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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

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Chapter 2 - Under My Skin

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: If you're mad at me for getting any lore or myths wrong through this story, consider that Supernatural themselves cannot track their own lore, and I'm doing my goddamn best.

Chapter title from Akaska Sad by Rina Sawayama

Word Count: 15.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean and John take on an odd, difficult case, and you try—and fail—to avoid them. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Read on A03!

Lately, Dean’s life was fucking lonely. It was made of long car rides where Dad wouldn’t speak to him, countless cases where he felt almost useless, and restless nights where he’d get up to use the bathroom, look at the couch, and feel a little piece of him die again when Sam wasn’t there.

Every town looked the same. Every girl did too. He didn’t try to talk to them—he never had—but there was still something in him that was so furiously lonely, he was burning through chicks night by night in a desperate plea that they’d offer him something. Sometimes they’d talk to him, and that would become enough. He was never really all that interested—they all had the same voice and same words and same boring, apple pie lives that Dean would never get to be a part of—but it carried him over until the next one. Until he and Dad got the monster, left town, and nobody there would have to spare Dean a thought for the rest of their lives.

He tried to make them remember. He poured all he had to spare into the sex, and making it good enough that maybe—when each woman was married with kids and some sort of boring office job—they’d still use the memory of him to get off. They might not remember his name, or his voice, or his face, but they’d remember how he made them feel. And that did a little more to curb the loneliness. The pit like feeling of uselessness.

But sometimes he’d strike out, and be forced to wake up on an empty, stiff motel mattress. Dad would already be gone—getting coffee or working there leads or just fucking sick of Dean not being Sam—and it would only be Dean in the whole world. And that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t just be Dean. It’s never supposed to just be Dean. When it’s just him, everything gets too loud and too quiet and so hot, but also massive and empty and cold. Corners are shaper and knives are duller and colors are all muted, because only Dean can see them and he doesn’t deserve to.

And when that happened, sometimes he’d grab his phone and consider calling Sammy. He’d stare at the number—hidden from Dad with a fake contact, just in case—and allow his thumb to hover over the call button, but never press it. He couldn’t. He’d have no way to get to California, Sam probably wouldn’t want to see him, and Dad would freakin’ kill him for even considering it. Dean couldn’t even say Sam’s damn name without Dad’s jaw ticking and an unsettling tension falling over the room.

So Dean stayed lonely. He worked every case lonely, found every bed lonely, and woke every morning lonely.

But he wasn’t lonely in his dreams. It didn’t matter why he wasn’t, but he wasn’t. That, at the very least, was something Dean could count on. When he slept, he’d never be lonely, because-

It didn’t matter. They were just dreams, and dreams didn’t mean shit. Even it had been the same person starring in them every night—the same beautiful, twisted salvation to the pit that had formed inside of Dean, that he loathed and craved and couldn’t figure out how to get rid of—for the past year, Dean wasn’t some crystals and tea leaves chick who was going to try and find meaning in his freakin’ dreams.

This lady seemed to be, though. She was dressed like she belonged at Woodstock, there were dreamcatchers and random dried plants all over her house, and she kept trying to offer Dean a palm reading. Telling him his aura was strong. That didn’t fucking mean anything, because that shit wasn’t real, and Dean should know. His whole life was figuring out what things were real, and what was fake.

This magic, witchy bullshit was fake.

The ghost haunting Woodstock Chick’s house was very real.

“You know,” Woodstock frowned at Dean and Dad from across the table. “I’m a little surprised you’re listening to me.”

Dad shrugged. “Well, ma’am it’s routine to investigate complaints. It ain’t our job to judge, just hear what you’ve got for us. Now, we’ve got the objects flyin’ around-“

“It’s just,” Woodstock let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I’ve been filing these complaints for weeks, and all I’ve gotten is made fun of by my neighbors. Then, suddenly, you’re taking me seriously? Sending three officers to talk to me-“

Dean cleared his throat, shooting Dad a weary look. “Sorry, did you say three?”

“Yeah. You two, plus the one yesterday. Young woman, with the rings and lip gloss. She was gorgeous, good skin and hair, bright aura, just like yours.” she smiled at Dean as she continued. “She kind of looked like a,” Woodstock frowned, tilting her head. “Like a cat.”

Dad scowled. “A cat.”

Woodstock nodded. “You know, just like how he,” she nodded at Dean, and he frowned. “Looks like a puppy. It not about their faces, it’s about their energy-“

“And you’re saying this chick had the energy of a cat?” Dean asked, not allowing himself to dwell on the puppy thing. He had too much shit to worry about already. “Ma’am, we-“

“We’re takin’ your complaints seriously, ma’am.” Dad’s voice was firm over Dean’s, and Dean felt a cringe of shame in his chest. “Now, tell us about the lights, and we’ll let you keep goin’ with your day.”

Woodstock continued, Dad asking more careful, smart questions as Dean sat in silence, and the lady’s problem was pretty obviously a ghost. Kind of a douchebag of a ghost, but just a ghost. The hard part was just gonna be figuring out who it was, because Woodstock was insisting nobody had ever died in this house, that she had no dead relatives, and that she’d never even killed anyone.

That last question did get them kicked out, though.

“We ain’t accusin’ you of anything, ma’am.” Dad remained in the threshold of Woodstock’s door, holding the angry woman’s gaze. “It’s a just part of our report-”

Woodstock let out a dry laugh. “Nice try, officer, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I do know that’s a lie. If you come back, come back with a warrant, or-“ Woodstock paused, looking between Dean and Dad. “Send Officer Brown. She was nicer, and didn’t ask me stupid questions.”

The door slammed, Dad groaned—running a hand over his face before stomping back to the Impala—and Dean was frozen in place as Woodstock’s words rang a loud, clean, golden bell in his brain. When Dad shouted at him to haul ass he managed to move, but barely. Everything was far away, because things that were supposed to be trapped in dreams were starting to follow Dean into the real world. They weren’t supposed to. Dean had promised himself he’d keep Her trapped down, where he never had to think about her until sleep dragged Her back to the surface of his brain.

And that hadn’t really been working. Sometimes he’d smell fruity perfume on a woman, and She’d flash in front of his eyes. Sometimes he’d have some random girl next to him or over him or under him, and they’d moan, and it would sound like a siren. The worst was when someone would look at him and a tiny, traitorous asshole voice would whisper She’d look at you better. She’d be better. You’re a piece of shit, Dean Winchester, because She’d been the freakin’ best and you left her.

He hadn’t left Her. He’d escaped her. Outsmarted whatever bullshit she’d been trying to pull on him, whatever scam She’d been running. And it didn’t fucking matter that his brain was clinging onto every piece of Her he’d gotten to see that day—that the bells were made of Her beautiful voice saying Brown’s a cop—because she’d probably stopped hunting. Realized it wasn’t the fun little rush She thought it was and crawled back home to her fancy, stupid life.

But She’d told him she’d been hunting since she was fifteen.

That had probably been a lie too.

It hadn’t sounded like a lie.

Well, maybe She’d just been an awesome liar.

Dean needed to snap the hell out of it. He’d tread down this path countless times, the voice—it seemed to live in his chest, a little to the right of his heart—trying to work out what that whole thing had been, and a good reason for Dean to track Her down and ask if She’d felt it too.

But She’d been playing him, and he never wanted to see Her drop-dead gorgeous face again. It didn’t matter what he’d felt, because Dad was right. It had probably been some sort of trick, made of all those pretty lies and words She’d been using on him. So Dean didn’t mention to Dad that Brown had been one of Her aliases, because he wasn’t supposed to remember anything about Her. Dad was seething in the driver’s seat—grumbling about lone, stupid hunters interfering in their case—but She wasn’t here, probably, so it didn’t matter anyway.

Another three days passed, and they still couldn’t figure out who the ghost was. Everyone Woodstock knew was clean—and claimed she was too—and everyone in this town died of old age like a bunch of freaking suckers, so they had nothing. This ghost couldn’t chill the fuck out, Woodstock had been telling anyone who would listen about how it had started to throw plates at her head—how she didn’t feel safe—so Dad had them on rotating watches. Keeping an eye on the house from the forest in case Woodstock started screaming while the other kept working it, searching for just one goddamn idea of who the ghost could be.

They hadn’t figured out who the other hunter was, either, but Dean was growing more and more certain it might be Her. He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of perfectly styled shiny hair on the street. He was either going batshit crazy, or he’d heard Her voice in a corner store while he was buying aftershave. And a feeling like gravity had reformed in his eyes, bringing his attention to shadows that might be Her and making his every nerve flare when he smelled something sweet. Most of all, he’d been in the motel parking lot a handful of times and felt it. That odd, light feeling that had surrounded him when he’d met Her, making it so easy to breathe he’d been certain he’d been doing it wrong before. That he’d started to do it wrong again, after She’d left. It had felt so good and been so impossibly to duplicate—Dean had really tried to, as well, in body after body after body—but it was back like a fucking asteroid, crashing into him and obliterating everything he’d thought had been right.

But he hadn’t told Dad. To start, Dad would look at him like he was a fucking idiot, and ask if Dean had watched a chick flick while drinking one too many beers. Then Dean would mumble no, and Dad would roll his eyes and tell him to get his shit together, because they had a job to do.

Dean could’ve told Sammy. He would’ve listened, made a little fun of Dean, and then started to ask a bunch of questions about what made Dean think it was Her. Maybe Sam would have found an explanation about how the vampire baby made men go crazy or something. Maybe She’d been a monster, and Sam would figure out what kind the moment Dean explained it.

But Sam wasn’t here, and Dean didn’t have any real evidence. He hadn’t seen that fancy car She’d been driving, and when he’d very casually asked the front desk of their motel—the only one if town—if anyone with Her name was in a room he’d gotten a no, but she’d probably be in a real hotel. With good water pressure and room service and little shampoo bottles that she didn’t need.

She hadn’t been in a fancy hotel last year. But that had probably just been another part of the scam.

So he didn’t tell Dad. Dean just took his shifts to watch Woodstock, worked the case, and fucking prayed they’d wrap this up and he could forget the whole thing. Dad would find something soon, they’d gank the ghost, and it would be done.

Dad had even said he had a new lead, when they’d swapped the watch. Dean had dropped off the car and gotten orders to stay here until Dad got back, to call only if it was an absolute emergency, and to message if he thought of anything new.

He’d been trying to. Dad was off working the lead, and Dean really wanted to help, but no matter how long leaned against the trees—watching Woodstock’s house and frowning into the air—he couldn’t think of shit. His brain felt numb, because this was freaking boring, and none of it made sense. It was just a ghost, it shouldn’t be this hard. Shit, with another hunter on the case, the asshole should’ve been ash days ago. Maybe it had been Her, and she’d realized they were in town, and She’d left. Been worried they’d try to turn her in for her bullshit, even though She had no way to know they’d figured her out.

Maybe She hadn’t wanted to see Dean. Which shouldn’t bother him at all, but the thought made his stomach turn and heart split down the center. He didn’t get it. It shouldn’t hurt, because he sure as hell didn’t want to see Her. He was looking everywhere for Her, but he didn’t want to see Her. He didn’t. He didn’t-

He did. He could. That was fucking Her. Walking up the steps of Woodstock’s house with a large bag, knocking on the door and being welcomed in with a warm smile Woodstock hadn’t offered Dad or Dean.

She looked hot. Dean wasn’t sure it was possible for Her not to—She’d even looked sexy covered in blood—but she’d somehow gotten hotter. She wasn’t wearing that horrible jacket anymore, but well-fitting, casual clothing that She moved so easily in. Clothing that suited Her, that She looked comfortable in, that Dean wanted to touch to see what fabric She liked. It would tell him more about Her, about what she deemed suitable for herself, what she enjoyed, what she wanted. And if She allowed him close enough, maybe Dean could rip it off Her body-

Fuck. It was happening again. Dean had just looked at Her and she’d dragged him under some sort of trance. The feeling had returned in full force, like an inevitable kind of cancer over his brain that Dean didn’t know how to cure. Part of him didn’t even want to cure it—it felt right and natural and filled up that pit with a shifting light that was shaped like Her—but he had to. He was useless like this. Useless to the hunt, useless to himself, useless to Dad. Dad would smack him on the head and tell him to get a goddamn grip, because a girl wasn’t worth falling down for. Dean’s job wasn’t staring at pretty things and trying to make sense of them, it was creating ash and spilling blood. He was a solider, not a prince who was going to save the damsel.

And She wasn’t a damsel. She was a bitch. The prettiest, funniest, smartest bitch Dean had ever met, who seemed like Cinderella but was really a stepsister. Dean didn’t need Her, and he shouldn’t be sparing Her a single thought at all. He should just text Dad that She was the other hunter, that She seemed tight with Woodstock, and that She’d been in the house for a long time.

A really long time.

Too long. It had been almost an hour since She’d disappeared off the porch, and unless she was there for a sleepover, she should’ve been out by now. Maybe the ghost had gotten the jump on Her and Woodstock. Maybe Dean had to go in and save Her, not because it was Her, but because that was his job. And maybe She’d thank him, and kiss him because She was so grateful he’d put his grudge aside to save her life, and it would be awesome and She’d taste like sugar and be soft under his hands-

“Dean Winchester.”

He nearly leapt out of his goddamn skin, spinning around with wide-eyes and clenched fists that couldn’t seem to remember how to fly and land square in Her pretty, mocking face. She was standing barely three feet away, Her arms crossed and brows raised, her bag nowhere in sight.

“Fucking hell, Princess.“ The nickname slipped out of him without thought, because She really did look like royalty. He knew why that was now—easy to look smoking hot and fancy when you had the money for it—but it didn’t change the fact. Her lips were glossy, her eyes seemed to shimmer with that pretty color that washed over his dreams, that causal clothing really did look like it was made to touch Her, and Dean couldn’t believe he was jealous of a fabric-

“What are you doing here.” Her voice still had that haunting, angel-like quality, but it was flat. Bored. Almost dead.

He gave Her a smirk, and he wasn’t sure why it hurt that She barely even blinked back. “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing. What could a bitch like you be doing in a place like this?“

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could’ve sworn She curled a little into her body. “I asked first.”

Dean shrugged. “I asked louder.”

“I- You know what? I don’t care.” She stood a little taller, her voice somehow growing colder. “Whatever you’re up to, stop. This is my hunt. I got here first, I’m handling it, and you’re only going to slow me down.”

Dean let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Ghosts aren’t really gonna respect dibs, sweetheart.”

Her eyes flashed with something Dean didn’t really understand. “They don’t, but I’m not that worried about it, De. Like I said, I’m handling it.”

He glared at Her, ignoring how something in his chest was humming, trying to get Her to call him De over and over again forever. “Sorry,” he drawled Her name, leaning forward and trying not to think about how she didn’t flinch away. How he could smell that same, fruity perfume and sugar from before. “I guess we’ll just have to let the better hunter win.”

She raised Her chin, holding his gaze. “I’m warning you, Winchester. Leave.“

He chuckled. “I’m good, Princess. Think I’ll pass, but trying to warn me was cute-”

“Listen to me.” She hissed, leaning close enough that Dean could pick out every small bump on Her face, isolate every color in Her eyes. “I’m not asking. Go back to Sam and John, tell them you figured it out and it’s done, and get the fuck out of my way.”

Something brittle snapped in Dean’s spine, his jaw clenching as the words pushed out of him like vomit. “Sam’s not with us. He left.”

He didn’t know why the fuck he’d tell Her that. She wouldn’t care. She seemed to hate Dean as much as he hated Her—probably bitter he’d got the up on Her, didn’t want him to mess with whatever scam she was trying to pull on Woodstock—and She’d met Sam twice. He shouldn’t have told Her that, because Dad hated even talking about it. Hell, Bobby barely knew about it. It was family business, and She wasn’t family, and that perfume had to be some sort of pheromone because it was making Dean a freaking dumbass-

“Is he okay?”

Dean blinked at Her, and her expression wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t empty. She didn’t seem like a statue anymore, and whatever was behind Her eyes looked real. Just as real as it had been last year, like there was a whole universe inside of Her that Dean had wanted to explore. To find out what She was made of, and if it was as similar to heaven as it seemed.

It wasn’t. Dean knew that, in his working brain—rather than his heart that stretched for Her and his dick that ached for Her to be just a little closer—She wasn’t heaven. She was temptation in a beautiful form, determined to make Dean weak and pathetic and soft, everything he couldn’t allow himself to be. But he still told Her the truth. His voice lower and without any venom, his body tensed slightly, his brain spinning as the strange look in Her eyes seemed to glow, dragging the words out of him.

“He’s fine. Off at college. Decided he didn’t want-“ Dean cut himself off with a small shake of his head. He wouldn’t be that weak or dumb, exposing a gap in his armor she’d use to make him crumble to his knees. “He was done hunting. Wanted a normal life.”

She was just looking at him. Scanning over him carefully, holding one of Her own hands and just fucking staring, like Dean might be an illusion or his words might be a lie, and She was trying to look for evidence of it.

“That sucks.” She finally said, and it sounded so real. Like She might actually give a shit that Dean was lonely. That Sam had left him. “Sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity, sweetheart-“

“I don’t pity you.” She snapped, Her features growing harsh once more. “I’m saying that fucking sucks, I know you cared about him. I’m apologizing because it’s probably complicated and messy and not all that fun to deal with.”

Dean scowled, something raw snapping along his heartstrings. “I’m doing just fine, Princess. I’ve got my dad, and Sammy’s safe in California. He’s still my brother, and it’s not like he’s fucking dead. So I’m good.”

She raised her brows, an amusement that made Dean’s gut boil written over Her face. “Yeah, you really sound it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it-“

“Or what.” She hissed, leaning forward until Dean was almost drowning in Her. “You gonna run to John and tell him that the little moroi bitch is bullying you? That you need to hurry up on the hunt, because you can’t stand that I’m going to get this thing all by my fucking self-“

“All by-“ Dean stared at Her. “You’re still hunting alone?”

Her face twisted, her words hushed and furious. “That is none of your fucking business-“

“It is if you’re going to get yourself killed-“

She snorted. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t pretend like you give a shit about me-“

“I give a shit if you end up monster chow.” Dean sneered, pretending something wasn’t cracking along his ribs at the certain, settled hatred in Her voice. “The job is saving people, not choosing who. You try and jump in front of that ghost, I’ll stop you-“

“Please,” She scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

Dean’s breathing was ragged. His heart was violent in his chest, and his hands were curled at his side, and She was so fucking infuriating. Dean shouldn’t give a shit about Her, but his skin felt like it was being flayed at the thought of Her in danger or pain, and She shouldn’t sound like she was wounded by being the little moroi bitch, because She was, and Dean wanted to grab Her by the neck and slam his lips to Her’s-

“Stay out of my way, Winchester.” She hissed, still so close, and looking so warm and soft, and Dean was so close to figuring out what the hell that fruit was-

She was gone. She leaned back in a rough, sharp movement—like Dean was a magnet and She was only just strong enough to pull herself away—and just walked away.

He might be stuck here forever—on the edge of the woods outside Woodstock’s haunted house—his body trying to cling to her and his brain trying to erase Her forever. It was something he’d been trying to do for a year, something he’d never managed, and something that was made so much more difficult by the fact that She looked back. That their eyes met one last time, and it was like lightning through his blood.

He would have chased Her in Dad hadn’t called right then. He spent the next two days trying to convince himself he wouldn’t have, but it was a fucking lie. He wasn’t sure what he would have done when he caught Her, but he would’ve chased Her. Rushed after Her and asked why had She lied, why did She look like she wanted to punch Dean when She’d been the one to hurt him, if She had looked back because she could feel it too. Feel the gravity, feel the drug, feel the storm that threatened to consume Dean in Her name. Ask if She dreamt of him, ask if She saw him in shadows, ask if She was a monster and beg her to set him free.

But he hadn’t chased after Her. So it didn’t matter. Dad had picked Dean up—long after She’d been gone, Dean still rooted in place, his head still spinning—and he hadn’t seen Her since, so it didn’t matter. Maybe She’d left. Maybe She’d just skipped town, and Dean would never see her again.

That shouldn’t feel horrible. It should be relieving, the idea that he’d won. That he’d gotten the hunt, gotten Her away from him, gotten a justification for why he hadn’t told Dad he’d seen Her. It would mean that She was gone, and Dean could pretend that had never happened at all. But it still felt like fucking shit, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to stop it. It ate away at his brain as the days blurred together, and they hit dead end after dead end. She remained at least out of sight, Dean still didn’t tell Dad that She’d ever been in town, and the hauntings just fucking stopped. No more lights, no more temperature drops, no more screaming Woodstock.

It couldn’t have been Her. There were no graveyard disturbances, She hadn’t entered the house since their conversation, and it wasn’t like the EMF was gone. On the second day of no activity they’d had broken into Woodstock’s house, checked to see if it was gone, and it wasn’t. It had just stopped haunting.

Dad was losing his mind. He was barely speaking to Dean, shooting down all his ideas, and mostly just reading book after book and grumbling that it didn’t make any goddamn sense. Ghosts just didn’t stop, they still didn’t know who the hell the son of a bitch was, and they couldn’t leave until this thing was dealt with.

Dean suggested drinks—the motel room was starting to feel like a cage, they both needed it, and maybe the answer would be one or two bottles deep—and Dad had grunted an agreement. It was a small victory, but a victory all the same. Maybe Dean could find a woman there to distract from this disaster, distract him from Her-

He didn’t need to be distracted from Her. There was nothing to distract from. Dean might be dreaming about Her still—dreams where he did grab Her and kiss her, She fell to her knees and he went right down with Her, and it was fucking awesome—but She wasn’t anywhere real around him, so it didn’t matter. Every shadow on the darkened street was shaped like Her, but shadows weren’t real. That gravity in Dean’s chest was trying pull and pry Dean open so She could take a look, but that was just an emotion, and Dean wasn’t about to be some sort of pussy about his feelings. The whole bar seemed to smell like that strange fucking fruit and sugar, but Dean could just be losing his mind. The woman in the booth looked exactly like Her, and sat with her knees tucked up like she did, and was wearing the same shirt-

Shit.

“Dad, I don’t feel great, maybe we could-“

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Dad had seen Her. His face was drawn in a scowl, the glare he used during hunts was furrowing at his brow, and there was a glint in his eyes that set everything on edge.

He was fucked. She was going to tell Dad they’d run into each other, Dad would fucking murder him for not mentioning it, and She’d just fuck off and get herself killed with the ghost. Dean didn’t know why that last one felt just as terrifying as Dad’s wrath, but it might actually be worse. Dad wouldn’t actually kill him. He’d get yelled at and probably banned from driving for a month, but Dad would never hurt him.

Dad would hurt Her. He was already stalking over to Her booth—She hadn’t even looked up, which didn’t increase Dean’s faith in Her lone hunting abilities—with white-knuckled fists that would have probably collided with Her face if she wasn’t a chick. Dean barely ran after him in time for them to reach the booth, to stop at Dad’s side right as he slammed his hand on the table.

She flinched slightly as she looked up, and the air around them became wired and electric.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, girl.” Dad lowered himself down to Her eye level as he spat the words out. “Ain’t no way you’re in town just by fuckin’ coincidence.”

She huffed a dry laugh, holding Dad’s gaze as she answered. “Not a coincidence. Just me, having the worst luck in the world.” Her attention finally turned to Dean, he felt alive, and Her words remained just as flat as before. “Hiya, Deano. You look like shit.” She looked back to Dad, her pretty lips curling into a smirk. “You both look like shit.”

“You think you’re smart-“

She snorted, cutting Dad off with a bored grin. “I am smart. Sit down, you’re drawing attention.”

She waved a loose hand around the bar, and She was right. People were wide eyed, watching them nervously, and they didn’t need that. Attention was bad in this line of business. It was downright dangerous. And Dad knew that, so he gave Dean a curt nod to listen to Her, and slid into the booth once Dean was settled across from Her.

It was a little freaking insane, how She only got prettier. How in the low, golden light of the bar she seemed to have a halo around Her head. But it wasn’t real. Nothing about Her was real, and Dean would have to remember that. Dad was real, was looking at Her like she’d tried to key the Impala, and Dean needed to figure out where that hatred for Her had gone and bring it back. Convince Her to skip town—because She’d get in the way, not because the idea of Her being thrown across a room by a spirit made him sick—and cover his own ass, because he was still in danger of Her snitching on him.

But She was hardly looking at him. Her attention was divided between Dad, her own hands, and the neon red, cherry and ice and paper umbrella drink in front of Her-

“Are you drinking a fucking Shirley Temple?” Dean spoke before he could stop himself, and She shot him a glare.

“You got a problem with that, Winchester?”

“Nah,” Dean shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I just didn’t know you were that much a prissy little princess-“

“They’re good drinks, dick.” She snapped. “It’s called having fun. Something you two buttheads,” She gestured between Dean and Dad. “Clearly know nothing about.”

Dean learned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “I know plenty about having fun, sweetheart. Some might call me a master at it.“

She snorted. It was freaking adorable. “Some might call you a manwhore-“

“Watch yourself, girl.” Dad snapped, and Dean’s whole body tightened. Everything was rigid from the fury on Dad’s face—all directed at Her, all sick in Dean’s stomach—and raw from Her words.

Manwhore. She wasn’t wrong, and he’d been called a lot worse, but it still stung like a freaking hornet along the cavity of his chest. There was no way for Her to know that, unless Dean’s whole face just screamed lonely. Lonely fucking trash to be used up and forgotten. It didn’t. He was so goddamn careful to ensure it didn’t. Even Dad didn’t know the extent of that pit, so it was impossible for Her to, and why did it feel like She’d just punched him in the gut-

“Listen to me,” Dad hissed Her full name, and it was a low threat that snapped Dean back into his body. “Skip town. This is our case, and we don’t need some fancy brat gettin’ in our way.”

She glanced at Dean, and he almost didn’t catch the small frown on Her face. It was fleeting—barely a flash on Her gorgeous features—but strong. Reaching all the way to Her eyes and filling them with an emotion Dean didn’t understand.

But then it was gone. And when She looked back to Dad her face was in bored and taunting once more.

“I’m hate to break it to you, buddy, but ghosts don’t care about dibs.” Her lips curled into a smirk, and this was it. She was going to rat Dean out, he was dead-

“Lucky for you,” She picked up Her drink and leaned back in her seat. “It’s not a ghost. So maybe if you ask it really nicely, it’ll refuse to be killed by anyone but you.”

Dad scowled. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, girl. This ain’t another moroi thing, this is a fuckin’ ghost-“

“It’s not.” She grinned at them from around Her straw, and shit She had nice lips. They were a little puckered, Dean could still remember how soft they’d been, and they’d probably look even better wrapped around Dean’s-

“Whatever game you’re playin’,” Dad hissed at Her, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. “Cut the shit and say what you mean.”

She hummed, still wearing a bright, mocking grin. “You think it’s a ghost.”

“It is a ghost,” Dean muttered, watching Her carefully. “You’re not stupid, Princess, EMF plus random flying plates equals evil Casper.”

“That’s true.” She dropped Her empty glass on the table, leaning toward with a shrug. “But it’s still not a ghost.”

“You heard Dean, girl, it’s a ghost, plain and goddamn simple.”

“Have you seen it?”

Dean glanced at Dad, and he’d bet a lot of money that their expressions were identical in pure freaking confusion.

“We don’t have time,” Dad grunted, his voice low and edged. “For fucking riddles. You-“

“It’s not a riddle.” She raised her brows, picking a cherry out of the glass. “Have either of you actually seen your alleged ghost? Did Maggie Rose tell you she saw it?”

Maggie Rose. Woodstock. The woman who would’ve definitely seen the ghost by now.

And who hadn’t mentioned it a single goddamn time.

“I’m guessing you haven’t found remains either.” She hummed, picking the cherry off the stem with Her teeth. “And you’ve been looking for who the ghost could be, but you’re not finding anything. You’ve been looking in the wrong place. Poltergeist’s don’t have to haunt the places where they died, and they often have little to no connection with their victims.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “This thing ain’t nearly violent enough to be a poltergeist-“

“That’s because it’s been getting enough attention so far. Maggie’s been screaming about it, and it’s found that satisfying enough.” She spun the stem between two fingers, looking between Dad And Dean with a triumphant grin. “Poltergeist.”

Dean was pretty sure Dad was going to leap across the table and strangle Her. His jaw was clenched, his body stiff at Dean’s side, and his words—when he finally spoke—were pushed through his teeth.

“Dean.” He grunted, not looking away from Her. “I have to make a call to your uncle. Deal with her.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded, and Dad slid out of the booth without another word. Leaving Dean.

But not alone.

Dean blinked at Her. Dad was gone, and She hadn’t mentioned that they’d seen each other before. Shit, She hadn’t even mentioned Sam, and his obvious absence. Dad would just chalk that up to Her being a bitch, but Dean was clinging to it. She should’ve said it. She had every reason to. But She fucking hadn’t, and some part of Dean was desperate to know why. To know if it was because the idea of him in trouble made Her feel like her skin was being ripped to shreds. It felt like that for Dean, whenever he was reminded that She hunted alone. Whenever a memory of Her covered in blood flashed through his brain.

And he could still feel it. Feel the electricity in the air that was so different than before. It was charged and tense, but in a way that made Dean feel like he was breathing. He could feel things that didn’t make sense, but they were right. She was right. Across the table, running Her hands over her calves and watching Dean like he might try to take a bite of Her, She still felt like she could fit against him like another piece.

“You’re not going to deal with me.”

Dean frowned at Her. She wasn’t meeting his gaze, poking the paper umbrella around the glass. “What?”

“What your dad said,” She muttered. “He told you to deal with me. You won’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

She finally looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time since last year. On the curb She’d seen him, but not looked at him. Not like before. Not like that. Where Dean felt like She was seeing right into the pit—how empty and fucking pathetically worthless he was—and filling it up with something peaceful and silver and molten in his gut, like a melted star lighting him up from the inside. He wished it was real. Dean wished, more than almost fucking anything, that he didn’t know that this was part of Her scam or game. That She was looking at him like that because he made Her feel stripped and raw too. Because She saw something in him she wanted, and just kept digging for more without fear of him breaking Her.

But he also wished he wasn’t so fucking lonely that he could care about that. That he could get a hold over himself and just deal with Her. That She wasn’t giving him a strangely soft smile, and he wasn’t caving from how it made his heart freaking glow like a night-light.

“Because,” She said, like it was simple. Like Dean should just know what she meant. “You won’t.”

“I might.” He leaned forward, holding Her eyes on his as he smirked. “You’re putting yourself in danger, Princess. Dealing with you would be the responsible thing to do.”

“Really.” Her voice was dry, disbelieving. “How would you deal with me, Dean Winchester?”

God, She was trying to kill him. She was looking at him like that, and there was a smug smirk on Her full lips, and Dean had spent the last year hating Her but now all he could think about was how the universe that existed in Her eyes, and how he wanted to see every inch of it. Bare skin and brilliant eyes that had been phantoms in is sleep, now real and touchable. He had a million ways he’d like to deal with Her, and all of them started with those blinding fucking eyes. Rolling back in Her head and fluttering under him and sparkling on his. Her voice saying his name like it was more than just a breath, like it was the blood in Her veins-

“I’m afraid that’s top secret, Princess.” Dean dragged himself together to shoot Her a wink, and he could’ve sworn she flushed. “But I’ll tell you if you give me that answer you owe me.”

She gave him a strange look. “We were even.”

Dean shook his head. “You had asked me two questions. I only asked you one.”

There was a small, frowning pout on Her lips, and Dean realized She might be trying to work out if he was lying. He wasn’t. That conversation lived in the corners of his brain all the goddamn time, he couldn’t forget it if he tried. And he had. He’d bet his life that he was right. She’d asked him two questions about Dad and Sam, called him De, and his whole brain had short-circuited. He’d only realized on the drive back, and he’d been planning to use that to try and get Her to do the game again, but-

But She’d been tricking him. A con-woman and spoiled bitch who had been planning to use him. He’d seen the evidence. He knew that’s what was real. That between them, Dean wasn’t the liar.

He should care about that more. He should stand up and leave, or threaten Her to get the hell out of Dad’s way, or at least stop fucking smiling at Her. But She’d nodded, dropping Her knees down to lean closer, and he was drugged on Her voice and smell and face.

And he stayed.

“Fine.” She said, and Dean felt a thrill-like rush through his body. She was so pretty. “Go.”

He didn’t have a question ready. He hadn’t really expected Her to agree. But She had, and now he was staring at Her, trying to find something. Anything at all that didn’t make him look like a gaping dumbass, lost in Her eyes and high on her smell. He should ask everything he’d wanted to scream at Her on the street, and throw in a shout of why the hell didn’t you tell my dad I knew you were here. It didn’t make any goddamn sense that She hadn’t, and Dean needed to know why. That’s what he should ask. He should just freaking ask why.

“Where are you staying?”

Son of a bitch. That wasn’t what he’d meant to ask, now She was staring at him like he was some kind of creep or asshole, and Dean had to figure out how the hell he could justify asking that.

“For the case,” he added quickly, his voice drained of most of the artificial, cocky arrogance he prided himself on. “Ya’ know. In case we need to find you.”

“You won’t.” She said, Her finger running over that scar on her palm. “This is my case-“

“Yeah, and you’ve got it handled.” Dean drawled, raising his brows. “You gonna answer the question?”

She sighed. “Same motel you’re at. Down the road.”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen your car-“

“You remember my car?”

He felt a little heat rush to his face, only worsened by how there was a little, dancing light in Her eyes that was trying to draw him into Her, as if he was only a moth and she was the freaking sun. And of course he remembered that car. It was Her car. He’d felt something seize in his chest every time he’d seen one like it for the last year.

“I like cars,” Dean grumbled—hoping She wouldn’t see it for the half-lie it was—and a small smile pulled at her lips. It looked a little too real.

“Like your dad’s.” She nodded, starting to fish ice cubes out of Her glass. “The Impala.”

It was Dean’s turn to grin. “You remember my car?”

She definitely flushed that time. “Yeah,” She mumbled. “It’s memorable. Shut up and answer my question.”

Dean raised his brows, remained silents, and tried to bait Her into saying it again. It worked.

“You’re such a-“ She cut herself off with a sigh and roll of Her eyes. “How would you deal with me.”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Dean drawled Her name, feeling his grin overtake his face, every bit of his confidence returning—stronger than before—as She swallowed under his gaze. “I’d deal with you however you’d like.”

She blinked at him, and he was certain Her voice was higher than before. “I don’t, um, I-“ She glanced down at his lips, Her tongue poking out between her teeth. Dean wanted to bite it. “What?”

“However you tell me to,” he winked, and She looked like he’d shot her. Good. “I’ll deal with you. My question is how?”

“How-“

“How would you like me to deal with you, Princess?”

Dean was pushing it. Shit, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, or why he couldn’t bring himself to sneer at Her, or mock her, or deal with her the way Dad had definitely meant. But he did know that Her eyes were wide and blown out, and Her lips looked soft, and he wanted to know if could get Her to be speechless. To gape at him all needy and dumb, so he could show Her exactly what fire She’d been playing with. That he wouldn’t roll over like a puppy, that whatever spell She’d cast on him—whatever aphrodisiac she’d been using—Dean might not be immune, but he could give better than he got. Maybe he’d get Her to bend enough that She’d admit what she’d been doing last year, and Dean would forgive Her because he didn’t know how not to. Because She was like tattoo on his brain that he didn’t want to get rid of.

Maybe he’d get to keep Her.

Maybe they could start over.

“I…” She trailed off, and Dean wanted to smash his lips to Her slack, open ones and start over. She was still gaping at him with a wide, open expression, and fuck he wanted to start over so bad. Against every bit of willpower and intelligence he had, Dean wanted to give into this strange instinct and start over.

“C’mon.” He drawled Her name, shooting her a wink. “Use some words.”

She glared at him, something hot flashing in Her eyes. “Pass. Ask me a different question.”

Dean scoffed under, dropping his voice to under his breath. “Who’s not fun now-“

“I heard that.”

“Course you did.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, party pooper. What do you like?”

She blinked at him. "What do I like?"

"Like you said, sweetheart, I like cars." Dean said, trying to make his words sound casual. Like he wasn't desperate to learn everything about Her that she'd offer. "What's your thing?"

"My thing." She said slowly, still looking at Dean like he was insane. "That I like."

He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she frowned into the air as she continued.

"I don't know. Books? Movies and music?"

Dean gave Her an amused, flat look. "C'mon, you can gimme more than that-"

"No, I can't." She snapped. She was really hot when she snapped. "Movies and music is my answer, Winchester, deal with it."

Dean drawled Her name. “Everyone likes movies and music-“

“That doesn’t make it any less important to me.” She said, narrowing her eyes. “How would you like it if I said everyone drives cars-“

Dean scoffed. “They don’t drive them like I do, Princess-“

“And you don’t watch movies and listen to music like I do, Deano.”

He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright. Point proven.” He titled his head at Her. “What’s your favorite movie?”

She laughed. A real laugh, and it sounded like music and rain and a soft summer breeze that shot right into Dean’s blood like a drug. “It’s my question, De. But nice try.”

He grinned at Her, clicking his tongue. "Bossy-"

"Shut up." She tilted her head at him, and Dean just grinned. "What's your favorite movie?"

"Untouchables." He said with a shrug. "Your turn."

She just looked at him with a small, teasing grin, and Dean realized she was waiting for him to repeat the question.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, sweetheart. What's your favorite movie?"

Her face split into a wide, full grin, and God, he was fucked. Nothing in the world seemed to matter more than that smile, and the way it made him feel like he was circling the sun, crashing down to Earth in a ball of fire, and turning to steam as She swallowed him in her gravity. He really didn't give a shit if it was real. Maybe Dean could get himself to be bloody and bright enough to match Her, and she'd feel this too. She'd feel this, and stay, and offer an explanation about last year. An explanation that would prove it wasn't all that bad, and that She was just as fucking empty as Dean was, and he'd fill Her up-

Fuck, he couldn't think that. Not right now, when She looked like that—beautiful in a way that might be deadly—and was smiling at him, and he couldn't get a damn grip and just hate Her. He wasn't supposed to be crashing back up into Her. Dad would be so freaking disappointed that Dean was dumb enough to fall for this act again.

But he was. His jeans felt tight, he couldn't stop grinning at Her, and that siren-like voice kept Dean in her orbit, with absolutely no desire to leave.

She had a million favorite movies. And She hadn't been lying. She watched movies differently than Dean did. Differently that anyone did. He'd never heard anyone use so many big art words in a row, followed by about twenty, very creative swears at a speed he could only describe as frantic. Like if She didn't get Dean to understand exactly why Indiana Jones was the perfect adventure movie, why chick flicks had irreplaceable cultural value, and sitcoms could be the best medium of television, the world might end.

And it should be reminding him that they weren't the same. That Dean was trapped in the mud—he'd been born here, he'd die here, and he belonged here—because it was the only place for things like him. Gut covered weapons, made of rust that would crumble to dust before they made it out alive. And She was just visiting. Using the mud to make Her feel alive or important until she could return to a world of people with ivory and marble who all spoke like this. She was using Dean to do the same, maybe more. Maybe worse. Maybe trying to pry him open and steal what little he had inside him.

But, son of a bitch, She could have it. He'd stay right here with Her for a million freaking years, just as long as She kept smiling and rambling and giggling at Dean's small jokes between Her breathes. Maybe he could take that bite out of Her. Taste sugar and fruit and whatever else he was starting crave. He could take Her flesh and blood and call it even for what She’d done, because She was still so pretty, and Dean felt like he could be valuable under Her bright attention.

He’d repay Her for that bite by offering himself. He'd be that smeared, dulled weapon for Her. He shouldn't be. Dad would kill him. But he wanted to be. He wanted to stay here forever. And when the waitress came over—with plastic tits and syrupy words—he didn't even fully realize until She cleared her throat and jerked her head to the side. Even then he just frowned at Her, a drunken trance of her voice and smile still clouding his attention, because what the hell could possibly be more interesting—more important—than listening to Her talk?

Then the waitress leaned down, almost blocking Her from view, and Dean frowned.

"What?" His voice was irritated, impatient, but he didn't really care. He needed think lady to freaking move, before She somehow vanished like a dream through Dean's fingers, and he was alone again.

"You want anythin' to drink, handsome? The waitress asked, and Dean nodded. He could use a beer—it might help dull the raging wildfire inside him, trying to tear him between his hatred of what he knew She was and the raw, feral instinct to latch onto Her and never let go—and Her glass was almost out of ice cubes. If he got Her another glass, he could keep Her here just a little longer. As long as he could.

"Beer for me," he raised two fingers, pointing between Her and himself. "Virgin Shirley Temple for the lady."

The waitress blinked at him for a second, but got the message. Dean had Her. He didn't need to company of another pretty face, because none of them could be prettier that Her's. Shit, it wasn't even a fair comparison. Leaving this booth for anything—leaving Her for anything—would be like trading a burger for a fucking salad. Insane and pointless.

When the waitress finally moved, She was gaping at him, her words suddenly soft. Almost nervous.

"You, um-" She shook her head slightly. "Thanks."

Dean shrugged. "Not a big deal, you blew through that fancy girl drink in like a second anyway-"

"No, that's not-" She frowned at him, and Dean realized she was touching that scar again. "You remembered. That I don't drink."

"Oh." Dean stared at Her, his tongue almost glued into his mouth, his brain a little warm and soft from Her almost vulnerable gaze. "Yeah."

They were just staring at each other, and all Dean could manage to do was clear his throat, scratch the back of his neck, and force himself to speak.

"You, uh," he swallowed, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket. "Never mentioned why."

"Why-"

"You don't drink."

"I'm not twenty-one yet, Winchester, I don't think I-" She cut herself off, leaning a little away from Dean with a small frown. He waited, the silence resuming for a long, heavy second that sat and froze in Dean's lungs. She wasn't looking at him anymore, twisting a ring on Her finger, and when She spoke again, her voice had dropped to a mumble. "I want a clear head. It's safer."

"Safer?"

"For our job." She curled a little into herself, like Dean was trying to peel her apart. "I mean, I can't really afford to get drunk. It could end, uh, badly."

Something became sharp over Dean's skin. That wasn't it. It wasn't a lie, but Dean could read it all over Her—he wasn't sure how, but he could—that there was more to it. But that's not why there was a sore prickle rooted in his muscles.

"Because you hunt alone."

She nodded, bringing Her knees up to her chest, and the ache worsened.

"You could drink." He muttered, leaning back with a slight slam of his hand on the table. "If you'd hunt with a partner."

She sighed. "I'm not going to hunt with a partner-"

"Why?"

He'd snapped. He hadn't meant to, but the ache moved to his mouth and he needed Her to understand. To get that hunting alone was fucking dangerous, and would get Her killed, and he cared about that so goddamn much for no real reason. He shouldn't care. But the thought of Her covered in blood make his gut twist and his heart burn in his chest, so She needed to get it. Now.

She narrowed her eyes, finally looking at him. "Why what."

"Why won't you hunt with a partner." He grumbled, holding Her gaze. "What would make that so fucking bad, sweetheart?"

"Because, as I've told you all week, I don't need to.” Her words were firm, dropped to a hushed sneer. "Anyone else would get in my way."

"I haven't even seen you since the freaking house," Dean said Her name with a low huff. "How could that be getting in the way-"

"I'd be fucking babysitting." She hissed. "I don't need a bunch of assholes tell me what to do, how to fight, how to kill something, how to-"

"Be safe?" Dean cut Her off with a sneer. "Not act like you're too good for anyone else?"

"I never said that, you asshole." She was starting to hug herself, and Dean felt ill, but he wouldn't be the one to break. "I am not too good, I just refuse to be a little hunter fuck-doll beating bag."

Dean blinked. "What?”

She sighed in flat, unamused disbelief. "Hunter's don't have great track records with women. I mean, be fucking real, dude. It wouldn't be the monster's that kill me."

"You," he shook his head. "That's- There are assholes out there everywhere, that doesn't mean you just roll over and accept death-"

"So what should I do?" She raised Her brows. "Be your partner? Be you and your father's little fucking toy until one of you puts a bullet-"

She cut herself off, and Dean gaped at Her, fire crawling over his veins.

"I-" She swallowed, and Dean wished he didn't give a fuck how She suddenly seemed so small. "I'm-"

"Do you seriously believe," Dean muttered, unsure if the fire in his voice was for himself, Dad, or how She looked like a wounded animal. "That we'd- Shit, are you fucking kidding me-"

"It's- I-"

"Save it," He snapped. "We are not killers or fucking savage trash-"

"That's not-"

"You listen to me, Princess-"

"No! I just-" She sounded panicked. Cornered. "I’m sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it's complicated-"

He scoffed. "Not that complicated, sweetheart, you think I'm just as bad as that shit we hunt-"

"No I don't-"

"You do," he hissed Her name. "Drop the act. And, just so we're clear, I'd never hurt you-"

She laughed, shaking Her head. "You can't be fucking serious. That’s-“ She tensed, her face twisting slightly as she scratched at Her skin. "You don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Winchester. You don't get to act like you give a fuck if I hunt alone."

Dean's hand curled into a fist. "Nobody should hunt alone, it's, fuck, it's stupid-"

"I am not stupid-"

Dean huffed a dry laugh. "I got that, Princess. But you know what? I think," he leaned forward, letting the words fall out of his mouth before he could think about them. Before he could stop them. "That you're just too much of a crazy bitch to have anyone stick around."

It was silent, and She was just staring at him, her features moving through a million emotions that Dean couldn't understand. He'd won. She looked like he'd taken a knife right to Her heart, and she wasn't fighting back, so he'd won. And he couldn't fucking breathe. He felt sick, and faint, and freaking awful-

"Choke on my dick, Winchester.” She snapped, but there was something weaker in Her voice. Something that told Dean he’d hit on something fragile. That he was a piece of fucking shit that went for the killing blow because he couldn't help it. Because he was the very fucking, lower-than-the-sewers trash She'd just accused him of being-

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to take it back or say they'd both gone too far, and he felt like shit and still wanted—despite literally everything—to start over. To at least ask Her to tell him the truth, to at least tell Her how hating her like this made him feel wrong-

But She was gone. She'd left the booth and stomped out the door before Dean could even make a sound, and he just goddamn sat there. She wouldn't come back, but he was still just sitting there. Dad was probably waiting for him, ready to demand a reason why he'd taken so long, but Dean still just sat there. Shit, they might have a poltergeist to deal with, but Dean wasn't freaking moving.

What finally got him was the waitress, making her way back to the table and saying some snide comment about his girlfriend not appreciating him. Dean didn't even spare the woman a look as he shot up, shoved past her, and marched out into the parking lot to find Dad and get the hell out of here. If Dad asked, Dean would say he'd taken care of it. Not of Her—She'd looked like he'd torn Her to shreds with his teeth—but the situation. She'd probably be gone by morning, not wanting to be anywhere near two mud and gut covered hunters. Near Dean.

Dad was still on the phone when Dean saw the Impala. Sitting in the front seat with a frown, the windows rolled down to combat the flat heat of air, speaking in a low, gruff voice to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I don't care," he was muttering as Dean approached, his voice carried on the wind. "I can get the asshole no problem, Bobby, the poltergeist ain't my issue."

It was a poltergeist. If Bobby said it was a poltergeist, it was a poltergeist. She'd been right. And as Dean got closer, Dad obviously couldn't see him in the shadows, so he should probably say something to alert Dad that he was here

"Obviously it's the fuckin' girl." Dad snapped, and Dean froze. "Shit, she just shows up again? On another weird fuckin' case, bein' right about what it is, sinkin' her claws into Dean-"

Dad stopped talking—Bobby was probably saying something Dean couldn't hear—and Dean's breathing was shallow. He shouldn't be eavesdropping. Dad would kill him, and he just shouldn't. He trusted Dad, and if this wasn't something Dad wanted to hear, it wasn't something he had to hear. But She hadn't sunken Her claws into him. She'd just scratched him over his brain and scarred him, but Dad couldn't see that. She just haunted him, and drove him mad, and made him want to-

"She's the one Dean's obsessed with."

Dean frowned. He was not obsessed with Her.

"She's a hunter alright. That moroi case me and the boys worked-" There was a small pause. "Yeah, moroi. Freakin' nasty little vampire baby shits. She-" Dad huffed, and Dean could hear the muffled sound of Bobby's voice. It sounded urgent.

Then Dad said Her full name into the speaker, and Dean could hear his frown. "You heard of her, Bobby?"

Bobby must have said no—there was no reason for him to know Her—but whatever he did say made Dad's hands grip the wheel with white knuckles.

"The hell you mean you have to go- Bobby-" John groaned, the click of his phone being closed snapping through the air and Dean swallowed. The call was over. Time to pretend he wasn’t a piece of fucking shit that had been invading Dad's privacy.

Dean moved out of the shadows and opened the car door, Dad barely waiting for him to be seated before he started talking.

"We got a poltergeist." He grunted, turning on the engine. "Let's go."

Dean blinked. "Go? Like, now?"

"Damn right, now." Dad shot him a raised brow. "Why, you fuckin' waiting for somethin'-"

"No, sir." Dean shook his head, and Dad nodded, still watching him carefully.

"You take care of the girl?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean hated that the words tasted rotten in his mouth. "She's gone."

Dad nodded. "Remember, son. No pair of tits are worth more-"

"Then family." Dean finished. He'd heard that sentence enough to recite it in his sleep. It didn't matter. She didn't matter. Dean felt like a fucking asshole, but She didn't matter. "I know, Dad."

"Good." Dad muttered, pulling out of the lot. "Let's kill this fuckin' poltergeist and get the hell out of here."

—————————

Bobby doesn't know you're here. He thinks you're in Louisiana still, dealing with the kelpie.

You're not. You're in Illinois. Trying something on a poltergeist.

You'll tell him when you get home. Explain that you'd just wanted to test your ghost ritual again, and if you'd told that him before, he would've snapped that testing that stuff was dangerous, and the thing had already worked once, so there wasn't any goddamn reason to risk it again.

And he was right. The rituals and spell and curses that had started to come to you in the dead of night—when it was just you and the White in the world, and the darkness became consuming—weren’t exactly safe to test on hunts. Not because of the rituals themselves, but because of the exposure. The danger of using magic where you could be discovered by another hunter. But you had to test them. You didn't know where they were coming from or how to stop them, but they always worked. You wake up and know that, if you said all these words and mixed these things together, you could make a veil between dead spirits and the living. A barrier that didn't kill the ghosts, but stopped them. A blockade that could be torn down, but bought you plenty of time and minimized any casualties.

It was why Bobby wasn't stopping you. He insisted you stay far away from other hunters, and update him after every test to make sure you hadn't blown yourself up or worse, but he wasn't trying to hold you back. Convince you to just drown in the darkness until it eroded the White, and you lost control forever. But he still wouldn't be happy about the second test. And you could've justified it by pointing out that this was actually a poltergeist, so you'd had to figure out how to alter the ritual, but then you saw the Winchester's Impala in your motel parking lot.

Which meant this it would be stupid to keep working the case. It meant you were in danger, because they were probably hunting the same poltergeist you were trying to do magical experiments on.

Worse, it meant Dean was here.

And you're going to fucking scream.

He'd never left your brain. You haven't stopped moving, you never stop moving, but Dean has followed you everywhere. Into your head every second, still circling around his handsome face and pretty face and beautiful smile. Into the darkness when it started to slip out of you, fueled by an echo of unworthy and sick, edged with the phantom feeling of his body at your side.

He was in countless, lonely motel beds where you looked to the side and expected him to be there. He was on the curb when you were covered in grime and monster guts, and you looked up to find the shadow above you only a shadow. He was in your bag, because you’d never thrown out his shirt. It didn’t smell like him anymore—he was there too, in wet grass in the spring and the spice of cheap aftershave on a man in a bar—but you were still holding onto it. Holding onto Dean.

You weren’t sure what could make you let go. You’d even started to fish for information about him from Bobby with careful questions about the Winchesters. What they usually hunted, so you could avoid them. What Sam and Dean were like, in case you ever ran into them, so you’d know what to expect. If they always hunted with John, or if they ever went off on their own. Bobby would always give you a strange look and a short answer—whatever they ran into, they’re good boys in the same shit situation as every other hunter, and John never let them hunt alone—but you’d pieced more from what you already knew. Sam hated hunting, and Dean loved it, their relationship with John was complicated—you could’ve gotten that one yourself—and Dean was what Bobby called eager with women.

He slept around. He’d probably been trying to sleep with you, and given up when he realized that you weren’t easy. That you were tired and rough and so, so angry all the time. That you might be beautiful, but the same was a thunderstorm is beautiful. The same was a statue is beautiful.

Something you shouldn’t touch. Something you shouldn’t try to hold, even for a night.

Something that wasn’t worth Dean Winchester time. Something he’d seen, turned away from, and then left you. He’d left you because he’d seen you for what you were, and he hadn’t wanted anything from you in the first place, but he’d still fucking left you. And you hated him for that, because you’d been ready to offer him whatever he wanted. Against all reason and logic and caution, you’d wanted him more than you could describe.

And against all your willpower, you couldn’t let go of him. Because you’d seen the Impala in the parking lot—the one you’d been searching for on every highway, in every small town and city—and the force of Dean is here had hit you like a hurricane. Everything had felt so fucking big, and you couldn’t hold onto the darkness in your body as your breathing became heavy and you attempted to keep yourself together. Nails digging into your skin as the wind howled through your room, the peeled paint on the walls cowering from you as your attention became vigilant, everything crashing back down into you when you bit down, and a lightbulb shattered across the room.

You’d avoided him. You’d hidden in crowds on the street when you saw him, and ducked behind shelves when he entered the corner store. You’d kept your shades angled so you could see the parking lot, and pushed down the way the White howled at the sight of him coming and going. You’d planned to handle the hunt in silence, and then just go.

The house owner was a sweet hippy who agreed to let you do the ritual when you told her she had the aura of a swan. You’d give it a few days after to ensure the barrier could hold, get rid of the poltergeist for good, and then leave without the Winchester’s ever even knowing you were here.

Then you’d seen Dean in the woods, and you couldn’t resist talking to him. He’d seen you anyway, so there wasn’t anything left to lose. And he’d still been so pretty, and your knees still felt weak, and the White still whined for him no matter how much of a dick he was being. It was insufferable, you’d left with darkness eating at your blood, and you’d looked back. You couldn’t stop looking back. Every time you had run on the street you’d turned around to see if he was frowning in adorable confusion around the busy sidewalks. When he was in the parking lot you’d checked to see if he was still pretty, even though you knew he would be. Of course he would be. He was an asshole like that.

You’d looked back outside of the poltergeist house because you had to. You had to see if he was real or just another flickering dream, and you couldn’t resist the desire to see him—staring at you on the street and suffocating you with that same smell from last year—one more time. It’s why you hadn’t skipped town right after. It’s why you’d stayed so long in the bar. You just fucking had to. You could fight against his winks and grins and smooth words, making you smile when you hated him, making you laugh when you should’ve been running. It had seemed—for whatever strange reason—that Dean hadn’t told John you were here, but he definitely knew now, and you were certainly in very real danger. But Dean had carved you open again, and you’d stayed in that stupid booth until he’d given you a good reason to leave.

And it was a great reason. It would’ve been kinder to shoot you in the temple than say that. At least he would’ve killed you, and you wouldn’t have had to wage this war in your body. The war between your hatred of him, and how you want to go back. He’s such a fucking asshole, but you still want to turn around and go back. To ask him why he left, why he cares, how he seems to know your every raw nerve and if he's still feels this too. If he felt it before.

You don't really want to know that last one. Because if he felt it before, that means he felt it and left. That he can feel it now and hates you for it.

Because he does hate you. If it wasn't in his words, it was all over his face. How he’d laughed like you were just a silly little girl. How he’d looked right into you like he could see the darkness. How he’d grinned at you like a wolf, like he wanted to rip you apart. He sees what you are, and he despises it.

And you were fine with that. You despise him. He was an arrogant, smug, dickish, charming, controlling, annoying, handsome, caring, selfish, funny, sexy, adorable, funny, strong, sweet-

God fucking damnit. He was an asshole. He'd left you, he hated you, and you wouldn't fall for the cowboy-in-shining-leather thing again. You were going to take care of this poltergeist now, and leave town right after. Dean and John could be here another week trying to figure out if it was even dead for all you cared. You just had to go. Before this all got worse.

You've barely parked when your phone starts to buzz. You don’t look at the contact when you decline it—you don’t have the time—but then it just starts buzzing again.

It’s Bobby.

You still don’t answer. If he’s in danger, he wouldn’t call you. If it’s an urgent question, he can handle it himself. If it’s a non-urgent question, he can wait for this to be done. If he was dying-

You almost pick up the phone. The thought flashes through your brain, a small stone grows in your throat, and you reach for the phone with a frantic movement. You’re about the dial him back when the first message comes through, and you sigh in relief.

You better call me back now, kid, we need to talk.

Not dying. Can be dealt with later. You’ll call him back when you’re done, because this will be quick, and you’ll get through it. You always do.

You’d convinced the homeowner to get out of town for a few days, to stay with her sister until you were done. The purification ritual was in the trunk of your latest stolen car—you’d meddled with the ingredients, giving it an extra kick—and this would be quick.

There’s no blur as you start. You’re alert for your barrier to break—keeping in iron poker in your hands—but there’s no disturbance, so you just go through the motions. The basement is finished in five minutes, the first floor in ten, and you’ve only got two bags left when glass shatters downstairs, and the blur starts to cloud your head. Something cracked in the ritual, maybe because you’re almost done, but now you have to fight-

“Dean, you got the guns?”

You freeze as John Winchester’s voice sounds from down the stairs, and everything becomes too sharp. There’s a creaking sound from downstairs, the darkness is starting to spread up your spine and over the white popcorn ceilings of the house, you’re fucked, and the White is reaching out to-

“I got it, Dad, but I thought poltergeists-“

“Son of a bitch wants attention.” John snaps over Dean, and you might crush the bag in your hand. “We’re gonna give him some until he shows himself, and we find the asshole’s remains and burn them.”

This is bad. That’s not how poltergeists work at all—you’re a little shocked John thinks it is—and they’re going to fuck up your barrier, and you can’t tell them they’ll fuck up the barrier or John will turn one of those guns on you-

“Is the hippy chick home?” Dean asks, snapping you out of your panic as the White howls inside you. “I can deal with her while you take care of-“

“No need. Car ain’t in the driveway.” There’s a pause, and you can hear them shuffling downstairs. “Plus I know how you deal with the vics, Dean. We don’t need that right now.”

Something’s bitter in your mouth that has no right to be there, and no right to vanish at Dean’s grumbled words.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Dad-“

“I don’t care how you meant it. Focus up so we can get this shit done.”

There’s another few muffled sounds, an unmistakable click of a gun, and you’re moving before you think better of it.

“Stop!” You’re almost shrieking—dropping the poker and shoving your last two bags into your pockets as you run down the stairs—and barely stop your body from colliding with Dean’s in the entrance hallway.

“What the fuckin’ hell are you doin’?!“ John’s roar makes you flinch, his rifle aimed right at your head. You take a stumbling step back as darkness wraps around your hands and your heart kicks into a rapid, frantic rhythm you can hear in your ears. John can see you. He’s going to kill you. You going to die, and they’ll burn your body, and shit you never called Bobby but the darkness is going to burst out of you and John’s going to kill you-

A hand steadies you by your shoulders, grass and spice and leather ease the darkness down, and you wish you didn’t relax into the warmth of behind you, that the pretty, rolling voice a little over your head didn’t soothe your panic.

“Woah, Dad, it’s just-“ Dean says your name, and John scoffs, not lowering his gun.

“I know who it is, Dean, that ain’t my issue.” John’s eyes narrow on you, hatred painted all over his face. It’s worse than Dean’s somehow. There’s something pure about it, like John didn’t have to look into you to see what an atrocity you are. He just senses it. “Why the fuck are you here, girl.”

“I’m hunting my poltergeist.” You snap, forcing your voice to sound angry and not terrified, your face to be a mask of annoyed and not painted in dread. “What possible other reason could I have.”

“Could be looking at real estate.” Dean mumbles with a shrug, and he’s still touching you. You can’t help but glance back as you jerk away from him, and the expression on his face is unreadable. Guarded but cautious, like when he’d watched you and John snap at each other in the booth. Like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. “I hear this is a good neighborhood.”

You give him a flat look. “This house is haunted.”

He shoots you a wink, clearly fueled by you not just ignoring him. “Won’t once we’re done with it-“

“Once I’m done with it.” You narrow your eyes at him. “This is my hunt, Winchester. I was here first.”

“Poltergeists don’t respect dibs, Princess.” Dean snaps. “And you don’t even have a freakin’ gun.”

“I don’t need a gun-“

Dean lets out a dry, shouting laugh. “I take back what I said earlier, you are stupid if you’re about to try and kill this thing without a freakin’ gun-“

“You’re stupid if you think I’m just going to let you fuck this up-“

“We’re saving your ass from getting whacked by a poltergeist, some gratitude might be nice-“

“You’re getting in my fucking way-“

“You’re-“

“Enough!” John’s shouts over Dean, and you both freeze. You hadn’t realized you’d been shouting, or how close Dean had gotten. You can see his every freckle, every shade of green in his eyes, how his lips are slightly parted so his breath fans over your face-

“I don’t want you two talkin’ unless it’s telling me where the poltergeist is.” John hisses, and you force your body away from Dean’s. “We’re killin’ this thing right fuckin’ now, got it?”

Dean nods, bowing his head slightly, and you just glare at John. All you have to do is get upstairs place the last two bags, and you’ll be fine. If agreeing to work with them does that, you’ll do it.

You split up. John goes to the basement, Dean takes the first floor, you rush upstairs. The bags are in your pants, and you’re so close, but John and Dean are waving around guns and talking about ganking the poltergeist, and it can definitely fucking hear them. The paintings shake on the walls as the temperature drops, and it’s trying break through. You get the first bag just as the lights begin to flicker, and you sprint down the hall to the last wall. Just one more and it will be done, and you can leave-

“Fuck-“ Dean shouts right as you reach the spot, and your blood goes cold. “Dad! It’s on me- shit-“

Then he roars your name, and you’re moving before you can think. Grabbing the poker, half-falling down the stairs, and reaching Dean just as his gun is yanked out of his hands by nothing at all. His eyes widen as they meet your, his mouth opens to say something and-

“Dean!” You can barely hear your own scream as he flies across the room, his head knocking on the counter.

His body slumps, and you’re not in a blur. This is a rush. Everything is wide around you, there’s an airy chill in your lungs, and the darkness is pouring out of you as the lights grow too bright and the windows bang on a windless night. The darkness starts to ignite over your hands—a phantom flame you’re not sure is real, burning and stinging at your skin—you whirl around, and, on instinct alone, shove the air. There’s a high, shrill, horrible sound of pain as the air goes up in flames, and then it all comes down. The room grows warm, the house goes quiet, and the darkness returns to you without a fight.

And Dean’s still slumped on the floor.

“Dean!” You fall to your knees at his side—rolling his face to the side, grabbing his hand to take a pulse—and only notice John as he silently joins you, taking Dean’s face between his hands with a set jaw.

You don’t know how long he’s been there.

You don’t know what he saw.

“What the hell-“

“Poltergeist.” You whisper, watching John examine Dean’s head. “Threw him across the room.”

John scowls. “You just let this shit happen-“

“I didn’t- I got the asshole.” You hiss, clawing at the skin near your nail until it stings. “House purification ritual, which I was already doing before! Nothing would’ve happened at all if you didn’t jump in with fucking guns-“

“Just-“ John raises his hand, and you fall silent. You’re still holding Dean’s hand. You don’t let it go.

“He’s okay.” You mumble, mostly for yourself. Mostly to fight the bile in your throat at the sight of him, sweaty and pale, not bleeding but moving, eyes fluttering but not waking up. “He’s gonna be okay.”

You almost miss John’s strange look. You almost forget about the axe over your head, and how he might know what you are. All you can really think about is Dean. You barely hear John order you to stay here while he grabs the car, and it feels a little pointless. You would’ve stayed here no matter what.

He’s groaning. Dean keeping making low noises of pain, and his hand keeps flexing in yours, but he’s breathing. Shallow breathes, but he’s breathing. And he’ll be okay. He has to be okay. It’s just a Poltergeist, not even a strong one, and he’s young and strong, and he’ll be okay. Your breathing has become a little uneven, and you can feel the White rioting and bellowing inside you as he shudders slightly, but he’ll be okay. You won’t let him not be. He feels clammy when you press your hand to his brow—your fingers brush his hair, and it’s soft, and that’s not important but you’re going to think about it for a million years—so you shrug off your own jacket and toss it over his body. He’s still holding onto you, so you don’t drop his hand. When John gets back you loop his arm over your shoulders, your own arm around his waist, and haul his dead-weight up until John grabs the other side.

When you reach the Impala—you working in silence with John to slide him carefully into the backseat—he clings to you. John drops his arm and it shoots over your stomach, his head falling onto your chest as he makes another low grunt of pain. And there’s such little color on his face, and he’s still shuddering when you move the jacket back over him, and you could fix this. You’ve never healed anyone before, but you could. You can feel the darkness moving into the tips of your fingers and over your heart as Dean takes a stuttered breath, and you have to-

“Get out.”

You look up and find that John has walked around the car and opened your door. “I-“

“Leave.” John grunts, not even sparing you glance as he speaks. “Now.”

You shake your head, and it’s a weak movement. There’s that feral instinct of survive still in your bones, but it’s not bigger than Dean. Nothing’s bigger than Dean. “No, I-“

“I ain’t askin’-“

“It’s not up to you-“

“My car. My rules.” John’s words sound pushed through his teeth. “Out.”

“I,” you swallow, glancing back down to Dean. “I could help-“

“You’ve done enough.“

“I could fix him!” You shout, and your sounds pleading. You feel like you’re pleading. It’s pathetic, and you don’t care because Dean makes a low, strained noise and you feel like you’re choking. “I could-“

“Listen to me very fuckin’ closely.” John sneers your full name, finally lowering down to meet your gaze. “The out of my fuckin’ car, and stay the hell away from my son. I don’t need you fixin’ him, because he’s not broken, and if he was the last thing he needs is some high horse brat making him weak.”

There’s a high ringing in your ears, and your voice is soft. “I-“

“He’d be fine if you hadn’t interfered with our work.” John snaps. “You’re out of your little pond, girl, and if I ever see you distractin’ Dean or fuckin’ with his brain again, I’ll put a bullet in yours. Got it?”

You nod, something vast and numb spreading over your chest as you carefully climb out of the car—making sure not to disturb Dean, or make his head worse—and leave John without another word. But you look back. You can’t help yourself from turning and watching the Impala pull away, from digging your nails into your skin as you cling to yourself until their headlights vanish around a corner.

You’re already packed. Everything’s in your car—clothing, tools, books, makeup and hygiene products, first aid kit—and you could just drive out of town, but you don’t. You toss the last purification ritual bag into the truck, sit behind the wheel, just stare into the darkness.

You need to call Bobby. You need to go. John wouldn’t kill you with an injured Dean to care for, but he’d seen. He had to have seen. And not leaving now would be a death sentence.

But you just sit in the car. Sit in the cancerous darkness that’s alight in your body, the image of Dean’s pained features burned into your eyes, flashing in front of you whenever you blink. All that boiling hatred for Dean is gone. Evaporated into thin air, leaving you ill and pained and empty. John was right. You hadn’t been fast enough, and Dean got hurt. Your barrier against the poltergeist made it violent, and Dean got hurt. You’re the sick one. It’s why he left to begin with.

He was better for it. He didn’t need you—no one needed you—and John’s threat hadn’t been empty, so you need to drive away and never look back.

And yet you end up in the motel parking lot. Hunched in your seat as you wait for just a little proof that Dean’s okay. That you hadn’t held him and shattered him, like he’d shattered you. You’re there until the sun breaks the sky, until it’s beating over your head and you have to crack the windows.

You’re there when your phone starts to ring, and you realize you’d forgotten to call Bobby.

You’ve barely picked up when he starts shouting, and you flinch away from the speaker.

He uses your full name. First, middle, and Singer. He only uses your full name when he’s proud of you, or furious. And this feels more like the latter. You’re in trouble.

“You wanna tell me,” he hisses. “Why John fuckin’ Winchester knows who you are?”

“I, uh-” You swallow, twisting a ring with your thumb. “I don’t-“

“And I ain’t gonna buy your bullshit, kid, that shit doesn’t work on me.”

You sigh. “Bobby, look-“

“No, you look. I didn’t teach you to be a goddamn idjit dumbass,” he snaps your name, and you curl a little further into your seat. “You know what he’d do to ya’. Shit, what are you plannin’ on doin’ if you have a slip? If he sees that hoodoo shit happen?”

“Um, he might have already seen it.”

There’s silence on the other end for a long second, then a low, “What.”

“We just finished a poltergeist case.” You mumble, hoping he’s too angry to catch onto the why are you on a poltergeist case part. “And it attacked Dean. And I killed it.”

Bobby says your name slowly. “How the hell did ya’ kill a-“

“With my hands. I just, um, burned it.” You take a long breath. “And I think John saw.”

“And he just let ya’ off the fuckin’ hook-“

“Dean got hurt.” You whisper, and the words sting your tongue. “He was focused on that.”

“Balls.” Bobby mutters, and you can picture the frown on his face. “Well, you’re outta there now, we can-“

“No.” You sigh. “I can’t go, I have to-“ You cut yourself off, because it sounds stupid in your head. You do not have to make sure Dean’s okay. He hates you, everything logical in your brain says that you should be remembering how to hate him any time soon, and he’s not yours tocare about. John made that clear with his threat. Dean made it clear by leaving. But you’re still in the parking lot. And you still have to make sure Dean’s okay.

Bobby says your name through the phone, his voice slow. “You gonna tell me what happened last year. On that moroi hunt.”

“I ran into the Winchesters-“

“I ain’t slow, kid, I worked that part out. What happened that made you call me and flop around the house like a widowed fish for a week.”

You bring your knees up to your chest, shaking your head. “It’s… I can’t-“

“What if I ask if that was Dean’s shirt.” Bobby grunts. “That you were wearin’.”

“Yeah.” You drop your head back on the seat, letting out a heavy exhale. “It-“

You freeze, watching Dean finally step outside like he’s been summoned. He’s walking slowly, but walking, and he seems really okay, and he’s looking around the parking lot with a frown-‘

Shit.

You drop down in your seat, out of the view of the parking lot, and pray he didn’t see you.

“Bobby, I gotta-“

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, we still got some shit to sort out-“

“I’ll come right home.” You keep your voice hushed, in case it could carry on the wind. “And you can yell at me there.”

Bobby sighs. “I wasn’t gonna yell-“

“Yeah you were-“

“No-“

“Lying is a sin, Bobby.” You smile, carefully pulling the car keys out of your jacket. “You’re not a very good role model-“

“Well, I’m gonna fuckin’ yell at ‘ya now!” He snaps, but you can hear the slight amusement in his voice. “Get home quick, and we’ll deal with this. John don’t know you’re with me, and unless Dean needs a week after your hunt-“

“I think he’s fine.” You mumble, craning your head up to see Dean gone from the lot. “I’ll be safe at home.”

“Not if I kill ya’ for pullin’ this shit on an old man.” Bobby grunts, and you grin he falls silent, a long moment of static before- “You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m okay.” You mumble, and you’re not, but you will be. You always are. “And I’m really sorry for-“

“Apologizin’ ain’t gonna help us,” Bobby mutters. “Get home, and keep outta trouble till we sort this.”

You nod. “I will.”

You’ll try. Dean’s still pulling at you in your chest and consuming your head, but you’ll try. If only for Bobby’s sanity, you’ll really try.

You’ll pretend you don’t stay in the lot for a minute longer to watch Dean walk back to his room, that you don’t glance back at the room as you drive away, and you’ll keep yourself away of trouble.

Away from Dean.

End Note: I’d say this story is about to be John vs Bobby on who’s a better dad, but that would be like making a mouse (John) fight a dragon (Bobby).

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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burningembers91 · 2 days ago

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Back Alley Bar - Seong Gi-Hun x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Seong Gi-Hun has given up on life, given up on himself. But for some reason, the pretty girl who serves him drinks still thinks he can be saved.

Seong Gi-Hun was a typical example of “like father, like son.” He was unreliable, he was selfish, he was sneaky and a liar. He was the spitting image of his father, and his father before him; a complete and utter lowlife. His marriage had crumbled, his wife and daughter had left him to start a new life in America, and his mother was recently deceased. She’d passed away on the floor of their living room while Gi-Hun gambled away the money he could have used to save her life.

He didn’t deserve to live, didn’t deserve to still be breathing when his mother wasn’t. She had given everything to her son, forgiven him time and time again. She had been the epitome of patient, always giving him another chance to redeem himself. Gi-Hun didn’t deserve redemption, and while he waited for the devil to collect his dues, he would slowly drink himself into the abyss.

That was where he’d met you, in some dive bar in a back alley, slumped over the bar with a whiskey in his hand. You were there working part time, using the cash to pay for a university degree. Every shift you worked, Gi-Hun was there, drinking himself into a stupor. Most nights you’d call him a cab home, but some nights you’d drive him home yourself, idly making conversation as you drove through the dark Seoul streets. He rarely responded, but you never gave up. You’d seen more than your fair share of shit in your time as a bartender, but you’d never seen anyone as broken as Gi-Hun. Whatever had happened to him, it must have been bad. You weren’t even sure if he knew who you were; he was so drunk most of the time it was miracle he could remember anything about the previous night. But he knew who you were; you were one piece of light in his dark, dark world.

He knew you thought he wasn’t listening when you chatted to him in the car on the way home. But he remembered everything you said to him. How you were bartending on top of working full time as a teacher to save up to go back to university. How you’d just broken up with your boyfriend, but you didn’t really mind because he’d been a prick anyway. How your dream was to become a historian, but you were worried you were too old to change career.

“Why do you do this?” He mumbled one night, as you walked with him to your beaten up, rust bucket of a car.

“What do you mean?” You asked, throwing your bag into the back before climbing into the drivers side.

“Why do you help me? I’m no one. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“You are not no one.” You turned to look at him in the passenger seat, resisting the urge to touch his cheek. This man was so broken, and you had no idea how to help him.

“I’ve done bad things,” he whispered, “I’ve hurt people. I’ve stolen, I’ve lied, I’ve cheated.”

You took a deep breath, staring out of the windscreen as rain began to fall, battering the concrete around you.

“It’s never too late to make a change,” you said, although you knew all too well how that was easier said than done.

Gi-Hun laughed bitterly. “Changing now won’t bring my mother back from the dead. It won’t bring my daughter back from America. It won’t make my wife come back to me.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed silent. How did you help a man who was so broken, so beyond repair?

As you dropped him off outside his dilapidated apartment, you called to him through the sound of the pouring rain.

“I’m not giving up on you, Seong Gi-Hun!” You smiled at him, and even through his drunken haze he could tell what a beautiful smile it was. He would never understand why you helped him, would never understand why you’d decided he was worth saving. Everyone had given up on him, but for some reason you wouldn’t.

A woman like you didn’t need a man like him. You needed someone who could care for you, who wouldn’t leave you broken into pieces as he’d left everyone he’d cared about. But your words echoed in his head as he drifted off to sleep. “You’re not no one. It’s never too late to change.”

Maybe you were right; maybe there was still time to atone for his sins.

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #seong gi hun #seong gi hun x reader #seong gi hun x you #squid game season 2

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mi55delulu · 2 days ago

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[9:56 p.m.]

pairing: lawyer!jungkook x lawyer!fem reader

cw: fluff, mature language, banter, established relationship, mentions of domestic violence, inaccurate depiction of law bc do i look like a lawyer? 😭 written in lowercase and also, unedited … boo me.

—

“how could you?!” you slammed the newspaper down onto jungkook’s desk. he peered up at you through his glasses, unsurprised at your reaction. the headline of said newspaper read: superstar mingyu suspected of cheating on korea’s sweetheart somi in amidst of domestic violence trial.

“i knew you played dirty, but this is a new low for you, jeon jungkook.” you sneer, pacing back and forth in his office. he watches you, eyes never leaving the way your skirt hugged your figure.

“well, did he not? the pictures on your phone from the paps tell us otherwise.” jungkook leans back in his leather chair. he looks good like this — hair slicked back neatly with a couple of strands framing his forehead, tie loose around his neck, and sleeves rolled up on his forearms to display his tattoos he’d usually cover in the courtroom.

you and jungkook were from the same cohort in law school. the best students in that year, always neck and neck when it came to your coursework. though, jungkook had one thing that you lacked: charm. he was always able to persuade the judge and jury at the very last minute.

in school, you both learned the three simple rules of persuasion: ethos, pathos, and logos. you liked sticking with the facts — logos. after all, the law is above all and justice is only proven in the court. jungkook, however, played his cards using tactics that swayed hearts. it frustrated you, but it always gave him the upper hand. things haven’t changed much from school now that you were both associates in the top rival law firms in korea.

you continue, “it doesn’t justify the abuse—” “alleged.” jungkook interjects with a smile.

“—he sustained from your client! for all we know, there was no overlap.” you palm your forehead and rub your temples to ease the forthcoming migraine.

jungkook stands up and comes around his desk, “baby.”

jungkook swayed many hearts in the courtroom, but he only had one heart in mind. you were a tough case to crack, but that’s what he loves about you. so headstrong, so smart.

he chased you down after every mock trial to offer a drink after another one of your losses against him. it’s a common practice for law school students — work hard, play harder. like clockwork, you’d hold up a hand to decline respectfully. but after you’d won in an exceptionally hard trial, you finally accepted his offer to drink. that was the turning point for your relationship in the coming years with him.

he corners you against his desk, arms caging your sides as he leans in to kiss your cheek while making his way down your neck. if you were truly upset with him, you wouldn’t have let him near you, let alone touch you like this.

“i’m sorry.” he means it, doesn’t like upsetting you, but he also hates losing big profile cases. he reckons you’re the same given with how you barged into his office. it’s not the first time and his secretary has given up trying to stop you.

“fuck you,” you scowl, to which jungkook answers with a nod against your neck, “keep this shit up and i’m going to postpone the wedding date. also, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“i’ll make it up to you after the trial, okay?” he kisses up your jaw.

“that’s bribery, jungkook.” you lull your head to the side, too tired to continue this argument with your fiancé.

“all’s fair in love and war.”

—

a/n: hehe was this okay? thought i’d drop off something small to kickoff 2025. lmk if i should continue these lil timestamp drabbles or if you’d prefer longer fics. if you like longer fics … you’ll rarely hear from me since my lil pea brain takes a minimum of 10 business days to write 1k words LOL anyways, have a lovely day

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff #jungkook lawyer #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook oneshot #jungkook established relationship #bangtan fic

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fantasylandloser · 2 days ago

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Cry for Help

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

trigger warning: substance abuse/ drugs/ anxiety/ parental abuse

pt.2

You’d felt bad about avoiding Rafe. He was your bestfriend and you loved him, but sometimes he got in these terrible moods. He would be irrational and mean, sometimes violent, not towards you but inanimate objects. You’d also heard about the fights he’d been getting into all over the island.

He had been trying to get in contact with you for about two days and you had been ignoring him. As his mood swings got harder to deal with the more you worried about him, but his behavior had gotten downright dangerous and you knew you needed to protect yourself.

Today you decided you’d go talk to him finally, and ask him about it. You were nervous already knowing he wouldn’t react well however it had to be done.

“What?” He asked as opened his bedroom door, before realizing it was you. His eyes soften slightly at your flinched reaction of his gruff tone as you realize he’s already in a bad mood.

“Hey.” You say, trying to gauge how he was feeling today. You knew it wasn’t good when he walked away, leaving the door open for you but not sparing you another glance.

“You’re not hiding from me anymore?” He asked, the sarcasm in his tone evident. You sigh at the fact that you were jumping right into it, as you walk into his room closing the door behind you.

“I wasn’t hiding from you.” You tell him, watching as he turned to look at you with a face that said he thought you were bullshitting.

“I was taking some space because-” You start only to be interrupted by him chuckling to himself as he messes with whatever was in his bag..

“Taking some space.” He continued laughing, shaking his head to himself. Your frustration at his inability to take anything serious bubbles to the surface. You walked closer to him intending to grab the bag that he was so intrigued with and launching it across the room.

“Rafe I’m worried about y-” Your words get stuck in your throat as you notice the large amount of a white substance that you know isn’t sugar. “Rafe what the fuck?” You ask looking through the bag starting to connect the dots.

Rafe panics, yanking the bag away from you. “Don’t touch my shit.” He glares before turning away from you going to stash the bag somewhere else.

“Why do you have all that?” Guilt crashed down on you in a second. You’d been avoiding him and he was struggling. You knew of course that Rafe did coke occasionally at parties. You even partook once before deciding it was way out of your league, but this was obviously beyond that.

“Why do you think I have it?” He answers snarkily. He was unsure why but he felt embarrassed. If he really would have allowed himself to think about it he would have known it was because he hated disappointing you.But in front of his embarrassment just like it was in front of most of his feelings was anger. You never would have been disappointed if you just minded your business for once.

“Rafe, are you okay? You know you can talk to me?” Sympathy? Pity. He didn’t want you pitying him.

“I’m fine.” He grunts, unwilling to face you. You’re silent for a second, but only a second before you ask another question, your voice so soft Rafe almost misses it.

“Is it the voices?” The way he says your name after you ask lets you know that you’re venturing into dangerous territory and for the first time after eleven years of friendship you don’t know what to do.

“I’m fine,” He repeats, firmer now. This time he looks at you and you finally see it. The glazed look in his eye. The way he just doesn’t look like himself anymore.

“No you’re not.” You shake your head in disbelief, ashamed at yourself for not noticing earlier. You don’t even realize you’re pacing when Rafe sighs, throwing his head back because he knows another line of questions is coming.

“Where did you even get all that? How did you pay for it?” You knew Rafe had a few instances with his dad but you also knew whatever he did to get those drugs, he didn’t do with his money.

“A friend gave it to me, don't worry about it.” When you pinched the bridge of your nose Rafe rolled his eyes, placing a gentle arm around your shoulders. “Bug, there really isn’t anything to worry about.” He says softly and you have to hold in tears when you hear your childhood nickname. You know he’s trying to manipulate you but still you hug him back.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper.

*******

You wanted to be swallowed up whole, with the way Rafe’s eyes were glaring into you. You’d truly never seen him so angry, especially not with you. You took as much time as you could to think it over but this was the only thing that made any sense, the only way to help him really. You knew he would hate you. You tried to prepare yourself for it but nothing ever would.

You had told the only person Rafe truly respected. The one person he would listen to. His dad. Ward has assured you everything would be alright and that he’d get Rafe the best help he could but you didn’t know it would be like this. Ward wanted to handle this discreetly as possible, so he enlisted the help of a trusted private rehab facility that specializes in being discreet. Not only was it discreet it was far away. Very far from your understanding.

When Rafe came home after his dad called, expecting some honorable task to help his father, and instead saw his family, his best friend and professional looking men he’d never seen before he looked at you immediately. You saw the blame, hatred and betrayal he felt and you almost wished you could take it all back, but what else could you do. Ask him nicely to stop doing coke? You didn’t know at this point.

“Rafe sit down.” Ward tells him gently. Rafe looked around cautiously, seeing if there was a way he could get out of this, but two men blocked every exit.

“Nah.” He shook his head, feeling trapped and betrayed.

“Rafe you will not continue to embarrass me and this family! Sit down!” Ward yells and Rafe huffs an angry breath, but laughs to himself as well.

“I’m the embarrassment? Me?” Rafe shakes his head amused at his father’s hypocrisy.

“Yes, you! Where’d you get this from? Huh? Tell me?” Ward continues, throwing the coke on the table much to your disdain, but you weren’t surprised. You’d never much liked the way Ward talked to Rafe but for some reason he was still the only one he would listen to.

“All I do is try to look after this family.” Rafe says calmly, rubbing his hands down his face. “I try to get Sarah away from those pogue boys. I try to help Wheezie do everything. And you? Well I do everything you ask of me. That isn’t enough for you! That’s embarrassing?” As Rafe’s tangent went on he raised his voice, towards the end getting in Ward’s face. “All of you are the embarrassment.”

Shock fills your body, when Ward slaps him. The entirety of Rafes face turned to the left and the force pushed his back slightly. This was the opposite of helping him. Your shock doesn’t get the chance to go away when Rafe punches his father. It was the first time he’d ever hit him back, this you knew for a fact. A small part of you was proud of him, but the circumstances only fueled your anxiety.

When you see Ward wipe the blood off his face. Seeming genuinely astonished that his son fought him back and going to hit him again you panicked and so did everyone else. They were in full on brawl by the time everyone else caught up. You saw a man walking towards him with a needle and the last thing you wanted was Rafe to wake up in the hospital confused and trapped.

“Rafe!” You scream, trying to get him attention, before stupidly jumping in front of one of his punches. You fully expected it to connect even if he realized it was you because he was just so angry. When it didn’t you opened your eyes to see the furious ones staring back at you. You place your hands on his neck in an attempt to ward off the man with the needle.

“I’m so sorry.” You find yourself repeating solemnly. “I’m sorry you’re struggling. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m sorry about today. I just- I love you so much. I want you to get better.”

He’s breathing heavily and you see the bruise forming on his cheek, along with the unshed tears in his eyes.

“You are so strong. Stronger than anyone I know. You can fight this, and get the help you need.” He jerks away from you at your last words, the anger still swarming in his eyes along with something else. You almost expect him to keep fighting, but instead he just stands still. Away from you away from his dad and family. He stands still waiting for the men to take him. And they do, without him saying another word.

#rafe cameron #fantasylandloserfic #outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader

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monowritestoomuch · 2 days ago

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How The Gator Boys Would Calm You Down From A Panic Attack:

Notes: Wassup Bug Army! I promised that I would write for Gator Boys and I’ve delivered! I also have more cooking so stay tuned! Now enjoy what I’ve been cooking!

Bodie:

He is such a good guy it’s unreal (Can you tell he’s my favorite? I wanna hug him so bad)

Once he realizes you’re having a panic attack, he would stay calm, so as to not make you panic more, and would think of a way, slowly, to help you calm down.

If you were to have a panic attack he would undoubtedly be there to calm you down.

It would’ve probably happened around the time you revealed that you were a hunter, starting to hyperventilate as your brain continued to come up with varying scenarios of Bodie’s reaction and how much he would hate you. (He wouldn’t, but you didn’t think that)

He would be there to reassure you that he would never hate you and to help your breathing slow back to a normal rate.

But lets slow our roll back to how he would calm you down,

He would first try and ask if he could touch you and if you nod, he’d wrap his big, strong arms around you and whisper comforting affirmations to you, rubbing your back in an effort to relax you.

If you shook your head to him touching you, he’d just talk. He’d talk slowly and quietly, but he’d sit with you and either tell you stories from when he was a young gator or whisper affirmations to you.

All I know is, that gator has GOT to give the best hugs.

And after he’d make you some gumbo and you’d sit with a nice warm bowl as the two of you chatted.

And then you two would snuggle up under a blanket together and stargaze.

Timmy:

I think Timmy’s reaction would be less calm if you were having a panic attack, but he would try to help nonetheless.

It would probably happen while you two were walking to meet Lora for the first time.

After all the stress you’d been through, with how Timmy reacted to seeing you and practically calling you a good-for-nothing traitor, your brain had been conjuring thoughts about how much Timmy hated you.

When you got too quiet walking down the hall instead of conversing with TImmy, he grew concerned. You, on the other hand, weren’t doing so well. Your breathing had quickened due to your internal panic and your rapidly panicking thoughts started to take over.

Timmy’s concern for you increased as he went, “Hey Bug? You alright?” and got no response.

You, on the other hand, were having jelly legs and felt as if you couldn’t breathe.

It took Timmy a hot minute, but he realized what was going on, basically going, “oh, oh shit!” and internally panicking at you having a panic attack.

He would turn you towards him and take your hands in his, telling you to breathe with him and asking what’s wrong.

You are probably crying softly at this point and through your tears you tell him how you think he must hate you.

Timmy, who up until this point had been having a pretty shitty time, and had sort-of realized that you weren’t trying to have him captured and taken here, realized that you had been here too, trying to get him and Bodie, because Bodie was here, out safely. And because there were now more people to get out and the plan had to change, you were understandably freaking out.

It was honestly a miracle to not have freaked out sooner. Maybe that was the adrenaline speaking.

He would stutter but would sink to the floor, telling you how he did resent you at first, but later learned that you didn’t mean to get him caught up in here and that it was just a terrible situation overall.

He would tell you that he doesn’t hate you and that it’s okay.

Poor bby would comfort you until you felt well enough to get back up and go to meet his mom with him.

It would be awkward but the two of you would make up.

Ngl, this is my theory for why he said that he got caught and not saying that you got him caught.

Marco:

Undoubtedly would happen when you two are speaking in the sewers.

While you two were chatting, you went quiet and he asked if you were okay, or if your leg was bothering you.

You didn’t answer, but felt the weight of the day’s events weigh you down heavier and heavier, everything finally dawning on you.

Your head filled with thoughts, practically drowning you as your breathing quickened.

Marco immediately knew what was up, due to his decent observation skills and Maria being his emotional support bird™

He would gently place a hand on your shoulder, and due to your exhaustion and subsequent panic attack, you would basically crumble into his arms, crying into him.

He would be surprised at first, but would wrap his arms around you and bring your head to his chest.

Similar to Bodie, because Bodie definitely taught him how to do this, he would rub your back in a comforting manner and tell you that you were going to get through this, that all of the group, including him and you were going to get through this.

Once your breathing slowed, he’d ask you if you were alright once more, and then he would ask if your leg was alright.

If nothing else was wrong, you’d wipe your tears on your cloak and you two would continue back through the sewers.

And he’d probably check on you throughout the rest of the arena time, just because he knows you probably need some comforting.

Taglist(lemme know if you wanna be added!):

@rozeliyawashereyall @willowve01 @asmrbrainrot @kaiamtt @iistxrmyskyii @insignificant-anarchy@stxph-artist @aspenm00n @keyaartz @fangsshadow @piffany666 @dreamyshape @idontevenknow7878 @lunaritychuwolf @not-5-rats @littlesiren79 @castbracelet240 @rustycopper4use @strayharmony943 @proxdragon @tiefling-chaos @threeweekinsomnia @recated @wilderrorcard @diamondzoey @fennaboysenberry @lunnats @lightdragon789 @pinkcocopuff-aqualoid @astralbulldragon13 @ccstiles @puffin-smoke @fruity0salad @takashishihoin @headstrashdump @reefhastoomanyaccs @giasparadise @iloveflowers-3 @celestartz @alrischadoeshit @weltthejellyfish @itsargyle

#gator boys #obsidian lantern #obsidian lantern gator boys #the bug army #bug army #told you guys I had a surprise for you!#ehehehehhehehe #panic attack #your honor i love them #bodie’s my favorite #Love yall #this took me an hour

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thehereticdiaries · 2 days ago

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A (Not So) Meet Cute: Chapter Six

Summary: You go on your first date with Seungmin! Afterwards, you get some good news from the detective

Warnings: It gets suggestive toward the end but not much else.

Series Masterlist

You returned to the studio, hoping that your blush faded enough that the XDH boys wouldn’t notice. Jiseok, being the main gossip of the group, immediately saw right through you.

“Sooooo,” he teased, placing his guitar on his stand so he could invade your personal space. He seemed to have a habit of doing that. You had gotten used to it by the second week working with them. “How did your little chat with Kim Seungmin go?”

“It was delightful.” You narrowed your eyes at the guitarist.

“Oh, I’m sure it was.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Especially since O.de was saying how Seungmin was heavily eye-fucking y-”

“Jiseok!” O.de shouted from the door of the booth. “I did not say that.”

“Okay, fine, he didn’t say it outright. But it was implied!”

“No it wasn’t! All I said was that Seungmin looked kind of jealous.” Leave it to Jiseok to make such a massive leap.

“You’re right, though. He scared you away on purpose cus he was jealous of how close we were,” you admitted, brushing past both boys to enter the booth.

“Who’s jealous?” Jooyeon asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. You rolled your eyes when the other members perked up.

“You guys are so nosy.”

“And you aren’t?” Jungsu sarcastically asked with a sly grin.

“Touché. But to answer your question, Seungmin from Stray Kids was jealous. Great news though! He asked me on a date, so thank you O.de,” you snickered at the chorus of shouts from the members.

“Dude, fucking finally,” Jiseok gushed, smacking your shoulder affectionately. “You’re both so oblivious. I was about to put a sign on your back.”

“You’re a little shit, just be happy for me!”

The rest of the week passed by in a blur. Seungmin refused to give you any hints other than ‘wear warm clothes’. It annoyed you to no end, because what if you pick something totally inappropriate for the venue?! Since it was almost December, you settled on fleece-lined jeans, a crewneck sweatshirt, and your favorite parka. You figured it would be outdoors, so you also grabbed a beanie and gloves.

“Do I have to wear this? I have my own mask,” Seungmin complained while Dohyun drove the two of you to the mystery destination.

“Yes!” You insisted on having matching masks since he wouldn’t give you any hints about the date. They were simple black fabric masks with a cute cartoon puppy nose and mouth printed on the front. After a few minutes, the car came to a stop by Seoul Plaza. Seungmin opened the door for you before leaning back in to address your favorite driver.

“You’ll be back in two hours?” The elder nodded once. “And you’ll bring what we talked about?”

“Yes, I have everything set up. Go have fun,” Dohyun gently shooed the idol away. Seungmin joined you on the sidewalk, grabbing your hand to tug you into the plaza.

“Oh, wow,” your mouth dropped behind your mask. The lawn of the plaza was transformed into an enormous ice skating rink. A large Christmas tree made of twinkling fairy lights sat at one end of the rink, even though it was currently turned off in the bright afternoon sun.

“You’ve never seen the plaza like this?” You shook your head, glancing up at Seungmin. His eyes crinkled, indicating a hidden smile.

“I don’t know how to ice skate,” you told him while he led you to the skate rentals.

“I’m not the best, but I can show you the basics.” The employee handed you two pairs of skates, and you moved to the benches and lockers. You stood on wobbly legs, carefully following Seungmin to lock up your shoes and purse. He took your hand again and the two of you made your way to the rink. Seungmin stepped on the ice first, turning to hold your elbows while you tightly gripped his biceps.

“Easy, I’ve got you,” he encouraged when your breathing grew heavier after slipping slightly.

“‘Show me the basics’ my ass! You’re skating backwards right now,” you grumbled, refusing to tear your eyes away from your feet.

“Yeah, cus I’m making sure you don’t fall,” he chuckled at your intense concentration. “Y/N, you have to look up. It’ll be much easier if you have your shoulders and hips lined up.”

“O-okay,” you took a deep breath before standing up straight. Your knees shook, partially from nerves and partially from supporting your weight on the blades.

“That’s it, just look at me. We’ll go slow, okay?” Seungmin guided you over the ice, gradually increasing your speed so you were keeping up with the other skaters. He kept your mind off your anxious thoughts with constant questions about Xdinary Heroes and your job.

“No, I’m telling you! Jiseok can find out anything about anyone. I swear he’s secretly an NIS agent,” you grinned, your eyes scrunching up into crescents. Seungmin has never hated a mask more in his life.

“Remind me not to piss him off,” he snickered, glancing quickly at the clock on the edge of the rink. Dohyun would be back in an hour. “Do you want to try skating on your own? I’ll stay right next to you.”

“Yeah. I think I got it.” Your anxiety swelled when the warmth of his hands left your arms. “Wait! Hold my hand, still. Please?”

“Of course.” Seungmin twisted around to skate forward for the first time today, lacing your fingers with his. You continued circling the rink, and with every passing minute your confidence on the ice grew. You glided effortlessly, and by the time you had to leave, you found yourself reluctant to step off the ice.

“You did great, especially for your first time,” Seungmin praised while you changed back into your street shoes.

“Thanks, I had a lot of fun.” Dohyun always had impeccable timing and today was no different. He pulled up right as you left the plaza. Seungmin sighed, ripping off his mask as soon as he shut the door.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. You raised a brow, but did as he asked. You heard him shift around for a few moments. “Okay, open.”

“Seungmin,” you cooed. Two cups of hot chocolate sat in the cupholders in the center console.

“I have to put the lids on while we drive, but I wanted you to see the marshmallows and peppermint shavings first.” He popped the lids on and Dohyun began the drive to the dorms.

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” You teased, making the idol roll his eyes.

“I have one more surprise.” He handed you a small glass container with a wooden lid. You tilted your head before removing the lid with a gasp.

“No way! Is this a Mississippi mud pie?”

“Yup. I remember you saying it was the only thing you missed from the states, so I had Felix help me make it.” Your eyes snapped to him.

“You remember that?” You asked quietly, feeling a little overwhelmed by the affection in his eyes.

“I remember everything that makes you happy.” Seungmin rendered you completely speechless. The last time you could remember someone putting in that kind of effort for you was your final foster father. You stayed with him throughout high school and he always made it a priority to let you have a normal teenage experience. With words failing you, you decided to let your actions speak instead. In a bold rush of confidence, you tugged Seungmin toward you, leaning up to meet halfway and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you.” Seungmin stared at you with a wide smile growing on his face. You blushed, rushing to change the topic. “Do you want to share the pie?” He smirked, clearly aware of what you were doing, but played along anyway. The ever-prepared Dohyun tossed two plastic spoons into the backseat, landing on the middle of the backseat bench. You giggled, handing one to Seungmin and digging into the pie.

The dorm was strangely quiet when you returned. Of course there were times when all of the boys had schedules, but normally almost everyone was home on Saturdays.

“Where is everyone?” You asked while changing into slippers and hanging your jacket in the hall closet.

“Hm, Jisung said that 3Racha was recording today. I’m not sure about everyone else, though.” You both flopped onto the couch, putting on Kitchen Nightmares reruns as background noise for your doomscrolling. You barely got three posts down when a call from Detective Keng came in.

“Mute the TV! Mute the TV!” You sat up immediately, smacking Seungmin on the shoulder for emphasis. His eyebrows raised in a ‘what the fuck’ kind of expression, but complied nonetheless. “Detective! Hello!”

“Good afternoon, Ms. L/N,” she sounded as serious as ever. “I have an update for you. My team and I have successfully identified all of Mr. Cho’s associates that know about you.”

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“It’s good progress, but now we need to locate them all. Some of these individuals are very skilled at hiding. Rest assured, we will find them.” You nodded, momentarily forgetting that she couldn’t see you. Seungmin tapped your thigh repeatedly. He was nosy and wanted to know what the detective was saying.

“I understand. Thank you for all of your hard work.” You silently shushed Seungmin, who was now shaking your shoulder and asking what was going on in a whisper.

“It’s no trouble at all. Your court date will likely proceed before we locate all of Mr. Cho’s associates. Be careful, they may try to sabotage you. Good luck.” You exchanged a curt goodbye with the detective.

“Was that Keng? What did she say? Did they find that asshole’s friends?”

“Seungmin, please, one question at a time. Yes, that was Detective Keng. Her team knows who his friends are, it’s just a matter of arresting them now. She said to be careful around the courthouse, since they might show up there.” He nodded along with your explanation.

“I’ll ask Chan and our manager if we can get security to escort you when you go in.” You opened your mouth to protest, but- “Don’t argue with me on this, your safety is important.”

“Fine.”

“Good girl.” Your brain short-circuited. “Did she say anything else?”

“Huh?” He smirked, tilting his head to the side so his eyes could rake over your form, lingering on your denim-clad thighs. “S-she didn’t say much more than that. Just that, uh, t-they’re good at hiding.”

“Y/N.” You peeked at Seungmin from the corner of your eye. “You’re blushing, sweetheart.”

“I-I’m, uh. I d-don’t-” The sudden pet names stole every coherent thought from your mind.

“You’re cute.” He hooked a finger under your chin to turn you to face him. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Seungmin grinned at the lack of hesitation. He started gently, almost like he was trying not to scare you away. It was short but the intensity behind it had your mind reeling. He pulled back, nose-to-nose with you to give you a chance to back out. Your hands on his shoulders and a tiny whimper escaping your throat broke down the last of his resolve.

“Fuck, you’re killin’ me,” he swore under his breath. He pushed you down to lay flat on the couch, planting his hands next to your head. One of his knees settled in between your thighs and you inhaled sharply, staring at his chain dangling over you. He crashed his lips back into yours, moving one hand down to rest on your hip. Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. His tongue darted out to brush against your lower lip and you instantly allowed him to lick into your mouth. His hand slid under the hem of your shirt, trailing higher while he dragged his tongue along yours, until-

“OH HOLY SHIT!” Your head snapped back, gaping at Hyunjin’s shocked face.

“What’s going on- oh!” Jeongin appeared next, followed quickly by Felix and Changbin. The room fell to silence as they processed exactly how you and Seungmin were currently positioned. A snort from the youngest member broke the stupor, causing you to squeak and hide your face in Seungmin’s neck. He still hovered over you, glaring heavily at his members.

“Come on, leave them alone,” Minho corralled the other further into the dorm, hands full of grocery bags. Whines of protest were cut off by a sharp look from the second eldest. With the living room empty once again, you sighed in relief, dropping back onto the cushion.

“Sorry,” Seungmin huffed, rolling his eyes and helping you sit up.

“It’s o-”

“No fucking on the couch!” Minho called as he passed from the kitchen to his room. Seungmin groaned loudly.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I’ll put you in the fucking air fryer!” You cackled, clutching your stomach and leaning into Seungmin’s side. He clicked his tongue, wrapping an arm around your waist and unmuting the TV.

Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98 @miniverse-zen @holly-here @corgilover20 @eastjonowhere @bookswillfindyouaway

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lulublack90 · 12 hours ago

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Prompt 8 - Tidy

@jegulus-microfic January 8, Word count 444

Previous part First part

They’d fallen asleep in each other's arms again. James woke with a smile on his face. Regulus wouldn’t be as happy when he woke up, but James was determined to enjoy this little pocket of peace. He looked down at Regulus, snuggled up against him. His hair was messier than James had ever seen. James wanted so badly to run his fingers through the bird's nest of curls, but he knew if he moved, Regulus would wake up, and then he’d leave. To keep himself from reaching out, he focused on Regulus’s features, his eyes greedily drinking them in. His face looked so soft when he slept. His scowl was completely gone, and his lips opened into a little o as he breathed in and out. His eyelids fluttered and then opened, blinking hard as he took in where he was. James sighed internally as the spell was broken and reality crept back in.

“Hi,” Regulus murmured sleepily. “What time is it?” James rolled and checked the clock that had appeared on the bedside table.

“Erm, almost eight I think,” He said, squinting at the clock instead of getting his glasses. Regulus sighed and pushed up on James’s chest.

“Shit!” He exclaimed. “It’s nine,” He scrambled out of the bed and hurriedly collected his clothes and put them on. James watched him from the bed with a dopey smile on his face. Even dressing in a rush, Regulus looked so neat and tidy. It was hard to believe they were yesterday's rumpled clothing.

“Will I see you tonight?” James asked, in no hurry to leave the bed. He didn’t have quidditch practice today and his first lesson wasn’t for another hour.

Regulus looked up, his scowl firmly back in place.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. If I don’t sleep in my own bed my friends are going to be more insufferable than usual,” James felt the smile fall from his face.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” He got up then, no longer enjoying being in their bed all alone. He pulled his clothes on and looked exactly like he’d out on yesterday's clothes.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus said by the door, his hand on the handle ready to open it.

“It’s fine, love,” James knew, his smile barely made it to his eyes.

“Maybe we can have another swimming lesson tomorrow?” Regulus suggested a touch, hopefully. James’s smile grew.

“Yeah, love, that sounds perfect,” He swooped in and kissed a sweet, soft kiss to Regulus’s lips and stood back so he could leave the room. Their room.

Regulus opened the door with a small, happy smile on his face, and all hell broke loose.

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mullermilkshake · 3 days ago

Text

The rose garden - Chapter 5

I will be uploading the whole thing here, it's just going take a little time, but if you want to read more right now, there's more on my AO3 <3

Summary - You are just an author wanting to put your writing out there and carry on with your life, but when two people end up murdered, things you write about seem to be more real than just pure fiction.

Pairing - Yandere!Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader / Detective!Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader (Sort of one sided)

Word count - 3.8k

Tags (master list for the entire fic, will add TW for significant tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!,NSFW,SMUT,NO USE OF Y/N,Yandere!Getou Suguru, Graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Porn With Plot,Porn with Feelings,Established Relationship,PleasureDom,Codependency,Murder,Torture,Conspiracy,Cunnilingus,Orgasm Control,Multiple Orgasms,Minor Original Character(s),psychiatry,Medication,Power Imbalance,Vaginal Fingering,Disembowelment,Manipulation,Gaslighting,Rimming, Praise Kink,Grinding,mentions of blowjobs,Dry Humping,thigh riding,Dark,Autopsy,Aftercare,Hunting,Guns,Perceived infidelity,Body Horror,Smoking,Vaginal Sex,Misogyny,Public Stimulation,One sided sexual tension,Invasion of Privacy,Strangulation,Reader-Insert,Serious Satoru Gojo,Orgasm Edging,Obsession,Accidental Voyeurism,Angst,Questions of masculinity, stabbing, shooting

A new player has entered.

Suguru may have gotten too close to the sun.

Tags for the chapter - Mentions of death, murder and bodies, mind games, interrogation

Thank you,

Thank you. Keep up the good work.

—

Suguru eyed the detective as he stepped over the threshold.

If he recalled correctly, Suguru knew who this man was. And he was not a man to be fucked with.

His face came with some familiarity from his forensic route before he decided to open up his own practice. Suguru saw enough shit profiling the bad guys that he couldn’t bear it, and it was the right choice. If he hadn’t given that up, then he wouldn’t have met you.

Profiling took a toll on people, thinking like criminals and diagnosing heavy mental health conditions of someone linked to horrid crimes. Helping those around him and supporting the management of addiction and everyday struggles were where his heart was.

The man in front of him, Suguru knew him as Satoru Gojo. He was certain of it. The news of an investigator with white hair wasn’t hard to miss, and from what he remembered, from keeping up to date with the law side of things, was that Satoru Gojo was once the youngest investigator on the force.

A force to be reckoned with and once he started, he didn’t stop. Though he was unsure of what he was up to these days. Either way, he watched his footing around this guy.

And a homicide too? The Detective must have been referring to Mr Simmons.

“Can I get you a drink, Detective?”

He shook his head and observed the front hallway of the cabin. “I’m good, thanks. I just want to ask a few questions and I’ll be on my way. I just need to confirm your names?”

Satoru Gojo was already naturally suspicious. That wasn’t good. He read them out and waited for Suguru and yourself to confirm.

You took Suguru’s hand and led him over to the sofa, “Please, take a seat Detective. We’ll help in any way we can.” God, you were always so perfect.

Suguru was shocked he had slept in as long as he did, he would have left you to it napping away, maybe carried you to bed and let you sleep the entire night’s events off whilst he made breakfast.

But instead he woke up to this. Suguru kept his trademark smile and sat down next to you, making sure he rested his hand on your knee, if anything to show that you were protected.

“You were talking about a homicide?”

“It’s purely house calls at the moment until we have all of the evidence available to us. I’m going through my list. You just happened to be the closest.”

“Closest?” You were naturally inquisitive.

He shrugged at you. “I went to your house, but no one was there and I found this second address listed so I thought I’d shoot my shot, but it turns out you’re the furthest away now.”

“What’s going on, Detective?” Suguru waited to see what he was going to say about Mr Simmons, he was one of the last to see him alive, it was natural to come to see him.

Detective Gojo cleared his throat and leant his elbows on his spread knees to show that he was relaxed. “Well, the person in question found this morning nearby was a woman who attended the ‘Dark author’s award ceremony’ the night before last.” He said a name and Suguru was sure he recognised it.

Ella.

You certainly did, lifting your hand to your mouth in shock. “Oh my god… We saw her before we left, she was throwing an after party.”

“And did you go?”

Suguru jumped in before you could add a motive to the Detective's repertoire. “We were invited, but we came straight home. My fiancé won an award that night, so we came back to celebrate.”

“And can anyone else provide that alibi?”

“The garage camera, it’ll show when we arrived home.” You were hot on it. Suguru still saw the welling wetness collecting in your eyes. “What happened to her, detective?”

“I can't divulge that information just yet until it’s made public, but it’s best not to think about it. All I need to know is when you last saw her, what was discussed and an alibi. Once that’s corroborated, I can cross you off my list.” He spoke directly to you, not once did he look at Suguru.

He should have felt threatened by another man in your presence, but that wasn’t that case. Suguru could not put his finger on it just yet. What was this sniffer dog's aim?

“Well.” You spoke before Suguru could even get a word in. “We saw her at the event, she was inviting others to her house for an after party and invited Suguru. He declined and we left. We came straight home and remained there until the morning when he left for work.”

He was invited. He hoped the Detective didn’t pick up on your phrasing. “You say your fiancé was invited. Was it just him? I thought you were both invited?”

It was Suguru’s job to clear up the misunderstanding. “The invite was extended to me, but as we’re together, it was pretty much given that we were both invited, yes.”

“Right.” Detective Gojo wasn’t so convinced.

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask.”

What were you going to say now? “Was it quick at least?”

“What do you mean by that?”

No… That’s the worst thing to say.

“I mean, she didn’t suffer at least, did she? The thought of someone I know dying is…” The wetness in your eyes fell with subtlety. “You hear it on the news and read it in the papers and never think you’ll be affected by it, and then it happens.”

You sat forward and even took your hand from Suguru’s. “Please, give it to me straight. Did she suffer?”

“She did.”

“Oh my god.” You leant into Suguru to seek comfort. “You see someone and never think it’ll be the last time.”

“Let me get you some water, sweetie.” Was Suguru being way too blasé about this? He hardly knew the woman, she hadn’t said more than two words to him before that invitation.

You drank the water down fast, Suguru didn’t leave much time for you to be on your own with the Detective and came back faster than he should have. But it made no difference. The man still began grilling you with questions and it got you a little flustered.

“I’m sorry, am I missing something?” You placed the glass down, how much had Suguru missed? “Am I being interrogated- are you going to detain me?”

“What’s going on?” Suguru didn’t like the look of this.

The Detective shook his head reassuringly. “I'm not interrogating anyone, I’m not slinging anyone in the back of my car either. I’m just trying to get a grasp on what sort of woman she was, the type of relationships she had. So far, you are the only two people I’ve been able to see in person, most of the others have been over the phone.”

This was an interrogation. The Detective was looking for motives. Poor relationships, scorned arguments which resulted in each party not relenting to being on speaking terms.

Satoru Gojo was very much interrogating you.

Suguru was not going to have it. “Detective, how about we step into my office? This information is quite a shock and we’re here on vacation. I think it’s doing the opposite of what a vacation is intended for,” He gestured to you. “She’s stressed out and I think it’s better if we discuss it more privately until you need her again. Does that sound good to you?”

At first, Suguru assumed he’d decline, but he didn't, he just nodded and got to his feet. “I apologise for the upset, I’d very much like to speak with you privately, Doctor.”

He nodded and got up as well, taking your hand briefly with a smile. “It’ll be alright, sweetie. I won’t be long. Why don’t you go out to the garden for a little while? The fresh air will do you good.” A quick peck to your forehead and he was showing the Detective to his office.

As soon as the doors were slid shut, Suguru spoke to him man to man. “Satoru Gojo. I remember who you are now.”

‘You know who I am?” He studied the art mounted on the walls.

“May I call you Satoru? I remember you from my days with the police, albeit brief, I don’t forget a face. You’re pretty famous if I recall?” He also noticed the distinct pungent smell of cigarettes too, one of which he had very recently smoked. Possibly on the way over here and one he would not forget.

Satoru shrugged. “Either name will do, but I’m not here to discuss names and pleasantries. There was another homicide nearby that happened last night, which I would have discussed in front of your partner, but here is just as convenient.”

“Alright then.” This must have been about Mr Simmons.

“A man was killed in a hit and run at around ten o’clock last night. Then his body was moved and placed somewhere close by.”

Suguru knew all of this already and by Satoru’s tone, it was as though he was trying to bait him. “Okay, do you need an alibi for that, or?”

“You’re a therapist, aren’t you?”

“A licensed psychiatrist.”

“There’s a difference?” Yeah. He was definitely trying to bait him.

Suguru sat himself down in his little office chair and watched the Detective closely. “Well, I dabbled in crime psychology for a little while, creating criminal profiles and aiding the police, but I prefer treating calmer and less violent people. I prescribe medication and make referrals. I don’t just do talk therapy.”

“That’s right. You have your own practice don't you?...” Something caught his attention.

“I do.”

The window behind Suguru’s chair. He must have seen you sit down outside. But it wasn’t what his eyes were focused on. “That’s a pretty rose garden.”

Suguru’s cheeks tugged for just a moment. “I planted those a few years back for her, roses are her favourite so we have tons blooming every year.”

Satoru’s cheeks did the exact same thing. “It’s funny… this hit and run had red roses on the body.”

“Really?” Suguru pretended to think, lacing his fingers together. “Were the roses placed there meticulously or haphazardly?”

“Does that matter?” Satoru was challenging him.

He’d take it.

“Of course. Haphazardly suggests the person wanted to hide the body, make it pretty while also trying to alleviate the guilt of what they did. But placing them with purpose suggests something more than that. It suggests that the person knew what they were doing and in doing so gave them power. To make a statement.”

A good diversion to throw the Detective off.

“They were placed haphazardly.” A total lie.

“So you’re looking at someone rushing then, most probably their first time killing. Though it doesn’t explain the roses. That would indicate that it still could have been premeditated. Where was the body exactly? You said it was nearby… near to here?”

“Near the first homicide. Which, coincidentally, is near your office if I'm not mistaken.”

Suguru didn’t give anything away. “I’m not aware, you never gave a specific location.”

“The lanes. In a residence and in the woodlands around the lane roads.”

“Ah yes, then that is near my office. There’s not much around there in terms of variety if I’m not mistaken… I can’t believe it’s so close.”

Time to lay it on thick. Though Suguru was still one hundred percent sincere. “If you could, would you mind not mentioning where the bodies were found to my finacé? She would freak if all that trouble was on our doorstep. I doubt she’d ever want me going down the lanes again.”

He didn’t agree. “How often do you go down those roads?”

“Twice a day when I’m working.”

“Were you working yesterday?”

“I was.”

“When did you leave, what way did you go?”

It was around nine when Suguru left the office, give or take ten minutes but autopsies were never approximated down to the minute, hence the hour given later than Mr Simmons’ actual time of death. So give or take half an hour wouldn’t make a difference.

It was close enough to the time of death not to be suspicious should Nanami be questioned, but far enough away that he wouldn’t have been an immediate suspect should he become a person of interest.

“Around nine thirty, I take the east way home, the roads are wider and with the fog that night, it was a safe choice, though I never drive more than thirty kilometres down those roads.”

“The fog?” Well, that seemed to throw him through a loop.

“Yes, there was unexpected heavy fog that came in last night. My fiancé messaged me to take care while driving. Visibility was bad and I ended up hitting a raccoon or rabbit that darted out in front of me when I was coming out of the lanes.”

He had no choice but to state that he had hit something, but Mr Simmons was at least two miles closer to his office than where he stated. Suguru needed some sort of alibi to link with the convenience store clerk should he get wind and speak with him.

“You hit something? Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Satoru stopped his observation of the room and gave Suguru the time of day this time.

“Because after you told me there was another body found near my place of work, to which I confirmed I was working, I naturally assumed you would ask the question of my whereabouts. And you did.”

It was more of a power trip to Suguru now. He knew he shouldn’t have poked the bear, but it was far too tempting. The Detective was looking in the eyes of a murderer and was none the wiser. Plenty had reviewed evidence before, but none ever close enough to link Suguru.

Mr Simmons was number…. Seven? If he remembered correctly. He hadn’t played that game for a while. Just Mr Simmons, not the woman. Suguru was unsure of what happened to that woman, because that was nothing to do with him at all.

“I tried getting as much gunk out of the grill of my car, she’s a vintage one and I had to take the grill off, then I waited to see if the fog cleared and thankfully it did. So I went to the nearest convenient store a little while after and got my car cleaned- he has the facilities for it. We were driving up here late last night-early morning, and preferred it if my fiancé didn’t have to see animal guts all over the car.”

“And can the clerk corroborate this?”

“Of course. I’ve used his services on a few occasions.”

“Right…” Again, the Detective did not look convinced.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with? Like I said before, I did practise in psychological profiling.”

“Nothing to concern yourself with, but I do wanna circle back to the roses.” Satoru moved towards the desk and poked his head in the direction of the window as he came closer.

He was watching you. Suguru just knew it. “There were roses left at the other scene too.”

Suguru knew nothing about that. “Alright. What does that have to do with the rose garden?”

Satoru Gojo did not take his eyes away from you swinging yourself on the little chair swing, one knee brought up to your chest with the other lazily kicking the floor. You were watching the roses shuffle side by side in the afternoon wind and late autumn sun.

“There’s a lot of roses goin’ around. Somewhere to supply that many would be an interesting find to a local florist.”

Where was he going with this?

“Okay.” Suguru wanted to turn away from him, but he wouldn’t all the while he was watching you.

“I think the roses came from here.”

What? A stupidly absurd notion. The very idea that he suggested someone rifling through the garden and taking roses from your favourite place made Suguru’s very soul burn like ash.

He didn’t give that away though, he’d contain his temper until he was able to release it properly. “Well, we only come here a few times a year, I check more often so that I can be sure the roses haven’t contracted a pest or disease, but that doesn’t stop anyone else getting to them, they aren't exactly secure.”

Who was this man to be throwing accusations like that? He was supposed to be an extraordinary Detective. Now he was just throwing mud hoping that it stuck.

“It doesn’t narrow our search down, but a rose clipped here and there soon makes one large bouquet or two, don't y’think?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean? Are you saying whoever used the roses on those bodies took them out of my fiancés garden? This place isn’t exactly close by.”

He shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips while he turned away from the window. “Who knows, I’m just throwin’ some theories out there. I won’t know all the facts until I have all the evidence presented to me, but I would like to request two things from you if I may.”

Here we go. Not without a fucking warrant. Suguru knew what he was going to ask. “Of course, ask away.”

“Can I examine your car and get security footage from your office?”

Of course. This man was so predictable. “Unfortunately, I cannot agree to that.”

“And why not?” Satoru’s stance was combative.

“You will need a search warrant for both. I must protect the personal information and the whereabouts of my clients. It’’s doctor-patient confidentiallity, I’ll need the written permission of every client that came by yesterday before I can even think of releasing that information to you without a warrant.”

Suguru already had written consent from all of his clients to allow the office to be filmed, but he would not give it to him.

Satoru seemed to take that on the nose. Suguru would protect his clients and their wishes until he legally prevented to do so. He had plenty of protection and he believed that there was not enough reason to collect the practice's camera footage of the road and parking lot just yet.

“Okay. I’ll go and get that then. I’ll be back soon enough to get that car impounded. I just need to start ticking people off my list is all. I don’t wanna cause you more hassle than it's all worth y’know? I wouldn’t want to upset your fiancé.” He went back to the same kind routine that he was using with you, like that charade would put Suguru’s guard down.

Satoru would know better in time than to use you as a bargaining chip. “That’s fine by me, we aren’t going anywhere all week. It’ll give her time to keep calm while she’s writing her new book, she has plenty to keep her mind occupied while you do what you have to do.”

“Well alright then. I’ll see myself out and I’ll be back with that warrant. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Geto. Please send your girl my regards. See ya.” He vacated the office and left the doors wide open on purpose.

Suguru could barely contain himself but held on until he heard a car drive off of the driveway. “That asshole.”

How dare he use you as a way to try and coerce him to give up his car and office like that. It made him fucking sick. Sick enough to shoot up from his seat, stomp over to the decorative vase he didn’t even enjoy looking at, pick it up and launch it across the room to watch it shatter into little pieces.

That fucking bastard thinks he’s so clever. He lied about the crime scene and tried to catch me out.

Not likely. Suguru wouldn’t fall for it no matter how angry he was. There was never a time in his life where he would allow anyone to take him away from you.

You just wouldn’t cope without him.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Through the red, Suguru was barely able to recover himself.

“Don’t come in here, sweetie. I was going to rearrange a few things and the vase slipped from my hands and fell. There’s smashed ceramic everywhere, could you get the broom for me? I don’t want you cutting your feet.”

You moved without hesitation, trusting him blindly.

It was better that way.

“Are you alright? I heard the noise and noticed that the Detective wasn’t here… did he leave already?” You reappeared just as quickly as you vanished.

“I’m just fine, don’t worry about me.” The ceramic clinked together as he swept, and for just a moment, Suguru tried his best to look at you, but he couldn’t. “Yes he’s gone for now, but he’ll be back with a warrant for the car and my office's security footage.”

He did not want to see your concerned face, something that was his own doing for jumping the gun and getting rid of a man who may not have hurt you. Suguru was conflicted by his reasoning and admitted to himself he may have made the wrong call. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Your car?… Alright.” You said, rubbing your arm and backing up a little from the large sliding double doors.

No, it wasn’t the wrong call. You were still safe and that was all that mattered. “I’ll take care of it all, it’s just to help with his investigation, but I can’t release it on my own. He’ll need a warrant anyway, it’s just procedure, that’s all.”

Suguru placed the broom to the side and wandered over to you for a reassuring embrace. “It’s all sorted, you don’t need to worry your head over it.”

“I just can’t believe she’s dead… Murdered. She wasn’t the nicest person, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.” You nuzzled into his chest close enough.

“I know, there’s not much we can do either. For now, we’ll just need to let the police do their jobs and wait for justice that’ll come with them.” He was curious to know what that body looked like and whether there was an active killer in the area, or just a one time thing.

The most infuriating part of all this, is that if Satoru Gojo posed a significant threat, Suguru couldn’t just kill him. He had a temper, but he was not stupid.

His only options were to either lead the intelligent Detective astray, or make it impossible to have any evidence to catch him with.

To play the white haired Detective at his own game.

And Suguru would win.

Prev <- -> Next

DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

The side characters and advanced plot is my own work. A gift for @vampir-queen and original idea for this fic is their own.

Also Please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

#yandere #jjk #geto #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #suguru geto #yandere jujutsu kaisen #male yandere #suguru x reader #suguru x you #geto suguru #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader

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sparks-and-smoke · 1 day ago

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Chapter 1: Old Letters (Re-written)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (referred to as Petal) Word Count: 2,787 Summary: Lost and alone after moving to DC Steve visits the Smithsonian and stumbles upon a face he thought he’d never see again. This is a soulmate AU, just so we are all aware. Warnings/tropes: grief, loss, angst, mental health, conspiracy theories, stalking if you squint. Reader insert, no use of Y/N A/N: Yes, this is a little re-write of something I already posted. And yes I like it better this way. Rewrite of chapter two is incoming as well. This is going to be a pretty slow updating fic, because I actively want to make the chapters longer, but I have a small child so writing time is limited. So, IF YOU WOULD LIKED TAGGED, let me know I'll add you to a list <3 Beta read by the ever lovely @voice-of-velhart

Next chapter

The mind numbing cadence of the narrator should have been comforting. Steve was sure it was to others, the simple clear baritone voice explaining the exhibits around him for those who either could not read or could not retain written words. It was one of the accessibility he would have loved to see when he was a young disabled man in the 40’s. One of those rare things that gave him hope for the growth of humanity. But today, as he wandered through the exhibit that laid out his life like a textbook he couldn’t help but want the voice to stop.

Stop talking about his friends and loved ones like they were these lofty historical beings that were lost to the sands of time. Stop talking about Bucky and Dugan and Morita and Jones like they were heroes or icons... And talk about them as people. The way Pinky snored like a lumberjack once you were anywhere above sea level. Or the way Dugan could drink anyone under the table and still manage to steal a tank single handed. Or the way Falsworth could get him laughing so hard it would almost give away their location if Bucky didn’t punch the shit out of his arm to keep him silent.

It was all so long ago now. To the patrons and children who ran around oohing and ahhing over the glory that was the tale of Captain America. And not the tangible raw memory that lived in his head day in and day out. He kept his mouth shut, throat bobbing as he made his way silently through the different collections of his life. The memorials and exhibit pieces that should be his and not locked behind glass.

He winced as the voice over head got small things wrong. Like his actual birthday. Or the make and model of his motorcycle even though it was sitting right there behind a velvet rope. It wouldn’t have taken a curator very long to fix those little things but he had a feeling this particular set piece hadn’t been a hot spot until a year or so ago when he had been pulled from the ice, and clearly whoever had been in charge had been too busy finding new set pieces to fix the clerical errors in the script. It wasn’t like he was gonna call them and correct them. He would settle for just grumbling in his head like an old man.

It wasn’t a bad showcase, all things considered. Nothing the Smithsonian did was. They were America’s most famous museum for a reason. But it did make Steve's chest ache. He had been avoiding coming here for most of his time in DC, what did they have here that he could possibly find productive? But then he heard something interesting.

"The disappearance Mrs. Rogers has been a mystery that has plagued historians and scientists alike for generations…"

Petal, well not actually Petal, that was what he had called her in private. In his letters home. No, the voice overhead had called her Mrs. Rogers. Referred to his wife and that had Steve's full attention. Following the lead of the vocal guide he wandered to a small set piece in the back. A large gallery wall, set with pictures and letters and memorabilia from his life at home, things he had been told were sealed away, littered the glass cases of the exhibit. His wife, his love, plastered all over the wall for the world to see. It didn't matter that her name was blocked out. That they had kept her legal name from the public record. Her face. Her words. They were everywhere.

It made him see red.

“Those were private.” he heard himself say as his eyes scanned over the exhaustive catalog of personal conversations between himself and his soulmate. His nails digging crescent shaped indentations into his palms as he began to shake.

Letters and photos that he had thought lost were now plastered up in the god damned Smithsonian. Things he had never, ever wanted anyone else to see. Fears and sorrows he had written with confidence that only the love of his life would read the words. This was too much, it was too far. He could forgive the misinformation and the lack of fact checking. The bike, the medical information, the uniform, the memorial to Bucky. Those were nothing compared to this, And a red hot rage bubbled up inside him as his eyes landed on a very intimate letter that had passed between the two of them. One that had turned his ears hot with lust at the time but now just made his blood turn to ice.

No. Those were not for anyone else’s eyes.

He had to leave. To storm into the curator's office and demand this portion of the exhibit be taken down immediately. It was a violation of privacy at its deepest level. An injustice that he couldn't stand for. Not in his own exhibit…

He barely heard the giggling of the women as he passed by them. Anger fueling him forward with an almost mission like focus. Causing him to ignore anyone who dared talk to him unless they had the power to shut this down. But something deep inside him tugged. Told him to stop. To listen. His feet halted on their own accord and he perked an ear. Almost frustrated at himself as he listened in instead of pushing forward.

But Steve never ignored his gut. Not even in a time like this.

“No, I’m serious! You look just like her, it's totally eerie! Look!” Steve turned his head to glance at the women. A group of three, dressed in work attire, clearly here on lunch or maybe they worked at one of the buildings. The tall willowy brunette was gesturing at a picture of Petal. A picture from the war bonds tour with his wife all dolled up for the press. “Curl your hair and slap on some red lipstick and you could totally pass as her…”

The woman in the center stood rigidly, her face hidden behind her hair, but he could tell by her posture she was deeply uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I guess a little.” She said in a quiet voice that Steve could barely hear over the crowd and the tour guide.

“Oh, come off it! You’re like her Doppelganger. I’m kinda getting creeping me out.” Steve dared a step closer so he could see the girl's face. If she looked half as much like his wife as her friends claimed she must be stunning. His wife had been the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. And yes, perhaps he was biased but he didn’t care. He knew it to be fact. She was everything and even just seeing a shade of her in this woman was too tempting to pass up.

The girl stared up at the wall, the lights of the display case illuminating her with an otherworldly glow. And Steve felt the air drag from his lungs as if it was being squeezed out of him.

She didn’t look like his wife. That was his wife. He would know her anywhere. Could claim her in the darkest night, half drunk or dying he would know her. The visage of her was etched on his mind like a memorial. The sound of her burned into his heart like a siren's call. That was his wife. She was alive and she was standing right in front of him staring up at their love letters like they were the words of strangers.

How did she not know. More then that how was even she alive at all. It had been over 70 years. She should be an old woman, a distant memory if not already long gone from this world and yet there she was. Looking resplendent in the glow of the display case. Steve's mind whirled as he tried to file through all the information he had on his wife, or rather the absence of information. The utter mystery that had been plaguing his memory since he first busted into time square a year and a half ago.

What happened to you.

It had been one of the first things Steve looked into when he realized he had been gone 70+ years. He had gone on a tirade trying to find hide or hair of what had happened to you or your family after he went MIA. He hadn’t cared if you were old or grey or heaven forbid dead, but he needed to know where you were. He had spent the better part of a month trying and failing to find anything about what had happened to you after the events of February 5, 1945. He had pulled S.H.I.E.L.D. files, missing persons reports, death records, it didn't matter. If he had the means he took it. Slogging through every bit of information he could manage.

Turns out after Steve took the plunge Peggy took it upon herself to find "Petal" and offer her condolences. Only to find an empty apartment and no trace of life. Food left on the counters, coffee half drank in the living room, lights left on… As if you had just gotten up and walked out of your life.

It had been Peggy Carter and Howard Stark who had taken it upon themselves to try and find you. Peggy and Howard that took the letters and sealed them away. Redacted you're name from historical documents when you couldn't be found. Protected Steve and his wife even in death.

It had led him down a rabbit hole of sorts. Conspiracy theories and true crimes cases all about what had happened to Mrs. Rogers. to podcasts and documentaries that frustrated him more than helped, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know. He needed anything, everything that might be an answer. Only to find that his soulmate, the other half of his heart, had vanished around the same time he landed in the ice.

You and your sisters were a mystery. A conspiracy theory. The display case in front of you said as much. One of the most divisive missing persons cases in American history. Up there with Amelia Earhart and the Somerton man… It had broken his heart. Left him empty and wandering without a sense of closure. He could still feel the bond you had shared, a tunnel of energy that led to somewhere but it was impossible to tell where. Soulmates didn’t work like bloodhounds; you couldn’t just follow the connection until you reached the other end. It was more complicated and the feeling only left him with more questions than answers.

And now, there you were right there. In front of him looking radiant if not self conscious and the aching tug in his chest was starting to become agonizing. But he couldn’t get his feet to move. As if he had been rooted to the spot where he stood staring like a lost child gazing at the stars. You were just as beautiful as you had always been. And it was hard to move past the simple detail as he stared at her. He was positive in that moment that even if this had been their first encounter he would have been just as speechless as he had been in 1939. And he felt like he could hardly breath as he heard her voice again.

“I don’t know guys, she's beautiful, but I don't see it.” You told your friends. Your eyes scan over the pictures. A strange sensation coming over you as you gazed at the old stills. Meet and greets for the USO tour, Steve kissing his wife goodbye in Chicago, an old photo of the pair together in a park somewhere. The park seemed familiar, but you couldn't place it. Maybe it was back in Brooklyn. You and Captain Rogers were after all from the same borough.

Mary, your friend who has so far been fawning over the love letters and the contents thereof clicks her tongue. “Naww, there is totally a resemblance. Maybe you should ask your grandma if she lost a lover to the war.” she wiggles her brows but you don’t seem impressed.

“My grandma passed away a very long time ago, and she couldn’t have been Mrs. Rogers because she was soulmates with my papa. But nice try.” you sigh, pulling your arms tight over your chest. “Besides, even if she was, I would only feel bad. I mean look at this! I would hate for the whole world to be able to come and ogle at the love confessions I made to my husband as he was facing down death everyday! It’s kind of cruel in a way. Hanging all of this out for the world to see. Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable to read them all?”

Amanda, the redhead, just shrugged. “I mean she is probably dead. So I doubt she cares.” Steve's hands gripped at his jacket. The callous response has Steve hackles rising up. His girl has shitty friends, or disrespectful ones at least, but at least she still had a heart. Still had empathy for others. Even if she didn’t know that those letters were hers.

“Yeah but Captain Rogers is alive! I highly doubt he appreciates his private thoughts up on display. I sure wouldn’t.” Your stomach was lurking as you're heart when out to this poor couple whose life had been made into books, and movies, and comics. Their heartache and separation sensationalized for the modern housewife and hormonal teenagers to romanticize. All while ignoring the privacy and wishes of the people involved.

“Since when do you feel so passionate about this. ” The brunette shuffled, starting to look a little ashamed. Good, Steve thought. She should. Everyone ogling at their past heartbreak should

Steve watched as you seemed to check yourself. “I- I don't know, it just rubs me wrong. It a human decency issue! A violation of privacy!" You turn on your friend with a frown as you realize she really isn't repulsed by this at all. "It's invasive and dehumanizing. It just like Anne Franks diaries being made into a book. It's tragic and horrible. These people went through some of the worst things human beings can process. And we stand her and gawk at their pain.” Steve's chest feels restrictive. Pride and grief twisting around inside it in a harrowing cocktail as he listens to her defend him… Them,

"We shouldn't be here. I'm leaving. And I'm gonna right the museum and tell them how awful this is! That they should be ashamed!" Steve stays back and watches as you turn on your heels and head toward the aviation exhibit. You're friends rolling their eyes at your abundance of empathy. Steve simply ducks his head, to keep you from seeing him as you breeze past. He doesn’t wanna approach you, not yet. He needs to figure out what the hell just happened but as you pull farther away the tug in his chest could crack a rib.

"God, you're so dramatic petal. Are you serious? Really, over old letters from god knows when." Your friend shouted after you. The other rolling her eyes and following the pair. Good to know his girl hadn't lost her spark. Or her sense of justice.

The instinct to turn and follow you is intense. Almost overwhelming but he ignores it. Instead choosing to stay behind and clear his head. Has to have a plan of attack. A strategy. He can’t chase his girl off, he can’t lose her a second time he won't let that happen. No, whatever was happening. Whatever cruel trick of fate this was, he had to outsmart it. Right it. But he knew one thing down to his marrow. That was his soulmate, and she would not slip away from him.

First thing first, he was gonna get this portion of the exhibit taken down and his letters and pictures returned to him. Then he was going to find out what was wrong with his girl and why she didn't remember. But one thing was for sure he was gonna get her back. Even if he had to start from scratch and make her fall in love with him again, he was getting Petal back now that he knew she was alive. Nothing could stop him.

With a new found purpose and mission Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket to make a few calls. He was gonna get this all squared away so he could focus on the main objective. You.

Found you Petal…

Tag List: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers, @delilah-hey @tldrthor This is the version going on the masterlist :)

#marvel #steve rogers #ce characters #avengers #steve rogers x reader #Sparks writes sometimes #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x plus size reader #female reader #reader insert

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iamvegorott · 2 days ago

Note

Could I possibly get a blurb of Danti? Maybe Dark helping Anti out with his insecurity of his scar? Or something wholesome like that?

Anti caught himself in a weird trance, staring at himself in the hallway mirror and tracing his fingers along the rough skin that was the scar across his neck. He knew what the reason behind the scarring was, having seen the ‘evidence’ behind it. But this reality didn’t give him the memories of it happening. It was just…there.

Anti was a very confident man, knowing he looked good and having fun with it. He didn’t second guess how he presented himself and just walked with enough pride to be nearly contagious to others. Well, contagious to those who liked him and envy-inducing to those who didn’t. And Anti loved that.

But even the most confident people in the world had their moments, catching themselves at an odd angle or noticing something different and needing a second to adjust. Anti wasn’t fully immune to those moments, and it was always his scar that pulled him into this weird loop of overanalyzing his own skin, feeling the texture, and wondering how he’d look without it. Yes, Anti could shift his body into different forms, but this was his most natural state, and he couldn’t change it. It was… inconvenient sometimes.

“Anti?” The voice wasn’t heard.

Anti mumbled gibberish to himself as his short and blunt nail trailed the line that was the connection between his skin and the scar. An oddly smooth and curled line, much smoother than it should be given how slowly the wound was made, but the appearance went against that logic. Although, most things in this life of theirs went against logic.

“Dove?” The voice finally registered as Dark stepped over to Anti, stopping right behind him and looking at his face through the mirror.

He and Dark dating was something that most would say went against logic…yet it worked out for them.

“Need something?” Anti asked, making his hand drop.

“I was going to ask if you were ready for dinner, but something else seems to be taking over your thoughts.” Dark placed his hands on Anti’s waist and pressed a tender kiss to the side of his neck.

“Don’t get all gushy on me.” Anti played up his protest despite tilting his head so Dark had more space to kiss.

“Are you truly complaining?” Dark hummed, hands moving so now he was loosely hugging him,

“Maybe~” Anti sang the word, arms resting on Dark’s and his eyes softening as Dark rested his chin on his shoulder. A casual embrace, something that took the two of them some time to get used to.

The beginning of their relationship was…messy, and it was an adjustment for both of them to settle into a more domestic routine. Anti could still remember the way he nearly choked on his own spit the first time Dark called him dove, and now it was something he’d tease Dark if he didn’t call him that at least ten times a day.

“So, what were you thinking about?”

“Meh.”

“‘Meh’ isn’t a subject.” Dark smiled as Anti exaggerated a groan.

“I was looking at my scar.” Anti kept the exaggeration in his voice.

“Your scar?”

“Sometimes it just looks…off.”

“I think it’s unique. It's very fitting for you. Adds to the individuality that is you. Stands out and catches the eye in ways that make others crave to live a life of excitement. Without it, I wouldn’t have you, and I’d hate to be without the man I love.” Dark chuckled as Anti leaned his full weight back against him with his next groan.

“Stop being all cute and shit.” Anti pretended to try to ‘break free’ from Dark and started laughing when he got what he wanted and was held tighter.

“I’m only like this around you, so appreciate it.” Dark’s voice was playful. Anti tilted his head back and grinned.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?”

“Make sure you never forget what you do to me, dove.”

“Oh no, anything but that~” Anti laughed again as Dark turned him, picked him up, and carried him away.

---------

@ctheotter

#anon #danti #veggie writes #gotta love the domestic demon husbands

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spineless-lobster · 1 year ago

Text

The Captain just wanted to be loved.

#all of the breaking and entering and stolen valour and heartbreak and humiliation #he served in a war and received no medals for it #if he had he wouldn’t have to go through all this shit #all he wanted to do was see his lieutenant again #he wanted to be loved and recognized and respected #by anyone #but mainly by havers #he just wanted love and he died before he could properly get it #until the other ghosts and alison of course #I could go on and on but you get it #you definitely get it by now #I’m so fucking tired so I’m going to bed #goodnight I love you <3 #bbc ghosts #the captain #bbc ghosts spoilers

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inthesecretgardens · 3 months ago

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how I met your mother is so perfect

#like the entire show is just them talking about how he met their mother and it took Ted soooo fuckign long to find her #and he had to go through so much shit in order to get there #and there were so many times where he almost met her #so you think to yourself why didn’t he meet her then and if you say to make the show go on longer leave right now #he had to meet her at the perfect time which was the time he was most ready #she wouldn’t have been the love of his life if he had met her even a couple weeks ago #and then when they meet there’s that one episode where you see that it wasn’t just instant soulmate connection on the first date #they had to try and make it work and decide to put in the effort in the hope that it would be worth it #and if he met her any earlier he wouldn’t have been able to do that he would’ve just left her at the first sign of trouble #it’s so beautiful I think about it all the time #even though the show ended shittily and how I met your father was a terrible follow up

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 4 months ago

Text

Giving the nerd a chance

tags: nerd!nanami/fem!reader, college!au, stsg, nsfw, dirty talk, asphyxiation, size kink, mdni!!

a/n: this one’s a long one :) pace yourself and enjoy!

Kento Nanami is a social enigma. He is a total outlier but in the weirdest way possible.

This man is conventionally attractive. Some would even go as far to say Nanami’s handsome, almost in a filthy way. His looks are sneaky too. He’s not someone you’d immediately notice in a room, but once you did…

You would notice his sculpted jaw line first. Then, his naturally high cheekbones that gave way to his soft hazel eyes. He had a serious look on his face always, but his eyes told a different story. Maybe you’d notice his blonde hair that sat neatly on his head, styled with an undercut. Yeah, Nanami was fucking hot.

But that’s not the weird part. No, you haven’t heard him utter a single word except to answer the professor’s unanswered questions once the silence was unbearable.

That’s not exactly weird either. There are tons of people who go through college without the intention of making friends… but Nanami has friends. He doesn’t just have like one friend. No, he’s apart of a friend group.

The weirdest part was he seemed to be close with the most popular guy in your university, star quarterback Satoru Gojo. Gojo was seemingly every college girl’s wet dream. He’s the type to stand out in a room. His looks and personality demand attention.

He’s the complete opposite from Nanami.

Then, there was Suguru Geto… Geto was also a strange friend for Nanami to have. Geto was smart, funny, and well-mannered… when he was in class. But you’ve seen how Geto acts at parties. He smokes cigarettes, shotguns whiskey, and keeps up with all of Gojo’s antics. Shoko was the exact same way, except she didn’t care enough to keep up with Gojo’s buffoonery.

They were the complete opposite from Nanami as well.

Yu Haibara was a cutie patootie. He’s also a sweet social butterfly. Another one of Nanami’s friends that just didn’t seem to be his type.

You caught yourself staring at the friend group as you’re sitting on a couch at a frat house. Your college team just won the game, so Satoru had invited a whole slew of people over. You somehow made it on that list. Your friend, Utahime, is begging you to leave, but something is telling you to stay.

“Go on without me, Uta. I’ll be fine, promise.” You say over the music as you flash her a small smile to assure her.

“I really, really, really don’t want to leave you here alone, yn. I don’t want you to end up on the front page of the news.”

“Don’t wish that shit upon me.” You laugh as you gently nudge her arm, urging her towards the door.

“I’m serious, yn. Please text me. If you’re not back in the dorm by midnight, I’m calling the cops.” She says as she grabs your shoulders, forcing you to face her directly.

You admire your friend’s caring demeanor, but she was being a total cock block for you right now.

“I will text you. I promise.” You assure her once again. “Go back to the dorm. Love you.”

She sighs deeply as she lets you go. She’s still not comfortable with the idea of leaving you here, but she can’t force you to leave. “Love you too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, that’s all I’m gonna do.” You smirk as she flips you off and leaves the frat house.

You take a drink from your red solo cup to gather your nerves. Nanami has been sitting in the corner of the kitchen all night. He’s alone, but he doesn’t look lonely. Sometimes, Satoru will drunkenly slouch his weight onto the blonde and slur something inaudible to him. From what you can see, Nanami just rolls his eyes and shrugs his friend off his shoulders.

You want to approach him, but you’re still too afraid he won’t talk to you. As you sit down your cup, an intoxicated Satoru is standing over you.

“I’m sorry- I don’t remember your name.” He gives you a slanted smile as he crouches down a bit so you two are face-to-face.

“That’s okay. I don’t remember yours either.” You snip back with a small grin. Something sparkles in his eyes as you give him a little bit of a challenge. He finds it to be endearing.

“Cheeky. Give me your number.” He demands, keeping his smirk on his face.

“Why should I give it to you?”

“Because it’s not for me.” He slurs as he leans in close to you. He nods his head towards the kitchen. “I’m doing this for my pussy friend over there.”

Your eyes dart towards Nanami. His eyes are glaring holes into Satoru with more anger and emotion than you’ve ever seen from him. Your stomach swirls with butterflies.

“That is a really good reason.” You murmur as you quickly type your number into Satoru’s phone.

*** *** ***

It had been days since the frat party and not a single word from Nanami. Your excitement had honestly fizzled out into sulking. Were you not good enough for him? Did Satoru lie? Was it all a sick prank?

Not even Utahime could get you in a good mood.

“Yn. This is so ridiculous. If you like him that much, just go up and talk to him.” She chides

“Noooo.” You groan into your pillow as you turn onto your stomach in your bed. “He’s too cool. Out of my league.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Kento Nanami? The nerd who barely ever talks? The know-it-all in class?”

“Utahimeee.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Let me wallow in my self pity.” You gripe before you hear your phone buzz. The sound of your phone notifying you doesn’t even excite you anymore. It’s always some lame ass notification.

Unknown Number: Is this yn?

Your eyes widen as you stare at your phone in disbelief. Your body involuntarily sits up in bed, startling Utahime.

“Jesus Christ. What? What happened?”

“He texted me!” You beam proudly. You are embarrassing. Utahime scoffs and walks away from you, unable to take the second-hand embarrassment.

Yn: Yeah, that’s me :)

Unknown Number: This is Kento Nanami. I’m sorry Gojo felt the need to disturb you at the party.

Yn: No need! He didn’t disturb me too much.

Nanami: That’s good to hear.

God. Now, what do you say? Of course Nanami is a dry texter. You stare at the text conversation for a while, trying to think of something.. anything to break the ice.

Yn: Did you ask him to get my number, or did he do that on his own volition?

Nanami: Gojo does things on his own volition.

Yn: Ah.. I see.

He left you on read.

Goddammit.

You had your chance, and now, you blew it. Sighing, you lock your phone and try to forget he even ever texted you in the first place.

*** *** ***

I mean, who even needs Nanami? He’s really not even that handsome or mysterious. You keep telling yourself as you get ready to go to another party Gojo invited you too.

Oh, also, Gojo kept your number for himself as well. He mostly asked to copy your notes when Nanami refused to let him copy his notes. He would also send the occasional invitation to one of his signature parties.

This one was apparently labeled as “exclusive”. You had no idea what that meant, but you weren’t allowed to bring a plus-one this time.

Luckily for you, Utahime was visiting back home for the weekend, so she couldn’t scold you for going out to another party this weekend.

Black eyeliner was smeared across your waterline, and you puckered your lips as you carefully applied some sheer gloss. You decided to be casual with your outfit, wearing a basic off-shoulder black top with some jeans.

As soon as you got to the frat house, you quickly understood what “exclusive” meant. It was only their closest friends in the house. Satoru and Haibara were on the couch, lounging. Suguru and Shoko were sitting by the window, sharing a cigarette. Nanami was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, looking as stoic as ever. Immediately, you were grateful for going with a more casual look.

“Yn! So glad you made it!” Satoru grinned in a more sober voice than the last time you spoke with him.

“Am I imposing on something?” You ask as you close the door.

“Of course not, silly. I sent you an invite for a reason.” Satoru says casually as he pats the spot between him and Haibara on the couch. “Come have a seat. Get comfortable. We’re just hanging out tonight.”

You stare at the seat between Gojo and Haibara, and you decide to sit in the open chair next to them instead.

“Afraid that we might bite?” Gojo grins as he leans over the arm of the chair towards you.

“Stop it, Satoru. You’re going to scare her away.” Shoko scolds before taking a drag off her cigarette.

Your phone gently buzzes in your pocket as Satoru and Shoko begin to bicker about his social skills. You sneakily check your phone.

Nanami: You look pretty tonight.

OH. We are so back, baby.

Yn: Thank you :) You look as handsome as ever.

Nanami: Oh yeah?

It is so small and insignificant, but that little “oh yeah?” makes your stomach flutter with excitement.

“Yn?” You snap your attention up to Shoko and realize she has been trying to talk to you.

“Shit- sorry. What’s up?”

Your phone lightly buzzes again, and you quickly glance down to check.

Nanami: You’re blushing.

“I was asking what your major is.” Shoko smiles calmly as she’s sat upon the windowsill. She flicks her cigarette outside before blowing out a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore how your heart is skipping beats right now.

“Oh, I’m just in general studies right now. I’m kind of indecisive. What about you?”

“I’m pre-med right now.” Shoko answers.

“I thought you swapped to nursing.” Haibara asks as he shifts his body to face her. The two start conversing together, giving you a chance to check your phone.

Nanami: Are you ill, or do my words just affect you that much?

Yn: I’m actually ill.

Nanami: You’re also apparently a liar, sweetheart.

How the fuck was this man so bold over text, but wouldn’t speak to hardly anyone in person?

Yn: Sweetheart? I didn’t know we were on that sort of level yet.

Nanami: Does that make you uncomfortable?

Yn: No

Nanami: Good. Then don’t complain.

The throb your cunt just did should’ve been illegal. There was no reason for you to be so turned on by that, but you were.

Yn: What would you have done had I said that it did make me uncomfortable?

Nanami: I would’ve found you a nickname you were more comfortable with.

He was being sweet, and you were over there clenching around nothing like a whore.

You had been so caught up in your phone that you didn’t realize Yu had went and gotten everyone a beer out of the fridge. You decide to risk a glance at Nanami. He looked calm and composed. You wondered if he even knew the effect he had on you truly.

“Shoko, when are you finally going to get some bitches?” Satoru asks with a laugh. Your eyes widen as you notice Suguru is on his lap now. You had really been so distracted by your phone…

“At this rate, I think Nanami will beat me.” Shoko laughed as she took a drink of her beer. You shift slightly in your seat as Shoko cuts her eyes towards you with a small grin.

Nanami: I will

Yn: Will what?

Nanami: I will beat her.

Yn: Confident or competitive?

Nanami: Both.

Yn: You didn’t strike me as the type.

Nanami: You don’t think I can do it?

Yn: I never said that.

Nanami lays his phone on his lap, and you can feel his eyes trailing up and down your body. Feeling your heart skip a beat, you decide to look up at him. Your breath hitches in your throat as you glance over him. He looks relaxed. His head is propped up in his hand, and he’s almost giving you a lazy smile.

Knowing more about Nanami, you recognize it as a cocky smile now.

The rest of the “party” goes without a hitch. You decided it was time to leave once Suguru and Satoru were obnoxiously making out, Shoko was asleep on the floor, and Haibara wouldn’t shut the fuck up about the intricacies of anime.

“I’m gonna head back to my dorm now. Thanks for inviting me.” You say quickly as you stand from your seat.

“Hey yn-!” Satoru says as he tugs from Suguru’s lips. The dark-haired male made quick work of moving down to his neck. “Thanks for coming. You should come out here more often.”

“Oh um, I’ll think about it.” You smile politely as you head out the front door. The cold night air nips at your skin. The only light was from the moon high up in the sky. The dorms were a few blocks away.

You never like walking alone at night, but you try to remember that college campuses have security patrolling at all times. Taking a deep shaky breath, you step off the porch.

The sound of the door closing again immediately startles you. You quickly flinch and look towards the frat house. Nanami was calming walking up to you.

“Let me walk you back.” His voice was calm and steady, just like his presence. He really wasn’t phased at all by your subtle flirting earlier?

“Thanks.. I was actually kinda scared.” You mumble as you two walk side by side on the pavement. Your arms hug your body, trying to hide from the snippy air.

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to walk you home then?” Nanami asks as he slips his coat off from his shoulders. He then loosely drapes it over your shoulders. You feel your heart skip a beat as you mumble a quick thanks. Your body snuggled into his coat as it swallowed your frame whole. It was the first time you realized… Nanami is a big man. He’s not just some scrawny nerd. He’s actually pretty well built.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” You answer quietly, noticing how Nanami shoves his hands into his pockets while you two walk.

“That’s foolish. We invited you. The least we could do is make sure you make it home safely.”

“We?”

Nanami goes silent, and he looks away from your shorter self. The wind blows harshly, making the leaves crinkle and hiss on the trees.

“Yes, we.” He finally answers your question. You smile softly as you look down towards the ground. It seems like Satoru wasn’t the only one who wanted you around.

Standing in front of your dorm door, you slowly slip the coat off from around your shoulders and try to hand it back to him. “I don’t want it.” He answers calmly, making no effort to take the jacket back from you.

“It’s yours, silly.”

“And?”

“Take it.” You gestured the coat to him once more

“No, I want you to have it.” He says as he towers over you. You subconsciously take a step back to create space, and your back hits the door. He leans over you, having to angle his back to see eye-to-eye with you. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your cheek as he cocks his head towards your ear and neck. “Text me.” He murmurs lowly before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You were left against your door blushing madly as he casually sauntered away.

*** *** ***

You almost think you dreamt that kiss up come Monday morning. You hadn’t texted him all weekend, not even knowing what to say. You felt scared about messing things up and taking his advances the wrong way. He hadn’t reached out to you either.

You were sitting in Neurology, half-ass paying attention as the professor lectured about neuron pruning. Nanami sat a few rows over. He always appeared to he intently listening when you glance over at him. You perk up as you feel your phone buzz on your thigh.

Nanami: You’re not going to do well if you don’t pay attention.

Yn: I could say the same for you.

Nanami: Could you?

Yn: …. point taken

Nanami: You know, you could’ve at least texted me if you didn’t like the kiss.

Yn: Who said I didn’t?

Nanami: So, you disobey my request for fun?

Yn: Disobey is such a strong word. You told me to text you, and I just.. haven’t yet.

Nanami: We’ll come back to the disobedience topic. Why haven’t you texted me “yet”?

Yn: Nervous.

Nanami: You’re adorable. What’s there to be nervous about?

“Can anyone name an example of synaptic pruning?” The professor’s sudden loud voice catches you off guard. You hadn’t been paying attention at all, and you feel your heart start to race at the thought of being randomly called upon.

“Anyone?” The professor asks once again. “Yn-“ She almost says your first name before Nanami interrupts.

“Crown thinning.” He answers the question, saving you from total embarrassment.

“Very good. Thank you, Kento.” The professor praises as she turns back around to start lecturing from the powerpoint again.

Yn: You totally just saved me.

Nanami: Pay better attention.

Yn: Then stop texting me.

Nanami: No.

Nanami: Answer my question. Why were you nervous?

Yn: I just didn’t want to say the wrong things.

Nanami: You’re hopeless.

Yn: You’re starting to sound like Utahime :(

Nanami: Will you coo to me that you love me if I act like her?

You feel your heart start to race as you read his text over and over. He was way more observant than you gave him credit for. You couldn’t even think of a time where you told Uta that you loved her in front of him.

Yn: Is that what you want?

Nanami: That does sound nice. Though, I think I’d rather hear you breathlessly professing your love to me.

oh…

oh.

You sat your phone down. No way were you going to let some simple words over a screen let you get horny in class. You didn’t dare to glance in his direction as you suddenly decided to start paying attention and taking detailed notes on Neurology.

Nanami: You’re blushing again.

Damn him and his observant personality. Damn him and his filthy words that make you squeeze your thighs together to soothe the ache.

Yn: I’m well aware.

Nanami: It’s cute. Makes me want to say more things just to get a reaction out of you.

Yn: Please don’t

Nanami: Why? Scared you might like it?

Nanami: Scared you might like the thought of being beneath me, begging for more?

Jesus. There was no misinterpreting that. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared down at your phone, rereading his message over and over. It painted a picture in your brain.

Yn: As if you could make me do that.

Nanami: I can, and I will. Come over tonight.

Yn: To the frat house?

Nanami: No, to my room. I’ll tell Haibara to not come back until late.

Yn: That seems rather rude.

Nanami: It’s far better than the treatment you’ll be receiving later.

Your head feels like it’s spinning as the professor dismisses class. The rest of the day drags by painfully slow as you feel every little heartbeat and flutter in your chest. Nanami talked big game for someone who seemed too shy to really speak to you. It made you feel intrigued. How could he be so confident in his ability to make you beg?

You took your time once you were back at your dorm: going through your everything-shower routine. You wanted to make sure that every inch of you was soft and smooth just in case! It’s not like he’s actually going to make you do anything.

Knocking on his door, you feel your stomach churn with anxiety. You two seemed to be doing better at keeping up a conversation, but you were still deathly afraid of that awkward silence sinking in.

The click of the lock gains your attention, and Nanami opens the door for you. “Come in.” He says flatly, moving out of the way of the door so you can squeeze past him. He’s wearing his usual button-up shirt with black slacks on. How does this man even relax?

Of course his room is completely clean. His bed was even made military style for crying out loud. What the fuck does this man know about making women beg?

“Your room is nice.” You compliment, trying not to sound too awkward.

“It’s a room.” He shrugs nonchalantly before his eyes travel your body.

“How did you tell Haibara not to come home?” You ask, and he gives you a slightly puzzled look.

“I told him the truth.” He says as he loosens his tie from around his neck.

You swallow harshly as you watch his slender fingers pull at the fabric. His jaw is perfectly sculpted along with his neck, and his adams apple bobs as he steps towards you.

“Which is?” You reluctantly ask.

“I told him not to come home unless he planned on watching me fuck a pretty girl to tears.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you stare up at him with almost a frightened gaze. His movement feels much more predatory now as if he’s been watching you for a while, sizing you up. He had observed and stood by, waiting for the prime opportunity to pounce.

“What is it? Cat got your tongue?” Nanami asks as he steps forward again. The back of your knees hits his bed, and his smile shifts to a lopsided grin.

“No. I just…” You had no idea what to even say to that! You weren’t use to a man so confidently bolstering about his skills without sounding like a total idiot. Nanami was a rarity. He could talk the talk and walk the walk.

“No. I just..” He mocks you. “You’re awfully nervous for someone I haven’t even touched yet.” His fingers gently caress over your collarbone, before he carefully nudged you back. You tipped over and found yourself sitting on his bed, looking up at him with big round eyes.

“Christ. Have you ever even done this before?” He asks as he leans over you. His hand press down on the mattress at both of your sides, effectively trapping you beneath him.

“Yes!” You exclaim with a huffy attitude that makes him chuckle. “Have you?” You ask, trying to even the score.

“No.” He responds before closing the distance between you two. His lips press against yours and move delicately. Your eyes widen before you realize what was going on, and you slowly melt into the kiss.

Lips smack together as he takes the lead on the kiss. His hands gently cup and caress their way down your body before resting upon your hips. His knee finds it’s way between your thighs, and he applies pressure to your core.

Stifling a small whine, you entangle your fingers through his blonde hair. It’s softer than you imagined it to be. His kisses are growing more and more demanding as he’s pushing you back onto the bed more and more.

He gently bites at your lip, and he applies more pressure with his knee. As soon as you let another another small whimper, he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He’s taking complete and utter advantage over your body while you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact he said “no”. He’s claiming to have never done this before.

His thumbs dig into your hipbones before he makes you grind against his knee.

“That’s right. Use me.” He purrs lowly, encouraging for you to keep rolling your hips. Once you found a steady rhythm, rubbing yourself against his knee like a desperate slut, he releases your hips and grabs your wrists, pinning you down to the bed.

“Ken..” You gasp out lowly, and he immediately eats up your words, forcing his lips right back upon yours.

The grinding was slowly making you feel all dizzy in the head as you slowly start to mess up your rhythm. He immediately notices your messy state. His hands leave your wrists to grab back ahold of your thighs to make sure you don’t stop. If his slacks weren’t black, he was sure there would be a small damp spot on his leg from your delicious juices.

“Hah~” You gasp as you lean your head back.

“Does that feel good?” He questions lowly before carefully nipping at your neck.

“Yes… Yes, Kento.. more..”

“Oh, what was that, darling? I didn’t hear you.” He taunts as he bites his way down your neck.

“M-more!” You whimper out as you grow impatient.

“So greedy…” He murmurs before his sucks a small hickey on your neck all while he’s still making you grind your pitiful pussy against his thigh. “Beg.”

You feel that defiant nature wanting to kick in. You were needy for him, but you weren’t to the point of begging yet.

“Did you hear me? I said beg.” He demands as he forces you down on his leg harder. Your legs tremble around him as he’s making you rock hack and forth.

“Please-“ You finally choke out against your defiant nature. “I-I.. want more, please… I need you to.. to ruin me.”

“Ruin you, hm?” He asks as his hand carefully trails upwards to your neck. He applies just a bit of pressure. “A pretty girl like you asking for me to ruin her… How could I say no?”

He removes his leg from between your leg, and he quickly replaces it with his hand. His fingers rub firm circles around your clit through the cloth of your leggings. You immediately shudder from the new stimulation. You hold his gaze as he lightly chokes you.

“I think I want to see you come on my fingers first.” He says as he’s quick to shove your leggings and panties down. You gasp quietly as you look down at him. He shuffles himself down between your legs, and he has a determined look on his face. He was set on making you come with his hand.

You push your thighs together with a small whine as he gives your glistening cunt an amorous gaze. Nanami places his hands on both of your knees as he forces your legs back apart. “Now, you know why you came here. What are you running from?”

“I- … You’re looking at me like…” the words ‘like you want to eat me’ die upon your tongue. His aura is just so.. almost intimidating. Not in a scary way, just in a he’s-not-here-to-play way.

“You’re so pretty, but gods, you’re so confusing.” He shakes his head as he carefully drags his tongue up your slippery folds. “Just sit still and let me take care of you, darling.” He mumbles before he laps at your cunt again. He purses his lips and gently sucks on your clit. It almost feels like he’s making out with your pussy.

“Oh.. f-fuck..” You gasp as you lean your head back into his mattress. Your hands fist at the blanket beneath you, ruining his perfectly made bed.

Nanami continues to lick and suck. The sounds in the room were nothing short of erotic. The wet sounds of his lips and tongue smack and almost slurp at you. His hands hold your thighs up, practically wearing them as earmuffs as he eats you like a starved man.

His fingertip gently traced over your opening before he carefully slipped a finger in. He continued to lap at your cunt as his finger pumped in and out and prodded around.

“Oh my-! .. N-Nanami.. ah~” You pant out. In his eyes, your entire body was flushed. You were so subtly grinding yourself against his tongue. In his eyes, you were a goddess in touch with her sexuality and femininity. You just needed a small nudge to get there.

He adds a second finger, and he so carefully curls them upwards to gently press right on the spot that made you see stars.

Your hands abandoned the bed, and you grabbed onto his hair. His hazel eyes flutter up at you, and his glasses were pushed up onto his head.

Your orgasm was building quicker than it ever had before. “Nanami-! fuck, I’m gonna..” You try to warn, but he’s already a step ahead of you. His fingers start pumping a big more aggressively, and he’s pointed with his tongue, focusing all his attention on your clit. His tongue swirls in tight circles around the small bundle of nerves.

Your orgasm washes over you as you clench around his fingers, spasming on his face. He continues to thrust his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm on his face and hand. Pressing a few more small kisses to your overly sensitive cunt, he slowly pulls away. “Good girl.” He praises lowly.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you recover from the best orgasm you’ve ever received. Your eyes flutter open weakly to see Nanami ditch his glasses. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and chin dry.

He then places the fingers he so deliciously used to fuck you into his mouth, and he sucks them clean with a satisfied groan.

“You taste so sweet.” He mumbles as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. It falls to the floor as he starts to unbuckle his belt. You can already feel your arousal building up again as you see the absolute tent in his slacks. Of course the nerd was absolutely hung.

Without another word, his pants and boxers are on the ground. His dick stood hard at attention. It was too heavy to press all the way up towards his stomach. Speaking of stomach, he was absolutely fucking built. He had well-defined solid abs and a broad chest.

You watch carefully as he fists his length a few times. You admire the way the veins bulge from his hands and arms. He wastes no more time: climbing up on top of you. He guides your legs up onto his shoulders, and he leans forward, putting you in a mating press.

His hand suddenly covers your mouth. “Spit.” He orders bluntly.

“W-what-?”

“I didn’t stutter. Spit. Unless you want me to go in dry.”

The thought of that sounded like a nightmare, so you gathered as much saliva into your mouth as you could, and you spat into his hand.

He doesn’t look phased in the slightest as he lubes himself up with your spit. He lets out a soft breath as the wet sounds of him gliding his hand up and down his cock fill the room. He then wipes his hand off on the bed, and he covers your mouth tightly with his hand. “Try not to be too loud, darling. I don’t want anyone to come and bother us.”

He was so fucking confident that he was going to make you noisy. It almost pissed you off, but Nanami was a man of his word.

He aligned himself up with your entrance, and with one deep motion, he buried himself all the way to the hilt. You let out a silent scream into his hand, and your back arches up off the bed. His eyes darken as he lets out a guttural growl.

Your cunt was just too precious to him, squeezing him so perfectly. You were absolutely sopping wet and so goddamn warm. He actually had to bite his tongue to not come prematurely. Once he tasted the hint of metal in his mouth, the urge to finish subsided.

“Shhh, shh. Be a good girl. The pain will subside soon.” He assures you quietly as his hips gently rock back and forth shallowly.

“Mmmnnf~ K-kento!” You moan into his hand. He hates having to muffle your pretty noises, but he really can’t risk getting a noise complaint right now.

“That’s right, darling.. Take it..” His hips start to roll with a bit more conviction. His thrusts are slow but powerful. Each time he buried himself deep in you, you went all dizzy in the head.

“Oh fuck, you’re so pretty like this.” He praises as his other hand holds one of your thighs up for you. Your body is almost slack from how harsh his hips are snapping into you. His leaking tip was bruising your cervix with each brutal thrust.

Nanami wishes he could take a picture right now. Your eyes are all glossed over. Your face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, and your lips are all puffy and slightly parted. Your babbling utter nonsense as your greedy pussy takes him in with each thrust.

“F-fuck..! So big.. can feel you right here~” You moan as you point towards your lower stomach.

Nanami looks to where you’re pointing, and as if this man needed anymore courage, he begins to fuck you harder.

Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Yeah? Y’feel me in your womb, darling?” He groans. Noise complaint can be damned. He lets your mouth go and grabs your hips as he continues to pound your pretty pussy.

Tears involuntarily spring into your eyes from the sheer intensity. When Nanami said he was going to fuck you to tears, you thought it was just a figure of speech. Nah, you were lying in his bed, crying because the dick was so good.

“Look at me.” He demands as he grabs your blushed cheek and forces you to look up at him. “This pussy’s mine from now on, understand me?”

“Y-yes!” You cry out to him. Your stomach starts to coil with white hot pleasure as your orgasm builds up again.

“Tell me you love me when you cum on my cock.” He demands lowly. You’re too fucked stupid to argue.

The bed squeaks and wails in agony as he his thrusts are growing more erratic and sloppy. You could feel him getting closer and closer to his release as he gets more vocal and noisier too.

Your eyes cross as you feel your body gyrate on him. Your second orgasm crashes over you so suddenly you didn’t even have time to warn him. Your soul nearly floats away from you as you feel warm juices flood out from you. “Fuck~.. I-.. I love you, Nanami!” You whimper out. In the heat of the moment, it does feel like love.

Such pure pretty words being uttered during such a lewd time. Nanami is instantly emptying himself into you. His dick throbs as he shoots ribbon after ribbon of cum inside of you. His hands are shaking as they hold onto your hips. “Ngh.. I love you, darling. Take it.. All of it. Don’t waste a drop.” He lowly growls.

The room is quiet as both of you pant softly. After a few moments, you realize you had professed a love to him that you weren’t even sure about. Yes, Nanami was attractive physically and mentally. Sure, he was apparently a god in bed, but love???

What if he wasn’t even being serious when he told you to say that? He probably didn’t even mean it when he said it back. What if you made things weird? Is that why he’s being so silent?

Nanami leans down and presses a small kiss to your forehead. “That was intense. Are you alright, darling?” He asks affectionately.

You nod weakly, not wanting to frustrate him with your insecure thinking style.

“Are you sure? I’m not only talking about physically.” He murmurs softly as he slowly allows for your thighs to slip down to around his hips. His hand carefully strokes your cheek.

“I told you I love you..” You murmur out quietly, avoiding his gaze.

He exhales softly in amusement. “You did do that. It was very sexy. Do you regret saying it?”

“I.. I don’t know.” You confess quietly. “You said it back too…”

“I did. Seeing your body in such a vulnerable state as you were trusting me with your very essence made me feel full with love.”

You look up at him as he just said the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t think I regret it.”

“I’m glad. I don’t regret it either.” He smiles and presses another small kiss to your temple.

*** *** ***

“Was that really your first time?” You giggle as the hot water coats your body. Nanami’s fingers are attentively massaging shampoo into your scalp.

“It really was.” He laughs quietly. “Why is it so hard to believe.”

“You were too good for a virgin.”

“I’m glad my darling thinks so.” He smiles and carefully leans your head back, so the water can rinse the shampoo from your hair.

“Where did you even learn that stuff from?” You ask curiously, wondering if Nanami just had a secret raging porn addiction.

“I have the horniest friend group. They don’t understand the concept of too much information.”

Ah. That makes sense.

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog

#jjk #jjk fanfic #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #drabble #jjk suggestive #jjk smut #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #smut drabble

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