#i wish /i/ was his sugar baby *sigh*

[hyukascampfire]

GIFT WRAPPING ﹒ ､､ c.sb

it’s a shame that soobin has to work on christmas eve, but coming home to a fire-toasted home and his little family is enough to make up for it. ˒´-

꣑ ࣪˒ 〈 🌰 〉 ･ 3.4k

ρairings ˒ husband!soobin x reader

ɠ ; smut ˒ fluff

ωarnings ˒ breeding kink, soobin rlly wants to get reader pregnant, lactation kink, general smut, traditional roles, tradwife reader, whiny soobin, breast fondling, mentions of balls cause i know how some people feel abt that, they’re both whiny for each other, soobin’s big, and lmk if i missed anything!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this one’s at the request of my lovely @biteyoubiteme! i love you baby, and could not thank u more for giving me this gift. this was the best gift i could’ve gotten for christmas >.<‘ but yes, since we are always giggling over dad!txt, this one i dedicate to u!!!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

The best thing you’ve heard today is the jingling of keys at the front door.  

Soobin comes through the door with heavy, tired eyes. When the kids come tumbling down the hallway for him, they soften into something warm. Lifting one to pepper kisses over her face, and listening to the other tattle about something that’d happened earlier, his mouth tugs into a gentle smile. 

Dusting powdered sugar off your hands, you wait your turn. The scene falls over you like a dryer-warmed blanket. All you three had done today was wait for him to come home. When finally it’s you that he turns to, your heart flickers. 

The Christmas tree is up and in a stand, but it’s bare. You didn’t want to decorate it without him, as much as he told you he wouldn’t mind if you and the kids did. It’s not every Christmas eve that he works, but he’d been scheduled this year. You’d spent the whole day rolling out dough and slipping the kids some, even though you knew the sugar would wind them up, just to make the house feel less empty. 

And, wind them up it did. You took them outside, bundled up in thick cashmeres and puffy jackets, at one point, hoping they might work some of it out in the fluffy snow that’d fallen fresh on yesterday. It hadn’t worked, but watching them with pink cheeks and giggling was worth the while. Then, the three of you drug snow-wetted feet indoors to defrost, tugging off layers to accept the tingle of warm air against your numb skin. 

You wish he was there, too, though. 

Soobin reaches up to pull his tie loose from his neck as he comes to give you your greetings. He just manages to get it loose before taking your lips against his. 

With his hands steadying you by the hips and the counter at your back, you sigh out a soft breath. Your lips speak of your longing—the both of you. Slow and intimate tugging of lips and soothing, your lashes dust against your cheeks. He tastes like some peppermint candy he’d probably picked up on the way out of the office. Fingers still a bit cold from outside, he brings one hand up and cups your cheek, brushing a thumb up and down the flushed skin there.  

He smiles against your mouth and parts from you only to sprinkle sugary kisses over your face. They fall everywhere: a few over your cheeks, one just beside your mouth, and the last to your forehead. He cups your cheeks through each. When he pulls back and you think he’s done, he steals a quick peck for good measure. His hot-chocolate eyes catch yours once he’s done for real, nose crinkling. 

“Hi, baby,” he says. Your heart sings listening to his smooth timbre. It resonates through you and brushes down every last frayed nerve. “How did home treat you?” 

You reach behind yourself to tug your apron off. It’s a mess of flour and stray buttercream icing. “It’s Christmas eve,” you tell him. That’s answer enough. “How was work? Did you have a good day?” you say, smoothing your hands over the knitted sweater you’d swiped from his drawer. “We missed you.” 

His chest is like home against your back as he wraps you up in his frame. “Doesn’t matter; I’m home now. It’s a good day.” He murmurs his words into your hair. “Mmm. You smell good. Are all these cookies for me?” 

“You know who they’re for,” you say. The smile on your mouth is light and fluffy, like whipped cream. Sweet. You’d waited all day for this—for him. 

His arms encompass you, wrapped across your front like ribbons over a present. You can hear the lazy smile in his words.  “Were you baking all day waiting for me, beautiful?” 

With the weight and warmth of him against you, you let your head fall back on his chest. You hum. “I missed you so bad,” you say. 

“I know,” he says. Pressing a toasty kiss right into your neck where it’s bared to him, he adds, “I missed you too. Wish I was able to spend the whole day with you guys, not paperwork. But, it’s okay. I had my pretty wife here waiting for me.” Toward the tail-end, he hangs sweet suggestion over his words. 

Your cheeks go pink. Maybe you’ve got the heater up too high. It’s not usually this hard waiting for him to get home from work. You’ll usually be busy with your own stuff, so that time passes you by fast enough. And then, he’ll come home all tired, and you’ll finally get the kids to sleep and he’ll make slow, sweet love to you, and then the whole household goes quiet as you all knock out. But today... you found yourself missing him more. On Christmas eve, you’re all supposed to be together; spending the day sprawled over the couch with intertwined limbs and running through Christmas classics with bellies full of hot chocolate and candy canes.  

But, he’s here now. That’s all you can ask for. A full, content home. 

“The kids want to do the tree,” you say, curling your fingers over the warm skin of his forearm where he’s bunched the cuffs of his button-up to his elbows. “They waited very patiently all day.” You drag the word all out, because really... it’d felt just as long to you. Usually, you’d have had your tree up and laced with twinkling lights and ornaments two weeks ago, but you really wanted to wait until you could do it all together. 

“Well,” he says, leaving you with one last nip to the column of your neck before dragging himself off you. You miss the security of his arms almost pathetically quick. “Let’s get it decorated, then. Wouldn’t want to make you guys wait any longer.” 

Soobin departs to find the tubs of Christmas stuff, and you go to pull the kids from their playing. 

You can hardly help the excited little smile that finds its way to your mouth as you do. 

❅

The lights on the tree wink at you, a cozy warm white like ice crystals among green pine needles. Its branches dip under the weight of heavier bulbs. Starry silver and Santa red, and even those assorted ornaments that you’d let the kids pick out, shimmer in the low light. It’s serene and familiar, like the Christmases that you can only relive through orange, flickering memories of better times. Your chest aches in the good way, looking at it. 

All of you had put your touch to it, but mostly, you’d sat back and watched them all work, committing it to memory so that it might never go spotty—so that you can remember it years down the road, and use it like a dose of soothing balm when you no longer have this.

Now, you and Soobin just sit and admire it. In true Christmas fashion, you two had to wrangle the kids to bed. You raised your brows at them and warned them with the same old things you’d heard on Christmas night: Santa doesn’t stop by the houses of kids who don’t sleep, and he especially doesn’t stop for kids that don’t listen to their parents. That got them, warm in their jammies, dragging their feet to bed. Reluctantly, yes. But it did the job, and now it’s just you two.  

Your stomach does an excited flip as, in between his mindless smoothing over your skin, Soobin toys with the waistband of your plaid pajamas. Lifting your head from his chest, you look up at him. 

“Baby,” he says, taking that hand up and under your shirt. Running the warm, calloused tips of his fingers up the plane of your belly and then just under your breast, he says, “I missed you...” 

Sweet and slow, a familiar hunger kindles between your thighs just at the way he says it. You know when your doting husband needs you. Your heart tugs toward him—you need him just the same. Surrounded by the home you’ve made together, made lovely by the scent of Christmas, and in his safe arms, all you want is him. 

You tug yourself up from him and the cushions, sliding yourself over his lap so that your two thighs part around his waist and your heat meets his bulge. He’s hardened there already, strained against the fabric and hard against your clothed cunt even through the layers. Sucking in a breath, he supports the small of your back with two sturdy arms. 

“Missed you too, Binnie,” you mumble into his neck. You’d said it a few times already, but you think it still isn’t enough to convey what you feel. His hands come down to cup your ass, digging divots into it and pressing you into soft grinds down onto him a few times. Your skin prickles wherever he goes. 

When his hands find their way back to the elastic band of your bottoms, you lift your hips and let him tug them off you. It’s an awkward position, and you have to lend him a little help with those and your panties with a snort. He presses his forehead into your shoulder, laughing too. 

At a brush of your bare cunt against his cock as he frees it, stood proud between the space of you and against your belly, your smile gives way to soft gasp. The tip of him weeps with pearly beads from the slit. He takes it into his hand taps it against your bud a few times, his free hand at your back, and relishes in the twitching of your hips above him.  

With the warmth of his cock lined up with you, he pushes some of your hair out of your face and says, “Hate having to wait all day to see my pretty girl...” His chocolate eyes dart up and down between the sight of you just about to join bodies and your face. 

Sinking down on him, letting yourself feel every inch of him anew, you hum agreement. You nestle him all the way down until the tip of him brushes just before the end of your depth, and then you give your hips a few rolls to let your insides adjust to his cock. Soobin’s big—no matter how many times you take him, it’s still a stretch. He doesn’t mind the wait; he sits patiently for you to adjust each time, running his hands up and down your hips just to touch you. 

You dig your knees into the cushions and lift yourself off his cock. You let him slip all the way up until the flared tip of him threatens to pop out, letting the moment linger there for a moment before dropping back down on him. His shoulders take the blunt of your weight as you fuck yourself up and down him. “I...wish you didn’t have to work that stupid job...” Your voice permeates the air, above the crackle of the fireplace and the soft smacks of your skin against his.  

His fingers dig into the soft curve of your waist where your shirt bunches. Each time you push yourself up, he helps, the corded muscles of his forearms twisting. It’s an intimate dance that the two of you have practiced and mastered, knowing when to give and to take without even the need for words. “I know,” he says, his voice taut. “But... I’m here now, baby. I’m here now. I’ll give you anything you want.” 

Your chest feels full at that. You know he means it; he works so hard for you all. The couch cushions are abrasive against your knees, and your thighs burn with a terrible ache, but all that matters in this moment is how he sucks his lips into his mouth and lets his head fall back into the cushion at his back. He rocks his hips up to try and meet you. Each time you bring yourself down on him in a way that has his brow twitching or eyes screwing shut, you aim to find it again—in all of it, you hope he feels you thanking him. 

Lifting his head, he tugs your shirt up to watch your tits bounce along with you. Taking his palm over one, he says, “Fuck—miss when these were all full of milk. All heavy for me...” His thumb rolls a pert nipple. Shuddering around a chill, your chest jumps against his hand.  

Rather than controlled drags up and down his cock, you devolve into frantic rutting hips and whines. Each roll—back, forth, and in messy circles—nudges his twitching cock right up against that weak spot. Flame rolls in your belly and your thighs.  

When you’d been pregnant, your tits had swollen up to produce milk, and they’d never gone back down. Maybe a bit, but never back to what they’d been before pregnancy. Soobin loved it. Not that he hadn’t been content with your breasts before, but you think it was more that he was fascinated that it was him who did that to you. That he had filled you with his cum, and got you round and pregnant. When you’d first started leaking, it wasn’t even you who’d realized. You had been stood in the kitchen with a flimsy grey shirt tugged over your body. When you looked up to see what your husband was up to, his eyes were all glazed over and heavy on your chest, where your shirt had gone dark and wet around your nipples. Before you could hurry off with reddened cheeks to change, he’d pinned you against the counter by the hips to suckle the mess up himself. 

“Baby,” he says, voice coming from his throat a hoarse plead, “Beautiful, please, can you give me something for Christmas? Just one thing?” 

Hair on your neck damp, you nod frantically. Around his waist, your thighs twitch with exertion and each blazing brush of his cockhead against your gummy walls. You’d give him anything; you’d already grown two children for him. 

“You—gonna let me put another in you? Can I please get you all pregnant again?” he grits out, his hair falling out from its styling and over his rose-dusted cheeks. He looks at you heavy-lidded.  

Your cunt squeezes him, an answer before you can even form the words. It does a number on you, the way he says it. Because really, you do think that to Soobin, the greatest gift you could give him is to carry his children and to just continue to love him. It’s no different for you; you want nothing more. “Yes, please... I’ll give you as many as...you want, please, just...” 

The entirety of your pleading is not even out of your mouth before he’s pressing a strong arm across your back and laying you under him. The cushions accept your back lovingly. 

Soobin takes a moment to situate you two. He drags you down by the hips, closer to him, tugs your shirt fully off to let it flutter to the floor elsewhere, tugging his own off in the same fashion, and he pushes your mess of hair out of your face so that he can better see you. And then, melding the bare, warmed skin of your soft chest to his own hard one, he rolls his cock up into you. 

It’s slow and tender, like promises of love baked into each grind. He makes love to you in the form of open-mouthed kisses and puffs of breath fanning out over your skin when a deeper thrust has both of you shaken-limbed. In your ears, hot, he whispers filthy nothings. 

“Gonna knock my pretty girl up again,” he pants. “Want—you to go around wearing me, big and round. My wife. You look so pretty pregnant... Fuck..” The skin of his chest brushes up against your hardened nipple each time he fucks himself up to you, his hands everywhere as he can’t find where he wants to hold you most. Eventually, he settles on linking his fingers with yours above your head with one hand, and the other splayed over your belly. Right where your belly might be swollen, were you pregnant once more. “Right here... can’t wait—h-oh, shit. Do you want that, baby? Want to give me another?” 

Chest and belly tight, you can only manage a squeak and a nod. Through bleary eyes, you take in his face. The soft and masculine angles of his cheeks and jaw, his sweet brown eyes, his pinched brows... and all you feel is safe. Safe in his arms, safe in his love. His body cages you against the cushion, slung over you and delivering languid strokes, but you don’t feel trapped. Not one bit. In his arms, you feel untouchable. Secure beyond a doubt. 

Nowhere else, with nobody else, would you rather build a family. 

“Soobin, please,” you whine, welcome tears prickling at the corners of your eyes like snowmelt. “Want it so bad... I want it so bad....” Wrapping your legs around his waist, digging your heels into his lower spine, you urge him deeper.  

“Okay,” he says. The smacking of your skin punctures the serene air as he picks up the pace. He lets his head fall into your shoulder, stunted breaths falling out as his belly tenses. “Okay, love. Gonna fuck you full of my cum, n’ keep it in there so I know it takes... shit, gonna give you my cum now, okay?” 

Face screwed up, you try and roll yourself to meet him, to chase the tightness in your own belly, but he’s got you. With a few more hot stripes of his tongue over your tits and over your neck, and a few frantic nudges right into that spot he’s so familiar with, you go still and then break into full-body shakes. You press your mouth into his shoulder to obscure the sharp, sweet cry that comes rushing out along with your orgasm, worried about waking your sleeping kids. Your thighs twitch and shudder around him, some deep and innate part of your brain taking over through the fog to make sure he cums well and right into you. Fingers and toes curling and splaying through it, you allow yourself to fully feel the sweetness his cock gifts you with.  

You don’t doubt that he’ll get you pregnant, cumming in you. Soobin’s seed is heavy and potent. He could knock you up whenever he pleased; the last two times he’d done it, you were surprised how easily it took. Your insides twist up around him harder. 

“Fuck,” he half growls, half whines. “Fuck, fuck... Love you, baby... Love you so much...” 

He holds you to the couch, fucking you into it as his heavy balls smack against your bottom. And then, spewing murmured expletives and taking your face into a big hand of his to press frantic kisses to your cheek, his hips stutter. 

As promised, he spills his cum right into you, right where he knows it’ll reach your womb and give you just what you want. It’s hot and thick against your gummy walls. He holds you through it, taking your hips in kneading hands to hold you still. When you think he’s done rolling his hips up into you to shoot more ribbons, he grinds harder.  

Soobin slumps over you, finally stilling. He does not pull out, nor unplug you, though. He wants to make sure his cum stays right where he wants it. His heart thunders a lovely song against your chest, and yours his. He runs long fingers through your hair mindlessly, the both of you basking in the slow fire as it burns through your veins and leaves you lazy. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he mumbles. 

Heart fuller, you hold him closer. “We have so much wrapping to do...” you mumble, trying to blink away your content sleepiness.  

He pushes himself off you just to say, “Don’t remind me.” His weight cradles you once more, running appreciative fingertips over your thighs as he says, “Just a little more.” 

Who are you to deny him that? You cherish the lines of his face, all soft in the yellowish glow of the tree’s light. Here, in his arms, you let yourself forget about that and anything else but the simple love buzzing in the air. 

“Just a little more,” you agree.  

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note ZOOWEE MAMA!! soobin come over here, let’s recreate this for christmas! pls!

﹙📋﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[kashverse]

CAN you PLEASE PLEASE make a drabble of Toji taking care of sleepy Mamaguro and Megumi? I think it would be so adorable. 🧎

oh to continue writing happy toji and happy mamaguro reader... 🚬

the mission was simple: stay up until 12 a.m. to wish toji a happy birthday. you and megumi, the last-standing warriors of the fushiguro household, sat by the door like hyper puppies, waiting for your beloved husband—your fearless protector—your batman (you are not explaining to a six-year-old what an assassin is)—to return home. it was going perfectly until your phone buzzed.

gonna be late. emergency job. don’t wait up.

you stare at the screen. then at megumi. then back at the screen.

the bastard forgot his own birthday.

your son, wise beyond his years, folds his arms and scowls. “so, what, we just give up?” you slap the table dramatically. “absolutely not.”

if there was one thing you and megumi had in common—besides your unwavering judgment of toji’s life choices—it was stubbornness. this mission would not fail. if your husband wanted to be late to his own birthday, that was his problem. but you and megumi? you were gonna be ready. so, naturally, you both made the worst decision possible.

sugar boost.

you and your six-year-old co-conspirator sprawled across the couch, sharing a single pack of gummy bears like it was some kind of sacred ration. one gummy at a time. chewing slowly. blinking at the wall in utter silence like two very small, very deranged owls.

"mama."

"yeah, baby?"

"do you think papa is the strongest man alive?"

"of course."

megumi chews thoughtfully. "do you think he could lift a cow?"

you consider this. "...easily."

"two cows?"

you hesitate. 

-

it’s 11:57 p.m. standing in the doorway, looking like he just crawled out of a damn action movie, is toji. the duffel bag slung over his shoulder drops to the floor with a heavy THUD, and he’s met with—

a beautiful handmade "happy birthday, papa!!" banner, decorated with poorly drawn badtz-maru stickers, because megumi has commitment to the bit.

you, sprawled out on the couch like a crime scene victim.

megumi, passed out on top of you, his little hand still clutching a half-eaten gummy bear.

toji stares. something in his chest tightens. he lets out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. exhausted as he is, something about this sight makes his heart ache in that weird way—the kind of warmth he’s still getting used to, the kind that makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t screw up as badly as he thought. without a word, he moves over to the couch. and because yes, he is that man—he lifts both you and megumi in one go. you stir slightly, groggy, mumbling, "cow..."

toji frowns. "what?"

megumi snorts in his sleep, muttering, "two cows..."

toji, confused as all hell, just grunts and carries his weird, sleep-deprived family to bed.

the next morning, as the sun peeks through the curtains and the birds chirp outside like they're personally taunting you, you and megumi prepare for phase two of toji’s birthday celebration: chaotic wake-up call.

toji, the strongest man alive (and also the biggest sleeper in the house), is sprawled out on the bed, dead to the world. he sleeps like a log, one arm thrown over his face, mouth slightly open, because even assassins need their beauty rest. you and megumi exchange a look. a silent nod of understanding. then, in perfect sync, you both take in a deep, deep breath and—

"HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYYYYYY!!!"

toji’s entire body jerks like he just got shot. his arms flail, his head snaps up, and before he can even process what's happening, you and megumi double down with a second round of high-pitched, ungodly shrieks right in his ear.

"what the hell—"

but before he can even think about grabbing a weapon (because let’s be real, his first instinct is to attack), he realizes exactly who the culprits are. and oh, oh, you two are in trouble. his sleep-deprived brain short-circuits for about half a second before years of combat training kick in.

he lunges.

"oh—RUN!" you shriek, shoving megumi, but it’s too late—toji grabs you both in one swift motion, rolling over and pinning you down, locking both of you in a vice-like headlock.

"GOTCHA!"

"NOOOO—!"

megumi screams in betrayal as toji mercilessly ruffles his hair. you’re not spared either, as he buries his face into your neck, delivering an absolutely brutal barrage of kisses like it’s a full-scale attack.

“YOU WANNA WAKE ME UP, HUH? THAT HOW WE’RE PLAYIN’ THIS?”

"toji stop—" you wheeze, kicking your legs as he plants an exaggeratedly loud kiss to your cheek. megumi shrieks, wiggling with all his might, but toji just grabs him tighter, pressing another series of dramatic, disgusting dad kisses to his forehead. "UGH, PAPAAAA!" megumi yells, offended.

"nah, nah, you started this, kid," toji cackles. "you and your big mouth—what was all that ‘two cows’ shit, huh?”

"STOP!" megumi flails harder, but he is six and toji is built different. eventually, though, he relents, flopping back with a satisfied smirk, letting you both gasp for air like shipwreck survivors. "you’re the worst," you pant. megumi, hair now a disaster, groans. "i hate birthdays."

toji just smirks, stretching. "eh, still my best one yet."

[cassidyandonlycassidy]

tornadoes aren't more important than you

tyler owens (twisters) x reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: pregnant!reader, married!reader, established relationship

“be careful, yeah?” you place your hands on tylers cheeks, tilting his head down to look you in the eye.

“i wish you could come with me.” tyler sighs, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours, his cowboy hat tipping upwards and off his head, clattering onto the hardwood.

“i know.” you miss it. the excitement, the fear, the anticipation of storm chasing. “but i don't think the baby would like me getting whipped around.”

tyler chuckles and presses his hands to your stomach, fully showing now that you've reached six months.

“im gonna be safe and im gonna be back home to you real soon.” tyler kisses you deeply, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you in close.

“uh, not to interrupt-” 

“you are interrupting, boone.” tyler looks up at him as he stands in the open doorway, trucks filling the driveway.

“we were just finishing saying goodbye.” you raise to your tiptoes and give tyler one more peck. 

“i love you.” you whisper against your husbands lips.

“i love you, baby.”

“ew.” boones nose scrunches up, still somehow not used to seeing you kiss despite being married for a year now.

“you stay safe too boone.” you point at him, watching as they head out the door and pile in the trucks.

you wave goodbye to everyone, tyler getting in last as he tips his hat he grabbed off the floor towards you, a silent promise to come back home.

you sigh as you watch them pull away, hand stroking over your belly as the trucks disappear in a cloud of dirt. “it's okay.” you whisper to the baby, but it's mostly for yourself. “daddy will be back.”

--

“hey.” you answer the phone with a smile on your face. “i watched the live stream.”

“pretty fucking cool huh?” 

“pretty cool that you let boone drive the rig.” you chuckle, knowing tyler did that specifically for you, to show you that he can let others take the lead, let them be the one to drive into the tornado.

“how's my baby doing?” tyler asks, ignoring your teasing.

“which one?” you giggle, laying a hand on your stomach. “im good, baby is kicking a lot though.”

“put me on speaker.” tyler requests. you roll your eyes but still turn the volume up and hold the speaker up to your belly.

“it's daddy.” tylers voice is half strict and half high baby voice. “you better stop giving your mama grief when im not there to help her. behave for just a bit longer, buddy.”

“i hope he listens to you.” you shake your head, bringing the phone back up. “how's the storms looking for tomorrow?”

“tracking a couple cells.” tyler confirms. “im coming home friday no matter what they look like over the weekend.”

“mhm, sure.” you roll your eyes, although you don't doubt it. now that you're pregnant, tyler is even more protective over you. he knows you can handle anything, but that doesn't mean he's going to force you to do it all on your own.

“i will. already miss that pretty face baby.” his country twang is music to your ears as you hum out.

“i miss you too. miss kissing your lips.”

“you're killing me, sugar.” tyler groans. you hear dani shouting something in the background.

“i-”

“you gotta go. i know. love you.”

“love you more, darling.”

--

you have tylers livestream on in the background as you clean the house, feeling the urge to nest and get everything prepared before you're too pregnant to do anything, and tyler certainly wouldn't let you lift a finger when hes home.

you always dreamt of a beautiful old farmhouse like this all your life, but before you could move in tyler insisted on building a proper storm shelter to keep you safe.

you unpack some of the boxes of things you bought for the baby's room, sticking to yellows and oranges to keep everything brightly colored and cohesive, in contrast to the darkening sky.

you're not right in the path of tornados, but they have been known to swing up and hit the closest town every couple years.

you know the cloudy sky is just a result of all the activity further to the west where your husband currently is.

you look back to your phone, watching for a moment as his handsome face turns to look out the window. you can see the reflection of the twister in his eyes, a mix of awe struck and fear that any man within his right mind would feel.

“god-” you look up to the ceiling. you're not the biggest believer, but growing up in the south has you always reverting to whispering a prayer. “keep my husband safe.”

--

you let out a yawn as you adjust, not knowing for sure the sound that woke you up until you hear it again, your cellphone vibrating on the nightstand.

“hello?” your voice is groggy as you answer. you didn't bother to look at the contact name, there's only one person who would be calling you at this hour. “tyler?”

“baby, get to the storm shelter right now.”

“what?” the words have you instantly awake, hopping to your feet and looking out the window of your second story bedroom. “it looks fine.”

“im- just trust me! are you going?” you can hear the nerves in tyler's voice as well as the roaring of his truck no doubt speeding down the road.

“yes.” you confirm, grabbing one of tylers sweatshirts and slipping it over your head before finding a pair of shoes. “im going down the stairs right now.”

the second you step outside, you can feel the shift in the air.

“im tracking it on the data. we reported it but they said it's not on their maps as if our equipment isn't ten years newer.”

you listen to tylers rant as you round the house to pull open the storm shelter doors. it's not a glamorous area, small and tight but completely concrete and filled with a couple boxes of supplies.

“im in the shelter, ty.” you reassure him as you close the latch. “im safe. the babys safe.”

“it's building.” tyler says, no doubt looking at the radar or getting reports fed to him from boone. “im coming home to you, ill be there in two hours. fuck it, make it an hour and a half.”

“it's wednesday.” you state, although its just after midnight so technically thursday. “you said you weren't coming home until friday.”

“that was before a torando was gonna hit you. baby, i don't want you to go through this alone when you're pregnant.”

“ill be fine.” you reassure tyler. “but if you want to come back and make sure, you're more than welcome. like i said, i miss your lips.”

“gonna give you lots of kisses to make up for being gone.”

“i won't argue with that.” your phone beeps and you pull it away from your ear to realize you're losing service. “i think we are going to disconnect soon.”

“stay on as long as you possibly can.”

you try, but your phone beeps again and the call drops out.

sitting alone in the darkness heightens your other senses, feeling the cold air sneaking in through every available crack as your ears pick up the sound of the wind roaring.

you close your eyes and press your hands against your stomach, softly singing a nursery rhyme that your mother sung to you when you were a baby, your eyes sliding closed as you fall back asleep.

--

you're startled awake suddenly as the door rips open, only for tyler to quickly enter.

“is it over?” you ask, standing up and wobbling slightly. tyler grabs your hips, holding you up and looking at you up and down, his eyes examining you. you watch the stress and fear and anxiety melt away to be replaced with softness and love.

“it's over.” he confirms, tugging you in close. 

“the house?”

“a busted window and a downed tree blocking the driveway. that's all.” tyler presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent.

“wasn't bad then.” you wrap your arms around his waist, enjoying the warm embrace.

“no, but i got so fucking scared knowing you were here all alone.” tyler pulls away only to help you up the stairs, hating seeing you confined to the shelter even if it is to keep you safe.

“i just… i can't do this while you're pregnant. i can't leave you here, or anywhere, alone knowing something could happen to you.”

tyler pulls his phone out of his pocket and navigates to his youtube channel, going live and waiting for a couple users to join.

he holds the camera up so he can see himself and you, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders.

“as you folks know, my lovely wife here is pregnant with our first child. as much as i love tornado wrangling, i love my girl more. for the next six months im going to be taking a step back, but don't unsubscribe, boone is taking over to keep the excitement coming.”

he doesn't even say goodbye, simply ending the livestream, knowing one of his followers surely recorded it to spread the news around.

“ty, you didn't have to do that.”

“yes, i did.” tyler bends down to lift you up, carrying you across the threshold of your house just like he did the day you got married. “im gonna be with you throughout everything. tornados aren't more important than you.”

[verstappensrealwife]

Penny for Your Thoughts - SugarDaddy!Lewis Hamilton x Reader

[lewis hamilton masterlist  / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... the relationship between lewis and his sugar baby develops into something more. ʚɞ fluff, smut, angst (barely)  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 5600 words ʚɞ warnings: use of Y/N, smut, Fem Receiving!Oral, lewis cumming in his pants, some swearing, mentions of sex in conversation, kissing, swearing, unspecified age-gap.

-୨♡୧-

-୨♡୧-

When lewis had met you he didn’t expect this… You were young and beautiful, and while he was equally beautiful, he was a little older.

Not that the age difference mattered to you. You weren’t with him for his good looks—though those certainly didn’t hurt. No, what drew you to him was the promise of his wealth, the endless opportunities for luxury that came with his lifestyle. 

And as it turned out, he didn’t mind one bit. Lewis didn’t expect love or devotion, nor did he demand intimacy—at least, not all the time. What he truly enjoyed was spoiling you, a pastime he indulged with an almost reckless abandon. With more money than he could ever hope to spend on himself, Lewis found it gratifying to watch you revel in the fruits of his fortune.

So you came to an agreement, you get his credit card, he gets to show you off like a trophy at different events and around the paddock. You were his trophy, and he was your benefactor.

-୨♡୧-

It was one of those nights where everything seemed to go wrong. You had arrived at the bar with your friends, but somehow, they had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stranded alone at the bar, nursing your drink and wondering if you should just call it a night. The hum of conversations and clinking glasses faded into the background as you sighed, glancing at the empty seats around you, wishing for some kind of distraction.

Then, unexpectedly, a warm presence slid into the seat next to you. Lewis. He didn’t make any grand gestures, no flashy introductions—he simply settled in beside you, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, despite the many other open chairs. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but when the bartender came by to take your order, he spoke up.

"I’ll take care of your next drink," he said, his voice smooth and casual, as if he already knew you.

You gave him a questioning look, but didn’t protest. A drink, a little distraction, that’s all you needed.

After a moment of silence, you let out a sigh, the weight of the evening still pressing on you. “Penny for your thoughts?” Lewis asked, his eyes studying you with a quiet curiosity.

“You’re gonna need a lot more than a penny,” you quipped, a forced smile tugging at your lips.

“How about 200…?” he replied, without missing a beat, as he casually pulled open his wallet.

“200 pennies?” You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was playing along or actually serious.

“Euros,” he said, a confident smile curling at the corners of his lips. He slid ten crisp 20-euro bills across the bar with a slow, deliberate movement.

Your jaw dropped. The sheer audacity of it caught you off guard. “Not enough?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly, almost genuinely confused. “I can go get more from the cash machine if you need it.”

You stared at him, eyes narrowing. “Are you joking?”

He shook his head, no trace of sarcasm in his voice. “Not at all,” he said simply, pushing the money even closer to you.

A mix of disbelief and curiosity bubbled up inside you, but, against your better judgment, you reached out and took the money. With that, you found yourself explaining the miserable state of your night—the mix of bad decisions, lost friends, and the way everything seemed to be falling apart.

Somewhere between your rant and the last sip of your drink, the conversation shifted. The night took on a different tone, one of unexpected comfort and growing connection. By the time you found yourself back at his hotel room, the details of the evening felt like a blur. What you did remember, though, was the feel of his touch, the luxury that oozed from every inch of him, and the crisp, freshly handed-over credit card tucked into your pocket.

-୨♡୧-

And now, there you stood in Bahrain, playing the loving-girlfriend role (for the first time at a race) as you watched him drive around the track over and over again. You were wearing expensive shoes, a pricy dress, and your hair done up so perfectly you didn’t want to touch it.

After the race had finished and Lewis placed 7th,  You watched him climb out of the car, his posture tight, his expression far from pleased. He was used to winning championships, not fighting to stay in the points.

“Well done, Lew.” You had smiled when he came though the garage. He hummed a tiny thank you, clearly upset, and walked right by you. You looked down awkwardly, even the mechanics looked at you a little concerned. 

But then, Lewis paused, his frustration momentarily giving way to something else. He turned and reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours with a kind of silent urgency. Wordlessly, he pulled you along with him, heading toward his motorhome.

You couldn’t help but smile, even in the midst of his disappointment.

"I need to go talk to the media," he said, his voice flat. You nodded, understanding the drill. "You can, uh... stay here if you want."

"Of course," you murmured. You didn’t mind

"You did great today," you added quietly, watching him closely. His eyes flicked to you, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something in them—a spark of emotion. It wasn’t just the casual gratitude he usually gave you. This was different, almost vulnerable, like he was searching for comfort, even if he wouldn’t ask for it outright.

He gave you a small smile, nodding in appreciation, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You could tell the result still weighed on him. With a final, quiet nod, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

-୨♡୧-

It wasn’t long before Lewis returned, his shoulders more relaxed, though the lines of frustration still lingered on his face.

"Penny for your thoughts?" you asked with a teasing smile, hoping to break the silence.

He huffed a tiny laugh, a sound that was both resigned and weary. "Just not happy with P7," he admitted with a shrug. You nodded, sensing there was no need to push him further. "Can we go back to the hotel now?" he asked, the exhaustion evident in his tone.

You nodded immediately, stepping in line behind him as you left the paddock together, the bustling sounds of the paddock fading behind you.

-୨♡୧-

The soft click of the door closing behind him marked the end of the race day. Lewis leaned against the wall, watching you move effortlessly through the room, shedding the remnants of the event like a second skin. First, your makeup came off, followed by the careful undoing of your hair. Then, without a second thought, you peeled off the dress, the expensive fabric slipping down your body and pooling onto the floor, revealing a little more of you with each passing second.

And yes, he watched—he couldn’t help himself. You were still his girlfriend, after all, even if this wasn’t exactly the most conventional of relationships. He admired your figure, the way your skin caught the light in the room, the way you moved with effortless grace.

“Perv,” you teased with a laugh, throwing the dress carelessly over the back of the armchair before slipping into an oversized shirt—one that could’ve been his, though you weren’t sure. You glanced over at him, your playful smile lighting up the room.

He just smirked, unfazed by what you said. Taking a few steps closer to you, the tension palpable. His hands move to hold your bare waist, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, looking down at your body, each curve, each freckle or mark. He looks back up to you, your lips, staring. Before he leans forward, kissing you, its needy and passionate. 

Clearly the pent up frustrations with the car was getting to his head.

His hands roaming over your body, before he walks you backwards until your knees hit the back of the bed. He falls on top of you. Looking at you, really looking. Mumbling to himself about how beautiful you are. Then he’s on you again, his lips ravaging at your neck, nipping and sucking gently at the sensitive spot between your neck and collarbone.

Soft whines fall from your lips, tugging at his tshirt, urging him to undress. With one swift motion, he pulls the shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere behind him. He kisses down your body, pulling you gently to the edge of the bed before dropping to his knees. His fingers linger on your underwear, fingertips grazing the skin of your hips, looking up at you for a nod. 

“Please,” You pant. Thats all he needed. Wrapping his fingers around the waistband and pulling them off. He wastes no time, his head diving between your thighs. Your loud, desperate moans echoing throughout the room. His fingers glide up the back of your thighs till they cant go further, squeezing at the flesh.

You are a wreck. Writhing, moaning, shaking.

You cry out in pleasure, heels digging into the toned muscle of his back as he plunges two fingers into you. You’re trying desperately to move your hips to ride his fingers. “Lewis,” You whimper, wound up so tight you could burst. “Lewis- I- fuck I’m gonna-”

The words are lost on you as you scream, your body spasms, everything tingles as your cunt tightens around his fingers. Hips bucking upwards as pleasure floods through you.

He pulls his fingers out, and mouth away. Your juices spread across his mouth and chin. He gives you a drunken-looing grin as he stands up. You sit up onto your elbows, then your eyes shoot down to his crotch, the once light grey joggers now dark and wet around his crotch. He looks down, noticing your stare. “I- that doesn’t usually happen- you were just being so hot and I couldn’t really help it.” He says sheepishly.

“It’s hot,” You smirk with a small shrug.

After everything settled, the intensity of the moment slowly faded, leaving a soft, warm silence between you both. Lewis carefully helped you clean up (after washing his face), his hands gentle as he brushed some stray hair from your face, his eyes full of care and affection. 

You gave him a funny look as he stared intently at you.

“What? Can’t I admire my girlfriend?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You can, if this ever becomes a normal relationship.”

His smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something more serious. He watched as you crawled onto the bed, pulling the thick covers up to your chin, curling into the softness of the sheets. “Would you want that?” he asked quietly, the question lingering in the air between you. “Like, an actual relationship… not just—whatever this is?”

You shrugged, your eyes flicking to him before settling on the ceiling, lost in thought. “Maybe one day…” Your words hung in the air, both hopeful and uncertain, the weight of what you said not lost on either of you.

Lewis nodded slowly, absorbing the thought. There was no rush, no need for labels. But the way he looked at you—his gaze softening, his lips curling into a gentle smile—made it clear that, in some way, this was becoming something more. He didn’t say anything more, but the unspoken agreement between the two of you was clear: one day, maybe, things would change. For now, he was content to let the night settle in around you both, taking each moment as it came.

-୨♡୧-

You hadn’t gone to the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix—things had gotten too hectic, and you needed some time to yourself. But you were at the Australian Grand Prix, and it was Friday. The buzz of the paddock surrounded you as Lewis was out on track, doing his practice laps, while you sat in the garage. The hum of the engines and the chatter of the crew filled the air as you made small talk with one of the mechanics, discussing anything and everything to pass the time. The world of F1 still felt like a foreign one to you, but you were learning.

After a while, Lewis returned to the garage, stepping out of the car with the usual furrow in his brow. He immediately started speaking to the mechanics about the car, explaining in technical terms the issues he could feel. It was all a blur of words you couldn’t quite grasp, but you could tell by his tone that he was frustrated.

-୨♡୧-

Saturday came, and it wasn’t the best of results. Lewis had qualified 11th—a decent starting position, but not where he usually found himself. His frustration was palpable, but it was nothing a good evening couldn’t fix. After the race, he took you out to a nice dinner, treating you to some of the finest food in the city. He even bought you a new perfume—a gesture that was more thoughtful than extravagant. The evening ended with you both lying side by side in bed, staring at each other, the soft hum of the city outside the windows creating a peaceful atmosphere.

“Remember like, a month ago…” Lewis started, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. You nodded, prompting him to go on.

“When we were talking about being, like… a proper couple—would you wanna maybe try that?” he asked, his voice cautious, like he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You lay there, processing the question. He sounded so nervous, and for a moment, it made you wonder why. Why was he asking? Why now? The uncertainty lingered in the air between you, but after a moment of thought, you gave a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” you said softly, making his eyebrows raise in surprise. “Sure—why not?”

-୨♡୧-

Oh, how naive you were.

Less than 24 hours later, you could’ve strangled him.

The race had been a disaster—Lewis had DNF’d, and it was clear he was livid. But it wasn’t the result that was bothering him—it was the way the whole weekend had unraveled, and somehow, he made it your problem.

You didn’t see him at all until after the media duties, and even then, it was like he was avoiding you. He walked past you in the paddock without so much as a glance. You stayed in his driver’s room, trying to give him space, but your patience was wearing thin. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he entered, his body tense, his face still etched with frustration.

He didn’t even look at you.

“Are you oka-” you started, your voice soft, hesitant.

“Just shut up,” he snapped, cutting you off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard. His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You froze, your mouth falling shut in shock. “All the fucking time, just—‘Lewis, Lewis, Lewis,’” he mocked, mimicking your voice with an exaggerated sigh, his frustration boiling over.

You sat there, stunned, trying to process what was happening. This wasn’t the Lewis you knew—this wasn’t how he usually acted, especially not toward you. The words stung, leaving you speechless, unsure of how to react.

Before you could even respond, he turned to say something else, but you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood up, moving quickly toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. Without saying a word, you left the room, not wanting to be in the same space as him anymore.

“Wait—no—Y/N—fuck,” Lewis called after you, his voice laced with regret, but it was too late. You were already storming out, heading straight for the nearest taxi, leaving the driver’s room—and Lewis—behind as you made your way to the hotel, the sting of his words lingering in the air between you.

It was almost 10 PM when he finally walked through the door, his presence quiet but heavy. You had been in bed for a while, reading your book as though everything was fine, pretending you didn’t care that he had just hurt you. Of course, you cared—you always cared—but right now, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply it stung.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching you, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. He called your name softly at first, then again, a little more insistently, when he realized you weren’t responding. When it became clear you were intentionally ignoring him, he sighed, his voice filled with regret.

“I— Princess, I really am sorry.”

Still, you said nothing, keeping your focus on the page, even though you could hear the sincerity in his tone, and the words on the page were melting together, you ignored him. With another heavy sigh, he reached for one of the pillows, dragging it off the bed before retreating to the small sofa across the room. He grabbed the thinnest blanket he could find, folding it around himself as best he could.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice soft, sad. You didn’t respond, not wanting to break your silence just yet. You turned off your light, rolling over to face the wall, your thoughts swirling.

Sleep came quickly for you, but not for him. The couch was far too small, too uncomfortable for someone his size. You could hear his restless shifting—the soft groans and quiet huffs that filled the room as he tried, unsuccessfully, to find a comfortable position.

Eventually, you woke up to the sound of him fumbling with the couch. You blinked a few times, your mind still fuzzy from sleep, before calling out to him, your voice confused.

“Lewis?”

He froze instantly, embarrassed by the noise he had made. “Sorry,” he muttered, trying to adjust quietly, shifting his body awkwardly to find some semblance of comfort.

By this point, you had hoped he would have just climbed into bed with you. It was obvious he wasn’t getting any sleep on the couch, but he wasn’t making any move to join you. You let out an exasperated sigh, pushing yourself up on one elbow, your eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room. You yawned, looking at him with disbelief.

“Are you seriously still trying to sleep on that thing?”

“It’s fine,” he lied, adjusting the pillow again for what felt like the hundredth time. “Just go back to sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed by his stubbornness. “Lewis. Just get in the bed.”

He opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. “But I—”

“Get in,” you repeated, cutting him off firmly, patting the empty spot next to you.

There was no more arguing after that. With a small grunt of defeat, he climbed into the bed beside you. “Sorry,” he muttered again, though the apology felt more genuine now.

You nodded, not needing to say more. “It’s okay… just shut up now,” you yawned, your eyes drifting shut as you sank back into the pillow.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The room was quiet, the tension still hanging between you, but it was starting to fade. You could feel the weight of the day slowly slipping away, your exhaustion starting to settle in.

And then, without warning, you found yourself crawling toward him, drawn to his warmth. You threw your arm over his chest, resting your head against him, your legs tangling with his under the covers. He tensed at first, clearly surprised by the sudden closeness, but within moments, his body relaxed, and his arm came around you, pulling you into him.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your ear, the warmth of his skin beneath your touch, and despite the tension of the night, everything felt right again. Silent, comfortable, and for the first time that evening, at peace.

-୨♡୧-

It had been a few months since the Australian Grand Prix, and now, here you were, trudging around the Silverstone track in the blistering British summer heat. Every step felt like a mountain as jet lag clung to you like a weight, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed for a solid, uninterrupted sleep. But instead, you were stuck walking the track with Lewis—who, despite his usual high energy, seemed to be in no rush.

The two of you had been taking things slowly in your growing relationship, maybe even too slowly for your liking. The pace was frustrating at times, especially when you wanted more but couldn’t push him faster than he was willing to go. You wanted to enjoy your time together, but you couldn’t help feeling like you were standing still while he took his time to figure things out.

But right now, you just wanted to get this walk over with. You glared at the track, imagining it as a long stretch of nothing but sleep.

“Okay, Grandpa, get a move on. I am exhausted,” you said, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice, but it came out sharper than intended.

Lewis shot you a sly smirk, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, I can certainly understand why,” he teased, his voice dropping to a playful, suggestive tone. “I did fuck you pretty well—”

Ok, maybe not taking the relationship entirely slowly.

“Okay!” you quickly interrupted, your face flushing with embarrassment. Not in public, please. “No need to be crude in front of the children,” you added, nodding toward Kimi, who was walking a few feet ahead with George and Carmen, all of them oblivious to your exchange.

Lewis burst into laughter, his playful side coming to the surface as he pushed you lightly in retaliation. You responded with the same energy, shoving him back and laughing along with him. The two of you exchanged grins, the tension of the last few months lightening for a moment.

You’d been together for months now, shared countless moments, laughed, argued, spent time together both in and out of bed. You’d done everything that a couple should do, or so you thought.

But there was one thing that hung in the air, unspoken, like a cloud that never seemed to lift: the three words. Those three simple words that could turn the connection between you two into something deeper, something permanent. And yet, despite everything, he still hadn’t said them.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was waiting for something, or maybe he just wasn’t there yet. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way. You’d never pushed him, never asked for those words, but they were always in the back of your mind, like an unfinished sentence.

Sometimes, you'd see flashes of affection in the way he looked at you, in the little things he did, but there was always this strange emptiness when it came to those words.

But what did it all mean if he couldn’t say it?

-୨♡୧-

Qualifying day dawned, and it was clear that the team had made significant progress overnight. The car felt more alive, and Lewis was able to extract more from it with each lap. He pushed through the first two sessions with a mix of determination and calculated risk, knowing that every second counted. 

In Q1, the pace had been good, but there were still a few corners that didn’t feel quite right. It was enough to get him through, though, and as the weekend progressed, the confidence built. 

By Q2, Lewis was firing on all cylinders, and the team’s strategy seemed to be paying off. The car’s balance was improving, and with each lap, it was clear he was getting closer to the top.

But when it came time for Q3, the pressure was on. He pushed hard in the final sector, his focus unwavering as he navigated the tight corners, pushing the car to its limits. The lap had been enough to secure 2nd place. He wasn’t quite on pole, but he was in a great position, only a fraction of a second behind the pole sitter.

There was a sense of pride as he climbed out of the car, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He had fought hard for that position, and the team’s work was paying off. The atmosphere in the garage was electric, with engineers high-fiving and congratulating each other. Now, it was all about turning that qualifying pace into a solid race result. But for now, 2nd place felt pretty damn good.

He walked over to you, in the corner of the garage, beaming at you happily with his helmet tucked under his arm. “Not bad for a grandpa, huh?” he teased, his voice laced with playful smugness.

You rolled your eyes at him, fighting back a smile. 

“You’ve got to admit, I’ve still got it,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying the moment. He was so proud of what he'd accomplished, and you couldn’t deny that you were proud of him too.

“Did you ever lose it?”

He flashed you a grin, clearly satisfied with your approval, before he leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. “God, I love… erm… when you come to races…” he says, clearly stopping himself from saying ‘I love you’. He clears his throat. “It’s not over yet, though. I’m gunning for that top spot tomorrow,” he said, the competitive edge in his voice returning.

You smiled, watching him walk away, the energy around him infectious.

-୨♡୧-

In the dimly lit hotel room, the soft glow of the television illuminated the quiet space. A film was playing, but neither of you were paying much attention to it. You lay there, side by side, your heads nestled into the pillows, the comfort of the bed surrounding you both. The hum of the movie blended with the sound of your voices, an easy conversation flowing between the two of you.

You were close, so close, you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours, his hand resting gently on the bed near yours. There had been an unspoken tension for a while now, something hanging between you both. You could feel it in the way he looked at you when you laughed, in the small touches, the way he’d hold you just a little longer than necessary when you hugged. It was as if the words were right there, on the tip of his tongue.

You were almost sure this was it. This was the moment.

The conversation had shifted, casual at first, but then he turned to you, his expression softening. The way he was looking at you now, it was different—more intense. You could feel your heart start to race, anticipation building.

"I was thinking," he started, his voice quieter than usual. You looked up at him, holding your breath, hoping he was about to say what you were both thinking.

He paused, and you could feel the weight of the silence stretching between you, and in that brief moment, everything felt like it was about to change.

“I—” he began again, his eyes locking onto yours with a gaze that sent a flutter through your chest.

You were ready. This is it, you thought. Finally.

But then, just as you were about to exhale in relief, he shifted in the bed, his expression changing as he sat up slightly, breaking the moment.

“Did you hear about the new engine updates for next race?” he asked, casually, as if he hadn’t just been on the verge of saying something that would change everything.

Your heart sank a little, the words you were waiting for slipping away, replaced by the familiar mention of the track, the car, the race. You blinked, trying to shake off the sudden disappointment, but it lingered in the air.

You nodded slowly, a soft smile playing on your lips, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Yeah, I did. I think we could be in for a good one next time."

He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did but chose not to acknowledge it, diving into the technical details with his usual enthusiasm. You listened, nodding in all the right places, but in the back of your mind, that moment—the moment—still lingered, unanswered.

You lay back down beside him, the distance between you not in inches, but in the words that had almost been spoken, and the ones that never came.

-୨♡୧-

“Good luck, Lew,” you whispered against his lips, your hand resting on his chest for a brief moment.

Without a word, his lips met yours, a slow, lingering kiss that seemed to stop time for a moment. The buzz of the crowd faded into the background as you melted into the kiss, his hand cradling your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

When he pulled away, his eyes locked onto yours, his voice barely a whisper, “I’ll make it count.” His words were full of focus and confidence, the kind that left no doubt he was determined to win this one. You smiled, your heart swelling in your chest, knowing he would give it everything.

“I’ll be here,” you replied softly, squeezing his hand before he turned and jogged toward his car.

The race began in a blur of roaring engines, speeding cars, and deafening excitement. Lewis was in the zone, navigating the twists and turns of the track with precision and power. You could see it in the way he drove—the focus, the confidence, the hunger for victory. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, your heart in your throat with every corner.

Then, it happened. With one final push, he crossed the finish line, the roar of the crowd erupting around you. He had done it. He had won his home Grand Prix- again.

The victory was his. And the joy was contagious.

As he pulled into Parc Fermé, you rushed over to the barriers, your heart still racing from the intensity of the race. You were front and center, waiting for him to emerge from his car. When he did, he looked absolutely elated, his face glowing with the purest happiness. He waved to the crowd, then immediately made his way toward his team, hugging everyone in sight. Each embrace, a moment of triumph. You watched as he celebrated with them, his adrenaline clearly still running high.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, he spotted you.

With a wide grin, he sprinted toward you, his helmet still in his hand. The world seemed to pause as he reached you, his eyes never leaving yours. There was no hesitation. He threw his arms around you, pulling you in close, and without a second thought, he took off his helmet, tossing it aside. His lips found yours, this time even more urgent, more intense than before the race. His kiss was full of raw, unbridled emotion—adrenaline coursing through him, the exhilaration of the win, and the joy of having you there with him to share it.

His lips moved against yours with the same intensity as the race itself, as if this moment was the culmination of everything. His hands were everywhere—one holding you close, the other gently cradling your face. You could taste the sweat and the salt from his skin, the remnants of the race, but it was a kiss that felt like everything you had both been waiting for.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, a satisfied grin plastered across his face, he looked down at you, his eyes sparkling with adrenaline. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" you asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, knowing how excited he was, knowing how much this meant to him.

“I love you,” he blurted out, his voice thick with emotion, the words tumbling out without any hesitation, as though the moment had finally come and there was no holding back anymore.

Your eyes widened, surprised by the bluntness of it, but then an exasperated laugh escaped your lips, the tension of the past months lifting off your shoulders. “FINALLY!” you exclaimed, smiling at him as the words sank in. You reached up and kissed him again, this time with even more feeling, pulling him back into you. 

“I love you too,” you murmured, your arms around his neck as you kissed him again, this time without holding back. The crowd, the team, the celebrations all seemed distant, fading into the background as you reveled in the most important moment of the day—the one that had been building up for so long.

And in that moment, everything felt perfect.

-୨♡୧-

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[forever-rogue]

Salty

AN | Hello, as you all know Joel is alive and well and there are shenanigans afoot in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Language 

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You loved Joel.

Joel loved you (you hoped anyway) and Ellie.

Ellie hated you.

After just over half a year in Jackson, you had finally put two and two together. All those little things you’d thought were accidents or odd coincidences weren't that at all.

Everything came down to one Ellie Williams. And that led to you making a decision you immediately hated.

“I don’t think we… should spend time together anymore.” The lump in your throat was thick, and you focused your attention on the vegetables you were tending, refusing to look at the man. You’d rehearsed this very moment in your head about two hundred times, and still, it wasn’t going to plan. Sigh.

The man next to you was silent for a few beats, trying to decide if you were being serious. When you didn’t say anything further but he heard your sniffle, he realized this wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh? And just how did you reach that conclusion, darlin’?”

“I just… I dunno, Joel. It just seems like the right thing to do.” You shrugged, adding the carrots you'd unearthed into the basket between the two of you. “I don’t… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I’m… interested.”

A heavy silence fell over you; you tried to continue working, but Joel remained dumbfounded, watching your every move.

“Okay,” he eventually said, causing you to relax slightly. “I’ll do as you ask and respect your wishes and all that. You gonna tell me what changed suddenly?”

“Nothing,” you lied. You’d thought about telling him the truth but highly doubted he’d believe you. He’d never think his baby girl would do something so downright vicious. “It’s just… what I want.”

“Alright.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, capturing your attention. “I’ll leave you to it. I think you can handle it from here, right? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong idea.”

“Joel—” His name came out as a huff, but before you could get any further, he had already walked away.

You watched after him until he was out of your sight before hastily wiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks. This hurt even worse than you had anticipated. Ellie would probably leave you alone now that you weren’t pursuing her dad or trying to take him away from her.

“I guess it’s just you and me again.” You pulled a few more carrots out of the dirt and tossed them to the side. You were going to need a new hobby to occupy your mind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time something strange had happened, you had been baking a cake for Joel's birthday. You were in the restaurant kitchen, having talked Seth into letting you use the space to keep your plans secret.

You were almost done mixing the dry ingredients when you couldn’t find the sugar.

“Where is it…” You looked through cabinets, sure you’d seen the container at some point. Without sugar, you definitely weren’t going to finish this cake.

“Looking for this?” There was a smile on Ellie’s face as she set an unlabeled bag down next to your bowl. You relaxed and nodded. “Sorry, I was using it earlier. Totally forgot to put it back.”

“No worries at all,” you said, grabbing the measuring cup and adding the sugar to your bowl. “I was starting to worry I’d imagined it.”

“Hmm.” Ellie watched you work in silence for a few minutes. “What’s this for?”

“I’m making a cake… for Joel.” Your face warmed as a flash of annoyance shot across hers. She was well aware of what you were doing, having overheard you talking to Tommy. “I figured it’d be something nice for him.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” she smiled. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” you agreed.

Unfortunately, fortune seemed determined to make a fool of you.

You’d stopped at Joel’s house to deliver the cake, wanting to make it casual.

“Happy birthday,” you sang, holding up the cake with an eager look. Your heart beat nervously as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

“It’s amazing,” he whispered, heart constricting at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since someone had baked him a birthday cake. “C’mon in. We can cut right into it.”

“Oh,” you smiled shyly, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re always welcome here,” he said, firm but still soft. “And I insist.”

“Okay.” You followed him inside, setting the cake on the table. Joel grabbed a couple of forks, plates, and a knife. “Is Ellie here? Should we cut some for her?”

“She’s off at Dina’s,” he shook his head. “It’s just us.”

“Well here, let me.” You cut into the cake, placing large slices on each plate. You sat down across from him, pushing a plate toward him. “Happy birthday, Joel.”

“It certainly is now.” You tried not to freak out as you took a bite. Joel did the same.

As soon as you started chewing, you realized it tasted… terrible. Gritty and salty. Anything but sweet and decadent. You reluctantly swallowed and cast a forlorn look at Joel, who was clearly trying to school his expression.

“This is disgusting,” you said, horrified. “I—I must’ve added salt instead of sugar. Fuck. I should’ve paid more attention, but I thought… Ellie handed me the sugar.”

“It’s…” Joel, bless his heart, tried to make it seem better than it was.

“Terrible,” you insisted, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it all.”

“It’s not… the worst thing ever.”

“Joel.”

“It’s pretty bad,” he admitted with a grimace, “but it’s the thought. Even if that’s cliché.”

“Well,” you sighed with a grimace, “maybe next time will be better.”

Joel reached across the table and placed his hand on top of yours. His touch made your stomach flip. “It’s okay, really. Thank you for this.”

“Happy birthday,” you whispered. Your face was warm, and you swore you saw a light blush on his cheeks.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you were sure that you had bad luck. Everyone has bad luck sometimes, right?

It was spring, finally warm enough not to require multiple layers. There was a barbecue going on, and Joel had asked if you wanted to go with him. He hadn’t said it was a date—but he hadn’t not.

You’d put on a sundress, feeling prettier than you had in a long time.

But as you walked to Joel’s house, something slippery on the porch made you slide off and into a lingering patch of mud.

A scream escaped your lips. You weren’t hurt—just covered in mud from head to toe. Your shoes had fallen off. Tears of frustration fell down your face, which only smeared the muck.

“Are you okay?” Joel ran outside, worried. When he saw what had happened, he had to fight a smile. He was glad you weren’t hurt—but it was a little funny. You let out a frustrated huff. He stepped off the porch and held out his hand. “Oh, darlin’.”

Just as you reached for him, he slipped and landed next to you. His surprised face made you giggle. Reaching over to wipe a spot off his cheek, you shook your head.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled. “I’d say we make a fine pair.”

“Unfortunately, I think we’ll have to clean up and change before we do anything,” you teased. Joel looked at you with nothing short of fondness. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he said, leaning in. You leaned in too. “I’m just thinking I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

“Oh?” You were ready to finally close the gap when the front door burst open.

“Hey!” Ellie’s voice made you both jump apart. “What happened?”

“Slipped and fell,” you both said in unison.

“You should be more careful,” she said directly to you, brown eyes hard. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen.”

Then she turned and went back inside. A shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mon.” Joel got to his feet and helped you up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Something inside your stomach twisted. Something was going on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time you were sure that none of the things that had been happening were accidental.

Joel had asked you on a date—made it very clear it was a date. Even though it was just Joel, you were full of butterflies.

You settled on an outfit and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Everything needed to be perfect.

Until… you tried to leave the bathroom and couldn’t. You jiggled the knob, convinced it was stuck, but after a few seconds of no success, you realized you were locked in.

You exhaled sharply, trying not to panic. This wasn’t an accident—but you weren’t in real danger either.

You banged on the door. “Ellie! Let me out! Please let me out!”

No response. But you thought you heard creaking down the hall. She wasn’t coming back.

You sat on the toilet, head in your hands. This was the worst. All you had wanted was a date with Joel. You couldn’t even have that.

Eventually, you pried open the bathroom window, grateful you lived in a one-story house. You squeezed out and fell a few feet onto the hard ground with a small oof.

Brushing yourself off, you made your way to Joel’s house, ready to set things straight.

Only one light was on. He wasn’t home. Your heart sank.

You knocked loudly. “Ellie!”

After a moment, the door flew open. She stood there, surprised. You laughed bitterly. “Surprised to see me?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Cut the shit,” you snapped, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. “Why have you been doing this to me? And don’t even try to lie—I know it’s been you.”

“I…” She didn’t even bother to lie. “Stay away from Joel. He doesn’t need you. We’re fine without you.”

“Is that what this is about? Me and Joel? Why does it—”

“He doesn’t need you,” she hissed. “Stay away from my dad.”

The door slammed in your face.

You stood there, stunned.

After a few moments, you trudged home, your heart heavy, when you heard your name being called. You turned to see Joel catching up.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. “What happened? I waited for over an hour, then went to check if you’d gone to—”

“I was locked in my bathroom.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. Joel stared at you, waiting for a punchline. But then he saw your expression—serious.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to stand you up. I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“How did you…”

“Weird accident.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, stopping and gently grabbing your wrist. You turned to face him, fighting back tears. He touched your cheek.

“Things have been a little… off lately.”

“Guess I’m just having a spot of bad luck,” you shrugged, refusing to say the real reason. As angry as you were with Ellie, you understood. Joel was her stability—and in her mind, you were a threat.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Did you still want to grab dinner?”

“Actually, I kind of just want to go home.” You hated the way hope faded from his face.

“I’ll see you around, Joel. Have a good night.”

“Good night.” He gave your hand a squeeze but watched you walk away, his heart heavy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Two weeks passed.

You caught glimpses of Joel, but that was it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You missed him.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, a knock came at your door. You almost ignored it—but you knew better. No one in Jackson would let you live it down.

With a sigh, you trudged to the door, already annoyed.

“What?” you asked before even looking—only to find Joel standing there, a bemused smile on his face.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“I think we should talk.” You swallowed thickly. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah.” You stepped aside and led him into the living room. You sat across the couch from him. “What’s up?”

“Ellie told me what happened,” he said. Your shock was evident. “She explained what she did.”

“Oh.”

“She said she hated seeing me so miserable all the time,” he continued, and you realized you weren’t the only one hurting. “She said she felt some remorse.”

“I don’t… I do blame her—because she did those things. But I can understand where she’s coming from.” You shrugged. “She’s trying to protect you. You’re her family. She doesn’t want to lose you. It’s her way of showing love. I can’t fault her for that.”

“I know,” he said. “She told me everything. But it doesn’t make what she did right. You could’ve been seriously hurt. I told her that no matter what happened between us, my love for her wouldn’t change.”

“Of course not.”

“But tell me… were you really ready to never speak to me again?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t be happy about it.” Your face flushed and you couldn’t meet his eyes. “But if that was best for everyone…”

“Do you really think that would’ve been best?”

“Well… no. Now it seems trivial.” You met his honeyed gaze—reverent, gentle. “I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He scooted closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You still want me to stay away?”

“I’m kind of thinking I want you to finally kiss me.”

You didn’t know where the boldness came from, but it had been long enough.

“Is that so?”

“It is—”

Joel kissed you gently, cutting you off. It caught you off guard—but it was perfect.

“Yeah?” His hand was on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

“Again?” Your soft request made him chuckle. “Please?”

And he didn’t waste any time.

He kissed you again.

[red-garden]

Ficlet from this AU (Southeast US SY):

Having the OOC restrictions lifted was a blessing obviously. Well. Probably.

All the formal xianxia shit was a mouthful and a half, and Shen Yuan knew the sect leader was far too soft on him to scold him for indulging in a more casual tongue. Being a Georgia gentleman born and raised, Shen Yuan felt a certain degree of familiarity was owed his students, Binghe most especially.

“Oh come here sweetheart, don’t cry. Oh baby I know.”

His tearful little lamb looked up at him like a deer in headlights. “Shizun?”

“Come on baby, let’s get you something to drink. You like sweet tea?”

Anachronistic he knew, but he needed a taste of home. Not as good as his mama’s, but he never was much of a cook.

There had been a greater number of accidents on the peaks lately. Shen Yuan didn’t know if there was something in the water but every time he tried to be neighborly people started dropping like flies. His martial siblings came to visit more often but left even quicker.

“Xiao Jiu!”

The sect leader always looked like the cat that got the cream when he was let in. He brought a basket of peaches- not the Suwanee from back home, but it was sweet nonetheless.

Shen Yuan gave him a smile as he took the basket to the kitchen. “Ah, thank ya kindly sugar!”

The sect leader went abruptly still. Shen Yuan turned about in concern. “Everything alright?”

The sect leader nodded stiffly, eyes anywhere else but Shen Yuan.

“You got some business needs getting back to? Don’t put it off on my account.”

“Ah, no, Xiao Jiu need not concern himself.”

“Then sit with me for a bit! I made a fresh pitcher of tea and we can have those peaches you brought me.”

“What would Xiao Jiu wish to hear?”

“Anything you please to tell me sugar.”

The sect leader stiffens again. “Ah, I just remembered some work I really must get back to. Please excuse this Shixiong.”

Liu Qingge was hardly better. He came for the meridian clearings on time of course, but he wouldn’t suffer Shen Yuan’s company a moment longer. Frequently he even stumbled on his sword to get away.

“Honey, are you sure you wanna keep clearin my meridians? Seems like it takes a lot out of you, stumblin as you do to get away. I’m sure Mu-shidi would be amenable to trade.”

“S’fine.” He grits out.

Shen Yuan sighs, leaning back into his touch. He huffs a laugh. “Hands like that, I should ask you to be chair all the time! Support soothin my aching back.”

Liu Qingge flinches away, letting Shen Yuan fall backwards. His voice is strained, his face red as a tomato. “I have to go. Bye.”

He falls flat on his face scrambling to the door and darts out like a chicken with its head cut off. Shen Yuan tsks. “If my company is really that intolerable he could just say so.”

Binghe, coming out of the kitchen with a fresh pitcher and a tray of lemon cakes (he knew the protagonist could do it) shakes his head. “Shizun shouldn’t have to put up with him.”

Shen Yuan can resist pinching his little cheek. “Don’t go being so rude to your Shibo now baby, he’s still a grown up…. Even if he acts like a cat in a rocking chair factory.”

[2tarbell]

COWBOY TAKE ME AWAY

you ask your boyfriend to take a look at your engine…

(drabble. © 2tarbell 2024)

rafe was close to losing his damn mind. how was this thing even still running?

he’s not a mechanic, in fact he finds it all too fuckin’ annoying. but when you looked up at him with those sparkly eyes, asking him to fix your little car, he couldn’t bring himself to turn you down.

so there he was, backwards cap on and sweating through his shirt. he’s already smoked two cigarettes trying to even start to fix the damn thing. the mess that was awaiting him under the hood made him shoot you a look, but you simply furrowed your brows and sighed in that sugary sweet voice ‘jus’ dont know what’s wrong with it’.

he was a sucker, maybe. pussy whipped, for sure.

more than an hour had passed and hardly any progress was made on the deteriorating engine. he was starting to get pissed off, your ‘the chicks’ cd having played three times through, the screen door allowing it to be heard from the player in the living room.

rafe looks over at you again, taking in the way you sat on the steps of the trailer, pen in hand as you mumble to yourself about the crossword puzzle between humming along to the music. barefoot and sitting nice and comfy on the wooden plank. oh, the luxury.

you looked so pretty, and he almost dropped whatever tool he was using when he noticed you weren’t wearing a bra. he cleared his throat, focusing all attention on the shitty state of your motor.

“baby — what in the hell did you even do to this thing?”

your head snaps up at that, pouting and tiptoeing over to him, paper abandoned on the steps. you ignored his protests of heading inside to put on some shoes, stepping over rocks and weeds. rafe shakes his head and leans on his arms as he stares down the engine, praying to whatever will listen to magically tell him what the problem was.

he sighs when your arm snakes around his waist and turns to press a kiss to the top of your head that rests on his arm. your touch was a brief reprieve from the hot sun and difficult task.

“s’that bad?” you mumble, voice meek.

god, he would do anything to make that sad little tone vanish. but he can’t lie to you, not about this. no matter how much he knows you adore this car.

he hums, giving the engine a once over before looking over at you, “well, it— it ain’t great… gonna have to probably replace most of it if y’wanna keep it.”

the whine you let out makes an amused grin form on his lips. you both know you couldn’t afford to replace even half of it.

“well— can’t y’just— just—“

“ohhh, when did you become a mechanic, sugar?”

he whistles lowly at your glare, wrapping his arm firmly around your neck and pulling you in. the sensation of being pressed against his chest, his bicep pressing into your cheek makes a lick of heat shoot up your spine.

“don’t get an attitude w’me, a’ight?” he drawls into your hair, leaving that familiar heat to settle in your tummy. you knew better but whined incoherently, a babble of ‘but— but— daddy—‘. it might cost you some of his softness, but it was just so satisfying to hear him get just a little meaner.

“no, stop poutin’— dad’s doin’ this f’you on his off day, show some gratitude. there is nothin’ else i can do ‘bout the fuckin’ thing, ‘kay?”

he wished there was more to do for the vehicle, but it was about time. hell, you’ve had that thing longer than he could remember. you never were good at admitting he was right, though.

he sighs and shifts to wrap his arms tight around your waist, lifting you slightly on your toes. your hands immediately find his chest and you lean your forward against him, pouting still as his lips meet your temple. you stare at the car, feeling betrayed by something you considered your baby.

all things must come to end, or whatever the hell the saying is. you honestly found that to be complete bullshit as rafe runs a hand over your hip, fingers lightly caressing the skin between the fabric and your jean shorts. his touch was almost soothing.

“poor sweet girl…” his lips press against your ear, a teasing whisper, “what’m i gonna do with you, hmm?”

you huff, maybe a bit dramatically, and turn your head to gaze up at him. rafe chuckles softly at your expression, if anyone else did such a thing, it might’ve felt patronizing. but not him, not your rafe.

you can’t resist a little grin, hiding your face in his chest. he always made you fold too quickly. he coos and it makes you feel fuzzy all over. with a finger under your chin, he lifts your head up to press a sweet kiss to your lips. his are a little chapped and his scruff is starting to tickle your face but you don’t care, needing the comfort of your big, strong man desperately in this moment. his large palms trail down your body to settle and squeeze at your ass.

rafe smiles against your mouth, that tilt of his lips making your own rise. soon enough, you’re giggling and unable to kiss him back. he doesn’t care and presses closer, swallowing those precious little sounds.

he lifts you, hands throwing you up and over his shoulder. he smirks at your squeal and closes the hood with one arm, the other holding you snuggly on his shoulder.

“rafe cameron, you put me down!”

“nuh — uh. think it’s time you thank me, yeah?”

with a smack to the swell of your ass, he walks up the three steps to your shared trailer, already planning on taking you to shower with him. the screen door shuts with a slam and your laughter echoes into the dusty streets of your little neighborhood.

[suguella]

LESSON IN PRIVATE ꒰ ft satoru gojo ꒱

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : gojo, a fuck boy, insists on getting you to go to a party but since you’ve been failing classes, he offers to help you.

꒰ CONTENT WARNING ꒱ : explicit content, friends with benefits trope, porn with (?) a plot, p in v, fuckboy!gojo, foul language, cunningulus, oral (m + f), nipple play, degrading, and reader is a female.

꒰ AUTHORS NOTE ꒱ : bro this has been in my drafts for so fucking long, enjoy ;) @screampied 🤍.

gojo : party in 2 hours, get ready :)

you : can't, gotta revise.

you were failing classes. that was a big problem and you had one person to blame; Gojo. he always managed to convince you to go to parties with him and, surprisingly, you would always say yes — but that was only because you had a thing for him.

gojo : im coming over

you : well im not opening the door for you

gojo : you’re going to do that to your best friend?

you sigh, staring at your notes. you thought to yourself, should i just fuck it and go? gojo was annoying, so a simple no wouldn’t stop him from dragging you out your house. but then again you were failing.

gojo : im outside, open the door.

you open to see to see a very tall white-haired man smirking at you, “no hi? hello?” you rolled your eyes as he chuckle. you invite him inside before breaking it to him “toru, i need to revise. sorry, but you’re on your own for this one”

“i can help you revise.” he said and you busted out laughing, "not to be blunt and all, but you're just a fuck boy"

gojo smirked, "we'll see about that," and you accepted his offer.

you were on your bed with your legs wide open, gojos face buried in your pussy. He slips your hand between your legs and made you rub your swollen clit. “come y/n you’re almost there.”

he inserts 2 fingers in, pumping vigorously while his other hand pulled on your nipples.

“come on y/n.” you didn’t know the answer only because the pleasure was taking away your concentration.

“fuck toru, i don’t know” he sucks on your pussy lips causing you to tug on his hair. “that’s not the answer baby, try again.”

he sucks on to your clit making an O shape causing your eyes roll back. “t-toru, is it a class of sugars that cannot be hydrolyzed to give a simpler sugar?”

he smirked at you, “good girl but fuck this, i need to be inside you” gojo toke off his boxer, his dick springing out.

“you’re too big” he runs his dick along your folds “sh baby, you can take it.” He holds onto your hips, nails digging into your poor skin as he plunges himself in.

the sound of skin slapping was the second noise compared to hearing you moaning his name.

he watched, seeing you play your erect nipples. you felt his cock twitch and thicken against the hug of your walls, “toru, fuck” your eyes glisten with tears as he stretches you out.

“you can do this y/n” he says as he rocks your body causing you to whimper. with each thrust came a moan, your nails scrape his lower back. he hissed, “careful babe”

you tilt your head back, searching for gojos lips. he reciprocated by grabbing your throat with his free hand and tugs at your top lip with his teeth.

you’re almost there and gojo was too, you both finish, still holding on to each other. he didn’t want to let go of you, at least not yet.

he’d be lying if he said he never wished for this.

[hanniescookie]

love me back - yjh  ⁠◜⁠teaser◝⁠ 

—⁠☆ when your long forgotten middle school crush walks into your bakery on a random tuesday, your whole life spirals. to top it all, you're forced to be his pretend wife for a mere apartment.

pairing - jeonghan x f!reader

genre/warnings - non idol au, fluff, romance, angst, humor, slice of life, fake dating, one sided love, one sided pining that turns mutual, middle school classmates to strangers to lovers, best friend's cousin kinda situation, slight cursing, use of petnames, kissing, skinship, mentions of drinking alcohol

wc - 0.5k for the teaser

A/N - 🥁❗the teaser for my bbangi's ( @kissbyoon ) birthday special fic is here!!! baby, i hope you love this, and i'll write you a whole birthday wish post on the 16th hehe ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡ i am not yet done writing this whole fic, so lord knows what the word count is gonna be, hopefully i'll stop before it reaches 20k. comment under this post to be added to the taglist!! full fic out on the 16th of june 🤍

A sigh of relief escapes your lips as the last customer leaves and Seokmin flips the open sign outside your cozy bakery.

You lean against the cool metal of the counter, the sweet scent of flour and sugar enveloping your senses. The evening rush had been crazy, and left you fairly exhausted.

“Alright, Seokmin, almost there!” You call out, wiping down the counter with a practiced hand.

Seokmin is already wrestling with a string of fairy lights near the window. “Just gotta get these stars to hang right! Your friend deserves the best!”

He grins, and you can't help but smile back. He's so kind, and truly the best person you've met ever since you ended college.

It is Seri’s birthday tonight, and you haven't seen her in ages, especially due to the distance of miles stretching between you both and the responsibilities of adult life. However, she had promised she'd celebrate her twenty third birthday with you.

You disappear into the back, pulling out a small, perfectly frosted strawberry shortcake from the chilled display. It is Seri’s favorite, and you’ve baked it especially for her. You hum a little tune as you carefully place a ‘Happy Birthday’ topper on it, the vibrant red of the strawberries popping against the white cream.

When you return to the front, Seokmin has managed to string the lights across the bakery, casting a soft, warm glow. He is now fumbling with a handful of balloons. “Thank you, Seokmin. This looks perfect. Just a few more minutes until she gets here.”

Just as you are about to grab a balloon yourself, the little bell above the door jingles. You look up, expecting Seri, and panicking that she's here even before you're done with the decor.

“Oh my goodness, there's no way you're here al—” Your words get stuck in your throat, forming a painful, hard lump. It feels like a stone, lodged right in the center of your windpipe, making it impossible to breathe.

There's no way you're not hallucinating.

A tall figure steps in, head bent, eyes glued to his phone. He doesn't look up, doesn’t acknowledge you or Seokmin. He just walks inside, making himself a quiet presence as he stops by one of the tables, completely absorbed in his screen.

Your heart, which had been beating with happy anticipation, suddenly feels still, like everything around you has frozen. The soft hum of the refrigerator, the gentle pop of a balloon Seokmin is trying to inflate, even the cheerful glow of the fairy lights—it all fades into the background.

Seven years.

It has been seven years since you’d last seen Yoon Jeonghan. Your unrequited love for most part of your life.

He is older now, of course, and much much handsome. More manly with his hair styled to fall on his forehead. The line of his jaw is sharper, yet his long lashes are exactly the same.

It is undeniably him.

The boy from middle school, your friend's cousin, the one you’d poured your heart out to in a letter he never answered. He is here, in your bakery, and he hasn't even looked up.

Then, the door opens wide and a happy, familiar voice echoes around the space. “Surprise! Did you miss me?”

It is Seri, her arms wide for a hug. But your excitement, the one that had been bubbling inside you all day, is gone. It had vanished the moment Jeonghan walked in, silent and oblivious, leaving you to second guess every emotion you'd stuffed far away in your heart.

[thedilfdiaries]

a sweet arrangement

sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist ♡ Sugar Daddy Masterlist

Wordcount: 3,374

Summary: You sign up for a sugar daddy app. What's the worst that could happen?

Warnings: 18+, fingering, oral (both m&f receiving), light bondage, reader might have pullable hair (i dont rememeber if i took it out) quick mentions of slut, baby, sweet baby, sweetheart, darlin

Notes: tysm @saradika-graphics for the dividers. I was cheated on over the weekend, and I wrote this as a "I wish I could be here" instead of being sad." Just another rich!daddy fantasy

You've been feeling financially stretched lately, and after hearing about the concept of sugar daddies and sugar babies from a friend, you decided to give it a try. You sit on your bed and hesitantly create a profile on a popular app, describing yourself as a young, independent woman looking for a mutually beneficial arrangement. As you sit scrolling through, you can't help but feel a sigh of reluctance escape your lips. You never expected to find yourself on a sugar daddy dating app, but life has a way of surprising you sometimes.

After a few moments of looking around the site, a notification pops up. It's a message from a user named "Contractor_Guy."

Curiosity piques, and you open the message, hoping it's not some creepy come-on. To your surprise, it reads:

"Hey there. I don't usually do this sort of thing, but I figured it's worth a shot. My name's Joel. If you're interested in getting to know me, send me a message back."

Feeling intrigued, you reply:

"Hi Joel, I'm not sure what 'this sort of thing' is, but I'm curious now.”

The response comes quickly.

Contractor_Guy: "Haha, 'this sort of thing' is something I usually avoid. But hey, it's a new day, and who knows what it might bring?"

You: Hopefully luck! But seriously, what exactly are you avoiding?"

Contractor_Guy: "Haha, well that's a bit of a long story, darlin.”

You: "Oh, I don't mind a long story. I've got some time to kill. Besides, I find it intriguing that someone like you is on a sugar daddy app.”

Contractor_Guy: "Well, my last experience wasn't the best, and I'm just being cautious this time around.

But, here's the long version. I met a girl a few years back, and at first, things were great. We clicked, and the relationship was mutually beneficial. I was able to provide for her in a way she couldn't for herself, and in return, she was there for me when I needed emotional support. As time went on, she started to change. She became more demanding and less appreciative. It got to the point where she would expect extravagant gifts just for a simple text or phone call. I realized that she was only interested in my money and not in the relationship we'd built."

You: "I'm sorry to hear that. It's not easy to find someone who's genuine and appreciates what you have to offer."

Contractor_Guy: "Yeah, it was a tough lesson to learn, but I'm hoping to find someone different this time. Someone who appreciates the little things, too, not just the material things."

You: "I think that's a fair expectation. We all deserve to be appreciated for more than just our wallets. So, Joel, tell me more about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

Contractor_Guy: "I'm a contractor. I do mostly residential construction and home remodeling projects. What about you? What do you do when you're not scrolling through dating apps?”

You: "Lol, I'm usually at work. I'm a graphic designer, so I spend most of my days in front of a computer. It's not the most glamorous job, but I love what I do."

Contractor_Guy: "A graphic designer, huh? That's pretty impressive. I've always been more of a hands-on guy myself. But I must admit, there's something intriguing about a woman in the arts.”

You: "And who doesn't love a man who can wield a hammer and a chainsaw with equal ease?"

Contractor_Guy: "Oh, I'm definitely good with my hands darlin' ;). ”

You: "Maybe one day you'll show me just how good you are with your hands."

As the conversation continues to flow effortlessly, you both exchange numbers and agree to meet for a coffee date tomorrow. Before signing off, you send a playful message with a picture attached

You: "Well, I'm off to begin the countdown to our coffee date. I'll leave you with this little teaser. ;)"

Insert a picture of you posing confidently in a cute outfit, with a mischievous grin on your face.

Contractor_Guy: "Wow, that definitely has me counting down the hours! I can't wait to see you in person."

With that, you end the conversation eagerly anticipating your first in-person meeting with the intriguing contractor.

The two of you meet for the first time at a trendy coffee shop downtown, and you can immediately sense Joel's charm and confidence. You can tell he's done this a time or two. He offers to buy you a drink and pulls out the mattest black credit card you have ever seen to pay with. He guides you to a table in the back corner, and you both engage in light conversation, discussing your interests and goals. Joel is clearly intrigued by you, and you feel a spark of attraction towards him as well.

"So, tell me more about yourself," Joel says, his eyes locked on yours.

"Well, like I said on the app, I'm a freelance graphic designer," you reply, “It's not the most stable job, but I love what I do."

"I can imagine," Joel says, a hint of admiration in his voice. "I've always been a fan of the arts. But I'm sure you understand the struggles of making ends meet as a freelancer. That's why I'm interested in this arrangement."

"I do understand," you agree, your mind already contemplating the potential benefits of such an arrangement. "It would be nice to have some financial stability while still being able to pursue my passion."

"Exactly," Joel says, his tone firm but understanding. "And in return, I'd like you to be my companion when I need someone to spend time with. We can go on dates, attend social events, or just relax at home. I value your company, you're easy on the eyes and brain, and I believe we would make a great team."

"I think that sounds fair," you say, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "I'm looking for something similar - someone who understands my situation and is willing to help me out."

Joel offers to take you to his place for a glass of wine, and as he leads you to his car, the conversation shifts to the details of the arrangement.

"Now that we've established the terms," Joel says, his voice low and serious, "I want to make something clear. I'm going to support you financially in any way you could ever dream of or want, but there's one condition."

"What's that?" You ask, your curiosity piqued.

"I want access to you whenever I please, however I please," Joel says, his eyes meeting yours. "I want to be able to use you for my pleasure whenever I want. Are you comfortable with that?"

Your heart races as you consider his request. You know what he's asking for, and you're not sure if you're ready for that level of intimacy. But at the same time, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins.

"I need some time to think about it. This is a big decision."

"Of course," Joel replies, his tone understanding. "Take all the time you need. But remember, this is the condition of our arrangement."

As Joel drives you to his mansion, you can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This is unlike any arrangement you've ever been a part of, and you're not sure what to expect. As you follow Joel upstairs, your heart races in anticipation. He leads you into a large, dimly-lit room, its walls adorned with black velvet and soft, glowing lights. A large bed dominates the center of the room, surrounded by various toys and restraints.

"I want to show you what I mean when I say I want access to you whenever I please.” Joel says, his voice thick with desire.

Joel leads you over to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a seat on the edge, patting the space beside him. "Come here, sweetheart," he says, his voice soft and inviting.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. But the curiosity and excitement pulsing through you win out, and you find yourself sitting down next to him. Joel's hand reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "You're so beautiful, you know that?" he says, his gaze intense.

You feel your entire body get warm at the compliment, your heart racing faster than ever before. "Thank you," you murmur.

Joel's hand begins to trace a path down your arm, sending shivers coursing through your body. "I want to make you feel good, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "I want to give you pleasure like you've never experienced before."

Your mind is racing as Joel's hand continues to explore your body. You're not sure what to do, but you find yourself leaning into his touch, your body craving more.

"I want to show you something," Joel says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He stands up and walks over to a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed. He opens it, revealing a variety of toys and restraints. Your heart races as you take in the sight. You've never seen anything like this before, and you're not sure what to make of it. Joel walks back over to you, a blindfold in his hand. "I want to show you how good it can feel to let go and trust someone," he says, his voice soft and soothing.

You hesitate for a moment but something about Joel's words and the look in his eyes makes you feel safe, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. He gently places the blindfold over your eyes, cocooning you in darkness. You can feel his hands on you, guiding you back onto the bed. You trust him, and you let yourself relax into the feeling of his touch.

Joel's hands continue to explore your body, tracing patterns and circles that send shivers of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel the bed shift as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to make you feel so good, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper. Your breath hitches as his hands continue to wander.

Suddenly, you feel something soft and silky against your skin. It's a scarf, and Joel is using it to gently bind your wrists to the bedposts. You gasp at the feeling of being restrained, but the sensation is not unpleasant. Instead, it heightens your senses, making you more aware of every touch and caress.

Joel continues to explore your body, his hands moving lower and lower until they reach the waistband of your pants. He pauses for a moment, waiting for your consent. "May I?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He slowly begins to slide your pants down your legs, his hands lingering on your skin as he goes. You can feel the heat of his touch, and you find yourself arching up towards him, wanting more. Finally, your pants are off, and Joel's hands are free to explore your body in earnest. He caresses your thighs, your hips, your stomach, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You can feel yourself growing wet, your body responding to Joel's touch in ways you've never experienced before. You moan softly, your hips bucking up towards him. Joel takes the hint, his fingers finding their way to your wetness. He begins to explore you, his touch gentle but firm. You gasp at the sensation, your body quivering with pleasure. His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles that send shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. You find yourself moaning louder and louder, your hips bucking up towards him as you chase the feeling of release. Finally, you can't take it any longer. You cry out as the orgasm washes over you, your body trembling with pleasure. Joel continues to touch you, his fingers gentle as they bring you down from the peak of pleasure.

Slowly, your breathing returns to normal, and you become aware of your surroundings once again. The blindfold is still over your eyes, and you're still bound to the bed. But you feel safe and content, your body still humming with pleasure. He unties the blindfold, and you blink your eyes against the sudden brightness of the room. He's standing above you, a wicked smile on his face. "Did you like that, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

"Yes sir," you get out with a hoarse voice.

Joel's gaze travels down your body, taking in the sight of you spread out on his bed, still bound to the bedposts. "Mmm, such a good girl already," he says, his voice full of satisfaction. "I have so much more I want to show you."

He walks over to the wooden chest at the foot of the bed and rummages through it, pulling out a variety of toys and restraints. Joel turns back to you, a pair of handcuffs in his hand. "May I?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

“You may."

Your heart racies with excitement as Joel cuffs your hands above your head, replacing the soft, luxurious ribbon, and securing you back to the bedpost. You test the restraints, finding that they hold you firmly in place. Your heart is racing with excitement, your body tingling with anticipation. He walks back over to the chest and pulls out a vibrator. He turns it on, the buzzing noise filling the room. You watch as he approaches you. He traces the vibrator over your body, teasing you with each touch. You arch up towards him, wanting more. But Joel is in control, and he takes his time, drawing out the anticipation until you're nearly begging for release."Are you ready for more, darlin’?"

“Yes please,” your breath coming in short gasps.

"Good girl." He traces the vibrator lower, teasing your clit with each pass. You moan, your hips bucking up towards him. But he pulls the vibrator away just as you're about to come.

You whimper in frustration, but Joel just smiles. "Patience, baby, patience," he says.

He continues to tease you, bringing you to the brink of orgasm again and again, but never letting you fully come. You're writhing on the bed, your body begging for release when Joel leans down and whispers in your ear. "Do you trust me, sweetheart?"

You nod, your heart racing. "Yes, I do," you whisper.

Joel smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. You moan, your hips bucking up towards him. You're ready for whatever comes next.

Joel breaks the kiss, his eyes locked on yours. "I'm going to take you to the edge, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and seductive. "And then I'm going to bring you back again. And again. And again. Until you can't take it anymore."

Joel's hand moves back to the vibrator, tracing it over your clit once again. This time, he doesn't stop. He continues to tease and pleasure you. Suddenly, Joel pulls the vibrator away once again. You whimper in frustration, but before you can protest, he's replaced it with his mouth. His tongue expertly teases your clit. His hands roam your body as he brings you to the brink of orgasm once again. This time, however, he doesn't stop. He continues to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers entering you and curling against your G-spot as he pushes you over the edge.

You cry out, your body shaking with pleasure as you come hard against his mouth. Joel doesn't stop, his tongue continuing to torture you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. As you come down from your orgasm, you gasp for breath, your body still trembling with pleasure. Joel's gaze is intense as he watches you, his face flushed with arousal.

"That was so, fucking good," you manage to gasp out, your voice still hoarse from your orgasm.

Joel smiles, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm glad you thought so," he says, his voice low and seductive. "But I think it's your turn now."

"My turn?" you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yes," Joel says, his smile widening. "It's time for you to return the favor.”

You feel a pang of nerves flood your body. “But I'm still all tied up.”

Joel smirks, leaning in. He grabs the hollows of your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “ I never said you needed to be untied, did I.”

You swallow hard, your mind racing with the implications of his words. Joel releases your cheeks, his gaze traveling down your body. "You're going to make me very happy tonight, sweetheart. Just remember - I want access to you whenever I please, however I please. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," you reply, your voice full of submission.

Joel's smile widens, and he reaches down to unfasten his pants. He steps out of them and his boxers, revealing a hard, thick, ready erection. He climbs onto the bed, his legs straddling your chest. "Now, I want you to take me into your mouth," he says, his voice firm and authoritative.

Your heart is racing as you obey. He brings it up to your lips, and your tongue darts out to lick the tip. You can taste the hint of salt and musk, and you find yourself growing aroused again. You open your mouth wide to accommodate his size. He tastes so good, so intense, and you can't get enough. You begin to move your head, your mouth sliding up and down his shaft. Joel gasps, his hips bucking up towards you.

Suddenly he grabs your hair and holds his cock to the hilt, filing up your entire throat, blocking your airway. You try to gasp for breath as Joel holds you down on his large throbbing cock but it's no use. Your head is swimming with pleasure and arousal, and you're not sure if you can take anymore. Just then Joel releases his grip on your hair, allowing you to breathe again. You take the opportunity to pull away, gasping for air. Joel smirks down at you. "Such a good little slut for daddy already," he says, his voice full of praise. "Daddy wants to see more. Show me how much you want me."

You nod, your heart racing with anticipation as Joel pulls away and undoes your restraints. When he's back on the bed, you take him back into your mouth, your hands roaming his beautiful, full thighs. You begin to suck and lick at his cock, your tongue exploring every inch of him. You can hear Joel growing more aroused, his breaths coming in short gasps.

You feel a hand on the back of your head, guiding you. Joel is thrusting into your mouth, his cock sliding in and out. You moan around him, your hands reaching up to cup his balls. He's tensing, his hips bucking harder with each thrust. Suddenly, he lets out the most primal groan you've ever heard, his cock swells in your mouth. He thrusts into you one more time before coming. You can feel his warm come filling your mouth, and you swallow it down eagerly. Joel groans, his hips stilling as he rides out his orgasm.

You pull away, gasping for air and Joel collapses onto his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can see the satisfaction on his face, and you feel proud of yourself. You've never done anything like that before, and you're not sure how you feel about it. But there's a part of you that's excited, that wants to do it again.

You're both panting heavily, your mind still reeling from the intense experience you've just shared. Joel's gaze is locked on yours, his eyes full of admiration and desire. "You were amazing, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low rumble. "I can't wait to show you more." A wave of excitement washes over you as Joel reaches out and gently strokes your cheek, his fingers lingering against your skin. "I want to make this arrangement work, darlin," he says, his voice soft and earnest. "But I need to know that you're in this for the right reasons."

Your heart races as you consider his words. You know what he's asking, and you're not sure if you're ready for the level of intimacy and commitment this arrangement requires. But at the same time, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins, the thrill of being desired and pursued by someone like Joel. You nod, your heart racing with both excitement and trepidation. "I think I'm ready to accept your condition," you say, your voice low and hesitant. "But I need to know that you're in this for the right reasons, too."

Joel's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and serious. "I promise you, I want nothing more than to care for and support you, both financially and emotionally," he says firmly. "And I expect the same companionship in return."

You take a deep breath, your mind racing with the implications of your decision. But there's a part of you that's eager to explore this new world, to find out what it means to be truly desired and cared for by someone like Joel.

"Okay," you finally say, your voice full of resolution. "I want to make this arrangement work too."

Joel's face breaks into a smile, his eyes filled with relief and joy. He pulls you into a warm embrace, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice full of gratitude. "I'm going to make sure you never regret this decision."

---

Thanks for reading ❤️ let me know if you'd like more from these two

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look. 

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit. 

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself. 

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned. 

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her. 

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith. 

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out. 

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t. 

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward. 

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut. 

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed. 

Dean didn’t know what was happening. 

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror. 

“What did Ruby say this was for?” 

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him. 

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light. 

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat. 

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror. 

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out. 

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal. 

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway. 

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown. 

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted. 

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him. 

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife. 

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster. 

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him. 

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep. 

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. “You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat. 

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed. 

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months. 

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months. 

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.” 

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could. 

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him. 

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong. 

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room. 

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years. 

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head. 

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest. 

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her. 

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable. 

She could be scary. 

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?” 

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back. 

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed. 

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you. 

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some. 

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean. 

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean. 

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway. 

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity. 

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more. 

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be. 

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down. 

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave. 

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression. 

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in. 

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second. 

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more. 

Because this thing was powerful. 

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains. 

He’s branded into you. 

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this. 

And he still won’t really look at you. 

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom. 

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing. 

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink. 

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning. 

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to. 

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him. 

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought. 

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him. 

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store. 

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation. 

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt. 

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly. 

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules. 

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target. 

But now you’re putting Dean in danger. 

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap. 

You’re going to break. 

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air. 

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready. 

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that- 

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang. 

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down. 

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived. 

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank. 

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest. 

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade. 

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his. 

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave. 

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find. 

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have. 

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep. 

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep. 

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed. 

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.” 

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers. 

You hadn’t even felt it. 

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo. 

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched. 

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him. 

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him. 

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together. 

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone. 

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now. 

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face. 

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats. 

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours. 

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful. 

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up. 

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

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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[kaiser1ns]

#. PINK BOW, MY HEART GOES POW !

featuring 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. takiishi chika, endo yamato

fluff + slight suggestive. just you wrapping a pink ribbon bow around their bicep, the sight makes you insane.

TAKIISHI CHIKA

You have been dying to try this trend, even had a dream of your boyfriend being all adorned with cute little bows in his hair. But, now you sit in front of him with pleading hands and eyes, holding light pink lace as he just stares at you, a little blankly as he sits on the couch with his arms outstretched and the tank top he's wearing doesn't help at all. You try not to jump on top of him and start kissing and hugging him because he looks so hot, so incredibly hot.

"Please, please, please." you would never beg to a man, but right now your needs were getting the better of you, you had to do it and see it. It would look so cute, with him having a pink ribbon around his bicep. "I will let you do whatever you want, just please make my dreams come true!"

"Fine," he put one of his shoulders forward to you, not the first time you touched him there, nor would it be the last, but right now you just wanted to die. For some reason, you really loved his arms, especially at night when he was holding you close and couldn't let you go, nor did he want to. Once you enter his world, you can't leave. That was the golden rule in your relationship, as strange as it was at times.

You almost couldn't believe that he let you do such a thing, he is like a genie granting you the greatest wish in your whole life.  Quickly moving to sit beside him, unable to stop the squeaks and the giggles, you carefully placed the ribbon against his skin, smoothing it out as you started tying it into a bow. The sight of that pink ribbon on the muscles of his arms was so cute that you could hardly contain yourself.

He watched you, without any visible emotion on his face, as you fussed over getting the bow just right. To him, it was just a piece of fabric, nothing special. But to you, it was a symbol of how the most innocent and smallest things could make your heart swell with love for him.

“Oh my God, you look so cute!” you literally screamed, hands over your mouth, sitting back to admire your piece of art. Grabbing your phone immediately to start snapping pictures, capturing every moment from every possible angle. “Baby, you are just so adorable, I’m going to cry.”

He was so confused, just a ribbon can make you behave like a little kid with a sugar rush, obsessing over something as small as a bow.  “Why is this making you happy?” 

“You don’t get it, do you?” you teased, setting down your phone aside and leaning closer to him, heart beating so loud and so fast to the point it may burst at any given second. Poor Chika doesn't know that he can give his girlfriend a heart attack, just by being him. “It’s just my way of appreciating you and your beautiful and strong arms that keep me safe, day and night.”

“It’s just a bow, wrapped around my bicep.” he let out a sigh, shaking his head slightly, “It's nothing special, but if you say so.”

But you weren't paying attention to his words anymore, instead, you focused on how close you were to him now, just inches apart but you could feel the heat and the warmth radiating from his body. You wanted to do more than just look at him and without thinking, you sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. You didn't miss seeing the tattoo, on the back of his arm as you smiled softly when you turned to look at his face now, the need to be close to him was overwhelming.

“Why don’t we just cuddle?” you whispered, looking him through your lashes, nibbling on his cheek. If he was cute, then he didn’t know what you were. “Just you and me, and that pink bow that ties us together.” 

What magic did you put on him to soften around you? The arm with the ribbon, wrapped around your waist as he relaxed. It ties us together, you say. He smirked, then he should also tie you later, to see what's so exciting about this lace, to show you how much he loves you too.

ENDO YAMATO

It was his idea for you to tie a ribbon to his bicep, and it's probably the best thing he has come up with. Endo didn't have such sculpted and tight muscles before, yes he was strong, but now... You were drooling at the sight of his buffy and tattooed arms. He knew what he was doing, he always did. Sitting on the kitchen counter, he was between your legs and you took a deep breath — you just had to tie two ribbons to both of his biceps. How easy is that, right? Wrong. It wasn't easy at all, especially the way he looked at you, so smitten like you were the only person in his world, knowing full well you weren’t but you sure took a large of his heart and mind.

“Doll, you just have to tie them, take a photo, and make it your new wallpaper,” he says like it's that simple, yes you're going to make the photo your new wallpaper, you can't help but do it. He smiled sweetly at you, a little playful even, and you took the two pink laces from his hands without hesitation. "I'll make the prettiest ribbons so you won't want to take them off."

"Your wish is my command," you first grabbed his left hand giving it a light squeeze before tying the lace into a cute ribbon. You met his eyes for just a moment and blushed slightly as you began tying a ribbon around his right bicep. "You have very gentle hands, you know that?"

Yes, of course, you do. ”Do I? Maybe I’m just extra careful because I don’t want to ruin this perfect canvas,” you replied, cheeks warming at his compliment, trying to focus on the ribbons and not how his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

Once you were done, he couldn't resist flexing his muscles again, and you could see the lase straining, almost ready to snap. “First, let me take a photo, then you can flex as much as you want,” you said, quickly grabbing your phone. You took a couple of photos, capturing the contrast of the delicate ribbons against his inked arms. But then you had another idea. “Yamato, hug me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, wrapping his arms around you, the bows stood out even more. Only your face was visible, his was resting on your shoulder, but you smiled for the camera as you took a selfie. And just like that, you had your new wallpaper.

“You can let go now,” you teased, but Endo had no intention of letting go. Instead, he swept you off, lifting you in a bridal carry like you were some feather. “Wouldn't dream of it, sweets,” he murmured, eyes now telling you something else. “Now, how about I show you just how strong these really arms are?”

You were shocked by how easily he handled you, but you trusted him completely into letting him take the lead. His strength wasn't just physical—it was the way he could make you feel safe and excited all at once, just by telling you sweet nothings like it was his second nature. Your heart raced, cheeks getting ever redder as he carried you towards the bedroom, knowing full well that he was just getting started.

taglist :: @maruflix

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

MR. AND MRS. SMITH RIPPNER

KINKTOBER DAY 9 - MR AND MRS SMITH AU WITH JACKSON RIPPNER

Pairing.| Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary.| You live a double life, but you’re willing to give it all up to devote yourself to your husband. With one final mission, you learn that your marriage is based on a lie.

Warnings.| Dubcon, noncon, manipulation, physical fighting, blood, blackmail, bondage, choking, breeding, head f!receiving, p in v.

Word count.| 7.6k

Notes.| This story KILLED ME. It was not intended to be this long and kinda angsty? Will probably make more sense if you've seen the movie. Idk kinda hate it but that's okay.

The warm sun caressed your skin through the open blinds. The birds were tweeting outside at how much of a beautiful morning it was. However, those peaceful sounds were drowned out, your ears too busy being filled with your husband’s lovely loud moans. With your naked bodies tangled in the sheets, the both of you blissfully cried out in unison, your body pinned underneath his as his hips snapped in and out. As you tug at his roots, you screamed out in ecstasy, your hips rocked against his as you rode out your orgasm. Your husband followed shortly after, finishing deep inside of you. Quickly your bodies stilled, his head buried into the crook of your neck as he inhaled your scent. 

“I don’t want you to leave…” you giggled, holding tightly onto your husband with your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock was gradually softening inside of you. 

Your husband groaned out softly, he kissed your skin ever so tenderly. How you wished you could stay in bed with him for eternity. Whilst massaging his scalp, he sluggishly raised his head as he puffed out. 

“I know baby, I don’t want to leave either” he agreed sweetly as he pressed his lips against your heated forehead. 

Your bodies were entwined together like snakes. It almost seemed too easy for you to be able to flip him onto his back. He huffed out as you straddled him, your drippy bare region rubbed against his member in a teasing manner. As he chuckled out, he felt himself twitch ever so slightly. He took your head into his hands. 

“How long will you be gone for again?” you asked softly. 

Both of you knew you knew the answer to that. Sometimes you just thought that if you repeated the same questions over again he’d change his answer to satisfy you. Considering how often you both traveled, the distance felt hard at times. When one of you was walking in the door, the other was heading out. 

“Five days at most” he whispered. 

He gave you a reassuring kiss. It wasn’t too explicit or plain. His touch was all you ever needed to relieve your dreadful thoughts. Five days wasn’t that long. You’re complaining as if you don’t already have a job to do in between his trip. But you would forever hate to see him leave. 

“I suppose I can handle that” you murmured as a grin grew on your lips. 

“When I get back, I’ll take you out to our favorite little restaurant” he hummed as he left a trail of kisses over your heated face, his hands caressed around your neck. 

“Yes, John” you sighed. 

John stilled, his blue eyes narrowed at you, while the grip on your cheeks tightened. You couldn’t help but to smirk mischiefly. 

“Hey” he warned softly. 

“What?” you laughed. 

“You know I don’t like being called that” John mumbled. 

“What? Your name?” you taunted in a joking manner. 

“Yes” he huffed. 

As soon as you used nicknames like honey, sugar, sweetie pie even… John insisted that you stick to it. He’s always claimed that John was such a common, plain, boring name. It was his belief that his parents named him that to spite him. It felt a bit dramatic, but you kept your mouth shut and kept him happy by calling him a variety of sweet names, however honey just always felt most fitting.

“You’re so theatrical” you snickered.

“It makes me feel like you’re mad at me” John almost talked under his breath.

Sometimes he acted like such a child, you rolled your eyes and rubbed the back of his neck in a reassuring manner. “Okay honey, is that better?” you slightly mocked. John hummed as he kissed you on the lips. 

“What are you going to get up to?” he asked, his face blank but eyes eager to know. 

“Oh I don’t know… House duties I suppose” you lied perfectly. John blinked coldly to you, but the expression quickly vanished as he smiled and planted another soft kiss on your lips. “I’ve been thinking…” you trailed, debating the topic on your hesitant mind.

John’s brows frowned in curiosity underneath his loose locks of chestnut hair as he shifted his hips into a more comfortable position. “About?” He inquired eagerly, head tilted like a cute dog. 

You sighed out, your fingertips ran over his bare chest, John exhaled in relaxation as his eyes studied yours. The silence was short yet impactful. 

“This house is so big” you pointed out, the implication rested on the tip of your tongue. 

“Do you want to downsize?” John tilted his head in confusion. 

The both of you loved this suburban home. There were plenty of spare bedrooms for guests, as if either of you had visitors lining up. Neither of you had much family, the only relationships you shared were the fake ones with your wealthy neighbors, always engaging in their social gatherings to keep up appearances. Thou shalt love their neighbor. 

But with every month that passed of you living here, the more your neighbors seemed to pressure you into having a baby. Most of them were on to their second or third. The ladies would always warn you that the honeymoon stage wouldn’t last forever, so you might as well create your love child before you both despise one another. 

“I was thinking of bringing another in” you said unsurely, unable to keep eye contact with him for once. 

“Like a dog?” John asked softly. But when he noticed your anxious expression, he sighed lowly.  “Oh…” he gulped lightly, eyes widened. 

“Yeah” you mumbled, you brushed his chestnut locks to the side. 

“But I thought we discussed this before we got married” John commented, a neutral, calm expression painted over as he gently rubbed your lower back.

“I know, I know… But I’ve been thinking about it for some reason” you answered as you smiled hopefully at him. 

“We can discuss that possibility better when I get back, yeah?” John reassured you. “But yeah maybe, the idea of filling our home with a baby just may be fulfilling. A baby Smith… Maybe you wouldn’t have to travel so much?” John cocked a brow, a gleeful look on his face. 

“Likewise to you” you snickered as you smacked his chest gently. 

“Wow, I plan one business trip after months of being locked up here and now you blame me” John joked, he pulled your face closer to his. 

“You were gone for weeks on end” you huffed. 

“Six weeks isn’t that long, is it?” Jackson snorted, a mischief grin locked on. 

You kissed him, his arms wrapped around your back as his hips pushed up to yours. The friction built up in you both, again. Sometimes you wondered if you’d reverted back into a teenager, you never seemed to have this high of a sex drive until you met him. John’s length was like a forbidden fruit that you were addicted to. 

“Come on, join me in the shower” he ordered kindly, his baby blue eyes sparkling. 

“I need to cook you breakfast” you objected with a cheeky grin. 

“I’ll eat at the terminal” John grinned back, his newly formed erection pressed against your bare skin. 

As you arrived at the drop off zone - because John always insisted you never wasted time and money to walk him to security- you kissed him passionately before he quickly exited the vehicle and grabbed his small suitcase from the backseat. 

“I love you” John smiled. 

“I love you too” you smiled back. 

John shut the door, took a step back and blew you a kiss as you drove away. Once he disappeared from your rear mirror, you changed the radio station and slipped off your ring. Likewise to your flash SUV vanishing, his gleeful smile formed into a sinister stern glare. 

Whenever you were away from John, your double life crashed on top of you. They always warned you, this job was a deadly commitment. No one could make it work with the white picket fence with a sniper underneath your bed. Before you met John, you loved being an assassin. It gave you a constant rush of adrenaline that no other drug could. But the moment you met him, you could feel the switch begin to flick over. 

It was almost a suffocating burden to be married to John Smith. Yet, his love felt like a drug. Don't get it wrong, John was a terrific husband. If you were having a gloomy day, he’d come home with your favorite ice cream and a new rental for you both to watch that night. Date nights were always over the top with him. Even though you both traveled frequently, you always managed to squeeze in a romantic getaway every now and again. Puerto Rico was the next spot on your list, but he didn’t know that. For John burns, not tans.  

The thought of retiring grew larger inside of you by the day. You could easily fake your job experience for a more conventional profession. You wanted to be honest with John, this profession just wasn’t it. Sure, the pay was great, benefits were out of this world. But it was always so time consuming and moral reckoning. Not to mention your life was always at risk. Every mission you took, the more you worried for John. What if something did happen to you, how would he cope? Even worse, what if something happened to him? You've hidden him from your workplace, but what if. 

John Smith was charismatic, confident and intelligent. There wasn’t a day that you’d catch him in a faded pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt, he always dressed proper. He’d always be able to read the room, it was impressive with how easily he could mingle into the conversation, as if he was the one that started it. It felt like he knew you completely from day one. John Smith was mesmerizing, alluring and fulfilling. He was the fantasy you never knew you craved. 

You sighed as you arrived at your headquarters. The elevator ride up was dreadful as you could only think of him. The doors dinged open, you blinked back your swelling eyes as you waltzed through. Your second identity quickly painted across your expression as you approached your desk. As you plopped at your seat, you opened up your resignation file, your fingers nervously tapped on the wood as you considered everything. Your finger hovered over the print button. With a firm push, the printer roared to life. After neatly laying it on your desk, you opened up your mission report once more and scanned over your next and last target. 

‘Jackson Rippner’

- 

The missions were all the same, always to terminate bad, horrible men that polluted the world. You liked to tell yourself that you were more of a vigilante than a cold blooded killer, that your jobs were somewhat for the greater good. But who were you to think that you were any better. This was no justice system, nobody would learn. Maybe you were wrong about this whole baby idea, how could you raise a child knowing you’ve killed many others? Especially with a beautiful man like your husband. 

But this was the last one, you had to keep on telling yourself that. It would all work out, you’ve done your time as one of their soldiers. It was time to live a normal life.

Quickly, you slipped your handheld mirror from your purse and applied one final layer of gloss. As the elevator dinged open, your stiletto boots went silent on the carpet flooring. The rough security guard stood in front of the room entrance, his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. With him looking you up and down, you batted your lashes as he started to pat you down over your coat. He tried to untie the coat but you swatted his hands away, glaring harshly at him. The guard huffed at you and checked your handbag, the handcuffs dangled from his thick finger. All you could do was shrug at him. After three slow knocks, the guard let you in.  

The room was decorated in a seductive red. You strolled carelessly, your thighs crossed over one another as you pretended not to notice your target in the corner of the room. Jackson smirked at you in his hotel provided fluffy white robe, his blonde hair slicked back as he twirled his whiskey on rocks. He stalked over to you, his tongue rolled over his lips. As your eyes lingered over to the closed bathroom, you stepped towards it, but he stopped you by raising his hand.

“I just wanted to freshen up” you batted your lashes, tone soft. 

“No, no, you look perfect” he gave you a toothy grin. 

You resisted your impulsive huff. The handbag is dropped onto the cabinet as you slowly untie your coat, revealing your shiny, leather, exposing catsuit that made your tits look perfect. The knee high boots tease at the limitation of the skin of your thighs. You unclasped your claw clip, your luscious hair fell onto your shoulders. 

“Mr Rippner” you purred, your hands dipped into your bag for the cuffs.

His dark eyes ate you up completely, his mouth almost drooling at your beauty. As you approached him, you unrobed him, revealing his toned muscular tan body. With a seductive smirk, you pushed him to his knees and quickly and certainly tightly, cuffed his hands behind his back. You teased him by tugging at the roots of his blonde hair. 

“Are you a naughty boy, Jackson?” you whispered as you squatted in front of him. 

“Mhm-hmmm” he hummed, his eyes piercing into yours. 

“Do you know what happens to naughty boys?” you murmured, your lips inching from his. All he wanted to do was kiss you. 

“No” he whispered back. 

You stood up and slipped behind him, your hands ran up and down his broad back, your lips pressed to his ear. “They die” you whispered darkly. 

Before he could even react, your arms locked around his head and you effortlessly snapped his neck. To stop him from thumping to the ground, you held onto hair, carefully laying him on the soft carpet. You exhaled out and stood up, you picked your phone from your bag and sent the confirmation text to your boss. You then slipped your wedding ring back onto your finger, you hated having it off. 

“Damn baby, you’re such a sexy killer” the voice of your husband echoed behind you. 

Your body spun around towards the bathroom, you stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. This wasn’t possible, how was he here? You stumbled back and blinked hard, expecting this all to be a guilty figment of your imagination. He was wearing one of his ordinary suits as he smirked devilishly as per usual. 

“John” you gasped. 

“I really thought you were gonna kiss him for a second” your husband tutted, his eyes full of mischief as he approached you. 

You were frozen in place. Every thought in your mind bounced at a high speed, you couldn’t grasp onto anything. All you could do was murmur his name again as he closed the distance. 

“Baby, how many times do I have to tell you I hate it when you call me that?” John lectured teasingly. As he tried to wrap his arms around you lovingly, you shoved him back. 

“What is going on?” you hissed like a viper. Then, it all clicked, all of the pieces fell perfectly into place. Your eyes darted from the dead man on the floor back up to him. “You’re Jackson Rippner” you mumbled, your expression drained in shock and defeat. 

“...Yes…” Jackson answered, his eyes widened for a second as he tried to hide the grin off of his lips.

“Who’s that guy?” you questioned. 

Both of your eyes drifted to the carpet but returned back to one another. 

“My decoy, obviously” Jackson shrugged carelessly. 

“I-I don’t understand” you stammered, trying to keep your emotions on track. Jackson rubbed your arms to comfort you, stupidly you allowed it. “But- But I had your profile checked” you argued, shaking your head at this situation. This possibility wasn’t, well… it wasn’t possible. 

“I’m a great ghost baby” Jackson gloated. 

When you fell silent, pouting a lot harder than you realized, Jackson pouted back. He hugged you tightly, his lips pressed to your heated cheek. 

“John!” you gasped, you tried to push him off but he wouldn’t budge. 

“Baby, my name isn’t John!” Jackson chuckled, his lips continuing to kiss your skin. “It’s Jackson…” he whispered somewhat flirtatiously. 

Jackson was soft with his words, but a brute with his actions. He held you against his chest as you squirmed like a fish out of water. It was amusing for him, watching you get all overwhelmed over a little detail. 

“Baby… I have it all planned out, okay? I need you to trust me” Jackson spoke a lot more firmly this time. Your eyes pointed up to his. 

“John-”

“It’s Jackson!” he snapped, his words hissing in anger. You flinched and blinked hard, your lower lip began to wobble. The hold he had on you tightened shortly. He exhaled out and loosened his grip. “Anyways, you killed my decoy, they’ll think Jackson Rippner is dead. And I’ll happily stay in the shadows far away from your work so we can continue playing happy husband and wife” Jackson proposed, a gleeful expression locked on. 

The seriousness in his eyes was frightening. “Jackson, you’re scaring me” you gulped.

“I know, fuck- I know how much this can be for you” he sympathised in a highly condescending tone, his head tilted down to yours. “It certainly does change things…” he mumbled lightly. “But baby, you can’t judge me. We work in the same profession” he chuckled, hoping to bring light to this. 

“You’ve known all along, haven’t you?” you whispered, eyes turning all glossy.

“Of course I did” Jackson snorted. 

“Who are you?” you dared to ask. 

Jackson stared at you blankly, analyzing every single sign you were throwing at him. He breathed out and let go of you, he turned his heel and walked towards the mini bar. “Let me get you a drink first, okay? You’re currently in shock, you need to calm down a little bit first” he clicked his tongue. 

You watched his back as he pulled out two glasses. He opened the whiskey bottle and filled them, sneakily sprinkling the small plastic bag of powder into your glass. Returning to you, his expression was blank as he held out your glass. Reluctantly, you took it, you stared at the liquor. Jackson downed his glass, placed it down next to your handbag and cocked an eyebrow at you, his foot impatiently tapped on the carpet. For someone who was supposedly stalking you, he was stupid enough to think you were an idiot. Your face scrunched in anger, before Jackson could react, you splashed the drink on his face. 

“Baby!” Jackson spat the liquor off of his lips. 

You punched him in the nose, he stumbled back and snarled out. Reactively, he tried to swing at you but missed as you leaned your upper body back. You swiped his feet and he crashed onto the floor. Repeatedly, you kicked him in the stomach until he latched onto your calf and yanked your leg up into the air. You fell onto the carpet with him. 

The door swung open and you leaped into the bathroom as shots were fired in your direction. You pushed your body weight to the door and you could hear Jackson screaming at his guy. 

“Don’t fucking shoot her!” Jackson roared, a vein popped out of his forehead. “Give me the fucking gun and get out!” he commanded.

The silencer was on, meaning hotel security wouldn’t be paying you a visit anytime soon. You needed your damn handbag to get out of here. Running your hand through your hair, you tried to summon up your game plan. Adrenaline ran through your blood as you heard the door shut once more. 

“Baby… Come out and let’s talk” Jackson projected kindly as he approached the door. He emptied the gun and dropped it to the ground, ensuring that you’d hear it. “I don’t want to fight with you, okay? Come on, let’s be civil with one another before somebody gets hurt” Jackson attempted to convince you, that familiar persuading tone on his tongue. . 

He was right, somebody would certainly get hurt and you’d be damned if it was you. You cursed to yourself, stood up, brushed yourself down and opened the door. That non wipeable grin was on his lips as he stared you up and down. His devilish blue eyes locked onto your band. 

“Put it on already, huh?” Jackson murmured, his hand dared to reach out to you. 

You smacked his hand away, swiftly twisting his arm around, he grunted out as you kneed him in the stomach. He is charged into the wall by you, you repetitively throw blow after blow into him. Jackson tried to counter you, but failed miserably as you smacked his head into the plaster. 

“I’m going to slice you to pieces” you threatened, your rage uncontrollable. “You fucking cunt!” you screamed as you threw him into the side of the bed. 

As you stomped towards him, Jackson hurried to his feet and pulled out the blade from his jacket pocket. The tip is pointed directly at you as his fingers rubbed over his cut lip. 

“You fucking bitch” he snarled but had this crazed smirk on his lips. 

This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fought at a disadvantage. So you courageously raised your fists at your husband. Jackson laughed smugly and called out for his guard. You scoffed, picked up Jackson’s empty glass and hurled it at the man as soon as he entered the room. The glass scattered over his skull and he tumbled to the ground. Jackson cursed loudly as you reached for your handbag and coat before you flew out of the room. 

You ran across the terrace as you swiftly slipped your coat on, Jackson was hot on your tail as easily unclasped one of the rings from the bag, a metal rope connected to it. You clicked the ring onto the lamp post, held onto the other handle of the bag and dived off the balcony. The rope protracted down the high rise building, the drop slowed down as you watched the sidewalk grow closer. As your boots clinked onto the cement and hand let go of the handle, you hailed the next taxi, not giving a damn who stared you down. As you sat in the back and the adrenaline drained from your blood, you broke down into tears as you ripped off your wedding ring. 

Jackson heaved as he planted his hands on the cement edge. A grin formed on his lips as he watched you gracefully fall. He couldn’t help but to be proud as you shrunk smaller and smaller. You go into the next taxi and disappear into the concrete jungle. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and held it to his ear.

“Yeah, commence through. Kill them all” Jackson sighed.  

-

The truth was, you were originally Jackson’s target. Your firm had information his desperately needed. The security on your system was too good for his team to hack, he needed access from the inside. As soon as Jackson saw your profile, he felt some kind of draw towards you. As he stalked you, this attraction quickly turned into an obsession. His patience thinned every week, he craved some taste of you. 

When you booked a last minute red eye flight, he jumped at the opportunity. He was surprised with how easily he caught your attention, you seemed to crave it just as badly as him. It would be your downfall without even knowing it. You could almost have him fooled, you didn’t seem like a killer, you had morals, ethics, care in the world. Everything he didn’t possess. You silently screamed for domestic life, but you just didn’t know it yet. Before the plane landed, Jackson realized that there was no possible way he’d be able to fire the gun once the job was over. 

When he took you on your first date, he expected to fuck you, not to make love. My, he knew how cheesy it sounded, but it was a sleepless night of passion and sensuality. Jackson had never felt more emotionally, physically and spiritually raw and intense. It was like he had an outer body experience that night. He could have sworn he felt the exact moment that he fell completely in love with you. You craved him too, felt the exact same thoughts he did. It was like you were both one that night. Now Jackson was never a romantic, but he knew he’d marry you when the sun rose in the morning.  

You quickly turned sloppy around him, you really thought he was as innocent as he looked. Jackson accessed your system so effortlessly. It really was a pie waiting to be taken. He partially felt bad betraying you, but it was better than eliminating you. As if to reward him for his hard, continuous efforts, you fucked him that night until he saw pure bliss. 

He covered his tracks perfectly, you were robbed blind. There were no leads, no suspicions, nothing. He saw it in your eyes the next time he saw you. Jackson’s heart fluttered, you were in the shitter and you wanted him to be your shoulder to cry on. Not that any physical tears were shredded that day. But Jackson comforted you, held you as you both talked sweet nothings to one another. You told him you loved him that night, he felt no shame in returning those blissful words. That night, you truly believed everything would be better. That Jackson was your silver lining. 

The porch lights were still on even though it was past midnight. As Jackson’s Mercedes pulled up the driveway, he took in the last moment of silence, peace. A devilish smirk grew on his lips as he casually got out of the car and almost skipped to the door. It was risky, you could have eliminated him at any moment, but Jackson knew you, a public execution was not your style. 

You had no other option than to come here. Jackson had annihilated your firm before you could bring yourself to contact them. All agents were now dead one way or another, your director included. This reckoning was all due to you. Jackson Rippner was the virus in the system. It felt like you were in the fallback scene of a spy film. This was now a suicide mission, all from your stupid blindness of love. Why did you always have to trust him? You should have listened to your instinct and kept someone on his tail whenever you were gone. 

“Honey! I’m home!” Jackson called out as he viciously slammed the door shut.

The interior was dead silent, he knew you were somewhere, hidden in the dark as you awaited the perfect moment to attack. Checking the hidden security cameras would be too easy for him. Jackson wanted a challenge. The masculinity inside of him demanded to show you your place, as a woman and a devoted wife. 

Jackson flicked on the dim lights, he slid the pistol out from his hostler as he cautiously stepped over the oakwood floor. His footsteps were light as a feather as he almost hovered over the ground. When he reached the turntable, he chucked on one of your favorite jazz records and turned up the volume through the amplifier. His chestnut hair shagged over his forehead, he could sense you, because the pungent perfume you always wore filled his smell. 

“Babygirl… Come out, let’s play!” Jackson grinned as he picked up a photo frame down the hallway.

He pressed his back against the plaster, the winder staircase on the opposite side of the wall. His face pointed towards the edge as held the photo of the two of you towards the stairs, the glass’ reflection painted the staircase on the glass as you came into sight. You aimed the shotgun in your hand as you squatted in the midpoint of the staircase, your barrel pointed right to the edge of the wall. The frame was shot to pieces as he hissed out. 

“Careful honey, I don’t want to shoot you” you spat, tone dripping with deception.

“Oh no, no more pet names, I only want to hear my proper name off of your lips!” Jackson laughed. 

Intuitively, Jackson dropped down as you shot straight through the wall. Another shot was fired for goodluck, the dust and darkness blinded your vision, the moonlight and dim lights wasn't enough. Jackson groaned out dramatically as he dropped his pistol, an inch from hands reach as he plummeted to the floor. You gasped as his head came into view, you lowered the shotgun as you slowly stepped down. 

His left eye peaked open as he saw you off guard. Swiftly, he picked up the pistol and fired in your direction. You grunted as you hurried back up the stairs, firing a few shots for good measure. But when Jackson’s magazine ran out, you jumped at the opportunity to attack. He strode down the hallway, his face content as blasts splattered through the walls just short of him. Turning the corner, Jackson reloaded and took the next right to do a complete circle around the floor.

But you bet him to it, your knees sliding on the floor as you fired in his direction. Unfortunately you missed your target. Grunting to yourself, you reloaded and spun into the open. The coast was clear, you stood silently, the barrel switching from every possible open exit. Your brows furrowed when you saw his pistol slide over towards you. 

“Come on now, guns are overrated baby! Take your anger out on me a bit more passionately” Jackson called out. 

Silently, you followed the sound of his voice. As you sharply turned the corner, the room was empty and you muttered soundlessly. 

“You think I’m an idiot!” you shouted back. 

“Kinda, given the fact that I’ve had you wrapped around my finger this whole time!” he bellowed. 

The urge to prove him wrong, to get your revenge the righteous way took over. You emptied the shotgun and threw it to the floor. You pulled the bullet off of your black midi dress.

“Come out then baby, give me your best shot!” you mocked. 

“Gladly” Jackson smirked as he turned the corner and leant against the hallway wall. 

Cracking your neck and rolling your shoulders back, you brought up your fists and strided towards him. With a wicked grin, Jackson slid off his jacket and carelessly raised his own fists. The first punch you threw had your full force. But Jackson ducked and jabbed into your knee. You winced and kicked into him with your free leg. Jackson wrapped his arms around your lower body and forced you to the floor. 

“How could I be so stupid” you whimpered softly as Jackson tried to pin you down. 

“Because you’re in love with me baby” he smirked, his ego so full you almost felt it drip onto you. 

Your hand slipped free, you punched him in the jaw. Jackson groaned out, his mind dazed momentarily, you shoved him off of you. With a shake of his chestnut hair, Jackson chased after you. Ending up in the kitchen, you picked up multiple objects and flung them in his direction. Jackson managed to dodge most. As your hand wrapped around the expensive fine china vase Jackson adored, his eyes widened. 

“Now! Don’t throw that!” he ordered as he shoved his finger at you. 

Scoffing towards him, you hurled it towards his head, he had no other option than to duck. The material shattered against the wall. Jackson’s head snapped back, his blue eyes wide as he stared at the red pieces scattered over the floor. Snapping his eyes back onto you, he gave you a smug look. 

“You really are a petty bitch, ain’t you baby?” Jackson scolded. 

“Don’t call me that” you huffed. 

“Baby” Jackson pouted.

A wave of anger crashed over you, you flew over the island in the middle of the kitchen and crashed into him. The both of you threw jab after jab, kick after kick. Your nails dug into his skin and Jackson hissed out harshly. You’re banged up into the fridge, the back of your head making first contact. 

“You lied to me” you mumbled as Jackson held you against the fridge. 

Jackson pointed a finger at you. “Shut it… You lied to me just as badly” he countered. 

The denial was planted deep in his mind. In his justification, you were both as bad as each other, you both lied and deceived one another. Despite him always knowing, the ignorance was bliss for as long as it had lasted. 

“You used me!” you yelled. 

Jackson rolled his eyes as you flipped his back onto the fridge. 

“I know, but does it make you feel any better if I say that I was supposed to kill you initially?” Jackson chuckled softly. 

You slapped him across the cheek and let go, your chest heavy as you tried to keep your overwhelming thoughts at bay. Jackson hated to see you cry, to see any negative emotion in you. You were his to protect, to look after, he hated how badly the truth was hurting you. You could handle the physicality, but not this, not those dark emotions that no one can train you to block out. Jackson reached out for your hand. 

“Don’t touch me like that” you warned. 

“Baby, let’s talk” Jackson urged as he tried to touch you again. 

It snapped inside of you, you opened one of the drawers and pulled out the first knife you could wrap your hand around. The blade is pressed against Jackson’s throat, his jaw clenched as he glared at you. The edge of the bench dug into his lower back, his hands clawed down beside him. 

“I’ll fucking kill you!” you threatened, your body trembling immensely. 

“Do it baby, rip my heart out” Jackson grinned. “It’s not like you’d make it out of the fucking door, they’re watching us…” Jackson snorted, his eyes flickered towards the window. As you looked out, you saw the red laser flicking through the darkness, right onto your forehead. “Til death do us part” he whispered into your ear. 

“I don’t care if I die” you whispered back, accepting your fate. 

“Sure, but I bet you would if your sister did, yeah? Oh but you had no siblings didn’t you? Yet my accomplice reports that she’s alive and well in Tampa, now isn’t she?” Jackson spoke casually. 

Your eyes snapped onto him, eye twitching. It was impossible for him to know that, you’d hidden it so perfectly. Impulsively, you attempted to drive the knife through his hand on the counter. But Jackson slipped out, the knife clanked against the marble, you hissed out, your grip loose. Easily, he stole the knife from you and pointed it at you. You were stumbling back as he followed you. 

“Do anything to me, and I assure you, she’ll be dead before you can reach her” Jackson spat. 

It angered you, you should be fighting him to the death. Trying to rip his skull in half. But all he needed was a little threat to keep you at bay. You found yourself climbing the stairs, ignoring him completely as he stalked you. 

“Where are you going baby?” Jackson mocked arrogantly. 

As you reached the second floor, Jackson flung your body to the wall, his hand slipped around your neck, a gentle warning squeeze followed. Your glossy eyes snapped onto him, a dirty glare painted your beautiful face. 

“Don’t act like this. You made vows to me, remember?” Jackson reminded you harshly. 

As if vows were meant to mean anything at this point. You could counter him with plenty of his own vows. It made you sick in the stomach with his attempts of manipulation. He was sick in the head with some foul disease.  

“I don’t know who you are, you disgust me” you insulted. 

“Well… Get over it” Jackson shrugged his shoulders. 

“You’re pathetic Jackson. What makes you possibly think I could forgive you, love you? You’re an insecure little boy who can’t take no for an answer” you cruely countered. 

Jackson’s expression was blank and dark. As if all humanity drained from his body, he flung you backwards. Before you could even process it, you felt your back hit the thick edges of the stairs. You tumbled down, hitting your head intensely multiple times as you rolled to the floor. A slow groan escaped your lips, you whined out as you tried to focus. But your mind was dazed, your body felt numb and your eyes blurred. Within a blink, Jackson appeared beside you, how long were you out for?

“You okay?” Jackson whispered as he kneeled down beside you. His tone was full of concern and care. You mumbled out gibberish and Jackson chuckled, gently he caressed your heated cheek. “Come on then, let’s get you to bed” Jackson breathed out. 

Easily, he threw your body over his shoulders and carefully headed up the stairs. Beelining straight to the bedroom, Jackson flicked on the lights and thoughtlessly dropped your limp body onto the bed. You bounced on the soft mattress, your eyes squinted as you tried to piece everything back together. Putting up a small helpless struggle, Jackson stripped you bare. He texted his men to stand down and closed the blinds. The sound of the wooden draw pulling out caught your attention, but you couldn’t decipher what Jackson was grabbing. 

“Up for some kinky shit baby?” Jackson smirked snugly as he held up the rope. 

“Fuck off” you groaned as you tried to crawl off the bed. 

But Jackson straddled your hips and roughly pulled your wrist to the bed frame. After tightly binding you to the bed, you squirmed like a dying fish out of water. Jackson leant down to your ear, his warm lips pressed to your lobe as he inhaled your scent.

“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore baby” Jackson made known. “Don’t make me do it anymore, it hurts me too” he said through a soft tone. 

“Then untie me” you grumbled. 

“No, no… I need you baby, so badly” Jackson moaned lightly as he pressed his clear hard onto your stomach.

Your eyes widened, how long had he been erect for? How was physical combat a major turn on for him? Surely he’d never take advantage of you in this sense. Jackson was always a gentleman, kind, and thoughtful. Never would he pressure you into something that you had to consider. But yet again, this was Jackson, you didn’t know Jackson, you only ever knew John. 

“Jackson, don’t do this to me” your lip wobbled, eyes heavy. 

The pounding headache didn’t help. Hopelessly, you tugged at your binds, Jackson smirked darkly at the sight. The soft touch he always gave you made your legs squirmed. He’d only be rough with you if you wanted it that way, you prayed he’d stick to that. 

“Shush, you’re gonna have to comply with me baby. I know everything about you, every single person you’ve ever even smiled at, I will have killed if you continue to piss me off. You've sacrificed enough for your job, so surely you can still sacrifice a little bit for me” he grinned. You opened your mouth to counter, but Jackson was quick to press his finger to your lips and hush you. “I know I’ve lied to you from the beginning, but you have to know that I’ve always loved you” Jackson spoke truthfully, rawly.

It felt like a rip to the heart, because you knew his words were honest. That look in his eyes was too hard to stare at. No, this doesn’t change anything. Jackson was a horrible person, you were not the same as him no matter how badly he tried to persuade you. 

“You took advantage of me” you huffed, blinking back your tears.

“I know, I’m sorry” Jackson exhaled, almost looking guilty at his actions. “Baby, we’re not normal people, you can’t possibly hold this against me. Now, you can go around and think that what I did was unforgivable. But can’t you just be happy that you are completely accepted by somebody? No one will ever love you the way I do. What we have is real, you’re mine and I’m yours, always” Jackson confessed. 

All you could do was laugh weakly. The insanity of this man was wild. The sweet look on his face dropped. 

“You’re fucking crazy” you insulted. 

“Don’t piss me off” Jackson said coldly. A stare off commenced, slowly a grin grew on Jackson’s lips. “You want a job with me? I can get you in easily” Jackson laughed softly.

“I was going to quit for you” you snarled. 

“Made it easier for you then” Jackson shrugged. 

His eyes lowered to your stomach. Instantly, you knew exactly what he was thinking. Your body tensed as his hand traveled closer to your bare skin. You flinched as his fingertips rolled over your hardened nipples firstly. 

“Now, let's talk about that baby” Jackson licked his lips, his hand pressed to your stomach. You were speechless, shocked that he could think of this still. “A baby Rippner, now doesn’t that just sound fitting?” Jackson sniggered with a smug mouth. 

Slowly, he stripped himself bare over you. All you could do was watch in a mixture of fear, intimidation and arousal. His body was always so perfect in your eyes. You hated how badly you subconsciously submitted to him. As your skull thrummed, you squeezed your eyes shut. All you wanted to do was stop thinking completely. 

Jackson whispered your name as he pressed his lips to your neck. It was soft, everything he was doing was so fucking perfect. The way his hands rubbed your trembling skin, how the top of his head rubbed against the side of your face. Those sweet whispers of his made you squirm, the pleasurable ache in your core tormented you. 

His hands squeezed your tits, as he gradually lowered himself to your cunt. Sometimes Jackson wished that he could die by suffocation from in between your legs. The smell of your musk was intoxicating. You whined, your mouth clamped shut. Everything was hurting you, breaking you, yet your body demanded to accept the pleasure all too easily. 

“Yeah, gonna put a fucking baby in you alright. All fucking mine, fuck you’re so perfect, I love you so fucking much baby” Jackson praised, his fingers rolled over your sensitive flesh as he admired you. 

This was too much to handle. You broke down in tears as your body trembled from a mixture of reactions. Quickly and carefully, Jackson climbed up your body, his lips pressed to the side of your mouth. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay baby… I’ll look after you, always. You just gotta give me a shot, I’m still John… Still the man you married” he assured quietly as he tried to wipe your tears away. 

“Jackson- please” you sobbed. 

“Shush, I’m always going to take care of you. I made vows to you, I refuse to break my word” Jackson spoke more firmly this time.  

“Jackson” you whispered as he aligned his tip to your entrance.

“My name sounds so beautiful on your lips baby, keep on saying it” Jackson softly ordered. 

After whimpering his name one more time, he crashed his lips against yours. Your mouth fell open, you were too tired to fight him anymore. His eager member slipped deep into your welcoming walls. The pleasure was too relaxing for your state. You were losing consciousness. All you wanted to do was sleep, it was the quickest way you could get away from him, even though it was only temporarily. 

“No, no, stay with me. Keep your eyes open, you’re fine” Jackson commanded. 

When you didn’t listen to him, mumbling and whimpering to yourself, he slipped his hand around your throat and squeezed hard. You wheezed out, your bloodshot eyes flashed open as you searched for air, bound wrists fought against the rope. Jackson coached into your ear, his hips slowly pumping his cock in and out of you. He released his grip enough for you to ruggedly breathe, his lips attached onto every bruise and cut on your body to assure you that he meant no harm. You tried to hide it from him, but it was pointless. He knew your body inside out, it truly was his to own. 

“Jackson I’m… Gonna…” you gasped as you felt your walls pulsate. 

“That’s it, let all of that tension go, get rid of all of that bad energy” Jackson smirked as his free hand rubbed your sensitive bud. 

Shortly, you screamed out hoarsely, he let go of your neck to hear your sympathy. The clenches vibrated down his length. Right after, Jackson felt his dick ready to spurt out. His hands pulled your hips up as he buried himself completely inside of you, your body trembled immensely as he finished inside of you. Your body slumped, completely exhausted as you gasped for an easy breath. Right before you finally could escape him, you heard his dark voice echo through your mind. 

“Goodnight Mrs Rippner”

[limethefirst]

Could I request a platonic Wolverine x Innocent Reader x Deadpool where the reader is a superhero and the two want to take care of them and shows them the ropes but argue about how to do it?

No pressure or rush, hope you’re having a wonderful day/night!

-W.P 💚

Hero in training

pairings: Wolverine x reader x Deadpool (platonic)

warnings: violence, swearing

summary: Wade and Logan don’t see eye to eye when it comes to training methods

a/n: thank you for requesting! I wasn’t super sure in what way you wanted reader to be innocent so please forgive me if this isn’t to your best liking, also I’m gonna start working on part 3 of void runners soon so keep an eye out!🫢

No one ever said being a superhero was easy, but it especially wasn’t easy when you were being trained by both the Wolverine and Deadpool. The two people who hardly ever got along.

You watched as Wade and Logan stood in front of you, Logan wearing casual training clothes and Wade in his normal red suit. Wade looked excited, he was ready to show you his ways but Logan had another approach in mind.

“Alright kid, first we need to learn to control your powers, from there we can begin with some drills, slowly moving up to advanced drills then work more on strength training” Logan started, his plan was to train your powers and then learn some moves with them, hoping it would help you in the self defense aspect of crime fighting.

This was something Wade didn’t find appealing, “Woah back the fuck up now Peanut” Logan glared at the man, before Wade continued, “Remember we’re both training them, and I say we need some more fun in this training, maybe learn some cool flashy moves, or we can start off this party with a dance off!”

“A dance off?” You looked at Wade, a bit confused on his method of teaching but not entirely against it.

Logan on the other hand didn’t appreciate the comment, “This isn’t some type of circus act, this is real life Wade, we need to have some type of approach or we won’t make progress, and all that will happen is they get injured out there,” you looked between the two men, wishing someone else had trained you instead.

“Well why don’t we just see what our little sugar plum fairy thinks,” Wade then turned back over to you and booped your nose, “Okay kiddo, do you wanna have a fun training with Papa Wade!! Or do you want to be all bored and tired with meanie Wolverine!” Wade asked you, his voice sounded like he was talking to a little baby.

You looked at both men, unsure of what to say, not wanting to upset the other. Then the idea came to mind, “Can’t we try both methods? Maybe a combination?”

“Fuck no, that idiots ‘method’ is going to get you hurt,” Logan quickly replied, this caused Wade to go over to you and grab your head in his arms.

He began to pet your head and started cooing, “Do I look like I’d ever let anything harm them?”

You stood there as Wade held your head tight, a sigh escaping your lips, “Please Logan, I know its unconventional but I really think it’ll work!” You started to plead with the man.

Wade slowly let go, a hand still on your head, while Logan stood there, unsure if this was the right choice, but he knew how persistent Wade was.

Logan caved, “Fine but if there isn’t any progress, only I’ll train you, got it kid?”

You have him a smile and a thumbs up, Wade just went up to Logan and clung to his arm, “Awe you’re such a softy aren’t you my little firecracker!”

Logan quickly let his claws out and stabbed him in the stomach, already regretting his decision.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you continued your combination training, Logan taught you defensive skills as well as offensive, he also showed you a lot of strategies that would protect you when the time came, while Wade showed you the flair of being a hero, without having to kill as he knew that wasn’t the type of hero you wanted to be, even though every once and a while he’d try to persuade you.

Even though you’d decided to do the combination training, both men still argued all the time.

“Why the hell are you telling them to jump through the sky light when you want to sneak attack a criminal?” Logan’s finger pushed into Wade’s chest, irritated that he’d tell you to do something so dumb and risky.

“Because they need to look awesome while saving the day, oh don’t forget the funny joke once the bad guy sees you, alright my sugar cane,” Wade looked over to you and you gave him a happy smile with a thumbs up, knowing you probably weren’t gonna do that but it was nice to make him feel good before he and Logan fight again over how that isn’t an ethical way of fighting crime.

You decided it was best to leave before they started to get at it again, you knew that tomorrow they’d go back to helping you anyway. So maybe it was better to let them get it out of their systems every one and a while.

[ladymochimochi]

✦♡✦ Birthday Wish ✦♡✦

Sugar Daddy!Crocodile x Fem!Reader [AO3 Link] Description: It's your birthday and there's only one thing you wanted from Crocodile. But was he willing to give it to you? Tags: Toxic situationship/Power imbalance, Sugar daddy/Sugar baby relationship, Daddy kink (Use of Sir, Daddy, Good Girl & Princess), Alabasta Era Crocodile, Riding, Smoking, Birthday Sex, Rough Sex, Fingering, Light Choking, Multiple Orgasms, Size Difference, Dirty Talk, The hook stays on during sex, Crocodile is not nice (and then he kinda is, and then he's back to being mean), 18+ MDNI Words: 3k A/N: It's my birthday today as well as Crocodile's!! I've been working on this on and off during the summer so since it was birthday themed I figured I'd finish & post it for today :3

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You groaned out his name as his thick shaft slowly entered you again and again. Moving your hips up and down, you chased your pleasure. Crocodile makes a grunt here and there but it was mainly your moans that filled the space of his office.  

His arm with his hook tightened around your midsection and you knew he was close - that move being his usual tell. You kept moving up and down, your moans getting louder, partly out of pleasure, partly because he liked that. Within a few moments, you felt his dick kick inside of you and his seed filled you up, a breathy sigh escaping from his lips above you.  

Your motions came to a slow stop, and you leaned forward on his broad chest to try to catch your breath. He stopped doing his paperwork and sat back in his chair, pulling away from you. Looking up at him, you watched as he took his signature cigar out of his mouth and blow the smoke upwards.  

It made your pussy clench around him and he smirked down at you, knowing him smoking turned you on. After snubbing out his cigar on an ash tray on his desk, his flesh hand came to lightly grip your throat. His thumb idly rubbed along your jawline as he kept eye contact with you. 

“What can I buy for you this time?” He rumbled and your body shivered at his deep, alluring voice. He was still slightly hard inside you and you rotated your hips a small bit, telling him about some designer bag you’ve had your eye on.  

“I’ll send someone out to buy it this afternoon.” He told you, letting you go and you grinned.  

As you went to get off of him and clean yourself up, his hand moved to your hip, keeping you seated on his lap. You looked back up at him, a questioning look on your face.  

Usually by this point, you would be leaving and he would continue on with his work until he called on you again. 

“Your birthday is coming up.” He said to you, his face it’s typical stoic expression.  

You were surprised he even knew this.  

The two of you weren’t really in a relationship, not by practical standards. You rode on his dick or sucked him off and he bought you something nice, simple as that.  

Now, you’d be lying if you tried to say you didn’t want to be in a legitimate relationship with the man. Or maybe even just be touched by him for once.  

But you wouldn’t bring it up, not without him prompting you. 

He was the one leading this and you knew better than to challenge him. You had seen what he did to people who pissed him off.  

“Yes, it is, sir.” You replied, trying to get a read of where he was going with this. You could feel his dick getting fully hard again and you bit your lip. It was never really spoken about, but just like he knew you liked his smoking and his dominance over you, you knew he got off on spending insane amounts of money on you. 

“What do you want for it? I’m assuming something extravagant?” He questioned you, a husky tone to his voice, but it made you stall for a moment. Your teeth dug even deeper into your bottom lip because you knew exactly what you wanted from him.  

But did you dare speak it?  

His sharp gaze was piercing, and you knew he was waiting – and you should never keep this man waiting. Gathering up some quick courage and throwing caution to the wind, you decided fuck it and to go for it.  

Maybe you couldn’t ask for a real relationship but you could ask for something else... 

“I would like...” You began but trailed off, trying to find the words, avoiding his gaze. Silence rang between the two of you and his hand dug into your hip, letting you know he was still waiting.  

“I want us to fuck for real.” You finally said, staring up at him.  

It wasn’t asking to be in a real relationship but maybe if he agreed to this, it could be one night where you could pretend. 

One of his eyebrows arched in question and you felt yourself losing confidence.  

“W-Well, our usual arrangement is me riding you while we sit at your desk and with all our clothes on. I’d like to get fucked for real by you, no clothes...” You trailed off again, looking away from him. “Maybe even some kissing?” You near whispered, feeling your heart beating a mile a minute inside your chest. 

You couldn’t look at him while he processed your request. The silence made your stomach clench. 

It only clenched further when all Crocodile did was let out a loud laugh.  

You felt your face burn deeply and tears pricked at your eyes. He was still laughing when you removed yourself from his lap, fixing your clothes and looking towards the exit to his office. It was foolish for ever even thinking you could make a request like that to him. Of course this would be his reaction. 

You moved to leave but he grabbed your forearm in a tight grip. As you turned back towards him, it took everything you had to not cry in front of him. 

But his face was serious again and it frightened you for a second. 

“Try again. You have until the night of your birthday.” 

You could only nod and once Crocodile released you from his grip, you quickly left his office, head hung in shame. 

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“So?” He asked you. 

The two of you now sat at a very fancy restaurant on the night of your birthday. You were genuinely surprised to be taken out like this. 

 Sure, the two of you had gone to dinner before, but it was always with other people, and you were just there as arm candy. Told to just sit there, drink and look pretty while he took care of business. 

But tonight, it was just the two of you, having an intimate meal together. It was actually quite nice doing this with him and that fact made your heart hurt. Did he know that and was doing this on purpose? You didn’t put it past him to be cruel like that. 

Now Crocodile was waiting for your answer about what you wanted for your birthday. You didn’t dare to mention your request again, so you just said you’d like some fancy fur coat. It was a safe request and you hoped he wouldn’t bring up the other day. 

“Hm.”  

It was all he said while he took a sip of his wine, not looking at you. A small sweat broke out on the back of your neck, nervousness rising within you. The fear of being thrown away by him was starting to make you breathe shallowly.  

He doesn’t order you to leave or be taken away though, but he doesn’t look at you for the rest of the meal either. Once the two of you were done, Crocodile rose to his feet and finally looked down at you.  

“We’re going to my office.” He said brusquely. Your eyes were wide as you stared up at him, not expecting this. You nodded your head and stood up to follow him. 

“Yes, sir.” You whispered, trailing behind him as you left the restaurant. 

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Back in his office, you looked over to his large, grand desk and the chair where he usually sat. You began to move over there, figuring that that’s where you would be spending the rest of this evening. His deep voice stopped you. 

“Over here.” 

Turning towards him, you saw him standing in front of the only other door in his office besides the exit. You had never been in that room, and you had no idea what was in there. He led you inside and you just stared, mouth slightly open. 

It was a bedroom.  

A bedroom with a massive bed, and other amenities. There was another door in here and you figured it was probably to a bathroom. You looked up at him, your eyebrows scrunched in confusion.  

“I use this room for when I’m too busy to leave the casino.” Crocodile told you nonchalantly. With his hand on your back, he brought you further into the room until you were standing in front of the bed. 

“Now, turn around and get undressed.” Crocodile ordered you. You looked at him bewildered.  

“S-Sir?” You questioned him, not being able to process what was happening. 

“Don’t make me say it again.” His tone went cold like steel and it made you realize he was serious. Quickly obeying him, you turned away from him to remove your dress and heels. You never wore underwear around Crocodile, knowing he liked the easy access. 

Biting your lip, you waited for his next command now fully nude. Your heart was hammering against your chest. Was he really going to listen to your request? Given his reaction, it seemed something like this was completely off the table for the two of you. What had changed his mind? 

The shuffle of clothes could be heard behind you and heat pooled in your lower stomach. The idea of seeing his naked body made you excited but shy at the same time. Now that it was actually time for this, you were trying not to chicken out. This was what you wanted and you weren’t going to let your nerves take it away from you. 

“Get on the bed.” His gruff words snapped you out of your stupor and with a quick deep breath, you obeyed him. You climbed on top of his bed and turned so that you were sitting near the middle of it and now facing Crocodile. 

That breath you had taken in was gone instantly when you laid eyes on him.  

He was devastating. 

You could not believe the handsome form standing in front of you. His body was beyond exquisite with his muscular arms and legs, toned torso and heavy, thick cock.  

You also noticed he had decided to keep his golden hook on, not that you minded.  

Crocodile slowly padded over to you, looking down at you like a predator to its prey. You swallowed and licked your lips, the heat in your stomach only getting hotter. 

Crocodile knelt onto the bed in front of you, his flesh hand reaching out to stroke your leg. The gentle touch made your heart flutter and your gaze went from watching his hand up to his face.  

There was an odd glint in his eye though and next thing you knew, he yanked your leg towards him, making you fall onto your back, body pulled closer to him. He fell forward so his body was caged around yours, his hook next to your head.  

It had startled you for a moment but your excitement only grew. You didn’t know what to expect from him but it was part of the thrill, like always. 

“Before we start, you must be wondering why I changed my mind.” He said to you, his flesh hand caressing your waist. All you could do was nod your head in response. 

“After thinking on it, I decided I did in fact want to fuck my good girl like this. Give you the gift you asked for and rightfully deserve.” 

His words made you smile and as you were about to thank him, he spoke up again. 

“But we’re doing this my way.” 

Before you could process what he said, the barrel of his hook pressed down on your chest and his other hand moved to your pussy. His thick middle and ring fingers entered you and he started to finger you roughly.  

A harsh cry ripped from your lips as he relentlessly drove his fingers in and out of you. You could barely catch your breath with the loud near screaming moans spewing from you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!” You cried, death gripping onto one of his arms. Head thrashing from the pleasure, you felt like you were going to faint. It was too good, way too good. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit and you choked on another moan. 

You could feel yourself gushing around his fingers and down your thighs. Finally feeling his touch was exhilarating and you could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. The whole time the two of you were in this arrangement, he had never touched you like this. It had always been about his pleasure. 

But now you were finally getting the touch you had begged for internally for months. 

Your pussy squeezed around his fingers and your head whipped back onto the bed as your orgasm crashed through you. A loud moan came from you and your throat was already feeling hoarse just from this. You figured by the end of this, you’d have no voice tomorrow. 

As you tried to collect yourself, Crocodile was already hitching your leg around his waist. A small whine escaped your lips as he pressed his cock against your entrance, wasting no time. You lazily lifted your other leg so both were now wrapped around him.  

He thrusted his cock into you in one go and you saw stars for a second. The stretch was something you were used to by now and it sent a ripple of pleasure through you. You loved being so full of his cock. 

Crocodile relieved the pressure of his hook from your chest, but his hand came to wrap around your throat. Without warning, yet again, he started to thrust into you quickly, leaving you breathless.  

The unrelenting pace, the light pressure on your windpipe, his hulking form above you – it was everything you wanted. His groans made you clench around him, loving being able to hear him.  

“Yes, daddy, yes!” You wailed, knowing that he liked it when you called him that. It was something you had called him before and you could’ve sworn he got harder every time you did. 

“Yeah? You like daddy’s cock, princess?” Crocodile grunted. “Like how daddy fucks you like this?” 

Another cry came from you, your pussy death gripping him. Having him talk like this was so fucking hot, you couldn’t believe it. 

“Oh, yes, daddy~! I love how it stretches me so good~” Replying like this should be making you burn with embarrassment but in this moment you couldn’t care less.  

His cock kept drilling into you and your eyes squeezed shut, moans and profanities coming from your lips endlessly.  

“Gonna cum, princess? Gonna cum all over daddy’s big cock?” Crocodile taunted you and it was enough to send you over, a second orgasm coursing through you.  

At this point, your body felt like jelly. 

But Crocodile still hadn’t had his fill of you and your pussy. 

Without pulling out, he moved backwards to sit on his ass and brought you up to sit in his lap, arm with his hook wrapped around your waist. His thrusts drove deeper and harder into you at this angle leaving you an even further moaning mess in his arms. Your head started to loll back but Crocodile quickly grabbed the base of your skull. 

“Look at me.” He growled out, gripping your hair tightly. Eyes half-lidded, you did your best to make eye contact with him. The way his cock was bullying your pussy was just too damn good, you couldn’t stay focused to save your life.  

You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyebrows scrunched as you lazily gazed at him. 

Hand still on the back of your head, he pulled you closer and his lips pressed against yours. Your eyes flew wide open. 

He kissed you. 

He actually kissed you. 

Out of everything he did tonight, that was the one thing you thought he wouldn’t do, even though it had been a part of your request. It just wasn’t like him. 

You kissed him back desperately and soon his tongue was invading your mouth. Eyes rolling back, you let him lead and relished in making out with him.  

His cock continued to drive up into you over and over. This was absolute bliss. Your mouth stuffed with his tongue and your pussy stuffed with his thick cock. There was nothing else on your mind at this point except him, it was like you were in a haze. 

Crocodile broke the kiss but kept your faces close. He was starting to look disheveled – skin glistening with sweat and strands of hair falling in his face. It was a sight you had never seen and it only turned you on more, knowing it was because of you. 

“I know you got one more orgasm for me, princess.” He groaned, his arm around you getting tighter. “Give daddy one more and he’ll fill you up so good with his cum.” 

The thought of this ending made you sad for second but you couldn’t deny this man anything right now. Your whole world right now was him, him, him. 

You moved your hips to meet his thrusts and chased your third orgasm until it ripped through you. Your high-pitched moan was swallowed by Crocodile crashing his lips against yours once more. His own groans were muffled by the kiss as you felt his hot cum spill into your pussy. 

After a moment, the two of you broke away from each other, neither of you able to catch your breaths yet. Only ragged breathing could be heard as you just stared at each other, pupils blown wide.  

Part of you wanted to pinch yourself that this hadn’t all been a dream but the feeling of his cum leaking down your thigh was enough for now. 

You didn’t want to ruin the moment by asking but deep inside you could only hope that he enjoyed this enough so that he would fuck you again like this. 

Though, with the way he was looking at you – a look he had never given you before, like he was really seeing you for the first time – you knew it would not be the last time. 

[fishsticksloser]

hii! Hope you’re doing well! Can I have some hcs or imagines of the rise bois (separate) tryna be romantic with S/o, but either S/o’s friend or their bros are always just… there. Like the song “You, Me, and Steve” type thing lol

You, Me, and Steve

Rottmnt x gn!reader

Warnings: dating, interruptions, frustration, not written as headcanons

A/N: hello! sorry I've been gone again, I've been in a lot of pain lately. Mikey and Leo's are short cause I feel like they'd just be more honest.

Donnie

Donnie sighs heavily, resting his chin on his hand. The two of you were supposed to have a nice dinner alone, but someone just had to butt in.

"What are you getting?" Leo asks, grinning at you and Donnie.

You can see Donnie's hands grip his napkin as he glares at Leo. His knuckles are turning white from how hard he's holding onto it. "A nice dinner alone with my partner?" Donnie grits out, his knuckles popping when he lets go of the napkin.

"Just pretend I'm not here!" Leo chirps, smiling brightly as he goes back to reading the menu.

"That's... You're asking the impossible." Donnie huffs, kicking Leo under the table.

"Ow!" Leo whines, reaching down to rub his leg. "It's never been a problem before! Do you just not like spending time with me anymore? I'm hurt!"

Leo sniffs and Donnie rolls his eyes, clearly growing more and more frustrated. You reached out, trying to calm him, but he was already so close to exploding it didn't help.

"I love spending time with you, Leo, but I want alone time with my partner too! You keep coming on all our dates and won't leave. I've tried to be nice, but I'm tired of you always having to be with me!" Donnie snapped, looking at Leo with the furry of a thousand suns.

"Geez, Don... Sorry..." Leo winces, standing up. "I'll just see you at home then..."

Donnie turns to you once he's gone, looking concerned. "I apologize... I didn't mean to ruin our night."

"It's okay." You reassure him, your hand resting on his. "I just wish it didn't come to that... Will Leo be okay?"

"Yeah... I'll apologize to him when I get home."

Leo

Leo churrs and nuzzles into you, feeling you laugh when he churrs louder. The vibrations from his churrs rumbling through you too. His tail wags, spinning like a helicopter.

"You're so warm!" Leo practically purrs, kissing and nipping at your cheek. You playfully try to push him away, his churrs tickling a little.

"And you're heavy!" Your hands press to his plastron as you laugh. He laughs with you, nibbling on your cheek.

"Leo! Don't crush my favorite person!" Mikey whines from his spot on the floor where he had been painting.

Leo sighs softly, sitting up and looking down at the floor. "Mikey... You know I love you, but... Could you please leave? I just want some alone time with my partner."

"But-" Mikey starts, but Leo shoots him a look. The orange turtle pouts a little, starting to collect his things.

Leo turns to you after hearing the door click shut. "Sorry about that, sugar. Where were we?"

Mikey

Mikey always did his best to accommodate your best friend, but he honestly was getting tired of always having them around. He wanted to be alone with his baby, able to be himself completely, not a watered down version.

"Baaaby..." Mikey whines softly, pulling you to him. He buries his face in your neck, chuffing. "Can it just be us? I don't want your friend to be with us tonight... They're just gonna complain about what I make."

You look down at him, seeing his pout and pleading eyes. It was true, every time the two of you had a creative date, like tonight, your friend complained about what Mikey made.

"Don't worry, Mikes, I didn't tell them where we're going. So just us." You reply, kissing his snout.

He chirps happily, his tail wagging. "I'm gonna paint you the prettiest vase so you can fill it up with the flowers I get you!"

Raph

Raph's tail thumped against the ground as both of you set out stuff for your picnic. Your friend was helping a little, which upset him greatly. He wanted this to just be the two of you, yet here they were, butting in like always.

"Can I... Talk to you privately, sweets?" Raph asks quietly, gently tugging your arm. You nodded and followed him to a tree out of your friend's ear shot.

"What's wrong?" You question, holding his hand.

"I wanted it to just be the two of us..." He mumbles, feeling a little nervous. He's not sure how you're going to take it, but he wants to be honest. "I like your friend, but... They're always joining us on dates and it's..."

"It's...?" You press gently, cupping his cheek.

Raph takes a deep breath, turning his head to kiss your palm. "It's frustrating. I want to... I want time with just you where I don't have to worry about making your friend uncomfortable." He closes his eyes, feeling anxious about your reaction.

You let go of his cheek, his heart sinking. He opens his eyes, seeing you walk over to your friend. Your friend seems frustrated, but drops what they had been carrying and goes to the car.

"There. Just us now... I wish you would've told me before." You smile, walking back up to him.

"I didn't wanna upset you." He murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle your cheek affectionately.

"You not being honest was more upsetting than you being honest."