gift you’re being given, and you give back silence and space.

“Sammy started poundin’ on the windshield to get Dad to wake up. I thought sure he was gonna rip me a new one for not keeping him quiet. But instead he got out of the car and climbed up on the hood with us. He put his arm around each of us and we all just watched the stars.

“We woke up at dawn half-frostbit and with this Highway Patrol cop writing a ticket for-- shit, I don’t even remember. Sammy talked him out of it by telling him about falling stars.” You can tell Dean’s disappointed in his story. The most important things are the hardest to say. “Anyway. It’s nice to be under an open sky sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Camping out with your dad, learning how to fish and build a fire and find cattails and aim a rifle. And then your body turned traitor, to you and your dad both.

“You know what?” Dean says, as though he knows the channel of your thoughts and wants to divert it, “I’m hungry.”

“You can have the rest of the jerky, man, I’m cool.”

“Nuh-uh.” He kisses you, pushes you back on the mattress. “I need something . . .” he kisses over your heart, “nice . . .” trails kisses down to your bellybutton, “sweet . . .” licks down to the patchy stubble, you haven’t shaved in a while, “mmm, juicy . . .”

“Oh real subtle Winchester,” you groan as he parts your legs and settles his head between them, “honestly that’s just--”

---

Later, under the light of the moon and stars you ride Dean’s supine body, pleasure and joy and the sense of height making you feel like you’re flying, or falling, or perfectly suspended in the moment God made the light. Nothing connecting you to the world of blood and pain except Dean, and since he’s flying with you that’s okay. His knot lodging firm in your body pulls you back, and for the first time the thought of being locked together seems . . . right, needed even. You don’t need a knot to be locked together and coming back to Earth with Dean is a Heaven in itself.

---

“Gonna rain today,” you say as Dean hands you a bottle of water.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He points to a scar on his leg. “Broken tibia. Aches a little when it rains.”

“Mmm. Prosit,” you clunk your bottles together. As you reach to drop yours in the wastepaper basket, Dean takes your arm and starts gently nibbling at your wrist, where all the lines and blood tangle together. Tingles and sparks fly along your nerves.

A phone rings and you both jump halfway to the moon. Dean picks up his latest burner and groans. “Sam.”

From the volume and Dean’s wince, Sam is not using his six-inch voice. “Calm down man, I’m fine, I’m just laying low.”

“Oh is that what the kids’re callin’ it?” you whisper.

Dean waves you off. “I don’t know, maybe a couple more days? We’ve got some weather moving in.”

Irritated at getting the brushoff you go for the soft underbelly. Well, the not-so-soft part of it anyway. Dean coughs out a “Shit!” as you sluck up his cock, feeling it jump to life in your mouth.

Through the phone’s ear speaker you can hear Sam yelling. Dean glares down into your wide and totally not innocent eyes, as you let your lips stretch obscenely up his shaft, lash at the head with your tongue. “I don’t know! Somewhere in Illinois? We had to pull over-- yes, we, as in I am not alone, as in she might be coming down for a visit--” a choked moan pops out of him as you swallow him down, down, so far down your lips can kiss his knot. You hope he appreciates this, it took a lot of popsicles for you to get this trick right.

“No! Shit Sammy-- whatever-- which one of us is acting like he’s twelve?” A surprised laugh makes you choke and you pull away from Dean, coughing like you’re gonna hack up a lung. “I’m fine, Sam. You shouldn’t even be walking. How the hell you gonna work the double-clutch on that old truck with no left leg?”

“Sam wants to come here?!?” you scream-whisper.

“--you don’t even know how to ride the damn thing,” Dean continues. “No. I am fine, there’s nothing but trees for miles-- hey! I didn’t say anything when you wanted to take a detour to see the Impressionists--”

Your patience dies and you snatch the phone out of Dean’s hand. “Sam,” you cut him off. As the oldest of five girls, you know how to give orders to baby sibs. “Dean is fine. He will be home in a few days. If there’s a hunt we will deal with it then. Unless the house is burning down, chill. You got it?” You don’t even wait for Sam’s response, flipping the phone over, picking out the battery, and throwing the whole mess into the nightstand drawer.

Dean stares at you, mouth hanging open, dick visibly throbbing. The reality of what you just did hits you and you hide your face in your hands “Oh Christ. Sam’s gonna fucking kill me isn’t he?”

Clicking his mouth closed, Dean orders, “Put some clothes on.”

Your heart breaks. “What? Why? I’m not safe to drive yet.” Goddamn it, you’ve got maybe five seconds before you start bawling like a fucking crybaby.

Ignoring you, Dean goes upfront. Your fingers numb, you reach for your keys. Jesus-- your heart’s not breaking, it’s ripping itself to pieces like a dry piston engine. Any second now it’ll crack your chest open in a shower of blood and bone.

Dean snatches your wrist, yanking you away from the keyhook. “What are you doing?” he demands.

“You want to leave, I’ll--”

“We’re not leaving. Put this on.”

Present for me Omega, whispers out of a memory and you shudder as you drape the green on black plaid fabric over your shoulders and do up the buttons. The shirt fits you like a tent and smells like Dean, leather and chocolate and all things safe and good.

“Now that you’re wearing something,” he says, in a voice like velvet and whiskey, “I’m going to rip it off of you, and fuck your brains out.”

Your voice is very small. “Oh.”

---

Cool humidity soothes the inferno under your skin, as rain patters on the RV like pebbles on a tin can. Dean has you sprawled wide over the bed, with your knotting toy in one hand and a pocket massager in the other.

“I think I like this,” Dean says to himself, tickling your clit with the vibrator and making you squeak. “Your pussy’s still hungry.” You know it is, you can feel yourself pulsing around the knotting toy. Dean can see the flexing, smell your scent and your slick. “Doesn’t wanna let go. You wanna play with your titties for me?” His gaze goes unfocused as you caress yourself, thumbs flicking at your nipples. It’s just debauched, the picture you imagine you make, shamelessly naked and lounging on a stack of pillows being pleasured by your Alpha.

Or teased. Dean puts the vibrator aside and slowly drives Doctor Knotts into and out of your cunt, just enough to be nowhere near enough. A breeze from the window brings out goosebumps and pulls your nipples to attention. Indecent, slutty, perverted, degenerate-- under Dean’s gaze the shame under those thoughts disappears. You feel alive. You feel like a fucking goddess.

From the tangle of hair at his groin Dean’s cock rises, ready for duty. An idea percolates to the surface of your lust-fried mind. When you explain it to Dean, he just smiles, sticks his bare feet into his boots, carries you out into the rain, and takes you against the side of the RV. His skin is warm and his mouth tastes like rainwater. You run your tongue up the big tendon in the side of his neck and you feel Dean freeze when your mouth touches the pheromone gland, the mating gland.

You don’t, but oh God you want to. Instead you hold him tight as you come and let the rain handle your tears. Dean’s big hand cups the nape of your neck and he holds you back just as tight. His face is wet too, from the rain.

---

Dean’s on the back end of his rut, you can tell because his coloring is getting back to normal and his knot doesn’t take long to unlock. As though you needed more proof-- you think your heat is passing too. Needs matching one another, the way a mated pairs’ should.

So when Dean reaches, you come to him and meet his kiss. And you’re the one that turns over. You shiver as he takes his place behind, kissing up your spine, lingering on the scar of a ghoul bite he and Sam had cleaned and dressed together. You turn your head and find his seeking lips, trying not to feel your heartrate double and memories stirring like angry spirits.

Dean doesn’t bark it like a trainer correcting a dog. Heel, sit, speak, take it like a bitch. It’s soft, like he cares. Because he does. Dean Winchester is a man you trust, and you’re so tired of never trusting. “Present for me.”

You shift your knees apart and spread open your well-fucked Omega pussy. Dean’s breathing is ragged, like he just took a punch in the gut. You cry out as he touches you, finding heat, slick, slippery as warm oil.

“Is all this for me?” he asks, and you can just imagine-- slick pooling in his palm, trickling down his wrist.

“Yes,” you moan, “for God’s sake don’t tease--" you look up and see your own reflection, in the mirror hung on the inside of the closet. The door must’ve come off the latch again. Sitting on his knees behind you is Dean, your Alpha, studying you with an expression so nakedly vulnerable you almost look away.

“Tell me,” he asks. Pleads. He glances up and sees the mirror, sees you watching. With that vulnerable look, Dean says, “Tell me what you need.”

It’s like you’ve been waiting to give the answer your whole life. “You. Please, Dean, you. Please.”

Lining himself up, Dean presses into you. Dying coals of heat flare and you moan in relief and joy. One of his hands curls around yours while the other helps you sit up against his chest. In the mirror-- holy fuck there you are, bracketed by Dean, supplicant and lover and protector all in one. “You,” you whisper. “Need you. Always need you.” Dean hides his face behind your shoulder and moans.

Dean brings this to the best conclusion there could be, worshipping your body with his, tenderly, gently. So much of him is hard, strength called on too early and too often and pounded into iron by years of loss and impossible choices, but his hands on you are careful, gentle, reverential. Those hands have taken on Gods and won, and they touch you like something delicate and beautiful. “Got one more for me?” Dean asks, the flirty teasing threadbare as you tremble through another orgasm.

“I-- I don’t--”

“Come on, you can do it, I believe in you.” Dean does this weird grippy thing, something that makes your clit feel like it’s got roots all the way to your knees. Every clench and flutter of you cunt muscles makes your clit twitch in Dean’s grip, making you gasp. Bliss so intense it hurts. “There it is,” Dean says as you pitch forward. You lace your fingers through the top of his hand as he braces himself; he grips back and drives into you, broken voices matching as you fall over the edge together.

---

The next day is all tension and awkward silence. You’re both sore from using muscles that don’t get used much. Normal you stands on reserve, truly engages with few, shows weakness to almost no one. For Christ’s sake you begged--

It’s an awkward crew that sets sail, the hot sun turning the moisture left from the rain into wring-out-your-clothes humidity. Dean spends most of his time in the passenger seat focused on his phone. He doesn’t try to engage in conversation beyond the strictly necessary. You don’t know if that’s a relief or just something else to piss you off. Christ, he’s not even coming near you. Pretty big turnaround from not being able to keep his hands off you for two days.

It’s that last thought that makes you clench your teeth and try to think rationally. God damn it, this’d be a lot more straightforward if it wasn’t for your fucking hormones. It adds a layer of mistrust to every intuition you normally rely on. Any judgement call is potentially tainted.

And how much right do you have to crash-land in his life anyway? Being a mated pair goes deeper than any legal or spiritual bond, it’s a physical thing. If you take that step it’ll severely curtail your freedom of motion. His too. And there’s the whole serial philanderer thing-- you know you’re monogamous and a bad experience has taught you that you can’t be in a relationship with someone who isn’t. And what about a family? Just seeing the way Dean comes alive around kids tells you he was born to be a father, and no matter how much you-- you can’t do that for him. You don’t even want kids. And there’s Sam. Where Dean is concerned, Sam is like the earth, no way around him.

Muscle memory has you reaching for your coffee cup and your hand touches Dean’s. Instead of snapping it back, you make yourself squeeze his fingers. Not much. An unscheduled bit of human contact. The strength of Dean’s return grip surprises you. You don’t want him to let go. When he does he gets up and goes in the back, avoiding you--

Dean’s leaving you your space, you realize. But you don’t want a space that doesn’t have him in it.

With that, you make a few decisions and take a turn. “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” Dean calls.

“There’s one of those Mongolian barbecue places up ahead. Wanna go and give the grillers a workout?”

---

“Six months.”

Dean’s chopsticks, heavy with beef and onion, pause on the way to his mouth. His already full mouth. Not that you’re being dainty; heats always leave you starving. He asks with his eyes.

You are not a coward. You refuse to behave like one. “If you’re willing,” please God let him be willing, “I want to give this a try.”

“What this?” Dean grunts around a swallow.

“This. Us.” Just like that Dean’s poker face slams into place. You’ve gotten so used to his unguarded, trusting affect it hurts to see his defenses go up like that.

You’re not gonna, so he doesn’t get to either. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That’s your Cop face.” You flash yours right back at him. “Don’t do that. If we never talk straight again we have to do it now.”

Dean purses his lips and looks away. “What’s there to talk about--”

“Don’t. You. Fucking dare. Try to brush this off.”

“Look, we’re cool, okay? You don’t have to spare my feelings.”

“Huh?”

“You’re gonna make me say it,” Dean says after heaving a sigh.

“Negative copy on that Midnight Rider, say again?” You smile as you say it, it tickles you that Dean picked the Alman Brothers Band, it suits.

“I had sex with a woman when she couldn’t say no. The law calls that rape.”

You can feel the smile fall off your face. “Dean no, don’t even think that.”

“Why not?” he asks bitterly.

“Be-cause I was fucking begging?”

“You weren’t in your right mind. When I saw you on the floor-- God, I’ve never seen a woman cry like that. But I didn’t care.” His great green eyes burn with horrified shame. “I wanted you so bad, I didn’t care.” That’s the other part of Dean’s personality, the part that exists in a perpetual state of Fail. That part is incapable of internalizing any kind of praise, nitpicks every decision for flaws, and eagerly agrees with anything negative anybody says about him. Of course he’s taken your ambivalence to mean you hate him. For Dean, there’s no other conclusion possible.

That ends. Right now. You slip your fingers into his hand, pull it across the table to hold it in both of yours. It’s his gun hand, you can feel the hard spots. “Look at me, Winchester.” When you have his attention, you say, “I just had two days of the best sex of my entire life,” not a lie, that’s not even debatable, “with a man who made it his mission to not hurt me, not degrade me, made sure I enjoyed every damn minute, and was never anything but exactly who I needed. No matter where we go from here, I’ll always love you for that. And grateful. God, you have no idea how grateful. You took care of me,” you’re starting to get misty, the depth of that gratitude shocks you. You lift his hand and kiss the back. “Thank you.”

Dean clears his throat. “I don’t want to be one of those Alphas that made you treat any Alpha like the enemy,” he says.

“That would be most of them,” you say. He deserves a better answer than that, though. “My dad always wanted a son, but all Mom could ever give him were girls. I was the oldest, so after Mom had the twins I guess he decided God made me a tomboy for a reason.”

“Oh God he didn’t--”

“No,” you cut that thought right off. “My parents are Betas. So are my sisters. When I Presented, dad just refused to believe it. Said God wouldn’t do something so heartless, make his tough little girl into a breeder. He kept on saying that right up until my first day of eighth grade.”

“Your first heat.”

“Yep. It was . . .” fuck, two decades later and certain things -- girlish cackles of laughter, the smell of floor polish, pressure on a certain spot on your back -- still send you into an irrational panic. “I wasn’t prepared. The story came with me when I got into high school. Small town, the really humiliating crap never dies.

“But anyway. Dad stopped acting like dad after that. A couple weeks later I asked him about going to deer camp-- it was supposed to be my first year there. He beat the shit out of me.”

“Jesus!”

You wave that aside. “Not the first time, dad had a heavy hand with us kids. But he kept calling me things. That’s the first time I ever heard most of the bad names Omegas get called. From my fucking father. Who I worshipped. You get it?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Absolutely.”

“So when the inevitable started happening--”

“You said your history teacher?”

You nod. “And my sister’s softball coach. And my first boyfriend.” You shudder. “And my cousin. His wife told me that’s what Omegas are for and the sooner I got that the better. Doesn’t help that the law agrees, pretty much.

“I met Peg when she was pretensing as an agent for the DNR.” Dean nods, he knows the story of how Peg Dmitriev popped your hunting cherry. “She came and got me the night I graduated. Dad was prepping his big throwing me out of the house speech when Peg pulled up, told dad to go fuck himself, sat me in her car with a bottle of vodka, and next thing I know it’s tomorrow and we’re halfway to Atlanta.

“Anyway,” you pull yourself back to Now, Dean’s hand warm in yours. “Me being an Omega’s been nothing but a source of pain and bullshit, all my life. Until two days ago.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me to claim you? Because--” Dean hesitates, then plunges on ahead, “I mean, it hurt to hold back from doing that.”

“Because I didn’t want to do anything permanent. I still don’t.” Dean flinches, as though you’d slapped him. You hurry to explain yourself, ease the hurt. “I-I mean, I’m a bitch to live with, I drink too much, I’m a loudmouth schnook, I can’t cook for shit--”

“Untrue,” Dean cuts in. “Your campfire stew is awesome.”

“I can’t give you pups,” you tie the whole thing off with one big one.

“I know,” Dean says. At your look he clarifies, “It was on the paperwork in your bag.”

You nod. “It’s not just-- the lab guys aren’t totally sure what the hormone blockers did to my eggs. If kids are something you’re gonna want, they can’t come from me.”

“You’re talking like kids are even an option.”

You think a moment. “Did you ever hit a point, where one day you wonder if maybe you’re not gonna die young’n’pretty? One of the reasons I agreed to do the study was I thought for sure I wasn’t gonna live ten more years.”

You’re not sure if that thought has occurred to Dean. The Winchesters’ relationship to mortality is . . . complicated. How many times they’ve for-real died is a topic of debate in some dark and smoky bars. Some even say the stories are all bull, that old man John was just dinky-dau and his boys aren’t any better. You’re not one of them. You’ve met Castiel.

“Yeah,” Dean admits. He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. “I can live with kids being off the table, but-- look. Every time I’ve tried for anything good, someone gets hurt. I damn near got Ben and Lisa killed.”

“I’m not a civilian Dean. I’ve been Hunting solo for almost twelve years now. Still here, still sane, still a better shot than you.”

“With a rifle, anyway.”

“Whatever. The point is, you don’t have to stash me in a safehouse in Assfuck, Kansas and hope I remember not to wash the graffiti off the walls.”

“Well what about me?” Dean asked. “I kind of like having a permanent address. I’m not going to throw a ruck in your RV and just hit the road.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” you say, bringing up the biggest thing of big things. “For one thing, I’m not going to ask you to pick between me and your brother.”

“What?”

“Sam comes first, I get that.” You’ve been around them long enough to know that’s true. The Winchesters are a package deal. Anybody with eyes can see it, and anybody who challenges it loses. For Christ’s sake, the Devil bet the farm that he could break that, and lost. “That’s the other reason I don’t want to bond right now. If Sam can’t stand having me around--”

“What do you mean? Sam loves having you around.”

“I did just tell him to fuck off.”

“He deserved it. Cockblocker. Look,” he says, turning his hand over so he can hold yours, “if it were up to me, we’d be mated already.” Dean’s doing that thing he does, when there’s no bullshit nowhere. Focused, direct. Part of you wants to run, but another part just wants to wrap yourself up in it, soak it in, exist within that intensity. “But I totally get why you want to take it slow.”

“Yeah. But,” you put the words together, “I don’t want to stand in front of St. Peter yanking claws outta my ass and admit that I left a chance at being happy with you on the table.” You’re not ready to say the words yet, but neither is he and you can live with that for now.

Dean lifts his beer. “Six months.”

You lift your glass of pop. “Six months.”

Clink.

---

One Year Later

“You’re Red’s kid aren’t’cha?”

You nod at the bartender as you pull an ashtray close. Because if there was ever a day you needed a cigarette--

The bartender passes you a pack if matches. “Just get back from the wedding?”

You nod. “Stuck around long enough to get told we weren’t needed for pictures.”

She pulls a bottle of Scotch off the wall and pours. “On the house. You guys look like you could use it.”

“Oh bless you,” Dean sighs.

“No problem. Been listening to Red’s bullshit for years.” You notice a slight flaring of her nostrils and your hand meets Dean’s halfway. You have to remind yourself to take it easy; you’re both off the market. Sam on the other hand . . . the bartender sidles over to get a better sniff at Sam’s Alpha scent, eucalyptus and ice tea and fog, fresh cut green apples. Cool scents, total contrast to his brother’s warm ones.

The original plan -- you and Dean get drunk as skunks and Sam stays sober enough to pour you two back in your motel room bed around 0230 -- gets tossed in the wastepaper basket. “C’mon Dean, we gotta go do the thing.”

“Right, the thing.” You finish your drinks and leave Sam and the bartender to their dance of mutual interest. “Ten says we don’t see him again until Tuesday,” Dean says as he slides behind the Impala’s steering wheel.

“Sucker’s bet,” you reply. Spending as much time in the bunker as you do, you know Sam’s due for a rut. The Omega bartender’s about to have an interesting weekend. “Anyone watching?” At Dean’s negative you get in the back and change out of your for-nice dress. It feels like taking pressure off an infected wound.

“You okay?” Dean asks as you climb into the front seat.

You check the urge to cover with a token I’m Fine-- you and Dean sailed past that a while ago. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard from him before. I’m sorry you and Sam had to hear it.” Your father’s got some fucked-up ideas, but the notion that you’re playing breedslut to a pair of siblings-- that’s low even for him.

“Like we were going to let you deal with this shit alone,” Dean snorts. “Besides, it’s not the first time somebody got the wrong idea about me’n’Sam.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. There was this guy once-- he offered us a grand if we let him film us double-teaming his wife. Two grand if he could put the camera on a tripod and join in.”

“Shit dude. Did he even know you’re brothers?”

Dean shoots you a grin. “Twenty-five hundred. Each.”

“Oof.”

At your direction Dean swings by the party store up the road for a couple six-packs, to the Guiseppe’s for a pizza, and to the park by the lake full of old-fashioned playground equipment rusting away next to the newer, safer, less fun plastic crap. After polishing off the pizza you stretch out next to Dean on Baby’s front end, the windshield hard against your back. The sun going down over the water makes the place pretty as a postcard. You wonder a moment if the view is as nice from the VFW reception hall, as your sister and brand new brother in law take their first dance.

“I think,” Dean says, pulling you from your thoughts, “I owe you an apology.”

“What for? You didn’t treat anybody like a red-headed stepchild.”

“For ever saying anything about how hostile you are to Alphas. Because that--” he tics his head at the road back to town, “explains a lot.”

“You didn’t know.” People you’d gone to school with sniggering behind their hands, gossip exchanged just loud enough for you to hear every word. Your dad, a five-foot-six human bull, regaling Dean and Sam with humiliating stories about your early heats. Your cousin’s angling for God knows, constantly bumping into the guys as they stuck with you like white on rice. Bless them.

Worst of all, your baby sister glowing in white, her eyes fixed on your feet, asking you to please leave. A promise to call later, that she’ll never keep. Rosie never could lie for shit.

Unconsciously your hand goes up, touching the scimitar-shaped bits of raised scar tissue bracketing the mating gland. Dean’s hand slips under yours, gently stroking over his mark. A light touch, like a warm hug or a quick kiss. If he rubs a little harder, you know, it turns your blood to fire, makes you wet, makes you hungry. You remember vividly, you and the guys damn near dying from an ambush of vampires, Dean tossing his car keys to Sam and taking you on the ground outside. He’d begged for your bite first, and your ears had rung with his howl as your fangs tore into his skin.

“I love my sisters,” you say, “but if they’re going to keep being dad’s partisans, I can’t be around them.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Leaving hadn’t been a hard choice. The three of you stunk up the place, literally, and your sisters’ protests that you should just give dad a chance, he wasn’t cruel just old-fashioned, et cetera et cetera et cetera . . . it was bullshit when you left home and it’s bullshit now.

You look at Dean, remembering another sunset. A year’s put one or two more lines around his eyes; other than that, he’s still almost too beautiful to look at. Moved by a wave of tenderness, you pull him close and kiss him, soft and slow.

Later you lie next to him in your motel room bed as he drifts off, lazy in the afterglow. Life isn’t perfect, but with your mate it’s a helluva lot more fun. Unconsciously Dean shifts towards you, his mouth curved in a slight smile.

For your entire life you’ve been coached to feel worthless, a hole for an Alpha’s pleasure and a sack for an Alpha’s pups. You’ve done terrible things to yourself, living your life otherwise. But then Dean fell into your bed and you took a chance that’s paid off every day since. Every smile that’s just for you, every weapon tossed into your waiting hand, every stitch in a bleeding wound, every gripe about how the fuck do you even do that when you take some rifle practice-- you can’t be worthless and have someone like Dean Winchester feel that way about you. And if your kinfolk won’t see that, it’s not your duty to feel bad about it.

With that logical leap, it feels like something broken inside you sets back together. Dean wakes up when he feels you crying. “Hurgh?” he grunts.

You wipe your face as both your phones chime. “Sam,” you say, scanning the text. “Looks like he and the bartender are staying in.”

“That’s my boy,” Dean grins. “What’s wrong?”

“Permission to get girly?”

“Go for it babe.”

“Just realized mating with you’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That’s all.”

Dean mulls that over a minute. “I feel exactly the same way,” he tells you quietly. “I love you.”

You laugh as Dean kisses you. “We gotta knock this shit off. We’re supposed to be the badasses here.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Dean promises. “Any plans for tomorrow?”

“Not really. You?”

“Well,” he grins, that impish smile that makes him look fourteen and up to no good, “I did kind of want to see that equipment shed--"

You groan. “Shouldn’t have told you that story.”

“Nope, probably not. And isn’t the World’s Largest Pie Pan around here somewhere?”

Only Dean. “Four-five hour drive. Then I say we swing by the Thrifty Acres, pick up a couple of bathing suits, and hit the beach.”

“I love it when a plan comes together.”

---

AN2: "Jesus died in vain and legally changed his middle name to Fucking."

-The Angry Video Game Nerd

The World's Largest Pie Pan is in Traverse City, Michigan.

Feedback and constructive criticism welcome. Subscriptions to Author yearned for with deep and desperate longing:

darali_starscream@yahoo.com

[thebreakfastgenie]

out of genuine curiosity, why don’t you want to write bj goes to Maine?

Well, for starters—and this probably answers your question—I hate BJ/Hawkeye. 

I capitalized BJ Goes to Maine to specify that I was referring to the popular fandom trope, not the concept of BJ ever traveling to the state of Maine. I’m not saying I’ll never write BJ going to Maine for a visit or trope subversion, because I did, but I'm not likely to do it again (except [redacted]). 

As for as BJ Goes to Maine the trope, the problems I have with it could fill libraries. This is basically just a start. 

The heart of it is, it requires characterization so atrociously OOC, I don’t recognize either character. Literally the first question I asked when I encountered BJ Goes to Maine was “what about Erin?” I have never gotten a satisfactory answer to that. The BJ we see in canon loves and wants to be with Peg. Even taking an alternative interpretation of their marriage, or saying circumstances have changed for them, does not change the fact that they share a child. BJ would not leave Erin to go to Maine. A fanfiction BJ who would abandon his child his someone I would be actively rooting against. 

BJ Goes to Maine is all about BJ. He is the one taking action, the only one making a choice. Hawkeye just waits around for BJ to show up and declare his love. Hawkeye has no agency. He’s reduced to a love interest and not even a complex one. In the show, Hawkeye constantly fights for agency, while at the mercy of a system doing everything to take it from him. Once he’s finally free to live his own life, he’s not going to let anyone determine its course for him. When Hawkeye feels strongly about something, he takes action. We see it again and again and again. If he wants something, he’s not going to sit and wait for it to come to him. 

Despite my penchant for angst, I like happy endings, and BJ Goes to Maine isn’t one. If Hawkeye and BJ remain the most important people in each other’s lives, they have to remain who they who during the war forever. It defines them and they never escape. That’s just about the bleakest thing I can imagine. They need to move on, and Hawkeye already has. Some kind of grand romcom reversal isn’t consistent with who they are. MASH isn't a romance and I don’t want to turn it into one. Intentionally or not, BJ Goes to Maine turns the Korean War into the thing that brought BJ and Hawkeye together. There is a whole complex conversation to be had about how fic that focuses on the characters and their relationships engages with the themes and message of the show, but ultimately I don't believe in policing what people write. I simply don’t like it.

The reality of Hawkeye and BJ is that their lives are not compatible. They’re very different and they were briefly brought together by the war. The bittersweetness of that parting being inherent to them finally getting their lives back is a major theme of not just the finale, but the entire show. Putting any characters together undermines that, but putting Hawkeye and BJ together undermines it more than anyone else, because of the relationship they had. The relationship they had onscreen was entirely dependent upon circumstances and cannot exist after the war ends. Hawkeye knows this and he accepts it, he just wants closure. When BJ tries to suggest ways they could see each other again and Hawkeye says “in other words, goodbye,” he isn’t just saying all of them having dinner is unlikely—though it is—he’s saying they’ll become people who get together and have dinner. That’ll be all that's left, a toast to whatever closeness they once had. And Hawkeye is okay with it. He's sad about it, but he’s okay with it. BJ refuses to accept it and refuses Hawkeye that closure, but I think deep down he knows it too, because his last word to Hawkeye is goodbye, even if he doesn’t say it. 

BJ Goes to Maine is antithetical to GFA. Hawkeye and BJ’s goodbye is final. BJ going to Maine is just saying haha, we didn’t mean it! We take it back! Why would I do that to such a great, poignant ending? It’s the lazy sequel way out, like how Andre Aciman ruined the best part of Call Me By Your Name (Elio realizing over time, as he has more relationships, Oliver remains important but stops being the most important) by having Oliver casually leave his wife and kids to go to Italy in Find Me. There's a reason Alan Alda said he didn’t know if Hawkeye and BJ ever saw each other again. 

I’m also not sure BJ would. He makes a choice in GFA, and he doesn’t choose Hawkeye. I don't blame BJ for leaving the first chance he gets, and I don't think Hawkeye would either if he handled it better. But he clearly demonstrates his priorities, and they are not Hawkeye. He only comes back because he’s forced to, and he isn’t happy about it. None of this foreshadows someone who’d uproot his life to go to Maine. Again, it would be dependent upon a wild change of heart that just isn’t consistent. BJ can barely handle being around Hawkeye while he’s hospitalized, which again I don’t really blame him for, but that doesn’t tell me he would go to Maine. If he did go, I don't see it ending well. If I didn't think BJ and Hawkeye had negative romantic chemistry, I wouldn’t be able to see a future for them. 

The tl:dr is you don’t write things you don’t like, and I hate BJ Goes to Maine. 

I'm posting this now so it doesn't get eaten a third time, but I may come back with and another thing-

[nimuetheseawitch]

*I will do a little of all of these things - I have a four day weekend though, so I have a chance to really get into something

**both rereading some favorites and getting through some library books that are due

***probably the noir mcshep, but I'm also having some BJ/Hawkeye disaster feelings and might pick up one of those WIPs instead, or start something completely different

Additionally, I will be attending a concert and doing some yardwork.

[runicmagitek]

Hush (keinatsubj - 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim)

(( day 6 of @polyshipweek - bc nothing beats snuggling on a couch! art by @garmmy and fic by me. enjoy! ))

The afternoon sun washed over the living room. Cool air circulated in the house to offset the spike in temperature. Keitaro longed to sit under a tree and read a book, but the humidity and bugs made that idyllic plan far less appealing. But he had no obligations that day and the house was empty, thus he settled into a couch with a content sigh.

I’ve been waiting for this all week, he mused, slipping on his reading glasses.

Smiling to himself, Keitaro flipped through his comms device to unearth the digital library he amassed over the years. It didn’t matter if it was considered classic literature or cheap pulp fiction; if it was a good story, Keitaro wanted to lose himself in it. He recently finished a science fiction trilogy involving necromancy and was eager to dive into something new. Scrolling through the selections, he paused at one title under the algorithm’s suggestions: All the Birds in the Sky.

The premise piqued his interest, as did the striking cover. Upon opening the file, Keitaro smiled, sank further into the couch, and—

A slam sounded in the distance. Keitaro gasped and flinched. Was it the front door? Perhaps BJ or Natsuno-san finished their fieldwork today. He waited and listened, though heard nothing else. Releasing a breath, he relaxed into the couch, looked at the wall of text awaiting his attention, and—

“God, it is miserable outside.”

[read more on AO3]

[nekomanager]

Mamsh may utang akong unread fics na tinag mo ako 😭 (the isagi bj one + the tsukki two-parter library seggs) ughhhhhhhh if only I have the motivation to read them (without any family distractions 🤦🏻‍♀️)

it's okay, mumsh! importante ung maeenjoy mo 👀💦