#different) that i can handle before i just lose interest

[carisisrolledupsleeves]

i come to you hands clasped begging… i’m kind of desperate for a sonny x reader where the reader is a bit of a party girl and goody two shoes sonny falls for her after seeing her in a club dancing, he introduces himself to her and spends a while trying to win her over and she relents and they go on a date. one date turns into many and reader is mocking sonny for being a bit of a square like are you sure you can handle me cos i am a lot x sonny may be a dork on the streets but proves he can handle reader in the sheets if you know what i’m saying… welcome to my island remix by charli xcx is what has provoked these thoughts and also proved i can make ANYTHING about sonny carisi

well my dear anon, i hope you are happy with the result, i hope i did a good job with your request / under a read more because i got a little carried away oops

disclaimer: yeah, its smut okay. no, it hasnt been proof-read, english isnt my first language bla bla, we're just gonna raw it (pun intended)

Welcome to my Island

All night you could feel his eyes on you. His gaze had followed you as you made your way to the dancefloor and was fixed on you as you moved to the music; your heartbeat taking on the fast rhythm of the song as you smiled to yourself. Usually you would have ignored any man on a night out with your girlfriends. Always the same greedy, sleazy look on their faces, unable to hide their intentions. But he was different. It didn’t feel dirty, it didn’t feel as though he was already undressing you in his mind. Instead, it felt like a quiet fascination, and deep down it had made you wonder why on earth a guy like that would look at you with such interest. Something beyond the usual attention a hunter shows for its prey. 

It had encouraged you more than you would admit just yet. You amped up your moves, let them become more suggestive, just to coax a reaction out of him. Sure enough, as you tossed your hair back over your shoulder you found his eyes had averted, and he was biting his lip in an attempt to hide a shy smile. Oh, what a wicked game you had started. 

He seemed so out of place, almost like his friends had dragged him here by force. You decided to give it time, wait until he had a few more beers in him; you could sense he needed a bit more courage. And then finally, after what felt like a hundred stolen glances later, he made his way over to the bar where you were waiting for your next cocktail. 

‘Hi.’ he just says and you immediately notice how intensely blue his eyes are. 

‘Hi.’ you reply with a smirk, turning towards him as you lean against the bar, new drink in your hand. 

‘I’m Sonny.’ 

You burst out laughing and feel bad for it instantly. You can’t help it though, he is almost begging to be teased. 

‘Sonny? What kinda name is that?’ you ask and he buries his hands inside his jeans pockets. Ohhh. You got him. 

‘Well, it’s not my actual name, it’s just wha-’

‘Well, what’s your actual name then? Because I’m not calling you Sonny, Sonny.’ you wink at him, twirling your tongue around the straw and even in the dim lights you can see his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. How cute. 

‘Dominick.’ he answers.

‘Dominick? And why the hell would you have a sexy name like that but introduce yourself as Sonny? Well, nevermind. Dominick. Nice to meet you, Dominick.’ you over-emphasize his name, making it sound as naughty as you can and he blushes again before swallowing hard. 

In that moment you knew, and boy, did he know as well. He was going to lose this game. 

—--

Despite being a wild card, you weren’t into one night stands. And as much as you liked to tease and flirt, especially with him, it wasn’t your thing to take a guy home on the first night. Besides, it was way too much fun to see how far you could take this. Make him lose his mind, make him drop that goodie goodie thing he had going that might have worked with your Italian grandma but not with you. You really made him work hard for it before you agreed but you enjoyed those first few dates; he was a gentleman with manners you weren’t used to. Holding the door open for you, pulling out the chair, picking up the bill every time (which you hated), and walking you to your apartment but never even hinting at wanting to be invited up. Not even a kiss on the cheek when the truth was, you had pictured his face between your legs from the second you had laid eyes on him. Oh how handsome he was, and everything he did he did with such intensity, such intention. It made him even more attractive. You were dying to be touched by him with the same intensity, with the same intention. 

You tried your hardest. Every trick in the book. You wore your sexiest outfits, made the raunchiest comments, teased him relentlessly, got so close to him you could feel the heat radiating off of him and made sure he felt yours. All you got in return were those shy smiles, the flushed cheeks, and Dominick stumbling over his words like a little boy. Naturally you started wondering. He was obviously attracted to you. You knew he was catholic, you both were. Raised in big Italian families. But he didn’t strike you as someone who wanted to wait until marriage. 

—--

It’s your 7th date and you take him to a party one of your friends is hosting. It’s a warm summer evening and he looks so sexy in his light gray button down shirt, the bit of chest hair peeking out driving you absolutely insane. Is he unaware of the way he affects you or is he just playing dumb, you have no idea. It puts you in a mood, that sexually frustrated kind of mood. You decide to do your own thing, leave him stranded for a bit. Why should you not have fun just because he’s being a total square? Dominick watches you intently, just like he had been the night you met but you ignore him. It isn’t until you almost stumble over him sitting alone on the stairs as you make your way down from the rooftop that you finally acknowledge him again. Feeling kind of guilty but still frustrated. 

‘What is your deal?’ you ask him. 

‘What do you mean?’ he asks back.

‘If you can’t handle me then you should have never asked me on a date. I only said yes because you’re cute and I thought you’d loosen up a bit. Why pursue me if you’re scared of a girl like me?’ you cross your arms and expect him to get up and leave. 

Dominick remains quiet for a while. And now you’re the one who turns around to leave but he catches your hand and pulls you toward him, to your surprise. 

‘You think I can’t handle you? You know what I think? I think you can’t handle someone having real and true feelings for you. You can’t handle me being a nice guy. Treating you with the respect and affection you deserve. I think you’ve gotten so used to losers who only want the one thing from you that you can’t handle someone wanting more.’  

His words hit you like a brick. You know he is right. You know you can’t say anything in response because he hit the nail on the head. A snarky retort, maybe teasing him some more? It would all be useless. There’s this glint in his eyes now, one you haven’t seen before. It was always you, having the upper hand, having him wrapped around your finger, making him blush, making him stutter. But you can see it now. The mischief behind his soft, earnest eyes. Dominick’s played the game as well, leading you on, giving you the false impression that you are in control. The truth is obvious now, as you melt in his arms like putty. He pulls you closer, tighter, his lips on yours all of a sudden, eagerly. 

All you can do is nod and mumble a dazed ‘Mmhmm’ when he goes ‘Let’s get outta here’ and you cling to him all the way to the subway, barely aware as the train starts and stops moving until you get off at his stop. He more or less drags you along, pausing only to kiss you whenever you mutter his name needingly. Shit, you know it’s over for you. 

The second the door closes he has you pinned against it, kissing you again with such a force, it feels almost primal. You can’t say or do anything but hold on to him, letting him take over. The plans, the ideas you had for this moment, all gone out the window. It’s ironic how all you wanted was to seduce him, blow his mind in every possible way so he would forget his own name (Sonny, Dominick, whatever) and yet here you are, helpless as his large hands roam over your body while he’s kissing you roughly. Do what you want to me, with me, I don’t care. 

You whimper as Dominick’s mouth leaves yours and wanders to your neck, biting there, your fingers already digging into his back at the sheer pleasure of his assaults. Damn, I should have known. Good catholic boys are always freaks deep down. You giggle and his head shoots up, eyes boring into yours.

‘What’s so funny?’ Dominick asks, his voice somehow sounding stern but playful at the same time.

You hold his gaze, trying to catch your breath but you fail. His hand is on your thigh, moving under your dress until his fingers are tracing along the outline of your panties, slowly yet deliberately. 

‘I asked, what’s so funny?’ he repeats, touching you just inches away from your already damp center. 

‘The way I thought you couldn’t handle me.’ You are the one sounding shy now, like a little girl.

‘Babe, you have no idea. I’m gonna handle you all night. Over and over again. You think I didn’t keep score of all that teasing?’ he growls, his fingertips now ever so slightly sneaking under the fabric of your thong brushing over the soft skin there. 

Fuck. Oh my fucking fuck. You nearly pass out as he kisses you again. You press your body against his, moaning as you feel his erection, oh my God. There’s nothing you want more than to have him inside of you, and you squirm at the thought of it, knowing he will keep you waiting for as long as possible. 

‘Please, please.’ you beg but it’s useless. 

He shakes his head, instead picking you up and carrying you over to his kitchen island where he sits you down, his hands once again reaching under your dress to pull your underwear off with one adept motion. 

‘Let’s see just how wet you are for me, darlin’’ his fingers find your folds, making you shutter and you meet his eyes, the bright blue now darkened with lust.

Dominick spreads your slick all over his fingers before thrusting them into you, his thumb beginning to circle your clit harshly as you grasp his shoulder, your head falling back from the intensity of his touch.  

‘Fuuuuck, Dominick!’ you moan, feeling the muscles in his arm tense as he expertly curls his fingers inside of you.

There’s no slow climb. It’s a rapid ascent, straight to heaven. Within seconds. You stare into his eyes, and all this time you wanted to unleash him, he has now come and unleashed you in a way you didn’t think was possible. You can feel yourself tighten around his fingers, ready to burst but he withdraws just before you can topple over. 

‘What? No, please!’ you protest.

‘Shhhh.’ he covers your mouth with his hand softly, parting your lips with his fingers covered in your juices. 

You open your mouth and suck them in, tasting yourself, and he keeps them there as his face disappears between your legs. You lick his fingers as he starts to eat your pussy, his tongue stroking through your folds as you feel his free hand spread you open to get better access to your pulsing clit.

‘I can’t! FUCK!’ you have to stop yourself from biting down on his fingers, sucking them into your mouth again instead, making him moan and bury his face even deeper inside your cunt. 

He’s so good at this, so so good. 

‘You are so fucking delicious.’ Dominick dips his tongue into you, turning you into an even bigger mess. 

You come hard, and he keeps you in place with his strong arms as you shake and twitch, a deep and feral moan escapes your lips as he catches your wet release in his mouth, licking it all up. He sucks on your swollen nub, making you shudder again before you even come down from your climax, and your hand flies into his hair, pulling, as you press yourself against him. 

‘Almost couldn’t handle that, huh?’ he grins smugly and you want to curse him out, want to tell him to shut the fuck up but he grabs your hips and picks you up again, and you are limp from your orgasm in his arms. 

‘Ugh, I just want you inside of me.’ you kiss his neck; that exquisite, long neck, as he carries you toward his bedroom. 

‘Is that all you want?’ Dominick asks. He knows he has you exactly where he wanted you, after weeks of trying to break down your walls. 

‘No. You know it’s not.’ as soon as you’re on the bed you’re trying to distract him by unzipping his jeans but he catches your hands in his.

‘Do I? I wanna hear you say it though.’

There really is no point. You know there isn’t. You are both vulnerable now, anything goes. 

He frees himself of his clothes and you immediately want to touch him everywhere. Oh, he is so fine. 

‘I want you. I want all of you. I want us. Forever. Always. I wanna be yours, all yours. And I want you to be mine, all mine.’ you press your face into his chest and breathe him in, that heavenly scent you had imagined all over you for weeks now. 

‘Well, I’m all yours, baby. I have been since that night at the club. You were so naughty. But I was up for the challenge.’ He kisses you again fiercely and then with one swift motion he is kneeling between your thighs, his hands grabbing your waist with such strength and determination, and his hard cock just inches away from your pussy. 

His hand brushes over your slit, and you watch as he covers himself in your slick with a few strokes of his dick; fuck, he really knows what he’s doing, and it makes your brain short-circuit. 

‘So you’re mine, huh? All mine?’ Dominick teases and you nod, swallowing hard. 

He splits you open with his tip, making you whine before he slams into you and you almost choke on your own moan. Big and hard and throbbing inside of you. Good Lord, he fills you up perfectly. Dominick gasps as he watches himself getting sucked inside your wet little hole, cursing under his breath as he feels you tighten around him already. 

‘Fuck, you feel good wrapped around me like that. How did I manage to wait that long?’

‘I don’t know but you better give it to me every day from now on.’ you wrap your legs around him, digging your heels into his lower back as he starts moving with a smile on his face. 

‘You won’t have to ask, honey. I won’t ever get enough of you.’ he licks his lips, looking down at you in the most obscene way that gives you the most obscene thoughts. 

You really had been fooled by his good boy act.

Dominick is hitting your gspot so skillfully at this angle, fucking into you deeply, dragging along your walls that are still so sensitive after your first orgasm. It won’t take long until the next, not if he keeps this up. It’s almost too much. The way he looks at you with furrowed brows, as if your pleasure is all he wants to focus on. Your back arches as one of his hands leaves your waist to graze upwards to cup your breast, down over your hip and thigh. His soft touch is such a contrast to the firm hold and hard thrusts he administers. Then his hand travels further until his fingers find your clit once more, your eyes rolling back as he adds yet another sensation to your body again. How could you have ever underestimated him like this? When no man could ever make you feel like this before? There’s this knot in your stomach, making it harder to breathe, and it has nothing to do with your approaching climax. 

‘Need you closer.’ you almost cry out, surprised at the desperation in your own voice. 

Dominick obliges, leaning down to kiss you, his whole body covering yours and you sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. You press yourself against him as his movements slow down a bit, and nothing has ever felt as intimate. Your hands wander, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he rolls his hips against yours; long, slow, deep thrusts that make you see stars. His hot breath is on your skin as he nibs on your jaw.

‘You make me delirious.’ he whispers, his voice shaky with abandon. 

Your legs wrap around his hips, needy for the friction and he gets the hint, picking up the pace again. He’s as close as you are, you can tell by the way you feel his muscles tense.

‘Fill me up, Dominick.’ you purr into his ear and your hands wander down to his ass while you squeeze him inside of you. 

He growls, grabbing you again, his fingers digging into your hips so hard you’re sure he’s leaving you with bruises. The thought of having his marks all over you, his cum inside of you; yes when you said you wanted all of him you really meant it. And you bliss out just as you feel him pumping his hot seed, your name leaving his mouth in a sinful moan. Fuck, you’ve never come so hard in your life. It’s earth-shattering; you convulse so violently you’re surprised he’s still able to pound into you. Dominick hisses as you scratch at his skin, his lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. 

‘That’s right, sweetheart. That’s right. Let it out. You’re so fucking sexy when you come.’ Dominick breathes, his fingers finding your clit to send another wave through you making you cry out. 

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. 

And truthfully, you have no idea how much time passes. He’s still on top of you, he’s still inside of you, and you don’t want him to move either. You want to drink in his scent, that intoxicating scent now mixed with the smell of sex which makes it even more intoxicating. You want him to imprint on your body and soul, you want to forever feel his skin against yours. Damn him for making you feel this way. 

‘I hate you.’ you joke, nudging his cheek with your nose and he looks at you with a smug smile on his face because he knows you mean the opposite. 

‘I love you.’ Dominick replies, for the both of you, sending your head spinning once again. 

[winterspellsfrozenkit]

One thing I wish was understood a bit better about Twisted Wonderland.

Everyone in this game has trauma or personal struggles and it's NOT a competition of who has it worse. Honestly, sometimes I wish everyone's traumas were discussed more in depth in the game like we get with each person who Overblots, but we don't have time for it. With the Overblot boys, their trauma is shoved directly into the spotlight and we hear exactly how their situations make them feel. But the rest of the cast, ALL of them, have personal struggles and/or trauma. This is just a small list of some of the issues each non Overblot student has.

Ace masks the fear he feels in a lot of situations, and he's got an inferiority complex on some level. Notice how he bullied the player and Grim in our first interaction? That is a sign of someone who is looking to feel better by pushing someone else down because they don't feel good about themselves.

Deuce grew up with a single mother who had to work multiple jobs to make ends meet, which causes him to worry about her, and he was a delinquent in middle school, which made his mom, the one person he worries over, cry. He lives with those regrets, but he's still got those old habits and he agonizes over the fact he's not academically where he'd like to be and his behavior regresses when in heated situations.

Trey has severe trauma at being screamed at for FIVE HOURS over giving Riddle ONE slice of tart, so much that his vitals are severely affected at the thought of Mrs. Rosehearts and he's heavily conflict avoidant.

Cater has had to move all the time and as a defense mechanism, refuses to be honest or get close to people because he doesn't want to get attached only to be ripped away from them.

Ruggie lives in EXTREME poverty when not at school. He struggles to make ends meet and he has to work so hard in a system that is DESIGNED to keep him in poverty, because many beastmen still prefer segregation in the Sunset Savannah.

Jack has one of the healthier mindsets, but he still struggles with being open and honest about his feelings, which makes it hard to have friends, and he struggled with watching Leona, someone he's idolized, fall short of what he believed of Leona.

Jade and Floyd are implied to have grown up in some form of crime family and both seem to have handled the fact their lives could be in constant danger differently. Both like things being interesting, but Jade seems to prefer seclusion and control, while Floyd enjoys scaring people off and having as much fun as he can before he goes.

Kalim is someone who has had multiple assassination attempts on his life, even from his own family. He masks behind a smile, but he's afraid to trust people, and when he DOES TRY to talk about it, it gets brushed off because he has money. Also, he has to deal with the fact Jamil has been undermining his ability to progress by not treating him as if he's capable at all.

Epel has been teased and bullied on how he looked to the point where he started instigating fights to ensure he wouldn't be teased. He also has to fall in line with what Vil wants because he made the error of picking a fight with Vil and getting his butt HANDED to him. To further add, Vil is NOT NICE about it when Epel resists, with one example being Vil grabbing him by the ear and pulling hard as a form of punishment.

Rook has deal with the fact that for being someone who is super perceptive and can notice details, he didn't realize Vil's feelings around Neige, likely because he was blinded by his own admiration for both of them and that's a bitter pill to swallow.

Ortho has to deal with being basically created as a replacement for dead Ortho Shroud, trying to figure out if he's just really a robot made by Idia with really good AI or more than that, and dealing with the fact he loves his brother so much, but his brother doesn't take care of himself and it's disheartening to watch Idia's self-destruction.

Lilia has so much war trauma, losing his loved ones, having been exiled, and so much other crap. Even so, he forced himself to put the war and his trauma about it in the past, where it belonged for the sake of his two sons who both lost so much to war, which is something Baur/Baul could NOT do which was to Sebek's detriment.

Silver has had to live with the idea that his adoptive father would likely outlive him, then is faced with the fact that his father is basically abandoning everything about their life in Briar Valley before he learns that his biological parents were the enemies of the person he serves and cares about, Malleus, and the only father he's ever known.

Sebek has grown up with internalized racism/speciesism against humans thanks to his upbringing and he basically rejects half of his heritage with how he treats his father. He does not even realize how hurtful his comments are until he's faced with those remarks being directed at him by a younger version of his grandfather.

And this isn't everything each student has to face. This is just broad strokes. Yana Toboso wrote a story about flawed people who all have gone through really hard and difficult things because that's the point. As Toboso said in a 2023 interview:

“Happy endings in Disney works come from righteous actions and love, but I believe that the villains are characters who do not get saved during the story. That is why, through this game, I want to portray the message that even if you get beat up all the way to a bad ending, you can grow from it and live your life without feeling discouraged.

Acting lame, obstinate, without hesitation, being open and honest—it’s not as bad as it sounds. 

I would like to paint a positive picture of living honestly with yourself and not worrying about others.

In today’s society there are so many people who live in fear of failure and are always walking on eggshells, but nobody’s flawless. It is exhausting to try to live your life so that no one will hate you.”

Everyone, even people you don't know or do not like, have gone through things that shaped who they are. Sometimes, how we've adapted to handle the bad things that happen will force us to hit rock bottom. But you don't have to die when you hit rock bottom.

You can have terrible things happen to you and have maladaptive strategies to handle your experiences, but you aren't stuck that way forever. You can learn how to change your habits, learn to be okay with yourself, and work at being better than you were the day before.

Human growth is not linear. It's a bunch of taking steps forward and backsliding and learning and making mistakes over and over again and accepting failure, not as a testament to your character, but as part of the process of growth... and that's something all the students have to learn, not just the Overblot boys. Because all of them, every single one, are handling their own personal issues, even if it isn't shoved right in our faces.

[unicornpopcorn14]

Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt during the Lovecraft fight has always been so interesting to me...

Because it's the kind of worry you'd never expect from a character as gruff as Chuuya, who had displayed nothing but hostility towards Dazai so far. Usually, characters that are labelled as "angry" or "anger issues" (which Chuuya is much more complex than that but you get my point) act more as a tsundere type of way when the one they "don't care about" gets hurt. And show their care in very, very subtle ways (ex. their eyes widen, their mouth parts and closes again, etc) before putting up their front once more.

Chuuya, however, is open, and vocal about it. His worry is clear not only to us, but to Dazai himself, the one he shouldn't be displaying the concern to (as per the cliche). Shouldn't it be some sort of secret that Chuuya does care? Isn't that what skk's dynamic has been shaping up to be until now?

I'm telling you- the way my mind blanked when Chuuya just casually.... showed concern not once, but twice, was a sight to see.

Besides, the context makes it much more confusing, because Dazai isn't some rookie, and Chuuya knows that more than anybody. He was the youngest executive in Port Mafia's history, of course he can handle a hit or two. Of course he'd seen him handle a hit or two, sometimes without batting an eye.

Heck, Chuuya himself was hurling Dazai like a ragdoll in their reunion, which was their last meeting. And you could argue that he was going easy on him, but Dazai has mostly withstood the same damage (as far as I could see), and Chuuya was as bitter as ever.

So that kind of contradicts both what we knew of Chuuya so far, and how their dynamic was shaped to be. I mean, that just makes Chuuya a hypocrite, yeah? What makes him care now, all of a sudden? What makes him care at all?

Well, to me, this backasswards reaction implies one (or more) of the following:

- Dazai rarely got physically hurt during their partnership and thus this is an unexpected thing for him to see (during a mission).

- The four years of separation made Chuuya unsure of how much Dazai can withstand physically now. Also the fact that he isn't in the mafia anymore, aka fighting enemy organizations on the weekly, would naturally make Dazai lose his touch in a way, what prompts Chuuya's reaction.

- Dazai getting taken off guard took him off guard which led to panic. Especially since the situation was (momentarily) out of their depth. Seriously wtf even was Lovecraft?

- During the dungeon scene Dazai was an enemy, while in the Lovecraft fight he was as an ally. The difference might be significant to Chuuya.

- This has always been Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt regardless of the situation.

- "Only I can hurt him like that" ahh logic

- Asagiri was still experimenting with their dynamic and thus there are some inconsistencies.

This scenario didn't play out again (after their reunion) for me to exactly determine which one is more plausible, but it is 100% canon for Chuuya to shamelessly show his concern and run to Dazai to check on him before properly dealing with their opponent, which I find to be such an appealing layer to their dynamic, and a good spin on the type of character he gets stereotyped as.

Bonus: Dazai also becomes a softy when Chuuya's hurt, especially post corruption. Dead Apple alone displays that multiple times.

All in all, Skk are doing a terrible job at maintaining their 'hostile' and 'antagonistic' relationship post their reunion. Freaks.

[pathologicalreid]

wake me from this dream | s.r.

in which you're struggling to come to terms with the kiss between Spencer and Cat, and you've finally reached your breaking point

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: cat adams, spoilers for 15x6 "date night", cheating word count: 1.44k a/n: rah rah rah not really sure how i feel about this one tbh!! let me know what you think because i'm my own worst enemy. this was a request so i hope i can at least appease the requester!!

Everything felt different. You had never felt so out of place somewhere you should fit in like a piece of a puzzle, but you had lost so many pieces of this puzzle that you didn’t think it would ever be put together again.

The sheets on Spencer’s bed – that you had picked out – were so rough that they grated against your skin, but they didn’t always feel that way. You tried so hard, tried to fall back into the rhythm that you felt with Spencer before his date, but there were so many befores with Spencer that you were starting to lose track of them all.

Maybe you just didn’t get it. You didn’t get it the way the members of the BAU did. You closed your eyes and you saw your boyfriend kissing Cat Adams – someone you thought was in the past. 

So, you went back to routine, spending most of your time at Spencer’s apartment, you slept next to him at night, and everything looked the same, but it all felt wrong. Your relationship had once again been spurred into a state of limbo and you were beginning to think this was the one that you couldn’t come back from.

Eyeing your clothing on the floor where it had been haphazardly discarded upon your return from Rossi’s party, you sighed, listening to the running water in the shower as Spencer cleansed the day away. He had offered for you to join him, but you opted for a later shower, not interested in sharing the warmth of the water. Looking at the bathroom door, cracked open to let steam out, you slipped out of bed and crouched to pull your clothes off the floor before opening the drawer of the things you kept here and putting on something more comfortable than the dress you had worn to dinner.

You took the inside of your cheek between your molars before taking another glance back at the bathroom door and pulling on an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt. In your haste to get ready for tonight, you had forgotten to bring different shoes, so you looked more than a little disheveled as you slipped on your heels. Then again, maybe passersby would just assume it was another night in the District of Columbia.

Quietly, you closed the door to Spencer’s apartment, locking the door behind you and allowing your fingertips to linger on the handle. Finally convincing yourself to head out, you raked a hand through your hair and made your way out to your car. When would he notice you had gone? Would he mind? Would he call?

Turning the key in the ignition, you sighed as the cool air blew through the vents of your car, and without another thought, you checked your rearview mirror and drove home.

It felt like a rather unceremonious end to your relationship with Spencer, the person who everyone was expecting you to be with forever. You just never expected forever to have an expiration date.

This couldn’t be the end, though. You didn’t want yourself to be another victim at the hands of a hitwoman, but that was just what she wanted. Wasn’t it?

Your fears all came to mind while you dragged yourself through your shower routine, scrubbing every inch of your body as you considered your options. Without the presence of your boyfriend, you thought about what you really wanted.

You didn’t even hear the knocking until you got out of the shower. At first, you thought it was one of your neighbors, but as you pulled on clean pajamas, you realized it was your door. You checked out the peephole to see Spencer, hair still wet, looking agitated. You had done that to him.

Opening the door, your stomach flipped as he looked at you with an unidentifiable emotion in his eyes, “You just left.” He shrugged, the misery in his voice was made plain and it hurt you like a knife to the chest.

“I-“ you started, quickly snapping your mouth shut. What were you going to say? I didn’t mean to hurt you – but, hadn’t you? Hadn’t you intended on walking away?

Spencer held his hand up, signaling for you to stop, “I had been starting to wonder if you resented me.”

His words hit you like a strike across the face, “What?” Your question came out as light as a breath, there was a litany of emotions that you felt for Spencer, but resentment was far from any of them. He must have come right away, droplets of water still fell from his hair with every slight movement.

“I put your family in danger,” he answered as if that completely answered your question.

You frowned, “Cat and Juliet put my family in danger,” you corrected.

Spencer shook his head dismissively, “And neither of them would even know who you are if it wasn’t for me.”

Your lips parted, looking for the right words to put him at ease, “I don’t care about that.”

He furrowed his brows, obviously confused at your statement, “You don’t?”

“No,” you informed him, “I mean, I cared at the time because my family was in danger.”

Taking a deep breath, Spencer dragged a hand down his face, “Please, Y/N… I just…” his voice trailed off for a moment before coming back, “Just spell it out for me, baby. I can’t guess. I can’t.”

You mouth felt dry as you leaned your head against the doorframe, looking up at him with sorrow-filled eyes, “You kissed her, Spence.” Your voice was soft, “You kissed her and we never spoke about it again.”

Each stage of grief crossed over your boyfriend’s face as he took in the full weight of what you just told him, “I thought you wouldn’t want to talk about it. I have been trying so hard to put everything back to the way it was before any of… this happened.”

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “You can’t!” You told him earnestly, “It’s just… you can’t!” You said recognizing that you were beginning to raise your voice in the heat of the moment, and the last thing you needed tonight was a noise complaint. You opened your door for Spencer to come in, and he barreled through the doorway like he was on a mission. You took a deep breath, “Things are too different now, Spencer. It can’t go back to the way that it was. We aren’t machinery, there’s no reset button for this.”

The hurt in his expression was so palpable that you nearly excused yourself to sit down, but you stood your ground and met him stare for stare. “What are you saying?” He asked, his voice gentle, like he was waiting for a fatal blow.

“I’m saying that we can’t keep going on like this,” you said helplessly, “I can’t keep going on like this.” Don’t let this be the end. Don’t let this end. Spencer, please.

Spencer shook his head, frowning for a moment before looking around your apartment, “Move in with me.”

Your jaw dropped, “Pardon?”

“Move in with me,” he repeated. “Move in with me and we can make it different. We can move somewhere else if you don’t want to move to my place, but I can’t… I can’t lose you, so let’s do something different.”

Now you really did need to sit down, “I can’t…” you swallowed your tears before they had a chance to emerge, “I can’t move in with you if this is just you looking at losing me and making an extreme decision to stop that from happening.”

Kneeling in front of you, Spencer took both of your hands and clasped them in his, “I am asking you to move in with me, unhindered and uninfluenced, because I love you. You want to see change, right? This is change. This is different and new and it’s nothing like before, so we won’t have to compare it to anything.”

You studied his eyes as they bore into your own, “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I’ll beg,” he insisted, “I’m already on my knees, just say the word, baby.”

It was impossible to resist the smile that grew on your face, “When did you get so dramatic?”

He sighed, his shoulders slouching forward as he set his forehead on your conjoined hands, “So, we should start apartment hunting? Or we could buy a house?”

You reclaimed one of your hands, wiping tears from your face before playing with his messy, damp hair, “Yeah,” you whispered, “but I’m not moving any of your books.”

[beldamtarot]

-ˏˋ MASTERLIST ˊˎ-

Hello there! This is my first pick-a-pile reading here. I'm very sorry for not being able to post sooner, as I'm quite busy with life. But here you go! I'll do my very best to stay as active as possible here and do readings as much as I can.

Also, this reading is The Secret History-themed because I'm rereading the book for the 3rd time now! I really love it so so so much. I highly recommend that book btw! So before further ado, let's dive into your reading. X.

Love,

Beldam

DISCLAIMER: take what resonates, leave what doesn't. Not everything here will resonate nor will be accurate to your situation, as this is a collective reading, which means I'm connecting to a lot of energies. For more accurate and longer readings, you may book a reading with me. If you want to simply support me, you may tip me here.

If you struggle in choosing between these piles, you may choose more than one if you feel connected to them. For any other clarification, feel free to drop by or hit me up!

‎✧ ─── PILE ONE !

Your future spouse's first impression of you is that you embody both masculine and feminine energies, and you can switch it and turn either energies on and off whenever you want to, like a light switch. When it comes to your masculine energy, your future spouse thinks you're a passionate and adventurous person. I feel like your future spouse finds you hot in your masculine energy. You could be someone who likes to hit the gym and do weightlifting. You could be someone who has muscles. If you're a woman, you could have a big booty and you really have a lot of strength in your lower body, which your future spouse likes looking at. And if you're a man, you really have some muscles on your biceps and you have broad shoulders, which make your future spouse fold. As for your feminine energy, you're someone who's opinionated and doesn't hesitate to speak up. You're not scared of being "too harsh" for other people just because they can't handle the truth. You're someone who doesn't let anyone disrespect you in any way. You're willing to fight them if that means keeping your peace and this serves as a warning for them not to walk all over you again. Your future spouse likes that and admires you for that. I feel like your future spouse finds you extraordinary and different from everyone they have met in the past, and because of that, you pique their interest a lot. I also feel like that your future spouse thinks you tend to feel stuck and have a brain fog whenever you're stressed and overwhelmed. Because of this, they want to help you in any way they can and protect you. You also seem like someone who's willing to take the risk. It's like what they say, take the risk or lose the chance.

Signs: Aries, Libra, Aquarius, Leo, Gemini, Capricorn

Other signs: Business. Workaholic. Morning coffee. Spilling coffee when in a rush. Office as a workplace. White button-down blouse. Wavy hair. Blonde. Brunette. Long hair with highlights.

‎✧ ─── PILE TWO !

I feel like you'll meet your future spouse when everything in your life is falling apart so their first impression of you is that you're brave but miserable and you can't get your shit together. It's when you're so confused with what you're going to do with your life because nothing is going the way you want it to go. Your career is falling apart, you might be sick of your job and thinking of resigning but you can't find another job, or you just got fired, or you're really unemployed and need to get a job. During this time, you'll feel defeated. It feels like life will never be gentle to you, ever. You might be going to clubs or bar, drinking a lot, you might even be sleeping with a lot of people you just met that night and barely know. You have a messed up sleeping schedule, you're awake at night but asleep during the day. You don't eat healthy and you smoke a lot. There's a lot of confusion in this energy and I feel like you'll consider stealing money from people or selling drugs because you don't know how to help yourself financially. And this is where your future spouse comes along. I feel like your future spouse has been there and they also went through so much. They already know how to take a grip and take control of their life, and I feel like they will help you get through this. I'm seeing that when you meet, you might be drunk in the middle of the night and they will help you get sober so you can go home safely. I'm seeing a woman drunk and a man helping her, so most of you here could be women. Though they will take you home themselves and ensure that you're safe. But when you get home. Nothing will happen between you that night. Nothing sexual. They respect you a lot and will never take advantage of you. I feel like this is when you realize that they are the one for you, and they inspire you to change for the better. It feels as though this person leads you to the light at the end of the tunnel.

Signs: Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius, Pisces, Sagittarius

Other signs: Paris. Big cities. Bar. Clubbing. Alcohol and wine. One night stand. Junk food. Fries. Burger. Pizza. The movie The Menu. Anya Taylor Joy. Francis. French.

‎✧ ─── PILE THREE !

Your future spouse sees you as the one for them, the moment they see you. I feel like this is love at first sight, whether you like that concept or hate it. They think you're a happy and jolly person, it seems like, to them, you don't have any problems in life. And they know that of course, you have, because no one in this world has zero problems in life. But you make it look so easy, it's like you're not dealing with anything because you're a calm person and you have everything all-together in your life. It's like, even if you get upset over something, you know how to deal with it without crashing out. I also feel like you catch your future spouse's attention in the crowd. You both could be in a crowd of people, maybe at a business party of a friend's party. I see a woman holding a glass of champagne or any drink, talking to some people, and the man is walking towards her to approach her. So I feel like most of you in this pile are women too. I also feel like your future spouse might be someone who likes to make plans. They will let you be in your feminine energy while they handle everything. It's like, you don't have to worry about anything, I have it all under control. You or them or the both of you could be asking people about each other because you have a lot of connections with other people, so it's like you're both connected to each other all along, you just haven't met sooner yet. It's giving the invisible string theory where you're both in the same place at the same time, you just haven't met sooner because it wasn't the right time. You might even have pictures where the other is in the picture, you just didn't realize it before. And in the eyes of your future spouse, you're a confident person and really attractive physically. You have a specific charm where you can charm everyone in the room.

Signs: Libra, Taurus, Scorpio, Cancer, Virgo

Other signs: Blonde. Blue eyes. Barbie. Elegant & classy fashion style. Black hair. The movie How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Business party. The series Emily in Paris. Swan Lake.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 3 - I Get A Little Dizzy

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Truly a disgusting amount of tabs open on my computer to research different monsters of the week for this series. Enjoy!

Chapter title from Imposter Syndrome by Abbie Roberts

Word Count: 16.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: For the first time, you run into Dean alone. Usual warnings, slight emphasis on self-harm.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Read on A03!

The library is quiet when you feel it. When the White starts to rear and whine inside of you, the world goes technicolor, and you feel an odd sense of unwelcome harmony. You feel Dean.

And you could’ve pretended it was nothing, that you were simply losing your mind, if he hadn’t spoken only a second later.

“Hey, sweetheart, can you point me to any books you got on ghosts?” He’s drawling—his voice is still deep and pretty and very distracting—but there’s something tight in his words. Like he’s frowning. “And, uh, a table? Might need to sit down.”

The girl at the desk starts to fawn over him—asking if he’s okay, if he needs some of their shitty earl gray tea, how it’s so cool that he’s interested in cult and theology—and you realize you’re on your knees. Just the fucking presence of Dean sent you to your knees. 

You’re fucked.

He’s not supposed to be here. This is your case. It’s the kind of case you live for. The years blur together—all covered in blood and sweat and spit—and your nightmares only get worse as the darkness grows, but these cases are easy. Not deadly, just odd. Cases no other hunter tries to touch, because everything about them is downright strange, there’s often nothing to shoot, and the solution is usually more complex than just kill the monster. That’s the other reason you love these cases. No danger. No threat of a hunter watching you bleed into the darkness, of them seeing a monster simply ignore you like you’re not even there or doing something a regular person—hunter or not—should never be able to do. 

Sometimes, on the rare occasion you do run into a hunter, and you just have to be careful. Stay out of their view, handle the case, and vanish in the dead of night without ever being seen. 

And that’s exactly why you’re so goddamn fucked.

You can’t ignore Dean. You can’t avoid Dean. It’s been two long, strange years, and seeing him isn’t any less intoxicating than before. It might even be worse. Stronger. Because you kept reminding yourself that John would kill you—not might, would—and that Dean didn’t seem to feel this baffling, magnetic connection, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming about him. It didn’t stop his name being like a shot of some sort of painful, needy, glorious drug right into your bloodstream, or your brain from searching for him in shadows.

And you’d really tried to stop that. You’d played both days over and over in your head, dissecting every reason to hate him, every reason to be angry, every reason to forget that he ever existed. And you had hundreds of them, starting and ending with he left you. He vanished without a trace, had the nerve to pretend like he cared about you, and then act like he had the right to care when he left you. He was an arrogant, charming, handsome asshole, and he left you. You were allowed to hate him, because he’d made you smile and feel like maybe you could be wanted, and then he fucking left you.

You’ve repeated it a million times. You’ve set that anger deep into your bones to try and make it stick. Carved it into your skull to try and make it real. At this point it might be, because you’ve spent two years practicing it.

But you’ve never managed to throw out his shirt, or stop your heart from twisting and withering whenever Bobby mentions that the Winchesters had a bad hunt, or extract green eyes and a boyish smile from fantasies in your sleep. 

You don’t know how to not feel like there’s saltwater on your raw skin when he indulges the girl at the desk with sweet words, say she’s too pretty to be stuck around all these books. You can’t figure out how to make the White finally realize that it’s not an option to give into its desperation to see him. To crawl around the bookshelves and just look at Dean, to make sure he’s real and this isn’t another unwelcome dream.

There are so many reasons that would be a bad idea. John might be here, ready to put a bullet in your temple. Dean might see you, and you’ll have to explain why you’re staring at him from the floor. Onceyou see Dean, you know you’ll have to talk to him, and if you talk to him the whole hunt will be ruined. It’ll become a long week of trying to figure out the case, dodge Dean, and hide what you are from him.

Maybe he already knows. Maybe John told him. Maybe he’d be just as ready to kill you, and all you’d see is cold, unwavering fury and hatred in his eyes before he killed like the monster you might be.

And you are. You’d have nothing to offer in your defense, because the darkness has only spread in your body, and you’ve only fed it. You still don’t understand exactly what it is, but you know it’s powerful. That whatever you are, you’re rare, and that’s probably for a reason. You’ve spent hours in Bobby’s library—sitting at his desk and reading until dawn cracks and Bobby half-drags you to bed—trying to just find a name for what you are, why you’re like this, but you only ever have more questions.

You can’t stop the spells and rituals from appearing in your head, but you also can’t find most of them in any books. You still call yourself a witch, but most witches spend decades studying to learn how to do things your body just does. More and more monsters respect you. More and more ghosts have burned away with only your hands. It’s grown harder and harder to stop the darkness from slipping out, and when it does it can be dangerous to everyone around you.

Dean doesn’t need to see that. You don’t need another reason to feel like you’re wrong. Just inherently wrong. 

So you should go. You need to go. If you were smart, you’d go now, and never look back.

But you haven’t learned how to do that either. Because you rise to your feet slowly, walk silently towards the door with your head down, and can’t stop your eyes from flicking to where Dean should be seated. 

His jacket is there—hanging off a wooden chair—and there are a few books on the splintering table, but there’s no Dean. 

You go rigid, a weight dropping into your lungs as you whirl around to run, and a hand catches you by the elbow. It’s big and strong and warm through your shirt, and you don’t have to be drowning in grass and spice and leather to know who it is. 

Dean pulls you right back into his chest, his grip remaining firm, and his voice near your ear is low and mocking. “Hey, Princess. Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Fuck.

You should lie. Pretend you don’t know him, wait for his grip to loosen, and run.

“Well, Winchester, I’m not sure you ever think at all.”

Fuck.

He laughs, and you also apparently haven’t learned how to not feel molten and soothed from the deep, rolling sound. “That ain’t your best,” he drawls your name, squeezing your arm lightly. “I’ll give you another shot, though. This time try to go for my looks.”

You scowl into the air. “I don’t think I could, Deano. That’s all you got left, and I’m not that mean.”

He clicks his tongue. “Ouch. You might be meaner, sweetheart. I’d say you’re a downright bitch.”

“I’d say you’re an animal in jeans and a leather jacket.”

“You’re forgetting about my boots.” Dean shrugs, and you can feel his muscles flex at the movement. “I’m an animal in jeans, boots, and a leather jacket.“

You roll your eyes, finally managing to yank your arm away from his hold and spin around. “What do you want, Dean Winchester.”

He’s grinning at you when you see him. A smug, crude smirk that tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, that he might not be trying to kill you, but he does hate you. And yet the shine in his eyes still sending you into a trance, and you’re still leaning a little forward to be closer to his body, and your nails are still digging into your skin to stop your hands from either punching him or grabbing him and never letting go. 

You hate it. You hate that he can still do this to you, that he doesn’t seem at all affected by it, and that you feel tiny fragments—catching light and scattered through your body—withering under his loathing and blooming under his attention. 

You hate that you’re staying instead of running. You’ve promised yourself over and over that, if you ever see any of the Winchester’s again, you’d run and keep yourself alive. If not for yourself, for Bobby. If not for Bobby, for Rufus, who’s told you that he had no interest in watching Bobby drink himself away if you die. 

And you’re breaking that promise. You should’ve made it an oath.

But you’d probably break that too. You might do anything to keep yourself crashing back into Dean, to stay in his shining gravity. 

You hate that most of all.

“I’m just saying hi, Princess.” He’s still grinning at you, but there’s something spiked and furious in his eyes. It’s guarded and hostile, and all aimed at you. “Am I not allowed to do that?”

“Hi.” You raise your chin, and he chuckles.

“Hey.” He scans you over, and you wish you couldn’t feel the heat of his gaze on your skin. “You look good.”

“No, I don’t.” You didn’t look bad, but you’re also sleeping in your car, so this is far from your best. “Why are you here?”

“Shit, Princess, I thought you were smart.” Dean gives you an amused, taunting look, and you want to punch him. “I mean, you can’t think I’m on vacation.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re hunting.”

“Bingo!” Dean spreads his arms wide, a shit-eating on his face. “Look at that, folks, we have a winner! The hunter is hunting-“

“Alone.” You raise your brows at him, crossing your arms. “Dean Winchester’s hunting alone.”

He falters slightly, barely a slip—his voice slightly harsher, his face a little tighter—but you catch it. “Maybe I am, but that’s not your fucking beeswax-“

That makes you stand taller, your spine snapping to attention as darkness pushes at your skin and teeth. “Is your dad here?”

He scowls. “No.”

Your grip on your own body tightens, because Dean doesn’t hunt alone. Bobby says that he’s only ever alone at all because John’s off on a hunt alone, and even then, Dean just waits. 

Briefly, you wonder if he’d wait for you. It’s a pointless hope—and you loathe your brain for thinking of it—but that doesn’t stop the idea. Dean wouldn’t wait for you. You’re not someone anyone waits for.

But you’d like to feel his pure, undying loyalty directed at you. For Dean to talk about you how he talks about John and Sam. 

He wouldn’t. And you hate him for making you want him to.

Dean must read something on your face, because he’s speaking again before you even open your mouth. “And this is a one-time thing, sweetheart, it’s not the same-“

“As me hunting alone?” You tilt your chin a little higher, holding his glare. “Why’s that?”

“Because you- You’re young and this shit isn’t a joke or game-“

“I never said it was a joke or game.” You snap. “And I’m not that much younger than you-“

“You’re young enough.” He hisses. “And you don’t get to act like you understand this life-“

You narrow your eyes. “I understand it just fine-“

“Yeah, sure you do.” Dean rolls his eyes, lowering his face to yours. You’re not sure when he got this close, or why you haven’t moved away, but he smells really good. “I actually fucking know what I’m doing, Princess. This is my life, and I’ve got people around me who-“

“You think I don’t have people?” You lean closer as you sneer, because you’ll be damned if you’re the first to cave and pull away. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? Don’t forget, Winchester, I’m the one who got the moroi and the poltergeist-“

“But you’re still hunting alone.” Dean’s voice is stiff, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think his own words were hurting him. “Which means you don’t have people. If you did, they wouldn’t let you do this shit by yourself.”

You let out a dry laugh. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite, you’re literally hunting alone right now-“

“This is a one-time thing.” He dismisses you with a glare. “Not the same.”

And you’re back at the start. “It’s the exact same. I’m just alone by choice.”

Something pained flares in Dean’s eyes, and the guilt floods you in a second. Wrapping around your lungs like iron, churning in your stomach as your nerves start to feel raw and cower into you, because you shouldn’t have said that. He’s not alone, not at all. He has John, and John’s an asshole but he does seem to at least care about his son, as much he seems capable of caring about anything. And Dean can find company wherever he wants. He just has to weaponize that cocky, euphoria inducing charm, and you think people would give him the world. 

You are alone. You’ve been alone. You have Bobby but you’re still alone. Nobody wants to give you anything, and they shouldn’t. You’d break it. Just like how Dean’s voice is now low and strained, and the guilt is ripping at your guts, and you’re just darkness. Just dark and sick and infectious, spitting venom that erodes everything it finds. 

“I wouldn’t say you’re alone by choice either,” Dean says your name, his voice only taut anger. “You just haven’t managed to trap some sorry son of a bitch into look after you.”

Your nails break skin. “Fuck you, Winchester.”

“Right back at you, Princess.” 

There’s a long moment where neither of you move or speak,  and the only evidence you haven’t become statues is your breath. You’d been so lost in shoving down to darkness—roaring through your blood and a little electric—that you hadn’t realized Dean was walking you backwards. That you were pressed between his body and the table, or that his arms were braced on either side of your body, holding you there. And you’d been so lost in your fury at him—how it had lived in your mouth and surrounded your every thought—that you hadn’t looked at him. Really looked at him.

You’re looking now. And he’s still pretty. Somehow, he might be prettier. His eyes seem to have more shades of green, more little flecks of gold—his attention even more drug-like than before, as if you’re being dragged underwater but learning to breathe it at the same time—and there are a few freckles on his skin that weren’t there last time. His hair is a little longer than, too, but still close cut and spiky, and your fingers still remember how soft it had been. They want to touch him again. You want to touch him again, maybe shove him, maybe slap him, maybe yank him down so you can feel his lips against yours-

“You’re gonna try to do this one alone too, aren’t you.”

You blink at Dean, frowning slightly. “What?”

He sighs. “You’re gonna go off and hunt by yourself.”

“Yeah, I am.” You shift your weight on your feet, trying to not be consumed by how fucking close Dean is. “And I’m-“ You swallow, the words falling out you like vomit as the guilt gnaws at your tongue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean the shit about you being alone. You’re not.”

Dean stares at you. “You’re sorry.”

You nod—because you are, you can’t fucking live with how this is eating at you, and you really don’t need another reason to be sick—and Dean shakes his head.

“You think- forget it.” He’s scanning over your face, his expression still tight. “You’re fucking, you’re impossible.”

You frown. “What does that mean.”

Dean just hums. “That I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, I just said that-“

“No, Princess.” He grins, and it creates a tiny line on his cheek you want to touch. “I’m not alone. I got you.”

“You do not have me-“

“Why not?” 

His question sounds so genuine it makes you pause, your expression slack with confusion. “What?”

“Why don’t we hunt together? Hell of a lot safer.”

You shake your head slightly, mostly trying to destroy how the White is trying to grab your tongue and pull on your lips until you spit out yes without a thought. “Why would I do that. I’ve-“

“You got this, I know.” Dean raises his brows. “But you’ve also got me. And I can be helpful, sweetheart. We’ll be done in half the time.”

You do not have Dean. If you did, there wouldn’t be a single problem in the world. 

But you still examine his painfully sincere face, your words cautious. “How can you be helpful.”

“To start, I can use a gun.” He smirks at you. “Bet you don’t have that.”

“I can use a gun, Winchester, I just choose not to-“

“And now you don’t have to choose.” Dean wiggles his brows at you, and you feel the White flutter. “I’ll be the knight, Princess, you’ll just have to do…” he pauses, staring at you with a small frown. “Whatever you do.”

You can’t do what you do. Not anywhere near Dean. Not when he’ll freak out and leave you again, maybe this time returning with John in tow to put you down like a feral animal. You honestly don’t know why he hasn’t done that already, because there was no reason for John not to have told him about the poltergeist. 

But he’s just grinning at you, and his offer sounds genuine, and you really want him to stay. It would be really nice if—no matter what alternate intentions Dean had for you, no matter how he planned to look at you or speak to you—Dean stayed. Everything feels simpler when he’s right here against you. The White has already begun to blend and blur with the darkness, and everything already feels clean and silver under Dean’s attention—devoid of the loathing you’d expected, but still burning and wild and magnetic—and God, you’d like it to stay that way.

And you’d just been ready to fucking kill him.

And you don’t care.

“You’d listen to what I tell you to do.”

Dean shrugs. “Sure.”

“Winchester-“

“Cross my heart.” He pushes on hand off the table, holding it over his chest. “Scout’s honor.”

You snort. “Were you a scout?”

“No, but you don’t have to be a scout-“

“Yes, you do, that’s why it’s called scout’s honor-“

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to say-“

“Pinky promise?” You suggest, your cheek painful as you bite down a grin at his adorably offended face. “All you need is a pinky.”

Dean scowls. “I am not pinky promising.”

“Fine,” you shrug. “Then we’re not hunting together.”

His face splits into a cocky, wide grin, and you realize what you’ve said too late. “So we were gonna hunt together?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, your face growing warm. “I was thinking about it-“

“You make up your mind?”

“Not yet-“

“I’ll listen to you.” 

You stare between Dean’s open gaze and his hand. Raised between your bodies, the pinky sticking out. “I don’t need you, Winchester.”

“Yeah, I bet you don’t.” He mutters, and you frown at the bitterness in his words. The way they sound sour, when Dean shouldn’tbe allowed tobe sour. He left you. “But I’m here whether you like it or not. Might as well make this easy.” 

He flexes his pinky, raising his brows expectantly, and your hand moves almost against your will. Looping your pinky with Dean’s, shaking it once, and freezing once you’re done, locked against him. It’s like you’ve been struck by lightning, and you won’t be able to pull away until you’re ash and smoke for Dean to breathe.

“Awesome.” He winks at you, but doesn’t pull away. Neither of you can pull away. “You got what we need?”

“Not yet,” you mumble. “But I’m working on it.”

He smirks. “Lucky you, Princess, I’m here to help.”

“I don’t need-“

“Yeah, you do.” He makes a wide, sweeping gesture to the table, his finger dropping from yours. “Sit down, sweetheart, cause I’m about to blow your mind.”

You roll your eyes—the loss of his finger, his fucking finger, feeling like you’ve been set adrift through space without a way to come back—and drop into the free chair.

Dean does not blow your mind. He’s adorable and charming as he explains his theory that you’re dealing with a spirit that uses madness to get to its victims, and he’s incredibly wrong, but it’s still cute. His chest is puffed like he’s just slain a dragon, he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for a treat, and it breaks your heart a little to give him a close-lipped smile and shake your head.

“That’s… not correct.”

He blinks at you. “Yeah, it is. I read everything,” he slaps the pile of very closed books in front of him. “And Bobby told me that powerful ghosts can inflict madness.”

You raise your brows, twisting a ring on your finger. “I don’t know who Bobby is.”

“Oh, uh, he’s like my uncle.” Dean shrugs, dropping into his own chair. “Helped my dad out a lot, with me and Sammy. When Dad had to go off on hunts, and needed to keep us somewhere safe.”

You know that. Dean doesn’t know you know that, and something feels bitter over your heart as you lie to him, but you can’t help yourself. “You like him? Bobby?”

Dean nods. “Hell yeah, he’s awesome. And he’s a great hunter, only one almost as good as Dad. Plus he’s got this room of books that Sammy loved, all about monsters. He says this is a spirit,” Dean drums his hand on the table, giving you a pointed look. “It’s a freakin’ spirit.”

“Bobby said it’s a spirit?”

Dean nods, and you pull your lips between your teeth to stop a grin. If he wouldn’t get pissed about you hanging out with Dean—where John might arrive any second, something you know but can’t really bring yourself to care about—you’d call him right now to brag.

“Bobby’s wrong.”

“Bobby’s never wrong.” Dean frowns. “And you told me you didn’t have anything-“

“No, I told you I didn’t have what we need.” You hum, allowing your smug smile to cover your face. “But I know what we’re dealing with.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You wanna keep bragging, or-“

“It’s a pagan god.” You say, and Dean just blinks at you, so you continue. “I’m not sure which one yet, but it has to be.”

He shakes his head slightly. “It doesn’t have to be-“

“Yeah, it does. The madness is spread through the town, Deano. It can’t be a spirit.”

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “It is.”

“I know-“

“But,” he points a finger at you, his features stern, and it makes the White sing. “That doesn’t mean it has to be a pagan god, Princess. We could both be wrong.“

You give him an amused look. “What have you heard about the madness?”

“They’re basically trying to killing themselves outta nowhere. People with promotions lined up, folks with families just losing their marbles-“

“How are they losing their marbles?”

He scowls. “I dunno, I haven’t been invited to their suicide attempts-“

“They’re dancing.” You run a hand through your hair as you lean forward, your smile growing. “They start waltzing, and don’t stop until someone makes them. It’s not deadly, but-“

“It could be,” he nods slowly. “If we don’t gank it.”

“If we don’t figure out who it is,” you push a book towards him, pulling another off his pile for yourself. “And kill it.”

“That’s what I said-“

“You said gank.” You flip open your book, giving him a pointed look. “That’s not a real word.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You don’t know every word ever, sweetheart-“

“Yes, I do. Shut up and read.”

“Bossy- Shit-“ Dean swears your name as you kick him under the table. “That was my good shin.”

You giggle. You haven’t giggled in two years. “As opposed to your bad shin?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, and you watch him settle into his book in your periphery. “I’m basically useless now, Princess. You killed me.”

“Maybe I saved you,” you shrug. “You can’t dance to death now. I think I’m the hero in this scenario, actually.”

He chuckles, poking your foot with his. “That would be a dumb way to go. I mean, what are we, in a reserve Footloose town? A handtight?” 

You glance up to see that he has the boyish grin—the one that makes you want to grab his face and hang against him because for some reason, you feel like nothing could ever hurt you as long as Dean was smiling like that—and is obviously incredibly proud of his joke. It makes something warm and gooey in your stomach, makes everything in the world smooth and illuminated. Flowing easily with the darkness, no pain required to keep yourself in control.

“Handtight?”

“Yes, opposite of footloose. Awesome, right?”

“I could do better.” You look back down to your book, and Dean scoffs.

“You’re just bitter about me getting a name for this first-“

“Vitus.”

You can hear the confused frown in his voice. “Wha-“

“Vitus.” You flip your book for him to read. “Sicilian martyr saint, who was associated with that French dancing plague in 1518.”

Dean blinks between the you and the pages. “This guy’s a saint, aren’t they kind of not supposed to kill people?”

You give him a flat look. “I don’t think anyone’s supposed to kill people-“

“Shut up, you know what I meant-“

“I don’t think I did. I think you should explain it-“

“I-“ He glares at you, and your grin is manic. “How the hell did you even find that so fast-“

“I’m good at my job, Winchester.” You flip the book closed with a half-shrug. “And this is literally just the 1518 plague, but in Texas. Which is, very famously, exactly like France.”

You grin at Dean—proud of your own, horrible joke—and he gives you a half-amused look with something in his eyes that you don’t know how to place. Not soft, but not hateful, like you’re blinding him, and he doesn’t care to look away. 

You clear your throat—he’s just looking at you, and it’s making your thinking hazy and your skin ache to touch his—and press on. “Now we just need to figure out why they’re doing-“

“A handtight?” Dean jumps in, and you give him a flat look. “I’m gonna get you to call it that, sweetheart, you’ll see.”

You ignore him, even as your smile grows. “And how to stop it.”

Dean gives you a look of mock curiosity. “Stop what, exactly?”

“I’m not calling it that.”

“C’mon, it’s good-“

“Nope.” You push up to your feet, still smiling at him as he almost pouts at you. “Never.”

“I bet I can get you to.” He rises as well, side-stepping to block your way to the door. You’re not sure if it’s on purpose. “Twenty bucks.”

You snort. “You don’t have twenty bucks.”

Dean’s jaw ticks slightly, and he almost recoils away from you. It’s a small movement, but you still see it. And it still hurts, because you don’t know why. That wasn’t too mean. Not meaner than usual. And he’s recovering quickly—his smile returning, the playful arrogance in his voice back in a heartbeat—but you’d still struck something you hadn’t meant to. And you can feel the sickness take root inside your veins at the thought. All those shattered, pretty pieces that line your whole body start to become heavy, because you hadn’t even meant to, and you’d hurt Dean. You hadn’t even be trying, and you’d still managed to show him just how horrible you were-

“I’ll find them.” Dean says, but he sounds a little far away over the ringing in your ears. “Gimme your number.”

That yanks you out of it, everything rushing back down to Dean as you gape at him. “My number?”

“On your phone, sweetheart.” He smirks at you. “I’m shocked you’ve made it this far alone if you don’t know-“

“Oh, fuck off, Winchester.” You flip him off. “I know what a number is-“

“Sure you do, Princess-“

“Shut up-“

“Here,” he leans down, scrawling his own number on a small paper and sliding it across the table. “That’s mine.” He pauses, his gaze on you suddenly weary. “For, uh, for the case.”

You nod, taking the paper with careful hands, like it might fly off and vanish. It had last time. Dean had last time. “You, um-“ You take slow breath, forcing your voice to remain firm and even. “You don’t need to give me this.”

Dean shifts in front of you, but you’re not quite strong enough to look up and meet his gaze. “Do you, uh, you don’t gotta take it, if you don’t want it-“

“No!” You flush at your high voice, staring at your fingers as you fold and unfold the paper between them. “I just already know where we’re off to next. So I don’t need it.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, his voice dropping to a tone you wish wasn’t so cautious and soft. “You can still take it. Safety first, right?”

You glance up, and see that he’s smiling at you. He didn’t take the out you offered him, and he’s still there, and if you reached out you’d feel warm skin and lean muscles. He’s real, and he’s not flickering away. 

And that makes the Silver—the White folded and blended perfectly into the darkness—begin to bloom. Growing like ivy over the sickness, soothing it into an easy quiet. It makes you high as you smile at him, cautious but real. This might be real. You know better than to hope, but you don’t care what you know. This time, something about this glow—mending parts of you with gold, refracting light over the Silver—feels like it might not fall to ruin. Like it will remain tangible, and not shrivel under your touch.

“Okay.” You tuck Dean’s number in your pocket, standing a little taller as his own grin grows. “Can you meet me at the town hall in an hour?”

His brow furrows slightly. “The town hall? Are we interviewing the mayor or something?”

“Or something.” You hum, and Dean gives you a questioning look. “I think it might be a political thing,” you explain. “I mean, it’s not footloose-“

Dean nods. “It’s handtight-“

“Shut up. It’s not footloose but it is town wide. Targeting random citizens.” You tilt your head at Dean, raising your brows slightly. “So that could mean it’s-“

“Political?” Dean frowns, rubbing his chin. “Like a really weird power play?”

“Really weird.” You agree. “But not impossible. Fear mongering is a very real political tactic, it could be that.”

“You think it’s that?” Dean’s watching you closely, and it’s doing something to your brain. Making it fuzzy and warm. It’s not helpful.

“I think,” you say slowly, crossing your arms over your chest. “That we don’t have any other leads. And it can’t hurt to look.”

“You’re really inspiring confidence, sweetheart-“

“Do you have anything better?”

“Nope.” Dean shrugs, tucking one hand in his pocket as the other finds your back. Resting with a flat palm between your shoulder blades, seeming to suck every bit of tension from that spot, to make you almost lean into him. He pats your back once, a little awkwardly, but then he doesn’t move away. His mouth is still open, your mouth is open, and this shouldn’t feel as powerful as it does. It’s just a hand, but you feel safe and tended to, and it’s Dean’s hand but you feel wanted, and he doesn’t want you-

Dean doesn’t want you at all. He’s looking at you like he sees you—right down to the darkness, then a little further—and he’s not flinching away or revolted by it, but he doesn’t want you. He’s touching you, and maybe he’d like that, but he doesn’t want you. 

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, his hand still flat and frozen on your back. “We should go.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your eyes seemingly trapped on his. “Figure out this reverse footloose.”

A smirk pulls at his lips. “Handtight.”

“I’m not calling it that, De.” You roll your eyes, but don’t shrug him off as he starts to guide you to the door. “Reverse footloose is already pushing it.”

He clicks his tongue, holding the door open as you walk through. “And I’m the one that’s not fun?”

You flip him off, he lets out a loud laugh, and you’re not sure what the hell is happening. He’s only looking at you, even though the lady at the desk keeps trying to get his attention with cleavage and pouting lips. He’s still touching you, even though you’re giving him no signs that you’re going to offer him what he probably wants. He’s still talking to you, walking with you, even though you’re you. Blooming with silver over your ribs but still destructive. Still sick.

“You got a car?” Dean scans over the parking lot with a small frown, and his thumb has started to trace small circles against your jacket, making it hard to think of anything but daydreams of that small motion on your bare skin.

“Um, yeah, it’s over there.” You manage to point, and Dean’s lips fall into a small, pouting frown. “I can meet you-“

“Actually, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, his voice becoming low and sheepish. “I’d take a ride, if you’re good with that.”

You blink at him. “Do you not have your car?”

“Dad’s car.” Dean mutters. “He’s using it.”

“How’d you get here-“

“Hitchhiking,” he shrugs, not fully meeting your gaze. Like he’s worried hitchhiking will make you recoil. Like the car you hadn’t just pointed at isn’t the fifth car you’ve stolen this month. “I’m not that far, anyway. And I tried to rent a car but they only had minivans.” Dean makes a sour face, and it’s adorable, but you don’t think he’d apprentice you saying that. “I’m not driving a freakin’ minivan.”

“Alright car boy.” You give him a sweet smile, and when he finally glances up at you his eyes widen slightly. “You wanna drive?”

You might as well have offered him ice cream. All his features light up, a grin that’s sort of mind-numbing breaks out over his face, and you could swear he’s suddenly taller. Bigger. “You sure? I- It’s your car-“

“I don’t give a shit.” You shrug—it’s not your car, but he doesn’t need to know that—and push the keys into his hand. “Let’s rumble, Deano.”

You start to move, but he catches your arm, and when you look back his expression is weary. Untrusting.

“Is this…” He trails off, glancing down to the keys in his hand like they’re going to jump up and attack him. “You’re sure. You’re not- I’m not gonna get in that car and you’ll start yelling at me-“

“Why would I yell at you?” You frown at him, and his grip tightens slightly. “I mean, I will yell at you about other stuff, but not this. That would be dumb.”

He blinks at you, nods slowly, and releases your arm. He could’ve held onto it. You really wouldn’t have minded. 

You’re not sure what just happened—you’re learning that, with Dean, there never seems to be any logic to what’s happening—but you know Dean relaxes again the moment he’s in the driver’s seat. Talking about the buttons, which ones are genuine improvement to the model and awesome, and which ones are freakin’ useless, and really adorable. 

Dean’s adorable. You shouldn’t be allowing yourself to crash back into him so fast, not when you’ve spent so long teaching yourself to hate him, but it’s simple. Natural. The air feels sharper in your lungs when you breathe and he’s next to you. Everything smells like grass and spice and it’s like an anesthetic to everything in you that’s usually only pain. Every feverish and furious piece in you feels calmed, and Dean’s eyes are filled with boundless color, and it’s like you could move right into them and exist in a warm, peaceful world for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t. But you can smile and laugh with Dean on the ride to the town hall, listening to him explain something about engines that you don’t really care about, but he does, which is somehow more than enough. You work together to come up with a cover story, which mostly means shooting down Dean’s ideas about being Wilson and Wilson, no relation, or just flat out breaking into the building.

“You know city halls are public places, right?” You tilt your head at him, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “Anyone can be there, as long as we’re not going into private offices. We could just be two college students, looking to interview our representatives for a paper.”

Dean frowns. “Is that what college students do? You’re telling me Sammy’s off in California just talking to a bunch of nerds in offices?”

“Maybe.” You shrug, watching him carefully. You haven’t actually heard him talk about Sam that much, and everything is so precariously good right now. You refuse to be the one to blow it up. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, but you’re kinda just like that.”

It’s your turn to frown. “Like what?”

Dean waves a hand, giving you a flat look as he parks to car. “You know.”

“I don’t know-“

“You’re all books, Princess. You found that Cletus guy-“

“Vitus-“

“Yeah, whatever, you found him really fast. And you don’t use a gun.” He makes face like he’s smelt something foul. “How the hell don’t you use a gun.”

“With incredible talent and skill. And I am not all books-“

He smirks. “You’re pretty much 90% books, sweetheart.”

You glare at him. “Shut up-“

“Nah.” He turns off the engine, glancing out the windshield to the city hall. “So we’re college students?”

“Or grad students.” You tilt your head at the air, hugging your knees as you think. “Might be easier to sell.”

“Alright.” Dean claps his hands, shooting you a wink as he turns to fully face you. “I’m Robert Page, and you’re-“

“I’m me.” You let out a long sigh, giving him a flat look. “And you’re Dean Winchester. I don’t think we need aliases for this one, De, that’s the point of public places.”

“I’m trying to make it fun though-“

“It will be fun.” You smile at him as you unbuckle from the seat. “We’re going to gank a martyr who’s reverse footloosing a whole town. What’s more fun than that?”

“Handtighting a whole town,” Dean mutters, but he’s smirks again. You won. “I’m gonna get you to say it, Princess, just wait.”

“I am waiting.” You step onto the curb, grinning at him over the hood of the car. “I believe in you, buddy. You can do it.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling as you walk up the steps of the city hall, and throughout the entire, exhaustive process of combing through department after department, looking for any sign of Vitus. It’s long and boring work, but you’re both still smiling, nudging each other to whisper stupid jokes and making fun of the strange artwork lining the hallways, standing far too close together and laughing far too long at nothing at all.

It’s jarring. Frightening. You hate him. You’re supposed to hate him. He’s given you so many reasons to hate him, and he’ll give you more when he leaves again. When he presses on another raw nerve that only he seems to be able to find, and you snap because you’d crashed fully back down to him in just a few hours. 

But God, it’s so comfortable down here. Peaceful in your head and silver in your chest, everything exactly how it should be. Dean keeps placing his hand onto your back as you move through the building, and it feels like it’s burning and branding you, pressing it’s way under your skin until there will always be a place for Dean’s hand to fit. He smells so good, and you could drown in it. He looks so pretty—fidgeting with his jacket and tossing you thoughtless, charming grins that make your heart glow—and you could get lost in him. Get high on him and the deft, careful fingers that are spinning a pen and brushing against your skin. They must be filled with lighting, because they’re jumpstarting and feeding the White until it’s all just silver, and nothing is waging war inside you.

You could fall further. You could fall so much further. All the way down until you never had to be worried about being pulled back up. Until you were shining with lightning all the time.

You won’t. You’re just strong enough not to. But you’re not strong enough to not stare at him as he interviews another random secretary—pinned up gray hair and a sickly-sweet voice—or to not imagine if he’d go down with you. To fight it as everything starts to grow, and you can feel the humming joy of the electrically through the building, or the safety of the coffee in the secretary’s mug, or leather of Dean’s jacket, and how it feels like it belongs right where it is, on his body-

“Do you play the piano, Honey?” 

You blink, because the secretary’s talking to you. “Sorry?”

“I was just telling your lovely friend about how music has lost so much of its joy in these heathenistic times.” The secretary sighs, shaking her head. “No one appreciates a good classical piece anymore. It’s like water, dear, it needs to flow smoothly, in time and key. And nothing better for that than a piano.”

You glance at Dean, who shrugs and mouths crazy, just out of the secretary’s view. You give him a stern look that makes him wink at you, and turn a gentle smile to the secretary. 

“I do play, actually. Could I ask why-“

“You play the piano?” Dean’s frowning at you, and there’s something rough in his voice you don’t understand. “Like, well?”

“I’d like to think so.” You shrug, looking back to the secretary, but Dean keeps going.

“What, did you have like a freakin’ tutor-“

You shoot him a glare, because this is really not something to get stuck on. “No, my uncle. He had a piano, and I used to visit him a lot.”

You’d visit Rufus when Bobby had other hunters over—had the Winchester’s over—and eventually he got sick of you shuffling around and causing small accidents when you got lost in your own head. It became a tradition for him to sit you down and make you play until everything shrank back down to the right size.

Dean doesn’t get to know that. You have to remember that, despite every part of yourself Dean seems to be finding without effort, he can’t be allowed to find that.

“Sorry about that, ma’am.” You turn back to the secretary as Dean keeps staring at you, and she smiles.

“No worries, men can be foolish.” 

You seal your lips in a tight lip to avoid a loud snort as Dean huffs—looking like a kicked puppy in your periphery—and the secretary continues like he’s not even there.

“Do you dance?”

You nod, and Dean’s going to get stabbed later if he keeps acting like it’s shocking you could do anything at all. 

“You can dance-“

“Anyone can dance, Deano.” You shoot him a grin, and he shakes his head.

“Not everyone-“

“Not the sick.” The secretary corrects, and you feel a tendril of darkness creep up your throat, vile on your tongue. “The pious dance, boy, it is God’s will that we have music.”

Dean nods, giving you an amused look. “I’ll amen that, sister.”

You roll your eyes, looking back to the secretary. “Why do you ask?”

She hums. “You have the energy of beautiful music, honey. It would be an act of the devil if you didn’t.”

Dean was right. This lady was crazy. But you mumble your thanks, and keep your tone sweet. “What type of music do you like, ma’am?”

The secretary beams at you, and she leans forward, pulling at a charm around her neck as she speaks. “All of the classics, honey. The good, well-designed music-“

Dean nods in seeming agreement. “Like Zeppelin-“

“Dear Lord, no!” The secretary gapes at Dean, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a laugh. He looks like he’s been shot. “That’s devil music, boy! So much art has been lost to youth like you, corrupted by Satan’s song-“

You side-step, blocking Dean’s path to the secretary as his jaw clenches, holding your gaze on the secretary. “I love your necklace, ma’am, where did you get it?”

“Oh, this?” She lets out a soft laugh, running her fingers through the chain. “It’s protective, from the demons. You like it?”

“It’s very beautiful.” You say, and it’s not. It’s a large, lumpy shape and horrible, slate shade of gray, but you’re not dumb enough to say that aloud. “And thank you for your time-“

“Wait,” the secretary pulls off the necklace, grabbing your wrist and shoving it into your palm. “A lovely young woman like you should have protection for devils.” She shoots a glare over your shoulder, at Dean, and you glance back to see him scowling.

“I, um,” you turn back to the secretary, trying to return the pendant to her desk. “I appreciate it, but-“

“Take it.” Her voice is almost stern, and you feel Dean tense behind you. “And remember, no pleasure is worth more than the love of the Lord, honey. And he loves to sing for us.”

You nod slowly, backing away from the desk with the pendant still in your hand. “Of course. Love of the lord. De?”

He grunts your name from behind you, and you grab his hand without looking away from the desk. “Wha-“

“I’m hungry.”

“Well, we can get you some chips from that vending machine-“

“Yeah, let’s do that.” You drag him out of the room, down the hall—past the vending machine—and right into the women’s bathroom.

“Princess, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I don’t think I’m allowed-“

“Bigger issues.” You pull him into the large stall, dropping your voice to a hushed whisper. “It’s her.”

Dean frowns. “The mean old lady who called me a demon?”

You nod, passing him the pendant. “Cauldron. Vitus’ symbol, he was boiled alive in one-“

“Gross-“

“Yeah. And the lady’s a fanatic, so it wouldn’t be unbelievable that she thinks she’s cleansing the town of sinners or something.”

“So… she’s using this Vitus dude to what, punish those with taste?”

“Yep. Not a spirit.” You grin at him, taking the pendant back and flushing it down the toilet. There’s nothing in it that feels magical, and it’s really fucking ugly. “I love being right.”

He scoffs. “Whatever, sweetheart-“

“You were right, too.” You offer, dropping down to sit on the toilet. “It’s a handtight. Similar motivations, too.”

Dean’s eyes flash, and you think you might melt under the focus of his smug grin. “You called it handtight.”

“Yeah.”

“Because you realized I’m right?”

You give him a close-lipped, grimacing smile, and he groans.

“It doesn’t count if I didn’t earn it,” he grumbles, dropping down to sit against the wall. “You have to call it handtight because I’m a freakin’ genius.”

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll get you later.” He shoots you a half-smirk, and you roll your eyes, because he has got you. Against all odds and logic, you’re not leaving this bathroom stall unless Dean goes with you.

“You really believe that.” You give him an amused look. “That’s cute.”

“Shut up.” He mutters, scanning over your face with a frown. “Why did you say it? Cause you feel bad about saint lady calling me the devil?”

“No,” you pick at the skin around your fingernail as you sigh. “I said it because I want you in a good mood.”

Dean blinks at you. “Why?”

“Because we’re about to deal with Vitus,” you hold Dean’s gaze, leaning down until your only a breath apart, and you can see every freckle, scar, and line on his face. He’s beautiful. You can’t focus on that right now. “And we’re doing it my way.”

—————————

Her way was insane. Her way was a crime. And Dean didn’t have a problem with that—crime was hard to avoid for any good hunter—but it was fascinating to watch Her dance around the words breaking and entering. 

It would be fascinating to watch Her dance at all. Dean’s mind was stuck on that image, scratching like a vinyl record of Her siren-like voice saying De, and a stuttering film of Her dancing. Crazy Lady had been right. It didn’t make any fucking sense, but She had the energy of beautiful music. She was a melody that had engraved its way into Dean’s brain with a scalpel, too amazing for him to every really pull it out or forget it. A melody that, even after two years, he’d still known to follow down and chase to hear just a little more.

She was fucking infuriating.

He’d spent those two years pretending he’d forgotten Her. Two years with Dad on the road and in motels—as he always had been—acting like his heart didn’t do a stupid little flutter when he saw hair like Her’s in a crowd, acting like he didn’t check every palm he touched for a scar. When he didn’t pretend, he told himself he was looking for Her to shout at her. To warn Her to stay the hell away, because he wasn’t a goddamn toy to be lured and trapped and thrown out. For Her to smile at, for Her to make vast and certain that he was being looked at, only vanish. To just go, right when he’d been in pain, right when he’d been so close to placing that fruity smell and learning how to ask Her if she was sorry, if she’d start over and if she could feel this too.

But She’d gone. Dean had woken up with a spinning head and sore body, Dad had told him She’d run right after they’d ganked the poltergeist, and Dean had forced that not to matter. Dean still dreamt of brilliant eyes and a star in his hands, but that wasn’t real, and didn’t matter. Everyone left, so that didn’t matter. Mom was gone, Sam didn’t want him, and Dad would get sick of him soon.

Dad was already a little sick of him. Dean wasn’t Sammy. He wasn’t useful except as a blade or gun, and he was too fucking empty to try and be more. And nobody could be Sammy. The kid was brilliant and kind and deserved the whole world, he was made for more, and Dean was just a selfish asshole who wanted Sam to stay with him. Who wanted to stop being lonely, who’d wanted the one person he knew would always be next to him to stay next to him. 

But Sam could see the pit. She could see the pit. Dad could see the pit. The only people who couldn’t see the pit were people who passed him in the dark and never heard him speak words that were true.

They were the people Dean had planned to waste his time with while Dad was off on one of his solo hunts. He’d had a motel, a scammed credit card with a full line, and week to kill.

But he’d gotten restless. And there was some strange dancing shit going on just a town over, so Dean was technically staying put like Dad had told him to. And it was barely a case anyway. It had been more of a reason to do something. To not be flat out useless until Dad returned.

Then he’d seen Her in the library, and everything else had vanished. It had just been Her, real and touchable in front of Dean, looking like She’d landed from the sky once more for Dean to orbit around. 

And he had. Damnit, he really had. They fought, and She’d bitten him, and he’d bitten back, then the dust settled and Dean still wanted Her. He wanted to walk in Her wake wherever she went. Let Her flood him however she wanted, because at least then he’d be full of that flowing light again. Just for a day, he’d pretend he wasn’t pathetic and caked in mud and dirt under his skin, and exist in Her wake like it could be as easy as it felt. He could look into Her blinding eyes until She looked back and he felt electric and alive, he could figure out what the hell that fruit smell was, figure out if She was really just an illusion. If She was working some kind of voodoo on him, and that’s why he kept forgetting the ache of Her lying, playing, and using him when just She looked at him—truly fucking looked at him—and said Deano like it was a note in the best song she could ever sing.

Why Her leaving had left a scar a little to the left of his heart, when he’d never seen Her for more than a day. What She’d done to him to make it so that as the years had passed, he could sometimes feel Her hand in his, although it had never been there in the first place. Why She haunted in him the dead of night—lonely or filled with fake company—by calling his name. His name. Just Dean, echoing in his ears until he was driven mad.

She’d never just called him Dean, either. 

Even now, in the car, She hummed De and brushed Her skin against his like it wasn’t a searing, painfully glorious mark She was leaving on him forever. 

“You’re gonna have to leave the guns in the car.”

Dean frowned at Her. “No, I am not going in unarmed like a dumbass-“

“What did we say, Winchester?”

She raised Her smooth brows at Dean, and he rolled his eyes.

“We’re doing it your way.” He muttered. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not bringing my gun-“

“Yes, it does.” She crossed Her arms, pushing her tits a little further up her chest, and Dean needed to get a hold of himself. He’d seen boobs before, there was no reason this should be making him short-circuit.  

No reason but they were Her’s. And they looked soft. All of Her looked soft. Soft and pliable, ready to be touched and tended to, capable of Dean sinking some part of himself into until it stuck and She’d remember him forever-

Dean blinked as Her hand waved in front of his face. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, course I am-“

“What did I just say?”

Dean had no idea—his mouth slightly open and brow furrowed as he raked his brain for a guess—and She sighed.

“Guns will be useless here, Winchester.” She said, and Dean opened his mouth to protest that guns were about safety when you were a freakin’ hunter, but she pushed on. “All we need to do is destroy the alter. We can use our hands.”

“What if crazy devil lady discovers us?” Dean snapped, giving Her a pointed look. “You’re gonna ask nicely for Her not to sick that dancing son of a bitch on our asses?”

“She won’t discover us, that’s exactly why we’re waiting until she’s gone to go inside.” She paused, frowning into the air. “There is a chance she’s got Vitus patrolling her house-“

“What-“

“But it’ll be fine.” She shrugged, twisting a ring on Her finger. “We’ll get through it.”

Dean scowled. “I am not dancing to death tonight, Princess, I’m bringing my fucking gun-“

“No, just-“ She sighed. “It’s really unlikely she’s doing that, it’s just a chance-“

“I don’t know about your luck, but mine luck isn’t good enough to go on chance-“

“We don’t need guns-“

“We do.” Dean leaned over the arm rest until he could see the little bit of spit on Her lips when she pulled them between her teeth. “What if one of us is in trouble? Gunshot will let the other know.”

She gave him a flat look. “I am not using gunshots as a safety system. That’s paradoxical.”

“Well unless you’ve got something better.” Dean smirked, because he was going to win this one. They’d gone to the town hall, and he was breaking into Crazy Ladies house to destroy the alter and leave town—She said something about saints and pagan gods not liking to be caged, and how Vitus would almost certainly take care of Crazy Lady for them—but Dean would be damned if he didn’t win one thing today.

She was scanning over his face, Her eyes narrowing, and just when Dean was ready to declare victory and tell Her they were going to his motel room so they could grab Her a gun too, She turned away. Pulled fully back and started rifling through the glove compartment, Her brow in an adorable little scrunch as she searched. 

Dean watched Her, trying not to let his brain latch onto the pretty pout of Her lips from focus, or how quick and deliberate Her fingers were. “What are you-“

“Here.” She rose back up and shoved a flashlight into Dean’s hands. “We can use signals with these. Like morse code.”

Dean frowned. “Do you know morse code?”

“No-“

“Then how the hell-“

“I said like morse code, Winchester, keep up.” She angled Her own flashlight down, her mouth hanging slightly open as she thought. Dean wanted to push his thumb between Her lips. “What if-“

“What if I brought my gun-“

“Shut up. What if we did one to check in.” She flicked the light on and off,  Her words picking up pace as she continued. “Two for I’m in danger, three for I’m safe.”

“Why not one for danger, so we’re not wasting our fucking time-“

“Because if you accidentally turn the light on and off I’ll come running, you’ll be fine, and I will kill you for making me run.”

Dean pushed down how the idea of Her running to him made his head a little fuzzy, and scoffed. “You don’t run or use guns? How the hell are you still alive?”

She shrugged. “I run when I want. And I can shoot, I just choose not to.”

“What, on fucking principle-“

“On lack of necessity.” She raised Her chin slightly, an odd look flashing over Her pretty features that felt hollow. Felt bigger than the bored, amused pride in Her voice. “I told you, Deano. I’m just that good.”

Shit, She really was. She was blinding. Burning into Dean’s eyes until he’d keep seeing Her everywhere for a million years, pulling him in with that fruity smell and causing strange explosions along his ribcage and up his spine, lighting up every nerve something raw and golden, and he wasn’t alone, how could he be alone when the universe was in front of him and had all been concentrated for him to collide with-

“She’s out. Let’s go.”

Dean blinked, and pulled his gaze away from Her’s to look out the windshield, right in time to see Crazy Lady’s car pull out of the driveway. “So we’re just breaking in?”

She nodded, shooting him a small, teasing grin as she moved out of the car. “Unless you have an objection on principle-“

He couldn’t stop the low chuckle the fell from his mouth. “You’re think you’re really funny-“

“I am funny. I’m hilarious.” She ducked down to give him a mock-stern look. “Haul ass, Winchester, we got a saint to kill.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean rolled his eyes as he stepped onto the curb, smirking at Her as she rounded the car. “Bossy.”

“Suck my dick.” 

Dean laughed, and didn’t fight his hand as it found its way to Her back, resting easily between Her shoulder blades as they moved around the back of Crazy Lady’s house. He couldn’t stop doing that, but his hand felt right there. It grounded him—Dean thought it might be like waking up in your own bed—and he told him She was there. That this wasn’t another dream, and he could keep Her down here—in the blood and dirt, Her strangely ethereal presence perfectly in harmony with how fucking mortal Dean was—for as long as possible. That he could hold onto Her if the wind tried to take her away, could keep Her from bruises and pain with one strong movement.

And She wasn’t shrugging him off, and it made everything worse. Dean didn’t know how to fight this instinct to wrap Her in metal, then trail after Her like a lost puppy. He wanted Her to keep shining on him, and him alone, and stay safe but with him. She was a spoiled brat and a liar and Dean would end up alone again when this was done, but right now he felt useful. He felt wanted. 

And it was a sickness he’d never want to cure.

Not when She was smiling at Dean as she picked Crazy Lady’s lock, or flushing as he pushed open the door and guided Her through. Not when She was walking right against him, so he could feel the warmth of Her body, could brush their skin and make it look like an accident. Not when She tripped over the carpet, Dean’s arm shot out, and She was steady and safe. Pressed right against him. Squirming slightly and tilting Her head back to meet his gaze, Her eyes like a searchlight that reached right into the darkest place in Dean’s body as She—at least for now—didn’t seem to be disgusted. 

“Do you have your flashlight?” She whispered in Dean’s ear, and he held it up with a grin.

“One to check, two bad, three good.”

She nodded, her hand squeezing on Dean’s arm, and she probably hadn’t even been thinking about the movement—Her attention focused on the doors and stairs with a small frown—but it was going to haunt him for a hundred fucking years. 

“We can split floors.” She muttered, Her voice a little far away as she thought. “I’ll take up, you take down.”

Dean made a low noise of agreement, and dragged his body away from Her’s. She’d be fine. He was right down the goddamn hall, this was far better than Her hunting all by herself, and it wasn’t at all Dean’s job to protect Her. She didn’t need it. She was here by choice, She’d thrown herself into this life, and Dean had enough shit to worry about without being responsible for Her safety.

But that didn’t stop the way his stomach clenched and twisted in those brief moments when he’d angle his light out into the hallway, up the stairs, flash it, and then wait for Her response. He didn’t know why they couldn’t just fucking shout. She’d mentioned something about sound being an attractor to music-based saints and deities, but that seemed like bullshit. All of this felt like She was trying to fuck with Dean, make him get sick and tight when She’d take too long to answer, make his focus more on the heaviness over his chest between the second and third flashes. 

He wasn’t finding anything. No alter, no suspicious books, no big sign that said Go This Way To Gank Evil. Crazy Lady even seemed downright boring. She had yarn. Who the hell has yarn.

Dean groaned as he existed one of the last rooms—no summoning ritual guides next to the toilet—and sent a flash up the stairs. 

Nothing. Not one, not two, and definitely not three.  

Then there was a clattering sound, and Dean roared Her name before he could think, sprinting up the stairs and grabbing his gun out of his pants. She hadn’t fucking patted him down and checked, or asked, and he hadn’t planned to use it unless it was necessary, and it was. She was in fucking danger, and She’d thank Dean when he saved Her hot, annoying, insufferable ass-

She was not in danger. Dean burst into the room, raised the gun to eye level, and froze at sight of Her. Standing with Her hands on her hips over a flipped table, turning to look at him with raised brows.

“We said no guns.”

“You said no guns.” Dean grumbled, shoving his own pistol back into his jeans. “I never actually agreed, sweetheart. Shoulda had me shake on it.”

She rolled Her eyes as Dean moved to stand at Her side. “You’re an ass.”

“I know.” He winked at Her, and felt something at the very bottom of his gut coil and spark when She flushed. “Why the hell didn’t you flash back?”

“I didn’t see it, De.” She shrugged, surveying Her mess with a smug expression. “It’s not a great system, in a place with walls.”

“Then why the hell did you make it-“

“You looked like you’d lose your mind if I didn’t.”

Dean stared at Her for a long moment before shaking his head in slight disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiled, Her eye barely flicking to him as she hummed, “I know.”

He scoffed, his hand returning to Her back. His hand kept returning to Her back, like a goddamn magnet, and She kept letting out a slow breath at his touch, and Dean was going to lose his goddamn mind. He might have already lost it, given how She was so close to his body, and he couldn’t think of anything outside of how every part of Her should be touching every part of him-

Every thought vanished from Dean’s head when She moved. Sent Dean stumbling behind Her as a blonde man covered in burn scars flickered into the room, his face painted in anger and his arms outstretched to grab at Dean. 

And now She was in his way.

Dean’s heart was in his ears, his blood too fast in his body, and his tongue was heavy and made of sandpaper, because She wasn’t even goddamn running-

He fumbled behind him as he regained balance, the boiled son of a bitch barely a second from grabbing Her, and fired right as grayed and jagged nails reached the space right over Her head.

Saint Ugly exploded into the air as the bullet pushed through him, and Dean lunged forward, grabbing Her wrist as she remained rooted in place.

“Why the hell did you push me-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook her head, still rigid in Dean’s grip.  “Fuck, we’ve got to go, now, he might come back-“

Dean scowled. “You said he wouldn’t go after us!”

“I was wrong, okay!” She shouted, but she was also moving. He’d fucking take it. “Maybe he liked being trapped, I mean it’s not like a bunch of people are worshipping first century Sicilian saints right now!”

“Goddamnit, just-“ Dean’s jaw ticked, but he shook it off as he pulled Her out of the room, into the hall. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” he muttered. “Before that crazy music bitch gets back and Saint Ugly turns this place into a blood-“

“Wait, Dean!”

He froze at Her shout of his name—just his name, like he mattered—turned to Her as something kicked and flared near his heart, before stumbling back as the door slammed, and Saint Ugly appeared right where he’d been standing before.

“Shit-“ Dean ducked Ugly—he didn’t really seem like a saint right now—and pulled Her backwards into a bathroom, slamming the door behind them. “How the hell are we supposed to keep him-“

She let out a strangled gasp, and Dean turned to find Her back pressed to the wall, Her eyes glassy and wide as her hands curled into tight fists.

He half-shouted Her name, grabbing one of Her shoulders and holding her steady as he angled Her face around, looking for a cut or bruise or bump or evidence that Ugly had gotten to Her. “Fuck, sweetheart, you gotta talk to me-“

“I can’t- I don’t-“ She looked bloodless, Her lips pulled into a tight line. “I’m sorry-“

“You’re sorry-“ Dean shook his head. “Shit, what’s wrong with you-“

She made a choked sound, still frozen against the wall, and Dean groaned.

“Just, just fucking point to where he got you-“

“No, I-“ Her hand shot to his wrist, gripping him like iron as he stared at Her. “Deal with Vitus, I- I’m okay-“

“I’m not blind, you’re losing your fucking mind-“

“I’m just, don’t-“ She dropped Her head slightly, flinching as the lights started to flicker over Her head. “Fire, Dean, he’ll hate fire-“

Dean glanced around the bathroom. “How the hell am I supposed to torch the douchebag in here-“

She opened Her mouth to answer, and all that came out was a high noise of fear as She grabbed Dean’s arm, grabbed him forward, and he narrowly missed another attack from Ugly.

The bathroom was not a good place to fight an evil Saint, but Dean could manage. He’d kicked into high gear the moment he collided with Her body once more, found his footing, and moved. This was what he knew how to do. It didn’t matter that She kept saving his ass, or that Ugly seemed hell-bent on Dean and not Her, Dean was comfortable here. Fighting. Trusting his body—not his mind, never his mind—to know when to duck, when to pull Her to the side to keep her out of Ugly’s warpath, and knowing how to fight.

And he was fucking fighting. She’d been right, anything warm seemed to do Ugly in, because when Dean shoved him back into a heater he roared and vanished again. Dean could work with that. He could grab the thermostat dial and crank it all the way up, turn on the hot water until steam was rising from the sink, and keep his gun raised until he figured out something more permanent. Firing and swinging with his fists, unhooking to iron towel hanger and brandishing it like a blade, splashing the hot water in Ugly’s face-

The son of a bitch didn’t like that. He screeched, the scars on his skin starting to bubble and blister like they were new, and Dean felt everything settle. There it was. He had Ugly now.

Dean kept Her within arm’s reach as he grabbed the fancy, stupid little paper cups from the sink and started to fill them up.

“Dean,” She hissed, and when he glanced at Her she was hugging herself, fingers curled on her arms. “What-“

“I’ve got it Princess, just-“ Dean’s head snapped up as Ugly reappeared—seething and downright disgusting—and his face cracked into a wide grin. “Shower time, bitch.”

He threw the cups, splashing the water right on Ugly’s face, and grimaced at the sound of pain that echoed through the bathroom as Ugly melted. Turned into a puddle of slightly brown water on the floor. 

“Is it-” Her voice was soft as She grabbed the hook of Dean’s elbow, looking over his shoulder with a frown. “It’s glittering, right?”

Dean nodded, letting out a long, slow breath. “You wanna go?”

“I, uh-“ She swallow, leaning a little into Dean’s back, her breathing still shallow. “Yeah. Yes please.”

She was really quiet. As they moved out of the house, into Her car, and took off down the street, She barely said a single word. She just stared at her hands and picked at her skin, barely humming when Dean spoke and closing Her eyes for long moments when the silence stretched on. It was fraught and painful, like a live wire Dean had to brace himself against. Like something that could snap.

It was driving Dean insane. He hated it. She was downright docile, not protesting or arguing with Dean when he muttered that he was taking them back to his motel room. Not angry at him about the gun, or telling him how he could’ve handled Vitus better, or doing anything but sitting there and shutting down. 

And he had to fix it. She didn’t even have to smile, She just had to look at him, and breathe evenly, and stop making Dean feel like he was failing Her without ever having Her to begin with. 

When he parked Her car, Dean sighed, and move his hand to grab Her’s. Raising it out of her lap as She frowned at nothing, placing it carefully on the armrest.

“Stop doing that.” He muttered, tapping the raw, bloody skin around Her fingers. “You good to stay here for a minute?”

She nodded—so small he almost didn’t see it—and Dean ran a hand over his face, shaking his head before dragging himself out of the car, watching Her for a long moment through the windshield before he moved on. Her face titled down and cast in shadows, Her fingers curled on the armrest, and Her body so small he’d think she was trying to hide from something.

He wasn’t sure She’d be there when he got back. And he had to move some shit around, but he didn’t know what he’d do if he returned and She was gone. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t even glancing up to see where they were or where Dean had gone, but he didn’t trust it. It could be another con, another trick, another scam that didn’t make sense, that he was all too happy to fall for. 

But he didn’t want to drag Her inside. She looked fragile like this, and Dean was not soft or gentle. He didn’t care for things. He killed them. 

And She didn’t really look like she could afford to be handled by someone who didn’t know how to be gentle right now. 

And that made Dean sick. 

But he still, somehow, made himself turn away and walk into the motel room. She might have vanished when he returned, and Dean couldn’t know if She was truly just turning to stone and he wasn’t doing anything to fix it.

He moved faster because of that. Made sure his bed was passably made before he grabbed his bag, pushed through weapons and cassette tapes and clothing, and found what he was looking for in a matter of minutes. Stuffed all the way at the bottom, exactly where they always were.

Dean tossed Her jacket and flask into the closet, thought about it for a second longer, and tossed all of his laundry in there as well. She didn’t need to see his boxers. At least, not the dirty ones.

When he walked back outside, She was still there. She hadn’t moved an inch. Fuck, She barely even flinched when Dean knocked on the window. If he didn’t know better, Dean wouldn’t be sure she was breathing.

He opened the door, hanging off the hood of the car as he lowered himself down to Her eye level. 

“Hey,” he said Her name slowly, and She still didn’t look at him. “Are you living in here now?”

She didn’t respond, but She did move. Her eyes dragged to Dean’s, and he felt like someone was grinding his bone to dust and sticking needles into his skin. He didn’t know what the hell was up with Her, but she looked lost. Like She didn’t know where she was, why she was there, or who  She even was. She was watching Dean like he wasn’t Dean. Like he was more, and She didn’t know what that meant.

“Are you, uh…” Dean trailed off, and She still just stared at him. He didn’t have a freaking clue how to deal with this, not like She probably needed. He’d handled Sammy’s freak outs, when he was a kid. When Dad had grunted that of course you should be careful ‘round strangers, Sammy, they might try to fuckin’ kill and eat you, and the eight-year-old hadn’t taken that very well. But that had been easy. Dean knew Sam, he knew what calmed him down. 

And he didn’t know Her. He couldn’t move away from Her, and he kept liking everything he learned about Her against his best judgment, but Dean didn’t really know Her. Everything he did know was what She probably didn’t want him to, and what he wished he could unlearn. And everything else was useless here. He knew She didn’t drink. He knew She knew a lot about monsters, that she wore the best perfume he’d ever smelt. He knew She liked stupid things, and smart things, and telling Dean what to do. He knew he dreamt about dragging Her down into him and kissing Her until she was as dumb as Dean always felt in Her presence. Good dumb, where She rolled around his head and made everything illuminated so Dean knew there was something. That in his pit there was something, that She really was something, and whatever the hell he couldn’t stop feeling about Her was something.

He knew how he’d imagined Her being dumb, just for a moment, just for him. How he’d imagined Her being slack jawed and all his in a way he couldn’t afford to have, or lose. 

But that wasn’t real. Dean didn’t know which parts of Her were real. Dean didn’t know Her at all.

Yet he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t move, couldn’t walk away, couldn’t let Her rot in the car. It felt unforgivable, and Dean wasn’t looking to be forgiven, but he didn’t want to be damned. 

Not for this. Not when it seemed like it might cost Her too.

“C’mon.” Dean grabbed Her carefully, helping Her out of the car and into the motel room. She didn’t fight him. She only moved with him like she was rain, and he was wind pushing Her where he wished her to fall.

Down on his bed, Her back flat on the mattress, Her chest starting to rise and fall in a slower pattern. 

Dean dropped at Her side, bracing his elbows on his knees as he cleared his throat. “So, uh, you were right. Didn’t really need the gun, I guess.”

She sighed, and when she spoke Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. “You used the gun, De.”

“Didn’t kill the son of a bitch with it, though.” He shrugged, watching Her carefully. Her eyes were closed, her face slack, and Dean wished it didn’t make his blood flow lower than it should. “If we had just brought Hot Pocket’s we’d have ganked the asshole right off the bat.”

“You’re a genius.” She mumbled, and that sounded better. She still wasn’t moving, so Dean wasn’t sure. 

“I know, sweetheart.” He kept going. Just until She smiled, and the whole world lit up because of it, he’d keep going. “With my brains and your criminal skills, we’ll have all the boring, anti-good music puritans out of the handtighting business in a week.”

She opened Her eyes, and they were filled with something Dean didn’t recognize. “We?”

Dean blinked at Her. He hadn’t expected Her to hang on the we. He’d expected Her to tease him about being the brains, or get adorably offended over being called a criminal, or scold Dean for saying handtight again. But Her gaze was intent, and Dean had to acting like his whole body wasn’t rioting against him from it. 

“Yeah. We.” He offered Her a small grin, and hoped She’d take it. Dean really needed Her to take it. “We ganked that asshole together, Princess. We’re an okay team.”

Her eyes sparked slightly, and let out a small huff that didn’t sound like pain. “A team.”

“Think that’s what they call it, yeah.”

“What would you call it?”

Dean paused, scanning over Her features. Open. Soft but no longer fragile, and open. And he could see the universe in Her eyes again. “I’d call it a team.”

She hummed. “Good. We can make a business card. No more handtights under our watch.”

Something Dean exploded, and his grin was probably dopey and too wide, but he didn’t care. Not when he felt lit up like this. “You called it handtight again.”

“Yeah.”

“You mean it this time?”

She tilted Her head at him, and that wasn’t a smile, but it was closer. “I think so.”

Dean scoffed. “C’mon-“

“I meant it.” She said, Her smile growing slightly. “I think it’s stupid, but I meant it.”

He narrowed his eyes at Her. “And you’re not gonna try to make me go back and kill Crazy Lady-“

“No, I don’t have an ulterior- Shit!” She sat up straight on the bed, Her eyes wide. “We didn’t deal with the secretary-“

“Fuck, we didn’t.” Dean ran a hand over his face, frowning into the air. “Do you think she’ll be able to summon Vitus again?”

She shook Her head. “No, he’s dead. But she might be able to summon another saint-“

“Will she be able to do it tonight?”

“I don’t think so.” She said slowly. “I mean, he was probably like her patron or something, and that’ll take a minute to replace.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Then it can wait.”

She blinked at him. “But-“

“Look,” Dean said Her name, giving Her his best stern look. She was in no shape to confront Crazy Lady, Dean didn’t really want to leave Her here alone—He was certain She’d sneak out after him anyway—and this hadn’t been fatal. For once, there was something that could wait, and he was going to take full advantage of it. “Either I go deal with it alone, or we stay here. But you just-“ He paused, looking Her over slowly. “You need five. Take it.”

She glared at him. “You’re not in charge of me, Winchester.”

“No.” Dean winked at Her. “But if you get up, I’ll push you down, and I think we both know who will win that wrestling match. I’m warning you, Princess. I play dirty.”

He knew that flush, and he knew how to grab onto it like fuel. He hadn’t seen the hitched breath before though, or the way Her mouth parted slightly.

It made his heart volcanic in his chest.

“You’re the worst.” She mumbled, and Dean laughed.

“Sure, Princess.” Dean moved his hand to Her chest. Just the top of it, nowhere obviously inappropriate, and slow enough to give Her time to shove him away. She didn’t. “Down.”

He gave Her a light push, and She moved. Went flat on Her back with a tiny pout and glower at Dean, and he just grinned. 

“You can stay here, for the night.” Dean spoke before he could think, and didn’t know how to stop. “Just to, uh, save time. When we track down Crazy Lady in the morning. Get it over with sooner.”

She blinked at him, something glazing over Her eyes slightly as she nodded, Her voice soft once more. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dean nodded. “Awesome.”

“Sure,” She held Her hands over her head, her nails scraping at already raw skin. “For the case.”

Dean frowned, but pushed past it. “So you, uh, you want some food-“

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what-“

“Act like you want me here.” She mumbled. “Like you’re not just trying to make sure I don’t run off and handle the secretary by myself.”

Dean frowned. He wanted Her here. He wanted Her here more than he should. He just didn’t want whatever that had been to happen again, because it made him feel foul and rotten and useless, just watching Her breathe too fast and stare at nothing and pick Her skin bloody.

He didn’t know how to say that in a way that didn’t sound pathetic. 

But he also hated how She was small again. How She wasn’t looking at him. So he took a long breath, and made his words steady. Not certain—not when they weren’t the full truth—but steady.

“I’d like you here, Princess.” He lowered his back flat onto the mattress, keeping his gaze trained on the ceiling as he settled at Her side. “I’d get bored without you. And I think I owe you one question, anyway.”

She sighed. “I- I don’t want to answer questions right now.”

“Okay.” He turned to look at Her, and found her already watching him. So close. “You’re still staying, though.”

She looked at Dean like she’d never seen him before. Like he’d dragged himself up from the center of the Earth—drenched in dirt and something sticky—and she wasn’t sure what she was seeing was real.

He knew the feeling.

“Okay.” She whispered, and that was it. Dean gave Her a small smile, She returned it, and this silence didn’t feel like a live wire. It felt like the whole world, just in Dean’s shitty motel room. She turned her head back to look at the slightly stained and cracked ceiling, Dean looked at Her, and he couldn’t sit up. If he sat up, She’d find a way to leave. He didn’t want Her to leave. Breathing was easier when She was next to him. The world felt more colorful, and he felt like something had moved and found a home in a strange depression in the cavity of his chest. It washed always all the foulest parts of him and made him feel clean, shining so brightly that the remaining filth didn’t seem all that bad to live with. 

And it was fake. It was irrational and fake, another scam this enigma of a woman was probably trying to pull on him, and Dean still didn’t give a fuck. He’d believe lie after lie if he could keep feeling useful to someone like he was useful to Her. Just a voice and hands and a mouth who’d made Her smile again, and cleared that glassy look from Her eyes. 

He should ask Her now. Demand to know why the hell Dad had found all that shit on Her, demand for there to be an explanation. A reason that made him think this moment could last.

But he didn’t ask. He just basked in the glow and gravity of Her, and didn’t bother to fight his hand as if drifted across the mattress between them. Brushing his pinky with Her’s, and doing nothing more. Keeping his breathing steady as She didn’t move for a long moment, blinking at the ceiling and not looking at Dean���but not moving away either—and grinning wide and dumb when Her pinky hooked into his. 

“I can sing, too.”

Dean blinked at Her. “What?”

“You were shocked I could play the piano and dance.” She whispered, and even in side-profile Her smile was blinding. “I can sing too.”

“Your uncle also teach you that?”

“No. I taught myself.” She sighed. “Growing up I didn’t… I didn’t have much else to do.”

When She turned to look at him, Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut. All the air was gone from his body as She scanned over him, and Her eyes were made of stars, and Her face had fallen right from a heaven that wasn’t real-

“Led Zeppelin, huh?”

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you dare trash Zeppelin, Princess-“

“That was a neutral statement.” She gave him an amused look. “I wasn’t going to make fun of you.”

He scowled. “Yeah, sure-“

“I wasn’t!” She rolled on Her side—Her pinky still locked in Dean’s—and his body was either going numb or coming alive for the first time. “I don’t make fun of things people like, De. Art is inherently subjective.”

He chuckled, ready to poke and tease Her, but she looked so goddamn sincere that the words died on his tongue, and he had to cough slightly to find his voice again. “You got thoughts on Zep, then?”

“I have thoughts on everything.”

That pulled a low laugh from Dean’s chest. “No shit, Princess-“

She scowled. “Sorry I care-“

“No, you’re not.” Dean grinned at Her. “And it’s better than being a boring fucking bum with no thoughts.”

“I guess, yeah.” She gave him an odd look, her words slow. “Do you… do you want to hear my thoughts on Led Zeppelin?”

Dean nodded, shooting Her a wink. “Be careful, sweetheart. You’re not the only one with thoughts.”

She was not careful. She spoke so fast and gestured like a mad woman, sitting up on Her knees for more dramatic motions and saying every word like a spell that just drew Dean further into Her. Her thoughts on Led Zeppelin were acceptable—there was always room for improvement, not everyone could appreciate their genius the way Dean did—but neither of them seemed to know how to finish a conversation. Dean certainly couldn’t remember. He kept following Her down every path she dragged him, until he was talking about food andcartoons, and She told him a story about making her father watch old Disney movies, and He was telling Her a story about Sammy trying to reenact a whole episode of Scooby Doo with toy soldiers for him on his birthday. 

Dad didn’t even know that story. He’d been off hunting. But She was giggling and smiling and leaning down over Dean’s body, so he’d tell it to Her a million more times.

“And Sam, he-“ She was covering Her mouth to stifled Her laugher. It wasn’t working. “He tried to make you kiss the Daphne solider?”

“He thought it was the best present he could give me.” Dean smirked up at Her. If he hooked his arm around Her waist and tugged her down, he could kiss Her. “Am I gonna lose you if I tell you I did it?”

She snorted—it was the cutest fucking thing Dean had ever seen—and gave up completely on trying to cover her sheer joy at his embarrassment. He was okay with that.

“Did you,” She took a long breath to control her laughter, Her eyes glowing on Dean’s. “Did you use tongue?”

He placed a hand over his chest, acting offended at the very question. “Course not, Princess, I don’t put out on the first kiss-“

She raised her brows. “Put out your tongue?”

“It’s my second-best limb, sweetheart.” He winked at Her, savoring every bit of Her reaction—flush, hitched breath, widened gaze—that told him She might feel this. She could, maybe, feel this, and nothing else would have to matter again. “Girl’s gotta earn it.”

She rolled Her eyes, but her voice was a little higher than before. “The tongue is a muscle, dumb dumb.”

“Huh.” Dean paused, furrowing his brow in thought. “Second best appendage?”

“I mean, I think ranking them in the first place is stupid-“

“You only say that,” Dean cut Her off with a smirk. “Because you don’t have one that’s obviously the best like I do.”

She gave him a flat look. “And what appendage would that be, Winchester.”

Dean wiggled his brows at Her. “Why don’t you guess- Ow!”

She’d shoved his arm, and Dean grabbed it as dramatically as he could, acting like She’d stabbed him.

“God, I’m dying, you’ve killed me-“

She snorted again. “Oh, fuck off, you big baby-“

He pouted at Her, barely containing his grin. “That’s no way talk to your victim-“

“Shut up- Dean!”

He grabbed Her arm, yanked Her back down to the mattress, and Dean would never allow Her to stop calling him his full name again. It sounded awesome when She said it. Not just a name, but Dean. She said Dean like it could only be him, and no one else. It was just them in the room—a little bit just them in the universe—but there could be a million other Dean’s but he’d still know She was only calling for him. 

“You’re such an asshole-“

He shrugged, not flinching as She glowered at him and slapped his hand away from Her. She was half fallen over his body, wiggling slightly but not trying to pull away, and he didn’t really have the brainpower to think about anything but that. “It’s payback, Princess.” He smirked up at Her. “Teach you to shove me.”

“Yeah,” She swallowed, and Dean was deeply aware of how She was molded perfectly into him. Too perfectly. “I learned my lesson, Winchester. Good work.”

Dean could taste the shift. It was sudden, but had still lay under everything, just waiting to be dragged back to the surface. 

And here it was. Here She was. The sugar was gone, but the fruit was strong, and Dean was intoxicated by it. Intoxicated by Her, so close and beautiful above him, beautiful in a way that made him sure She was royalty. There was no other explanation. That must be where Her wealth came from, from being created to be worship and obeyed like a living god. To be followed down, down, down, shining wherever She could be seen and coming apart only in the dark.

Dean could be Her dark. He could be the one to stand near Her in the shadows and unravel her where it was only them. The one who smirked when She told him what to do because he’d do it then and make Her scream his name later. Scream it like that. Like She had before.

And he still didn’t know where the hell that desire came from, but it didn’t matter. He felt it, more than he’d ever felt most things. And She was so fucking close, and Her eyes were wide and unreadable and infinite on his, and Her breath was warm on his face, and all it would take is a small movement to find out if he’d be worthy of being Her dark-

Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and they both tensed. She stared at Dean, he stared at Her, and he tried not to dwell on how empty he felt when She rolled away, giving him space to pull his phone out of his pocket, glance at the contact—Dad, shit—and put it to his ear.

“Hey-“

“Dean, there’s a bus down to Louisiana that should be leavin’ in about an hour. Pack up and catch it.”

Dean frowned, sitting up on the bed and adjusting his grip on the phone. “Dad, I don’t-“

“This son of a bitch is two-man job.” Dad snapped, his word clear through the phone static. “Need you here by the morning. Room’s paid for ’till next week, we’ll come back and grab everythin’ when we get this asshole.”

Dean swallowed, glancing over at where She was watching him with a far too neutral expression. “It leaves in an hour?”

“That’s what I said, boy.” Dad paused, his voice dropping in a way that Dean knew meant he was frowning. That meant he was, rightfully, sick of Dean speaking. “This gonna be a problem?”

“No, sir.” Dean muttered, running a hair through his hair, suddenly unable to meet Her gaze. “I’ll be there by morning.”

“Good. I’ll be waitin’ at the station.”

That was all Dean got before the line went dead.

“Was that your dad?” Her voice was small, back to the soft tone from before, and Dean grimaced inside as he nodded.

“Yeah, I, uh, I gotta go.” He gave Her an apologetic look, standing from the bed and pulling his shit into his bag. “Dad needs my help on his case.”

“Oh.” She nodded slowly, Her voice growing back to its usual tone, but still not easy. Still not fully Her. “Okay.”

“You can stay here.” He offered. “It’s paid for. And I’m, fuck, I’m out in an hour but we can go back to Crazy’s house now, I guess-“

She shook Her head, and something in Dean dulled at the fucking passiveness on Her face, in Her voice. “It’s fine, Winchester, I know how to handle a religious fanatic.”

He couldn’t just nod and let go. He couldn’t just walk out the door. “I’m serious, if we leave now-“

“I’m serious too.” She crossed Her arms, still watching him from the bed. “I’ve had… a lot of practice. I’ll be fine.”

He made a low, grumbling noise, and glanced at the closet. “You gonna stay here?”

“Yeah,” She said, watching Dean carefully. “I mean, if you’re really okay with it-“

“Yeah, like I said, it’s paid for.” He moved to the closet, blocking Her view of the mess inside with his body as he shoved the jacket and flask into his bag. Whatever this was felt like it was growing, and he was not about to bomb it with how much of a freaking creep he’d been for the past three years. “I, uh,” he rose back up, giving Her a small, nervous grin. “I’ll call you. To check on how dealing with Crazy went. And you need me, call me.”

She sighed. “Yeah, got it.”

Dean frowned. She didn’t believe him. “I will call you, Princess.”

“Okay, Winchester.” She gave him a close-lipped smile, and Dean’s brows furrowed. “See you in a few years, I guess.”

“You’ll see me sooner.”

“Sure-“

“Tell you what.” Dean dropped his bag, marching across the room to stand above Her at the foot of the bed, and not allowing himself to get caught up in the euphoria of standing above Her at the foot of the bed. “I’ll call, and we’ll see each other by three months.”

“De-“

“Pinky promise.”

He stuck out his pinky, and She gaped at him.

“Are you serious?”

“As cancer, sweetheart.” Dean flexed his finger, raising his brows. “I take my pinky promises very seriously.”

She rolled Her eyes, but didn’t say anything as she scanned over his face. Dean just reminded silent and still. Whatever She wanted to see She’d find, and it was all Her. Her call. Her choice if Dean remained alone until they collided again, if he’d keep forgetting, over and over and over, how to hate Her until the very idea of hating Her was just a far-off fog.

And when She raised her hand and locked her picky with his, Dean felt something settle a little to the side of his heart. Something he hadn’t felt in two years, and came back with an almost brutal force as She smiled at him, and Her voice fully regained that siren-like quality that might end up the death of him.

He’d just have to see.

“See you soon, Winchester.” She said, and he grinned.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You gonna take my car?”

Dean blinked, realizing the keys were still in his pocket. “I was actually just gonna walk, it’s a small town-“

“Take it.” She shrugged. “You can take a long route, spend some time driving. I’ll walk and find it by the station in the morning.”

Dean stared at Her, unable to wrap his head around what exactly She could be. A princess, an angel, the hottest lady he’d ever seen, sent to tempt him and make him go goddamn mad with whatever the hell She was doing to him. 

“Are you-“

“I’m sure. Bye, Dean.” She gave him another smile, and he felt like he was drowning in the moon. 

That didn’t even make any goddamn sense.

“I, uh, bye.” He made a stuttering motion to the door, and—before he could think better—turned around, leaned down, and pressed a small kiss to the top of Her head.

And he was a goner.

Because this time as he left Her, everything was still made of color.

And nothing felt lonely at all.

End Note: John Winchester winning terrible parent of the century three chapters in a row he’s on a roll folks.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[gazstations]

Trying my hand at little scenarios involving hybrid/shifter!141. I tried to think of different creatures than I've seen for some of the boys, but some were too perfect to pass up. This is probably lame, but here you go...

TW: Quick mentions of breeding/pregnancy, obsessive behavior.

You're a thief that takes more and more risks every time. A sleazy man in a tavern gives you a contract to steal something worthwhile from the supposed dragon hybrid that lives in the mountains. You agree, maybe half a pint too deep.

You journey out into the woods later that week and find a looming cave. It's easy to enter. If you weren't blinded by your determination, you'd realize how suspicious that was.

The place is warm and full of gold, as expected. There are some other random treasures as well. You had never seen a dragon hoard before. It baffles you where someone even finds all of this stuff.

As you're elbow deep in one section of golden items, you hear a low timbre behind you. You happened to visit Dragon!Price right in the middle of his most intense rut.

And being in a rut means he obsessively hoards.

You don't mind if he adds you to the collection, do you? Maybe he'll pin you amongst his trophies and stuff you full of his clutch. He's been alone for a long time.

Safe to say, the news of your "death" spreads through the town when you fail to return from your excursion.

♡◇♡

You're the princess/prince of a struggling kingdom. The king and queen got dragged into a war they could not handle in order to keep their alliance with another neighboring kingdom going.

After the castle suffers from an invasion, your parents plead for the gods to send you protection. You are their only child and heir to the throne, they cannot lose you. They will hold off on making any marriage alliances in exchange for peace as long as they can.

Gaz appears on the steps of the castle one day. He exudes a regal energy and seems to know everything about you instantly as his heartfelt eyes analyze you closely. He's a cross between a lion and eagle, and his wings alone are majestic.

Your parents are overjoyed. The gods must have sympathized with them to send a Griffin hybrid. They take it as good fortune.

They don't seem to mind as Gaz slowly imprints on you. Giving you soft, newly preened feathers. Tucking you under his wings whenever you're exploring. Marking you with his scent in every way.

Griffins are known to protect treasure. And even once the war is over, Gaz knows he's not letting you go.

♡◇♡

Every time someone has died in your village, you see a large black wolf right before. The thing is emaciated, though doesn't seem deterred in the slightest. He's lithe and quick regardless. The village has taken to calling him Ghost.

You often find him prowling the graveyard whenever you go to visit a family member who has died. The pup watches from a distance, and when you end up crying, the canine howls for you. You swear his eyes glow orange in the gloom of the graveyard. For a feral animal, it sure is interesting.

You always try to find his den. It must be somewhere in the premises of the graveyard if he's always there. Your bleeding heart tells you to help the poor stray.

One time, you manage to catch the bastard and he whines the whole way. He nips at the heavy leash you've subdued him with. You manhandle the beast into your little cottage and drag him to the bathroom.

Your bathroom didn't survive the wolf's stubborness.

He reluctantly jumps up onto the bed with you that night, and when you scratch behind his ear he lets out a bitter chuff as he leans into it and wags his tail.

Just don't scream too loud when you wake up to a grown man wrapped around you. He smells oddly like death.

♡◇♡

There's a seal that won't leave you alone. It chuffs and flops on the floorboards of your simple fishing boat, making it rock slightly as you stare the creature down. You're unsure of whether or not to play submissive or be intimidating.

The seal stares at you with big eyes, nostrils flaring as it analyzes you. It doesn't seem threatened, scared, or really anything. It's just one very big seal that lumbers around.

He dives back into the water after a little bit, and you sigh in relief.

But he shows up every time you're out. Blubbered form hitting the deck and glistening under the sun. You grow wary less and less as the visits continue. You even offer him some fish from the collection you already caught.

You, admittedly, become attached to the creature. Not many people can say they befriended a seal.

And the oddly docile animal takes your affection and runs with it.

One day, you wander down to your docked boat in the cove and find a man lounging against the edge. He fiddles with some ocean worn charm as he hums to himself.

The man beams when he spots you. You don't notice the pelt he leaves on the floor as he walks your way.

You arrived in Johnny's life just in time for mating season. At this point, he doesn't care if you take his pelt. He will purposefully "lose" it and have it magically appear somewhere in your belongings.

[sleepynoons]

nagumo yoichi x gn!reader, sfw, not beta read

cw: slight suggestive content, explicit language

notes: wait if you catch several typos/grammar mistakes, that's not on me, that's on ellipsus for constantly glitching out today and preventing me from making edits. this is a drabble, too, and i don't proofread those oops. anyway, i thought it'd be funny if nagumo also got into a relationship the same way sakamoto and aoi got together. i also think it's hilarious that the npcs in this series don't give a fuck lol. nagumo also comes off as weird af at first LMAO wait this was kinda meant to satisfy my belief that nagumo has a sleeper build iykwim - wait i'm realizing there are several references + tidbits in this piece so it'd be funny if y'all catch anything hehe

"WELCOME!"

greeting customers is arguably the least rewarding thing about your job. most people who walk in ignore you, some even look annoyed, and you hate public speaking in the first place. you think you lose five minutes of your life every single time you raise your voice, and those five minutes have probably accumulated to years by now.

you sigh. it can't be helped. another part-timer recently quit, and you can't possibly let the manager of this convenience store, an elderly man in his 60s, take on additional night shifts when he's already handling the early mornings.

besides, there are some pros. since the store is located near a university and a residential area, there are familiar faces. there's a group of computer science students that often drop by, and they play the occasional harmless prank on you. there's also that mother-daughter pair that buys frozen taiyakis every saturday as a reward for the daughter for finishing her weekly violin lesson. and perhaps the most intriguing of them all is a man that pops by every three days around midnight.

he wears the same tan trench coat, along with a loose patterned button-up and black pants. before winter set in, he always went straight to the freezer to fish out a popsicle, bar already in his mouth as he walked over to pay, but in the past two weeks, he's been opting for a cup of hot coffee and small packets of candy instead.

it seems he's craving sour gummies today. with a swift swipe of your arm, you grab and scan the barcode on the back of the plastic bag, and type in the amount for his drink.

"your total's ¥600."

"no discounts for your most loyal customer?"

startled, you freeze, determined to avoid eye contact. you've had conversations with other customers before, but never with him. he's always left as quickly as he came, so you're caught off-guard by this unexpected interaction.

"u-uh, not this time, sorry. i can ask the manager if we have a loyalty program, if you want."

the man hums as he nods happily and hands you two ¥500 coins. his unbothered smile unnerves you a bit, so you count the difference and return the loose change in personal record time.

but he doesn't leave, and instead, asks, "any thoughts on getting hitched?"

your spit-take's almost comical, but the absurdity of the situation takes precedent. "w-what now?"

"one of my co-workers recently got married to a convenience store worker, so i'd thought i'd give it a try, too!"

you're practically shaking from how anxious and overwhelmed this person's making you feel. it doesn't help that he's clearly not disturbed at all, which almost makes you doubt your own ethics and gut instincts. but, the more you think about it, the more you're sure there's something wrong with this man and not you.

"i-i, uh, well, i'm not interested in-in getting married right now."

"oh, that's a shame! guess i'll try again tomorrow!”

–

you wake up with a jolt, almost knocking the crown of your head into nagumo's chin. though, of course, there's no actual need to worry about that.

"hm, what's wrong?"

with a workbook on bayesian statistics in one hand, a pen resting on his ear, and his other arm folded behind his head, he looks down at you curiously. despite having just woken up, your head's never been clearer, and you sit up between his legs before looking behind your shoulder and shooting a glare at him.

you ask, "can i punch your face?"

nagumo laughs, probably already imagining your futile attempts. "sure! but can i ask why?"

"i dreamt about our first conversation, and it reminded me that you're kinda fucked up."

your boyfriend chuckles more, amused by your moral qualms. "you could say that."

the thought that your relationship is weird has never left you. you're (still) a simple convenience store cashier, and nagumo gets filthy rich by murdering people. you were never that interested in the world around you, having been too busy paying back student loans and applying to other jobs throughout your early adolescent years to care about other things, so when he told you about the JAA and the establishment of the assassin industry as a whole, you were shocked. but that's always as far down into the rabbit hole as you let yourself go.

from this view, with nagumo spread out before you, he doesn't look dangerous at all. if anything, he resembles a nerdy graduate student, thanks to his obvious passions for mathematics and reading. moreover, his short-sleeved t-shirt exposes his tattoo-riddled arms, and the bottom of it has ridden up, giving you a pleasurable view of his hip bones and happy trail. in fact, when the two of you got into bed together for the first time (don't ask how he succeeded in seducing you), you were surprised by his physique. his outside clothes certainly don't do his abs or biceps justice.

anyway, the point is, he looks like your fantasy of a dreamy, hot, geeky boyfriend, not your local professional hitman-for-hire.

you sigh. you're not going to punch his stupidly attractive face. you lie back down onto his chest, burrowing your nose into the crook of his neck. you do let yourself get away with a pinch to his cheek.

then, you mutter, "don't hurt me."

"i won't," he chirps.

nagumo presses the knuckles of his free hand into the knots around your shoulder blades and flips his book back open.

he knows you mean more than in the literal sense.

[checkeredflagggs]

Febuwhump Day 14: Becoming the Monster

pairings: gen

summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order

a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump

a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!

a/n3: listen I like Lando but I needed a villian here

Masterlist | Taglist

y/n_gossip

liked by user, user, and 1,836,622 others

tagged: y/n_rb, landonorris

y/n_gossip: it seems like little Lando Norris might be thinking of a matador career — he keeps tempting the bulls! After a few close calls with Verstappen, Norris and L/N collided resulting in a DNF for our girl with some pretty harsh words coming from both of their radios afterwards.

view all comments

user1: this is what racing is!

↳user2: I know — I was on the edge of my seat…

user3: pretty harsh?? Girl sounded like she was gonna run him down on foot and take him out

↳user4: lol did you see the rb team after she got back to the garage?

↳user5: they literally just picked her up and moved her away from the reporters 😂😂

user6: oh the post race interviews are gonna slap

↳user7: I can’t wait!

user8: that’s so completely unfair! y/n was ahead at the apex — Lando should have given it away, not crashed into her

↳user9: seriously?? Where on earth did you get that information??

↳user8: uhh by watching the screen??

user10: oh shit….

↳user11: Lando’s post interview??

↳user10: how dare he say something like that???

f1gossip

liked by user, user, and 1,457,987 others

Transcript:

interviewer: and what are your thoughts on y/n and your collision today?

Lando: obviously not ideal. You know you never want to be in a collision- especially when it’s not your fault. Y/N…she should spend less time with Max, don’t need her becoming another monster, ya know…

f1gossip: what an interview! During his post race interview for Austria 2024, where he was forced to dnf after two different collisions with both Redbulls, Norris didn’t hold back his thoughts. During this brief moment, he talked about the close friendship between this year’s Redbull drivers — saying that y/n (a rookie) should take a step back from her more senior teammate because no one “[needed] her becoming another monster,”. He also went on to say that he was losing respect for Verstappen and the way he raced.

view all comments

user12: did he really just fucking say that?

↳user13: oh my god he did

↳user14: it’s even worse when you actually watch it because you can just barely see max next to him — when Norris said this, both max and the interviewer froze

↳user13: i mean i would too. That’s a really harsh thing to say about someone

user15: people want cunty f1 back again but can’t handle this little spat??

↳user16: cunty? Yes. Whatever this was? Absolutely not

user17: he’s just salty she’s better then him

↳user18: how do you figure that??

↳user17: she literally won her very first f1 race? He’s been racing for years and only just won his first this year

↳user18: it doesn’t count really. Everyone knows that redbull cheats

↳user17: oh my god just shut up

user20: i feel bad for y/n…it really wasn’t her fault nor did it affect lando too much but he’s (someone she’s said she looks up too before) putting her on blast with some pretty harsh words…

↳user21: she looks up to him??

↳user20: yeah! She’s said multiple times that she really admires how open he is talking about his mental health and that she really wanted to emulate him

↳user21: oh ouch…then today and that interview has got to hurt…

user22: anyone else interested in what she’s gonna do to retaliate?

↳user23: 🙋🏾‍♀️🙋🏾‍♀️

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Taglist

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[moonreader1010]

Pac- how can you be the b*tch that never loses<3

(the pictures do not belong to me. All rights go to the original owner)

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3 ^

Pile 1:

Go tell your friends about it (about it)

Go tell 'em what you know, what you seen

How I roll, how I get it on the low (oh)

You have a really bright aura. You should really use it. it will take you to great heights. You have this ability to shed enlightenment over literally anyone. That's your superpower. Your connections are very important. You should work on your tolerance. Try to not get so involved in matters that don't concern you. Be helpful but to an extent. I see you giving A LOT to other people. But please look after yourself first. You are sensitive to certain things. Use this ability. Don't let it use you. Okay?. You need to learn how to balance your pride and when to compromise. I see you leaning toward one side more but bby different situations need to be dealt with differently. Yes balance. Another card is also pointing towards balance. Learn balancing things and you will be unstoppable.

There has been some loss. There is some anger too. And bby it is only contributing towards emotional instability. Don't let it control you. You are made for greater things. You might have felt left out a lot in your life but that's because people don't know what to do with you and your amazing self. You are different. And that's such a good thing no? Why don't you let yourself accept it. You won't fit in and that's because you simply are just better than them. Use it!!!!!!

Your brain is AMAZING. Your Ideas are amazing. You can play with emotions!!!!!! Girlllll!!! You really need to go out there and get it. Period.

Additional- Libra, high achiever, materialistic, 3, 1, affinity, triumph.

Song for you - tell your friends by the Weeknd

Pile 2: a bit 18+

You gotta be a star to jump over the moon so when you touch on me

You're a shooting star (a star), oh yeah (a star)

You know you got somethin' for the world to see and there I go

Still wondering who you are (a star, a star, yeah)

Your friendships are very important. Your communication has so much potential to make you a winner. Why don't you use it? You might love solitude and your own company but bby you gotta get out to play. And to win. Sympathy seems to be something that you know how to use. You have it in you. Again, friendship and community has been highlighted. There is a gift that you have inherited from your ancestors. You also seem to have a power in creating suspense and mystery and it's really attractive. You should use it more. Oohhh I see that you are quite feisty. You are not someone who just simply agrees to anything. You oppose it. You make things interesting. Yum. Are you possessive? Because people really admire it in you. In a sexy way. There is this arrogance that even though is conventionally bad but your arrogance is different. It makes things interesting almost. You give people ecstasy. This euphoric feeling. Very feminine energy from this pile.

Additional - cat, business, money.

Song for you - star by Megan thee stallion (feat. Lucky Daye)

Pile 3-

You came along when I needed a savior

Someone to pull me through somehow

I've been torn apart so many times

I've been hurt so many times before

So I'm counting on you now

Somebody already broke my heart

Straight up I'll tell you that i got very slippery energy. Very teasing. I also had this sudden moment where I got really angry. I feel like this pile is very "good girl gone bad" types. Past wounds. You have been hurt. A LOT. There was an earlier version of you that has been killed. You are an entirely new person. I'm getting very "don't touch or I'll break your hand" energy. Ummm. Baddie. Haha. Anyway, there has been a lot of stress, overworking or like some overwhelming experience. Too much to handle. Or maybe that's what people made you feel, that you are too much to handle or very high maintenance. But what do they know. They didn't deserve you (i suddenly felt like I had to tell you this). So true. They definitely don't deserve you. Maternal trauma. I'm so sorry bby. Heavy theme of transformation. Keep your good fait up bby. Do something for your soul and watch how you win. You have been oppressed a lot and it's time to break free. Don't hide. Despite all this, there is an innocence to you and it drives people crazy. Girlllllll. I got goosebumps. Please invest in yourself. Omg are you seriously okay bby? I'm so sorry. But it's over now. Get up and make sure nobody ever thinks about hurting you ever again. Don't suppress your memories bby. Feel them and let them transform you. Girl you are going to win.

Additional - heart, tears, fox, red, 8th house, scorpio.

Song for you - somebody already broke my heart by sade (this song is like a dedication from you to yourself)

[cybrasigilism]

Hi! I really loved all your works, especially This Means War. I wanted to ask if you can write the second part cause it’s sooo interesting

All Is Fair (This Means War Pt ll)

warning: typical squid game stuff (guns mention, blood and death), love triangle (?), reader replaces gyeong-su (player 256) | ooc(?), these are my interpretations of these characters, please be respectful even if my opinions differ from your own

characters: kang dae-ho (player 388), thanos/choi su-bong (player 230)

[minor characters mentioned: players 456, 001, 390, 222, 124, 380 (seong gi-hun, young-il/hwang in-ho, park jung-bae, kim jun-hee, nam-gyu, se-mi]

-

A/N: you guys have asked and i shall deliver! i did my nails before writing this and lemme tell you typing an entire fic on my phone with acrylics was not easy work! i hope you guys enjoy :3

ENJOY!

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

your head was completely reeling.

you were thrown into these games completely blind. sure you were desperate and strapped for cash, but as soon as you bore witness to countless people lose their lives over a game of Red Light Green Light, you decided that no amount of money was worth such a heartless and gruesome death.

so you were counting your blessings when the time to vote rolled around, absolutely you were going to vote “X” and get the everloving fuck out of there, as you were sure everyone else would make the same choice. i mean, who in their right mind would want to stay in such a place? you figured that even if people were desperate, the stakes were just too high for anyone to handle. although your brief conversation with your new friend player 388, AKA dae-ho, seemed to lift your mood just a bit, you wanted to get the hell out of that place. you found yourself approaching him when the players gathered up to await their chance to cast their vote, you figured it couldn’t hurt to stay close to a friend, especially now.

“at least we still get our share of the prize money if we do end up leaving.” you commented, as the players before you began to disperse into the X and O sides of the room. “yeah, i guess..” dae-ho seemed distant, you noticed that he was analyzing that golden, luminous piggy bank that loomed over everyone as some sick motivator. “but even that much won’t be enough for some people’s debts.” you chuckled at the last bit of his statement, covering your mouth with your hand as you did so. “what’s the joke?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. “i mean, if you’re debt is that big, then there’s bigger problems for sure.” you giggled, met with silence from 388. you looked up at him to be met with an expression that caused a lump in your throat; realizing what you had just said. “oh my god wait, i didn’t mean-“ “it’s fine.” he interrupted, attempting to hide the shame in his voice. coincidentally, that just so happened to be the exact moment that dae-ho’s number was called, and he walked up without a word. you felt your cheeks grow warmer, but this time it wasn’t from any good feeling— you were completely embarrassed at how ignorant you had just been with your friend, and unfortunately for you, someone else had seen this whole uncomfortable interaction take place.

thanos approached you with swift succession once dae-ho had cast his vote, which you watched as your heart sank; seeing the number increase by one underneath the “O” on the scoreboard. the purple-haired rapper had been standing behind you for a prolonged period of time before he made himself known with a

tap tap tap

on your shoulder, you whipped around and felt your expression harden when you realized the culprit. “seems like homeboy is too sensitive, that’s unfortunate.” he joked, crossing his arms as he referenced dae-ho’s general direction quickly with his gaze. you rolled your eyes and scoffed. “you don’t have a clue what’s going on, it’s none of your business.” you didn’t want to give the obnoxious has-been any more attention than he was already getting, as you were given full demonstration of before. you turned away, restoring your view to the front which virtually did nothing to deter thanos, as he followed suit and adjusted his own positioning accordingly. “whatever happened, it definitely wasn’t your fault-“ you couldn’t believe how persistent this guy was, it pissed you off to the nth degree. “why do you care? it has nothing to do with you.. i don’t know why you bother inserting yourself.” you refused to even look at him, you didn’t know how or why but he was truly pissing you off at the very moment.

“shit, y’ don’t need to be on the offensive señorita.” thanos crossed his arms, eyeing every single player who voted X. you shot him a glare, where did he get off giving you a nickname like that? “don’t you dare call me that again.” you hissed through gritted teeth, poking him in the chest as you said so. this caught you and thanos completely off guard, but you weren’t surprised you were lashing out now; this place made everyone tense, clearly. you heard your number get called just then, talk about perfect timing, and you were able to leave the situation with the last word. but little did you know then, you would not be having the last laugh.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

it was back up those never ending stairs again. one thing was for certain, you were getting an insane workout through all of this. you scoured the numbers of the crowd for dae-ho’s 388, and sure enough you found him. he was more towards the front, and you shamelessly pushed past various other contestants to get to him. you wanted to set the record straight about what you had said yesterday, the moment was on constant replay in your brain during lights out and you truly just felt awful. the look of hurt on his face would forever be imprinted in the back of your mind, even if he forgave you.

“388!” you called out, catching his attention. much to your shock, he spun around rather earnestly at the sound of your voice, to be honest you were expecting him to ignore you. “oh, hey (Y/N)! i was wondering where you were.” you were taken aback at how friendly he was being with you, as if you hadn’t made a very personal jab the other night— however unintentional it may have been. “are you alright..?” you asked, not doing much to mask the unease in your voice. he cocked his head in a confused manner, laughing almost nervously. “me? i mean i’m nervous i guess but i’d say i’m alright— i’ve got a new group of allies now so that’s good!” he nodded over to the three older men walking in front of you two. you recognized one of these men, 456, as the guy who was getting everyone through the first game. “oh, well that’s good..” you felt yourself trail off, had he completely forgotten what happened between you two at the voting? dae-ho noticed the solemn expression now decorating your face. “are you alright?”

“i don’t know..” you inadvertently avoided eye contact as you all began to make your way through a series of doors. “i feel awful about yesterday.. i really don’t know why i said that.” you confessed. you could see dae-ho mentally putting the pieces together before his eyes widened, an audible gasp of realization leaving his lips. after a moment, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “oh, don’t worry about that! i know you didn’t mean anything by it—“ he laughed, patting your back. “you mean your not mad at me?” your eyes lit up in an almost cartoonish manner, earning a warm smile from your friend. “of course not! i get that this place is definitely putting everyone on edge, so people won’t really act like themselves.” you were so relieved at dae-ho’s sheer level of understanding. “so… we’re cool, then?” you ask. “yeah,” dae-ho affirms, looking down at you in the same way he did after Red Light Green Light, “we’re cool.”

things were all fine and dandy, that lump of shame had gone away from your throat, you were feeling better again— you almost completely forgot that you were all about to be subject to more sick games. the crowd of people dispersed into a giant room with rainbow-sky walls and what seemed to be two large rainbow tracks on the floor. as the voice on the intercom explained the game, and detailed the fact that teams of five were required, you and dae-ho nodded to one another as if to mentally solidify being on each other’s team. “well this works out perfectly,” one of dae-ho’s newly established friends, player 390, happily concluded. “now that dae-ho’s friend is joining us, we’ve got a team already!” you were amused to be apart of their team, as they already seemed to have such a firm bond. “and here you were, worried we wouldn’t be able to form a team fast enough.” player 001 remarked, looking to player 456 who still seemed a bit uneasy. you couldn’t blame him of course, he was probably still working through some stuff mentally after his first encounter with these games.

“if we don’t end up going first,” 456 began, catching the group’s attention. “we should watch the others closely as they play.” dae-ho nodded in agreement. “yeah! we could pick up on their strategies, to give us a better chance at winning.” you all chatted amongst yourselves, coming up with a game plan (no pun intended) for what was sure to be quite the nail biter of a game. you guys almost didn’t hear the little voice that called to your attention.

“can i please join your team?”

you all turned around and were met with a short woman with very unique hair, sporting the number 222 on her jacket. she seemed almost desperate, as if having been turned down by every other group. “sorry miss, but we already have five.” 390 explained sympathetically, but 222 was persistent. “please.” she begged again, this time bringing a hand to her belly. “i’m pregnant.” if there was anything to change the game, it was that. you guys locked eyes for a moment, before you spoke up.

“you can absolutely be apart of their team!” her eyes lit up from the defeated countenance she wore a second ago. the men looked at you stunned, dae-ho especially. “it’s alright, if there’s already five i can ask someone else-“

“i won’t hear it.” you insisted, catching 222 off guard. you could tell she didn’t want to take your place, but you would feel awful if someone in her condition was to lose their life in a place like this. “you need a strong, reliable group. i can find someone else, it’s no trouble.”

“if you’re sure..” 222 said, “thank you.” you nodded, before walking off. you looked back for a brief moment, even if you died in these games, you could hold your head up knowing that you just did the right thing. however, the look of fear and concern that dae-ho was giving you didn’t fail to break your heart. you knew he was worried but you also knew that that decision needed to be made.

you roamed the area somewhat aimlessly, starting to lose hope of claiming an empty spot in one of the teams. each player you made eye contact with gave you a disgusted look before turning their backs to you. you weren’t going to lie, every time you glanced at the clock your palms got slightly more sweaty. god were you going to be eliminated before the game even began? you’re mind began to resume reeling until

“hey, did you want to join our team?”

you spun around faster than you’d care to admit, eyes widened in desperation. a cool, punk rock looking chick donning the number 380 was standing before you, head cocked in anticipation. without a question you nodded and accepted her invite, to which she simply said “sweet, follow me.”, and that you certainly did. you wondered who your new team was, surely they were a group of standup individuals— well, as standup as one could be in an establishment like this one.

all of your hopes were entirely dashed when you saw just who was apart of your team.

thanos. man you just could not escape this guy, huh. he was surprised to see you too, though more on the pleasant side than you were. “woah, we meet again señorita.” you rolled your eyes at the nickname once again, seems like you were stuck with it now. “you know this rando?” the player dubbed 124, standing suspiciously close to thanos piped up, gesturing towards you. “that’s the one i was telling you about.” thanos explained, giving his friend a side glance. “ah, the ‘playing hard to get’ girl..” 380 cleared her throat, catching these two boys off guard. “y’know it’s rude to talk about people as if they aren’t standing right there.” you were relieved that you had someone else to stand up for you here. 124 snickered. “well if it bothers her that much she can always leave—“ “no.” thanos interjected, extending an arm infront of his buddy. “she stays.” he raised his eyebrows in a suggestive way as if you were supposed to thank him for his ‘noble’ act.

just then, the timer came to an end, and all the teams were instructed to sit down in designated lines. even if you wanted to leave, it was too late. you were stuck with thanos and his weird friend. but at least 380 seemed to have your back. as the first team was getting set up you found yourself thinking about dae-ho. you hoped their team made it through, hell you actually hoped they survived more than you thought about your own survival. you had never prayed to anything, for anything in all your life. but in that moment, you prayed as hard as you could for one thing.

“dear god, not like this.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

AT LAST, PART 2 IS COMPLETE!! idk if i’ll do a part 3 or not, it all depends on if you guys like it! i really hope this was up to standard, and worth the wait. i pulled out the big guns for this one but part of me is worried it doesn’t make a lick of sense 😅 regardless of my lack of writer’s confidence, i truly hope you enjoyed!

have a magnificent day/night lovelies 💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @strangelife122 @agornotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie @pink-apples001 @fiicalapsiholoaga @wonestro @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet @l5byrinth @chxrrybomb22 @deathsmellzz @bl4z3db4by @katscloudy

[bckwardsfrwards]

could you do dr phosphorus x reader relationship headcanons on a alien reader

Absolutely! Thanks for the ask :D

These are for a GN reader! Headcanons below the cut sorry for the long wait I have a lot of projects I'm working on at the moment!

At first he'd be a bit weary, You being from an entirely different planet and all. But he'd be quick to warm up to you once he realized you weren't a real threat to him. (Not that much is)

He'd crack stupid jokes with you most of which you don't understand. But his genuine attempts to make you laugh slowly start to work. And when you reference something from your homeworld he's equally puzzled. You both laugh anyways putting the cultural difference aside.

He often seeks you out since you more than tolerate his presence. He was so used to being alone or disregarded that he easily latches onto your genuine attention.

You often find yourselves telling stories from your past, some pleasant but most not. You sympathize with the doctor and all he has lost.

"Courting" with Doctor Phosphorus is a little strange to say the least. You're unused to Earth's unspoken societal rules and rituals. So when he is openly being flirtatious you're a little oblivious to it. You can't see his eyes and you don't understand the meaning of prolonged eye contact, so when you finally figure out his intentions of romancing you you're a little embarrassed at your obliviousness.

Actually dating the doctor is an interesting experience for the both of you. You've never been with an earthling and he's never even seen an alien before you. But you quickly catch on to what he likes.

You learn Phosphorus hasn't known a friendly touch in 15 years and without thinking too much you pull him into an embrace. He's a bit shocked when you pull back and you're completely unharmed. Casual touches quickly become one of your favorite things. Tracing the outline of his bones over his translucent skin.

You can see through him both literally and figuratively. He's not as good at hiding his emotions as he thinks. He seeks you out often just for the comfort of your presence. Whether it's sitting together in companionable silence or just holding hands, feeling the heat radiate from him.

You learn that it's not as hard to read Phosphorus as you originally thought. The way the flames on his head grow a little hotter and burn a little brighter when he's upset. How after a particularly draining mission he'll be more needy for your touch than normal.

He has no shame when it comes to your relationship. Often joking openly with the other commandos about it. Holding your hand in the back of the transport car. Trying his damnedest not to let you out of his sight. He's overly cautious and for good reason, he's terrified of losing you.

You can hold your own in a fight but whenever you find yourself injured he's gentle with you. Attentive and overly cautious making sure that your wounds are tended to. He tells you it's because he was an actual doctor once but you can tell it's just an excuse to worry over you.

As snarky and sarcastic as he is, he is also very genuine and caring. He tries to put your needs before his own whenever he can. Deflecting and claiming he doesn't need to be doted on. But you do anyway, you show him the same gentleness and affection that he so clearly craves and he melts into it.

You show him love he hasn't known in this body and he isn't sure how to handle it. He's torn between giving in and staying reserved. But he lets you in, lets himself be vulnerable and cared for.

That's all for now, maybe I'll do a part 2 and include NSFW headcanons :)

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: Where you find out you were a bet. — Preview: "So it was all a bet Seungkwan? Who makes you feel like this, hm?" you taunted, "Who else are you going to find out there that can do the things I do to you?" "That's right," you continued, your voice low and fierce. "No one. No one can fuck you like I do. No one knows your body like I do. No one else can make you beg like this. And you know it!"  — WC: 3.3k — WARNINGS: Smut, RAGE SEX, humping, penetrative sex, angst, hair pulling, riding, possessive words & etc.

For the past few months, you and Seungkwan had been living a secret life filled with youthful exuberance and passion. Despite your differences, there was an undeniable chemistry that kept pulling you back together. It all started innocently enough, with shared interests in theater and park outings, but it quickly escalated into something much more intense.

You and Seungkwan had a routine. You’d meet up after work or on weekends, sneaking off to hidden corners of the city to spend time together. The theater was your favorite escape. There, you could lose yourselves in the drama unfolding on stage, only to create your own dramatic scenes afterward, both playful and passionate.

[...]

One chilly evening, you both found yourselves at the local theater, watching a comedy play. You sat next to each other, sharing a bag of popcorn and exchanging sarcastic comments about the actors’ performances. Seungkwan leaned over, whispering a joke in your ear, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter, drawing a few irritated glances from other theatergoers.

“Shh, you’re going to get us kicked out,” you whispered, trying to stifle your giggles.

“Oh, please, like you can keep quiet,” Seungkwan shot back, a mischievous glint in his eye.

After the play, you both headed to the park. The night was cool, the stars shining brightly overhead. You walked side by side, occasionally bumping into each other on purpose. It was your little game, a way to provoke and tease.

“Bet you can’t catch me,” Seungkwan said suddenly, breaking into a sprint.

“Oh, you’re on!” you shouted, chasing after him.

You ran through the park, laughing and shouting, until you finally tackled him to the ground. You both lay there, panting and laughing, the world around you forgotten.

[..]

Your relationship was like a roller coaster. One moment you’d be laughing and joking, and the next you’d be bickering like children. Your friends found it amusing, but they also knew it could escalate quickly.

“Seriously, you two are like an old married couple,” Mingyu said one evening, watching as you and Seungkwan argued over who had won the last game of mini-golf.

“Am not!” you both shouted in unison, glaring at each other before bursting into laughter.

Despite the arguments, there was a deep connection between you. When you were alone, the bickering turned into something else entirely. The passion between you was undeniable, each encounter more intense than the last. You’d find yourselves in the most unexpected places, unable to keep your hands off each other.

[...]

One evening, after another heated argument, you found yourselves in Seungkwan’s apartment. The bickering had turned into something more playful, and before you knew it, you were kissing, the tension melting away.

"You're impossible, you know that?" you said breathlessly between kisses.

"And yet, here you are," he replied with a smirk, pulling you closer.

The night was a blur of passion. Your bodies moved together with a familiarity that came from months of secret meetings. You’d always been able to push each other to the edge, and tonight was no different. The intensity of your lovemaking was a stark contrast to the playful bickering that usually defined your relationship.

[...]

But just like you said. It could escalate quickly. 

You and Seungkwan had always been able to handle your arguments with a playful edge, but this time was different. You didn’t even remember what sparked the fight, but the words that came out of his mouth stopped you cold.

“It was all a bet.”

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “No, I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what? That this,” you gestured between the two of you, “was all a joke to you? A bet?”

“No, it’s not like that—”

“Then what is it, Seungkwan? Explain it to me!” Your voice rose, trembling with fury. “Because right now, it sounds like you’ve been using me this whole time.”

Seungkwan’s face paled. He reached out to you, but you stepped back, your anger intensifying. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped. “I trusted you. I thought this meant something.”

“It does mean something,” he insisted. “I swear, it started as a stupid dare from the guys, but then—”

“Then what? You decided you’d string me along for fun?” Your voice was loud now, echoing through the room. “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? To know that I was just a game to you?”

Seungkwan looked panicked, desperate to make you understand. “Please, just listen. It started as a bet, but it’s not like that anymore. I care about you. I—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, tears of rage and betrayal filling your eyes. “I can’t believe I let myself fall for this. For you.”

The venom in your words made him flinch. “Please, don’t say that. I care about you more than anything.”

“Caring about me? Do you even know what that means? Because right now, it feels like you’ve just been laughing at me this entire time.” Your fists were clenched at your sides, your whole body shaking with anger.

Seungkwan took a step towards you, his own eyes glistening with tears. “I���m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

"Fuck you, Seungkwan," you spat, pushing him back until he was sitting on your bed. He looked up at you, shocked and uncertain, as you began unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with trembling hands.

"What are you doing?" he asked, but his voice was weak, almost pleading.

You ignored him, pulling your panties off and straddling his lap, feeling his length harden beneath you. You started to grind against him, your movements hard, and fast. "It was a bet, huh? It was all a fucking lie, right, Seungkwan?" you snarled, your teeth gritted with rage.

His hands instinctively went to your hips, but he didn't try to stop you. "No, it wasn't like that—" he began, but you cut him off, swirling your hips hard, causing him to gasp.

"Fuck you," you repeated, your voice shaking. "You think you can just apologize and make it all better? You think you can just say sorry and I'll forget everything?"

Seungkwan's grip on your hips tightened, his breath hitching as you continued to grind against him. "I never meant to hurt you," he whispered, his eyes locked on yours, filled with regret and sorrow.

"Too late," you hissed, moving faster, your anger boiling over. "You already did." You could feel the heat building between you, the wet friction driving you crazy, but you were determined.

Seungkwan's face contorted with a mix of pleasure and anguish. "Please," he begged, "don't do this."

"Why not?" you shot back, your voice breaking. "You did this to us. You made me feel like a fool."

He tried to speak, but you silenced him with another hard hump, making him groan. "Just shut up, Seungkwan. Just shut up and take it."

As you continued to move against him, you could see the conflict in his eyes. He was torn between the pleasure you were giving him and the guilt he felt for what he'd done. It was a twisted form of revenge, but in that moment, it was all you had.

As you sank down on him, stretching yourself to take all of him inside, Seungkwan gasped, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. You gripped his hair roughly, yanking his head back. He hissed, the pain mingling with pleasure, making his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

"Who makes you feel like this, hm?" you taunted, your voice dripping with venom and lust. "Who else are you going to find out there that can do the things I do to you?"

Seungkwan's eyes were wide, filled with a mix of pain and desire. He tried to speak, but you cut him off with a harsh roll of your hips, drawing a guttural moan from his lips, he could only whisper a "No one." his voice leaving weak from the position you held his hair, head back. "Only you. Only you, please."

"That's right," you continued, your voice low and fierce. "No one. No one can fuck you like I do. No one knows your body like I do. No one else can make you beg like this. And you know it!" 

You rode him harder, your movements fueled by a blend of anger and desperation. "Do you regret it, Seungkwan? Do you regret fucking with me?"

His hands gripped your hips, his nails digging into your skin as he tried to ground himself in the storm of sensations you were unleashing on him. "No!" he gasped, his voice strained. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

But you weren't done. You pulled his hair harder, making him look up at you, his eyes glazed with lust and guilt. "Sorry isn't enough," you spat. "You're going to remember this. Every time you try to touch someone else, you're going to think of me. You're going to remember how I made you feel. How no one else could ever compare."

Seungkwan's breaths were ragged, his body trembling beneath you as you continued to ride him with a furious intensity. "Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Please, I can't—"

"You can't what?" you snapped, your pace relentless. "You can't handle it? You can't handle what you started? You're going to take it, Seungkwan. You're going to take every bit of it."

His eyes fluttered closed, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he teetered on the edge of release. "Fuck, I'm going to—" he started, but you cut him off again, tightening your grip on his hair.

"You're not coming until I say so," you growled. "You don't get to have that. Not yet."

Seungkwan's body shuddered, his muscles straining as he fought to hold back. "Please," he whimpered, his voice barely more than a breath. "Please, let me—"

His lips parted, a moan escaping as you ground against him, your nails digging into his scalp. "I-I need you," he stammered, his voice cracking with desperation.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear. "Need me?" you whispered, your tone mocking. "You think needing me is enough? After everything?"

Seungkwan shuddered beneath you, his grip on the sheets tightening. "I'm sorry," he pleaded, his voice a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Please... I need you so much."

"Pathetic," you spat, pulling his hair harder, making him groan. "You don’t deserve me, Seungkwan. You don't deserve this." You punctuated your words with a sharp thrust, making him gasp.

His eyes were wild, filled with a mixture of regret and lust. "I know," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "But please... please don’t stop."

You felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at his desperation, at the way he was unraveling under you. "Remember that," you said, your voice low and dangerous. "Remember who makes you feel this way. Who owns you."

Seungkwan's breath hitched, his eyes wide and pleading. "I will," he promised, his voice a broken whisper. "I promise."

You could feel him getting closer, his body tensing beneath you. "Say it," you commanded, your voice a growl. "Say who you belong to."

"You," he gasped, his hips bucking beneath you. "I belong to you."

Seungkwan was prepared for the best orgasm of his life. He was trembling, his entire body on the edge of ecstasy, every nerve ending alive with sensation. As you rode him with unmatched ferocity, his breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with the effort to keep up.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, pleasure and overwhelming emotion. He cried out loud, unable to contain the sheer intensity of what he was feeling. His voice cracked as he moaned your name, each syllable filled with a desperate longing.

His eyes were fixed on you, drinking in the sight of you above him, your body moving with a rhythm that drove him to the brink of madness. He fought to keep his eyes open, wanting to capture every moment, every sensation, every flicker of emotion that passed between you.

His legs quivered beneath you, his muscles straining as he struggled to hold on. But even as his body trembled with the effort, he knew he was powerless to resist. You were taking him to heights of pleasure he had never dreamed possible, and he surrendered himself completely to the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through him.

Seungkwan couldn't hold on anymore. The sensation of you clenching around him, the sound of your voice echoing in his ears, it was all too much. With a final, desperate cry, he let himself go.

His body tensed, every muscle straining as he reached the peak of ecstasy. He cried out your name, his voice raw with emotion, as he spilled himself inside you, the release so intense it bordered on pain.

You steadied yourself on him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath you. Your head rested against the side of his, hiding your face from view as you waited for your nerves to calm down. 

But then it hits you, the reality of what just happened, the anger and hurt resurfacing. You get off him, his cock slipping out of you, leaving you both feeling empty and exposed. Without a word, you start to dress yourself, your movements quick and determined. Seungkwan watches in desperation, his eyes wide with panic as he realizes what you're doing.

Seungkwan, sensing the shift in your demeanor, gets desperate. "Wait, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with panic. He sits up, trying to reach out to you, but you pull away, focused on gathering your things.

You walk to the living room, ignoring his pleas. "Please, just listen to me," he begs, following you. "We need to talk about this."

You grab your bag and turn to face him, your eyes cold and determined. "There's nothing left to say, Seungkwan," you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "This...whatever we had...it's over."

[...]

On the week, you received multiple calls from Seungkwan—you didn’t answer any. Even his friends—who you suppose to be the ones who participated in the bet—called you, messaged you.

And now you are doing your dinner, didn't even have time to take off your work clothes, when you hear your doorbell. You dry your hands on the dish cloth, to open the door. It was Soonyoung. You frown, Soonyoung had contacted you during the week, but showing up at your door?

You lean on the doorframe, and ask him, "What are you doing here, Soonyoung?"

Soonyoung shifts nervously, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I know I called and messaged, but you never responded. I needed to talk to you in person."

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "About what?"

He takes a deep breath, looking genuinely distressed. "About Seungkwan. And the whole bet thing. You need to know it wasn't what you think. He didn't mean it like that."

You scoff, feeling the anger bubbling up again. "Didn't mean it like that? How else am I supposed to take it, Soonyoung?"

Soonyoung steps closer, his expression earnest. "It started as a stupid joke, but for Seungkwan, it changed. He fell for you, really fell for you. None of us thought it would turn into something real, but it did for him. He's been a wreck since you left."

You feel a pang of something—not quite guilt, but a heavy sadness. "So he sends you to do his dirty work? Why isn't he here himself?"

"He wanted to come, but I thought you'd slam the door in his face," Soonyoung admits. "He's been miserable. Just...can you talk to him? Please? Hear him out?"

You sigh, the weight of the week pressing down on you. "I don't know, Soonyoung. I'm still so angry."

"I get that," he says softly. "But just give him a chance to explain. If after that you still want nothing to do with him, then fine. But at least you'll have heard the truth from him."

You hesitate, the conflicting emotions warring inside you. Finally, you nod. "Fine. I'll talk to him. But this better not be a waste of my time."

Soonyoung's face breaks into a relieved smile. "Thank you. I'll let him know." He heads toward the door, pausing before he leaves. "And for what it's worth, I'm really sorry about everything. We all are."

You nod again, closing the door behind him. As you lean against it, you take a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself for the conversation ahead.

It didn’t even take twenty minutes after Soonyoung left for another knock to echo through your apartment. You sighed, already knowing who it would be. With heavy steps, you walked to the door and opened it.

Seungkwan stood there, looking disheveled and anxious. Normally, he would give you a hug, but he seemed to sense that this wasn’t the right time. Instead, he stood there awkwardly, respecting your space as you stepped aside to let him in.

You closed the door behind him, folding your arms defensively. “Soonyoung was just here,” you said, breaking the silence.

Seungkwan nodded, his eyes filled with guilt. “I know. He texted me. I came as soon as I could.”

You walked to the living room, sitting down on the couch, and gestured for him to do the same. He hesitated but then sat down, maintaining a respectful distance.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Seungkwan said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m so sorry, for everything. It was never meant to be a bet, not in the way you’re thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. 

He shook his head vehemently. “It started as a stupid dare, something the guys and I joked about. But from the very first moment I spent time with you, it stopped being about that. It became real, so quickly, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You looked away, the anger and hurt still fresh. “And you didn’t think to tell me? To be honest about it?”

Seungkwan sighed deeply. “I should have. I know that now. But I was scared of losing you. I was scared that if you knew how it started, you’d never believe how much you mean to me.”

The vulnerability in his voice made you pause. “Soonyoung said you love me,” you said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“I do,” Seungkwan replied instantly. “I love you more than anything. I was an idiot for letting it get this far without being honest with you.”

You finally looked at him, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit. All you saw was regret and sincerity. “I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you admitted.

Seungkwan nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. “I understand. And I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. Just please, give me a chance to make it right.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. Slowly, you began to nod. “Fine. I’ll give you a chance. But this is going to take time, Seungkwan.”

Relief washed over his face as he nodded. “Thank you. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

You leaned back on the couch, the exhaustion of the week catching up with you. Seungkwan stayed there, a respectful distance away, but his presence felt different now—more honest, more real.

As the minutes ticked by, you both sat there in silence, the first steps of healing beginning to take place. There was a long road ahead, but for the first time in days, you felt like things could be okay again.

[inumakis-boo]

May I have some dating Toge Inumaki headcanons? Both sfw and NSFW... If you're comfortable.

TOGE INUMAKI ♫₊˚.🎧 ✧💬

headcanons 𓍢ִ˖ hello and thank you for the requests! i am current rediting all of my posts, so if this looks a little different than when you first saw it, thats the reason why!

anyways, i hope all of you enjoy! and if course, NSFW will be tagged and is written for a female perspective.

safe for work headcanons

- would probably not notice each other the first time you meet, maybe an interested glance but it doesn't really hit until the second or third time that he really sees you

- probably asks for your number just so yall can talk better, and once you do, its an instant connection. he literally wouldnt be able to stop, staying up all night to text you

- texts you out of the blue, and although probably feels embarrassed to double text, he is just that interested in you

- would totally deliever a bag of goodies he bought at the store for you, and additionally maybe offer to make you a lunch to try before he makes it for everyone else

- you comment on one of his t-shirts he wears and he puts it in one of the goodie bags he buys you, doused in his cologne because he wants you to think of him

- would totally send annoying memes and tiktoks and bully you over text, also play 8-ball COMPETITIVELY cause he aint gonna lose to you (he doesnt even pity lose to you)

- shows up unannounced just to kiss you in the door frame of your dorm room as a goodnight and then leaves you there

- that is until you invite him over to your dorm at night and he brings post-it notes and teaches you his semi-bilingual language for easier understanding, and utterly loves you for it

- the talking stage would be him just pining over you cosntantly, writing it all down in journals or in his notes app

- after yall started dating, it is very much a no public affection mostly because he doesnt want anybody to be in your business. especially with his noisy ass friends

- but no matter what, he is going to hold your hand, especially when going on dates and walking around campus at night (would definitely talk u into sneaking out)

- he would be hesistant to kiss you even after yall became offical, probably go a few weeks before you just say it straight that you want him to kiss you and you dont even get it all out before hea pinning you to a door and giving you the best kiss of your life

- would absolutely use his speech on you so you cannot resist it when he tickles you or when you are beating him in a game

- he is not the sappiest guy, but if you start to get sappy over a movie or a sad book, he will rub your back and give you head-kisses to help you feel better

below is not safe for work content. mdni.

not safe for work headcanons

- you find out very quickly into the relationship that he cannot resist a challenge of any kind. therefore, using that to your advantage always works out

- challenging him through text to sneak out of his dorm will work, but ofc he wants a prize at the end (you are on your knees for the next hour)

- the benefit of his speech is that you don't feel any fatigue whatsoever during its use, so that makes it really easy to make your body endure while you deep-throat him over and over.

- it doesn't diminish the pleasure though; being told to stay still while he fondles your chest takes away nothing from the experience, and he knows how much you like having no choice.

- not that even if it was tiring, you wouldn't let him throat-fuck you, the noises he makes are heavenly for someone who can't speak straight, the struggle of watching him grip the bedframe and biting his lips so he doesn't utterly ruin you is SO worth a bruised throat.

- he might be nervous to use his speech on you the first time, but after you make sure that you can handle it, its becomes so much more confident in using it

- he loves making out with you, he loves making your lips red with all the biting, he wants to see them glossy and wet right before he puts his fingers in your mouth (you know where they are going next)

- sexting is so fun, yall thought it might be cringy, but its literally the best when he calls you with a command and he gets to listen to you whimper and moan as he jerks off to it, can be totally unexpected

- "Ride me."

- hand on your thigh when nobody can see, and his pinky is awfully close to your panties that it makes you nervous.

- ofc he can easily make you cum, but will he always let you? not without a cute little 'please' hes not. begging is fun, isnt it?

- lets be honest, the dick game is so good he don't even have to tell you to go to sleep after

- ofc he would definitely lay it down on you exactly how he described through text, and then clean you with special wipes he bought from the store because he aint a dickhead, duh.

I have so many more, especially for different situations, so lmk if you want more! Thank u for all the support as of recently!

bye pookies!

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 1

his eyes were stuck on you from the second you entered the club.

it wasn't a completely uncommon thing for you to have men staring at you in public places, especially not when you were out with your hot girlfriends, all wearing tiny dresses with hair fixed to perfection. nonetheless, you were more used to the men only ever entertaining the most gorgeous members of your friend group, and men losing interest after an hour of you not giving a shit about their longing gazes.

this specific one, however, didn't seem to understand the meaning behind your actions. nearing three hours after you first stepped into the room, you still caught him eyeing you up whenever you accidentally looked his way. could he not take a hint?

it wasn't like he wasn't hot enough for you – quite the opposite, to be honest. with his defined jaw speckled with just a faint hint of stubble, a smile that made something tighten in your stomach without him even trying, and those baby blue eyes (so bright they could blind you across the room), he could probably bag any girl in the world. he probably has, too, judging by the way he and his friend seem to think that they own not just the club but the rest of the world as well.

you're familiar with the type; likely some type of spoiled sports guys, celebrating a good game or season or whatever. caps on their heads, beer glasses in their hands, top buttons of their shirts undone. you truly couldn't care less.

the guy left your brain for a few moments when it was suddenly your turn to get your group a new round of drinks. you waited by the bar for a minute or two, and when the bartender was done mixing your round, he calculated the price for you before running off to get the card machine.

you really shouldn't have been surprised by the figure appearing by your side. you definitely should have figured out that he would see this as his chance.

"let me pay for the round." you hadn't heard his voice before, but you didn't need to – or want to, for that matter – look at him to know who it was. a mere shake of your head should've been enough, you thought. apparently not. "you're a group of like, what, six people? can't be too expensive, i'll handle it."

"i can handle it, too," you countered.

"i'm sure you can," he started with a chuckle. "but you shouldn't have to."

taking a deep breath, you finally turned to him, feeling the frustration building up in the pit of your stomach when your eyes met his because who allowed him to be this breathtaking up close? "i'm not looking for some sugar daddy, so you can leave."

his jaw dropped slightly at this, eyes widening and cheeks growing pink – or were they always that color? was it due to the alcohol or just the proximity to you? – but then he shook his head slightly to recover. "that's not what i meant," he said, and you almost believed the genuine glimmer in his gaze. "i just wanted to do something good, i don't know. i'm sorry if that came out wrong."

you couldn't help but nod at this, the corners of your lips curling up at the sight of his hand scratching the back of his neck. "don't worry about it," you assured him, wanting- needing to look away, but not finding yourself able to. he looked young, probably around your age instead of the typical nasty old men who liked to pick up pretty girls and brag about their wallets. his eyes were kind, gentle, the different shades of blue swirling around like a rough sea; easy to get lost in. the brown curls that poked out at the back of his cap were unruly yet soft, and in a weak moment, you found yourself wondering how it would feel to pull your fingers through them.

the bartender interrupted your moment – you weren't sure if only seconds had passed or if it had been minutes, hours – and a breath of relief escaped from you at the beep from the card machine after you tapped your phone against it. at the same time, you really didn't want to go back to your friends. you could spend your whole lifetime just staring at the man in front of you without being bored for even a second. you hadn't yet realized the spell you were under, or just how willing you'd be to agree to anything for him.

after making sure that the drinks were safely transported to your table, the man managed to lure you with him to his own table instead. most of his friends were gone by now, searching for single girls on the dance floor, and the three that were still sat there were too invested in a heated discussion about football to care even the slightest about you two.

he introduced himself as jack, 23 years old but turning 24 in the spring, the middle of three brothers. when you questioned him about sports, wanting to confirm your premature suspicions, he laughed and confirmed that he indeed "works with hockey", but never went any further than that. instead, he asked for your name, told you that it was beautiful and asked where you got it from. he asked to hear about your studies, seemingly authentically curious about your boring homework and annoying lecturers. he asked about your family, your childhood, your dreams.

no matter what story you told, he listened with great intent, that boyish grin permanent on his lips and a laugh never far away. jack looked at you like he was already in love with you; a look you're sure he has practiced for ages.

but at this point, you honestly didn't care.

after this, everything went by in a blur. one second, you were still just sitting on that couch in the club, chatting about anything and everything. the next, you were making out in the back of an uber, his calloused palms searching every inch of skin they could reach under your shirt. the next, your back met the covers of the bed in his apartment, dazed eyes watching as this masterpiece of a man climbed on top of you and leaned down to seal his lips against yours yet again.

his fingers left imaginary traces along your skin, his lips then following the path they'd drawn. you'd been in this position before, sure, but this sensation was new – something about him made it so different from anything you'd felt before. his touch drew out shallow breaths and sweet noises from you as he discovered your body, helping him understand how to please you the way you wanted.

the time spent with jack went on for hours, yet it was over in mere seconds. when he held you against his chest, you wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, to rest your head against him until the world collapsed under your feet, to feel his skin against yours until the end of time.

but you knew that couldn't happen.

so as soon as his low snores filled the air, when his breath became steady and you were sure he was asleep, you swiftly fled from his grasp.

getting dressed in a tight dress and your previously discarded underwear after a night like this was always awkward, and leaving a gorgeous man alone in his big bed always sucked. but you had no other option.

after closing his front door behind you quietly, you let out a deep sigh, as if to let go of what had just happened. you couldn't afford to let it stay on your mind, you couldn't obsess over it. there was no point. if you were lucky, you would never have to see him again.

unfortunately, luck has never really been on your side.

[bunni-v1]

Aommgg

Could I request the nrc staff + grim finding out you‘re a girl (plantonic)?

Or do they all know straight from the start?

TW: None

Info: Crowley, Grim, Sam, Cruel, Trien x Reader (Platonic)

🍓Hello lovely! I didn't want to make a whole long post about this, but I do want to talk about it. I'm so glad you asked! So the staff is... made aware of the situation, obviously. But, I think I'll go a little into depth on how each member deals with this information.

Crowley knows because... well... he sees you out of the ceremonial robes before anyone else does. He handles it as well as he does every other issue he comes across. "Just cover it up!" Famously said by Crowley. He's not unkind though, he does ensure that you get the help you need and he makes sure you keep what you need hidden, well, hidden. But... he won't do more than the bare minimum unless his hand is forced. Like... with Scarabia, he pretty much threatened the whole dorm with expulsion if they so much as uttered a word to anyone but amongst themselves. He is, unsurprisingly, not a father figure to you. He's more like... you're weird quirky uncle that you like, but only in small doses.

Grim, our little guy, finds out at the same time as Crowley... and he's a little harder to convince to keep his mouth shut to start. He doesn't like you, okay, you stole his position at NRC (like he had a chance at all). With a few well-placed cans of tuna from both you and Crowley, he keeps his little rat mouth shut. However, when you're actually granted studentship as NRC? His tune changes. It changes because Crowley holds his position as a student over his head, but it changes. Not a SINGLE person will ever hear you're a woman from Grim. He can't lose this position, not after so much work to get where he's gotten to. Besides, he grows to really love you! You're family to him, and no one out family. Seriously, he's so protective of it, once Ace and Deuce figure it out they're too scared to talk because of Grim's looming presence.

Sam is the first member of Staff to find out, other than Crowley. How? Crowley's sudden interest in pads, tampons, birth control, and all the fun stuff that comes with being a woman. Sam usually would just shrug his shoulders and excuse Crowley's quirky behavior, but then you come in looking like a lost deer and he gets it. He is genuinely so nice to you though! If you ever feel unsafe on campus, you talk to Sam and he'll handle it for you, okay? Sure, he jacks up the prices on your feminine products, but it's considerably less than his normal prices. Hell, if you're short, he'll "suddenly" remember he's got a discount on those items. He's like a cool older brother, honestly. He lets you hang out in the back of the shop and do homework when you ask, and he gives you snacks at a discount when you're there!

Crewel doesn't really treat you any differently than anyone else. Admittedly though, he's fond of you, even if you're a troublemaker. When you come into his class on your first day in a uniform six times too big for you, he feels pity for you. You didn't ask to be here, and now you have to wear that atrocious old uniform? You poor little pup. He's not exactly easy on you, but he's more understanding of your mistakes. Eventually, after you get to know him better, he offers to get you a nicer uniform and also privately tutor you. This is his excuse for keeping you busy so that you don't have as many chances to get found out, and it's also because you are horrifically failing his class and it looks bad on him.

Trien treats you the most differently out of everyone on staff. The SECOND he found out you were a girl and were being forced to hide that fact for Crowley's sake? Oh my god, grandpa was PISSED. Crowley got an EARFUL after that meeting. This man makes it his mission to make your stay as comfortable as he possibly can make it because sevens know Crowley won't be doing SHIT. After he meets you? Oh my god, you remind him of his own girls when they were little. He absolutely adores you, and everyone can tell. It's so odd to the other students because he clearly favors you, and when they ask you about it you've got no clue. He is your dad here at NRC, as out of character as that might be. You are a young woman lost in a world that is not kind to you going through so much more than you need to. He doesn't want to add more to your plate. You can come to him for anything and he will provide as best as he can.

Vargas (I'm sorry for forgetting about him lol) is a lot like Crewel in the fact that he doesn't treat you too differently from his other students. You're still made to push yourself to your upper limits for gym, still expected to keep up with your peers, and still expected to meet his general expectations. However, if it's way too much for you to do, out of fear of Crowley and Trien breathing down his neck, he'll lessen your load. Otherwise, he doesn't really have much chance to be around you outside of class. He finds you amusing and knows you've got a good head on your shoulders, but that's about it from him.