#it's usually some supernatural plot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hannieween · 4 months ago

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the traitor | yoon jeonghan

› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: demon hunter jeonghan, supernatural au, demon reader › genres: angst, smut (18+) › word count: 8.4k

› this is part 2 of the curse - hannieween fest

› warnings after the cut! READ THEM CAREFULLY 🗣️

› warnings: smut with plot, unprotected p in v sex, oral sex (both receivers), pussy drunk jeonghan, cockdrunk reader, cum swallowing, creampies, cowgirl, mating press. pet names: baby, baby demon (hers)

› disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

› author's note: this is part two of my demon hunter hannie! hehe i loved writing it sm and thought to give you a follow-up part!

› additional note: this isn't proofread

the traitor

JEONGHAN WAS WOKEN UP BY A TINGLING FEELING. As a hunter, he needed to pay attention to a few things, like sudden surges of emotions. Hunches. Tingling sensations were not particularly something he would consider in the bunch. But alas.

He pushed himself up, swinging his legs at the rim of the bed and stared at his knees for a long second. He took a deep breath, rubbing his leg. It was pointless, he thought when he could not find a reason to leave his bed in the middle of the night.

But being a hunter also meant he needed to be on high alert nearly all the time. In his experience, sometimes it was a good idea to pay attention to those moments when nothing made sense at all, such as this.

Sucking in a breath, he got up, stretching his arms over his head as he went over to the small bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as usual.

Upon the first splash of water hitting his face, he thought of you. It was inevitable. The image of you sitting on the ground, surrounded by trees. That night, he left you for good. That night nothing made sense.

Needless to say, he was exercising all of his will not to go back to you.

Stop trying to make sense of everything.

After that, he debated whether to go back to bed or not. He could take a bottle, try to numb his senses and finally get a good night of sleep. But he needed to stay sharp.

It was a lost game. He got dressed, throwing his pair of black pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Finally strapping his chest harness on with his knife. Going out in the middle of the night meant to him that he was out for blood.

That was his way to distract himself.

“Jeonghan, don’t go.”

He recoiled, shaking his head and mentally reprimanding himself for thinking of you. But your last words to him were a curse, echoing inside him every night, refusing to leave.

Jeonghan let out a long exhale as he wandered through the night. The streets of the town were completely deserted, he knew he would have to stay out for some hours before he found a target.

These nights, he had been hunting until he travelled three towns over. All because he cannot find it in himself to sleep, he has to fight the urge to seek you out somehow.

Maybe this will be the night he breaks.

There was nothing in this town. It was too safe, too clean. He knew it would not be long until he had to move to a different town and start over. He had been commissioned to travel to different parts of the globe to find something to hunt down, so maybe he was doing his job right.

So why did he come back to this shitty town?

Something spiked in his nightly walk. There was something unusual in the air and it was not good. Jeonghan had really good senses, but his intuition was something that discerned him from the rest. Sometimes, people would tell him that his intuition was something out of the ordinary for hunters. So he paid more attention to that rather than his other senses.

He subconsciously rubbed his leg and caught his hand just as it dawned on him.

“Jeonghan, don’t go.”

Fear set in, and adrenaline kicked in as he started for a run. He had been stupid. So fucking stupid. How come he did not think that by killing every single demon within the town’s radar he was putting a target on you for other hunters?

Jeonghan knew the town by heart, but he could travel to your apartment with his eyes closed. Countless were the nights he stumbled upon your front door, burdened with misery all over. This cannot be the way he finds you dead.

“No, no, no, no…” he had been repeating the word like a prayer as he climbed through a labyrinth of stairs, panting, sweating until he burst the door open, already knowing you would not be there.

He called your name, either way, his voice bouncing back the walls. There was something off. A glass was shattered, pushed against the corner of the room. One of the chairs was drawn back, in the middle of the way. Jeonghan painted a scene of what could have gone down.

You were probably having the bowl of cereal that was abandoned on the table when the other hunter burst in. Jeonghan could not catch the scent of the other hunter, so that meant whoever that was, they masked themselves well.

No, you would have felt his presence before he could even breathe in your direction. Even if you were young, you were not completely inexperienced in the world of hunters. He made sure of that.

Another possibility was that you were asleep when the other hunter came. The sheets of your bed were tossed to one side. Jeonghan crouched next to the mattress, a terrible feeling sinking inside him upon getting your scent lingering on the pillowcases.

Jeonghan missed you.

“Where are you?” he whispered, closing his eyes to focus on your scent.

You smelled like freshly picked flowers. The smell he would get in the early morning after a night of rain. The fact that you did not smell like death, or blood made it hard for him to focus sometimes.

He opened his eyes, his focus falling on the open window. Then, he knew why he could not make a story from his surroundings. He had been wrong to assume it was just one hunter.

Someone had also come through the window. You were trapped from the beginning. His chest contracted painfully. But somehow he knew you were not dead yet. Have you been taken? For what end?

The possibilities were endless. Even if hunters had a long history of hating demons, some of them were missing some screws in their heads too.

Jeonghan needed to find you, soon.

Making his way down the stairs, part of him wondered why try at all. He could be rid of you once and for all. He could probably turn a blind eye to this and wait for your name to appear on the ledges. He would be free from the fucking pull that lead him to you every time.

The pull.

The feeling he got every time he closed his eyes, the need and deep craving for you that made him go insane. He let himself feel it. It tugged inside him, like a thread that was tied to his very core.

Jeonghan had refused that feeling ever since he met you, thinking it was some kind of trick you played on him. Silly little hunter got all wrapped in a demon’s finger.

But if he dared to give in to the pull, everything smelled of you. Every gulp of air he took as he walked in the direction his senses told him, he saw your face, your teary eyes as he walked away. Fool, he was a fool.

He was led to the forest, the same path he had gone through when he saw you last. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he should go back and hunt you down.

But then he heard noises, leaves rustling, and a small intake of breath. The sweet way you drew air into your lungs.

He thought of risking calling your name, but he did not know if the hunters were around. So he just followed the sound of your movements until he could get his sight on you.

You could barely walk right. Something had brought you to your knees, your arms were shaking as you forced yourself to stand up, with a low grunt.

Jeonghan called your name this time, making you lift your head.

He stopped abruptly at the sight of something shiny in your fist.

“Don’t move,” you said, punctuating each word painfully.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone declining in sickening worry, his gaze coasted at each of your limbs, zeroing in on your thigh. The same thigh he had been rubbing since he woke up. It made no sense.

“Step back, Jeonghan,” you panted in pain, raising the knife at him when he made a motion toward you.

“You didn’t notice me coming,” he muttered, analyzing the situation quickly. He sent his gaze around, seeing if there were signs that there was someone lurking by. “Let me take a look at that.”

“How did you find me?” you asked, letting yourself plop back to the ground, letting go of the knife.

Jeonghan got to your side, dropping to his knees to look at your thigh. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, eyeing you. “I’m going to touch you now.”

You nodded and braced yourself for the searing pain in your leg. “Two hunters came for me,” you said, clenching your jaw tightly to resist the pain throbbing in your skin, around the gaping hole that was turning black.

“I know,” he said, examining the open wound. “Did they stab you?”

You shook your head twice. “They were using a crossbow. Silver arrows,” you explained despite the need to rest your head on the ground and sleep through it. “I feel dizzy.”

Jeonghan shot you a look. He was worried. “It’s the poison, they must’ve poisoned the arrows to neutralize you,” he said at once. “What did you do to the arrow?”

“I used it on one of them,” you replied with half a smirk that slowly vanished as Jeonghan started to press on the wound, seeing any signs of anything odd or unfamiliar.

“Sorry,” he breathed as you tensed in pain. “I need to see if there’s anything in there,” he explained, but what did not satiate the doubts running in his mind.

“I can’t heal it,” you repeated and now he could see that beneath the pain and the need to deflect it with humour, you were scared.

“I know, I know,” he told you, giving you a stern look. “I can help you but you’ll have to be quiet.”

“Are you missing this opportunity to gag me?” you quipped but your tone was made weak by the fear of feeling pain.

Demons were used to pain, yes. But you were a fairly young demon and lived for most of your life in the human world. Such pain was not welcome for you.

“Breathe,” he instructed and used his hands on your thigh to squeeze the blood that had gone black and tacky around the wound.

You gritted your teeth, writhing in pain on the cold ground. “Stop, stop, stop,” you cried out, trying to get his hands off you.

But Jeonghan was quicker, and stronger than you at that moment. He did not deter from his task to squeeze the poisoned blood out of you despite your desperate cries for him to stop.

You lied, nearly limp from the exhaustion the pain had put you through. A sheen layer of cold sweat covered your face and neck, breathing hard. “Fuck you,” you sighed when he stopped squeezing your flesh.

“I’m not done yet, I need pressure on the wound,” he said, moving back to unfasten his belt with his bloodied hands. He strapped the belt around your upper thigh, forming a tight tourniquet.

“Hurry,” you said through heavy breaths. As you eased your back on the ground, Jeonghan caught sight of the dark wings splayed beneath your body, a clear sign that you could not conceal yourself any further.

Jeonghan made no comment about the weakened state you were in. A knot was set in his stomach upon realizing that you were dying. He grabbed one of the vials he kept in his hunter’s belt, it contained a white liquid. “This is going to sting a little,” he murmured, unstoppering the vial with his mouth and not pausing before pouring the antidote on your open wound.

Your hand flew to clench at his wrist, letting out a scream that was quickly muffled by his hand clasped in your mouth.

“I’m nearly done,” he said with a composure that you could see through. Beneath that, Jeonghan was worried you would not make it.

“Am I going to be all right?” you asked in a daze, slurring out your words.

“Drink this,” he pressed the vial to your lips, pouring the rest down your tongue, which you gulped willfully, it tasted like white vinegar.

You rested your head on the ground, taking slow and deep breaths as though you had just finished running a marathon.

“You’re going to be all right,” he said after a quick examination of the wound. “But you’ll need to feed soon.”

“Right,” you mumbled in understanding. By feeding, Jeonghan did not mean human food. Although you could eat human food just all right, it did not sustain what your soul craved.

He meant sins. You needed to feed off human sin. They made you stronger, and faster. They gave you the fuel needed to fight hunters. Going off sins for a while made you just as strong as an average human.

“Why haven’t you fed?” he asked, and it took you a while to understand that he was reprimanding you.

“Been busy,” you sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

The last thing you heard was Jeonghan mumbling, “We’ll need to move soon,” before you fell into a deep sleep on a floor covered by dead leaves.

Upon regaining consciousness, you noticed with some slowness that you were not surrounded by trees, and you were moving. Your wings were cradling you, so that meant your horns were on sight too.

You tensed up, drawing in a shaky breath, palming your body in search of the knife that you stole from your attackers.

“Easy,” Jeonghan murmured next to you, a hand on the wheel, the other on the shift stick.

“Where are we?” you said, looking around.

“Radewood town,” he replied nonchalantly, eyes set forward on the road.

“Why?” you asked slowly, hiding your wings, from his view, then your horns.

“How’s your leg?” he asked instead, glancing at your thigh.

The wound had stopped bleeding, it was no longer oozing that black substance that had Jeonghan looking worried. You hissed painfully upon searching it with your fingers. The blood had dried, but it was not healing at the speed you would normally have.

“It hurts,” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip. “It’s not healing.”

Jeonghan nodded. “You need to feed,” he reminded you with the same tone of reprimand of earlier.

“Well, I fled without stopping to grab my purse so,” you sighed. “I don’t have money.”

“I’m not talking about human food,” he said with annoyance, shooting you a look that made you shrink in your seat. “Why haven’t you been feeding?”

You blinked slowly at him and shook your head after deciding that there was no answer that would please him. “I have–,”

“Don’t say you have been busy,” he cut in.

“Well, it’s the truth,” you said with a clear tone that gave away your lie.

But Jeonghan could feel it. Whenever you told a lie, there was a change in the air that only he could notice as a hunter. No human could ever detect your lies, only people like him.

“You know I know when you’re lying,” he said flatly, throwing you a dark look.

“Be content with that,” you bit back. “I’m not telling you anything else.”

Jeonghan shook his head, deciding not to press any further on the matter. He licked his lips, filling his lungs with the fresh midnight air that swept in through his rolled window.

“Jeonghan,” you called softly and did not proceed with your question until he glanced your way. “Why are you helping me?”

Jeonghan turned on a different street again, checking his rearview mirror, pretending to ready his answer. “I don’t know,” he replied.

There it was the empty void extending between you and him. If he lied, you would have sensed it too.

“How did you find me?” you pressed, trying to the best of your ability to analyze him. You were still weak, but you could still observe him despite your foggy brain.

“I don’t know,” he repeated with a low tone that barely cut through the noise of the engine of the car.

It made no sense. The way he found you in the woods was not done with any of his training. He simply closed his eyes and let him be taken to you. He did not even think twice as he carried your body to his car and started it, taking you far away from the town where you would be at risk of being hunted down.

“We have to lay low for now,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes as he cut the engine on an empty parking lot.

You raised your gaze to the motel sign, flaring in red neon light. “Is this your version of laying low?” you said with a sarcastic huff. “We could’ve done that back in the forest.”

Jeonghan opened the door, not bothering to look at you or give you a reply. “Stay here.”

You saw him walking away from the car, putting his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, his long hair tied in a messy ponytail.

You could run away. You did not know if Jeonghan was even aware of this. Maybe he was, you had a bad leg, and you were growing weaker.

Plus, there was the fact that he was now aware that he could trace you with his eyes closed.

You swallowed hard, waiting for him in the passenger seat of his old Mustang. You were going nowhere.

Some minutes later, you saw Jeonghan exiting the building and walking towards your door, which he opened to retrieve his belongings, which were his belt and his knife.

“This way,” he mumbled, motioning to one of the doors with a jerk of his head.

Reluctantly, you exited the car, closing the door behind you. Jeonghan turned and walked over to the door, introducing the key, and opening it for you.

You knew better than to fight it. There was a quiet storm brewing in the man’s head, and you were in its eye. You knew him well enough to tell when something was bothering him. And you knew what it was.

With a sigh, you walked inside the room. “One bed?” you turned to him with an exasperated look.

“I didn’t think you would mind,” he froze by the doorframe.

“Whatever,” you waved a hand dismissively before he could offer to change it.

As soon as Jeonghan closed the doors and the blinds, you started to the bathroom, taking all of your clothes off in front of him. You made no invitation, no offer but you still left the door open, the sound of the shower filling the tiny room.

Jeonghan made another small inspection, looking out of the window through the blinds before deciding to relax. He took his jacket off, leaving it neatly by the chair that was pushed to one corner of the room. He took his boots off, sitting down on the chair with a low grunt of exhaustion.

As he sat up straight, he caught sight of his hand, only noticing because he had started moving it, rubbing his palm on the exact spot where you had been injured.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself, raising his gaze as you returned to the bathroom, wholly naked, pressing a towel to your hair.

“You okay, hunter?” you eyed him curiously, like a cat that just noticed a flashy light.

Jeonghan frowned, not at you but at the thing stirring inside his chest. That feeling he got only when he was with you. “When is the last time you fed?”

“Here we go again,” you rolled your eyes but continued towel-drying your hair without bothering to respond.

“Answer me,” he muttered when you turned your back on him. Your reluctance to answer his question might have given him the answer.

“The last time we saw each other,” you said, your words echoing his own thoughts.

“Why?” the word was sharp like it took everything in him to suppress the dark emotion pulling on his every nerve. “That happened months ago.”

“Why do you care so much?” you spat, turning around to face him.

The question seemed to make him return to his senses, his eyes flickered with an emotion that you were to weak to catch. “I don’t,” he replied, stepping back from his initial anger.

“I’ll feed whenever I want to,” you said and this time you did not lie.

Jeonghan stood up, commanding your gaze to lift up to find his. “So you’re not hungry?”

You bit your tongue. Your eyes were dead, and despite the hot shower you had just taken, you were cold to the touch as Jeonghan curiously raised a hand to your shoulder. It was pointless, your plan had crashed and burned miserably.

“I’ve heard stories…” you whispered, closing your eyes to repel the sensation firing inside you. “Stories of ways a demon can become human. You can’t become human if you’re feeding off them, right?”

When Jeonghan did not reply, nor move you opened your eyes again. He was still rigid in the same trance he had been upon finding you injured and bleeding in the forest.

“You’ll die,” he sentenced after some seconds. “Are you insane?”

You brushed his hand off. “I knew you’d say that,” you whispered with a pained look, turning around to sit down on the bed.

“Why do you want to become human?” the words sounded ridiculous as he uttered them.

“Not your business, Jeonghan,” you replied impishly, throwing the towel to him, which he saw coming, catching it with ease.

“It is if you’re running away with me,” he said. Your temptation to feed could become dangerous. And he was toeing that line too deliberately.

“I didn’t choose to run away with you,” you bit back with an indignant huff.

“That’s the thanks I get?” he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “What was I supposed to do, then? Leave you to die? To be found by them?”

He did not need to explain who he referred to. The two hunters must have noticed that Jeonghan ran away with his things, his car, leaving an empty place behind. And you are nowhere to be found. He was a traitor.

“Maybe,” you whispered, lowering your gaze to your lap. You skirted the pads of your fingers around the wound that still refused to heal completely.

Jeonghan stood before you, using a hand on your chin to force your teary eyes on him. A finger scooped your tear as it rolled down your cheek. The tear glistened on the pad of his thumb as he showed it to you, a shocked expression plastered on his face.

Demons felt emotions, yes. But nothing like sorrow. Jeonghan had never seen a demon cry, let alone one that wanted to become human. It made no sense.

“It’s possible, Jeonghan,” you whispered shakily, letting your tears flow freely.

“Humans are weak. They get sick, they die. Besides, the guilt of everything you’ve done as a demon will crush you,” he said, dropping his hand from your chin. “Why would you want something like that?”

“I’m done talking,” you said childishly, turning over to draw the covers of the bed and tucked yourself in. “Goodnight.”

He blinked perplexedly at you. The best option was to wait for another opportunity to bring up the matter, but for now, he needed to rest. He disposed of his chest harness, and his knives, leaving them on the old and battered bedside table, where he could reach out if needed.

A smile threatened to break on his face when you turned slightly at the sound of him taking his pants off, then his long-sleeved t-shirt, discarding his clothes at the foot of the bed.

He paused, tugging the band of his black boxers with his fingers. He took them off, making things fair.

“Is that necessary?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him as he sank under the covers with you.

“Just playing your game,” he said, tugging the hair tie loose before lying his head on the pillow next to yours.

“I’m not playing any games,” you huffed with annoyance, turning over so your back was to him once again.

There it was the ripple in the air between you and him. Jeonghan did not need to comment on it, but you hated it.

Hunter abilities or not, Jeonghan would be able to read through your lies blindfolded. He was just that good at reading people, reading you.

Jeonghan stared at the ceiling, his heartbeat going a mile per hour, like a bird’s wings batting frantically inside his chest. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge pushing him to raise his hand at you, to reach out and touch your skin.

You closed your eyes, commanding yourself to sleep. But it was nearly impossible. Jeonghan’s scent was too distracting. The hunger caved a hole deep inside you. It was no ordinary hunger, it was one that had your soul twisting.

You balled your hands into fists, sinking your face into the pillow. His lust was nearly palpable, looming over you like a monster preying on you.

However, you were too weak to actually act upon it. Soon, you fell asleep, not noticing when or how.

Jeonghan however, was too riddled with questions to do the same. He turned his head on the pillow, seeing your wet hair, your naked shoulder. His thigh throbbed in something that reminded him of pain, though his flesh was fine and did not hurt.

Why would you want to become human? What could be a good enough reason to want to abandon your life full of pleasures? It made no sense. Jeonghan had never heard of a demon becoming human, but he saw you crying, so that must mean that it could be done.

Still, it meant that there was a price to be paid. There always was.

Wandering through endless questions, Jeonghan fell asleep. Now and then he was reminded of your presence in the bed, feeling your warmth or hearing you move beneath the sheets.

Even if he were not a light sleeper, the distraction of your warmth was enough to stir him awake. He found himself entirely pressed to your body, his front to the back of yours. His nose buried in your mane of hair, an arm draped over your waist.

And he was hard. Fuck, he was so hard it was starting to become annoying. It would be so easy to slip himself inside your pussy, waking you up in the process. He had done it countless times before.

He let out a silent sigh through his nose, only getting the scent of your hair when he breathed in. Your hand found his arm parked on the curve of your waist, you were awake. Jeonghan pressed himself another inexistent inch further, his hard cock wedged on your ass.

“Jeonghan,” you mumbled sleepily, turning over to see him. You threw him an innocent look, big eyes, pouting lips. “What are you doing?”

He responded by giving you a confused look. In other times, you would not even ask questions, you would just let him take you, take whatever he wanted, for however long.

Jeonghan brought a hand to your chin, his touch igniting your skin, making you blink dumbly. “How long are you going to keep resisting it?” the words flew out of his mouth before he could even comprehend his own question.

But he knew what you were doing. He was an expert in pushing his feelings down, particularly, he knew what it felt like to resist this pull.

“However long is necessary, Jeonghan,” you replied, but your tone wavered in the urge to press yourself against his hand, to feel him.

“Why?” he asked, his eyes skirting through your reaction. He knew you wanted this, why were you refusing him?

“If I keep this for long I might get what I want,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes in utter shame.

“Why do you want to become human so desperately?” he asked again, looking at you with an obfuscation that was hard to mask.

You shrugged, keeping your sunken gaze on his chiselled chest. “That doesn’t concern you.”

Jeonghan pressed his fingers on your chin gently, tugging you so you locked your pretty eyes with his. “Does it not, really?”

Your brow furrowed, your gaze darkening. Feeling like you were being mocked, your eyes watered again. “Fuck off, Jeonghan,” you scoffed weakly, trying to free yourself from his grip.

He did not want to see it, but your reaction told him everything he needed to know. It took him some seconds to shake the perplexion off. It made no sense. “Did you think that being human would change things?”

You made no verbal reply, scoffing as you brushed his hand off you one more time.

But you knew him well enough to expect that would not work on him. He needed an answer now, and he would stop at nothing to get it now that he knew it fully concerned him.

“Did you think I would want you more if you were human?” he asked without heat in his words, his gaze reading your features over and over. “Did you think that would give you a shot at a normal thing happening between us?”

“No, Jeonghan,” you rolled your eyes, but he could see how much his questions had pierced through you. “Quite the opposite.”

He made a motion to pull his head back on the pillow as if that gave him a better frame of your face. “What?”

“I want this to stop,” you whispered, rolling over the bed to sit up with a sigh.

Jeonghan looked at your back, you let your head drop forward, sniffling softly but you were fully crying now.

“Maybe being human will make this stop,” you whispered, motioning a hand between his body and yours. By this, you meant, the out-of-the-ordinary need for him, the desperate craving that refused to let you live. Maybe then, the bond between you would not be so unbearable.

Jeonghan sat up too, trying to read any signs of your words being insincere. But he found nothing, the quiet tension falling in the room startled him, and it made him uncomfortable. Even more, the battering inside his chest was making it difficult to even breathe.

“That makes no sense,” he mumbled with a hollow tone.

“It makes perfect sense,” you bit back, throwing him a sad look.

You were weak, nearing a state that you did not comprehend. Becoming human meant that you also had to deal with human emotions, and they were flowing freely through you, giving you a taste of what you were about to face as a human.

However, making yourself human condemned you to a myriad of threats. Not just mortality. You would become a demon that betrayed its own kind. A traitor, too.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, trying to hold your gaze to read you better.

“I want to be rid of you by whatever means necessary,” you hissed, coating your words with venom.

“Liar.”

There was a shadow of a smile on his face, and before you resorted to a crazed fit of violence, you decided to crush your mouth with his, kissing him with enough vehemence it would hurt him if he were human.

But he was tough enough to take you. He released a grunt in your mouth that was from half arousal, half annoyance at you.

“You’re a baby,” he grunted between hard kisses. “A bratty, fussy, melodramatic demon.”

“Shut up, Jeonghan,” you hissed. “Shut up or I swear–,”

“What?” he bit back, holding your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks. “What will you do, eh?”

“Don’t try me right now,” you said, kissing him repeatedly you were running out of breath.

“That’s exactly what I want to do,” he chuckled. “Did you think that making yourself human would make me stop wanting you?”

“Yes,” you hissed, pushing him back onto the bed with all the strength you had.

Jeonghan was stronger than you at that moment, but he allowed you to handle him with a triumphant smirk on his face. Nothing in existence would make him stop wanting you, damned to hell or not.

Though it made him curious to know. “Do you want to stop wanting me, then?” he leaned his head to his shoulder.

“It would be nice to stop craving you all the time,” you said, sinking your face in the crook of his neck to kiss him.

“Liar,” he grunted, holding your hips as you made a trail of kisses down his beautifully scarred chest. “Even worse, you’re a masochistic one at that.”

The guilty giggle escaping through your lips gave him all the reassurance he needed. You were now soaking up his need for you.

“Gods,” he breathed when your lips reached his hipbone. Your touch would never satiate the craving need inside him, but this night he would at least attempt to.

His fingers tangled in your hair, keeping his grip light but it would become difficult as you gave him a long lick from his ball sack to the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” he gritted, tensing as you wrapped your mouth around the bulbous head of his cock. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

The room fell silent again, but now all that surrounded you and him was lust and bliss. It had your blood revelling, sizzling beneath your skin to take him into your mouth. His fingers thread in your hair, caressing you as you bobbed your head up and down on him, sucking him off eagerly. You were tasting him, not only his skin, his arousal, but his lust. It drove you crazy.

“Gods, I fucking missed you,” he drawled, closing his eyes briefly before he lost all control. He wanted to push his hips, to drive his cock into your throat. But he also wanted to take this patiently.

You explored him with your mouth, just like your hands were exploring his body. Not that his nakedness was new to you, but you had just gone months without touching him. And not for a single second did you forget the taste of him, you also missed him.

But did he miss you the same way you did? Did he crave to hear your voice like you did his?

Your transition from demon to human was painful, and you were throwing it all away in one night. And Jeonghan was willingly letting you feed off his lust, you were relishing the taste of his greed, sucking off the last bit of the self-restraint he had in him.

His fingers curled around your hair, clenching his jaw as he moaned in pure pleasure. He let out a gasp when your tongue swirled around his cockhead. “Keep doing that, baby,” he said languidly, following the movements of your head on him.

A strangled moan bubbled in your mouth, and you followed his command, rolling your tongue around his blunt head.

Jeonghan smirked knowingly. You weakened whenever he treated you with softness, so words like baby drove you crazy. He threw a look down at his body, capturing your eyes, darkened with a lascivious greed that only fueled his. “Touch yourself,” he said with a gruff tone. “I want you to come with me.”

You sneaked a hand between your thighs, moaning salaciously when your fingers stroked your clit.

Jeonghan sighed, blinking slowly at the sight of you, thinking of your drenched pussy, your fingers coated in your arousal as you rubbed fast swirls around your clit. “That’s it, baby, just like that,” he praised, brushing your hair back with his long fingers. “You’re such a good girl for me, you don’t even know it.”

You moaned around his cock again, succumbing to a fast orgasm, your body trembled slightly.

“Coming,” he whispered, his mouth falling open as ropes of cum spurted down your throat, moaning at the sight of you drinking him off completely, licking to the last bead of his cum. You littered the reddened cockhead with sweet pecks trailing down to his shaft, eliciting a raw chuckle from him.

“That was amazing,” he whispered, enjoying the twinkle in your dark eyes upon being praised by him.

Jeonghan sat up, hooking one arm around your waist to throw you back onto the mattress. “Your turn,” he said with a wolfish grin.

You had recuperated the color in your cheeks, but you were still weak enough to fight his strength. You grunted as your head hit the pillows, but returned the smile at him. “You’ll see when I get my strength back.”

“Ooh, scary,” he said, grazing his lips on yours.

“You’ll see,” you remarked.

“Scary baby demon, what are you going to do?” he teased again, kissing the apple of your cheek, his breath caressing your ear.

“I’ll make you suffer,” you mumbled faintly, closing your eyes as his lips reached the underside of your jaw, making you tilt your head back for him.

“I want to see that,” he said mockingly. “Make me suffer.”

You sighed a moan when he kissed your throat, giving you a broad stroke with his tongue, tracing your collarbones. “Jeonghan…”

“Don’t throw another tantrum like that again,” he murmured against your skin, leaving another kiss on the plain of your breasts, before adding, “I’ll be mad at you.”

A spark of wrath got mixed along with greed and lust, it was not new to you, but it was rare.

“It wasn’t a tantrum,” you argued, though your tone was made weak by his lips, his tongue licking one of your nipples, making you arch your back.

He paused, “I don’t care,” he decided at once. “You’re not doing it again.”

“You don’t get to decide what I do, Jeonghan,” you mumbled breathily, moaning as his mouth wrapped around your nipple, suckling at it softly once, then swirling the tip of his tongue around it.

Jeonghan did not respond verbally to your obvious lie. He did not have a say in your choices, but there was a force greater than him or you that tied you to him. So every choice you made, every choice he made, was bound to affect you both.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, moving your thighs gently to slot his waist between them. His fingers traced a circle around the scar that was beginning to form.

“Better,” you sighed.

“Mmn,” he smirked at you, leaning over to kiss your lips. “Will it heal completely by the time I’m done eating you out?”

“Why, are you in a rush?” you quipped, arching an eyebrow at him.

There you were, he smirked. “I ache for you,” he whispered, letting his forehead fall upon yours. The shame coursing through him made you recoil but sensing it, he added quickly: “You have not only starved yourself but starved me with your stupid little plan.”

“You avoided me too,” you accused.

“I know, I was a fool,” he confessed, running his palms all over your body as if he could not do anything else. He sank down, leaving wet kisses down your tummy, his hands palming your breasts, his fingers lingering on your sensitive nipples.

You bit your lip, only in your most crazed fantasies did you dare to imagine him saying this. “You were,” you whispered. “The biggest fool.”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, kissing your mound generously, his hands grabbing your thighs with the lightest of touches before licking your pussy with a broad stroke.

“Jeonghan!” you cried out, brushing his dark hair gently as he ate you out like a starved man, licking your folds thoroughly, his tongue sliding up to your clit to then suckle at it.

You arched your back, not caring about the light pain throbbing on your thigh. Jeonghan was giving you everything you needed, giving your pussy open-mouthed kisses, drinking your arousal in with pleased moans.

“Fuck-k,” you gritted weakly, letting yourself be swept away by the gentle waves of your orgasm building inside you. “I m-missed you too, Jeonghan,” you mumbled.

He raised his gaze to yours, blinking slowly at you, pressing his tongue on your swollen clit, moving it swiftly in figure-eight motions, driving you to the edge. You gripped the bedsheets with one hand, the other flying to grab at the railings of the headboard.

“I’m close,” you gasped, breathing rapidly, welcoming the pleasure barreling through your body. “I’m close, I’m–, Jeonghan…” you closed your eyes, repeating his name over and over as you climaxed in his mouth.

But Jeonghan was not stopping. He continued making out with your pussy, enjoying the taste of your arousal pooling in your entrance, licking your folds with raunchy moans. His hands held you down as you shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm, caressing your tummy languidly.

“Jeonghan,” you called, shuddering when his hand caressed your thigh as he littered it with kisses.

“See? Healed,” he placed another kiss, right where your scar used to be.

You used your newly regained strength to push him, flipping the positions over so you were now straddling him. You let out a pleased sigh, effortlessly pinning his body down on the mattress.

“I take that you’re all set now,” he smirked, his hands roving all over your thighs.

Gods, you were a sight to behold. Your wings were at full display, resting freely at your sides. Your dark horns, curving back from the crown of your head, were on sight too. That meant you were comfortable around Jeonghan. You trusted him.

“Not yet,” you said, grabbing his hardened cock in one hand, planting the other on his abdomen for support as you eased your pussy down his length.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan gritted, his hands flying to grab your hips as you started rolling them on him.

“What’s wrong, hunter?” you teased, leaning down so your face was close enough to prop kisses on his lips. “Lost your footing?”

“You got me for a second there,” he admitted with a smirk. “Didn’t think you’d recuperate your strength that quickly.”

“Mm, keep that in mind next time you kiss it better,” you said, trapping his bottom lip with your teeth, nibbling it softly.

Jeonghan moaned, your hips picking up the pace mercilessly, knowing the exact pace and motion that drove him insane. He closed his eyes, sighing out the euphoric feeling of being with you, like this, consuming each other.

“It won’t happen again. You’re not doing this to yourself again,” he said with a faint tone.

“You don’t make choices for me,” you retaliated, sinking yourself down on him with pleased sighs, planting your hands on his chiselled chest.

In a blur, Jeonghan grabbed your wrists with one hand flipping your bodies over, pinning your body with his hips on yours, his hand holding your arms above your head. Jeonghan moved his hips slightly, finding your entrance with his hard cock quite effortlessly.

Jeonghan gave a few shallow thrusts, stretching your walls, making your mouth part, giving way to a long moan. “Fuck, Jeonghan,” you groaned lewdly.

“Say it,” he hissed, rolling his hips on yours slowly, but pushing his cock inside you deeper each time he thrusted in. “You won’t do it again.”

“Fuck you,” you gritted, falling deeper into the puddle of pleasure he was slowly submitting you into.

“Say. It,” he commanded, his thrusts gaining strength, becoming harder at each motion of his hips on yours.

You wrestled his grip on your wrists, without using your full strength. “No,” you said with a hollow tone, the pace of his thrusts knocking the wind out of you.

“You fucking brat,” he spat, pressing his face on yours, giving you a hard kiss in the process. “Delusional little demon. Did you think you could get rid of me that easily?”

“Stop,” you gasped, shame heating your cheeks.

Jeonghan released his grip on your wrists, not letting you regain control by grabbing your thighs, throwing them on his shoulders before resuming with his near animalistic thrusts, groaning on your mouth as such, like an animal.

“Jeonghan!” you cried out, his cock reaching inside you deeper… and deeper.

“Did you really think… I’d stop wanting you?” he panted in between his hard thrusts, the strain in his voice telling you how close he was to his release. “I’ll never stop wanting you.”

“Jeonghan…” you moaned.

“Say it.”

“I won’t do it again,” you said, trembling on the bed, reaching out to hold him right before you came undone beneath him.

“That’s it… that’s my girl,” he gasped, his bottom lip parting, releasing a raw grunt. Jeonghan moaned your name as he came, fucking his cum inside you with sloppy thrusts until he stopped, breathing hard on top of you.

Jeonghan eased your legs from his shoulders, deciding to rest his head on your chest. The sound of your heartbeat resonated through his head as he took a long breath. Your fingers caressed his nape lazily, shuddering under him when Jeonghan ran a fingertip on one of your wings.

This made no sense. To Jeonghan, everything had been black and white. His world was rigid, surrounded by unbreakable rules that made him into the person he was until he met you. Now, he was but the shadow of the man he was. He used to hate himself for wanting you. You were the thing he was raised to hate, to kill.

He did everything to keep you away. He bedded other women, he drank himself to sleep to not dream of you, he flew himself to different parts of the world.

And there he was, blissfully nestled in your warmth, in your embrace.

“Would you hate it if I became human?”

“No,” he replied after some seconds. “But I don’t want you to do it because you think that’s going to change something between us. Some things aren’t meant to change.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked with a tiny tone.

Jeonghan raised his head, curiously looking at you. Even back with full strength, you still clung to some human vulnerability. “I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I don’t understand many things. But I know that changing yourself won’t bring you happiness, only misery.”

“I’m just tired of this,” you said, and it did not matter that you could not cry anymore, he knew that the statement hurt to say.

Jeonghan got to his knees, pulling out of you gently to slump his body next to yours. He took one long look at you, reminiscing of what he felt when he knew you were slipping away. It was fear, that was undeniable, he was too familiar with that feeling. But never like this.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said with a light frown.

“How did you find me, Jeonghan? How did you know I was in trouble?” you dared to ask again, now your words taking another meaning.

Jeonghan paused. “I just did,” he said but rolled his eyes when you saw through his lie. “I felt something.”

“Jeonghan,” you started, your tone reducing itself to a whisper. “There is a reason why we can’t get rid of each other.”

He went rigid, his eyes coasting all over the features of your face.

“Have you ever tried to… kill me?” you asked, hating how your words came off while lying naked next to him.

“You’d know it if I had,” he said, taken aback by your questions. “Why are you asking me this?”

“There is a reason why you can’t kill me,” you said, despite how crazy you were sounding. “I know you’ve felt it…”

Jeonghan sat up on the bed, gripping the bedsheets to steady himself. He felt lightheaded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” you whispered, sitting up next to him.

He ran his hands on his face harshly. “Stop that. This isn’t a game.”

“The last time we saw each other, you felt something,” you pressed, searching his eyes as he faced you.

“It makes no sense,” he whispered dejectedly.

It made perfect sense. The grip that you had on him was unlike anything else he had faced. Time after time he tried to run away, to put distance between you and him. He always found his way back to you somehow, either by greed, by lust or purely by fate. He never knew why, he was bound to you.

“Look at me,” you said, and his gaze found you. “There’s no point in fighting this. I know you’ve tried it before, I tried too.”

“It’s–,”

“Impossible?” you scoffed with a mocking smile.

It was a sick joke. A demon and her hunter. The lamb and the wolf, chasing each other endlessly.

“Is this why you thought becoming human was an option?”

You paused but nodded slowly after some seconds of pondering.

Jeonghan sighed, touching your forehead with his. “That’s a high price to pay,” he whispered.

He knew your next words before you uttered them, “I’m willing to pay it, Jeonghan.”

“I don’t want you to,” he gritted out his words, even if he did not understand, he could not stop fighting it any longer. “I like you the way you are.”

Demon or not, you felt something in your chest, tugging at you. “That’s not the problem,” you shifted back, looking at his confused face.

“I can’t have any ties to anyone,” he said. “Someday I’ll end up dead fighting something stronger and quicker than me.”

“After today’s events, I think it’s clear that I am chased by the same danger.”

“I’ll grow old, and slow,” he added.

“I would too, if I were human. No one would hunt me down,” you countered, not convinced by the obfuscated look on his face. “I wouldn’t have to feed from you.”

“You could die in the process,” he said, and that was the final reason he needed.

“Jeonghan–,”

“No,” he shook his head.

At that, you stopped fighting. You got out of bed, slowly picking up your torn clothes and putting them on without looking back at him.

His heart faltered, looking at you as you sat down on the edge of the bed, next to him. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“Give me a reason to stay.”

Jeonghan swallowed his words, taking a last look at your eyes. Something tugged at his heart, urging him to stop you. But you were slipping through the door before he could spring to action.

Fool. He was a fool.

› author's note: heyyyooooooo

once again i have nothing to say. i just need jeonghan on his knees, begging for forgiveness and mercy

anyway, stay tuned for my next hannieween fest piece!! next post will be loser hannie!! hehe

toodles!

read the next part!!

support me on ko-fi?

#jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader #svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #svt smut #hannieween's kinktober #yoon jeonghan fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt imagines #yoon jeonghan x you #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan fic #hannieween #hannieweenfest

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to the real Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter title is from The End by Halsey

Word Count: 16.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for a Summary. Contains usual tags.

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

Chapter 2

Read on A03!

You know a few things about the dark.

It’s alive inside you. It has been your whole life. It makes your words too harsh and your brain too sharp and your love too big. It’s makes you too fragile, but still too sharp, and raises everything to a dangerous height you don’t know how to come down from. It makes everyone move away because they can see it. You can see it, always.

It covers every corner of your body, and grows roots in something white in your chest. Something no one but you can see. You’d asked your dad once—does he feel it too, feel the strange glow and pull of everything beautiful around you—and he’d looked at you like you were insane.

You might be.

But it’s hard not to be, in this line of work.

Hunting. Monsters and ghosts and nightmares, all around you and calling to you in your sleep. It’s where most of the darkness lives, in the way that few monsters lay hands on you, no matter how much of their blood you shed. Ghosts will treat you like any other, but the monsters look at you like they recognize you.

Like you’re one of them.

And that’s something you’ve never told your dad. You never will. He already hates that you do this, and not a month goes by where he doesn’t glare at you from across the table, beer bottle in hand, and ask you to stop.

“Kiddo,” he’d grunted the last time, narrowing his eyes at you over dinner. “That was the last one.”

“You say that every time-“

“And you ain’t listenin’ to me every time!” He’d snapped. “You don’t have to do this shit, not with your-“ He’d made a face, giving you a pointed look. “Ya’ know. Thing.”

“Witch.” You’d sighed. “You’re allowed to say it. I’m a witch.”

“You ain’t a witch-“

“I’m not a normal witch.” You’d corrected with a frown, picking at the wood of the table. “But I’m still not human.”

“You’re human,” he’d muttered your name, and when you’d looked up, he’d been staring at you with an exhausted expression and you’d felt something eat at your tongue. “But you’re right. You ain’t normal, kiddo, and it’s gonna get you fuckin’ killed-“

“It hasn’t yet-“

“It will. It always does.” He’d stood, giving you one last, tired look. “And I’m not tryin’ to lose you too.”

You’d given him a close-lipped smile. “You won’t lose me. I’m being careful.”

He’d rolled his eyes—you were being careful, and he knew it, but it still pissed him off—and nodded. And that had been it.

It’s like that every time. He tells you to quit, because you don’t need to do this, and you tell him you have to. You’re good at it. You’re more resourceful than half the hunters he knows, smarter than all of them, and better by a mile. He’d trained you. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d realized it was either him teaching you or you learning through trial and error, and he’d decided you being a pain in his freakin’ ass was better than you being dead.

Because—in the end—all he really cares about is that you’re safe. It’s why you know to be careful, why you know what hunts to call for backup on, and why you know that—if you need to—you can crawl back home with your guts in your hand and he won’t yell at you until you’re better. Keeping you safe is his job, more than hunting, more than research, more than cars. He’d chosen to do it when he’d found you—eight years old and starving on the side of a highway—and it had stayed that way ever since. It didn’t matter what you were, what seemed to be inside of you, or how you were certainly more trouble that you were worth. He always made sure you were safe.

Safe from your real family, for what you know and refuse to be. Safe from the worst of the monsters and ghosts, who don’t seem to care for that horrible kinship you don’t know how to stop. Safe from hunters, and how they’ll hate you for what you know how to do.

Safe from John Winchester, and how he’ll put a bullet in your brain without question for what you don’t know how to change.

It’s the top rule. Stay away from the Winchesters. When John comes around for a hunt, hide in your room. When he drops his boys off before vanishing for weeks at a time, sneak out and call your uncle. He’ll pick you up, keep you safe, and drop you back home when the brothers leave. They can’t see you, because they’re loyal to their father and will tell him about the witch-girl who made the wind howl louder than it should’ve. John can’t know about you, because he’s a complicated man with a good heart, but he’ll hurt you worse than any ghost or monster could.

But you have to say—at least from this distance—he doesn’t look that dangerous.

You know it’s him. You recognize his car in the parking lot from seeing it in your dad’s yard, and recognize his voice from the living room of your house. It’s clearer now—no longer muffled through a door you’d keep an ear pressed to—and you’re certain it’s him.

And he’s just a man. A broad-shouldered, tired man with a face that doesn’t seem like it’s ever smiledand dark hair that’s streaked with slight silver. He even sounds exhausted, his voice laced with a thin irritation he either doesn’t know how to hide, or doesn’t care to.

“Dean,” he grunts, and you can’t see who he’s talking to, the bookshelves of the library only revealing John’s cold, set face. “Go back to the morgue and look at the bodies again. See if you can get a blood type on the vics.”

“A blood type?” A second voice, this one so clearly younger, a little defiant and bright, asks. “Dad, why do we care about their blood type-“

“Because this bitch is spilling it left and right, and we need to work out what skin she’s got in that game.” John’s words are short, impatient. “And you’re not here to ask me questions, Sam, you’re here to get through these damn books. Dean, go to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s a third voice. It’s pretty. Deeper than the second—Sam’s—but not as tired as John’s. Mostly just cautious. “Can I, uh, can I take Sammy-“

“No.” John snaps. “I need him here for the readin’. Take the car and go.”

There’s a soft sound of metal ringing through the air, a scrape of wood on the floor, and you almost don’t move fast enough. You almost don’t duck behind the shelf in time for the third voice—the pretty one, Dean—to pass you, humming something you’d recognize if you weren’t lost in your panic.

Dean doesn’t see you.

But you see him.

And it’s not just his voice that’s pretty.

You don’t know a lot about the Winchester brothers. Only what your dad has told you. Dean’s three years older than you, Sam’s a year younger. Dean likes music, Sam likes books. They’re both good boys—better than your dad seems to think John deserves, although he’ll never say that out loud—but Sam can be defiant and Dean can be trouble.

You hope Dean’s trouble. He has to be, when he looks like that.

Because in only a split second of his side profile, you’re sure Dean Winchester is the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Will ever see. It’s almost ethereal, and a little unfair. All of his features are clean and strong, like someone carved him from marble, but there’s a scar you could see on his jaw and a cut on his lower lip that made him seem human. Made his seem tangible.

Touchable.

You’d like to touch him. You’ve seen him once, but everything in your body seems to think the world will collapse if you don’t touch him now. If you don’t at least talk to him. Hear his deep, charming voice directed at you. See at his face up close, see it’s clear resemble to John that feels pointless, because Dean looks like he smiles. He looks like he’s meant to smile, and you’d really like to find out if he’d smile at you.

And that white thing—the one you feel all the time—seems to really like him. Even the darkness is trying to reach out to him, move into him, and you’re not really sure what the fuck is happening. He’d just walked past you, and your body is suddenly trapped by something overwhelming and dizzying in your lungs, your every nerve prickling the longer your brain circles him. The longer it spirals around his beautiful face, and full lips, and the way his voice sounded like something even bigger than the darkness in your body-

“Hey, Dad?” That same voice cuts through your thoughts, a little raised as Dean calls between the shelves. “Are you feeling anything from the beer earlier?”

“No.” John’s voice is clipped as he responds, and you can hear the frown in his voice. “You feelin’ alright, son?”

“Yeah, uh-“ There’s a heavy pause, and you can hear Dean shuffling slightly just out of your sight. “I dunno. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Dad, if he feels light headed he might not be safe to drive-“

“I’m alright, Sammy.” Dean’s words are fast. Not frantic, but rapid. “Nothing’s gonna happen to the car, Dad, I promise.”

John grunts. “Better not. Get moving, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

“Yes, sir.”

You hear Dean shuffle away, sounds of flipping paper and scratching pencils re-filling the air, and you’re trapped in your spot. You shouldn’t follow Dean. Following Dean will almost certainly end in meeting John, and that’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Your dad doesn’t fight you when you leave for months at a time, or cross paths with other hunters, or run dangerous scams to keep yourself afloat. He’s okay with more than he probably should be, and he never tells you that you can’t do something.

But you can’t talk to John Winchester.

He can’t know who you are. What you are.

So you can’t follow Dean. Your brain is deeply aware that following Dean would be a truly horrible idea, and your body seems to be on board. There’s iron around your lungs when John mutters something to Sam, and a sore shot of electrically whenever one of them stands up to move books around. You’re really good at running. You know exactly when to call it and go. You can sense danger so easily—it’s the same chill of needles ice running up your spine, every single time—and John is dangerous. And you really shouldn’t follow Dean.

But the White thing keeps bucking around inside you. You can almost see it rush and roar in the air, feel it thrash deep down—past your heart chamber and embedded a little to the right—to try and follow Dean Winchester. And it feeds the darkness. It starts to twinge and pulse, seeping and infecting your muscles and blood, locking around your skull and making everything far too big. You can feel it all. The books on the shelves that all read Dean, and the squeak of the floors that say his name, and the lights start to flicker as the air turns humid and cool.

“Dad-“

“I’m seein’ it, Sammy, grab the gun-“

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth and bite. Hard. Grounding yourself before the flood can burst out of your body, before John Winchester could find out who you are in the worst way possible.

And when you run—out the back and to your stolen Lexus—you don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re halfway there.

To the morgue.

After Dean.

It’s a terrible idea. You have ten, long minutes of driving to figure out every way in which this is a terrible idea. You don’t know him. This will distract you from the case. John Winchester will try to kill you. Your dad will kill you. And there’s a high chance it will all be for nothing, because everything in you that’s calling to Dean belongs to that white thing. And that’s a part of you, and no one else. There’s a chance that this—whatever the fuck this is—is something driven by what you are, what’s wrong with you, so Dean won’t feel it at all.

You know all of that. And you still make it the whole drive without turning around. You park and rifle through your glove compartment for a fake ID, pull on your stiff, too-itchy well officer, would a fraud wear this? Jacket, and still don’t turn the engine back on and book it out of town. You even manage to justify it. You’re working this case too. You were here first. You’d noticed the blood thing from the start—it’s why you took the case—but you just hadn’t gotten to the morgue yet. You’d already been planning on it, and Dean just happens to be here at the same time.

No matter what, you’ll get through it. You always get through it. And this might be a horrible idea, but that knowledge won’t stop you from stepping out of the car and making your way to the morgue. Know something has never really stopped you, and no amount of twisting bile in your gut—telling you to run, because you don’t love life, but you’d really rather not be murdered today—is going to prevent you from doing this. Nothing is stronger than the White in your chest, and it wants to talk to Dean Winchester.

So that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

It is, as always, worryingly easy to get into the morgue. Half of the work is flashing the badge and saying the right words—Agent Smith, from the insurance company, I need to take a look at the autopsies for the claims—but most of it is the confidence. You carry yourself like a haughty, too-good-for-this-morgue insurance agent. Your chin is raised when you stop at the desk, and your words to the receptionist are impatient and clipped, and God, it makes you feel like the scum of the earth how she’s nervous and apologetic, but you get in the door. You always get in the door, because this is the simple part. The smiles with teeth, and the lies you spit through them are so fucking simple.

The hard part is always different. Sometimes it’s the ghosts that follow you after a failure, the ones that can’t be killed with salt and fire. Sometimes it’s long nights that you don’t have time tp sleep, and the tug and rot of that darkness in your chest tries to push to the surface. Sometimes it’s a puzzle you barely manage to solve, and it costs a little bit more of your flesh and soul each time.

But today, it’s Dean Winchester. Or, as the receptionist calls him, Officer Costello.

“Officer?” You raise your brows. “So the cops are looking into a serial killer.”

“I, um-“ The receptionist flushes, her eyes widening slightly. “I don’t know, he just said he was from a town over, and our Chief asked him to take a look, I’m not-“

“I’ll just ask him while I’m in there.” You shrug, the receptionist’s mouth opens in likely protest, and you call over your shoulder as you walk away. “I need to know for the report!”

You push through the doors—nobody chasing after you a sign of success—turn into the mortuary’s office, and freeze at the sight before you.

Dean’s hunched over the mortuary’s desk, frowning at the largest stack of papers you’ve ever seen, and shit, he’s even prettier up close. Spiky hair and slightly tanned, freckled skin, rough looking hands sorting through the files and full lips in a frown and what the fuck is happening to you-

His head shoots up, eyes widening—green eyes, deep and vibrant and you need to get a goddamn grip—and you stare at each other for a long, confusing second before he finally speaks.

“Ma’am, if you could wait for the doctor outside please, this is, uh, official police business-“

You scoff, even as your whole body hums from the deep, smooth sound of his voice. “Is that really the excuse you’re going to use?”

Dean tenses, dropping the papers on the desk and rising to his full height, glaring down at you. He’s really tall, and broad, and probably warm-

“Excuse me? If you don’t exit this office right now, I’ll have reason to put you under arrest-“

“What reason?”

He blinks at you. “Interfering in police business-“

“Fake police business?”

“I’m not, this isn’t-“ Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing on yours. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a fake insurance agent.” You lift your badge up from him to see, giving a sweet, fake smile. “And you’re a hunter.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about-“

“I think you do.” You step forward, dropping into a seat across the desk. “To start, you’re definitely not a cop. Cops don’t drive muscle cars and raid morgue documents.”

He frowns, still watching you wearily. “How’d you know that’s my car?”

You’d slipped a little. You shouldn’t know that’s the Winchester’s car. But you’re quick on your feet, and by the time you say the lie it might as well be the truth. “Only three cars in the lot. Mine, the black one, and a minivan. And you don’t really seem like a minivan guy.”

Dean grunts, his body still braced and words tense. “I could be allowed to drive whatever car I want on duty-“

You give him an amused expression, tucking your knees into your chest as you lean back in your seat. “You’re like, twenty. There’s no way they’d let you drive your own car. Or,” you raise your brows. “Ask you investigate a bunch of weird murders by yourself.”

Dean frowns, but drops in the swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m twenty-one,” he mutters, and you snort.

“Congratulations-“

“And you,” his eyes shoot to yours, voice dropping into a low drawl that felt like it could be dangerous, but mostly made you feel a little fuzzy. “Haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

You say your full name—the real one, that you’d been given at birth and he’d never connect to your dad—and drop your feet back to the floor, extending your hand across the desk. “I’m a hunter too.”

Dean chuckles, but meets your hand with a grin. “Yeah, I figured that part out myself, Princess. Dean Winchester.”

You shake his hand, and your smile must make you look like an idiot. It’s far too wide just from him telling you his name and touching your skin—he is warm, and his hands are calloused and big and still so soft—but there’s something like lightning sparking and shooting over your skin, and the White inside you is shining like a star. Pulsing and glowing and molding with the darkness. Making nothing really seem that bad at all.

Dean’s smiling back. And you’d been right. His face is meant to smile. It’s meant to have this broad, cocky grin that’s full of teasing joy and a bright-eyed delight in something you can’t quite place. You really can’t tell if he can feel it. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s full of promises, but you can’t figure out if he can feel this. This raging tug in your body that keeps your hand in his longer than it needs to be, that makes his skin feel like a furnace and your heart feel right in your body.

He might. He really might feel it. His hand stays in yours as well, his grip a little tighter than it needs to be, and when you manage to pull away, he clears his throat—a small, adorable blush covering his pretty face—and stares at you like you’ve fallen from the sky, and you’re still covered in stardust.

“So, uh,” Dean glances down at the papers, then back to you. “You here for the autopsy reports?”

You nod, crossing your legs under your body. “Yep. You gonna share?”

“That depends.” Dean shrugs, shooting you another, very mind-numbing smirk. “You gonna help us out?”

“Us?” You tilt your head at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “You’ve got a partner?”

“Partners.” Dean corrects you with a grin. “My dad and brother. We always hunt together, it’s safer and Sammy’s still a kid, so-“ He cuts himself off, his face falling into a small frown. “Do you, are you hunting alone?”

“Mostly, yeah.” You shrug. “But I can help you out-“

“You, you shouldn’t be hunting alone.” Dean cuts you off with a shake of his head, his voice almost disbelieving. “It’s not safe. Gonna get you killed.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes, your voice becoming dry and bored. “Do you want my help, Dean Winchester?”

“Sure, but-“

“Then drop it, give me the papers, and let me help.”

He frowns. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda-“

“It’s not bad.” He pushes some of the files across the desk, shooting you a wink. “Just making sure you know.”

“Oh.” You stare at him. He’s so pretty, and his smile does weird things to your gut and ribs and the White inside of you. “Uh-“

“I’ll take these.” Dean taps the files still in front of him, watching you with a strange expression. “You got those?”

“Sure.” You mumble, pulling the papers into your lap. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “More hands, we’ll be done faster. You, uh, you know what you’re lookin’ for-“

“Blood.” You flip open the first file, playing with the corner of a page as you speak. “Every vic’s been covered in it. It’s uh,” you grimace slightly, an image of a corpse painted red flashing in your head. “It’s been really gross.”

Dean hums in agreement, giving you a curious look. “You’ve seen all the bodies?”

“Most of them,” you look down to the file, flipping through it until you find the blood report “I’ve been here for like, five days.”

“Huh.” He frowns, looking down to his own paper. “We’ve been here four. Only seen two of them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at my job.”

He laughs, and when you glance back up, he’s grinning. “Sure, Princess.”

You kick him under the desk, and he makes a fake sound of pain.

“What was that for?!“

“Making fun of me,” you stick your tongue out at him, not looking up from your papers. “Not very nice, Winchester.”

“You made fun of me-“

“And if you wanna kick me, I won’t stop you-“

“I’m not gonna kick a lady-“

“Well then.” You shrug, unable to fight the smile on your face. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

He huffs, his voice dropping to a low mutter you can still defiantly hear. “Bossy.”

“That’s not being bossy, it’s-“ You cut yourself off, leaning down to re-read the file in front of you. “Shit.”

“It is shit,” Dean complains, and you can hear the pout in his voice as you grab the next file in your stack, rushing through the report to find what you’re looking for. “You’re lucky I-“

“No, that’s not-” you look up at him, your brain moving too fast to fully linger on why you might be lucky. “Give me your file.”

Dean frowns, but slides the paper over the desk. “What-“

You raise your hand, scanning over the file and grinning as you find what you’re looking for. “I’ve got it.”

“Got what-“

“That blood wasn’t only the vics. It was their’s, plus,” you turn the page for Dean to read, pointing to the words. “All the previous vics. Mixed together. That’s why there’s been more and more every time.”

“Oh.” Dean leans forward, scanning over the page. “Kinda like a really gross blood cocktail?”

“Exactly.” You grin at him. “I know what we’re looking for.”

He looks back up at you, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me, or-“

“It’s a moroi.” You drop the files, leaning back and pushing your feet back up on the desk. “It explains the messiness perfectly.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “My dad says it’s just a normal ghost with a weird thing for blood-“

“Your dad is wrong. It’s a moroi.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “My dad’s never wrong. And he’s more experienced than both of us combined, he’d know if it was a moray-“

“Mo-roi-“

“And look,” Dean leans across the desk, pointing to the files. “All of them had the same blood type. That’s what Dad said to look for.”

“They have the same blood type because it’s a moroi.” You hold his gaze, because every single part of you might want this man in a way you can’t possibly begin to understand, but you’re also fucking right. “They’re Romanian vampire babies.’

“Vampire babies-“

“Evil infant spirits that didn’t get baptized. They’re really rare, but this-“ You tap the files with a smug grin. “Is their exact MO. Specific blood type that they’ve probably got a taste for, mixing it with their previous victims, incredibly sloppy.”

“Because they’re babies.” Dean mutters, frowning into the air. “And babies, uh, don’t know how to clean.”

You nod. “Because babies don’t know how to clean.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean looks down to the files, his tone cautious. “I mean, you said they’re kinda rare-“

“They are.” You shrug. “And that’s why I’m sure.”

Rare things are your specialty. Things that even the most experienced hunters don’t understand, that were hard to track and harder to kill. Things that were stranger than strange, darker than dark, worse than evil. Things that wouldn’t hurt you, and you’ve taught yourself every way kill. It’s why you’d taken this case in the first place. It’s why you’re fucking right.

“You, uh,” Dean’s words are slow, like he’s picking them carefully. “You know how to kill these things?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna come with me? To explain it to Dad and Sammy?”

“I, um-“ You start to pick at the skin around your nails, your skin suddenly itching and a weight forming in your lungs. “I mean, I can just tell you how, and you can deal with it, and I can go-“

“Go?” Dean frowns, his brow drawn. “Where are you going?”

“Out of town.” You keep your voice strong and even, because no matter how much the White inside you seems to be trying to move into Dean—no matter how much you’d really like to stay in this office and talk to him for a million years—you have to go. You cannot meet John Winchester. “If your Dad’s as good as you say-“

“He is-“

“Then you’ll be able to handle this. You don’t need me.”

“Well,” Dean leans over the desk, his voice dropping to a charming drawl. “If I ask you nicely, will you consider staying? Giving us a hand?”

You hold his gaze, unable to find enough willpower to shut him down immediately. “How nicely?”

“Please,” Dean says your name, giving you a taunting, boyish grin, and the White inside you ignites. You’ve heard your name said a million ways, but never like that. Never in Dean’s voice, never like it’s some sort of curse and prayer all at once, never like it’s bigger than just a name. “Please stay in town and help me out. Please explain this moroi shit to my dad, and help us kill the son of a bitch. I’ll buy you a beer, and be in your debt for a million freakin’ years. Please.”

He’s already got you. If the way he said your name didn’t make you fold, the shit-eating smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes that tells you exactly how he plans to repay that debt made you cave.

“I don’t drink.” You mumble, your face heated and eyes a little wide. “But I’ll take two million years and a promise that you’ll listen to me.”

Dean chuckles. “Awesome.” He grins, his eyes never leaving yours as he stands. “Let’s get outta here, I’ll drive you to our motel.”

That’s where you manage to draw a line. You’ll bow to Dean’s charming words and handsome face, you’ll follow him out of the office and into the parking lot, and you’ll agree to come meet John and Sam Winchester—no matter how stupid and deadly an idea it will certainly prove to be—but you’ll drive yourself. You didn’t steal that Lexus not to drive it, and when things inevitably go sideways, you’ll need a car to escape in.

“You sure?” Dean walks you to the Lexus, standing right at your side and watching you in a way the White seems to feel. “I mean, it’s not a problem-“

“I’m sure.” You grab your keys out of your pocket, stopping in front of the car. “All my shit is in here, and I can just follow you. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, how am I gonna know you won’t just drive off?” Dean doesn’t budge, barely sparing your car a glance. “Leave me to deal with the vampire babies alone?”

You give him a flat. “I won’t just drive off, Winchester-“

“You might.” He shrugs. “I don’t know you that well, you could be playing me-“

“I’m not- Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your badge into his hands. “You can hold onto that, and I’ll have to follow you to get it back. Happy?”

“Very.” Dean winks at you, flipping your badge open to read. “Agent Smith- Who’s Smith?”

“Nobody. Smith is the most common last name in United States.” You shrug, and Dean looks at you like you’re insane. “What?”

“Nothin’, I just-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low laugh. “It’s practical. Smart.”

You narrow your eyes. “But?”

“No but,” He says your name with a bright, cocky grin, and tucks your badge into his pocket. “Can I not call you smart?”

“Not when you don’t really mean it-“

“I mean it. You’re smart.” His grin grows, and it feels like it’s burning its way right into your heart. Kicking it up to a higher speed, warming it until your whole body feels lost in a misting haze. It’s so fucking weird. “Are all your badges Smith?”

“No.” You mutter, crossing your arms to try and stop your heart beating right out of your chest. “Smith is just insurance. Johnson does wildlife, Brown is a cop, and Miller’s FBI.”

“Huh,” Dean looks at you like he’s never seen anything more amusing in his life. It’s not really helpful. “Sammy’s gonna like you.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother.” Dean shrugs. “He’s smart too. Not half as pretty, but smart.”

You flush, leaning back to ground yourself against the cool metal of the car. “You don’t know me, Winchester. I might be a dumbass.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Dumb people don’t know about vampire babies.”

“I’d argue vampire babies are the exact thing a dumb person would know about-“

“And I’d argue dumb people don’t say I’d argue.”

You scowl. “Touché.”

Dean laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Dumb people don’t say touché-“

“Shut up.” You kick him again, and this time his grin just becomes teasing and smug and a little fucking dizzying.

“That’s not nice, Princess-“

“I said shut up.” You mutter, turning to open your car door. “Go get in your car so we can actually do our jobs.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean’s still grinning at you, his eyes widening as they finally flick to the Lexus. “Holy shit, you drive this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, dropping into your seat and pointing across the lot to his car. “Go.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “Bossy.”

You glare at him. “Winchester-“

He gives you one last wink you feel deep in your core, closes your door, and walks away without another word. But—right after he climbs into the driver seat—he pulls out your badge, holds it up to the window, and mouths Follow me, or this is mine.

You roll your eyes, flip him off, and watch him laugh as he pulls out of the lot. And you could leave. Badges are easy to make, you’re not emotional attached to Agent Smith, and this is your last chance to keep yourself away from John Winchester. To listen to your every instinct, to your dad’s stern voice in your head, and run. It would be so fucking easy to run. To turn around and never look back, never allow yourself to indulge Dean Winchester further than one conversation.

But you don’t want to run. You want to follow this odd pull to him, follow him to the motel, follow him wherever else he seems to be going. Which is fucking insane, because you don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and he’s almost certainly better off without you. Most people are. Hell, you’d be better off without you, if you could figure out how to do that.

And you know all that. But you still don’t want to run.

So you follow Dean out of the parking lot, through the winding backstreets of the town, and to a backwater motel. You park your car right next to his, close your eyes to take a long, steadying breath, and try to rationalize to yourself how this could possibly end up not blowing up in your face. You’ll keep a hold on yourself. John won’t know who you are, or what you are, or who you know, or what you know, or-

“Shit!” You jump as something raps on your window, and hear a loud laugh from outside your car.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

“You yelped.” Dean tells you as you climb out of the car, a wide, teasing grin on his face. “Real tough of you, Princess-“

“Suck my dick, Winchester.” You glare at him, and his grin only grows wider. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah,” Dean places his hand on your back, steering you towards the motel. “Suits you too well.”

“I don’t know what that means-“

“You don’t have to.” He smirks at you, and it does something impossible good to your brain. Makes it calm. A little fuzzy, a little smooth, but so fucking calm. “C’mon, I texted Dad that I found you, he and Sammy’ll be in our room.”

Dean Winchester is dangerous. You should be scratching and clawing and fighting like a feral animal to go, to get back in your car and as far away from here—from John Winchester—as possible. But he says I found you with a proud grin and puff of his chest like he’s bragging, and all that your stupid body knows how to do is lean slightly into his chest and follow him wherever he takes you. Somewhere dark, or somewhere horrible, or somewhere gray or somewhere safe.

Or just a shabby, paint-peeling motel room, where John Winchester and a shaggy haired kid are sitting around a table, looking at you—standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them wearily, your back straight but arms crossed in defense—like you’re the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

“This is, um,” Dean glances at you as he says your full name, and you realize he’s more tense than he’d been before. Standing a little taller, his eyes a little more guarded, his expression impossibly neutral. “She’s the hunter I mentioned.” Dean says your name again, pointing to the table as he continues. “That’s my dad, John, and my brother, Sammy.”

“Hi.” The kid—he’s taller than you, and barely younger, but there’s something about him that still says kid—offers you a small smile. “Do you, uh, do you hunt alone?”

“Yeah,” you give Sam a smile back, trying to force your tone to be casual, your body to relax, and your eyes not to wander to where John is tall in his seat, just watching you. “He tell you that?”

You jerk your head at Dean, who frowns. “So what if I did-“

“So, you’re being a real dramatic bitch about that. You’re not my dad, Winchester, let’s calm down.” You give him a small grin, and feel something odd and bright inflate in your chest when his mouth tugs up for the first time since you’ve walked into the room.

Dean looks like he’s going to say something back, but John clears his throat, and something curls and rots in your stomach at how quickly Dean goes rigid, how fast his mouth snaps shut.

“You got a father, girl?”

You look at John, and he looks even more tired up close, in the dim light of the motel. More threatening as well, watching you like you’re prey, or a parasite, or a disease. Like you’re going to go feral and destroy everything in the room. It would sting less if he wasn’t right. If his attention wasn’t making your skin crawl and the White in you start to twist and pound to escape your body, the darkness rushing out as everything becomes big again. If you weren’t digging your nails into your palm to stop yourself from proving him right, and if you weren’t raising your chin in a weak attempt to be a little taller than you are.

“I do.” You hold his gaze, and wonder if he can see the darkness. If he already knows what you are, and is trying to work out how to kill you. “We’re really close, actually.”

“He know you hunt?”

“He does.” You shrug. “He’s fine with it.”

That’s a lie. Your dad hates that you hunt. You’re certain the only reason he doesn’t lock you in his panic room to keep you away from the monsters and ghosts is because he knows you’d escape, and he’d never see you again. But John doesn’t know that, and you’re a fantastic liar, so if he doesn’t believe you it’s not because you don’t sell the words, it’s because he just doesn’t trust you. Because whatever you say, he’s going to keep looking at you like he can see right into your horrible center.

John’s face twitches, and as he leans slightly forward, you’re not sure Dean’s breathing at your side. “Your old man a hunter too?”

You nod, realize this is getting a little away from you, and start to run your thumb over your palm as John narrows his eyes.

“What’s his name?”

You use your real father’s name—your biological father, who you’ll never see again if you can help it—and it stings on your tongue. You hate that you have to say it. You hate that you have to repeat it, adding your real last name, but it works. John grunts, and looks away.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old is she?”

“I, uh-“ Dean looks at you with wide eyes. “How old are you?”

You raise your brows. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty…” Dean scratches his head slightly, looking a little afraid. It would be adorable if this wasn’t such an oddly volatile situation. “Twenty-teen?”

“Twenty-teen?”

“I dunno, I mean you gotta be old than Sammy, and you sound like you’re old, but-“

“I sound like I’m old?”

“Just cause of the words you use! You look like you can’t be old than me, but I don’t know-“

“Jesus Christ, dude.” You take pity on Dean—who looks like he’s about to have a panic attack—and pat his shoulder as you speak. “I’m eighteen. And,” you look back to John, cooling your voice and narrowing your eyes. “I can speak for myself.”

John doesn’t waver. You can’t really imagine a world where he would. “I don’t doubt that, girl. But I ain’t lookin’ for help on this case, and you’re barely votin’ age-“

“I’m aware of my age.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’ve also been hunting, alone, since I was fifteen, and this,” you gesture through the air, holding John’s cold gaze. “Is my type of case. So you need my help.”

John scoffs. “It’s a ghost, sweetheart, me and my boys will be fine without you-“

“She says it’s not a ghost.” Dean mumbles, paling as John’s gaze shoots to him. “It’s, uh, a moroi?”

You hum in agreement, offering Dean a small grin that John doesn’t seem to miss.

Sam raises his hand at the table, his expression open and curious. “What’s a moroi?”

“Romanian vampire baby.” Dean says, shooting Sam the first real, full grin you’ve seen on his face since you entered the motel room. “They never got a chance to learn who Mr. Clean is, which is why there’s been so much freakin’ blood everywhere. Right?”

Dean looks at you with a hopeful, bright expression, and it makes the White glow and sing as you nod.

“It’s a ghost.” John grunts, and when you look back to the table, he’s glaring at you. “We got freezin’ temperatures, EMF, and no break ins-“

“Because they’re death monsters. And they can shape-shift, into a guy, or a bug, or a cat.” You shrug. “Wouldn’t be that hard to get into a house.”

John scowls. “And you’d bet all our lives on this-“

“Yes.” You say, the words simple. You’re good at your fucking job, and there’s no doubt in your mind. “It is a moroi. I’ve hunted them before.”

“You have?” Sam’s eyes widen, his tone filled with something that might be admiration. “That’s so-“

John cuts Sam off with a raised hand, his attention never wavering from you. “Well,” he drawls your name, and it’s mocking and cruel and awful. The opposite of how Dean says it, in a way you hope to never hear again. “If you’re such an expert, how the hell do we kill the asshole.”

“Easy.” You shrug, as if there’s not something wired and painful in your muscles that’s trying to force you to run, run, run, far away from John Winchester and his cold voice. “You stab it in the heart with a nail.”

“With a nail.” John repeats, his voice flat, and you scowl.

“Well, that, or,” you stand a little taller, making your voice cool and bored. “We throw a Romanian funeral for it, and find a living relative to walk around its grave three times with a candle.”

Dean makes a choked sound from off to the side, and when you look, he’s staring at you like you’d fallen from space again. John doesn’t look half as awestruck. He mostly looks pissed.

“This ain’t the time for jokes-“

“That’s not a joke.” You snap. “There are multiple ways to kill something, and that’s one of the ways you can deal with a moroi. It’s that, the nail, or burning resin on a Tuesday, then a Saturday.”

John laughs, no amusement or joy in the sound. “You might think your smart, kid, but how about I see a plan. Stabbin’ something in the heart ain’t gonna be easy, and hell, girl, you said they shape shift. How the fuck are you thinkin’ we find them-“

“There will be blood in its nails and eyes.” You hold your ground, but your palm grows red as you break skin. “And there is a pattern to the tarbets, we’ve just all been looking in the wrong place.”

“A pattern?” Sam’s eyes are still wide, his voice a little eager. “But none of the vics have been the same age, gender, ethnicity, occupation-“

“Have they all been parents? Lived near graveyards?”

All three Winchesters gape at you for a second, and Dean looks at John with wide eyes.

“Shit, Dad, she’s right.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “The one we looked at yesterday, the house had one of those baby gates-“

“And we’ve driven past a graveyard every time.” Sam adds, looking between you and John with a nervous expression. “So, uh, it could be-“

“I know what it could be, Sam.” John grunts, his glare fully focused on Dean. “You willing to bet on her, son?”

Dean looks at you, and he shouldn’t be—you’re a stranger, you’re a liar, you’re a monster that’s attracted to him like a magnet—but he nods. He stares at you like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on either, like he’s looking for a reason to not trust you and side with his father, but can’t find one. And—right before he looks back to his father—you see a flash in his eyes that makes you think he feels it. That whatever the fuck is happening to you, it’s happening to Dean too, and he’s just as helpless as you are to fight it.

“I am, sir.” He says, hands flexing at his side. “Sammy and I can do door duty, figure out who’s next on this things hit list-“

Sam frowns. “I don’t wanna do door duty-“

“Blame Dean,” John shrugs, giving Dean a curt nod. “Take my car and be back in two hours-“

You raise your hand, and John cuts himself off with a glower.

“What.”

“They don’t need to do door duty,” you say, your fingers running over your palm. “The moroi will only target parents of infants, so you can look for baby seats in cars. And it’ll all be near same cemetery. Five miles radius.” You catch Dean raising his brows at you, and shrug. “They don’t like to stray far from home.”

“And by home,” Sam jumps in, words slow as he connects the dots. “You’re talking about their grave.”

“Or their coffin.” You offer him a close-lipped smile. “But yeah. It’s already dusk, our best bet would be splitting up and patrolling a few streets until we see the thing. It’ll probably be in its regular form, at least until it spots a house.”

Dean frowns at you. “What’s that gonna look like?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Hairy. Bloody and hairy. It’ll be gross, you’ll see it.”

“And how,” John grunts. “Are you thinkin’ we split up.”

“We’ve got two cars.” You shrug. “Three if you have a second one-“

“We don’t.” John snaps. “And I took a fuckin’ taxi back here, ain’t no way I’m not driving my car, or lettin’ a little girl go off to hunt this on her own-“

“How honorable,” you mutter under your breath—careful to make sure Dean doesn’t hear you—and raise your voice back to a bored, flat tone. “Then you’ll take your car, and I’ll take one of them,” you nod between Sam and Dean. “So we’re off in pairs.”

“Dad, I could go with her.” Dean takes a small step forward, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, it would be safer for you to take Sammy. And you know I’d be careful.“

John grunts, jaw ticking, and you can see he’s considering it. That, somehow, you’ve convinced him to go with this, and he hasn’t put a bullet in your brain. There’s a frantic, wired part of you along your skin that’s certain he’s just waiting for an excuse, but for now you’ll take it. You’ll take Dean volunteering to go with you, John not killing you, and everyone winning when you’re right, because you will be. You’re not good for much, but you’re good for this.

“I want you to drive.” John tells Dean, and you’ll allow it. If it keeps Dean near you—as you so confusingly and desperately crave—you’ll let him drive your stupid, fancy car. Fuck, you’ll let him run it into a ditch if he wants, as long as you’re there with him, and what the fuck is happening to you-

Dean says your name, and you blink at him as he continues. “I, uh, if you’re good with it-“

“Sure, I don’t give a fuck.” You toss Dean your keys, and he frowns. “I mean, try not to total it, or do donuts-“

Dean gasps, his face full of mock offense that pulls a smile onto your face. “Do I look like a hooligan to you-“

You raise your brows. “Did you just say hooligan?”

“Yeah,” he grins at you, and nothing else seems that real. “It’s a fun word, don’t bash it-“

“I am not bashing it-“

“Kinda sounds like you’re bashin’ it-“

“Well, it kinda sounds like you’re going to try and do donuts in my car-“

“Princess, I would never-“

“Winchester, I don’t believe you-“

John coughs, loudly, and you and Dean fall silent. That keeps happening. You talk to Dean, and everything fades until you’re just smiling like an idiot and watching him like he’s the sun, and you’re just existing in his orbit. And he does the same thing. Dean’s face is red, and he’s staring at the floor as John glowers at him, but you keep catching his eyes darting to you, a small furrow on his brow that you wish you could ask him about. You wish you could ask him a million things. About his life, about his likes and dislikes, why his whole family hunts and what he thinks of your dad—the one he’d know, the one that’s going to murder you when he finds out what you’re doing right now—and if he can feel this too. He must. It’s like a drug, and it’s flashing and loud in the White, and making the darkness blur into something you think would be better. Into something you wouldn’t hate, molding with something that feels foreign but right, strange but just as powerful and certain as gravity. Something secret, that you think you should be fighting but can’t bring yourself to raise a weapon against.

Something bigger than you. Bigger than him. Bigger than the White inside your chest and the darkness that’s pushed down, down, down as you force yourself to stay in place, and not either grab Dean’s face and scream—shout at him in a begging question of do you feel this, or am I going fucking insane—or run. Flee as John Winchester gives you one last look like he’s imaging your blood on the floor, and you climb into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus.

But you manage to keep it together, and you’ll have to settle for this. For talking to Dean as you patrol up and down a darkened suburban street with white-picket fences, your knees up on the dash and your fingers growing bloody as you pick at them to keep the darkness down.

“So, uh,” Dean taps his hands on the wheel, staring out at the road. “Hunting.“

You blink at him, raising your brows. “What?”

“I just, mean how’d you end up doing it? You’re young-“

“You’re literally only three years old than me-“

“But I got Dad and Sammy.” He scowls. “You’re alone.”

“Yeah, we’ve establish that.” You cross your arms, curling slightly into your seat. “I’m really good at my job, Winchester, I’m not that worried.”

Dean chuckles, glancing at your half-pout with an amused expression. “Still Winchester? When am I gonna get the honor of her majesty using my first name?”

You glare at him, and it just makes his grin wider. “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy.”

And he’s so confusingly adorable and handsome—in the soft, shimmering light of the streetlamps and fog—that you speak without even thinking. “You have to earn first names, Deano.”

He freezes for a second, and his grin becomes his whole face. Wide and charming, sweeping you off your feet and knocking the breath from your lungs without even touching you.

“So,” he drawls, still smirking like an idiot. “Nicknames you’ll pass out like party favors, but I need to work to just be Dean.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, can I at least shoot down Deano?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “On what grounds?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes flashing in the low light. “It kinda makes me sound like a birthday clown?”

You giggle. A small, soft giggle that he pulls out of you with barely any effort, that you want to hate but can’t figure out how to. “Maybe you are a clown-“

“Birthday clown.” He corrects, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t drop the birthday part, that means I’ve got a job. And I can’t be a clown, Sammy’ll never speak to me again.” Dean glances at you, his voice dropping slightly. “He freakin’ hates clowns. Might shoot me before I explain that a pretty lady turned me into one against my will.”

You raise your brows, trying to push down the flush on your face from pretty lady. How he’d said the words like they were teasing, but still so serious, and looked at you with a small smirk when they had his intended effect. You can barely remember how to clear your throat and use words, let alone tease and spar with him when the White is blinding in your body.

“Unfortunately,” you manage to speak, nudging his shoulder with your own. “All sales are final. You’re Deano now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Until I earn Dean, though, right?”

“If you earn Dean.”

He hums, shooting you another, oddly heated glance. “And what do I need to do for that?”

You only shrug, running your fingers over your palm to sooth the darkness. It’s starting to eat over your nerves and heart, trying reach out and touch Dean in a way you can’t allow, in a way that will end whatever this is before it begins. Dean only gives you a strange look, his smile still wide on his face.

“Well,” Dean says your whole name, over-pronouncing each syllable. “Am I allowed to return the favor?”

“What favor.”

“Callin’ you a nickname.” He winks at you, and it settles—warm and soft and strong—in your core. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even have a nickname.”

“Bet I could fix that.”

“Would be a losing bet. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

And just like that, you’ve lost. You’d seen it coming, too. It was too easy a solution for him to have, to easy a path to allow him to take, too easy to let the small part of you—that had wanted to hear him call you Princess again, because it soothed something that was always feral inside of you and blurred the darkness into the White until nothing hurt inside you—allow Dean to coax you where he’d clearly wanted you, and follow with a smile on your face. But all of this was too easy. Talking to Dean was too easy, because the conversation seems to flow and ebb without effort, and you’re almost always in danger of saying too much. He seems to know how to—without any obvious intention—get you to tell him anything he asks, leaving you biting your tongue to keep down bits of the truth that could prove deadly. But he doesn’t push you to speak—which is perfect and terrifying all within itself—and when you fall into silence it’s easy too. It’s easy to control the darkness, calmed only by your thumb and long breathes, and easy to keep everything small. Just you and Dean in the soft silence of the car, just you and Dean in the whole world.

“My mom died.” Dean says suddenly, frowning out the window. “It’s why I’m hunting. And,” he adds, his voice growing a little firmer, a little more defensive. “It’s why my dad’s so careful. I know he can be tough, but we’ve only got each other, and he’s just tryin’ to-“

“I get it.” You whisper, something deep in your chest aching for him. For this pretty, impossible man who might be bigger than the whole word, and how his brow is knit in a confusing kind of hollow pain as he defends his father. Goes to arms for him without prompting, like it’s a reflex. And you really do get it, but even if you didn’t, you somehow care too much about him to force him to rage and spit fire in John’s defense. It looks like it might rip him apart, and you never really want to see him go. So you just offer him a gentle, full lipped but toothless smile, and place your hand on his arm. “And that really fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and doesn’t try to move his arm away. “It does really fucking suck. Thanks.”

“My dad’s wife died.” You offer, as if that would somehow make this better, and Dean gives you an odd look.

“Dad’s wife? Not your mom?”

You swallow. You did it again. You slipped when you’re usually so fucking careful. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah.” Dean has a little furrow between his brow that you’d like to run your thumb over, but he drops it. “Are you, you gonna tell me why you hunt? If it’s not your Dad’s wife?”

You sigh, a feral instinct of survive shoving the truth just a little further down. “That’s complicated too. I mean it’s not,” you glance up at him, his eyes fixed onto the road. “It’s not like yours. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“Is it a family thing? Like, your dad brought you in?” Dean’s every word is careful, like he’s afraid he might spook you. But that’s another thing that’s too easy. Staying next to Dean and not bristling or fleeing is far too fucking easy.

“No,” you say, watching the light and shadows shift over his face in a strange, perfect dance. “He tries to stop me from doing it all the time. Shit, he called me last night and asked me to come home.”

Dean frowns. “You-“

“Dean!” You cut him off with a hand over his mouth, and he slams the breaks with a screech. You can see his staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you barely spare him a glance, your eyes locked over his shoulder, out the window, at a shifting figure in the dark. “Look.”

He turns his head, prying your hand from his mouth as he glares out the window. “I don’t-“

“There,” you hiss, leaning a little further forward. “See the-“

“That might just be a shadow,” Dean mutters, his voice dropping to a whisper as he scans over the dark. “Or a fox-“

You turn your head, giving him a flat look. “Do foxes look like babies covered in blood?”

“No.” He grins at you. “But I’ve seen weirder shit, Princess.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How you’d leaned over the console and started to practically hang off of Dean’s body, how your faces are barely a breath apart and you can see every deep color and fleck of gold in his eyes. He really only gets prettier, and he’s so warm, and there’s molten silver in your chest trying to tangle into him. He smells like fresh grass and spice, his eyes are dilating—but maybe just from the dark—and everything seems to be slowing down as the silver looks for other places to leak out. Places that wouldn’t hurt anyone, like the mist of the night that seems to glow and the wind that seems to bend and creak the trees in your direction, and the golden streetlamps-

Dean’s eyes shoot to the road as the lights start to flicker, his body tensing against yours. “Shit. We should, uh-“

You nod, push yourself away, and try to pretend your body doesn’t grieve the loss of his touch.

John and Sam are taking too long to arrive. You’re tense and bouncing on the sidewalk as you wait, turning a sharp nail between your fingers, and Dean keeps a hand around your wrist as he frowns down the street. You think he can sense that, if he looks away for only a second, you’ll dart into the house and deal with this yourself. You could. This nail has killed three moroi before, and you’d been completely alone then.

“Winchester.”

Dean looks at you with a frown, and you tug your arm slightly.

“Let me go.”

“No,” he grunts, his grip tightening. “Dad said to wait.”

“He’s not my dad-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean mutters, his gaze moving back to the empty, dark fog. “We’re waiting.”

You scowl. “Fine. Can you let go-“

“No.”

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester-“

“If I let you go,” he snaps, his glare shooting back to you. “You’re going to run in there. So no.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know me-“

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Look me in the eyes,” he drawls your name, holding your gaze. “And say you won’t run.”

It should be an easy lie, but it gets caught in your throat and you can only gape at him. Dean raises his brows as you continue to stare, and the White inside you starts to thrash as you clear your throat, forcing the words out.

“I’d handle it.”

He scoffs. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to handle it alone-“

“So, come with me,” You hiss, leaning forward until your face is only an inch from his. “And I won’t be alone.”

You don’t know why it breaks him. But something flashes in his eyes, he groans—running his free hand over his face and giving you a look of disbelief—and he caves.

And from there it’s mostly a blur. It’s always a blur. The darkness inside of you latches onto something primal, and it’s all only a blur.

Usually it’s all but a blackout. Like something overtakes you and you become just as monstrous as what you’re hunting, your brain only holding onto what you’ll need in order to survive next time, and a sticky smell of blood to haunt your sleep. But Dean’s here now, and things come into focus. Time is still a rush, and you’re still moving on pure instinct, but you remember Dean’s body being pressed to yours as you crept through the suburban house. You remember to set look on his face as you swept the rooms, figuring out what the moroi could be, where it might be hiding. You remember seeing it first, and the sound of flesh tearing as it launched at Dean—over you—and you swatted it with your arm like a baseball.

You remember Dean shouting your name as you raced forward with the nail in your hand, and how it sounded like his chest was being ripped open. You remember finding that small patch of soft flesh on the moroi’s chest, driving the nail home, and tasting bile when it vomited blood up into your face.

You remember Dean passing you his shirt on the curb a few blocks down, because the very ungrateful almost-victims threatened to call the cops, and you were covered in blood. He’d faced away as your changed—zipping up his own jacket and humming while he waited—and you could’ve sworn he was blushing when he turned back around.

Then John Winchester had arrived—looking at Dean like he’d just sprouted a second, hideous head and you like he was imaging how amazing you’d look in a casket—and everything grew sharp as they drove away.

More of it comes together as you drive yourself back to the motel. Dean had dumped the body in the gutter, and you had given him your motel address. John had snapped at you to meet them tomorrow for a debrief, and told Dean that they’d talk back at the room. Sam had smiled at you, and it was a nice smile. There hadn’t seemed to be anything beneath it—just a kind smile for the woman sitting on the curb next to his shirtless brother, her hair matted in blood and fingers covered in monster hair—and you’d liked that.

When you enter your room, it suddenly feels too small. Nothing is big enough for how strange this is, how you might need all the world and a little more to figure out what the fuck just happened. You miss Dean. You’d met him today, and you miss him more than you’ve missed anything before. You keep looking to the side to see if he’s there, when you know he won’t be. The White is bucking and keening inside of you, the darkness falling out of your body—you can feel the pain of the water as it becomes steam in the shower, and you’re almost knocked to your knees by the ache of the phone to be closer to the lamp—and you need to find out if he could meld them together again. If it had been a fluke, or an accident, or if you were simply losing your fucking mind.

You have to be. You must be going mad. It’s the only explanation for why you take a long shower and change into your own clothing, but you still smell grass and leather and spice. It’s purgatorial. You go through your whole routine—scrubbing all the blood off your body with rough sugar that bites into your skin, running your hands under white-hot water that leaves your skin raw but the darkness pushed down, tending to your hair until it frame your features easily, and you don’t look like a bruised and battered animal—but you still smell him. You toss his shirt off to the side, but he’s clinging to the sheets. You change into sleepwear, but your body can still feel a strong, warm touch. You turn your empty flask in your hands, watching light catch off the steel, and someone’s knocking on your fucking door-

Dean hisses your name through the wood, and you freeze.

“I know you’re in there!” He’s half-shouting, and the whole world feels more colorful, and what is wrong with you. “C’mon, Princess, open the door. It’s me!” He pauses, the knocking faltering. “Uh, Dean Winchester.”

He sounds a little defeated, and you can’t stop the smile on your face as you toss the flask back into your bag, cross the room, and open the door.

Dean gives you an adorable, almost nervous grin and scans over you. Slow and deep and appreciative—taking in your sleep clothes, how your whole body is more relaxed than it had been all day—and his smile grows as his eyes find yours once more.

“You look pretty wearing normal stuff.” He leans a little on the door frame, and it’s so effortlessly and perfectly rouge-cowboy-white-knight-and-knave that he has to have practiced. “Better than that old-lady jacket you hand on before.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my professional jacket, Winchester. What do you want?”

The words are harsher than you mean them to be, and his grin falters slightly. “I was, uh, I was wondering,” he rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “I got my dad’s car. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a drive or something, but you’re obviously ready to turn in, so-“

“Do you want to come in?”

You’re not sure how he’s doing this. Making you speak without thought, making your words reckless when they’re usually so carefully chosen. You have to be careful with your words, because you’ve spent years weaving a web that shows everyone everything, but not from every angle. And he’s fucking unraveling it. Dean just looks at you, and you pull at a thread so he can see whatever he wants, and you can’t understand how the fuck he’s doing it.

It must be on purpose, but he looks just as shocked as you are—gaping at you slightly, his features open and uncertain—and you don’t think it’s an act. Especially not as his voice becomes slightly hoarse, his feet restlessly shifting his weight as he speaks.

“Yeah, if you want, but I’m good to just head out if you-“

“Do you want to head out?”

Dean’s grin becomes bright once more, and the shake of his head sends a spark of lightning through your body.

“So,” you step to the side, offering him a small smile. “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, scanning over your scattered possessions and stopping at the side of the bed.

“I can,” he looks back to you, his eyes a little wide. “I can sit on the floor, or we can go outside-“

You shake your head, moving to his side. “There are bugs outside. Sit on the bed.”

Dean glances at the mattress like the sheets might leap up and strangle him. “Floor looks good-“

“Winchester.” You point at the bed, giving him a stern glare. “Sit.”

“I am not a freakin’ dog-“

You place a hand on his chest and push him—just enough for him to get the message—and he sit on the bed with a wide happy? gesture.

You drop at his side, watching him carefully as you try to work out what is happening. Why he’s here. If he’s looking at you like that—like you’re more than a human, but that’s hypnotizing, and he’d love to find what you actually are—because he can feel this too.

But Dean beats you to it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your knees into your chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Huh.” Dean hums, the smile creeping back onto his face. “How about we trade? I ask you a question, you gimme an answer, then we switch.”

You give him an amused look. “That’s just a conversation.”

“Nah, because if I ask you something and you answer, now I owe you a question. You can turn down a question, but you’ll still owe an answer.”

You frown. “What happens if you owe an answer?”

He shrugs, flopping onto his back. “Then the other person keeps asking questions.”

Dean looks so real. He’s grinning up at you, light dancing as his eyes as he obviously baits you into whatever he’s trying to do.

And you fall for it. Despite your best judgement, you fall.

“I’m going first.”

He chuckles, but raises his hand for you to shake. “Deal, Princess.”

The moment your hand folds into Dean’s he pulls you down, leaving your smushed slightly against him and his face only inches from yours once more. And your yelp was undignified, and he’s such an asshole—laughing and grinning as you shove his chest—and you’re smiling too.

Because this is easy. And you have a feeling that, if this strange man—who’s too pretty, and that’s making you feel like you’ve never really been alive before this—dragged you right down to hell, you’d still be laughing and smiling at him. And that’s so fucking dangerous. And you know that, but you still can’t stop looking at him, and you can’t roll away. And you decide that, just for tonight, you’re going to indulge this. You’ll dedicate hours when he’s gone to figuring out what the fuck this is. Right now you get to laugh and smile and act like nothing in the world has ever—could ever—hurt you.

“So,” Dean says your name, and it still sounds too good. “You have a question to go first with? Or were you just bein’ bossy-“

“Shut up.” You swing your leg to kick his shin, he laughs, and it’s like music. Making you high and dizzy as you watch him, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve got it, Winchester. You ready?”

“Born it, sweetheart,” he winks at you, and that’s dizzying too. “Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already, I wanted to talk to you-“

You hum, holding his gaze with a small frown. “Why?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s two questions-“

“It’s a ride off of the first question-“

“Well, I still gotta ask my first question before you get a second one.” He raises his brows at you, bump your knee with his. “We shook on this, Princess, you don’t get to change it now.”

You glare at him, but you think he knows it’s fake, because his grin becomes almost blinding. “Fine. Go.”

Dean rolls onto his side, holding your gaze as he speaks. “How’d you get that car?”

You frown. “The Lexus?”

He nods, and you sigh.

“I borrowed it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth. It’s a half-truth that will keep him here, at your side, for a little longer than you might deserve. “For the hunt.”

“Well, it’s freakin’ awesome.” He grins at you, and your face might burst into flame. “Your move.”

“Why are you really here?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Will you let it go if I say to talk again?”

“Nope. Answer me.”

“It’s, uh,” he rolls flat on his back once more, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be Dad telling us about safety and Sammy asking you a bunch of questions.” He shoots you a small, amused grin. “I think he’s been writing them down. He’s into all that geek-shit too-“

“I am not a geek-“

“Yeah, you are.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable. But Sammy thinks you’re the coolest person we’ve ever met. So after Dad finishes, he’ll try to use you like a freakin’ library, and I just figured I’m the one who found you, so I should get a night of you all to myself.”

You gape at him for a second, and you’ve defiantly burst into flames. He wants you all himself, and he thinks you’re adorable, and he doesn’t know you, but he doesn’t seem like the type to say all that just to get in your pants, and if he was, he’d be there already. He’d just have to roll on top of you, but he’s only looking at you like you’re something sacred instead of a disease or trophy.

He must feel this too. He has too. And you want to ask him, but you don’t know how, because you don’t even know what this is. It’s magnetic and infinite and bigger than anything, forging something you don’t know how to name between where the White and darkness live in your body. And Dean might not even have the White and darkness. Nobody else does—that’s something that’s wrong with only you—so if you phrase it like that he’ll think you’re insane-

“My turn.” Dean says, and you’re dragged back down to earth, grounded in his smooth voice. “What’s up with your hand?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That one.” he reaches over, tapping the back your hand. “You’ve been touching it all day, and I kinda, uh,” he gives you an apologetic look. “I saw the scar. If you wanna pass on this one, I’ll drop it, but-“

“No, it’s,” you take a long breath, because this would be an easy one to refuse to answer, but his fingers are lingering on your knuckles and setting off little sparks over your skin, and you want to tell him. It takes a moment of just staring at him to you find the words, and his eyes never leave yours, and everything about him seems to drug you into a loose-lipped, trusting ease. “I’ve have it since I was really young. There was, um, an incident.”

Dean still doesn’t look away, his voice slightly lower. “Hunting incident, or-“

“No.” You swallow, turning your hand for him to see the long, clean scar on your palm. Running through it in a neat, raised line. “Just an incident.”

He looks like he’s going to say something. Not push, but say something, and you blurt out your next question before he can get the chance. It’s not what you wanted to ask—you hadn’t offered yourself enough time to find the right words for something really fucking weird is happening to me, and I need to know if it’s happening to you too—but it’s dragged out of you in desperation to learn a little more about him. In a plea for him to only know that you’re marred where he can see, and never discover that you’re twisted where he can’t.

“What’s it like?” You watch him carefully, your fingers starting to trace over the scar. “Hunting with your family?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, Dad’s a freakin’ genius at it, and it’s awesome to watch him work. Plus I get to keep an eye on Sammy like this. Know he’s safe.” He frowns. “I mean, it’s better than sending him off alone. Letting him be in danger.”

You hum, scanning over the wrinkle in his brow, your thumb starts to itch to press on it, sooth his whole face into a relaxed smile. “You guys are close?”

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah, I mean, He’s a freakin’ loser, but he’s all I got. He’s a weird little geek-“

You laugh. “He’s taller than you are, De. I wouldn’t call that little.”

“He’s little in spirit-“ Dean cuts himself off, and his grin looks almost manic. “Did you just call me De?”

“No.” You hold his gaze, even as your face warms. “Shut up.”

“I heard you, Princess, you can’t lie to me-“

“Well, is that your question?” You grin at him, your body leaning a little further without you moving it, and Dean eyes flash.

“You gonna tell me the truth if it is?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Then yeah, it was.”

“Okay. I did call you De.” Before he can gloat, you push on. “Why do you call me Princess?”

“I told you already, it suits you-“

You narrow your eyes. “Try again, Winchester. Real answer this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “You just,” Dean waves his hand through the air. “You’ve got a thing going. You don’t look like a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“

“It means,” He gives you a strange look you can feel flash through your blood, melding the White back into the darkness, turning every simple and bright as he continues. “That if you asked me what I thought you were, I’d have said something fancy.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done, and he won’t look away from you.

“I dunno, you just seem too pretty to be down here in the mud with us. You should eating caviar and wearing those poofy dresses-“

You snort. “Poofy dresses?”

“Yeah, like in movies, when they dance around like douchebags-“

“So you’re saying I seem like a douchebag-“

“No, I’m saying you should be somewhere that’s not here.” Dean’s attention is washing over you like a rising tide—slow and natural and deep—and you still can’t read that expression on his handsome face. “The mud.”

He’s so close. And if he thinks you’re pretty, he’s a work of art. You’ve never see someone look like him. Like he was created, and not born. Every freckle on his face is more like a star than a flaw, and there a slight crook to his nose that tells you he’s been punched there before, but it only makes you want to run your finger over the bump and see if his pretty eyes flutter or flash. His lips are chapped but they’d still be soft. His hands look rough, but that just means he uses them.

You think it would be nice to let him use you.

“I like it in the mud,” you whisper, daring to inch a little closer, until you’re sharing a breath. “It feels real. And,” you grin at him, everything blurring around you but pretty green eyes and shining silver in your chest. “I’ve got good company down here.”

There it is. The flash in his eyes as they darken slightly, a warm breath fanning over your face, and he looks golden. In the warm light of the lamp, glowing soft on his tan skin, Dean looks like something more than human. You feel like something more than human, and for the first time in your life, that’s not a curse. And he’s still so fucking close, and this is a terrible idea, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

You should. He’s John Winchester’s son, and you’re not sure how you forgot that. It’s past midnight, and you have a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.

But you still can’t move.

“You should, um,” you swallow, and your lips might have brushed over his. “You should get back. It’s late, and your dad-“

“Shit,” Dean mutters, but still doesn’t try to move away. “Yeah.”

Your eyes dart down to his lips—full and pink, just a small movement away from yours—and you decide you don’t care what’s happening to you. This is—Dean is—too good to care. You don’t need to know why this is happening, or what it means, or if you should be trying to run from it. You just need Dean. You think that—if the world ended and time began to move slowly—you might plant roots in the motel floor and grow into Dean until the world flooded and you were both washed away.

“I have one last question,” he mutters, breath ghosting over your lips. “If I leave you my number, will you use it?”

You nod without thinking, he grins, and you’re so fucked. You can’t kiss him. You might fall from a million feet if you kiss him. Down, down, down, clinging to him as you both try to find an end to whatever this is and likely fail to. But Dean sits up slowly—like the movement is painful—and when he helps you to your feet you think you might ascend from just his hand in yours. Touching him feels like it’s making you pure and worthy of something, and you have to know what kissing him will do.

Not on the lips. You still have enough of your willpower and caution to not crash all the way down, at least not right now. But you kiss his cheek, and that’s tragedy enough. It snaps something into place inside you, soft stubble and warm skin too much for your entire existence to handle. It’s all too much to handle, and if he hadn’t mumbled a low promise of seeing you tomorrow and left when he did, you would’ve jumped on him to chase whatever this feeling is. How it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt that might belong inside you, and the only easy thing that the darkness has ever bended for.

And when you sleep, that’s easy too. It’s dreamless and deep, no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, no darkness wrapping around you and leaving the sheets only ash when you wake up.

But when you do wake up, something is wrong. You feel it first, gnawing at your nails and blood. And when you roll over to check the time, your phone is gone.

It had been on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with Dean’s number under it, and it’s gone.

The paper is gone too.

You shoot out of bed, and Dean’s shirt is still in the corner, because he’d told you to give it to him in the morning, to trade it for your Agent Smith badge. But your phone is gone.Your window is open—cool breeze rushing through the room—and your phone is fucking gone.

You’d been smart to pack the night before. You’d been smart to keep your keys in your jacket, and park right outside your room. You can shove everything in the passenger’s seat and screech out of the motel lot in a second. You don’t know why, but you’re heading to Dean first. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what, but the White is trying to strangle your heart and the darkness is already eating up your spine and over your skull.

John Winchester’s sleek, black muscle car—Dean told you it was an Impala, and he’d said it with a pride in his voice that had dragged a smile onto your face—isn’t parked in the lot. And when you knock on the door nobody answers. All the lights in the room are off, there’s no shadows moving through the window, and the door is locked.

You move to the front desk and ask if the men in that room had checked out. And when the clerk gives you a weary look and says that they’d paid for another two nights, but dropped the keys off that morning, your gut twists.

They were gone. Dean was gone. And something fragile and new shattered inside you, leaving small pieces lodged through your whole body. You stumble back to your car, the darkness moving out of your body and the whole world too fucking big, and you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’d known him a day. He’d known you a day. Nothing was owed, but you can still feel it. How the White seems to be howling from the loss of him, and the darkness can’t stop growing as it sinks in.

He left. You don’t know why, but Dean left. He’d probably taken your phone, taken his number, and just fucking left you. Maybe he’d seen you last night, really seen you, and realized what you were. Maybe he’d just been playing you the whole time for some sort of scam. Maybe you hadn’t kissed him, and he’d decided you weren’t worth the chase. And that would mean you had been going crazy, and he hadn’t felt anything at all.

The thought lets the darkness move over you, and you can feel everything everywhere. The electricity in the wires over your head, the wear of painted lines in the parking lot, the hope of the grass peeking through the concrete under your feet.

The grass that smells like Dean.

It breaks through you before you can stop it. Reaching past your body and down into the pavement, cracking it open with all the force of how much this hurts. How it shouldn’t hurt, it doesn’t make any sense that it hurts, but you’re still breaking and bowing and bending to the way you feel like you’ve been fucking shot. You fall down to the curb, curling into yourself as the ground shakes under your feet, and the wind picks up until—in the forest across the parking lot—a branch falls to the ground.

Then a second one.

You manage to bring your hand to your mouth, to bite down hard and force all the darkness back into your body, and you still don’t know what to do.

This hurts so much, and you’re alone in the middle of nowhere, and Dean’s gone.

You still have your burner phone. Your dad makes you keep it in your jacket, just in case something happens, and it only has his number. You dial him with shaking hands, the darkness still trying to climb back out of you, take a deep breath as you raise it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He says your name, his voice already edged with worry. “I didn’t think I’d be hearin’ from you until after that blood hunt thing-“

“Hunt’s over.” You mumble, staring at the cracked pavement. “Got it last night.”

“Was it a vamp like I told ya’-“

“Moroi.”

“I’d call that vamp enough. Good work, kiddo, Rufus owes us a dinner-“

“Bobby?”

Your voice is soft, and he hears it. Bobby always hears it.

“What happened,” he says your name, and you can hear the frown in his voice. It makes everything worse, because you can’t tell him. Not now, maybe not ever if you can avoid it. You can’t handle how he’ll help you fix this and let you rest, then spend a week lecturing you and telling you everything you already know. Because you really do know. You fucked up, and you know that.

But Bobby doesn’t have to.

“Nothing, I just-“ you swallow, your nails digging into your calf. “Can I come home?”

There’s a long moment of static through the phone, and when Bobby speaks again his voice is low. “You can always come home,” he says your name, and you choke on the clean air around you. “But you get a week of mopin’ before we’re grabbin’ that dinner from Rufus. Alright?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Should be two days, if you drive carefully like you’re supposed to.” Bobby grunts. “And ditch that fancy car you’ve been usin’, I don’t need the cops askin’ questions about it.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You never let me have anything nice, Bobby-“

“You never let me have goddamn peace, kid.” Bobby snaps, and your smile grows. “Your bed will be ready for you. And I better not see that bells and whistles hunk of shit in my yard-“

“Aye, aye captain. No fancy cars.” You make a mock salute he can’t see, and Bobby huffs.

“Stolen fancy cars.” He grumbles. “Stop bein’ a smartass and get on the road.”

When the call ends, your smile feels real. The strange, fractured feeling in the White is still there, and the darkness might be trying to fly out of you, but you’re better than before. You’ll go home, Bobby will never know what happened, and none of this will last. You’ll be fine. Dean Winchester might haunt you like a phantom or cancer for the rest of your fucking life—or at least until you figure out what he did to you, and how to fix it—but you’ll get through this.

You always do.

—————————

Dean’s grip was tight on Her phone. It was just a fucking block of metal—it would be useless when they tossed it off a bridge in a few miles—but he couldn’t let go of it. It felt wrong to let go of it.

He’d be letting go of Her.

He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Dad said he needed to—Don’t want to let an angry woman have a line to you, son. Especially not a crazy one—and Dad knew what he was talking about, so Dean had done it. He’d snuck back into Her room through the window, grabbed Her phone and the paper with his number, and felt like the lowest piece of trash in the goddamn garbage can. The maggot-ridden chunk of food that nobody had wanted, but was still figuring out a way to fuck everything else up in twisted retribution.

Because there was guilt eating at Dean’s stomach. He shouldn’t have taken Her phone, not when She wasn’t that much older than Sammy. Not when She’d said her dad would be waiting for her to call, and Dean might have stolen Her only line to safety just because-

Because She’d been using him. And he’d been falling for it. She’d given him that smile like he’d fallen out of the sun and into Her hands, She’d crafted some sort of perfect mask that had felt so real—felt like this strange, mouthy, clever woman had just appeared to him, and he could’ve had something nice for once in his goddamn life—and moved Dean like a fucking pawn.

Dad had been waiting for him when he got back, and whatever weird spell She’d put Dean under—making him feel a little drunk on nothing, making him act like a fucking idiot—had been ripped away under his glare.

But Dean hadn’t gotten yelled at. He’d just been sat down—Dad’s gaze filled with disappointment that Dean’s bones didn’t know how to handle—and had papers pushed across the table in his direction.

“What are these?” He’d asked, and Dad had sighed, because Dean was too much of an idiot to just know, and Dad knew it.

“Read them.” Dad had grumbled, watching Dean through narrowed eyes. “And tell me if you want to see that girl again.”

He’d frowned but scanned over the papers. Printed out website pages about… Her. Her family. How She was missing, how She’d stolen from them, and how they were rich. Normal, alive, and rich, looking for Her and whatever she’d taken. Warning that She was crazy, a chronic liar, and should be turned over to the police if seen. There was no picture, but there was a description that matched Her perfectly, right down to a scar on her palm.

“Dad.” He’d looked up with wide eyes, something strange bucking around inside of him, insisting that this was a lie. Dean didn’t know Her—they’d had three conversations for fuck’s sake—but this didn’t seem like Her. None of this seemed like the clever, beautiful, almost ethereal woman he’d been lying on the bed with. Dean didn’t know howor why, but this couldn’t be the truth. “I don’t-“

“She’s just usin’ you, Dean.” Dad had muttered, his eyes softening just enough for Dean to know he was sorry. He might not really like Her, but he was trying to protect Dean. He always was. “Chasing a high that her daddy can’t give her, lookin’ for a way to pull somethin’ on us. Probably huntin’ just for some sort of fucked up thrill. This,” Dad tapped the papers, his face twisting in disgust. “Isn’t someone who deserves our time, and I don’t know what her game is, but I ain’t just gonna let my boy fall for it.”

Something in Dean had still been fighting. Insisting that Dad was wrong, he had to be wrong, because Dean might not really know Her but he’d throw his life down at her feet. He’d plummet to the bottom of the ocean to follow Her down, if She called him with that siren-like voice and asked him to.

And that was how he knew Dad was right. Dean had no idea who She really was, and he’d already been ready to become a sword for her to wield. So he’d nodded, asked Dad what to do, and fallen back into the line She’d forced him out of. And it wouldn’t matter that Dean had been an idiot and almost fallen for Her—Her tricks, or just Her—because Dad had saved him. He’d protected him. And it didn’t matter.

Now, as they drove—Dad’s grip tight on the wheel, Sammy sleeping in the backseat—Dean repeated it over and over. That hadn’t mattered. It had been a mistake that Dad caught, so no harm, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that She’d looked at Dean like she could see him, or that Her voice sounded like an angel in a dream. It didn’t matter that Her lips had felt right on his cheek, and that his annoying brain kept trying to move the ghost of Her touch to his own mouth. It didn’t matter that he could still smell the sugar and fruit that had invaded his every sense when She’d been pressed against him. It didn’t matter that She’d fit perfectly at his side, like she was just another part of him he hadn’t known he was missing. It didn’t matter that something felt like it had been ignited in Dean’s chest. Golden and light and washing him over with a sense of calm he’d never known, making him feel like—if he had been stupid enough to fall further—the worst that could happen was She didn’t fall with him. And even that would be worth the way this feeling was like lightning over his bones, making him strong and fucking alive.

But it didn’t matter. He’d fallen for a pretty, spoiled little bitch—his heart almost withered at that idea, still being a freaking dumbass and trying to justify why She’d done this—and he’d never even see Her again, so it didn’t matter.

And it defiantly didn’t fucking matter that he’d taken Her flask, because he was fucking pathetic. Because he’d been sneaking around her room, and the flash of silver had caught his eyes, and he’d stolen it like some sort of street urchin. He’d burn it, just to rid himself of the way She was becoming plague-like on his mind. It wasn’t like she needed a flask, anyway. She didn’t even drink.

But that might have just been another strange lie. So Dean would burn it. He wouldn’t tell Dad or Sammy that he’d taken it—they didn’t really need to know how weak and useless Dean really was—so he’d burn it and everyone would forget this had ever happened. He’d burn it, and never think of Her again.

Dean felt like he was being ripped in half for reasons he couldn’t even start to understand, but it had been nothing, and it didn’t matter.

Dean dreamt of Her when he finally drifted off. And his heart kept trying to beat him back down—back to Her—but he held strong. He could dream of Her and not go back. He’d never see Her again, and dreams weren’t real.

None of that had been real, and Dean could dream of Her.

So he would.

End Note: I know we’re off to a rough start, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but just remember this. What’s about to come could’ve been entirely avoided if John Winchester wasn’t the actual worst.

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

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx

@bakugotypecrashout @dailybakugocrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@Youdontknowwe @nyrtopia @Zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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Jarofstyles Fic Rec 2023 🪽

hello my loves! Here is our updated fic rec.

[some may be repeats of last year because we reread them!]

Also check out our fic rec account, @jarofstylesrecs for some we most definitely missed!

There are so many I want to put on here and I’ll update it again, but here we are! Let me know of any fics you recommend 🩷

WATTPAD-

Bambi- vanillasoy (or @queenofgraveyards here) (ceo soft H, in my top 5)

Flower- vanillasoy (bodyguard/grumpy h x sunshine ofc)

Devil’s Due- petite_cerise (classic dark!H)

Adonis- temptress_ (dark!H and fierce OFC)

Valhalla- temptress_ (Viking!H)

Baby Blue- theasstour (artist!H and model y/n)

Lucky Penny- alisonfelix (teacher h, soft, ofc finding herself)

Informed Consent- alisonfelix (college romance, absolutely tooth rotting fluff I’m obsessed)

One Night Stand- alisonfelix (short story, pregnancy one night stand plot. A lil angsty but cute)

Ladybug- _screamingcolour (50’s au, super cute)

Pirouette- _screamingcolour (ballerina ofc, so fucking cute it hurts)

Flower Girl- sushirrrry (idk how to describe but chef’s kiss)

Celestial- sushirrrry (WIP, it hurts but it feels good, nerdy h who loves the stars)

Wildflowers- latenightgab (assholeish tattoorry, single dad)

Jezebel- latenightgab (sugar daddy ceo x dancer teacher)

Office Hours- latenightgab (lawyer and professor H x student)

Pink Slip- stillhurtingstyles (plus size! Assistant y/n x boss h)

Always - styleslegend (my OG favorite fic, nerdy h x popular y/n, old but good)

A Lifetime With You- anenglishbird (supernatural au, witchy, adore it)

Inclination- peanutboyfriend (sexuality discovery, so good)

Aerial- peanutboyfriend (aerialist h and ofc, 60’s set, another top 10 fic)

1789- everlasts (period piece, just read it. French Revolution)

Breaking The Ice- sarbearfive (hockey!H)

Sail My Ridges- @1800titz (new but soooo fucking good. Piraterry, writing is phenomenal as usual)

The Devil is a Gentleman- @1800titz (again, writing is incredible. Kink heavy, lovely, bdsm club, masks, real estate agent H- just please read it)

Sinners Place- @shroombloomm (so fucking good, preistrry, all the good drama, 10/10)

Do I Wanna Know? - @eatyourhoneyh (trust me, stripper ofc. Obsessed)

Boston- witchysunflower (hockey h, cheating plot)

Haste- htownrry (pregnancy plot but unconventional, racer h, very good)

TUMBLR-

Prosecco- @moonchildstyles (older!H)

Gravity- @moonchildstyles (camboyrry)

Aster- @moonchildstyles (tattoorry grumpy sunshine)

Èlan- @moonchildstyles (bodyguardrry that pulled my heart strings)

firemanrry- @jawllines (softest H, made of sugar and the little puppy :( )

Ballerinarry- @jawllines (enemies to lovers, obsessed)

Young American- @0nlythrowharrybeaux (tattoo artists h and y/n, so well written)

Wolves- @0nlythrowharrybeaux (Wolfrry!!!)

A Good Fit- @0nlythrowharrybeaux (trust me, read)

LVRS CLUB- @0nlythrowharrybeaux (sex club slay)

Best Friend’s Dadrry- @gurugirl (exactly what it says. So good)

The Arrangement- @gurugirl (sugar daddy h!)

The Ex- @gurugirl (trusf me again)

The whole Knockout series- @freedomfireflies (yall don’t even know how feral this series makes me…)

404- @freedomfireflies (again obsessed, nerdy enemies chefs kiss)

Silk and Rope- @cupid-styles (dom/sub dynamic, so soft)

Only Angel- @cupid-styles (tattorry, experienced h, shy y/n)

Complicated Freak- @lukesaprince (best friends Dadrry is a weakness)

Rich- @lukesaprince (older! H, age gap,)

Mutually Beneficial - @cherryjuiceblues (Dom/sub dynamics, perfection!)

Could You Live With Just a Taste- @frioamor (Dom/sub, smut is mind blowing)

Love’s Divine- @atlafan (nanny!h omg)

Peaches & Cream- @atlafan (anything they write tbh)

You’re Someone I Just Want Around- @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy & @sunflowervolvimp3 (I put this every year bc I reread it every single year. I’m obsessed. My Roman Empire. I’ve never heard ‘like real people do’ the same since.)

Please You- @adorebeaa (again just trust me)?

Wolfrry- @adorebeaa (please I’m obsessed w this and the smut is incredible)

The Dark King- @shroombloomm (so so so so so good, dark obviously but I love it)

Achilles Heel- @angelisverba (I’m obsessed w their writing and plugrry but this smut is mind blowing)

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zwilho · 1 month ago

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best stiles/derek fics (personally)

i've read a ton of stiles/derek fics on ao3, even if i've never watched the show. yet among the thousands of fanfics there, only a few jumped up to me in some way, and they are:

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

this one is the best. it changes quite a lot about canon, making it way less complicated. i re-read it in 4 days, and i cried in every single one, because it's so fucking emotional. probably one of the best stories i've ever read in my life, i wish i had it as a book on my shelf.

there are also its companion pieces, "A Little After Midnight, January First" and "Raising Home", and while they are sweet to read, they aren't essencial to enjoying Home. Raising Home is a LONG one, and it has some moments that made me tear up.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

i love how it imagines everything happening if stiles were never there to get involved in all the supernatural shit. the character's dynamics are very nice and seem very natural to me, the plot is interesting and it doesn't rush things. very well paced.

integral to survival by placeholdr (only available to registered users)

short but interesting. it's all about stiles and derek's interactions, kind of hurt/comfort in a way, and overall just a pretty nice read!

what's nice about all of these is that none of them have sexual content, which usually makes me quite uncomfortable when we're talking about sterek.

#fanfic #ao3 #ao3 link #fanfiction #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #teen wolf fanfiction #derek x stiles

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vanilladove · 3 months ago

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‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ haunted

spooktober 2024 masterlist

⁶𖤐⁶pairing: demon!fyodor dostoevsky x maid!fem!reader

⁶𖤐⁶genre: (light) smut w/ plot; 18+ only!

⁶𖤐⁶content warnings: nsfw 18+, virginity loss, implied age gap, demon marking, dubcon, supernatural, blood kink, corruption kink, 19th century au inaccuracies

⁶𖤐⁶summary: you're a young maid working for a mysterious, occult-obsessed household, so everything seems normal when a demon appears out of nowhere and is friendly to you...until he marks you; myshka = mouse

⁶𖤐⁶word count: 6.0k

You shivered upon feeling a cold breath against the nape of your neck. Not that it was too unusual⎯this new house was always chilly. That was one of the many strange things you stopped questioning once you started being a maid for the wealthy Ivanov family. The lady of the house had taken pity upon you, a sweet and innocent orphan of the church.

The Ivanovs themselves were interesting...they were obsessed with the occult and their house reflected it. The whole house was black, dimly lit by chandeliers, covered in dark rugs and obscure art, and displayed the family's several haunted possessions. Allegedly, Lady Ivanova had sacrificed one of her children to summon a demon, and several of the previous maids and servants had mysteriously disappeared after having tea with her.

However, you didn't have time to worry about baseless rumors with how much they were paying you and how much more freedom you had now that you were gone from the orphanage. The Ivanovs had gone to a big circus in Ukraine, so you were currently watching the house and in charge of keeping it tidy in their absence.

You resumed hanging up some of Lady Ivanova's gowns, alone in her gothic yet luxurious room. Although cleaning usually brought you some peace, your skin always crawled upon going into her room. She had several creepy dolls, stuffed animals, and figures up on the wall, and you would turn them around to avoid their large glass eyes and deranged faces. Exhaling, you were shocked to see your breath materialize from the low temperature of the room, watching the white fog leave your lips.

Crash!

You yelped upon hearing something fall to the floor. Turning around, you looked to see a wooden demon and a doll dressed in a maid's uniform on the floor. The doll's black gown and white lace apron mirrored your attire. Your stomach turned as you hastily picked them up, rotating them to check for any damages before placing them back on their respective wall shelves. You put the doll back, but the wooden demon's shelf was a bit higher, so you went up on your tiptoes to try and reach it, but your hands flailed helplessly in the air. You sighed as you went down, looking up again to try and see if there was a better angle to reach up from.

Stepping to the side, you used your free hand to grip a nearby shelf and went up on your toes again, grabbing the demon figurine, but the outcome was still the same. You heard the hearty laugh of a man in the background, but you dismissed it, determined to put the demon up. Hearing voices was nothing new, and it seemed like the most activity always came from the lady's room. You swore whatever was in her room was always mocking you.

"Need some help, little girl?" You heard a sultry voice close to you.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Just let me put this cursed piece of wood back on the shelf! You tried to ignore it⎯after all, you weren't quite sure if you were going mad or if supernatural presences really did dwell within the house.

You stepped up again, struggling until a firm hand wrapped around your waist and pushed the figurine up back to its rightful place. You paused, relieved yet alarmed by whatever presence had its chest pressed to your back, which had caused your skin to run cold again.

You yelped upon feeling another squeeze on your waist and cold breath fanning the shell of your ear, "Not even a thank you? Did no one teach you your manners, dear?" Whipping around, you tried to catch the man's face but all that was left was a faded brown book. Peering over, you caught its title.

Crime and Punishment.

Sighing, you turned all the dolls and figures back to their original position before suspiciously picking the book up and heading to the library.

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

You had always been pretty lonely. At the orphanage, you watched as your friends got adopted into new homes and the sisters started to leave for new places of need. Even though you had left that place, the Ivanovs had more hired you as a servant rather than as a daughter. You couldn't get along as well with the children either. The fraternal twins that were close to your age both tried to play tricks on you and cut your hair in your sleep, so you tried to avoid conversation with them. You just cleaned and did as you were told, reading in the unused library in your spare time.

Although the house never really felt empty⎯there was always some sort of entity lurking. Lady Ivanova had made you discard the cross necklace the church gifted you, claiming it would scare the 'residents' of the house. They too would play games with you, stealing and rearranging your belongings or messing up the furniture and decor, but it had stopped shortly after an old butler suddenly quit. After that, you would only see human-like shadows move across the walls and hear the disembodied voice of a Russian man. The house got even colder, and it was always the worst inside the library. You had an underlying suspicion that some new entity had possessed the house, but you were always too scared to search further.

But today you had to push aside your fears and enter the library to put the book back. Walking towards the bookshelves, you spotted some faint white smoke in the distance and followed the scent of freshly brewed black tea to a small table with two chairs.

Seated in one of the chairs was a tall, pale man wearing a white suit and matching ushanka, with a long black coat draped over his shoulders. He was holding a novel in one hand and a teacup in the other. You hugged the book tighter to your body. You had never seen a full-body apparition before, much less one that could consume human food or read literature. This spirit must be powerful.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the older man spoke first, "Ah, myshka, you finally decided to join me," he pulled the empty chair closer to him and patted on its pastel floral cushion, "Come, sit. I made tea for us."

A shiver ran down your back as his magenta eyes stared into you, along with the pleased smile on his face. You stepped back in fear, "W-Who are you? Another malevolent house spirit?" You mentally planned the fastest escape route since you weren't allowed to exorcise any entities per the family's rules, but the man sighed upon seeing your wandering eyes. He placed his novel on top of a neat pile of books beside his chair and crossed his legs, tilting his face to the side.

"Well, I am possessing this house. But I'm just in here because of boredom." He flashed you another warm smile, but you still stared at him warily. He had to build up some more trust with you, so he pushed a tiered stand with Russian tea cakes and gingerbread towards you, "Myshka, I know you're lonely, and you surely must be hungry from all that cleaning!" He pushed a teacup with hot tea and a smaller pitcher with condensed along with the stand, "Why don't you just have some tea and talk with me, so you can eat, and I can relieve some of my boredom? No one can tell you off anyways⎯there's nobody in this house but the two of us".

Your eyes perked up at that, and you couldn't deny the appeal of the sweets in front of you⎯dessert had always been your weakness. Clearly the stranger didn't seem to have any bad intentions, but you couldn't really tell since you'd always trusted people a bit too easily. You were also still shaken from the figures falling off the wall, so you supposed a short mental break wouldn't hurt. You still had over two weeks to clean, anyways.

"At least sit and talk with me for a while to repay me for helping you put those cursed dolls back on the shelf". You clutched the book harder.

"That was you? You helped me?"

He nodded slowly in response, laughing to himself as he recalled seeing you struggle on your feet, trying to pull yourself up on the wall for dear life. "Indeed. I tried to play a trick on you at first, but watching you jumping up was so pitiful I had to come to your salvation."

Salvation, huh. You exhaled, deciding that having tea with your so-called savior wasn't too dangerous.

The man smiled as you slowly uncrossed your arms and placed Crime and Punishment on top of his little book pile. As you sat down on the cushion, you watched his expression to see if anything would change, but he only kept his upturned smile. You usually played along with any spirits that came to the house, but it didn't seem like the man wanted anything more than tea with you. Somehow, you felt like you could trust him.

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

Sipping your milky tea, you took in the new stranger in front of you. You learned his name was Fyodor, and he was summoned by the Ivanovs, supposedly for protection from lesser spirits. He didn't elaborate much on his summoning ritual, but he emphasized that he was simply just interested in observing humans of this era.

"So...are you..." You put your teacup down, trying to take in his appearance, "...a phantom?" You were met with a blank stare, so you guessed again, "...Poltergeist? But you don't seem very disruptive..."

Fyodor sneered cockily, "You think that lowly of me, dear?" You pouted, dipping some gingerbread in your tea.

"I'm a demon. I've been watching over this world for a long time."

A chill ran down your spine from that. A demon? Wasn't he being too nice for a malevolent being? You guessed that explained why the house was so icy and devoid of its usual activity, though. Although your heartbeat was increasing, you tried to remind yourself of the fact that he didn't want to hurt you.

"Do you...drink blood then?" Fyodor leaned forward, eyes full of amusement. You swore you could almost see a glint of red in them.

"Hmmm...not quite. It doesn't satiate me anymore, and I've long outgrown the taste. I much prefer the taste of souls and innocence now, although I'll occasionally indulge in mortal food".

"How old are you then?" You asked, biting into a jam-filled tea cake. Fyodor smirked, entertained by your innocent curiosity. He also found your love for sweets to be quite cute and endearing, matching your delightful personality.

"I stopped keeping track a while ago, but I've lived long enough to see humans repeat their foolishness time and time again," Fyodor tipped your chin up, running a pale finger over your lips to collect the stray powdered sugar and jam sticking on them. His touch made your stomach flutter, and he brought his finger to his mouth, "In human years, I'm probably close to my late twenties⎯maybe 27 or so?" He licked the tip of his finger, making your cheeks heat up profusely. "Well, I'm certainly older than you, no?"

You shivered from the fact that he'd basically indirectly kissed you, "Y-Yes, I guess so!" You chirped, making Fyodor snicker.

"You keep shivering, darling. This house must be too cold..." He shifted, standing up to walk over and drape his fur-lined coat over your smaller frame. You gripped onto the long coat, reveling in the warmth it gave you, murmuring a grateful thank you under your breath. He bent down on his knees to get closer to your height and cupped your face tenderly. "Better?"

You nodded, sure he could see the blush across your face. "Stay warm, myshka, I'd be upset if you froze to death one day and couldn't talk to me anymore." His smile suddenly dropped, which caught you a bit off-guard; you watched him stand back up and dust-off his clothes, signaling he was going to leave.

Remembering your maid duties, you started to stack the fine china and gather the dainty silverware before you felt Fyodor's hands stop you. You looked up in confusion.

"Is something wrong? I have to clean up. If I don't, we'll get rat⎯"

"Leave it there, dear. I'll take care of it." Giving him a puzzled look, you put your hands back in your lap. "I'll talk to you tomorrow night. There are some ghosts outside I have to take care of." Somehow, him leaving you made you sad. It reminded you of when you'd make friends at the orphanage just for them to suddenly leave.

Fyodor took your delicate hand in his and brought it up to his lips, and he pressed a light kiss on the backs of your fingers, lingering momentarily to say, "Sleep well myshka," and then slowly fading away, the tea set-up going away with him.

You pulled his coat closer to your body, "Goodnight, Fyodor..." You whispered into nothing.

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

That night, you couldn't stop thinking about him...the mysterious demon haunting the house who somehow was nice to you. Did that make him a friend of some sort? You weren't too sure, as the church and orphanage had instilled in you to always fear and never trust supernatural beings.

Anxiously tossing and turning, you didn't see Fyodor again until the next day. You had just finished drying your freshly washed hair, and you nearly screamed after walking out of your bathroom and seeing him sitting at the foot of your bed, composedly reading a book again.

Upon hearing you stumble across the floor, he perked up with his signature smirk, "Ah, dear, did I scare you? I did tell you I would come back tonight, didn't I?" He slowly closed his book, and placed it next to a flower vase on your nightstand.

You shivered⎯there was an instant change in temperature as you stepped closer to your bed. It got colder and colder as you approached the demon. Fyodor's lowered gaze made you conscious of your thin nightgown which generously exposed your neck and collarbones and stopped right before your cleavage. Not wearing anything underneath, you used your arm to cover your chest, which was definitely more visible thanks to the cold.

"You did mention that, yes," you quickly slipped into your bed, pulling the covers up to shield your upper body, "I guess I just didn't expect you to come so...late." You brought your knees up to your chest, "I'm freezing..." You whispered, feeling a deep chill in your bones.

Fyodor smiled, turning towards you, "Want me to hold you for a bit? Both of our bodies against each other should provide some warmth, no?" His sultry voice sent tingles throughout your body, and you caught the dark purple glow in his eyes reflected by the moonlight.

Feeling a strange pull between the two of you, you nodded, making an opening in the covers for Fyodor to slip into. "S-sure!" You replied, feigning calmness, though your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze. You had never been this close to a man before, much less in bed with a man.

As he moved in next to you⎯which felt like it was taking forever⎯Fyodor chuckled softly, sensing your shyness and nervousness. You tried to move back against the wall to create some distance, but the demon pulled your chest firmly against his, bringing your faces close together while one of his legs snaked in between yours.

"F-Fyodor!" You tried to back up, not used to the close contact, but he held you in place. As you turned slowly, your breath caught in your throat as you met his bright eyes. His presence was equally alluring and terrifying. The room was lowly lit by the hazy night and your warm candles, but it was enough to see the sharp lines of his jaw and the way his lips curved in a mocking smile.

"Are you scared, little maid?" One of his hands went to your lower waist to caress the area, while the other tucked your hair behind your ears. You whimpered lightly as Fyodor drew circles and pressed on your stomach, not used to the foreign sensation or the tension building in your lower abdomen.

You tried backing up again but stopped upon feeling his soft lips run under your ear and hearing a soft groan leave his mouth, ""Mmm...your skin…your hair, so soft and silky…your scent…it's intoxicating," his lips went down to your décolletage and your breath caught in your throat, "...like the sweetest, finest roses of summer. I could just bury my face in your hair and breathe you in all day..."

All you could do was close your eyes, sure your once cold body was hotter than fire now from his touch. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly until you felt his warm breath leave your neck, and you slowly opened your eyes back up and halted his movements, "Fyodor, please⎯it's too much. I've never been touched by a man like this before⎯" You flashed your doe eyes at him, and he sighed and pulled away. You pouted, covering your chest again and pulling up your dress, which had slipped down from his coddling, "I'm warm enough now..." You were sure your flushed face and neck were evidence enough.

His hands went back up to gently rest at your waist, and an unreadable emotion circled in his irises⎯no one had ever stopped him from going further, but he guessed it was due to your shameful innocence that the church had instilled in you.

"Right...perhaps my method of warming you up was too...aggressive..." He tilited his head cutely, trying to play off his devious act, "I thought you had already experienced some form of intimacy." You shook your head shyly, and he frowned when you brought your knees back up to your chest to cover your body.

He wasn't too unsatisfied, though, and a gleam of excitement sparkled in his eyes as he thought of the fact that you were completely untouched, and the fact that he had just marked you, unknown to you. Yes, he was going to have fun ruining you.

"...dor! Are you listening to me?!" A soft poke on his cheek snapped the demon out of his thoughts. He peered back down at you, making you shiver when you locked eyes with him, "I-I asked if you would tell me a story from your past. I want to know more about you."

You really were so innocent that you'd already moved past what he just did to you, huh? "A story from my past?" Fyodor brought a finger up to his lip, contemplating, "Shall I tell you about the times I've seduced innocent women to get my way?" You coughed awkwardly, trying to cover up your embarrassed blush.

"N-No! Tell me about a time when you...umm..." Your frantically looked around the dark room, trying to hide how flustered you were from his burning gaze. He laughed, laying his head down against the pillow and motioning for you to do the same.

He patted your head, "Ah, I'm just teasing you, myshka. I'll tell you about the time I infiltrated a vampire's castle." You hesitantly laid down, resting your head on Fyodor's chest and allowing him to continue stroking your hair gently. You listened intently. No heartbeat.

His hands felt comforting in the cold dusk, and the vibrations from his deep voice put you to sleep easily. It was nice⎯it reminded you of a sister from the orphanage who used to tell you bedtime stories late at night when you couldn't sleep from nightmares.

You smiled softly before dozing off into a sweet dream, thinking about how Fyodor could become your new friend, or at least some sort of guardian since he warded off the other spirits in the house.

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

The next morning, you screamed loudly when you saw your reflection in the mirror. You had just taken off your nightgown, and right above the the seam of your underwear, a purple and black marking had suddenly appeared. It appeared to be an amethyst-colored Saint Peter's cross that faded out into strange black sigils.

Afraid of what it was, you jumped into the shower and tried your best to scrub it off, the scalding hot water making you wince. It was futile, though, and it only became more vibrant on your skin. You felt lightheaded, had you been cursed or hexed? Surely nothing presumably stronger than a demon could've appeared in the house?

You touched it again and shuddered. It felt just like when Fyodor was drawing circles on your lower stomach, and you felt funny again. You gasped as the marking became brighter, coincidentally also when you started thinking of Fyodor again. Fyodor.

Wait...maybe he could help you figure out and potentially remove the marking? He was certainly more experienced in supernatural matters anyway. You decided you'd enlist his help later as you slipped your black maid uniform on, grabbing the white lace apron as you made your way to the kitchen to resume your cleaning duties. You hoped you'd see the demon again, who had already disappeared by the time you'd awoken.

Grabbing a pail, you ran some hot water mixed with cleaning solution inside, watching your distorted reflection in the sudsy water, the bubbles swirling and making a rainbow cast from the sun's beams. You counted each one patiently as they formed.

...Or at least you thought you were; you made it to eleven before black spots clouded your vision, and a sudden, intense sensation of heat filled your upper body. You felt a cold pair of hands grab your breasts and circle around your aroused buds. A soft whine left your parted lips as you felt ghostly lips trailing across your neck, gently biting on your pulse points. You closed your eyes again, feeling warmth travel down your body, close to the strange marking.

It felt like you were trapped in a dream, and the hands felt familiar. You intertwined your fingers with the ones caressing your tits and slowly brought them down your dress, lower towards your skirt where a wetness was pooling. You tilted your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, feeling his dark hair tickle your shoulders.

Wait...him? Your eyes shot open, "Fyodor?" You turned around abruptly, but the sensations left instantly. You shrieked upon feeling water on your thighs, and looked down to see the pail overflowing and spilling sudsy liquid all over the kitchen floor. You reached to turn the faucet off, cursing yourself silently for getting distracted out of nowhere and making a mess. Additionally, no one was in sight, and there was no sign of Fyodor anywhere. You didn't even feel a nearby chill.

You sighed, stripping off your soaked dress and sweeping up the spilled cleaning solution with your mop and a few towels. You decided to take a temporary break, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead to check for a fever⎯you'd never gotten such intense heat flashes before.

Back in your bedroom, you didn't even bother changing into different clothes before lying back down on your bed, the cream duvet giving your perspiring skin some comfort. The heat flash had worn you out and made your eyelids heavy, so you barely noticed you'd slipped into a sweet dream.

His hands were back on your body again, this time touching your bare skin. You were on his lap, kissing his pale lips, and you shivered as you felt his cold hands down your back. You gasped as he pulled you down and slowly grinded your hips against his bulge. "F-Fyodor⎯" You moaned as his fingers slipped into your lace panties and he⎯

"Having a nice dream, my little maid?" A raspy voice startled you and pulled you back to reality as you tugged the covers off yourself and sat up, shocked to see the man you were dreaming about in front of you, next to the empty space on your bed. He had a satisfied smirk on his lips again, and his hand slowly went up to pet the top of your head.

You swallowed, hard. You'd never had a dirty dream before, and you certainly didn't expect Fyodor to wake you up in the middle of it. Wait, did that mean he heard you moan his name? You blushed and covered your face in embarrassment, in disbelief by your indecency. He giggled amusedly, "Is something the matter, dear?"

"I⎯" you started, mind still hazy and unsure of what details you could tell him. "What⎯" You were confused...when did he appear, and why were you so disoriented? You recalled wanting to talk to him about something, but your head felt full of too many thoughts.

You felt a burning sensation in your lower abdomen again, which reminded you of everything. You didn't know why, but you grabbed Fyodor's arms and pulled him closer, "I-I think I've been cursed...or hexed..." You tried to collect your thoughts as he wordlessly stared at you, urging you to continue, "There's...a strange mark on me...it looks satanic almost."

That piqued his interest, and he perked up, "A satanic marking, you say? That is my area of specialty...Where is it?" He smiled but it didn't quite connect up to his eyes, which were still intensely trained on your figure.

You swallowed, unable to think straight, "Here..." You trailed your hand down to where it was, right above your white ruffled cotton shorts. His eyes smoldered excitedly, but you stopped right before you could pull the waistband down to show him the mark, suddenly feeling hyper-aware of your lack of clothes. He watched, but you were too shy to continue.

Fyodor sighed, "Feeling shy? Allow me," he pushed you down slowly on the bed, and you yelped upon feeling the pillow hit the back of your head. Your hands flew to the waistband of your shorts quickly, but Fyodor only sneered mockingly, prying your hands away with ease.

"Oh, my little maid, there's no need to hide yourself from me. I've seen things far more…stimulating than this," his clawed hand gently pulled your arm away from your body and moved it to rest on his shoulder, exposing your skin to him, "You have nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, you should feel privileged to have such a...desirable body".

You felt the crimson rushing in your cheeks when you heard him say that, about to protest before he silenced you with a finger to your lip. He pulled the waistband of your shorts down slowly, and he smirked satisfyingly when he saw the purple and black mark sprawled across your skin.

You blushed again, feeling strange because he was basically on top of you, "W-What is it? Is it⎯"

"It looks better than I thought...very good..."

Your eyes widened, and before you could speak, Fyodor slowly traced along the lines of the marking, making you shudder uncontrollably. His fingertips felt like ice on your burning body, and you were already sensitive enough. You gasped and shook when Fyodor got to the center of the marking and pressed down on your womb, his claws slightly digging into your soft skin. You hands went back to halt his movements, but he stopped them again.

"Myshka, does it feel strange? You've never felt pleasure or been touched before..." You whimpered. His voice was so low and alluring, and it was making you even more lightheaded. "This marking...it's the mark of a demon. Given that it's here," He poked your womb again, which made you yelp, "it won't go away until your body's satisfied. Each day you delay it, the sensations will get stronger...You might even die if the feelings get too unbearable." He smiled darkly, continuing his slow tracing, making you shake even more.

"How...How do you know all that?" You questioned.

"How? Well, I was the one who placed it on you, darling." He smirked, and you quivered in fear when you saw fangs poking out. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, pressing you further into the bed, "Ah, my little maid…you're so innocent and fragile…and all mine," his hot breath tickled your skin and he gently nipped at your earlobe, "I want to do so many things to you…so many…sinful things… "

Your body jerked up, half in terror and half in arousal. You couldn't process anything, but you knew you didn't want to die. You felt like you were burning again, and the fact that Fyodor had you pinned down to the mattress with his larger, stronger frame didn't help. You still felt unsatisfied from your dream, and you knew your body wanted more.

"Fyodor, make the feeling go away, please..." You begged, and you swore a glint of red flashed in his eyes.

His hands found your wrists, gripping them tightly as he whispered seductively, "I'll corrupt you gently, darling, as your first and last..." You whimpered as you felt his fingers roam your body, his touch becoming more and more possessive.

"The dream you were having earlier...what sorts of things was I doing to you?" His claws pulled your shorts and panties down to your thighs, "Was I touching you here?" You hips bucked upwards as you felt his fingers run over your slit. It felt like you were being shocked, and you moaned when he started drawing circles around your sensitive clit. Your body jolted from the new sensations, and Fyodor laughed lowly at your amusing responses.

"It was something like this, then?" He pressed your hips back down on the floral sheets, and you swore your eyes rolled back in your head from the new feeling. His fingers sped up, and you gasped when you felt him pinch your arousal.

"Mmm⎯F-Fyodor, 'feels...funny⎯" He chuckled, not offering any sympathy and continuing his fast circles, adding to the heat building up in your lower stomach.

"You're so innocent, myshka...I'll make you feel even better." He grinned manically as he slipped your clothes off your legs and spread your legs further, baring your naked body to him. You shivered, not used to feeling this exposed. You'd never shown your pristine self to a man, or a demon for that matter.

Feeling your hesitation, Fyodor pushed himself between your legs to stop them from closing up and slowly kissed down your heated skin, starting from the valley of your breasts and staring into your eyes until he went down to your womanhood. "So delicate..." He whispered, before placing a kiss on your wet slit, making you whine. "This might hurt a bit, but stay still." You nodded slowly before yelping when you felt Fyodor stop his circling motions to insert a finger inside your tight hole. The pleasure turned painful all of a sudden, and you felt a searing rip course through your lower half, as well as a slight scratch from his claws. You grunted and tears stung your eyes from the intrusion, but it only seemed to turn Fyodor on more.

He groaned, but it bordered a possessive growl, "F-Fuck, myshka, you're so tight⎯" The way your virgin pussy tried to push out his slender finger was driving him mad; he hadn't had a pure maiden like you in so long. "I'm going to ruin you tonight..." He whispered to himself, inaudible to your overstimulated ears.

He pushed his finger back in you, trying to go slower to accommodate the stretch you felt. You kept shaking, so Fyodor bent down to capture your lips softly in a kiss, "Is this your first kiss, too?" You blushed, looking away. Truth to be told, although you'd never been intimate with a man, you had kissed a boy from the orphanage when you were younger. It wasn't exactly the same, but it still counted as a kiss, right? You stayed silent and pulled away for a bit, causing a small surge of jealousy to course through the demon's veins.

"...I see." He used his free hand to tear off your thin tank top, taking a moment to allow his eyes to skim every curve and contour of your body. You reflexively wanted to cover yourself up again, but Fyodor's glare cut into you and stopped you from even thinking further about it.

You gulped and looked down to see him pull back his ring finger, which was now lightly coated in blood. Your blood, from what you guessed was your hymen. The crimson reflected off his irises as he licked it off tantalizingly slow, eyes trained on you the whole time.

Then, before you could process anything, he pushed two fingers back inside of you, making you screech again from shock. It surprisingly didn't hurt as much, perhaps because of the power encased in the marking. When he curled his fingers up inside you, you moaned, loudly. A hand flew to cover your mouth to hide the embarrassing, shameful sounds leaving your lips.

Fyodor scoffed, pushing your arm down again, "Darling, don't cover your mouth. There's no one here but me to hear your pretty noises," He leaned down again, biting the shell of your ear, making you clamp down on his fingers, "I wouldn't claim you like this if I didn't want all of you."

Your mouth fell wide open as he fucked his fingers faster into you, the stretch feeling more bearable now. His thumb went back up to play with your clit and his fingers found the gummy spot inside you that made you see stars. He loved the way profanities and his name repeatedly slipped off your tongue as he went on, knowing you were slowly but surely giving into the hedonistic pleasure he was giving you.

He resumed his kisses and made his movements more shallow, which made you claw at his hands desperately, but it did nothing to stop him. "A-Ah, my stomach feels weird⎯S-Stop⎯"

Your whimpers made him smirk pridefully, "Hah, cumming from just my fingers? It's okay, myshka, I know it feels strange." He caressed your cheek gently, "Just release whenever, okay?"

You felt weak by the time your "release" finally washed over you. The pressure made your vision go blank for a moment and you felt your whole body relax blissfully before slowly tightening back up again.

Your muscles were limp and your cunt was so sensitive that you flinched when Fyodor pulled his fingers away. You breathed heavily, noticing the mark was glowing an angry purple. "Was that..."

"A orgasm, yes." Fyodor brushed the tears from the corners of your eyes and brought his fingers to his mouth, slowly sucking your juices clean. He sighed lustfully, voice dropping to a seductive purr, "This taste...is the closest I can get to Heaven..."

You moaned from his praise, watching him savor your taste on his tongue. Once your heartbeat slowed down a bit, you pulled Fyodor back down, missing the weight of his body against yours.

"You're so stunning, darling. I could just…devour you right here," He ran his tongue along the crook of your neck, baring his fangs on your pressure points. He bit down softly on the spot where he felt your pulse, and you exhaled as you felt him drawing blood from your sweet spots, which felt like euphoria, "But this will have to suffice for now..." Your overheated body finally felt like it was the right temperature, and the marking finally faded away.

You tangled your hands in Fyodor's raven hair, whispering sadly to yourself, "Is this...the last time I'll see you?" Are you going to leave like everyone else? Your eyelids felt heavy.

He chucked softly again, "Myshka, don't you know that once you're in a demon's grasp, there's no escape?" He kissed along your bites, your blood staining his pale lips a pretty cherry red. Somehow, his statement seemed more comforting than threatening, which was strange. Perhaps you really had been corrupted, seeking comfort in the sweet nothings of a being who just wanted to taint your soul and innocence.

Fyodor pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as he gazed into your eyes, gaze soft with longing and desire, "Goodnight, my little maid," He leaned in to give you a gentle, sweet kiss that tasted slightly of iron, "May your dreams be as sweet as your taste upon my lips…"

#vanilladove #【ｖａｎｉ＇ｓ　ｓｐｏｏｋｔｏｂｅｒ　２０２４】#vanilladovebsd #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader smut #bsd smut #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky x reader smut #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #i got too lazy to make this a full smut im sorry .^.#the way its literally halloween and i still have 3 more fics to go...help #happy halloween my loves <3

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littlewriters-posts · 8 months ago

Text

Phoenix - Damon Salvatore

Part two of the request I got the other day

part one is here

https://www.tumblr.com/littlewriters-posts/751027674692059136/hey-darling-can-i-request-the-damon-salvatore-x?source=share

Plot: Y/N comes to mystic falls as a foster kid, knowing nothing of the supernatural world. The catch? Y/N lost all her memories, of the past 150 years.

Stefan had sworn both Elena and Damon to secrecy.

Damon had come storming in, his usual stony expression riddled with worry, interrupting Stefan and Elena, announcing the arrival of his old love - that somehow she had come back to life.

Elena was sceptical at first "Are you sure it's not just another doppelganger curse?" she asked, a frown on her face. The name rang bells in her head but she couldn't quite place why.

Stefan shook his head "No, she told Damon she had the Phoenix curse. Not too unsimilar from your one actually, apparently she when she dies she gets reborn again from the ashes, all memories wiped,"

"Except when she wore that necklace," Damon interjected "If we could just find it, we could get her memories back!"

And she would remember me, went unspoken.

Stefan sucked his teeth slightly. Part of him wanted to dismiss Damon's hope, but the other half recognized that this was the first ounce of humanity Damon had shown in years.

"What did you say her name was again?" Elena asked

"Y/N, L/N," Damon said "Apparently she's now living with your friend, the Bonnie," he raised his eyebrows at her, as if demanding an explanation.

Elena's eyes widened "Oh my god," she muttered to herself before turning back to Stefan "Bonnie said that her Grams had signed the papers to adopt this girl, Bonnie said it came out of nowhere. But then she died, and demanded that Bonnie's dad do it instead,"

"Y/N, from my time anyway, was very close to the Bennet witches," Stefan mused silently.

"Yeah they spent years looking for her, and failing," Damon added

Stefan then turned very serious "Damon if she is Y/N you cannot go near her. Remember she doesn't know you, and you don't want to scare her away,"

"I won't scare her away," Damon said looking mildly offended "I am the eternal stud, everyone loves me,"

Stefan rolled his eyes "We really need to find out if it is her first, or just some weird coincidence,"

"What so she can fall in love with some boring human?" Damon asked snidely.

Elena stood up, looking sympathetically at Damon, which he hated.

"Look she loved you once right? I'm sure she'll love you again," she reassured and Damon scoffed so she continued. "She'll be with Bonnie on Monday, I'll become friends with her first, then we can go from there,"

Damon grumbled, but seemed satisfied with that answer, and disappeared upstairs without another word.

Stefan walked up to Elena, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"As much as I hate to say it, he's not the same person he was when he first met her, and chances are she's exactly the same,"

Elena sighed "We'll see what she's like on Monday,"

Y/N was terrified. Dressed in her flares and green top that Bonnie had kindly bought for her, she faced herself in the mirror.

The thought of being in the same room as people she didn't know made her feel rather sick.

"You'll be fine," Bonnie reassured, leaning on the door "Come on, I'll drive you,"

Y/N nodded, brushing all negative thoughts out of her head as she followed her new friend out of the door.

She tried to focus on Bonnie's voice as she chatted at her, telling her all the school drama as if knowing that would help her fit in more with the rest of the group.

But all she could focus on was the outside world, and how different yet familiar it seemed to her.

"We're here," Bonnie announced "Come on, Elena and Caroline are meeting us inside,"

Y/N nodded, giving the other girl a grateful smile. Bonnie had already told her everything about the two others girls, Elena was the sweet one who's parents died in a car crash, and Caroline was slightly outspoken, but lovely when you got to know her.

Elena hadn't told her friends about Damon's history with the new girl, for some reason it didn't seem right. She didn't want to taint anyone's view of the girl before they met her.

Y/N hid behind Bonnie slightly, as they approached the two girls who were waving excitedly at them.

Caroline was quick to embrace Y/N in a hug "Oh I am so excited you're here! It's about time we got some new people in this town,"

Elena rolled her eyes with a smile "It's nice to meet you," she said

As Elena studied Y/N she couldn't help but think that she was nothing like she imagined. She pictured someone meddlesome, someone stony faced and cold hearted like Damon not - not this.

Elena watched as Y/N gave a shy smile, her head held high but fidgeting fingers giving away her nerves.

She reminded her of a baby deer...or lamb...or maybe an otter. Something vulnerable.

"How are you finding it? Have you ever been to school before?" Caroline asked. Elena smacked her arm

"Caroline!" she exclaimed and Caroline looked sheepish.

"Sorry,"

Y/N shook her head with a smile "It's okay, I don't mind answering questions. I - I actually have amnesia, I don't remember anything until I reached about sixteen? Then I was home-schooled by my foster mom,"

Caroline stared at her with wide eyes "So you've never been to a party?"

Y/N shrugged "I mean I might have done, I just won't remember it,"

"Well you're in luck, the founders ball is soon!" Caroline practically squealed "I won Miss Mystic Falls last year, so I can help pick out your dress!"

Y/N hesitated, the thought of entering the hall with yet more people was giving her heart palpations, but she also wanted to make friends.

"Sure, when?" she asked with a smile

"How about Saturday?" Caroline asked and Y/N looked to Bonnie for help.

"We'll be there," Bonnie reassured and Y/N sighed with relief, at least there would be somebody she knew.

"What class have you got first?" Caroline asked, reading Y/N scheduled over her shoulder "Oh no fair! You'll be with Elena and Bonnie," she sighed dramatically.

"ooo History with Mr Tanner, good luck," Elena said, giving Y/N a smile "He's evil,"

Y/N laughed "Surely he can't be that bad,"

Y/N was wrong.

Not only did Mr Tanner sit her at the back in between a boy called Matt Donavon, he also sat her behind another boy called Stefan Salvatore, who was so tall she had very little hope to see the board in-front of the class.

And then he had the audacity to ask her question's in-front of the entire class.

She was quite sure he face was utterly red, and Stefan turned round to face her, making the redness worse.

"It's okay, he did that to me the first time as well, he's a dick," he reassured and Y/N felt the sudden urge to hide under her desk.

"Thankyou," she whispered, her eyes lowering to her paper and Stefan gave her a soft smile, trying not to show his concern.

If he had any doubts now they were sealed. He only knew one person who looked that panicked when talking to people, and he could recognize that face anywhere.

Unfortunate it meant she was still the same person that she was before, and Damon wasn't.

After history Y/N was grateful to Caroline, who talked her ear off on who was hot and who was not, although she found herself growing weary of the constant chatter and found her gaze wandering across the courtyard.

A large crow caught her eye, as it stared at her unblinkingly.

"We're going to the Grill after school wanna come?" Bonnie asked, cutting Caroline off her rant as she did so.

"I'd love that," Y/N said softly, breaking her gaze from the bird.

"What have you got next?" Elena asked

"Er - maths," Y/N replied, checking her schedule.

"Ah shoot, we've all got Biology," Bonnie said sympathetically

"It's okay, Stefan has maths, he can show you the way!" Elena interjected, smiling at her friend.

Y/N grimaced, as much as she didn't have anything against the boy, she'd take getting lost as appose to having to strike up a conversation with a stranger.

"I don't want to bother him," she said quietly.

Elena shook her head, before waving Stefan over from where he sat on the bench.

"You'll like him, he's quiet like you," Caroline reassured and Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"Ignore her," she said smiling apologetically.

"What did I say?" Caroline frowned, but Y/N smiled.

"It's okay, I get what she meant."

Caroline smiled from ear to ear. She often felt out of place, constantly saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, or saying it the wrong way and getting reprimanded. But Y/N made her feel understood.

"Do you mind walking Y/N to maths?" Elena asked Stefan as he approached.

"Sure," he shrugged "I'll make sure you don't get lost,"

Y/N smiled gratefully, not quite meeting his eyes before waving goodbye to her friends and following alongside him.

"How are you finding your first day?" he asked eventually, noticing her fidgeting hands immediately.

"It's okay, just a lot of people," she shrugged, glancing around at the people shoving past her and she shrank a little.

"Must be overwhelming," he mused thinking slightly "You know there's a graveyard not far from here - sounds dark but I find it's the only place you can really get some peace and quiet,"

Y/N looked up at him, for the first time meeting his eyes. "Thankyou," she said earnestly. "I've only got a half day today, something about adjusting to school life, so I might go after then - where is it?"

"Turn right out of school, go down the road to the old bridge and turn left," Stefan said simply as Y/N hurried to jot it down.

Someone with her sense of direction had to be prepared.

"Great and er - how do I get to the Grill from there?" she asked nervously.

Stefan didn't judge "Follow the middle path into the woods, keep going and then go left at the second turning. Turn right when you get to the old building. Just follow that path and it'll lead you back to the street,"

She thanked him again, feeling slightly relieved that she wouldn't have to navigate it without help, nor would she have to ask a complete stranger.

After Maths, Y/N bid goodbye to the younger Salvatore brother, before texting the girls where she was going, and that she would meet them at the grill later. With Stefan's direction's written down, she was sure she wouldn't get lost, and too her relief she didn't.

So there she sat, next to a random grave, her head resting against the cool stone.

In her hands lay a notebook, the date marked clearly at the top as she jotted her thoughts down.

Her doctor had suggested a diary, after losing your memory for no apparent reason there was no evidence to suggest it wouldn't happen again.

She didn't notice Damon watched her from the shadows, a pained look on his face. He hated the way she looked so tense, her fingers often pulling at the strands of hair that had escaped the messy braid. He could even smell the blood that came from her bitten lips.

But what he hated most was how she was exactly the same. The same slight crease between the brows, the same nervous fidget patten, the same soft hum as she wrote.

It was like she had never changed, like nothing had ever changed her.

He wanted to speak to her, even for a moment but he stopped himself. She hadn't changed, but he had. Even if she did, even if she could, remember him, would she still love him after learning everything he had done? Everyone he had killed?

Would she be able to see past the scars he's obtained and his bloody hands and still be able to see him?

He didn't know. And that killed him.

So there in the shadows he stayed, watching and praying that she would be kept safe.

Y/N shut her book with a sigh, stuffing it back in her bag. She glanced at her phone and saw that it was time to go, surprised that she had been this long.

But it was nice, the quiet, it made her feel whole again.

"Right, to the Grill we go," she muttered, biting her lip slightly.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and started walking down the middle path. She was unaware the Damon was still watching her with the same pained expression.

She came to the turning and abruptly turning, feeling rather pleased with herself as she did so for not getting lost.

As she walked she took out the slip of paper she had jotted the directions down in, and to her absolute horror the ink had smudged.

"Oh no. Oh nononono," she muttered, looking around herself in horror. She remembered something about turning near a building but what building was that?

She turned, telling herself she would just go back the way she came and ask for help, before realising the path she was walking down was a forked path and she couldn't remember which one she had taken.

"Oh crap crap crap," she whispered.

She felt the air around her grow colder, her lungs fighting for air as she tried not to panic. She'd been lost before, she'd be fine. It's not like Mystic Falls was dangerous.

Behind his hiding place, Damon cursed himself. He looked at her panic stricken face, the face he'd seen a thousand times before when she was forced into social situations, and felt his heart tug slightly.

"You lost?"

Y/N whirled around, her eyes wide and heart pounding, before coming face to face with the man she met her first night of Mystic Falls.

"Damon?" she questioned, frowning slightly "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, walking towards her trying to look as non threatening as possible. "I like it here, it's quiet,"

Y/N relaxed slightly "Stefan said the same thing - you're related aren't you? Same last name and all,"

Damon smirked slightly "Brothers," he responded. "So are you lost?"

Y/N's cheeks reddened slightly, a slight pout on her lower lip "If I say no, will you save me my dignity but help me anyway?"

Damon laughed "So you've got an abysmal sense of direction, it's not the worst thing to be bad at - come on, it's this way,"

"How do you know where I'm going?" she asked

Damon froze for a second before recovering "Stefan's going to the Grill too, I just assumed,"

Y/N shrugged, falling comfortably into step besides him. She couldn't tell what it was, but she felt more at ease with him than anyone she'd met so far at Mystic Falls. Like she already knew him.

"They go out a lot, I don't know how they do it," she mused, covering up a yawn.

Damon eyed her carefully, not wanting to come off like he was staring but also unable to tear his gaze away from her.

"You could just not go?" he offered but she shook her head.

"I can't, I need to go to the Grill anyway to ask about any jobs they've got going there," she sighed "These girls love shopping,"

Damon frowned "Job? Aren't you a little young to have to work? You should be out their partying," he smirked.

Y/N wrinkled her nose "Plenty people my age work Damon, I'm not a child. Besides, I don't have any family money...or any family and once I turn eighteen I don't get any support anymore,"

Damon said nothing at first. Money had never been an issue for him, he was a Salvatore after all, and his powers of persuasion meant he could get anything he wanted if he was smart about it. But she was just playing a human over and over again, with nothing to fall back on.

"Well I'm sure you'll find something," he said finally "Mystic Falls is fully of rich people, which mean nobody wants to work," he said amusedly and Y/N laughed.

"Alright Miss Y/N, you're here," Damon announced waving his hand in-front of his as if she would miss The Grill building right in-front of her.

"Thankyou so much Damon, that's twice you've helped me out now - I can't thank you enough," Y/N said sweetly, smiling up at him.

Damon swore he felt his dead heart stop.

"It's no problem - just do me a favour and don't tell my brother. He doesn't like me much,"

Y/N didn't question it as she waved goodbye to him and stepped into the restaurant to meet her friends.

Damon watched her through the window, still not wanting to tear his eyes away from her. His attention soon diverted to the bar manager coming out the store for his smoke break.

Within a flash Damon was next to him, forcing the man to look him dead in the eye as he did so.

"You are going to accept Y/N L/N into whatever job she wants, with whatever hours she requires and pay her double for working weekends," he said lowly.

Compulsion really was handy.

In the bar, Y/N was laughing with Caroline, the other two not appearing yet.

"So who's your date going to be?" Caroline asked gleefully, "I mean you don't have to have one, but you also kinda do if you want to go for Miss Mystic Falls," she added.

Y/N shrugged "I don't really know anyone Caroline, I'm quite happy just to watch and support you,"

Caroline's features softened slightly "You're so sweet," she gushed "Elena and Bonnie don't really like it, they think it's old fashioned,"

"Well it is," Y/N pointed out "But just because something is traditionally feminine doesn't mean you can't enjoy it,"

Caroline smiled "See this is why I like you, you just get it. So tell me, any cute guys caught your eyes yet?"

Y/N shook her head with a smile "Is that all that goes on through your head?" she asked.

Caroline shrugged "You'd only say that if you were deflecting!" she pointed out "Spill,"

"There isn't! I've met like, three guys since I've been here, one of the is Elena's boyfriend and the other is her ex!"

"So who's the third?" Caroline asked, her eyes widening.

Y/N blinked - she hadn't expected Caroline to catch onto that little detail. She gulped slightly, the feeling of tightness returning to her chest. Damon hadn't wanted Stefan to know about him helping her - and Caroline would surely tell him. But she also didn't want to lie.

"Oh erm...I met him on my first day. I got lost finding Bonnie's house and he helped me,"

Caroline clapped her hands together "Oh my goodness! What did he look like, was he hot? What was his name?"

Y/N laughed slightly, amused by the blonde's actions "I don't know, he was tall, dark hair. Really sweet,"

"Oh I bet it was Tyler! You know he's been staring at you all day," Caroline gushed and Y/N blinked.

"Tyler?" she questioned the name foreign on her tongue.

Caroline nodded "Yeah he's on the football team! A bit of a douche but when he likes you he's just the sweetest,"

Y/N nodded slightly, her gaze shifting round the bar "Does anyone at school work?" she asked nervously and Caroline's gaze shifted into one of sympathy.

"Yeah, Matt actually works here. And Tyler sometimes helps his dad with Mayor stuff,"

Y/N nodded, the gnawing pit in her stomach growing slightly. She hadn't even considered that people would look down on her for having a job before Damon's tone of voice told her otherwise.

"But don't worry, no one will care. A girl called Vicky used to work here, and nobody picked on her for having a job," Caroline reassured

Y/N then spotted the manager who was heading back to the bar. "Oop - there he is - wish me luck!"

"Good luck sweetie, hope you get it!"

As Y/N walked over, she mustered the courage to actually look the man in the eyes as she spoke to him, hoping that forcing herself to make eye contact would help.

"Hi," she gave a small awkward wave "I'm Y/N L/N, I was just wondering if you had any waitressing jobs going,"

The Managers eyes seem to shift a little, before he responded with a great smile on his face "Of course! Someone just left today so we have an opening. We can fit the hours around you, and you get double when you work on weekends,"

"Oh!" exclaimed Y/N, not expecting it to be that easy. In fact she was kind of upset since she had a whole speech written on how she would be a great worker. "Oh great, when can I start?" she asked.

"How about next Wednesday? Wednesdays are the quietist days, so we'll have plenty of time to show you the ropes,"

Y/N tried to hide her excitement "Great - thankyou so much!" she called over her shoulder as she practically raced back to the table.

Bonnie and Elena had arrived, sitting down in the vacant seats.

"Did you get it?" Caroline asked and Y/N nodded happily. The girls applauded her, giving her hugs and for the first time Y/N felt truly in place.

"What you can still come shopping with us right?" Elena asked worriedly and Y/N nodded,

"Yeah he said I start on Wednesday and I can pick my hours," Y/N said, taking a sip of her drink.

"Nice," Elena said approvingly "Well done Y/N,"

Y/N blushed a little "Thank Elena,"

Non of them noticed Damon, sat in the corner facing away from them, a small smile on his face.

Saturday rolled around sooner than Y/N had expected and she found herself slightly dreading it. As much as she loved her friends, they were richer than she was and whilst they would be looking at the prettiest dress, she would be looking at the price tag that came with it.

But as she entered the dress shop with her friends, all thoughts soon vanished as she laughed at Caroline's dramatics.

"I wish we could of found you a date - you would have had such a great shot at winning," Caroline said sadly but Y/N shrugged.

"I'd rather just sit and watch then have to dance with somebody I don't know," she replied.

"Well still...I'm going to try this dress on!" she announced picking up a blue number.

Elena patted Y/N shoulder "Ignore her, it doesn't really matter," she reassured. "Which one should I try on?" she then asked, holding up two almost identical dresses.

"Both of them," Y/N replied simply "We've got all day haven't we - and Bonnie why don't you try that green one over there, you'd look stunning!"

Bonnie smiled, grabbing the green dress to change.

It was then a dress in the corner corner caught Y/N's eye, it was a dusty purple, the slight jewels encrusting the top. It was beautiful.

She glanced at the tag.

Way out of her price range.

"Would you like to try it on?" The shopkeeper asked gently but Y/N shook her head.

"No it's okay, it's way out of my budget anyway,"

The shopkeeper bit her lip, "You can try it on anyways, no harm in a little dress up,"

Y/N looked at her hopefully.

"Really?"

The shopkeeper nodded with a smile and Y/N's smile brightened, as she rushed into the changing room.

The dress fit her perfectly, hugging her figure in all the right places before flaring at the bottom. The colour seemed to make her skin glow.

Too bad it was too expensive.

"Come on, let us see!" Caroline begged and Y/N sighed, opening the curtain and letting the girls squeal over it.

"Oh it fit's you perfectly!" Bonnie remarked "You need to get it,"

Y/N shook her head with a smile "And buy the first dress I try on?" she responded, not wanting to tell them that it was simply too expensive.

"See - she get's it," Caroline said with a laugh "No go change so we can try more stuff on," she pulled the curtain back over her friend.

She sighed, wriggling out of the dress with difficulty before placing it back on the hanger.

She handed it to the shopkeeper with a smile.

"It was beautiful but I just can't afford it," she said sadly.

The shopkeeper nodded understandingly "We have a sale section over there if you'd like?"

Y/N nodded, before spotting Caroline sorting through many dresses in her arms.

"Got enough there Caroline?" she asked amusedly and the blonde sighed in exasperation.

"I just don't know which one to pick, I wore blue when I won last year, but I've already worn blue," she tutted putting the blue dress back on the rails. "You found anything yet?" she asked.

Y/N thought back to the purple dress, but didn't want her friend to pity her.

"No, I might come back another day," she said softly. Or to another cheaper shop she added in her head.

"I'm starving, shall we go to the grill?" Bonnie asked.

"We go there all the time, I'm sick of chips and the smell of beer," Caroline whined. "Can't we go back the the Salvatore house, they always have great snacks,"

Elena hesitated. Her and Stefan were trying everything they could to keep Damon from doing something rash, and that meant trying to keep Y/N away from him.

"I'm actually kind of tired," Elena said, yawning. "Why don't we go to that smoothie place downtown and then we can all go home?"

That seemed to go down well with the rest of the group, and Caroline quickly bought Y/N's smoothie before the other two could notice, and before she could protest.

"Don't worry about it," she brushed off when Y/N tried to pay her back, so the girl just sipped her smoothie in peace.

When Y/N arrived home, she was utterly exhausted from the full day, and was about to collapse on the bed when she noticed a parcel on it.

She frowned, wondering who on earth would have put it there. She's been with the girls all day and Bonnie's dad was away on business.

Perhaps Elena had Stefan drop it off, or maybe Bonnie had snuck in whilst Y/N was downstairs.

She opened the box carefully and gasped.

Inside it was the same dusty purple dress she had tried on in the shop.

She gingerly took it from the box, looking everywhere for some kind of tag to say who it was from but there was nothing.

"Bonnie?" she called uncertainly, not knowing whether or not to be excited about it.

Bonnie came in, fresh out the shower and drying her hair. "You o - oh you bought it!" she gushed remarking at the dress.

But Y/N shook her head.

"No I couldn't afford it, it was just here when I got back,"

Bonnie frowned "Oh...maybe Caroline bought it for you then? You know what she's like,"

"Yeah," Y/N echoed staring at the mystery dress "Do you think I should wear it?"

Bonnie nodded "I mean it would be rude not to, and it is a beautiful dress. Besides what harm could a dress do?"

Y/N shrugged, putting the dress on the hanger and hanging it outside her wardrobe, admiring it in the light, before a tap on the window startled her.

She whirled around, only to see a crow staring at her unblinking through the glass pane.

"Oh shit," Bonnie muttered, her eyes wide "Y/N I'm just gonna make a phone call okay?" she said quickly, before practically running out of the room.

But Y/N attention was on the bird as she opened her window for it.

"You hungry?" she asked and threw the bird a bit of bread. It just stared at her some more, before flying away. She shrugged, closing the window.

Back at the Salvatore household, Elena and Stefan rounded on Damon with narrowed eyes.

"Tell me why Y/N has just received a dress that she didn't buy, but was trying on earlier today?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

Damon scoffed "I don't owe you an explanation," he said snidely.

Elena shook her head "You need to stay away from her Damon, she doesn't remember you. You're just going to end up hurting yourself,"

Damon shook his head "I didn't go near her did I? I bought her a dress that she wanted, and she doesn't even know it was me. Tell her Caroline bought it, she's always doing stuff like that,"

Stefan had so far said nothing, not even when Elena turned to him for backup. Instead he was looking at his brother with a saddened expression.

"It's okay," he finally said with a sigh "I mean, it's not like he's hurting her,"

Elena pursed her lips, not wanting to admit that she simply just didn't trust Damon around her new friend. But she had to admit, she met Damon when he was at his worst, and Y/N originally met him when he was still human.

Damon said nothing, but carried his bottle of bourbon up to his room.

"Maybe they should meet," Stefan said lowly "I mean, he's not going to kill her,"

Elena shook her head "So he can take his pain out on other people when she doesn't fall in love with him? You said so yourself, Damon's a monster - and Y/N just doesn't seem like the type to deal with that,"

Stefan stared into the fire, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What if they met here? That way we could keep an eye on Damon, make sure he doesn't do anything too rash, but at least he wouldn't be secretly trying to see her without us knowing,"

"Okay," Elena nodded, "But after the founder's ball next week, I can only focus on so many things at once,"

Y/N found herself in two minds over the founders ball. On the one hand, it was quite exciting to be getting dressed up and ready with her new found friends, but on the other hand, it was a long day to be around people.

She tried to push that thought out of her mind until Bonnie said,

"We're all having an after party at the Salvatore's, so I'll drive you there after,"

Y/N tried not to show her grimace "Do I need to bring spare clothes?" she asked and Bonnie shrugged.

"I'm pretty sure Caroline will change into another dress, but me and Elena will be going casual so it's up to you,"

Y/N then crammed a skirt and jumper into her bag, with some joggers in case it got too cold.

After Bonnie helped her tie the corset laces on her dress, the sudden restriction of breath was noticeable but not uncomfortable.

"You look stunning," Bonnie reassured, seeing the fleeting look o nerves overtake her friends face. "Now listen, I'm driving but me and Elena and Caroline all have to go upstairs because of the Miss Mystic Falls thingy, but we'll come find you as soon as we can okay?"

Y/N nodded, deciding against speaking for the fear that the nerves would make her be sick. She was nervous, and she didn't even have a part to play.

She was grateful for the three girls as they all chatted in the car, meaning that she didn't have too, and even as they left to go upstairs, Y/N gave them a small smile and wished them good luck.

Now what.

She glanced around the room, feeling suddenly very small as she realised she didn't really know anybody in there. She settled by grabbing a glass of champagne that she knew she wouldn't drink and settling in the corner, watching everyone go by in their dresses.

She watched and clapped as one by one the elected girls descended the stairs, each one getting an applause before moving to the middle of the room.

"That's a beautiful dress," Came a voice, and Y/N jumped slightly, turning towards the sound of the voice. Her demeanour relaxed slightly as she realised who it was.

"Hello Damon," she said, her smile more genuine. "And thankyou, I'm not entirely sure who got it for me, but I love it,"

Damon said nothing, but a small smile played on his lips.

"You don't look to be enjoying yourself," he acknowledged and she sighed.

"I know, I'm just...I hate crowds," she admitted "I'm so glad you're here, finally a face I recognize,"

Damon stared at her a little, the want to let all of his emotions tumble off his tongue was great, but he knew that it would be a disaster if he did so.

"You owe me a favour, Since I have rescued you what - twice now?" he asked teasingly.

Y/N rolled her eyes "Alright Mr Salvatore, what do you want?" she went along playfully.

"A dance," he replied simply, extending his hand and she laughed nervously.

"I'm a terrible dancer, I don't think I've ever even learnt!" she exclaimed but Damon's blue eyes met her wide ones and she relented a little.

"I'll lead you," he replied gently, taking her hand in his own. "Come on,"

Y/N accepted his hand, gracefully walking to the middle where more couples were now dancing with the original girls.

"This is going to be so embarrassing," she muttered, her eyes darting around as she saw that other people were watching her.

"Hey - look at me," Damon commanded, his tone soft. So she did, his blue eyes staring into her own and she felt her breath hitch slightly. There was something ever so familiar about them, like a safeness that she couldn't quite place, like somewhere she had been before but couldn't quite remember.

And they were dancing, in sync and ever so graceful, neither one of them ever breaking eye-contact with each other.

"Oh my god, is that Y/N with Damon?" Caroline ran up to Elena, horrified and Elena nodded with a grimace.

"It's complicated," Elena whispered back to her friend. "We think Y/N used to be an old friend of his - well old girlfriend - back when Damon was human. But she disappeared, and now she's back. And here's the catch - she doesn't remember any of it,"

Caroline's eyes widened "Y/N a vampire?" she whispered in shock but Elena shook her head.

"No she's cursed, every time she dies she get's born back into the same body, with no memory of the life before,"

Caroline looked at Damon, narrowing her eyes "If I didn't hate him so much I'd feel sorry for him - do you think he still loves her?"

Elena nodded with a sigh "Stefan said he never stopped looking for her after she disappeared,"

Bonnie grimaced "Can we please stop feeling sorry for Mr Killer over there, he's literally killed people Elena. We can't let him have Y/N, we both know he's end up hurting her,"

But as the trio watched Y/N and Stefan dance, even Caroline who hated Damon the most, couldn't help but admit the softness in his eyes when he looked at Y/N. Like a humanity that wasn't there before.

"You're an excellent dancer," Damon remarked, pulling her to the side after the song ended.

"I was only following you," she laughed, "Also why do all these drinks have alcohol in, what's wrong with something that actually taste nice," she said bitterly, setting down a champagne glass with a wrinkled nose.

"I'll get you something," Damon reassured "Wait here,"

Y/N didn't have chance to tell him that he didn't have to, he was already gone.

"I do hope my brother wasn't bothering you," Came the voice of Stefan Salvatore as he walked over to her.

She shook her head "No, he's actually really sweet," she said with a soft smile, glancing back to where he had gone too. "He's actually gone to get me drink since I don't like champagne,"

Stefan raised his eyebrows but didn't comment further on the matter, not daring to spoil her image of his brother.

"Where's Elena?" she asked.

"Gone to find her brother I think," Stefan glanced around to spot his girlfriend who was indeed chatting to her little brother. "I'm driving you all to the afterparty now, but I'm coming back for him because there's no room in the car,"

"I thought Bon was driving?" Y/N asked with a frown but Stefan shook his head.

"She's already drinking," he said amusedly

"No worried Brother, I'll take her," Damon had come back, standing besides Y/N and staring at his brother with an emotion Y/N couldn't quite place. "Got you some orange juice," he said, giving her a slightly smile. She thanked him.

Stefan hesitated, not wanting to start a scene, but also not having an excuse ready.

"Alright," he finally said after staring his brother back some more "We're leaving in ten minutes,"

Stefan then left, and Y/N eyed the que to the toilets with distaste. She didn't fancy waiting in the line just to get changed like many of the other girls were.

"Can we go back sooner?" Y/N asked, and Damon turned back to her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"And why would you want that?" he asked and Y/N's cheeks burned.

"No - I didn't mean-" she stuttered slightly before gathering her thought's and frowning at him "I just want to get changed," she said defiantly.

Damon laughed "Relax I'm just messing with you, come on before Stefan think's I'm kidnapping you,"

Y/N rolled her eyes, put picked up her skirts so they wouldn't trail on the floor, before picking up her bags that she had left in the cloakroom. Or tried to, before Damon took them from her.

"And who would I be if I let a lady carry her own bags," he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She curtseyed playfully "Well thankyou Mr Salvatore," she said mockingly, a slight blush blossoming her cheeks.

She didn't understand why, but she felt more comfortable around Damon than anyone else she had met so far, except perhaps Elena, and she had been around him the least.

But there was something utterly familiar about him.

He gave her a cocky grin before opening the car door for her.

"How long are you going to keep up this gentleman act?" she asked as he got in the drivers seat. He put a hand on his chest in mock offense.

"What makes you think it's an act?" he asked, and Y/N laughed, which was quickly followed by a yawn. "You're sure you're up for a party?" he asked.

Y/N nodded, her head resting against the window watching the scenery drive by.

"Thank-you for being so kind to me," she said, glancing at him. His fingers tightened one the wheel slightly.

"You're welcome," was all he said. As she turned away, he tried desperately not to look at her, not to wear his heart on his sleeve like she wore hers.

"Welcome to the Salvatore party," he said when he arrived "Bathrooms down the hall, go right then wa-I'll show you," he said, realising that she would probably get lost.

He then noticed the slight frown on her face "What's wrong," he asked, concerned.

She shook her head "Nothing, It just looks really familiar,"

Damon shrugged "Looks like any old museum I guess,"

She smiled at him as he opened the door to the bathroom, shutting it behind her as she entered.

"Be quick, or I'll miss you too much," he called out and smiled to himself when he heard her laugh.

In the bathroom, Y/N was quick to get dressed, the only problem being she couldn't quite reach the laced up corset and she groaned.

Stepping timidly out of the bathroom she spotted Damon who was leaning against the wall, staring into space.

"Damon?" she asked, and he turned to her with raised eyebrows. "Ca you help untie me please?"

He froze for a second as she lifted her hair, turning her back to him.

His fingers danced carefully over her skin, the temptation to hold her almost overwhelming but he cleared his throat and pushed that thought out of his head.

He carefully undid all the silk ties, letting him fall beneath his fingers. Y/N clasped the front of the dress tightly, so not to let it fall down.

"There you go," Damon said quietly, almost whispering. Y/N turned to him, almost bumping noses with how close they were.

"Thankyou," she replied softly, glancing into his blue eyes as they studied her own, before clearing her throat and returning to the bathroom to get dressed once more.

Damon leant on the wall his hands rubbing his head.

He needed to get a grip he decided.

Y/N changed into the miniskirt that Elena had leant her, with an oversized jumper that barely brushed the bottom of the skirt.

"Okay I'm all ready," she announced and Damon smiled lazily at her.

"About time, the party is about to get started." he said, leading her away and to where numerous people were already standing and Y/N felt herself shrink behind him slightly.

"Y/N!" Elena announced, grabbing her friend by the arm and leading her away from Damon with a glare to the man. Damon watched, biting the urge to follow her down.

Y/N looked back to him, looking slightly regretful and giving him a soft smile, which he raised his glass too.

"So you and Damon?" Bonnie questioned, raising her eyebrows.

Y/N felt her skin burn slightly "He's really sweet," she said quietly

Caroline screwed her nose up "But-Damon seriously? He's such a dick,"

Elena rolled her eyes "Maybe he just really likes Y/N," she said pointedly to Caroline, who pursed her lips slightly.

For the rest of the night the girls kept a close eye on Y/N, not wanting her to see Damon but also not wanting her too suspect anything. However as the night drew on, the girls got more drunk, and Y/N remained sober allowing her to slip away.

It's not that she wanted away from them in particular, but the crowds were getting far too much for her.

So she found herself wandering the halls of the Salvatore building, the vague familiarity of it making her head spin a little. Her fingers ran down the walls as she walked, feeling the old wallpaper beneath her fingers.

She came to the double doors, and something in the back of her mind was begging her to open it, so she did and gasped.

A library.

It was beautiful, with even a seating area near an old fireplace and rows and rows of books.

She marvelled at the sheer amount, before picking a random one and collapsing on the sofa that was there. It didn't take her long to get comfy, curling up against the arm, the book on her lap.

Back at the party, Damon was looking for her, the slight worry settling in his heart.

He cornered Elena, frowning at her "Where's Y/N?" he demanded "I thought you wanted to keep her safe,"

Elena looked around "I thought she went to find you," she said, the worry edging into her voice, barely audible over the slurring of her words as she danced with an empty cup in her hands.

Damon glowered at her, if it was anybody else she would have had her throat ripped out, but he stopped himself.

"Guess I'll go find her," he said sharply.

It was then the thought occurred to him that Y/N said she found the place familiar, and he was sure that apart from in 1864, she had never stepped foot in the building.

And where did she go whenever there was a party?

The library.

He almost laughed when he saw her, curled up against the arm of the sofa, a book in her lap and utterly oblivious to the world around her.

"We were worried about you," he said smoothly, trying to mask the dying worry in his voice.

Y/N looked up with wide eyes, quickly shutting the book and scrambling to her feet. "Oh God I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. It's just...you have a library in your house," she said weakly, looking embarrassed.

Damon waved her off "You're welcome to use it any time you like, the door is always open,"

Y/N smiled gratefully at him, sitting back down in the seat.

Damon watched as she read, the uncanny similarity between now and when he first met her almost to real to bare. Yet she didn't know him now, just like she didn't know him then.

But maybe she didn't need to remember him, maybe he could get her to fall in love with him a second time.

Y/N shivered slightly, even her thin jumper not quite enough to protect her from the coldness of the large house, especially since the room itself was so big.

Damon eyed her "You look exhausted, want me to take you home?" he asked sincerely.

Y/N shook her head "I can't, Bonnie has the house keys and god knows where she is,"

"You're more than welcome to stay here," Damon said softly and Y/N looked up at him in surprise.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," she declined but Damon shook his head at her.

"It's a boarding house Y/N, we have tons of spare bedrooms for exactly that reason,"

Y/N bit her lip, her eyes downcast as she considered her options. "Only if you're sure," she said finally and Damon resisted the urge to celebrate.

"Come on then sleepy, up to bed," Damon said smirking slightly, helping out of her cozy position on the sofa. She groaned softly as she felt her joints click, but the warmth of Damon's hand in her own made it all worth it.

"Do we have to go through the party?" she whispered as she exited the library.

"God no, Elena would kill me," Damon said mindlessly.

"Why?" Y/N asked curiously and Damon froze, realising what he just said.

"I can be a dick," he responded after a beat. He didn't want to go any further, unsure on what she already knew, and the fear that she would then hate him was evident.

Y/N shrugged "Well, at least you admit it," she said a smile "First step to recovery I guess,"

Damon scoffed "I do not need to recover,"

Y/N bit her lip to stop herself from laughing, which Damon noticed with a slight smile. He opened one of the doors, allowing her to step inside.

"You should find everything you need in here, there's an en-suite so you won't get lost trying to find the bathroom, and there will be some clothes you can sleep in," he said in mischievous tone, a suggestive joke on the tip of his tongue but for some reason he stopped himself before he could say it.

"Thankyou Damon, really," Y/N said sincerely, after marvelling at the room.

Damon nodded at her with a smile, before going to close the door as he left.

"Damon?" Y/N asked, and he popped his head round the door lazily, his blue eyes never leaving hers. "For what it's worth, I like you,"

Damon felt his heart leap into his chest. It wasn't a love confession, he knew that, but she liked him. She wanted to be his friend, and that was a step in the right direction.

"I like you too sleepy, now get some sleep,"

Y/N nodded with a smile, staring at the door as he closed it behind him.

Part of her wanted him to stay, but the other part was content knowing she'd see him in the morning.

#damon x reader #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore x female reader #damon salvatore #damon salvatore fluff #damon x female reader #tvd #tvd universe #the vampire diaries

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