#or else he will be left with nothing at all like always

[robbyykeene]

It’s just like. We have Robby, the kid who grew up with no one. Whose only friends were two adult men who used him and turned violent the second he pushed back. Who slept on the couch while his addict mother brought home strings of random, strange men over and over again. Whose dad was never there at all. Who got drunk for the first time in his life and was sexually assaulted. And then we have Tory, the girl who watched her dad hurt her mom. Who bragged about needing to fend off creepy men with a spiked bracelet. Whose landlord tried to extort her for sex at 16 years old. Who has been repeatedly sexualized throughout the show. These are the kids who become karate influencers—not because of their skills, not because of any victories or trophies, but because they kissed on live television and people want to objectify them. Because they’re good looking kids and sex sells. That’s their happy ending. Trapped forever in the cycles of violence and abuse that have consumed their entire childhoods. What the fuck.

[meanbossart]

Based on the latest art/the famous graveyard scene, or at least my version of it. CW: The usual durge-isms. Astarion's sense of humor.

The graveyard is appropriately silent - there isn’t a proverbial soul to be seen as you stroll through the headstones with lazy strides. You’re so often in a rush to get from one place to the next, how novel it is to meander.

You wonder if either of your souls could tick up the counter; Astarion, a corpse-walking, and yourself something else entirely.

His head, battered and bruised as the rest of your bodies scans through the names etched on their respective places of rest, uncharacteristically quiet ever since you left the Inn. You’re worried. It’s been a dreadful day, and now he’s brought you here - you speak. “Are we defacing any graves tonight?”

Astarion humors you with a stiff grin - no, he says, then he changes it to a maybe, and then he asks you to be patient. His eyes land on a simple stone, half-sunken into the dry ground and overtaken by weeds and vines - a small thing forgotten amidst drunkards and urchins in a dark corner of the dead’s park. He sighs, pushes up his sleeves and snaps the foliage away with his own hands, dusts off the shallow writing and rubs the grime off on his knees - standing back a few feet to look over at his handwork. You squint to read his full name off the rock.

“Ancunin?”

 “Astarion Ancunin.” He scoffs. “I haven’t seen this in… Well, in centuries. I was beginning to wonder if I had an em somewhere in there.”

His amusement dies down.

“I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt.

“He must’ve had someone come and smooth out the ground- Cazador, I mean. He was waiting for me here, when I finally surfaced.”

The vampire's eyes have risen from his name. He looks past the rows of gravestones and into the brick walls that surround them, sight glazed over, face drained from feeling. His words, so victorious in choice, just bear a numb uncertainty. He is so tired. “From that day on I was his. Until now.”

You shake your head. “You were never his. Everything he had, he took by force.”

“Maybe. But he did take it. And I can’t get it back.” Astarion shoots you an assertive scowl. “There’s nothing left of the person I was anymore. Just a name on a rock. I need to figure out who I am now - and what I want.”

You struggle to reach out to him. For the thing which he mourns. His words, when they echo within your own, perforated skull, sound to you like a statement of freedom, a relief; you’ve also left behind the person you were, and there is nothing there worth lamenting.

Astarion is different. As vague as his recollection of the past may be, or as favorably as you believe things have turned out for the both of you, eventually - you can’t help but feel like he would still trade it for a do-over. You don’t have it in you to ask if he would be willing to do it even if it meant your absence.

You know the answer.

You try to make your peace with it.

This person that your lover longs for, you didn’t know them, and you didn’t love them. But you do now; and so, you find yourself wanting for nothing.

“What is it that you want right now?”

“You.”

He’s caught in his own lack of hesitation, sullen face brought back to life by a small look of bemusement, of surprise. “I want you. Not just now, I… You were by my side through all of it - the bloodlust as well as the misery. You’ve shown yourself to be patient. And caring.” His words are staggered by chortles. “You are so sweet to me. A shock, frankly, given the most recent discoveries. I often wonder if this was always part of your nature, or just a happy consequence of your… ah”

Astarion’s finger prods uncertain around his own curly head of hair, prompting laughter to rumble up your throat. “Incident.” 

“Perhaps.” You’ve never wondered such things and you never will. “You’re beginning to sound awfully sweet yourself, mister concussion.”

He groans in response, reaching the short distance over to the throbbing bruise on the top of his forehead, next to his temple. It was a close call today, perhaps the closest yet - or you only felt the ever more desperate given what was on the line this time. “Anyway, I should probably fix this.”

You watch as Astarion crouches down in the dirt. With a small dagger he had tucked away in his waistband, he gets to work scratching irregular lines into his neglected headstone.

Astarion Ancunin

His father’s pride, his mother’s starlight, his friend’s joy.

229 NR - 268 NR.

He makes an addition below the numbers.

468 NR.

“Is that the year?”

“Yes.”

He pauses, then proceeds a little less confidently.  “... At least… I think so?”

You both exchange clueless looks before breaking into an ugly cacophony of snorts, Astarion leans with his hand on his memorial and hangs his head down in feigned exasperation, shoulders jerking. You kneel, joining him on top of his undisturbed plot. The vampire shakes his head “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been dead to the world long enough - whatever year it is now, I plan on living it. And I’m not letting anything stand in the way of that.”

He puffs his chest and breathes a lone sight - no subsequent following and no former to speak of. His body sits back onto his shins, hands fall limp on top of his thighs “Not him, not the sun, not some giant brain, and certainly not…

“Come here.”

There was less than a foot between your bodies that the elf now closed. He cups your jaw between his thumb and his pointer-finger, you feel a gentle pressure on your neck as Astarion uses you to leverage himself over - your mouths lock, you feel a scabbed-over cut on his otherwise soft bottom lip, a hard lump that splits and leaks into your gums. You turn,, grab onto him tight - hot palms on the cold nape underneath the collar of his shirt and chest against chest, a sore nose-bridge buried into his gaunt cheek. Your faces break apart and he presses his brow to yours, a passionate kiss turns into a tight embrace. 

You take a long whiff of the crook of his neck “You’ve got me in a kind of way I can’t begin to make sense of.”

Astarion’s hand becomes entangled with the hair at the back of your skull. “I love you too.”

You feel it. The desperation and the future echo of his cracking ribs, the hot, vivid flashes of your digits prying apart bone and reaching into the cavity of his heart - you can’t be close enough to him. You can never step into his skin and he can never leap down your throat. An anxious feeling sinks into your gut as you realise that there is one thing that you still want; even in your waking hours of clarity, even in crystalline sanity, even in moments like these, ones that you hold sacred and wish to shield from depravity.

He murmurs into the side of your face. “Lets have sex. Right here.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to beg?”

The playfulness in his tone is brief. He feels it in your tense shoulders and stiff back - you aren’t teasing him.

You only pull away enough so you can look at him, hands remain latched to his waist. “I’m still afraid of what I might do.”

“I understand.” He doesn’t seem disappointed, only sobered. “Well that puts a slight damper on my plans. No matter.”

“You can help yourself once you’ve tied me up for the night.”

“If I wanted to make love to a rabid mastiff I’d go find a new maniac to lord over me.”

“We could still just… Stay here a while. Together.”

You come off a little pleading. Astarion’s eyes squint when he smiles - “Yes, I… I think I’d like that.”

It’s a little clumsy, the way you sway apart and try to find your footing on the gravel, how your hands slide down each other’s elbows and then lock tightly at the fingers, refusing to let go, new amateur joints; as if men like yourselves who’ve more battles than many do in entire lifetimes couldn’t dream of standing up without the leverage - it’s ridiculous. You’re like little children bumbling to your feet, giggling, trying to catch each other staring as you dangle your locked hands over gravestones and step over rogue bouquets blown by wind.

Everything is fine, everything is well. Your future is certain as is your happily ever after - whatever it may imply. You peruse the cemetery, mocking the dead for the names their parents have given them, their uninspired eulogies and whether or not their dirt happened to smell of piss - you make up stories about the lives they lived and both the horrific or the banal circumstances in which they died. Astarion skips up the stairs to the coffin-maker’s abode, overlooking the scenery - he calls for you to come admire your kingdom, death prince. You laugh, and he laughs, and it all seems so awfully benign.

“That will be king for you soon.”

“Oh, gods - get away from me.”

He knows you aren’t serious. This world has brought you too much joy for you to end it. There hasn’t ever been a moment where you were tempted to do your fathers bidding.

But there’s been moments where you questioned what other choices you had.

Not tonight, however.

Astarion rolls his eyes and takes the hand you reach out to him with. You are yanked towards the paved terrace up the stairs, and you pull him into yourself in a lazy sway by the balustrades. “We will figure something out” You say.

“As always,” Astarion confirms with an emphatic nod of the head, but his gaze is low - he stares at your moving feet. Hand-in-hand and hand-on-hip he’s picked up on what you’re doing; “It’s - left forward, right back, close left, close right, right?”

“That is only if you’re leading.”

“Well then, I guess I’m leading.”

“Be my guest.” 

He places a hand on your waist, you put yours on his deltoid, your boots bump into each other on occasion as you both waltz over uneven stone tiles, first with careful attention until you’ve caught yourselves in a sound-less rhythm. When you raise your eyes you find your partner-in-dance staring on with a rivalling smirk.

“So, you remember how to ballroom dance, yet haven’t got a clue about your own name?”

You ask if that disappoints him, Astarion assures you to the contrary. You both rehearse a dance for an event you will never be going to, and you enjoy every second of it.

[brawberryz]

the other family

Batfam Yan! × Negleted Coraline! Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error

This sucked

This family was the worst, you would have preferred to be in an orphanage than here.

You had been living with this stupid family for almost a decade and at no point did it seem like they cared about you.

You didn't know them that well, ever since you came to the mansion you didn't get along with anyone

Everyone seemed so focused on their responsibilities that you could never talk to any of them.

And you weren't going to beg for their attention, if they didn't give you attention you weren't going to give it to them either

You still had a little dignity and you swore to yourself to never beg anyone, you were much better than that.

Putting that aside, your life was pretty boring

You didn't go to school and you were homeschooled, plus the mansion was pretty creepy and no kid would ever come near you so you could say you didn't have any friends.

Even if you went to school you didn't think you'd have any friends either, people always said you were weird so you didn't think you'd be lucky to have any friends

Unless they want to be friends with someone as weird as you

You could say that the only one you had on your side was Alfred, he was like the grandfather you never had

He was the only one who noticed you among all the darkness that surrounded this mansion.

Your father and your brothers weren't the best, you couldn't say they were bad people.

They were just too busy dealing with their own problems that sometimes they ended up ignoring many things.

But deep down inside you wanted them to notice you.

You would like to be able to share those family moments with them, but that wish was only possible in your dreams.

_

You were walking through the halls of the mansion as usual, most of the time you spent outside walking through the gardens in the company of a strange black cat that for some reason had managed to enter the mansion

As you continued your tour you noticed a strange door, you had never seen it before which was strange since you swore you had discovered every place in this mansion

With curiosity you approached the door and opened it, it looked like a normal room

Maybe it had a little dust and cobwebs, it seemed as if no one had entered this room in years

You saw a small trunk next to a piece of furniture, those two things were the only thing in this strange room

You approached the trunk first and opened it, there was not much just some old books and trinkets

But there was something that caught your attention

A doll

But it was not just any doll, it looked too much like you it was as if it were an identified copy of you

Surprised you grabbed the doll and You examined it, it didn't look old which made it seem very strange that it wasn't dusty

It was too well preserved, you thought that maybe it was just a coincidence that it looked like you

But, you were surprised that it was wearing the same clothes that you were wearing at that moment

You tried to convince yourself that it was just a coincidence, it shouldn't mean anything

You were just overthinking things again, right?

You got up from the floor and left the doll on the small piece of furniture in the room, you began to inspect the room more closely looking for something else interesting

A few minutes passed and you found nothing, only small spider nests and the occasional rat skeleton, god, this place needs to be cleaned urgently

You were going to leave the room after not finding anything but something caught your attention, the wall looked very strange

You approached to touch it and you felt that something was out of place, as if something was inside those walls

Your curiosity was stronger and you decided to tear the wallpaper off the wall, Alfred's scolding for breaking the wall would be worth it if what was hidden between the walls was worth it

After completely tearing the wall your eyes opened in surprise, it was a small door

You crouched down to be able to better inspect the strange door, it was too small the only way to get in there was by crouching or being too small

You tried to open the door but it was locked, you frowned and let out a sigh of defeat

But then an idea entered your mind, maybe the key was between the drawers of that small piece of furniture

You quickly got up and went quickly to the small piece of furniture in the room, you started to search through all the drawers for a key but you only found buttons, needles and small blurry polaroid photos

You opened the last drawer hoping it was a key and when it appeared today you were very lucky because you found a small key, it was a little worn and had a strange shape but you didn't give it any importance

You approached the door again, you put the key in and the small door opened

You couldn't believe what you were seeing, when you opened the door you saw a small narrow hallway full of blue colors, you were very surprised and you thought that maybe it was some kind of dream but you knew it wasn't, this was real

You didn't know whether to go in or not, your instinct told you that it could be dangerous But your curiosity was too great, what kind of secrets that you still didn't know was hidden in this mansion?

You let out a nervous sigh and decided to enter this mysterious place, it may or may not be dangerous.

You really didn't know, but you were going to find out.

After entering the strange door and having to crawl to get to the other end because the space was too small, you finally reached the other side.

After a few seconds you were able to reach the other side of the narrow hallway, you slowly opened the door until you could get out of there

You stood up and looked around confused, it was the same room just a little more tidy and clean

Was this some kind of joke?

You decided to take a risk and leave the room, you began to slowly walk through the halls of the mansion

The mansion seemed more colorful and full of life

Your body stopped dead as soon as you felt arms around you from behind

You quickly turned around to hit whatever was behind you but you were surprised to see Richard

Richard

He looked the same but at the same time so different, it was the first time he hugged you like that and he was so affectionate

He had always been good and affectionate with the whole family except you, and that made you feel a little jealous of the others

"It's good that you came back, little sister, I was so worried!"

He said as he hugged you tightly, he had that worried yet sweet tone he used with everyone

You could barely process everything that was happening, you stared at him for a moment and your eyes caught something you had never seen in the original Richard

His eyes...

...

HIS EYES WERE BUTTONS!?

You stood in shock for a few seconds with your mouth open as you looked at him, you couldn't believe what was happening this couldn't be real But it felt so real

Too real

"Your...your eyes"

You said breathlessly looking at him in surprise, he just let out a small laugh at your surprise

"What's wrong with my eyes?"

"Your eyes are...they're buttons-"

Before you could finish speaking he interrupted you

"Buttons? Oh yes, it's just a small, unimportant detail"

He said without paying much attention to that detail

Your brain could barely process everything that was happening

What kind of crazy dream was this?

_

This was the best thing that ever happened to you!

Apparently Richard wasn't the only family member in the mansion, they all looked so different but at the same time so similar to their original versions

If we take away the fact that everyone's eyes are buttons, they were what you always wanted

They treated you well and were kind to you, even Damian who in your original world hated you and despised you in this world was very sweet and treated you like a real older sister to him

You did activities that you never thought they would do with you, everything was perfect

This was what you always dreamed of and you wouldn't change it for anything

You didn't remember how much time had passed since you came to this other world but you didn't care, if it was by your own decision you would stay here forever

And they wouldn't mind having you forever

_

You found yourself walking through the gardens as usual, accompanied by the black cat that you had met in your original dimension, it had appeared the first day after you came to this world

The best of all He could talk, he was a kind of guide for you and you were grateful for it

It seemed that not only your family had changed but all of Gotham

"You should be careful with them, (name)"

The cat said as he swung between the flowers and bushes in the garden

You just raised an eyebrow at the cat's comment

"Why do you say that?"

You asked curiously, since you had come to this world the talking cat had become too attached to you

And for some strange reason he distrusted your new family too much, whenever one of them tried to get close to you when the cat was near they received a hiss and also showed their claws

"Just don't trust them too much, they are plotting something that I don't like, trust me, my cat senses never fail"

He said seriously, you thought he was just exaggerating too much besides your new family was very good

It wouldn't make sense for them to want to hurt you

"You worry too much, if something was wrong I would have noticed it already just relax"

The black cat just stared at you without saying anything, he felt sorry for the fate that awaited you in the claws of that family

He just hoped it wasn't too late to convince you to leave this world

_

The whole family was gathered in the dining room, they had thrown a surprise party for you, it was a kind of official welcome and you were very excited

Your original family had never thrown a party for you and this was all just new to you

Next to the cake was a small gift, this was the best thing that could have happened to you

"What are you waiting for? Open the gift now"

Jason said handing you the gift, you nodded happily

But as soon as you opened the gift your smile disappeared

"Buttons?..."

You said confused looking at the strange gift

"You don't like it? You can be like us and stay here forever, don't you want that?"

Richard said approaching you, you could feel a bad feeling when you saw him near you and instinctively you got up from the table

"It's not that... it's just that..." You tried to find the right words, you couldn't believe what was happening, sewing buttons on your eyes? You wouldn't let that happen! "I don't want to... I'd better go to-"

Before you could continue speaking your body collided with Tim's, he was there behind you

"Why do you want to leave? You said you would stay with us..."

Tim said in a sinister tone, grabbing you tightly by the arms. You tried to get out of his grip but your strength was nothing compared to his.

"I didn't want to use force on you, (name), but you leave me no choice."

"What?"

Before you could say anything, you saw Bruce approaching you with the water and the buttons. You screamed, cried and kicked but nothing was enough.

Tim's grip was very strong and you could barely move.

They forced you to sit in the chair while Jason and Richard held you so you wouldn't move.

"Calm down, (name), it will only hurt a little."

Richard tried to calm you down but all you did was cry and scream for them to let you go.

It's too late to regret it now, but don't worry!

You don't have to worry about your old family anymore, now they will take care of you forever

Forget about everything, the only important thing is them and only them

_

Bruce was going crazy, he hadn't seen you for months

He wouldn't have even noticed that you disappeared if Alfred hadn't come to his office saying that you weren't at the mansion

He thought that you had simply left but after days without hearing from you he started to worry

He felt like the worst father and he knew that title suited him very well, he had ignored you for so long and now you were lost somewhere

The entire batfam was shocked, everyone felt bad about themselves for having ignored you and left you aside

Days passed and no one knew anything about you, it's as if your presence had disappeared from the earth

The only thing left of you were old photos and blurry memories in everyone's heads

But they was going to do everything possible to bring you back home, They made a lot of mistakes but they were going to fix them

Or maybe it was just an excuse to not feel so guilty

The clock keeps turning and time is running out, maybe when they find out everything it will be too late

Too late

I know I said I was going to upload other stories but in my defense...

I have no excuse, I just did it because I just saw Coraline and I was inspired🔥

[seongwars]

mornings

I managed to pull TWO of the 5 star Caleb cards from the new banner in one go, so here's some smut to celebrate

Word Count: 1075 Warnings: SMUT, yandere dad caleb, period tracking, unprotected sex, p in v, unproofread, mentions of impregnation, caleb malewifing manipulating, manhandling part of the lads!dadverse

Caleb’s day started at 5 AM, as it always did. 

He stretched his arms over his head, rolling out the tension in his muscles before pressing a kiss to your cheek. He took a moment to admire your sleeping face before moving through the motions of the morning: starting a pot of coffee, pulling out ingredients for breakfast, and prepping lunch boxes.

By 6:30, the first stirrings of life began.

Ciel prided himself on being the oldest at six and got himself ready without any help. Archer, however, was still wrapped in his blanket, clutching his dinosaur plush and groaning in protest when Caleb nudged him awake.

As for the twins, transitioning them to toddler beds had been your idea and Caleb was starting to question it. Eden had turned the mattresses into his personal trampoline, while Stella lay sprawled on the floor, too lazy to get up. With a resigned sigh, Caleb scooped them both up and carried them to the kitchen, where their older brothers were already waiting patiently for breakfast.

By 7:30, the house was empty. The car was loaded, and everyone was buckled in for school and daycare drop off. 

Caleb's day started at 5 AM, just as it always did. He made sure everything was taken care of just the way you liked it. There was no reason for you to lift a finger.

Because when you woke up, he wanted your focus to be on him. 

You felt it the moment you opened your eyes. Every hormone in your system seemed dead set on one thing: getting absolutely wrecked by the man who had just finished the school run.

Somehow, Caleb always timed it perfectly, as if he had mapped out every fluctuation, every shift in your body like clockwork. As if he had studied you. Tracked you. Controlled you in ways you hadn’t even realized.

You padded sleepily toward the kitchen, drawn to the smell of coffee and there he was, standing menacingly by the fridge, fresh from the shower wearing those damn gray sweatpants.

It wasn’t fair. No man should look that good after wrangling four kids, doing the laundry and cleaning the house from top to bottom. His hair was still damp with droplets clinging to his skin and his muscles flexed as he reached for a glass of water. And those sweatpants? They clung just right, taunting you to pull them down and wrap your lips around his cock. 

Caleb turned at the sound of your footsteps, a slow, knowing smile creeping across his lips.

"Morning, baby," he murmured, like he’d been waiting for you.

And just like that, you forgot everything else.

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, every nerve screaming at you to jump his bones—to shove him against the counter, to drag him back to bed, the counter, the floor, any surface to hold you up as he fucked your brains out. 

And your husband happily obliged. 

“How’re you still so tight after four kids?” he grunted, slamming his hips into you from behind.

You didn't respond, too fucked out on his cock as his balls slapped against your swollen pussy. Instead, you pushed your ass against him, the couch shaking as you gasped into the cushions. 

How many times had you cum? You didn’t know—you’d been too preoccupied with begging him to fill you up, as you were faced down and ass up.

“You’re so slutty, mommy.”

He growled and leaned forward, pressing his chest into your back, all while continuing his brutal pace, hitting that spot that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

Your body jerked forward with each thrust and there was nothing you could do to stop it, to stop him. He was relentless in his need to plant his seed in  you, and it left you helpless to do anything but take it.

His large hand slid from your hip up to your tits, squeezing roughly, before rolling a nipple between his calloused fingers. The sound of your squelching pussy spurred him on, urging him to fill your empty womb to the brim. You didn’t think it was possible, but he somehow managed to fit in another inch.

“Gonna put another baby in you. You’d like that, huh?”

“Hnng I love it. Please, please baby, I want it. Cum in me,” you begged, tears pricking the corner of your eyes from the pleasure. 

Caleb's fingers reached down to your clit, circling your sensitive bundle of nerves that brought you over the edge. As pleasure wracked your body, your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. It didn't help that he continued pumping his hips into you as he rode out his orgasm.

His hand lingered on your stomach, fingers pressing lightly as if he were mapping out his territory. You sighed, sinking into his embrace, completely missing the way his eyes darkened as he flipped you on to your back. 

“Caleb!”

“That’s not my name.”

His lips found your breast, latching onto one of your nipples as his tongue flicked over the hardened peak. His other hand cupped and kneaded your other tit, pinching and fondling just enough to make you arch into him.

“Baby!”

“That’s more like it.”

He smirked against your skin, the warmth of his breath sending another wave of sensation through you. His lips moved from your chest to your neck, your jaw, your cheek, peppering kisses that made you giggle. 

But there was nothing soft about the way he held you.

You didn’t the way he had meticulously designed your life to keep you tethered to him.

The kids, your beautiful babies, were his strongest hold over you. He knew you would never abandon them, and in turn, you would never abandon him. The chores, the cooking, the late nights when they were sick? He took it all upon himself, so you never had to worry.

So you’d never have to imagine what life could be like without him.

He made himself indispensable, carving himself into every aspect of your life until the mere thought of doing anything alone felt impossible.

All you saw was the perfect husband. The devoted father. The man who did everything for you, who loved you so much it was almost overwhelming.

Caleb’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as the sharp chime of his phone interrupted the moment. 

It was time to pick up the kids.

[cherry-zip]

─ • CSC .ᐟ Tie a Cherry

› content ┆ Choi Seungcheol x fem reader ⊹ genre .ᐟ smut and cute ending ✎ word-count ┆ 2k. ⌁ summary ┆Choi Seungcheol comes home late from work, dressed in his suit and tie, to find his girlfriend waiting in pink pajamas. With a playful pull of his tie, she drags him to the sofa, ready to unwind with a sexy Valentine’s Day gift, filled with affection and desire. ⨯ content warning .ᐟ dry humping, making out, cheol is hot.

✧ happy valentine's day - here's my first even nsfw fic as a gift ✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! this is my first even nsfw fic so bear with me.

› minor do not interact, you will be blocked

It’s nearly midnight when you hear the familiar sound of Seungcheol’s key turning in the lock. You’ve been waiting for him all night, watching the clock tick steadily past the hours he usually gets home. Though you know how busy he can get with work, it doesn’t stop the small knot of worry from forming in your stomach. Seungcheol had let you know beforehand that he was going to come home late today but that didn’t stop you from waiting.

Had it been any other day you would have already gone to bed, but, it was Valentine’s Day, and you felt the need to stay up for him tonight. You didn’t mind him not being home for this special day—you knew how important work was for him, and it was something that you were okay with.

He would make it up for you. He always did.

Finally, the door creaked open, and there he was —your tired, overworked boyfriend, standing in the doorway with his suit still on. You can practically feel the weight of the day hanging around him. He looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slumped, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he slipped his shoes off.

You watched him for a moment, taking in the sight of him, knowing just how much he’d been pushing himself lately. You can see the strain on his face, the last thing he needs is to be left alone with his thoughts. You wouldn’t let that happen, not tonight at least.

You approached him before he could get too comfortable, stepping softly toward him while wearing one of his shirts paired with pink shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The kind that made you feel both cozy and confident. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow playfully, but there was a hint of concern behind your teasing gaze.

"You’re late," you say, a gentle accusation in your voice.

Seungcheol looks at you, his lips curling into a tired but genuine smile. "I know, I’m sorry," he says, his voice low, but you can hear the weariness in it. "It’s been one of those days."

You know exactly what he meant. He said it all the time. But it never stopped you from worrying, especially when he’s gone all day, getting caught up in the never-ending cycle of meetings, deadlines, and calls.

"You’re always saying that," you tease, but it’s softer than it sounds. "You’re always working so hard. Are you ever going to let me take care of you?"

A brief pause follows, and you see the hint of guilt flash across his face. You hate when he feels guilty, even though you know he can’t help it.

"I promise I’ll make it up to you," he says, stepping closer as if trying to reassure you—and maybe himself, too.

And he will make it up to you, one way or another. But before he can say anything else, you act on impulse. You reach for his tie, grabbing hold of it with a sudden surge of energy.

"Hey!" Seungcheol laughs in surprise as you pull him toward the couch. He stumbles slightly, but you guide him down easily, tugging him until he’s sitting down.

“Stop laughing,” you say, smirking. “I’m trying to help you relax.”

You sat on his lap, straddling him as your hands worked on his tie, undoing it with practiced ease. His jacket was already slipping off his shoulders, but you weren’t done yet. You could feel the stiffness in his body, the tension clinging onto him even after the long day. You won’t let him stay like this. Not while you’re here. Not while he was under you.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmured, the words soft but firm. "You deserve a break."

He chuckled, but there was something softer behind his laughter. "You always know what I need," he says, his voice low, a little tired but somehow full of affection.

You look at him as you work, your fingers deftly loosening his shirt, watching the tension melt away from his face as you carefully help him strip off the layers of his workday. There was something soothing about this process, it felt grounding in a way, especially when he leaned into your touch. His warmth was comforting—like a weight you’ve come to rely on, something that was as familiar as your own heartbeat. And him, just him - looked so good. 

You’re so in love with this man.

“You always look so serious in that suit,” you tease again, glancing up at him. "It’s good to see you out of it for once."

Seungcheol smiles, a little tired but appreciative. "I’m serious about work, you know that."

“And I’m serious about making you relax,” you reply, your tone playful but affectionate. You begin to unbutton his shirt, your fingers brushing against his skin as you move down each button, carefully peeling away the layers of his day. “Just let me do this for you."

He doesn't fight you. Not really. Instead, he lets you, letting out a slow breath as he sinks into the couch, his hands resting high on your thighs. He looks like he’s falling into a peaceful calm, his posture loosening, the weight of the day falling away.

“Are you cold?” he asks suddenly, his voice soft, as he looks down at your pajamas.

You shrug, not really caring.“I’m fine,” you say with a smile. "But you—" You pause, your eyes flickering to his half-unbuttoned shirt and the tiredness still clinging to him.. "You’re not fine. Let me take care of you, okay?"

He smiles again, the fatigue melting from his eyes as he watches you work. He’s always so serious, always the one taking care of everyone else. 

But tonight? 

Tonight, he was yours to take care of. 

And you clearly had something in mind to make him feel better.

You lean down to kiss him. He hums into the kiss, bringing you even closer to him, arms holding onto your waist tightly. He felt himself growing addicted to feeling the comforting warmth of your body. His tongue softly bit at your bottom lip, making you open up, welcoming his tongue to lick into your mouth. Your hands glide up on his chest to find the nape of his hair. He loves when your hands are in his hair, tugging at it, making him growl loudly. The atmosphere gets hotter from the kisses he gives you, you can’t help but let soft whines escape your lips.

Your reactions made Seungcheol smirk while he kissed you, but that wasn’t going to last for long. Instinctively, you roll your hips down onto him, making him groan against you. All you’ve done so far is kiss, but you both got so worked up—and you loved it.

You keep rolling your hips, small whimpers escaping your mouth as you chase any kind of friction you can get. Your hands slid down onto his shoulders, needing more support as you grinded harder against him.

Seungcheol could feel himself getting hard from the way you were grinding on him and from the way you were whimpering in his mouth. He grabs your hips tightly, shifting you right on top of his clothed cock. You don’t seem to notice at first, but when his cock twitches against your thigh, you pull away from him, staring down.

“Don’t stop moving,” he groans out, you feel his mouth on your neck, slowly biting down as he starts giving you hickeys. “Fuck, I love your moans so much, you sound so good for me.”

He pulled back from your neck so he could see how good you looked, only for him. He curses silently when he sees how much of a mess you are; flushed face, parted mouth letting out moans, and your eyes rolling back in pleasure. You could feel his clothed cock twitch under you.

“Your body is so hot Cheol, so warm, so hard.”

You were desperate in your movement and will to make him cum hard, knowing the man under you felt just as good. You felt proud knowing that it was you who was making him feel that way. You felt the need to get yourself off with him, you needed him.

His hands wandered down, grasping at your ass. He was no better than you, letting out low grunts every single time his hips rolled to meet yours. He helped you roll your hips, grinding harshly down on him.

Seungcheol could easily flip you over and fuck you hard on the sofa but he doesn’t. You had this special moment for him in mind, to pleasure him and he was more than content with where you were now. He tilts his head back, a hiss of air escaping from his clenched teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. He can't stop the little laugh that follows the exhale because you're driving him crazy. Your lips attack his throat as your hips descend sinisterly on his.

“Fuck...” he wanted to get all those clothes off but at the same time, the way you were rubbing against him felt too good. He couldn't even think about telling you what he wanted. He felt like he was going to cum like that.

“You're so hard for me Cheol.”

You hear his low laugh against your jaw before Seungcheol bites the flesh there. You were a fucking tease. He revels in the sound of your breath catching as he wiggles against your own arousal. Your trousers were soaking wet from wanting him so badly.

“You're trying to make me come like this”, Seungcheol's hand tangles in the hair on the back of your head, making you moan his name, as he pulls to look into your eyes. He laughs at the smile on your lips at his words and the feel of your hips rolling against his bulge.

“Will you Cheol? Cum with me just by doing this?” Your head fell on top of his shoulder, licking and biting the available skin.

His hands grip your hips, setting a pace for you as he grinds you harder against him. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, not when he’s holding you and letting out groans of your name. Watching you restlessly chasing your climax pushes him over the edge.

You enjoy the silence only the sound of you both breathing heavily can be heard, slowly coming down from your high. Seungcheol holds you regardless of how hot you two feel.

“Can we just stay like this for a while?” he murmurs, his voice almost barely above a whisper. "I haven’t been able to relax properly in so long."

Your heart swells, and without saying a word, you shift closer to him, resting your head against his chest. You love the feeling of his strong arms holding you; you would never refuse him. The familiar rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his skin — that was all you needed to know that everything was okay.

"Yeah," you reply softly, your voice barely audible. “We can stay like this as long as you need.”

The world outside falls silent, and all that’s left is the sound of his heartbeat and your own, in your quiet home. You cherished these moments.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers after a long while.

You raise your head to look at him, your fingers gently brushing across his jaw. "You do," you reply simply, your voice full of affection. "You just need to remember how to breathe sometimes."

He smiles, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. "I’ll try to remember. Happy Valentine’s Day my love, I’ll make it up for you."

You know he will make it up eventually. It’s during moments like these—when his arms tighten around you— that you realize nothing else matters. Work, deadlines, all the pressures—those things can wait. What matters now is the peacefulness between you and the way you fit together in this small, quiet space.

For tonight, home isn’t a place. It was just the two of you, tangled together on the couch, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside forgotten.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆big thanks to @kyeomofhearts for beta & proof reading the hell outta this fic ☆彡 honestly can't thank you enough, even if i have to bully you into writing more @ credits┆also gonna thank @shinysobi, @tusswrites and even the crazy @hisnowbie2 for helping me out coming up with a title ☆彡

❀ a/n┆ yes, this is real. My first ever NSFW fic is officially out

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella, @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip" 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

[kissingmilfs]

˚☽˚.⋆ 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 | 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒌𝒂

18+ minors please dni. this is all purely fictional and no i do not condone cheating.

content warnings: cheating, douchebag boyfriend, fingering, masturbation, slight internalized homophobia (addressed more in later parts)

˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you met sevika at a night out with all your friends at a nightclub you had no business being at. you and your boyfriend were on another “break.” break entailing he says something really mean to you and you storm out and crash with someone until he apologizes.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you were leaned against the bar, looking rather bored and out of place when sevika approached. she did not necessarily come up to talk to you but you happened to have the only open seat left. and when she approached you cautiously stepped back and she quickly extended her prosthetic arm around your waist to keep you from colliding with the bar stool.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika didn’t even end up sitting in the stool. after her chivalry you insisted on buying her drink then leaving her alone. but now sevika was intrigued. you didn’t look like you came here often. she knew you didn’t. this was sevika’s favorite nightclub for a reason. mainly populated with lesbians; single, taken and everything between.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you were nothing of the sort. least not at first glance sevika thought. you wore a mini skirt and far too tight crop top. it looked like you were wearing someone else’s clothes. (you were).

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika did accept your drink. then she easily coaxed you into shots. it only took one time asking and sevika calling you, doll, for you to oblige. then one shot turned to three.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ then she was unexpectedly sweet. sevika made you drink a whole glass of water and ordered a plate of fries for you. you had insisted sevika have some between bites but she just shrugged and said she ate already.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ somehow you both found yourselves on the dance floor. both your arms draped over sevika’s shoulder and bodies pressed firmly together as you sensually danced against her. you hadn’t felt so free in ages. and when you felt sevika’s hand on your ass—you hadn’t flinched or protested.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ next thing you knew—sevika had you atop the bathroom sink with your lacy thong pooled around your ankles and two fingers deep within you. and she made these filthy animalistic noises in your ear. her hips thrusted with each stroke of her fingers. your head was tipped back against the mirror and you swore you saw heaven in that bathroom.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you never told anyone about what happened that night or where you ended up. your friends hadn’t bothered asking which you assumed they either knew and didn’t care. or they figured you were a wallflower most of the night.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you, like always, returned to your boyfriend. you spent two more nights with your friend then he came knocking on their door with a large bouquet of flowers and a puppy dog look in his eyes. so you forgave him and went home. and when he uncoordinatedly jerked off inside of you and grunted in your ear — you found yourself imagining it was sevika.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika hadn’t forgotten about you or that night either. she couldn’t. not when she took your pink thong in her back pocket. not when she rubbed herself with it almost every night while she held. she couldn’t get the noises of your mewls, or pathetic attempts to quiet down out of her head. if she thought hard enough—she could still feel how unbelievably wet and warm you were on her fingers.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika went back to the club every night in hopes you’d show up. she fucked some random girl in the alley the first night looking for you but was so disgusted with herself—she threw up after the girl went back inside.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ on the second week of looking for you—sevika stumbled in line for street tacos and somehow saw you. you were there. with…a man? with his arm around your shoulder. and whispering in your ear. but the look on your face was distant and glazed over. and not in a good way.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ something had told you to look up. it gnawed at the front of your head. when you lifted your eyes finally—you immediately locked eyes with those intense grey eyes.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ you had made up some excuse to leave the table which your boyfriend didn’t even second guess. sevika cornered you behind the food truck—somehow towering over you more than she had that night. and when you opened your mouth to explain sevika simply didn’t care. you could’ve had two kids with a husband and she wouldn’t have cared.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ her lips swallow any explanation and pour out the two weeks of searching and missing you. sevika tasted like tobacco and whiskey. you tasted like salsa verde and pineapple jaritos. she knew you missed her too because you whimpered into the kiss and immediately latched your arms around her neck.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sevika left that night with your number and three of each taco on the menu.

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Camp Counselor

Fresh out of college, after four years of doing nothing but studying, you’re finally free!

Everything is gonna be fine now, the nightmare has ended. The sleepless nights are gone, those lazy classmates who you had to work with are no longer in sight, the teacher who once failed you and gave you the news with a condescending smile on their face is now bidding you goodbye.

The ominous presence of adulthood is breathing down your neck, and your parents’ warnings of the difficulties that you'll have to endure now such as jobs and taxes do intimidate you a bit. But you got it under control!

You remember when you were little and your parents would send you to Camp Howler, you had the utmost fun there. Each summer since you were eight, you’d beg your parents to leave you there, and each summer they did. That was until you got ‘too old’ for that ‘childish stuff’, according to them.

You applied for a job as a camp counselor, and when you told the head counselor who you were and that you used to go there when you were little, he recognised you immediately. You could hear his excitement through the phone when he told you that you and him used to spend all summers together at camp, even sharing a bunk bed!

How cool!

And look at you now, finally free from academic obligations, ready to work at the place where you got all your best memories from, and with the one person your young self used to hang out with!

Ugh! This. Will. Be. Awesome!

Yandere! Camp counselor who practically squealed like a little girl when he recognised who you were, almost ending the call by accident when his phone slipped out of his shaky grasp.

He can’t believe it! It’s you! After so many years of not knowing how you were doing or where you were, he’s finally gonna see you again. Oh, boy, is he ecstatic!

Yandere! Camp counselor who used to be so close to you, attached to the hip. He knew you like the palm of his hand, and that always made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, it made you feel important, so you never thought of spending your time with anybody else at camp, although it’s not like you could anyway. It’s no surprise, really, everytime you came to camp he would intercept you before anyone else could.

Yandere! Camp counselor who never forgot about you. You were once the light of his life, he remembers playing with you every day, doing all the fun activities that Camp Howler offered. You two would spend the entire day together, and it was all just chatting, laughing, running, swimming–-all of it together.

And at the end of the day, you guys would get back to your shared cabin and have your usual sleepover—and if he was lucky, you’d fall asleep before even getting to your bunk, succumbing to slumber right by his side, without a care in the world, as he nuzzles into your neck and takes in your addicting scent. Strawberries and sunlight. Ah, he still remembers.

Yandere! Camp counselor who waits by the entrance of the camp with a bouquet of wildflowers in one hand, and a homemade bracelet in the other. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing here for, all he knows is that you left home at 7 AM, and he woke up at—well, he didn’t wake up at all, the excitement to see you again kept him up all night.

His eyes widen and his pulse quickens when he sees a car approaching, and the moment he sees your figure getting out of the car he’s full sprinting towards you, almost tackling you to the ground with a warm bear hug.

Gosh! It’s been so long! Oh, you’re glowing. You’ve certainly grown into a beautiful woman. Oh! You need to tell him everything about you. What have you been up to? What did you study? Did you like it? How are your parents? Are you single?

Yandere! Camp counselor who can’t be away from you. Seriously, it makes him feel physically sick. It’s just like when you were kids, but a hundred times more.

You just got to camp a few days ago, you’re still getting to know all the other counselors and campers, but the nostalgia and familiarity of it all makes you feel right at home.

And having your childhood friend by your side brings up so many memories. He, for once, is having so much fun with you here. You two can do all the things that you did as kids, the only difference is that you guys are grown ups now. The best of both worlds!

Yandere! Camp counselor who wasn’t an antisocial kid or even shy, in fact, he was quite outspoken and friendly, and when his hyperactivity got the best of his parents, they decided to send him to Camp Howler to wear out some energy.

He made many friends there, but one fateful day…he met you. Poor and homesick you. He felt drawn instantly. How could he not? You were like a small fawn missing their parents, afraid of all the noise and people, looking for a place to hide from all the loud beasts. He needed to help you, to be your shelter, your protector. Oh, you looked so scared and lost…

Yandere! Camp counselor who, ever since that day, became your knight in shining armor. Never letting any camper near your delicate frame. Ah, even as a kid he was devoted to you.

Now he doesn’t protect you from campers—he knows you can deal with them on your own. He protects you from other counselors. Those are the real mutts here!

Yandere! Camp counselor who insists on reminiscing the good old days by being bunk buddies again. C’mon, you guys used to have so much fun! A never ending sleepover. Every. Night. C’mon, you used to love it! And you can even have the top bunk.

Oh? You’d rather have some privacy and sleep alone?

Well, guess what? There are no other beds! So unless you want to sleep on the floor, you’ll have to share a bunk with him. But don’t worry, it’ll be so much fun! You can make friendship bracelets, and tell spooky stories—you can even cuddle him if it gets too scary. Trust me, he wouldn't mind.

Yandere! Camp counselor who loves watching you interact with the kids. It’s just so cute to see you playing with the young campers and doing all the fun stuff that you guys did at their age. It makes him realize how good of a parent you’ll be one day. Although, he already knew that. When playing house with you, you were always such a good spouse. Making the imaginary food, setting the plastic table, always greeting him with a peck on the cheek when he came back from the rainbow factory.

Oh, he always knew, even from a young age, that you’d be the perfect spouse.

He’s not really sure why he used to enjoy playing house with you so much, or why he’s having these unusual thoughts of you being a spouse…

But, hey! It must be nothing, right?

Yandere! Camp counselor who always feels something strange bubbling in his chest when you’re around, something intensely warm and uncontrollable. He’s felt it ever since you two were kids. It’s so weird. He never paid too much attention to it since he thought that it was a common thing between friends. But that feeling changed once you stopped coming to camp, it turned into something heavy, yet sharp.

And now that he’s got you back it’s like his entire body is on fire. Like his heart wants to come out of his ribcage and get into yours.

He’s really confused. When he was little he remembers talking to a counselor about it, and the young adult suggested that it was…a crush.

He didn’t get it at the time, but now he understands it perfectly. This does feel like a crash! It feels as if his body was being sunk down by this dense feeling, all the way down till it crashes against the core of the earth.

Huh.

So that’s what it’s called. That is a crush. To feel the weight of your unwavering love resting upon your shoulders and throat, filling your lungs with confessions that you would only come up with in the darkest hours of the night, and you’d only be brave enough to utter in the haze of drunkenness.

Yandere! Camp counselor who’s not sure how to approach this whole ‘crush’ situation. He wants to tell you how he feels, but he doesn’t know if you feel the same way, and he doesn’t wanna force that kind of connection. He wants to have a real thing with you, like the whole package.

He wants to take you out on a date, to make you gifts, to make you feel loved, and to show you that what he feels is genuine.

He’s not completely sure about the whole romance protocol, he’s not as socially skilled as he was when he was younger. Truth be told, after you stopped coming to camp, he kinda shut himself off. He stopped hanging out with his friends, never speaking to anyone but his parents, and the only way to have a full on conversation with him was if it was about you.

Poor, pathetic baby. He missed you so much.

But he’s willing to learn! He’ll woo you so hard, you’ll swoon at the sight of him.

Yandere! Camp counselor who, during your nightly strolls near the lake, suggests having a different kind of fun tonight, a more reckless kind of fun.

Ah, you see. The lake looks so refreshing, and it’s so hot today—the hottest day of the year, says the news—it seems as if the weather itself was tempting you to peel off your skin and let the summer breeze consume you altogether…but maybe a little swim would be enough, don’t you think?

C’mon! A nice swim to cool off your bodies before going to sleep, sounds like heaven on a day like this.

Sorry, what? You don’t have your swimsuit…

Well, that's fine! There’s nobody around but you two. You don’t have to be so worried. Sure, he doesn’t have his swimsuit either. But you guys still have your underwear, that should do the trick, right?

Yandere! Camp counselor who makes sure to always sit next to you during campfires. Pretending to yawn before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, bringing you even closer than you already were.

And every time. He prays to every God there is for you to get spooked by some scary story, so you can curl to his side, and he can swiftly pull you to his lap. That has only happened once. But, God, one can only dream.

Yandere! Camp counselor who tries to get a hold of his feelings, he really does. But it's so hard! And the kids notice. Boy, do they notice. They overheard him once attempting to flirt with you, albeit you remained oblivious to his intentions, they sure didn’t. The campers have a field day with that one, let me tell you that.

Yandere! Camp counselor who has to put up with the kids making fun of him. The campers see how infatuated—obsessed he is with you, and some of them even try to set you up with him, but others just use this as an opportunity to bully him even more.

He’s so pathetic. Making you bracelets and necklaces, writing you little poems, ogling you from a bush while you swim in the lake—now that they think about it, he’s more creepy than pathetic.

But in the end two groups were formed. The group that sees this as the perfect way to spend their summer, cause who doesn’t enjoy messing with a grown man and his futile attempts of seduction? And the group that takes pity on him and decides to help him achieve his goal.

The second group makes all kinds of projects. They plan a candle lit dinner under the mesmerising moonlight. A picnic on a nearby hill as the sunset sets away in the distance. A slow dance after the bonfire with the stars painting the sky above.

The first group succeeds in ruining all of those plans. That candle lit dinner? Well, it looks like one of those candles reached some dry weeds and started a fire! That picnic on the hill? I bet you weren’t expecting to be so close to a wasp nest, huh. That slow dance you mentioned? Oh, no! A kid was messing around with a conveniently accessible nail gun and hurt himself!

Yep, they’re really up for the challenge. They give their best every single time. Even if it means compromising their physical integrity.

Yandere! Camp counselor who is unlucky, inexperienced, weird, and overall, a total loser. But he loves you with all his might. He doesn’t care that all his attempts ended in failure, he will never stop trying. Because you’re worth it. You’re worth every failure, cause one day, life will smile at him and you’ll be finally his.

He can endure a few more failed tries, it’s okay. The wasp stings don’t hurt that much anyway.

He’s got all summer to show you his love, and if that doesn’t work, he’s always got next summer. Or the next one, or the next one, or the next one—point is, he’s got time!

It’s not like you have anywhere else to go during the summer, right?

You need a job, you need money—and he’s the head counselor of the camp, so he controls your paycheck. If you even think about looking for another job, he’ll just increase your paycheck! He doesn’t mind. He might have to make some cutbacks here and there, but he’s sure the other counselors won’t mind earning a little less money, and if they do—well, he can always just fire them!

Yandere! Camp counselor who just got you back after years of being away from you. Surely you don’t expect him to let go of you that easily, do you? You came back to him, this is destiny. Your fate is to end up with him. He can feel it.

C’mon, you must feel something for him, right? It can’t possibly be one sided…

You better pray that it’s not one sided, cause if it is, he’ll freak out. He’ll go insane. We’re talking about a pathetic weirdo here, we don’t know what he’s capable of!

Yandere! Camp counselor who will make you love him, even if it takes a thousand summers. He won’t let you go, he won’t make the same mistake twice.

Who ordered a pathetic freak with a side of fries?! Hello, everybody, i missed you. I missed my community of freaks who yearn for yearners. I'm starting to get frustrated with myself, I recently found out that I'm not good at writing stories in a format that isn't "Yandere! who", but I'll keep practising. I'll try not to procrastinate so much and just...write. Even if it's REALLY bad. Remember that if there's any mistakes, let me know. Anyway, I hope everyone is having a good day, night, or whatever's in between. Kisses <3

[bewaryofpity]

hello lovely, can i get angst with fluffy end #9 with jack Hughes

thank you for requesting ! 🫶🏻

9. “You're in love with me?!” “You just found out?”

.

The night had gone from bad to worse. You were hopeful in the beginning, your date seemed actually interested in getting to know you, but it soon turned into a one-sided cconversation as he kept talking about himself and only himself. You couldn’t wait for him to stop talking, to finally get the check, pay your part – because you knew he wouldn’t pay himself – and leave.

And so you used the good old excuse. You texted Jack to come pick you up, to call you and make it seem like there was an emergency. The guy in front of you seemed too absorbed in himself to notice your relieved expression as he rolled his eyes at you while telling you not to worry about the bill and to leave already. You were left sitting outside the restaurant, arms crossed, irritation simmering under your skin as you waited for Jack to pick you up.

Jack’s car pulled up to the curb, headlights sweeping over you and when he stopped, you yanked open the passenger door and slid in, slamming it harder than necessary.

“That bad, huh?” He asked, glancing at you before pulling back into traffic.

“You have no idea.” You muttered, staring out the window. Jack was quiet for a moment, looking over at you before speaking up again.

“I told you he wasn't worth your time.”

You turned to him, brow furrowing. “That’s exactly what I need to hear right now. Thank you, Jack”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, “you always go for the wrong guys. It’s like you’re determined to set yourself up for disappointment.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and focusing on the blurred city lights passing by through the window. His words hung in the air, all the frustration in your chest turning into fear, uncertainty, dread – it was uncomfortable. He wasn’t really wrong, you were chasing after something that could replace Jack, something that could make you forget how being in love with your best friend was a bad idea, and that was probably the reason why all your dates failed. Because nothing, no one could replace Jack. You let out a slow breath, your reflection staring back at you from the glass.

Jack sighed. “Look, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Well, maybe I don’t need you to.”

Silence stretched between you again. The car rumbled softly as he drove, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, voice quieter now. “Do you really not see it?”

“See what?” You turned to face him, eyebrows raised.

His knuckles turned white from the tense grip he had on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road as he exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re always looking for something that’s been right in front of you this whole time.”

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”

He pulled the car into your driveway and turned off the engine, hands falling on his lap. He shifted in his seat to look at you with an unreadable expression.

“I’m talking about me.” He said, voice steady despite the stiffness his body.

“What?”

Jack let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re in love with me?!” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“You just found out?” He shot back, a wry smile playing on his lips, though his eyes held something deeper, something vulnerable.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as his words settled over you. Jack. Your best friend. The one who had always been there, the one who knew you better than anyone else. He was in love with you.

You searched his face, trying to process the weight of his confession. And he was doing the same, searching your face for hesitation or regret. But there was none. He knew you better than anyone, the rapid realization that maybe, just maybe, everything you’d been searching for had been beside you all along finally appeared in your eyes.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “So… what now?”

“Take me on a date.”

[mountttmase]

Just For Us

Note - happy valentines pookies 🩷 I’ve been sitting on this one for a while so I hope you like it 😘 thank you to @saltyheartnightmare for always providing me with ideas and letting me run with them 😂 feedback would be appreciated xoxo

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 6k

Warnings - fluff and angst

Another week over you told yourself as you shut your laptop down. Sighing as your eyes fell to the window that overlooked the garden next to you but it was pitch back outside and all you could see was your own reflection staring back at you. A tired and grumpy version of you that you were starting to not recognise.

You hadn't heard anything going on in the house, the time just ticking past 5pm and you knew you were still all alone in here. The thought of walking out of your home office into a dark and empty home upset you more than it should have, but then again everything was upsetting you at the moment.

Mason had promised he’d be here, letting you know that training would be over around 3pm and he’d make sure to get home at a reasonable time so you could spend your first valentines living under the same roof together, but once again he was nowhere to be seen.

You got why he was always in late, he was almost done with his recovery and had been staying later most evenings in order to get himself into a good place but you missed him and with everything else going on in your life right now all you wanted to was to be wrapped up in the arms of the man you loved.

You hadn't lived with Mason long, moving in at the end of November so you were approaching the three month mark but you felt like everything had taken a downturn for you since then. It was nothing to do with Mason himself, he was a dream most of the time and was looking after you just like he’d promised but it was everything you’d left home that was bringing you down.

Manchester was so far from everything you knew, having grown up in London you never envisaged living so far away when you had everything you needed right there but there was one thing your favourite city didn’t have anymore, and that was the boy you were in love with.

It wasn’t often you thought back to how you first met Mason, but since it was valentines day and you were in your feels a bit you let your mind wander back to that cold but sunny morning. It was your favourite type of weather on your favourite day of the year, pumpkin picking with your best friend, and as you reached for the last wheelbarrow your hand brushed against someone else’s as they did the same.

‘Oh shit, sorry. You take it, I can wait’ you heard, turning to your right to see quite possibly the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen and the sight of him filled you with nerves.

‘Oh n-no please you have it’ you stuttered, your face warming as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest but you could see the tops of his cheeks turning pink too and you thought he looked adorable.

‘It’s fine’ he laughed, motioning for you to take it but you knew you’d mess up somehow now if you had to try and get it out in front of him and you weren’t up for embarrassing yourself whilst he watched on.

‘No please, I’m not even sure I know how to use this thing properly and I’ll just end up taking someone’s legs out’ you joked and as you both shared a giggle, a worker came with a new batch of clean ones.

‘Here let me grab you one, these look smaller’ he nodded as he walked over to get one for you and you used the time he was facing away from you to give him a once over. You most definitely liked what you saw and as he turned back to face you, you wondered if he’d caught you staring at his bum. You gave him a warm smile though as he placed it in front of you but you were trying to stall as you still felt awkward pushing it in front of him.

‘Thank you…’

‘I’m Mason’ he smiled, nodding his head shyly before he gave you a look as if to silently ask what your name was and you had to swallow a nervous lump before you told him.

‘Y/n’

‘Well y/n, if you see me running away from you please don’t take any offence, I’m just protecting my ankles’ he joked and you covered your mouth with your hand as you laughed at his silly joke.

‘I’ll keep that in mind’

‘Mase? You coming’ you heard, looking over to a woman with two kids in tow and you felt yourself deflate. Of course he wasn’t single, look at him, and as he called over that he wouldn’t be a second you kept your eyes on the floor.

‘Sorry I best get going, I don’t wanna upset the nieces’ he laughed and your eyes flashed up to meet his. Relief ripping through you at the knowledge that was presumably his sister. ‘See you out there?’

‘I hope so’ you whispered. Your answer taking him by surprise a bit as his blush deepened but you just just picked up your wheelbarrow and went in search of your bestie so you could crack on with your day.

It was like you couldn’t get away from each other, him joining the line behind you for food, your eyes constantly catching as you browsed the little pumpkins in the wooden crates and once you’d made it out into the main field it felt like he was following you. Always in the same section and your friend had seemingly picked up on the way you kept looking at each other and would steer your wheelbarrow in his direction.

It was fun watching him play with the two little girls, posing for pictures with them and helping them pick out ones for them to carve and he looked as though he was having as much fun as them. Not caring how goofy or silly he looked, he just wanted to make them smile and from the constant giggles it was clearly working.

‘You need a hand with that one?’ You suddenly heard from behind you. Mason's voice shocking you slightly but as he brushed up next to you and you could tell he was looking at the same pumpkin you were.

‘Do you think it’s too big?’ You asked and you knew it was a stupid question. It was one of the biggest ones in the whole field but it was perfect and you just needed one person to tell you it was okay to have.

‘Nah, you need to measure pumpkins with your heart’ he told sincerely. ‘If you want it, I’d say get it’

‘You know what, you’re right. I’m having it’

‘Here let me’ he offered. Picking it up effortlessly and placing it in your wheelbarrow for you before dusting himself off as he was now covered in dirt be he didn’t seem to mind.

He stayed with you for a bit as you spoke. His sister had taken the girls to the loo so he had a few minutes spare and he started off by asking if you’d taken anyone’s legs out yet. Seeming dissatisfied when you told him no but there was always time and you were lucky enough to see that heartbreaking smile of his again as he laughed before he caught sight of the girls coming back.

‘You’re really good with them’ you told him honestly and you could see him getting shy again as he laughed nervously.

‘I don’t live round this way anymore so I like to make it count when I’m here’ he told you and you wondered how far away he was now. You knew you wouldn’t get to ask or find out though, your bestie was standing like a lemon a few steps away as she pretended to look at the pumpkins and with his family coming back over you presumed you’d be torn apart again but before he returned to them he faced you a little more ‘Listen, at the risk of sounding like a crazy person, I took a picture of you earlier and I was wondering if I could send it you?’

‘You what?’ You laughed, watching his cheeks redden more than you’d ever seen to the point the bridge of his nose was also glowing.

‘Sorry, I saw you posing for some your friend was taking and I just thought you looked nice and wondered if you’d want a more candid one’ he mumbled shyly. ‘Shit, sorry I shouldn’t have said anything. I can’t delete it if you-‘

‘I guess I should give you my number then’ you whispered with a smile, holding your hand out for him to place his phone in and the look of relief that washed over his face made you chuckle.

As soon as you handed it back he had to go but you knew it was coming so you bid him a quick goodbye and not even five minutes later you felt your phone buzz in your pocket

It was a fairly brazen comment from you, but it seemed to do the trick and the pair of you were messaging for the rest of the day and well into the night. All tucked up in bed later as you giggled into your pillow and when you got onto the topic of where he lived now, since he’d mentioned not being here anymore, things took a bit of a turn.

You’d had no idea he was a footballer, you had never met one in your life and had no idea what it even all meant but he told you he didn’t want you to think of him as any different than you had done earlier. He was still the same guy, he just has a slightly strange job compared to the average person.

He was right though, coming across to you as just like any normal guy and as the weeks passed you could feel yourself starting to slip under his spell. It was never your intention to speak to someone who lived so far away and you knew that seeing him again would be difficult, even if he wanted to see you anyway, but you couldn’t help your feelings towards him no matter how much you told yourself nothing would amount to anything.

You didn’t expect him to go in fully and dress up exactly like him but when he showed you his onesie on face time his enthusiasm excited you. You’d never had a boy to do a couples costume with before and you weren’t even sure he that’s what he wanted when he was asking for costume ideas but you’d decided to shoot your shot and thankfully it had paid off.

He was staying with a friend but just as he promised, he came to get you from your house. You thought it might be awkward, the pair of you only seeing each other in person once but as soon as you saw him again it was like no time had passed. Him knocking on your door fully dressed up and you giggled as he gave you a kiss on the cheek after a big hug.

You didn’t live too far away thankfully and after 20 minutes or so in the car with him, he was pulling up to his friends house. It was unlike anything you’d seen and you tried not to let it show that you were that impressed so you just took his hand and let him lead you through. You felt awkward instantly though as you looked around as it was full of gorgeous girls in barely there outfits whilst you stood there in a big pink t-shirt and your hair in bunches. Mason picked up on you straight away though and pulled you closer to him by your waist.

‘You good?’

‘You could have told me it was that type of party’ you laughed, hiding your face in his neck but he just squeezed you and bumped the side of your head with his nose so you’d look at him.

‘What do you mean?’ He smiled, rubbing your back a little bit as he was confused and you were finding it hard to be mad at him.

‘Mason, there are girls here who look like they’ve just stepped off a runway and I look like… well this’

‘You look perfect’ he whispered, kissing your forehead gently. Your cheeks warming instantly as even though he was being pretty touchy this was the first proper bit of intimacy you’d had from him. ‘I’m not looking at what anyone else is wearing anyway’ he reassured you and you felt your face heat even more at how lovely he was being.

His hand very rarely left yours and if it did it was just so he could hold your waist or wrap his arm around you and considering it was his friends party filled with people he didn’t see too often you were surprised at how much he didn’t want to mingle. That every conversation you joined you wouldn’t stay in long as he’d ask you something and soon enough you’d be in your own world again and when you asked him why he just smiled brightly.

‘I know those boring bastards, but I don’t know you yet. Not as much as I’d like to anyway’ he teased as his eyes flickered all over you and you felt your knees go weak as he bit his lip.

He was the perfect gentleman, getting all your drinks for you and letting you know he’d look after you. Mason himself wasn’t drinking as he wasn’t allowed but you noticed all his friends were and you figured it was just because he’d promised to take you home and was making sure he could. Mason seemed like the type to have a great time without drink though however you were thankful you’d had a few to loosen you up a bit.

As the night came to an end, you both knew you didn’t want to part but as you still lived with your overbearing parents it made things difficult. It had taken you enough time to convince them to let you come here tonight so staying out all night was completely out of the question and when the house began to empty out you knew it was time.

‘I think I need the loo before we go’ you told Mason, and his sad smile told you all you needed to know.

‘I’ll show you where it is’ he smiled, taking you by the hand upstairs and when he pulled open a random door and flicked the light on you were met with a bright and airy guest bedroom. ‘Just through here. Everyone’s been using the main one so this should be cleaner’ he laughed and you popped a quick kiss on his cheek as you passed by.

Once you were out you waited for him whilst he popped in there. Having a look at yourself in the mirror to make sure you looked somewhat acceptable and he was out quicker than you thought he’d be so he caught you checking yourself out.

He was quick to come over and wrap his arms around you from behind whilst taking his phone out of his pocket to hand to you. Instructing that he wanted you to take a few photos of the pair of you together to commemorate your first Halloween but soon enough you stopped taking any pictures and he was just holding you.

‘Come on’ he huffed. Removing his arms from around your waist and you could tell he was deflated just from the sound of his voice.

‘What’s wrong?’ You asked as you turned to him and the playful pout on his face made you feel a little bit guilty.

‘I’ve been dreading this part all night’ he chuckled, pulling you into his chest now so he could hug you properly and when he tucked his head into your neck you couldn’t stop your smile. ‘Sulley doesn’t want to say goodbye to his Boo’

‘Oh Mase’

‘Stay with me tonight’ he whispered, pulling back to look at you pleadingly and you almost gave in then and there. ‘Please, boo’

‘Mase.. I can’t’ you breathed, shaking your head ever so slightly. ‘I’m sorry-‘

‘No I’m sorry, I’m being way too forward. It’s just I’m not here long and I want to spend as much time with you as I can’

‘I want that too’

‘But?’

‘My mum will kill me’ you laughed, realising how ridiculous you sounded but Mason seemed to understand and quickly popped a kiss on your cheek. ‘Maybe I could come up to Manchester soon and visit?’ You asked, shock taking over his face at what you were suggesting and you were certain yours looked the same as you hadn’t even thought about the words before they’d come out of your mouth.

‘Yeah? You’d want to’

‘Yeah of course. I’ve never been before’ you told him and the smile he sent you made your heart race. ‘I just think it might be a bit too soon for you know … all that. I’ve never-‘

‘No you’re right’ he laughed as he cut you off. ‘Sorry I’ve just been getting a bit ahead of myself I think. I don’t know if I’ve made it that obvious but I really like you’ he told you as his cheeks flushed and you knew yours were doing the exact same.

‘Really? I had no idea’ you teased but you knew you needed to be honest with him too. ‘I like you too’

It was the longest three seconds of your life. Watching his eyes flicker down to your lips as he moved closer to you and you were powerless to stop anything. Tilting your face up to meet his and before you knew it his lips were on yours.

This wasn’t like any kiss first you’d ever had before. It was slow and sexy and you both hummed into each other's mouths as his tongue brushed against yours playfully. Your heart racing in your chest as he ever so carefully moved his lips against yours and you knew you’d never be the same again after this.

‘Come on, I’ll get you home’ he whispered against your lips after you’d parted but you felt deflated instantly. You didn’t want to leave him now, not after the best first kiss you’d ever had but you knew it was the right thing to do.

‘Are you sure it’s okay? You know-‘

‘I can wait. You’re worth it’ he confirmed quietly and you didn’t realise how much you needed to hear those words. ‘I mean I got to kiss you, that's more than enough for me. I’m just being greedy really’ he winked and your heart felt lighter as you both giggled.

‘You’re right, you need to be cut off’ you joked but when he lent down to kiss you again you let him.

y/n

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y/n Happy spooky season 🧡

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masonmount wow whoever took that first one has got a great eye 👀

y/n thank you my sulley 🩵💜

Going to Manchester to see him was the beginning of the end for you. You loved it up there and you loved your time with Mason just as much to the point you’d just sob the whole way home each time you had to leave him and you knew he was always just as down as you were about it. Each time it getting harder and harder to say goodbye so when next Halloween came and Mason wanted to celebrate your first anniversary together you jumped at the chance to spend some quality time with him.

Moving to Manchester after just a year of dating was a risk, and you both definitely knew it, but when Mason brought up wanting you to move in with him at your anniversary dinner you wanted to jump at the chance. You knew in your heart you were going to be with Mason for a really long time and the thought of starting your lives together up there really excited you. Your mum took it pretty hard but she knew you’d have to leave home eventually but neither of you could have guessed it would have been so far away.

You mostly worked from home in London anyway, only needing to visit the office twice a month so after a quick chat with your manager about different options, she told you keeping you was more important and that working in Manchester would be no different than London so she was happy for you to make the move.

Mason seemed to be the most excited. Letting you pick out any spare room you wanted to turn into your office and you picked the one at the back that overlooked the garden. The main reason being that in the summer you knew you’d be able to watch him training out of the window, but you told him it was because it was near the kitchen and downstairs loo so you didn’t have that far to walk.

It was lonely sometimes, spending all day at home on your own and when work was finally done not having anyone to talk to. At home at least your mum would be there so you could talk about your days as you fought over what to cook, but the house being empty did nothing to cure the ache of loneliness that would settle in your tummy until Mason was with you.

You hadn't been here long enough to make friends of your own and the ones you’d left behind did nothing to help you feel less lonely. Carrying on like you didn’t even exist and going to all your favourite places without you as well as new places you’d always wanted to try. You tried not to take it to heart too much as you didn’t want them to stop living their lives but you thought it was funny how as soon as you were gone they suddenly had time for all the things you wanted to do when they never had before.

Not wanting to be a grump for too much longer you quickly glanced at your phone when you were finally ready to get up. No text or update from him to let you know he was going to be home later than planned and usually it wouldn't have mattered but you thought with it being Valentine's Day he would have made a touch more effort as you were meant to be having dinner together. Your tummy hurt as your sadness migrated into every fiber of your being and you knew it wouldn’t be disappearing anytime soon.

All the lights were off when you eventually made your way out of your office. Traipsing through the silent house to the front so you could look out onto the drive, however it only upset you more to see that his car wasn’t there and suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. Wanting nothing more than to get into bed so you could sleep this awful mood away, but there was something that stopped you as soon as you made it upstairs.

You noticed the warm glow coming from the bathroom as soon as you reached the landing. The door was ever so slightly cracked open and you knew you hadn't left it like that so the light confused you. In the end you took a few cautious steps over so you could peek around the gap and the sight before you made your heart flutter.

There was Mason, hunched over the bath as he swirled his hand around the soapy water that was topped with rose petals. The scent of your favourite bubble bath filling the air as he checked the water temperature before he was standing back up and reaching for a lighter so he could continue to light the candles he’d set up in a row on the window. Watching and waiting until he’d grabbed a fresh towel to place on the warmer until you couldn’t help but open the door a little more and step inside.

You felt instant regret as soon as you did. This was clearly meant to be a surprise for you and you’d just marched in on him but the smile he gave you after the initial shock of seeing you made your eyes sting and as your face began to crumple, he was over to you in a flash.

‘What’s wrong, boo?’ He asked softly. Hands holding the tops of your arms as you tried to wipe your eyes but it was pointless as more tears came falling seconds after.

‘I didn’t know you were h-home’ you hiccuped, sounding completely ridiculous as you broke down into sobs, but just like always he took you as you came and listened intently. ‘I t-thought you’d be late a-again’

‘Well I’m a lot later than I wanted to be’ he told you softly. ‘I only got in about five minutes ago’

‘Where’s y-your car?’

‘I got a fucking flat tire, didn’t I’ he laughed but you could tell he was pissed off underneath. ‘Had to leave it at training cause I couldn’t get anyone out to fix it and then Luke dropped me home’ he explained before his face softened again and his voice came out in just a whisper. ‘Baby, tell me what’s wrong’

‘Sorry’ you blubbed. Covering your face with your hands again so you could hide yourself and thankfully he knew not to try and make you look at him. Simply wrapping his arms around your shaking body so he could pull you into his and when you felt his lips on your forehead shushing you gently you nearly lost it again.

He always knew what you needed, and right now all you needed was a big cry whilst he held you and whispered that everything would be okay until you found enough courage to take your hands away from your face and wrap them around his body.

‘You think I can’t tell that something’s been going on with you?’ He whispered, pulling back to look at you but when he realised you weren’t budging he just rested his cheek on the top of your head with a sigh. ‘I notice everything, boo’

‘I’m sorry’ you croaked, not even too sure what you were apologising for but it just felt like the right thing to say for hiding your emotions from him.

‘Don’t say that’ he told you as he squeezed you a bit tighter but you still weren’t ready to look at him. Holding him back just as tight as he rubbed your back and you could feel the love from him pour into you. ‘You gonna tell me what’s up?’

‘I don’t know, I just feel a bit down’ you mumbled, shrugging your shoulders as you wondered what you should say to him but you realised there was no point giving him half truths. ‘I've just been a bit homesick I think, it gets lonely in this house when you’re not here and I know you’ve been working really hard to get back into the team but I thought you’d forgotten about me tonight’

‘I’m sorry’ he breathed. ‘I know I haven’t been around as much lately and I know that hasn't helped with how you’re feeling. That’s why I wanted to get home early so I could do something nice for you and I couldn't even get that right’ he laughed. ‘And I know you miss your family, I miss mine too so I know how you feel and I know I’ve been a bit wrapped up in myself but I promise I’ll make it up to you. Starting tonight, yeah?’

‘What’s all this?’ You asked, finally pulling away as you could look at him and the sympathetic look on his face almost set you off again, but Mason was quick to kiss your forehead and look at you softly again.

‘Well I thought you deserved a bit of relaxation while I cooked for us’ he confirmed. ‘Happy valentines, boo’

‘Happy valentine’s, Masey’ you smiled, reaching up to give him a soft and sweet kiss. ‘What are you making?’

‘I’m not sure yet’ he laughed. ‘Any requests?’

‘Well I was hoping you would stay with me in here, I’ve missed you’ you told him shyly. ‘We can always order food’

‘Yeah? Okay let’s do that’ he nodded shyly. ‘C’mere, let’s get you in’

Mason helped to undress you so you were ready for your bath. Kissing your skin gently as he carefully removed each piece of clothing and helped you into the perfectly warm water as you felt all your troubles melt away into the bubbles.

He happily sat on the floor next to you as you chatted away and you finally opened up to him about how your friends had been acting with you lately as well as everything else you’d already mentioned. He sympathised with you as he sometimes felt that way himself and apologised for neglecting you for the last few weeks.

‘Come get in with me?’ You asked after 15 minutes or so, watching his eyebrows raise in shock as his cheeks turned pink but now you’d said it all you could think about was relaxing your body into his.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah why not’ you laughed. ‘I wanna feel close to you’ you pouted and you could see his blush deepening from a mile off. Watching him gently standing up so he could whip his clothes off and you shuffled down the tub a bit so he could slide in behind you.

You didn’t ask for it, but as he began to massage your shoulders you could have melted into the water. You didn’t realise how uptight and tense you were until his fingers began to work away at your knots and it felt so good a shiver ran up your spine. The warm water of your bath felt like a safe blanket lapping against you and you didn’t know what you’d done to deserve this type of treatment.

‘That okay?’ He murmured into the side of your head but it was like you could barely string a sentence together and your whole body felt like it was floating.

‘That’s perfect’ you mumbled, feeling more relaxed and loved than you had in weeks and you knew he was laughing at you as you felt his chest rumble against your back.

‘I’m not very good at this, but I’ve picked up a few tricks from having them done so often’ he laughed but soon enough his hands were traveling down your arms and holding you around your waist so he could hold you close and talk to you without any distractions. ‘So listen I need you to pack a bag tonight’ he mumbled in your ear and you turned your head to look up at him questioningly.

‘Are you kicking me out?’

‘No’ he laughed. ‘But I bet after that you could do with a proper massage, right? Well I’ve booked us into a spa for the weekend with a slightly delayed valentines dinner tomorrow night. It’s in London though so we’ll have a bit of an early start if that’s okay’’

‘I thought we weren’t making a fuss’ you whispered, your face breaking out into a smile so wide your cheeks hurt but he was looking back at you so lovingly it was like you could feel him coursing through your veins.

‘I know, but you deserve it’ he affirmed. Kissing your forehead softly as he stroked his thumbs over your skin ‘Then Sunday we’ve got lunch with your parents. I organised it the other day so I think that’s worked out pretty well’ he winked, feeling tears well in your eyes again for the millionth time that night but this time it was for a whole different reason.

‘What? Really’

‘Yes’ he nodded. ‘I knew you must have been missing them and since we’ll be down there I thought we could make the most of it’

‘Thank you’ you gulped. Reaching up to kiss him properly and it was like you were having your first kiss all over again, carefully kissing each other like you had all the time in the world.

When you were both ready to get out, Mason jumped out first to grab your towel from the heater before walking you back over to your shared bedroom to get changed. A huge bunch of red roses on the bed waiting for you and you had to tell yourself to hold it together as you’d you’d done tonight was cry.

Mason grabbed you a pair of shorts and one of his favourite comfy tops that you loved to wear for you to change into and while he was putting in your food order, you grabbed an overnight bag and began to pack.

‘Where are we going for dinner tomorrow night, Mase?’ You questioned as you fingered through some of your nicer things on your rack but you didn’t want to be overdressed if it was somewhere more casual.

‘It’s a surprise’

‘But I need to know what to pack’ you pouted, hoping you��d be able to get a little more from him than that but he seemingly didn’t want to give too much away.

‘Something nice’ he shrugged, locking his phone before standing up to join you and you placed your hands on his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

‘Those new pjs you got me for Christmas are nice, maybe I’ll just wear those’ you teased, hoping you could taunt him into telling you and from the way he rolled his eyes you knew it was working.

‘Okay fine’ he laughed. ‘You should pack that black dress, you know the one you’ve been saving for a certain restaurant’

‘You didn’t’ you breathed, not knowing if he was just messing with you or if he’d actually got the pair of you into the restaurant you’d always wanted to try but from the nod of his head you knew he was making your dream come true. ‘Mase’

‘I know you were meant to go there with your girlfriends and I know I was meant to get you a table and never did cause I’m a rubbish boyfriend and I forgot’ he laughed, bumping his nose against yours as you both giggled before his face got serious ‘but I know they’ve been trying all the places you wanted without you so I thought we could keep this one just for us’

‘Thank you’ you pouted, reaching up to kiss him gently and he deepened it straight away. You hadn’t kissed each other like this in days and you could have quite easily taken it further but it was Mason who pulled away first much to your dismay.

‘Easy there, boo. We’ve got food on the way and there’s nowhere near enough time for me to do what I want with you’ he told you lowly, his voice thick and warm like honey and it made your insides quiver. ‘I’ll make it worth your while if you wait’

‘You always do’ you winked and you noticed how he blushed at your words.

‘Come on boo, we’ll go set the table yeah? Eat like proper humans for a change’ he laughed as he took your hand and you laughed along with him as he led you out of your room. Your mood a lot lighter than it was just over an hour ago and you couldn’t wait to finally spend your first Valentine’s Day under the same roof with the boy you loved most in the world.

y/n

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y/n quick trip home for some well needed downtime and a visit to somewhere I’ve always wanted to go with my valentine ♥️

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masonmount anything for my girl ♥️

y/n love you sm 🥰 🤭

[bahablastplz]

Battleground: Minho x Reader

Prompt: "Hii, i was wondering in you could write a one shot of alpha!minho x Alpha!afab. They met through their friend/roommate Jisung who is an omega, and they are enemies and Jisung has to break up their fights, but this one time they end up having sex while fighting for dominance." Content: Smut, angst, omegaverse, enemies to lovers, switch/dom Minho, switch reader, alpha reader/alpha Minho, afab!reader WC: 5000 Note: hi yes I got carried away with this but this was super fun to write. enjoy!

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You should have never trusted Jisung. This is often a motto of yours, actually, seeing as he’s responsible for nine out of every ten instances of trouble you find yourself in. But he has big pleading eyes and he can be so convincing that you throw caution to the wind every time he speaks. 

You needed a new roommate. Your old one bailed on you (thank god, because she was actually the worst). She was filthy and never cleaned up after herself. She left dishes in the sink, piles of trash for you to take care of, and was blatantly rude. You let out a sigh of relief when she told you she was moving and it took all of two days for her to fuck off for no apparent reason. She left your life as violently as she entered it, however, leaving piles and piles of her junk for you to take care of as well as half of the rent once again. 

You wish that you could lie and say that you could afford it by yourself but you simply couldn’t. It was just too far out of your spending limits and so… you needed to find a new place to live. 

When Jisung suggested you come to live in his spare bedroom, it really didn’t seem like that bad of an idea. You knew the omega well enough; he wasn’t the cleanest in the world but he’s a step up from your old roommate for sure. Plus he was one of your closest friends. If anything, you knew you would feel comfortable around him. The only reason you had hesitated at first is because everybody always tells you not to live with your friends. Somehow you doubted this would be an issue with Jisung though. 

It would be fine, right? You’ve heard only good things about his other roommate, Minho. Jisung jokingly refers to him as his platonic soulmate sometimes but you don’t really know anything else about him. You were a little weary about sharing a living space with two omegas and all, being an alpha yourself, but you were no asshole alpha. They would have nothing to worry about. 

Once again, you should have never trusted Han Jisung. 

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“What are you doing? You’re going to scare her away!” You hear through the door of the apartment. You’re a little unsure when you hear muffled shouting and you feel an uneasiness in your stomach that you ignore but you can’t help to continue to listen. “Why are you acting like you don’t want her here?” 

“Because I don’t. We don’t know her!”

“You don’t know her. I know her perfectly well and you should trust my judgment.” You use this as the opportunity to knock on the door which swings open to a wide-eyed Jisung. He looks guilty of something and you’re confused before it hits you all at once. 

The apartment reeks of cinnamon. Every crevice and corner is dripping of the strong smell to the point you can hardly smell Jisung’s vanilla, even if you really focus. That’s when you come to the realization that Jisung’s roommate isn’t an omega… He’s an alpha. One intentionally covering the whole apartment with his smell before he even gets to know you to assert his dominance. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes at the stereotypical alpha behavior and you resist the urge to cover your nose at the smell. Just because Minho is being rude doesn’t mean you need to be rude in return. 

And before you can even say anything to greet him, he’s walking away and slamming his door shut. You give Jisung a look and he’s already looking at you apologetically. 

“I’m sorry,” he winces. “I really am. He’s not usually like this, I swear. I don’t know what’s going on–” 

“Jisung,” you interrupt. “You never told me he was an alpha in the first place!” 

His mouth opens slightly in a small ‘o’ shape. “I didn’t?” 

You sigh at him and take a deep breath. “Just help me with these boxes, okay?” And as if he’s eager to be back on your good side, he helps you without a fuss. 

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It’s two entire days before you even see Minho again. It agitates your own alpha, really, knowing that there’s someone else in your living space you haven’t gotten a proper chance to meet and scope out. But you’ve finally gotten yourself settled into your space and you have to admit it’s nice being so close to Jisung all the time. 

You stumble out of your room after an afternoon nap to find him cooking in the kitchen. It takes you by surprise, honestly, because for someone who has already tried to be so stereotypically alpha, it just seems like a very… omegan activity. You tell yourself it’s not polite to pass judgments on someone you hardly know, especially regarding their secondary gender, so you don’t say a word about it. You do, however, make an attempt to properly introduce yourself.

“Hello,” you say lightly. Minho’s shoulders tense up for a second before they relax. “I’m Y/N.” He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t say anything. You make a face from behind him, where he can’t see you. What is his deal? You lean against the wall, trying to think of a way to make conversation. If this were anybody else, you wouldn’t bother but… you’re doing this for Jisung, after all. This is supposed to be one of his closest friends aside from you. “How long have you known Jisung for?” you try. 

“Longer than you,” he scoffs. This catches you off guard as you’re not quite sure what to make of the statement. Is he trying to be possessive over the omega or is he just trying to show you that he’s winning whatever competition this is? 

“Oh. How long would that be? I’ve only known him for two years or so, but we’ve grown really close–” Minho finally spins around and you make eye contact for the first time. His harsh gaze is the first thing you really notice about him, his feline eyes sharp as they stare daggers into you. He’s very pretty, you note, and it almost pisses you off even more. How can someone so attractive be such an asshole? 

“You’re not my friend,” he says, pointing a wooden spoon at you threateningly. “This was my space first and you have no right to intrude and try to be buddy-buddy with me. I don’t know you.” His words are blunt, to the point. He turns back around and… god, he’s trying to assert dominance again by shutting you up and ending the conversation here! Better yet, his cinnamon scent spikes and swirls around the room, haunting you. 

You won’t retaliate with your own scent. You’re better than that. But that doesn’t mean you’ll let some alpha think he’s better than you and shut you up without a fight. “Who’s fault is that?” you spit. Minho freezes so you continue. “Who’s fault is it that you don’t know me, hmm? I never asked to be your friend, Minho. But I’m not here to intrude and I’m not here to take over your territory and become the new head-alpha, okay? I’m here because Jisung invited me. I’m here because I need a place to live! Is it really so fucking bad to think that maybe you can be civil with me? Instead you’ve been defensive since the second I walked through that door!” Your anger is spiking and you need to get control of yourself before you explode on him. You turn around and slam your door shut before you can say anymore. 

Once on your bed you fight the urge to punch something. You certainly let yourself get riled up fast. It annoys you that someone you don’t even know has this sort of effect on you. But you close your eyes and will the anger away, telling yourself that maybe, just maybe, it’ll get better. 

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It doesn’t get better. It gets a whole lot worse, actually. Your first movie-night in with Jisung you actually get nauseous with how much he reeks of Minho. 

“Jesus, Sung,” you tell him. “It smells like you rolled around with him right before you came into my room.” 

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. It’s so hard to be mad at him. It really is. “He’s been extra clingy lately for some reason.” 

“For some reason,” you grumble. You know exactly why. “He’s trying to intimidate me to stay away from you, probably.” 

“What? Minho would never do that!” he says. You glare at him and he cowers down immediately. “I don’t know what’s going on with him,” he admits. 

“I’m tired of him making me feel like I’m the crazy one here! Everyone I talk to shoots praises out of their ass for him and meanwhile, I’m public enemy number one. I seriously don’t know what his issue is with me and I’m getting sick and tired of everyone telling me what a great person he is!” you rant rather loudly, ending with a great sigh. 

“Have you tried talking to him?” Jisung asks. You feel like you’re going to explode. 

“Yes, I have,” you tell him. “Multiple times. Each one ends in an argument or one of us storming off. I just can’t figure out what his deal is.” 

“Maybe–” 

“Sung, let’s just watch the movie, okay? I’m starting to get irritated and you’re not the one I’m upset with.” 

He concedes and snuggles in a bit closer to you, pressing play on the laptop. If you discreetly try to cover him in your own ginger scent? That’s between you and the moon goddess. 

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You find yourself in the midst of some sort of war and you’re on the losing side. Lee Minho has made it his life mission to inconvenience or irritate you in any way he can. 

Exhibit A: One morning you find yourself running late for class and you open your door just to trip over a conveniently placed pile of his shoes. Cursing his name in your head, you grab your backpack and run out the front door, just narrowly making it in time for the professor to start talking. Fast forward to the end of class when you pull out your folder just to realize that said folder is nowhere to be seen. Your homework which you spent over an hour on the previous night has vanished, gaining you a zero on the assignment. You’re sure you’re seeing red when you get home and your folder is on the kitchen counter.  

“I don’t know what game you think we’re playing, but sabotaging my grades is going too fucking far, Lee!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he sips on a cup of coffee. You fight the urge to throw it in his face. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t try to make me late for class and hide my folder!” you say, waving the folder in his face. He looks irritated but it’s no match for how you feel. 

“Your belongings are not my responsibility,” he says with an eye roll. “Next time maybe don’t misplace your stuff.” You leave because you’re not confident in your ability not to punch him. 

Exhibit B: Poor Jisung has tried to set up an apartment movie night. It’s a good idea, in theory, to try to get some supervised bonding. Jisung even sits right in the middle, anxiously picking at his nails the entire movie. That’s only after Minho accuses you of burning the popcorn and fighting with you over which movie to watch. Jisung ends up picking it. It was going well until he stretched his legs out over Jisung’s lap and into your space. You shove his feet off of you faster than he put them up. The action makes him almost fall off the couch and spill his soda all over himself and Jisung. 

The omega stands up covered in soda and huffs. “I give up!” he cries out in exasperation. 

“It’s her fault for pushing me–” 

“Give it a fucking rest!” you cry out. 

Everybody ends up in their respective rooms that night. 

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 You didn’t want to go to this party. You really didn’t but you figured that you owe Jisung big time for turning his apartment into a warzone. The omega already has social anxiety and doesn’t love parties himself so you promised you would tag along. 

Minho is here too. You tell yourself you won’t interact with him but you keep catching his eyes from across the room. Deep down you hope that maybe the alcohol will mellow him down a bit and make him more tolerable. And maybe you use alcohol as a coping mechanism this one night. You’re stressed and a walking ball of tension every second of each day, not even able to relax in your own apartment. 

You always have an eye on Jisung when you party together. But you indulge in some tipsy flirting for once. This guy is super cute, after all… freckled face, long blond hair that frames his face, and a deep, sensual voice that makes you giggle and fawn over him. You amp up the usual techniques, touching his arm and laughing at all of his jokes. And when he leans in close enough that you feel his breath on your neck you don’t stop him. 

But somebody else does. 

One second you're bracing yourself for a drunken kiss and the next a hand is wrapped tightly around your arm, pulling you away. You smell burnt cinnamon before you even realize what happened and the anger that bubbles in your chest is unlike any you’ve ever felt before. You retaliate just as fast with an overwhelming mix of ginger that smells so strong it burns your nose. Before you can yell you’re being pushed out the door and into the cold of the night. 

“What the fuck was that,” you spit at Minho. You yank your arm out of his grip. 

“We’re leaving,” he tells you. 

“Like hell we are! You don’t get a say of who I spend my time with or when I decide to leave.” 

“I get a say when you’re making idiotic choices,” he answers, voice low. He spins you around until you’re pinned against the wall and his skin burns hot against yours. 

“No, you don’t. You’ve made yourself loud and clear that you don’t give a fuck about me. My bad choices are mine to make, Minho, not yours.” 

“You’re not thinking straight,” he tells you once he finally lets go. He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “Felix… he’s… I know him from my dance studio, okay? Just.. trust me and don’t go home with him. You can’t kiss him. Not Felix.”

“From your dance studio? Wow, ladies and gentlemen! Lee Minho has revealed exactly one thing about himself! He’s a dancer!” you say with mock surprise. You stumble a bit and Minho steadies you by your waist. It only serves to piss you off even more. 

“Let’s go home, yeah?” he asks. It’s probably the softest you’ve ever heard his voice yet. 

“No. I think I’m going to go kiss Felix and you can go fuck off,” you protest. You cross your arms and you look away from him because his cheeks are also flushed from drinking and he worries his lips between his teeth so you can’t stand to see it. 

He takes a deep breath. “Y/N, I swear to god you’re going to walk home with me or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and bring you home myself.”

Before you snap back at him about how ridiculous he’s being, the door opens and Jisung steps out. “Guys?” he questions, looking back and forth between the two of you. You’re breathing heavily and your fists are clenched but your anger dissipates the second you see the disappointed look on Jisung’s face. He wanted you here to keep him company. To soothe his social anxiety and to prove that you could be there for him, to show up for him like old time’s sake. And just like that, the adrenaline high slowly fades when you realize you’ve let him down. Anger turns to sorrow and guilt and god, no you won’t let Minho see you cry but you bury your face into Jisung’s neck. You whisper an apology and tell him you want to go home. 

You can’t help but feel like Minho has won this round, in some roundabout twisted way. 

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You avoid leaving your room for the next day. You don’t really feel like you’re deserving of wallowing in your own sorrow, especially since the one who is impacted here is Jisung, not you. You’ve let him down. You don’t get to mope. So… what you’re doing is avoiding. Avoiding Minho and therefore avoiding any more conflict. 

It’s the next day you leave your room. You notice the scent of vanilla a little more sweet than normal and when you knock on Jisung’s door you notice he’s nesting. A mixture of your clothes and Minho’s are piled in his bed and you feel a pang of guilt in your chest. 

“You okay?” you ask. If Jisung is in preheat and you’ve avoided him for the past 24 hours, he’s probably feeling pretty antsy. He does let out a breath of relief when he sees you though and brings you in for a hug. 

But of course your timing is unfortunate because Minho unlocks the front door at that very moment. When he sees you in Jisung’s arms he growls, causing you and the omega to stiffen. Minho crosses the room in seconds and the smell of cinnamon behind you gets stronger. 

“Off,” he says low into your ear. You have half the mind to snap at him but Jisung’s vanilla scent burns. You back off, giving Jisung a small nod before disappearing to your room. The last thing you want to do is distress Jisung further just before he starts his heat. This needs to stop. It needs to end. 

Jisung leaves the next day to spend his heat in a hotel. Despite the apartment being more comfortable for him, the unit isn’t equipped to deal with the overwhelming scent of heats and ruts. You couldn’t afford a scent complaint fee. Jisung doesn’t complain as you help him pack his bags and you even help him into the hotel room. You offer your best support in helping him rebuild his nest though you don’t have the same omegan instincts as he does. 

“I’m sorry again,” you tell him before you leave. “For everything. With Minho. It’s… we’ll work it out. Okay? Love you Sung.” 

He gives you a sad smile. His heat should start by the morning, you would guess. You just hope he can be comfortable and not worry too much about you and Minho. 

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Minho is standing anxiously by the door when you get home. You half expect him to crowd you against the wall but he doesn’t, eyes glued to the floor instead. 

“You smell like him,” he tells you. 

“Yes Minho,” you reply sarcastically. “It’s like I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. Jisung is my friend too. You don’t have to act all possessive of him all the time.” 

He hums. You feel your blood boil again. How does he get you so worked up to the point of your heart pumping a mile a minute every time you see him? 

“Minho. Be honest,” you start. He finally looks up at you. You can’t read his face. Your alpha goes back and forth between wanting to pounce on him and run away in fear. You need to do what you think is right. “Do you want me to move out?” 

You aren’t expecting his reaction. You expect him to laugh in your face. You expect him to be overjoyed. But instead he seems shocked. 

“What?” 

“What do you mean what? Don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted from the very beginning. You win, okay? I concede. You want your space? You want to be the only alpha again? This is it. This is your opportunity. I’m offering you a way out now. No more fighting. No more upsetting Jisung. If you want me gone, just say the word. Please. I’ll leave.” 

“Don’t.” 

“What?” You almost think you’ve misheard him but he takes a step closer and he looks at you with pleading eyes. “What is your gameplan then? Why make me miserable since the second I move in? Argue with me, tell me who I can and can’t kiss, for god’s sake make me fail a fucking assignment? If you don’t want me fucking gone, Minho, what the fuck do you want–” 

You’re cut off by his lips clashing against yours so hard your head would have hit your head against the wall if not for Minho’s hands holding you as if you’re something precious. Your teeth clank together but you’re breathing him in and reciprocating his affection just as violently as he gives it. When his tongue enters your mouth and you taste cinnamon you realize you’ve never hated the smell, never hated him… He kisses into you like he needs you to breathe, like he’s been in the desert and you’re his oasis. 

You’re not sure that a kiss has ever felt like this before. You think for a moment that you might not be able to kiss anyone again after this, everyone and everything lacklustre compared to Minho. Minho. Minho. Nobody has ever and will ever make you feel this burning, boiling… hatred? lust? desire? Whatever it is you feel, you’re not sure it could be replicated. 

When you wrap your leg around his waist he grabs under your knee, hoisting you against the wall. His mouth is all over you and he explores every inch of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. Your hands take purchase on his shoulders, in his hair, you’re not sure but you want to feel every inch of him there is to explore. Cinnamon has never smelled so sweet.

Minho brings you into his bedroom and it’s the first time you’ve stepped foot into his space but you don’t take the time to look around. In fact, the only thing you notice is that his comforter is soft, soft against your back as he throws you onto his bed. Your clothes are all but shredded from your body and if you had claws you would have used them to get every inch of useless fabric off of Lee Minho’s body. It makes you angry that he’s still clothed, so angry that you forgo pleasure in replacement of ripping the clothes off of him harshly. He grins. He has that smug fucking grin on his face you want to wipe off and you kiss his stupid lips again. This time when you kiss you’re both completely naked and every part of your body that touches his is scalding. 

When you sit on his lap your bare pussy slides along his cock and you both groan. His hands are on your hips and in desperation you both move back and forth. Every time his cock catches on your entrance you both let out a hitched breath but neither of you can stop. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna knot you, you know that? I’m gonna fuck you so full and then knot you so that everybody knows you’re mine,” he pants as he ruts his cock against you desperately. Is this just another way for him to stake his claim over you? To show that he’s the true alpha? Oh hell no.

“You’re such an asshole,” you tell him with a hiss when he finally slides into you. He’s big. You already knew this from the (not so) dry humping just moments ago but it still pisses you off when he stretches you nice and full. “Stupid asshole alpha with a stupid big cock.” 

When he looks up at you it’s with adoration and it throws you off. His eyes gleam and his teeth are caught against his bottom lip in a sultry grin. He plants his feet against his bed and thrusts up into you hard and fast–you almost fall because you have no time to plant your hands anywhere for balance. But the almighty perfect Minho catches you before you fall because of course he does. His hands on your waist only hold you in place to give him the opportunity to fuck up into you with more force and the wet sounds that come from between your bodies are filthy… but only serves to turn you on even more. 

“You were saying about me being an asshole?” he asks. His voice is breathy and low and you fucking hate how much you love it. 

“If all you wanted was to fuck me this bad you didn’t have to act like such a dick,” you say through tight lips. Okay. You’re trying not to moan, to give him that satisfaction. Who could blame you? “You only made me hate you more.” 

“Fuck,” he says, throwing his head back. “It wasn’t on purpose… didn’t like you at first but all of a sudden it turned to lust and… can’t you feel what you do to me?” He punctuates his point with a harsh thrust and fuck, you vaguely remember him mentioning he was a dancer. Perfect body, perfect hips and thighs made just to fuck you like this. 

“How you treated me wasn’t fair,” you tell him. You need him to know and you’re lowering your hips, trapping your legs under his so he can’t bounce you up and down on his cock anymore. Your hand snakes up to his throat and takes purchase there, watching the way he gulps and his eyes turn heavy at the action. You feel a burning satisfaction at the way his hips buck into you involuntarily when you squeeze slightly. “Say it,” you coo. “I want to hear you admit to me that you know you treated me poorly.” 

You expect a fight from him because, let’s be honest, Minho always puts up a fight with you. But any ounce of opposition leaves his body the second his eyes meet yours. He looks regretful. He looks small. “I treated you poorly,” he tells you. His eyes never leave yours. “I acted like a child because I had feelings for you that were misplaced. I liked you from the beginning and I… fuck, I didn’t know how to deal with that and I pushed you away. I wanted you to hate me.” 

The confession that spills past his lips is the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Your grip on his neck falters and he uses his stupidly impressive core strength to sit up, bringing your lips into a kiss. It isn’t explosive, it isn’t word-changing, but it is sweet and apologetic and very Minho. 

He places you on your back and resumes his pace, bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders. At this angle he reaches deep inside you and the first time you gasp he resumes his brutal, relentless pace. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna knot you, please let me knot this pretty pussy,” he pleads. The first time he said it it was a demand; this time he asks from his soul, baring it to you and giving you ample time and opportunity to reject it. 

“Yes,” you moan. But if he’s going to claim you as his from the inside out, the least you could do is return the favor. And so you scratch Minho, raking your nails down his back until they’re sure to leave a mark. And when you’re both on the precipice you bite down onto his shoulder hard, just inches away from his scent gland. It’s not a mating bite but it is a mark, a claim. You suck hard into the bite just as he finishes, his knot expanding and catching on your entrance. You don’t release your mouth from his skin until he’s done pulsing inside you but to your surprise, he doesn’t stop moving his hips. Despite his knot locking you in place he grinds his hips into yours in small circles, putting pressure right onto your clit with his pubic bone. It’s too much, the stimulation of your clit, his knot, and the thick head of his cock hitting that spot deep inside you causing you to cum around him hard with a cry. 

You feel as if you’ve been electrocuted, little shocks going through your whole body with every wave of your orgasm. You almost wish he was bad in bed, if just to keep your dignity and tell him that he wasn’t all that. But with the gutteral noises he dispelled from your body, lying would just be a farce. 

When you’ve both finally calmed down and his knot finally deflates, you half expect him to kick you out of his room. You’ve built up your walls so high around him that it’s hard to imagine him treating you any other way. You’re anxious for sure, moreso at yourself for allowing yourself to be so hopeful. But Minho rolls over and grabs you, holding you close to his chest. Even when you squirm he doesn’t dare to let you go. 

“I really am sorry,” he tells you. A murmur into your hair. “I don’t want you to move out. I’m sorry for treating you the way I did. My alpha thought… that because we like you that maybe asserting our dominance would make you like us more. I know that’s illogical and just sounds  like an excuse but…” 

“I forgive you,” you tell him. “Well… maybe I don’t forgive you just yet. But I can if you prove to me that you’re done with the macho asshole alpha act. No more being possessive over Jisung. My friend by the way! Still haven’t gotten over that. And no more sabotaging my grades.” You shoot him a glare and he only looks at you sheepishly. Harsh looks turn into soft stares and all of a sudden he’s kissing you again. Your tension has already begun to melt away. You begin to see the charm of the Lee Minho everybody has told you about and you think, maybe… just maybe everything will be okay now. 

“I think we owe Jisung a gift,” Minho whispers into your hair. 

“I think we owe him a hundred gifts,” you wince. 

“He’s not going to believe his fucking mind when he gets back.” You laugh so hard your stomach begins to hurt. You think maybe you like the way Minho looks when he smiles. You think maybe you really like the way cinnamon and ginger smell together. You think maybe you could get used to kissing Minho and that burning, bubbly feeling in your stomach agrees. 

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[eclipixels]

Auction

Sylus x Reader

Content: Sylus and you are on a mission at yet another auction, but things get heated and messy when one of the high-profile men there takes an interest to you

Warnings: 🍋

[2,822 words]

Sylus let out a dramatic sigh, laced with playful teasing. "Well, well, who do we have here, all dressed up so elegantly? Could it be you, Y/n?"

"No, it's me, Mephisto the bird," you deadpanned.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to give you a compliment," he muttered, only for you to giggle in response.

His smirk deepened as his gaze swept over you. "A maroon dress, my favorite color. Now, how did you manage to figure that out?" He extended his arm toward you.

Linking your arm with his, you mused, "Hmm, maybe it had something to do with that fit you threw when Kieran and Luke told you they only had blue available for your weapon touch-ups?"

Sylus huffed. "Battle recognition is just as crucial as anything else, Y/n. How else would my men immediately know it was me?"

"Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you're the only one whose evol shrouds them in red mist?" you quipped.

"Whatever," he dismissed with a shake of his head, but his expression softened. With a gentle touch, he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his voice warm. "I just wanted to tell you that you look absolutely ethereal tonight."

A warm blush crept onto your cheeks as you smiled. No matter how effortlessly his teasing could get under your skin, he always knew precisely what to say to make you melt beneath his gaze in half the time.

"You could have just led with that," you murmured.

"I enjoy a good buildup," he replied smoothly.

And oh, did he.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard after this," Sylus whispered against your ear before gripping your waist and effortlessly lifting you onto his motorcycle.

Excitement buzzed through you. Most missions left him too stressed to truly enjoy your time together, but tonight felt different. You just hoped the helmet wouldn’t completely ruin your hair as he revved the engine and sped through the streets toward the banquet.

By the time you arrived, the sky had begun to shift into a soft pink hue.

Wealthy, high-profile guests bustled past, flaunting expensive accessories. Some chased after friends, laughter and conversation filling the grand entrance. You let Sylus guide you inside.

Apparently, you were among the last to arrive. A thunderous welcome erupted as dozens of already-intoxicated dealers greeted Sylus at the table. Though they had no idea who you were, they treated you with the same warmth, as if you belonged.

A man who seemed more important than the rest raised his glass in a toast to Sylus and "his lovely companion" before swiftly returning to his feast and drink.

Sylus pulled out your chair, and you murmured a quiet thanks before settling in. He took his seat beside you, and almost instantly, he was swept into conversation with people you'd never met.

You picked at the food before you, savoring small bites. Half of it was unrecognizable, but every morsel was exquisite.

Still, as time passed, boredom crept in. You knew no one, and Sylus, ever the charmer, was busy captivating the group to your left.

With nothing else to do, you idly poked at your food, feeling distinctly out of place.

From afar, you saw a group of ladies around him. They were touching his arm and giggling. He didn't do a thing to move them away.

"You look like you could use a drink."

It took you a moment to realize the boy across the table was talking to you. You lifted your cheek off your hand and cocked your head at him.

"It's wine, aged quite nicely, due to the special occasion."

He had brown hair, brown eyes with tan skin. The suit he was wearing was a crisp crimson red with accents of gold.

"I'm sorry, you are...?"

"Ollivander," he poured the offered bottle of wine over your waiting glass. "But my friends call me Ander."

"I'm Y/n," you offered in turn, tipping the glass toward him in thanks. He asked your profession, and you had to make up some lie, not revealing your hunter status or this whole thing would blow. “I came here with Sylus”

You thought about adding 'Mr.' or 'Boss' before his name, but it just didn't sound right coming out of your mouth.

"Ah, the leader of Onychinus" Ander raised an eyebrow, then leaned across the table so only you could hear, "Tell me. Is that whole thing about him true?"

You choked on your drink, wondering what he was talking about. You tlit your eyes to Sylus, watching him talk cheerily with the rich pretty girls.

"What do you mean?." you asked, twirling the dark liquid around in your glass.

"Oh nevermind" Ander took your answer, sipping his wine at the same time as you. He kept his eyes on yours over the brim of his glass until he set it down again, shifting his seat closer.

"So, Y/n. How are you enjoying my brother’s auction so far"

"Your brother?"

"The CEO of the second biggest weapons manufacturer," he explained.

"Oh, everything is so... fancy. But I guess you're used to it."

Ander smiled knowingly at this, and you relaxed a bit in relief.

"Miss Y/n, I can have all the finest protocores in the world, yet nothing could ever compare to the gem sitting before me."

"Mr. Ollivander," Sylus suddenly announced, pulling himself away from the conversation. His hand found your knee and squeezed it gently. "I believe we've met before."

"Yes, I recall your men having an... altercation with our employees," Ander responded to your confused expression.

"A brave man, your brother," Sylus acknowledged, his tone calm but laced with something more. "For sending your people to intercept mine. Though some might consider it more foolish than brave."

"That, he is," Ander agreed with a small smirk. "But I think you'll find I'm nothing like my brother."

Sylus's grip on your knee tightened as you laughed at the exchange.

"Thank goodness he was there to save the day," Ander added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You could practically feel the possessiveness radiating from Sylus.

You let Ander keep talking, Sylus glaring at him while his hand slowly inched higher up your thigh. He was careful to keep your dress in place, so it wouldn’t attract too much attention, but you still felt uneasy with how close his fingers were getting.

“Yes... thank,” Sylus said, his voice sharp. “Goodness.”

"More wine?" Ander asked, clearing his throat as he turned his attention back to you.

As Ander spoke, you felt Sylus’s fingers lightly brush the delicate skin between your thighs. You quickly swallowed the remaining wine, gripping his wrist to stop him with one hand, while reaching out to accept Ander’s offer with the other.

"Now, tell me, Y/n," Ander continued, "What brings someone as lovely as you here?"

"Well," you started, your voice trembling as Sylus’s hand continued its persistent teasing, now settling over your underwear. You cursed him silently, wishing you had more time to come up with a convincing story instead of being distracted by his antics before arriving here.

"I had nothing going on tonight" You said as he withdrew his hand from your panties, the evidence of your desire coating his fingers.

Your response was unclear, uninspired, and far from the truth, but it was the only thing your overwhelmed mind could conjure. Your fingers dug into the skin of Sylus's wrist as he continued his unfair movements inside you.

"Ah, I understand." Ander acknowledged your response, but his gaze lingered on you as he took another drink. Your hand shook slightly as you lifted your glass to your mouth. Sylus, with his love for fine wine, swirled his drink in the glass before taking a swift sip, all while casually slipping a finger inside you. He grinned at the shock in your eyes, licking the dark red wine from his lips.

"Enough about me," you urged, placing your glass aside. "Surely there must be something more captivating we could discuss."

"More captivating than you, darling?" Ander raised an eyebrow. Sylus pressed his finger deep inside you, twisting it around.

"That's a tough request, if you ask me," Sylus replied, and though you shot him a look, Ander appeared oblivious.

"I completely agree with that sentiment. But if the lady prefers not to be the center of attention, perhaps I could tell you about my recent business trip to Skyhaven?"

"Ander—may I call you Ander?" Sylus teased, earning a brief, polite smile and a nod.

"Of course."

"I don’t mean to interrupt, but where exactly did you say this wine was from?" Sylus inquired.

"Oh, it’s from my own wine business. It’s harvested in zero gravity for a purer, uninterrupted flavor. The fermentation process is accelerated using protocores and Chronofermentation for aging."

Sylus eyed the wine with clear distaste. "Well, it’s not good."

Ander’s smile faltered, his expression briefly freezing. "It’s an acquired taste."

"Hm." Sylus scrunched his face, eyeing the bottle again.

"Your date seems to be enjoying my wine," Ander remarked with a smirk.

Sylus turned to look at you. "Does she?"

"Uh..." You hesitated. You didn’t want to answer. Sylus raised an eyebrow in that signature way of his. Mentally, you were scolding him. Why was he being messy?

"It’s good,” you say with a smile. You feel Sylus shift his fingers roughly in response. Your eyes widen in surprise. Is this his way of retaliating for your response? You clutch his wrist for support.

"Your trip to Sky Haven?" you ask, your voice catching after a brief pause. Ander chuckles softly before diving into the conversation.

You gave him a faint smile and nodded to show your support. He started talking about the trades and pilots he’d encountered, going on and on, while you tried to keep up by smiling at the right moments, nodding when needed, and pretending to listen attentively. Sylus had fit another finger inside you and was pulling them in and out with a slight shift of his wrist, working past the squeeze of your thighs around him. You were leaking so much you swore you could hear squelches everytime he shoved his fingers back im you

You tried to resist him, but it felt too enticing... he had pushed you to such an intense point of longing that you'd do anything to find relief. Even if it meant right here, in front of a man who unmistakably had an interest in you. Your hands gripped the edge of the tablecloth as he rocked his fingers into you especially hard, then pulled them out completely. You clenched emptily, searching for his hand.

"Don't you agree, Y/n?" Ander asked.

It was messy, and dirty, and downright sinful, what he was doing under the table.

"Y/n? Are you okay? I don't think you caught that."

"Sorry, what?" You swallowed hard.

Sylus grew sick of the teasing then, and roughly plunged his fingers back into you. You whimpered quietly and shifted in your seat, almost spilling your wine glass if Sylus hadn't caught it in time.

"Y/n... I don’t mean to overstep, but are you feeling okay? Your cheeks are a bit flushed, and you're sweating.”

Sylus pulled his fingers out of you again. Your attention was captured by him though, as he licked the fingers that were just inside you. Ander was looking directly at him, and you were unimaginably turned on and a tiny bit ashamed at how you gushed at the sight.

"Excuse me, I think I could use some fresh air," you muttered, hurrying towards the exit in search of a bathroom.

"I should probably go after her and make sure she's okay," Sylus remarked with a smile before standing up. Catching up to you, he swiftly pushed you into one of the elegant restrooms, locking the door behind you.

"That was cruel," you hissed, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness on your thighs.

"Was it cruel for you or for him?"

"Both."

He laughed darkly, clearly pleased with himself.

"Don't think you'll get away so easily," you warned as he approached, backing you into the countertop.

"Oh?" He traced his fingers from your neck down to your chest, subtly pulling the dress lower to expose the skin beneath.

"You need to finish what you began."

"I do?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you ask him?" Sylus raised an eyebrow, his tone playful. "I’m sure he’d be thrilled to put his hands on you—"

"Sylus!"

He sighed before lifting you onto the countertop. Leaning in, he kissed your neck, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh. His touch was soft, teasing as his finger traced a delicate line up and down between your legs. Sylus smirked cruelly, moving your underwear to the side. He mouthed a line down your neck, teasing the sensitive skin between his teeth.

He increased the pressure on your clit, index finger feeling for your entrance. He curled two fingers inside of you, immediately hitting your sweet spot while biting a mark into your neck. You arched into him. Everyone always thought Sylus was so reckless but he you knew with the way he fucked you half to heaven, everything he did was meticulously planned and thought out.

“Bend over.” His voice sent chills down your spine. You let him pull his hand back and did as he said. You were leaning over the counter. You arched your back as he came to stand behind you, smoothing a hand over your soft flesh.

You pressed back against him, your skin burning with desire, craving his touch. He had been teasing you all night, and you were done waiting. Your thighs were slick, and your patience was worn thin. Every time you thought you had him, he'd pull away, but this time, there was something different in his voice—a promise, and you were more than ready to see it fulfilled.

he lined himself up at your entrance, the large length of him sinking in. You sighed in relief. This is what he'd been holding back for so long, what you'd been needing for hours now. He didn't give you time to adjust before he slammed into you, hard and fast and punishing. With your legs closed and walls tightened, he filled up every inch of you. You were cumming in no time at all, barely given a moment to wrap your muddled brain around the actions that brought you here. He didn't slow down. As you moaned through your orgasm, expecting him to give you time to recover, he sped up, holding your hips down and driving into you with a new fervor.

You sucked in every breath you could as he slammed into you, a constant stream of muscle-trembling pleasure washing over you with each push and pull of his cock. You tried to keep quiet but he kept fucking you deep and hard and good.

You didn't know how many times he made you cum before he finally let up. His pace slowed and he allowed you to breathe, shaking and sweating and voice turned hoarse. You were clenching involuntarily around Sylus's cock, tender and sore. Sylus whispered sweet praises into your ear, but all you could hear was your rushing heartbeat and a distant ringing.

You whimpered pathetically, clawing at the marble countertop as he rocked into you, painfully pleasant sparks shooting through your body.

Sylus sighed, hand smoothing down your spine, his touch gentle but his voice icy cold.

"Let me hear how good I make you feel,” he whispered, fingers squeezing around your neck as his cock scraped against your walls delicately. He groaned appreciatively as he felt you stiffen around him, then the wave of pleasure crashed over you all at once, causing weak cries to tear from your throat. Once your body stopped spasming and your cries turned to exhausted little noises, he slowly pulled out of you. Sylus had finished as well, his cum mixing into the mess you had made of yourself and he smiled at your ruined state.

“Think you can finish the mission tonight?” He asked teasingly.

“Huh?” You asked. You had completely forgotten why you were here in the first place.

“My goodness, Y/n. did I fuck you dumb?”

“I just—I need a second to touch up and I can—yeah.” You sighed, looking at the way his cum spilled out of you.

“Need help?” He asked teasingly.

“You’ve helped enough, tonight.” You scowled at him as he laughed wickedly.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: I am still dizzy her and there but feeling a bit better.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wouldn’t call it doom scrolling. That’s not what this is. You try not to search out the depressing headlines or the studies of the human character assuring you of your race’s inherent flaws. Yet, all those boastful posts about engagements, weddings, and promotions still make you feel crummy. 

Jealous? Sure. You don’t have any of those things and it isn’t as if you can hope for as much, either. You’re in a dead-end job, living in cramped apartment with your sister and her irresponsible friend, and your romantic life is next to non-existent; not that you’ve been looking. None of that is meant for you, otherwise, you’d have had some glimmer of interest by now. 

It’s like quicksand. Not very quick but it pulls you down lower and lower. Sinking and sinking until all you can see is the muck. There’s no way out now, you’re waist deep in it. 

You click under your favourite communities and start a new post. You don’t make many. Mostly you read and judge silently. You’re a lurker. Like in many facets of your life. You watch, you don’t do. But you’ve had a shitty day and you need to just let it out. 

Your fingers move as your thoughts boil in your head; your nagging manager, your lazy landlord, and your immature roommates. Nothing ever goes your way. Everyone else has it figured out and you’re just left to rot. You try! You do. Resumes, profiles on friendship apps, online courses; free, of course, it’s all you can afford, but you do try to improve yourself. It just doesn’t work. 

You hit ‘post’ and close the lid of your ancient laptop. It’s as thick as a book. The battery doesn’t hold a charge and the fan is as loud as a jet. You fall back onto your bed and look around your tiny room. That’s all you have. This space is as much as you can call your own and not really. You rent it, it can be taken away with one of those red stamped notices. 

You yawn and drag yourself up. A whole shift and you didn’t bother to have more than the bland break room coffee spewed from the off-brand pod machine and a couple sticks of gum. Tia got herself sushi before her shift but she can just ask her parents to send her money to cover her Door Dash addiction. 

You plod out to the kitchen. Your sister closes the fridge and cracks the tab of a beer can. You’re sure it isn’t her first.  

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Shea bobbles her head. 

Funny since Donna pretty much hollered at you for interrupting her TV show. You all pitched in on the flat screen yet it’s never your turn with it. You shrug and go to the cupboard. It’s not sushi but the spicy shrimp ramen isn’t too bad... 

“You work?” You ask. 

“Pfft, no. Didn’t I say I was going to lunch with Mason?” 

“Did you?” You take down at bowl. She probably did. You never remember. She’s always got a date or a party or a fall back. If she can’t make rent, she’ll smile a cute guy and get some money. 

“He bought me some shoes! You’ll never believe.” 

“Right,” you try not to seethe. 

You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. You’re eating sodium-laced noodles and holding back tears against old people wanting to print out their life story from a corrupt PDF. She’s pretty. She doesn’t have to try. Shea is all the proof you need that some people are just lucky. 

You put the electric kettle onto boil and the smell of burnt—something makes your lip curl. You pop the lid and look inside. It’s brown. What the hell? 

“What’s wrong with this?” You ask as you flip off the switch. 

“Donna!” Shea yells, “what did you do to the kettle?” No answer. Your sister hollers again. 

A door swings open and Donna stomps out with a huff. Her face is green as she has a mask spread over it and eye masks pasted beneath her lashes. 

“I’m getting ready--” 

“The kettle stinks,” you reach for a pot and find none. They’re all stacked and waiting to be washed. You snatch one off the top and flip on the faucet. 

“Oh, I heated up some bone broth in it. I’m doing a cleanse,” she smirks. “Tasted kinda weird.” 

“Bone broth?” You scoff. See. You try, they can’t even clean dishes. “Great.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine, just rinse it out,” Shea says. 

You scrub the pan and ignore her. You glance up as she slurps noisily from the can. Pre-drinks. Her and Donna are going out. Again. They can afford to because they don’t buy their own drinks. They don’t need to. You went out with them once and paid for all of your own, even though you’d have been happy enough with a single round. 

“Have fun,” you dry out the pan and slam it on the burner. 

“Jeez, maybe you should loosen up?” Donna chides. 

“Yeah, come with us. Dance it out,” Shea drawls. 

“No thanks,” you twist the knob and light the burner. “I have work tomorrow.” 

“Call innnnn,” Shea insists. 

“I can’t,” you sniff and step back to wait for the water to boil. 

“Boring,” she chirps. 

“Yep, I am,” you cross your arms. Your annoyed. When the go out, you’ll have to clean up this mess. You can’t handle another bout of fruit flies. 

You put the noodles in and let them soften. You stir in the oil and powder then retreat to your room with the bowl of boiling cholesterol. You let it cool and put a video on your phone. You don’t want to think. 

You eat deliberately. You savour the processed flavouring. You can’t go out sneak a midnight snack; Donna ate all your cookies. You label all your stuff in thick marker and she apparently can’t read. 

You hear them leave. They’re loud. They leave the television on. At high volume. 

You go out and shut it off. You need to sleep soon. Opening always comes after a late shift. Otherwise, how else would the corporation keep you disempowered. 

You open your laptop. You’ll but on some lo-fi while you charge your phone. Heck, the fan is like white noise on its own. 

The little red number at the bottom of the page stops you. You left the browser open. Someone actually responded to your post. You click and your stomach drops as you read the first sentence. 

‘Sounds like you cause a lot of your own problems. Maybe try some mindful exercises and get out more. You should also consider making some friends.’ 

You read it over and over. You’re angry. Hurt, too. But most that first thing. You can’t stop from replying. 

‘You got all that from me venting? I wasn’t asking for advice. I walk to and from work and I have friends.’ 

It’s mostly true. You do walk. Most days. And your sister is a friend, isn’t she? By association, so is Donna. 

Before you can look up your favourite twelve-hour lo-fi, another notification pops up. 

‘Looking at your post history, your diet could use some improvements. More veggies. And walking is a good starting point but you need to increase your endorphins. I’d be happy to send you some helpful guides. They’re easily searchable on the internet. We live in the age of information, you should consider taking advantage of that.’ 

Wow, what an asshole. He’s smug and obviously better than you. You click on his username and scroll through. Just as you expect. He posts in fitness communities. Not any videos of him but sharing tutorials and recipes for high-protein smoothies and fibre-laced juices. He wouldn’t know flavour if it puked in his mouth. 

You his ‘esc’ and go back to your own post; ‘thanks for the advice. Have a good one.; 

That’s it. You’re not arguing with some faceless douche on the internet. His response is as quick as the first. 

‘A helpful link.’ He hyperlinks the words. ‘You should at least stretch in the morning and go outside on your breaks at work. You might work long shifts but it’s no excuse to be lazy. If you’ve been in that role for so long, you should have more than enough references to move on to something that doesn’t make you miserable.’ 

You don’t answer. You know if you do, you’ll just embarrass yourself. Judging by the few pics of his real life and his cadence, he’s got everything. He just thinks it’s a matter of mindset. There can’t possibly be anything else which could make things more difficult for people. You just don’t work hard enough. Duh, everyone always says so. 

You close out of the page. If he replies again, you’ll block him. Simple as. You put on a lo-fi track and dim the screen. You roll over and tuck into bed. You fall asleep in a ball of stress; you have to wake up, shower, do all that human stuff, then make yourself face another eight hours of hell. 

⭐

“I hate working at the fucking copy desk,” you hiss as you take your bag from the cubby in the break room. “Good luck.” 

Darcy gives you a look as she sits at one of the tables, waiting for her shift to start. You grit your teeth as you should your purse and grip your jacket tight. You punch your employee number into the clock then head out. 

As you march down the aisle of toner, a customer tries to stop you. “I’m off duty.” 

“But I need a keyboard.” 

You ignore them and keep going. 

“I’m going to tell a manager, young lady!” 

You don’t care. Besides, why are they looking for a keyboard in the toner aisle. The signs above with the giant letters clearly show that the computer accessories are in the opposite corner. 

People are stupid. They might be able to read, technically, but they definitely lack comprehension. Just like Donna who can’t keep her hands off your snacks. 

You walk home in a simmer. If you let your temper get away from you, you won’t be able to hold back when you walk into the inevitable shit show waiting for you at home. Shea and Donna hungover, probably having got into more of your sparse groceries, and amidst a brand new mess for you to tidy. You won’t not this time. 

You have a mission. Go to your room and don’t come out. 

As you enter your building, you find the elevator non-responsive. A tiny post-it is stuck to the doors. ‘Out of Order’. Couldn’t have made something a bit more legible? 

You take the stairs. The hallway smells like onion and dirty clothes. You take out your keys as you get to your door, ignoring the rabble coming from the apartment next to yours. Before you can get your key in the slot, the door opens. 

“Heyyyy, she’s back,” Shea greets. You blink at her in confusion. Is she already drunk again? 

“Starting already?” You ask as you try to get past her. 

“Hm, no,” she says tritely, “you have a guest.” 

You roll your eyes, “don’t be a bitch, alright?” 

“No, really,” she grins. You stop and look her up and down. She isn’t falling apart like usual after a Friday night. Her hair is done, her makeup too, and she’s not in her sweats.  

“Is it mom?” You whisper. 

She snorts, “you’re stupid. No, it’s your friend. Steve.” She backs up with a shimmy, “I think some people call him Captain.” 

You make a face. What? 

“Who...” 

“Ahem,” a figure appears by the corner of the kitchen counter, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

You crane to see over Shea’s shoulder. The man behind her is tall. And familiar. Steve Rogers. Your expression contorts as your lashes flutter in confusion. 

“Not at all, Stevie,” Shea spins, “I’ll give you two the room. So nice to meet you.” 

She squeezes by him and touches his forearm as she does. He doesn’t react. She giggles and flits off. Her door shuts but you can tell that the latch didn’t catch. She’s listening. 

“Should we go outside? Get some sun?” He asks. 

You glance at him again. You’re lost. 

“Do I know you?” You grimace. 

“After all day under fluorescent, you should really get out--” 

“I-- I’m sorry, can you slow down and explain--” 

“Outside. Privately,” he says. 

You peek past him then look into the hallway behind you. You search your mind for an explanation. The only place you know him from is the internet or a history book. 

“Like I said before, going outside can really help with mood issues.” 

You hesitate and your mouth falls open. It can’t be... 

“Was that you? Last night?” You shake your head. 

“How about I buy you a smoothie?” He offers. 

You snap your mouth shut. He can’t be serious. This can’t be real. 

[meadowfics]

declined invite

the salesman / recruiter x gn!reader

the mysterious man pays you a visit after you do not call the card number

warnings: threats. manipulation. salesman takes a special interest to you. no gender for reader specified.

you had never been one for public transportation.

its been a rough week...rent overdue, your job barely covering expenses, and an argument with your sister kim about your financial irresponsibility.

tonight, you found yourself sitting at the edge of a subway platform, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering like they, too, were barely holding on.

a sigh left your lips as you rubbed your temples, trying to push away the headache forming behind your eyes. that’s when you sensed someone sitting down next to you.

at first, you did not mind. its the subway after all, you cannot tell anyone to move somewhere else.

however, you started to feel eyes on you.. then,

"excuse me."

you looked up, blinking in confusion at the well-dressed man sitting beside you. a sleek suit, a warm but eerily calculated smile.

he held up a briefcase, setting it on the seat beside him with an effortless grace.

"would you like to play a game?"

you frowned.

"excuse me?"

you didn't have time for salesman workers who frequent the streets to cheat on their wives at home. you've heard about those situations.

however, the man pulled out a stack of folded papers.before you could question it, he flipped them open, revealing two neat stacks of blue and red ddakji tiles.

"i'll make it simple," he said smoothly, tilting his head.

"we take turns throwing these, trying to flip the other player's tile. if you win, you get a hundred thousand won. if i win… well, you owe me your body. nothing vulgar, just a slap on the cheek."

you scoffed, shaking your head.

"i'm not interested."

"are you sure?"

the salesman’s eyes twinkled.

"it’s free money. surely, you have nothing to lose."

your arms crossed instinctively.

“i don’t play games with strangers.”

he chuckled, shuffling the tiles between his fingers before setting them down neatly.

"oh, but you do play games. just not ones you win."

your body stiffened.

"what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"you gamble. not with money...because you don't have any...but with your chances in life. you take risks constantly, trusting people you shouldn't, spending time in places you shouldn't."

he tapped his knee, mockingly thoughtful.

"like the shady bar down the street. the one you frequent when you’re avoiding your older sister's lectures. whiskey neat, always."

your breath hitched.

"or that friend you loaned money to last year. the one who promised to pay you back but never did. how much was it? a million won?"

your heart pounded.

“who the hell are you?”

he ignored your question, his smile unwavering.

"you’re not a very lucky person, are you?"

your throat went dry.

"i don't want to play your stupid game."

he exhaled dramatically.

"what a shame."

he began packing up the tiles with deliberate slowness, but then he pulled out a sleek brown card, sliding it toward you.

"but if you ever change your mind, call this number."

you stared at it, hesitating before picking it up. embossed in the center was a symbol of three shapes.

a circle, a triangle, and a square.

no name. no details. just a number.

you swallowed thickly, then shoved the card into your pocket.

you needed to get out of here.

now.

you spent the next few days holed up at your older sister's house, avoiding anything that felt remotely like a coincidence.

you didn’t leave, didn’t touch your phone unless absolutely necessary.

kim, of course, noticed.

"y/n," she called from the kitchen, hands on her hips.

"what’s going on with you?"

you forced a laugh.

"what do you mean?"

"you’ve been acting paranoid ever since you got here. jumping at noises, locking the door twice. are you in trouble?"

"no,"

you lied, avoiding her gaze.

"i just… needed a break from everything."

kim studied you with a skeptical look, but before she could press further, her phone buzzed.

"well, i have to run some errands,"

she said, still eyeing you.

"please don’t burn the house down while i’m gone."

"yeah, yeah,"

you muttered, waving her off.

the moment the door shut, silence settled over the house.

you exhaled, rubbing your temples. maybe you were overreacting.

maybe that man was just a really creepy con artist.

then came the knock.

you stilled.

it was soft at first. then a second knock, louder.

probably a neighbor, you thought. they were always borrowing something from your sister. you rose from the couch and walked to the door, fingers curling around the knob.

the second you opened it...your blood ran cold.

the salesman.

his smile widened.

"hello again, y/n."

panic seized your chest. you moved to slam the door, but he caught it with an iron grip, slipping inside before you could react.

"whoa there," he chuckled.

"no need to be rude."

"get the hell out of my house!"

you hissed, backing away.

he took a step forward, hands slipping into his pockets.

"i was just wondering why you never called the number."

you gawked at him.

"because i don’t have a death wish?!"

his grin didn’t falter.

"you think calling the number means death?"

"yes!"

your voice rose.

"look, i don’t know what you are or who you work for, but i’m not interested in being kidnapped, sold off, or whatever the hell this is!"

he hummed, amusement glinting in his eyes.

"funny. most people say that before they change their minds."

"i won’t."

he tilted his head.

"are you sure?"

silence stretched between you. the air felt suffocating.

then, he leaned in slightly.

"you have no job. you have no savings. you owe money to people you don’t even remember. lets not get started on your sister? well…"

he smirked.

"you’re getting a little too comfortable depending on her, aren’t you?"

you swallowed hard.

"there’s a way out, y/n,"

he said, voice smooth as silk.

"no more struggling. no more scraping by. just one game. and if you win… you’ll never have to worry again."

you shook your head, but doubt wormed into your mind.

"is this prostitution?"

he shook his head no.

"its not. but y/n, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t considering it,"

he continued.

"you wouldn't be so afraid if you didn’t believe...deep down...that this might be your only chance."

your hands trembled.

"why are you telling me all this?"

his smirk widened.

"because i need all 456 players."

your pulse thundered in your ears.

he stepped back, as if giving you space to breathe.

"think about it," he said simply, turning toward the door.

"but don't take too long. opportunities like this don’t come twice."

with that, he walked out, shutting the door behind him as if he had never been there at all.

your legs nearly gave out.

for a long time, you stood frozen, staring at the door.

slowly, shakily, you pulled out the card from your pocket, your fingers hovering over the numbers.

you inhaled sharply.

then you called.

masterlist

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 8 - Keep Us Far Apart

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This one’s for all my homies who’ve been sure she’s a demon blood kid. I’m sorry.

Chapter title from Tiffany Blews by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 16.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You get benched by Bobby, and Sam gives you a call. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

Read on A03!

You’re warm when you wake up.

Not a sticky, heavy warm that stings on your skin, but a soft, easy heat that settles in your bones. And everything feels Silver, but Dean’s not here. There’s nobody in the room but you.

You don’t have to open your eyes to know that. There’s only a static hum of a fan, that soft warmth, and the smell of grass and spice. A little faded but still obvious. Covering your senses and easing your brain down into peace.

Dean was here.

He’s gone now, but he was here. There’s no other reason for everything to smell like him. No other reason for the world to be blurred to Silver, because that’s something that still only happens with Dean. You know he’s gone because you feel bigger than you and you can’t feel him, but you can feel where he’d been. It’s like an imprint on everything around you, something stained gold that you can recognize even half asleep. 

It's new.

You’d be more worried about it if it was painful. But it’s really not. You can feel everything like you always have, and it’s all Silver and easy like when Dean’s by your side.

He’s left marks all around you. You can feel the comfort of the mattress under your body, and there’s a weight on it that’s Dean. There’s something sturdy right next to you, and it has the same feeling wrapped over and around it. The floor feels worn but settled, and Dean seems to have trekked gold all over it. Left himself everywhere, even as he fades by the second.

Because he’s also gone. 

He left you again. You can’t blame him. You’d leave you to, if you could, and you only lie to yourself a little less than you lie to Dean. 

At least your lies to Dean have been justified. In the name of survival, but still setting scars on your throat because—apparently—the only thing worse than letting John Winchester kill you and driving Bobby to madness is lying to Dean.

Fuck. 

Bobby.

You’re home. It took you a little too long to fully register it—you’ve never felt home like this, vast and unconstrained, but in no way that’s painful—but you’re back in your room. Which means Sam and Dean got you to Bobby’s. 

Which means Bobby knows you’ve been hunting with Dean, and the brothers probably asked questions, and then they left. You don’t know if Bobby told them to leave—to give you space while your body recovered or simply get out of your life all together—but they’re gone all the same.

Bobby wouldn’t tell Sam and Dean to leave forever. He likely didn’t tell the full truth, but he also liked Sam and Dean. He wouldn’t just kicked them out.

So they left because they wanted to leave. Because something—or nothing at all—was more important than you and they didn’t really care to get your answers. To hear you try to justify how you’d lied about Bobby because you had to. Because you’ve been so sick, and they already had enough to worry about, and it wasn’t all that important but you had wanted to tell them.

You might have told them now. If you had woken up and felt Dean in more than just an intangible depression on the world around you, you may have told him the truth. You’re too tired to filter yourself, and you’re so warm, and everything is so easy, so you could’ve told Dean.

Not the careful half-truth you’ll spend the day crafting, but everything. About the Darkness and the White, and how he makes both of them better but also sets them off at a level nobody else seems capable of. How you’re not quite human and that demon had been far from the first. How you hate him, but you can’t hate him, and all he needs to say is sorry and you’ll crash into him until you’re both drowning in nothing at all.

But he’d left. And you don’t know if he’ll be coming back. 

You could’ve sworn you heard a strong, certain voice tell you I don’t want to leave.  

I like you, Princess. I’ll stick around.

But you’ve dreamt of him before. And—even if this feeling of Dean is the last piece of him you ever get—you’ll dream of him again.

Not tonight, sleep no longer lingering in your head, but again. For now, you’re hungry and sore and lonely—the stains of Dean beginning to fade—and you don’t really want to lie in bed being useless anymore. 

When you open your eyes, the room is dim and a chair has been dragged right up to the edge of the your mattress.

That was the sturdy thing.

Dean had been sitting there.

And you can’t know that, but you’re certain. Even as the world comes into full focus and the strange marks of Dean around you start to dissipate, you’d bet more than your life that Dean really was here. That he’d sat on the chair for at least a little while, maybe speaking to you, maybe apologizing, maybe saying goodbye.

But he hasn’t been here in a while. And dwelling—overthinking and picking something apart until it’s raw and bare and you still don’t care for the truth—has never done you any favors before. It’s never made you forget or forgive Dean any faster. And you need to start moving.

So you don’t let it go. It’s Dean. You can’t let anything go with Dean. But you know how to compartmentalize, how to take he was here in a death grip and strangle it until it means nothing at all, and never allow your brain to drift to is he gone. Is Dean gone for real this time.

Did he leave you. Did Dean leave without saying goodbye, again. Did you let the Darkness slip out and didn’t even know, did you say something when everything had started to get hazy, something you don’t remember but he heard and now he gone.

Does he know what you are, does he hate you, he has no right to hate you, you’re the one who’s supposed to hate him-

You don’t hate him. You’ve forgotten how. If you need to, you’ll teach yourself again—beat it down and deep into your body until it sticks enough for you to feel it more than the pull—but until you know he’s gone, you still don’t hate Dean.

But knowing has never helped. And Dean is gone. 

So you’ll get through this. You always get through this.

You just have to fucking move.

It takes a minute to get your bearings. To look around you, twist your palms to press on the mattress, and push yourself upright-

Fuck. 

You have to choke down a scream. Your body shifts, just the slightly use of muscle and limb, and everything explodes with pain. Festering deep in your stomach and untenable, shooting from your gut into your blood like fire and eating at your head as it begins to pound and spin. The Silver rips itself apart as the pain escalates—stabbing behind your eyes as you squeeze them shut and scratching over your skin—and all you can do is curl into yourself and try to rip the darkness back down into your body.

Nails dig into your palm, teeth grit as breathing becomes labored, and you can feel everything. Too much. It all fucking hurts and it’s too much, and the sky is falling but you won’t catch it, not when the sky is made of crumbling and tired paint over your head, and cracked glass on the bathroom wall, and a massive, lonely weight over your chest-

The weight is new. You’ve been more than yourself in this room a million times, and there’s always an odd comfort of knowing what pain you’ll get. The White will bellow and riot around in search of peace and always find none, but the Darkness with settle and fall down faster. The cracked thing is the mirror you’d shattered when you were twelve. There’s a rotting feeling on the carpet from when you’d spilled coffee, and a long, dull ache on the wall from when you’d embedded a nail in it on accident, and the suffocation of the drawers is from all your clothing. 

But the weight is new. It’s right about you, it feels almost forlorn, and it’s the last thing to still be stained with quickly fading Dean. 

When you find enough willpower to bite your cheek until it bleeds and move your hand to grab it, it’s not a blanket. It’s a little rough and cool under your fingers, all the heat seemingly trapped in favor of your body rather than the fabric.

You drag your eyes open through sheer force of will, and it’s a jacket. Your jacket, that you’d left with Dean years ago. 

You’d always assumed he’d thrown it out. That you’d never see it again, because it was ash in a junkyard or tatters in a dumpster. But it was back on your body, and that sensation of Dean seems almost embedded into it. Not fleeting like his presence on the room around you. Woven right into the fabric just as much as cotton and polyester.

It was never your favorite jacket.

It might be now. 

You hope it can be. That this is Dean’s silent apology, instead of a goodbye. You really don’t want it to be goodbye, if only because you need to know why he’d kept it. It wouldn’t have fit him, and it was the exact style he often made fun of you for wearing—yeah, it’s nice, Princess, but it’s not good for hunting—so he’d had every reason to just dispose of it.

He has every reason to just dispose of you. And you know he’s aware of them, because he’d told you as much. But he hasn’t. 

Not yet.

You can’t dwell. You can’t sit here as the Darkness bucks and twists over your organs, trying to make sense of Dean and why he does things. Understanding Dean Winchester is a game you’ll never win, because he’s a pretty, adorable, rouge-ish asshole who can’t just make anything easy. And there’s always something about him that fogs your usually measured and rational judgement. You’re not a picture of sanity—the blinds on your windows are rattling because they can feel how your ribs are trying to rip out of your chest—but you’re never dumb.

And Dean makes you dumb. 

The asshole.

He leaves your jacket on your bed and now you want nothing more than to see him. He marks himself all over your room in a way that calls the Darkness and makes the White sing, all while your body shrieks with pain. He pulls a chair next to you while you sleep and you can hear his voice in your head saying I’m just gonna stay a while. 

And he leaves. He walks away and you can’t find it in you to be truly angry because it’s Dean.

It’s not rational. It’s not logical, or careful, or reasonable. It fucking stupid. It’s against everything you carved yourself so carefully to be, because that’s how you survive. And then Dean shatters you, and lets you mend more colorfully than before, and shatters you again.

You’ll get yourself killed, if you keep ignoring your mind telling you just give it up. Stop following him around like a lost, feral dog, stop giving him grace he doesn’t offer you, stop entertaining the White when it calls for him. He doesn’t feel the pull, he can’t, he won’t, and you’re already in danger so you might as well give it up.

But it’s the pull that forgives him, every time. An instinct that melds the Darkness and White together and whimpers but it’s Dean. 

And if it was Dean who had twisted that same knife into your gut—the one that’s still scarred over your stomach and burning just a layer under your skin—you don’t really know if you wouldn’t have forgiven him.

You’d like to say it would’ve been done there. That Dean would’ve stabbed you where people could see it and sent you toppling down alone, and you’d be done with him forever.

You’re not sure that’s the truth.

And it’s more terrifying than any demon or monster has been. Ever could be. 

But you can’t dwell.

You move slowly. Rolling onto your side and lowering your legs to the floor so carefully, strangling the sheets for a grip and taking slow, careful breaths every time you risk another movement. It fucking hurts. You don’t know what that demon got you with, but it’s killing you. Twisting and rotting you for the inside, making your eyes unfocused and your head feel like a suffocating weight that drips venom into your lungs and gut. You aren’t going to be able to stand up. Your knees buckle when you’re fucking sitting. Standing sounds like trying to balance on a tightrope of ice.

Your palm presses to the wound, and you wince when the pain becomes electric through your body. You need to stop just sitting here, need to do something—anything—besides being alone, but you can taste bile in your throat and it all just fucking hurts.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re clenching the jacket like a flimsy tether, and it’s helping. Everything still hurts, but when you bow your head you can smell grass and spice and it makes the Darkness flow with a lighter ease. Everything is still too big, but you’re you. 

And you can hover a hand over your stomach, bite your tongue until you taste metallic blood, and let the Darkness flow into the wound. You’d fixed Dean before, and he hadn’t gotten infected with whatever you are. And you’ve been you—sick and rampant—your whole life, so the worst thing that could happen here is you injure yourself. 

And you don’t count.

When you feel the darkness spread into itself and push against the boils, it takes everything in you not to scream and to just push on. You can push on. The White is in an off-key harmony with the Darkness, and you might leave little indents of the jacket in your hand, but you can keep pushing.

Until eventually, you break out the other side. 

It’s gone. All the additional pain from the wound has seemed to turn to thin air, and all that’s left is the usual. The pain that’s always there just a little because you’re you, and that’s the price you must pay.

You don’t know how you did that. You don’t know if you’ll be able to do it again, or if it’s something you’ll have to learn to control later, but in the split second before the Darkness and White fall back out of time in your body, nothing about you is wrong. You fixed something again. Mended instead of destroyed. 

It hadn’t killed you, or hurt anyone at all.

And you feel okay. 

When you walk downstairs with slow steps, you try to be quiet. You’ll maybe get some food, curl up in the library, start rehearsing what you’re going to tell-

Bobby snaps your name from the living room, and you wince. 

Shit.

“You’re up sooner than I thought you’d be,” he says, and when you turn he’s sitting on the couch, watching you narrowed eyes. “How’r the stitches holdin’?”

“Um,” you glance down to your stomach and swallow. “I’m okay.”

When you look back up, Bobby’s followed your gaze, and his jaw is clenched. 

“Before you say anything.” You tug at the hem of your shirt, trying to get ahead of as much as you can. “I really am okay. I great actually. Some might say I’m in perfect condition-“

Bobby grunts your name. “What’d you do.”

“Nothing! I’ve never done anything-“

“We both know that ain’t the truth, kiddo. You’re about as much an angel as I am, and you’re doin’ the nervous bounce-“

“I do not have a nervous bounce-“

“Yeah, ya do.” Bobby gives you a flat look. “You’re a good liar, but not that fuckin’ good. What’d you do.”

You sigh, and raise your shirt. 

The stitches had gone with the pain. You don’t how where they’d went, or what the darkness had done with them, but they’re gone. It’s just perfectly mended skin—save for a bursting, star-like scar right below your ribs—and your close-lipped smile as you watch Bobby carefully. 

“It doesn’t hurt.” You offer. “And I didn’t break anything-“

“You did that?” Bobby nods to your stomach. “With the… you’re freakin’ hoodoo shit?”

You nod, lowering your shirt, and Bobby lets out a long, slow breath, shaking his head. 

“You know you were able to do that?”

“I-“ You glance down to your hands, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve kind of done it before. Once.”

Bobby raises his brows, and you’re going to have to say it. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to start that inevitable conversation, or hear the fallout you know it’ll have. 

“I healed Dean.” You mumble, keeping your voice soft enough that—hopefully—it’ll make your words seem less important. “His hand was broken. I fixed it.”

“With the-“

“With the thing.”

Bobby grunts, and when you look up at him his face is stoic. Solemn. Deep in heavy thought and set with something you can’t read. 

“Sit down, kiddo.”

You nod, shuffling to sit at Bobby’s side and picking at your nails until they’re a little numb. You didn’t get time to practice your explanation, or find a word for what Dean is to you, or figure out how you’re going to justify the past few years to Bobby when you can’t even justify them to yourself-

“They dropped you off here.” Bobby starts, and you nod, still staring at your hands. “Sam and Dean rolled up in that nice car John’s got and told me you got stabbed by a fuckin’ demon. Two idjits just kept sayin’ demon when I asked, and I don’t suppose you’d know what kinda demon-“

“Green eyes.” You say, folding one leg under your body. “I- I’ve seen the knives they use before, but I’ve never gotten hit with one. I’ve been careful, Bobby, I promise-“

“I know ya’ have.” He says. “You ain’t an idiot, and you know what you’re doin’ out there. Even if I wish you didn’t. What I need to know is what happened that got you stabbed.”

“It’s- It’s what it always is.”

“You haven’t told me what it always is.” You can feel Bobby’s glare in his words. You’d still rather not see it. “Ya just told me the demons were back, they weren’t goin’, and you needed to keep huntin’ alone. But,” Bobby’s words slow, his voice lowering slightly. “You weren’t huntin’ alone, were you. I hear you been huntin’ with Dean.”

“I didn’t- Who-“

“Sam spilled the beans.” He grunts. “Said you and Dean been best fuckin’ buddies for years.”

“Years is a bit dramatic-“

Bobby grunts your name, and you sigh. Again, there’s no way out of this but through.

“In 2003, Dean called you for advice about a hunt. Said there were a bunch of people going insane in North Texas. And then I got home a few weeks later and told you I’d dealt with a first century saint.”

There’s a long silence as Bobby ties the pieces together, and then, “Son of a bitch.”

“I, um- I realized what it was, and Dean took it out.”

“So for three years-“

“Yeah.” You sigh, and there’s a little blood coating your nails. “About once a month.”

“What had you planned on doing if John showed up?” Bobby’s question isn’t angry, but it’s strained, and you can picture his scowl. “If Ol’ Daddy Winchester tracked Dean down and realized what he’s been up to on his time off-“

“I was careful.” As careful as you could be, when it came to Dean. “And it’s- we’ve only hunted together twice since October-“

“Cause John went and fucked off! What if he’d come back, lookin’ for his boys and found you with them!”

“He wouldn’t have.”

“You can’t know that-“

“I can.” You snap, your head shooting up to hold Bobby’s gaze. He’s angry. You can see it all over his face. It’s better than nothing at all. “I didn’t sleep in the same motel room, I kept my own car, and Dean would always leave when John called. He wasn’t going to find me.”

Bobby groaned, shaking his head. “You don’t even like huntin’ with a partner, and we agreed that, ‘less it was me or Rufus, it ain’t safe to put yourself in that situation-“

“It was with-“ You cut yourself. You don’t want it to be safe with Dean. Only Dean. Only Dean had ever made everything feel right, only Dean knew when to listen to you and how to take over when you couldn’t do anything. “It was like this.”

“And all those moments where you ain’t in control?” Bobby challenged, raising his brows. “When glass starts shatterin’ and you make a river disappear?”

You swallow. “He never noticed.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Course he didn’t. Smitten fuckin’ dumbass.” 

You frown at Bobby’s word, ready to ask what that means, but he pushes on.

“What about Sam, huh? He’s been noticin’. Asked me about your episodes, kid. If you been gettin’ panic attacks.”

“It’s- they were talking?” It would be nice if your voice didn’t sound so obviously nervous. “About me?”

“The hell else were they supposed to talk about? They come rollin’ in with you half-dead, laced up with Sam’s shit fuckin’ stitches and Dean clingin’ to you like a puppy dog, we supposed to talk about the weather?”

You use more effort than you’ll ever move on to not let your eyes widen, let your voice squeak Dean was doing what?

It doesn’t matter. He left.

“I-“

“And,” Bobby adds, leaning forwards. “You still ain’t explaining to me what happened. That wasn’t a normal fuckin’ stab wound, kiddo. I had to break out that fancy holy water you’d been cookin’ in the basement.”

That makes you sit up a little straighter. “Oh, did it work?”

You haven’t had a chance to test that stuff. Another random, strange dream in the middle of the night, another idea for something scribbled in a notebook by your bed, almost a week spent tracking down everything you needed until it was perfect. The wings of a heart-broken butterfly weren’t easy to find, but you’d managed, and sugar from a cane by the Nile sounded insane, so you’d settled for sugar bought in Grocery store in South Dakota and hoped you could offset the difference with wine made from Egypt, curtesy of a creepy old man in Chicago. 

If it didn’t work, you’d have to figure out why. Maybe the priest you’d gotten to bless it hadn’t been lustful of the heart. You could find a more lustful priest. You could be a more lustful priest, because you’ve had very detailed dreams about pretty green eyes, scarred and tanned skin, and a cocky grin between your thighs-

Bobby snaps your name, and you blink at him.

“Stop thinking while we’re trying to have a conversation.” He snaps, and you flush. “And the water worked alright. Got you up and stopped that weird infection the knife left. I been lookin’ at the thing, no poison or curses on it-“

“It’s iron.” You mutter, and Bobby frowns at you.

“And why would that be-“

“Iron, it’s- It’s bad. It hurts.”

“Hurts.” Bobby repeats, words slow. “Who, you?”

You nod, and Bobby shakes his head.

“Kid, I seen you touch iron-“

“Pots and pans don’t count.” You mutter. “Not pure iron.”

“Pure-“ Bobby cuts himself off, narrowing his eyes. “How long you known that iron can do that,” he nods to your stomach. “To you.”

You raise your palm, scar up, in a silent answer, and Bobby understands. 

“Shit.” Bobby sighs, scanning over your face. “Any reason you been keepin’ that from me?”

“Didn’t want to worry you,” you mumble, and Bobby scoffs.

“You ain’t half as smart as you seem if you think I’m not already worryin’ about you.” He snaps. “I see what you do to yourself, kid. Saw it when you came back, you’ve been-“

“I have to.” Your voice is almost a plea. You don’t want to talk about this, because you don’t have a choice. This is what you have to do to keep the Darkness down. “I- Nothing else works.”

“I know, but we don’t exactly live a pina colada and sunshine life,” Bobby grunts your name, and you think his gaze is going to sear into your skin. “You still haven’t told me what the hell happened, and just lookin’ at Dean’s little bitch sad face told me it wasn’t good.”

“I-“ You sigh, fully tucking your knees to your chest. “I don’t want to talk about Dean right now. Please.”

Bobby’s brows raise. “Anything I need to shoot him for?”

“No!” Your answer is too fast. Bobby hears it. “I- We just had a fight. Before the attack.”

“You two fight a lot?”

You shake your head, twisting the skin on your finger, and Bobby sighs.

“Fine then. What kinda fight we talkin’, then? I, uh, I ain’t sure how close you two got, and if it was a sorta spat-“

“Bobby?” You grimace, running your hands over your calves. “Please shut up.”

“Alright, just, if you’re doin’ that, be sure to use protection-“

“Bobby!” You gape at him, shaking your head. “He’s- we’re not-“

“I’m not judging you, kid, I mean, you’re young and I known that boy his whole life, he-“

“I- That’s not- You are judging! You were judging like, five minutes ago!”

“‘Bout the hunting. I’m no prissy uptight church gal, I know what people your age get up to, and if you’re, ya know, gettin’ up-“

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bobby,”You shake your head, scrunching your nose in disgust. “Please, shut up before I pour bleach in my ears. I’m not- That’s- Dean’s my partner. No room sharing, remember?”

“Don’t have to be in a room-“

“Bobby-“

“Alright,” Bobby relents, raising his hands, and you’re pretty sure the heat in your face could be felt across the room.

“Thank you.” You mumble, and Bobby just nods.

“See.” He gives you a close-lipped smile. “I worry about you.”

“Yeah, in all the wrong ways.” You return the smile, and take a long breath. “And it’s really not like that. I mean, I don’t- It’s complicated.”

There’s a pause, and Bobby frowns. 

“You gonna say how it’s-“

“I- You know how it,” You gesture around yourself, then the air, and Bobby understands. “Has been getting worse?”

Bobby grunts in acknowledgement, and you take a long, deep breath.

“He makes it better.” You whisper, and Bobby’s jaw twitches. 

“Dean?”

You nod, and Bobby huffs, shaking his head. 

“What are we talking, better.”

“It’s- the pain. It’s not as bad when we don’t-“ You sigh. “When things are good.”

“And when they ain’t?”

“I think made a tree fall,” you mumble. “After the- that last fight.”

Bobby hums in a low agreement, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me what that one was about?”

You shake your head, and he sighs. 

“Well, when they get back, don’t expect Sam to have that same grace. Kid was biting my ear off about gettin’ Dean to say somethin’ about it.”

You frown. “They’re coming back?”

Bobby shrugs. “Seems it. John called them to work another case on that asshole that got Mary, but from what I hear he doesn’t stick around long after. They’ll be heading back here after.”

Here. Dean didn’t leave forever. He’d come back here. Where you’d be. 

Maybe.

If he didn’t see you be you.

“I-“ Your head shoots up, the thought only striking now. “Bobby, what did you tell them about me, and just my- the-“

“Nothing.” Bobby grunts, and something loosens around your throat. “But they’re gonna have questions. People don’t walk around getting attacked by demons every day-“

“Not every day.” You mumble. “And as far as they know it was just that one demon-“

“But it’s not.” Bobby snaps, his eyes darkening slight. “You’ve got demons rooting up your ass like the damn TSA, and knowin’ you it’s probably worse than you’ve been telling.”

“It’s’- not by much-“ 

Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “Any demons are too much. Hell, you got fuckin’ green demons that I ain’t ever even heard a whisper about-“

“I’m sorry-“

“No, you’re not. And I’m sayin’ nobody’s heard of a green-eyed demon.” Bobby rubs his jaw with a hand, shaking his head. “I worry about ya’, kid, cause I can’t find a damn soul who’s gonna be able to help that won’t also put a bullet in your temple.”

“They know.” Your fingers dig into your skin, and your eyes drop to the floor. “That last one, it said it knew what I was. And it’s- it’s really been getting worse, Bobby.” Your breath is shakier than you’d like it. “It’s just more. All of it is more, and I don’t understand it, and it still really hurts. Everything- it hurts.”

Bobby’s expression softens, and he must be able to see it on your face—how even when there’s no wound to heal or screams to choke on—it always just fucking hurts. When there’s noise it’s always too loud, and when there’s air it’s too heavy and sticky in your lungs, and every movement chokes you on this phantom, rootless pain that’s born only from you. There could be nothing in the world but you, and it would all be pain because that’s what you’re made of. Erosive and infectious pain.

It’s only better when you’re not alone in the world. When there’s a grinning, smug asshole next to you that somehow knows how to make all this just a little better, that never even has to do anything to be some kind of fucked up cure. One you’d never asked to take, one you’re addicted to, and one that doesn’t even know how the White has dictated that you simply need him—just Dean, as close as possible—to not be in this much fucking pain.

Bobby must somehow read that over your face, because he clears his throat.

“You said Deans been helpin’-“

“He has. But I- I don’t know why. He just does. But when it’s bad with him- It’s-“ You swallow, curling into yourself. “It’s like something sets off. I- I can’t control it, Bobby, I can’t ever control it, but with Dean it’s so much worse and I don’t know what I am-“

“Hey.” Bobby rises out of his seat, grabbing the blanket from the side table and draping it over your body before dropping at your side. “Breathe, kiddo. In and out.”

You do. And it gets better. Not good, but better. Bobby sitting next to you with his arms on his knees, steadily and firmly here. He hasn’t given up on you. 

He’s still here.

“I-“ You choke on nothing, and force a small smile onto your lips. “I know how breathing works, Bobby.”

He chuckles. “Coulda fooled me. Amazed you managed that long without me telling you.”

You smile—and it’s small, but real—and silence settles over the room in a long, heavy moment.

There’s more you haven’t told him. Small details you’ll need to save for later, when this isn’t raw and you can think out everything you’ve been hiding. Exactly what you’ve been up to with Dean. Just how bad it’s all gotten. What the plan is now, when stupid, adorably oblivious Sam and Dean are going to tell John that you were raised by Bobby. 

But you’ll work that out later.

And you think Bobby already understands most of it. 

So all you can do is rub the scar on your hand and take a long breath, your words soft and measured.

“I don’t know what I am,” you whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

Bobby sighs, patting you on the back. It’s half rub, half burping a baby, and it’s always awkward, but it’s always the same, and it always works.

Your body relaxes slightly, and you can hear Bobby’s words without any ringing in your ears.

“I know you ain’t gonna like it,” he mutters. “But listen to me, kiddo. You need to slow down ’till we figure this out. You’re a danger to yourself.“

You shake your head. “I haven’t hurt anyone-“

“Yourself.” Bobby repeats, shooting you a stern look. “It’s you that needs to not get hurt. And we’ll figure this out, but you gotta slow down. Stop running around and stretching yourself till you damn snap. Least until we’ve got the demons down.”

“I-“ You let out a long breath, and there doesn’t seem to be any skin left on your nails to pick at. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be thinkin’ about it on bedrest.” Bobby mutters, shutting down your sound of protest with a firm glare. “I don’t care what magic shit you pulled on yourself with that,” he nods to your stomach. “You still got fuckin’ stabbed.”

“But-“

“And,” he narrows his eyes. “You been runnin’ around with the one person I told ya’ not to. Consider it being’ grounded. No hunting for two weeks.”

You gape at him. “You can’t ground me, I’m not five-“

“You can still be dumb, and need a lockdown. No jackin’ one of my cars and running off, no getting newspapers and looking for something that’s gonna get you stabbed again-“

You scowl. “I wasn’t trying to get stabbed-“

“But you did,” Bobby snaps. “And now we’re sleeping it off.”

“It’s supposed to be walking it off.” You mutter, glaring at the floor. “You’re supposed to tell me I need to go on another hunt.”

“Well, that ain’t what’s happening here. No hunting. You can use the time to try and figure out what the hell is going on with all these fuckin’ demons popping out of the woodworks.”

Bobby grabs a random book off the side table, places it in your lap, and you frown at him.

“This is a cookbook, Bobby.” You raise your brows. “Should I try baking the demons into a pie?”

His mouth twitches, and you’re pretty sure he’s just trying to act like he’s still mad at you. “If that’s what works to sort this out, yeah. Get to work.”

“Can-“ You look down to the obviously useless cookbook in your hands, then back to Bobby. “Can we have dinner, please? Before I get stuck on book duty?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ya’ ain’t stuck on book duty-“

“You just told me to use my time to study the demons-“

“That don’t have to be books. Could be some of your fuckin’ dream shit. A ritual that pops into your head, tellin’ us exactly what these sons of bitches want.” 

You shake your head. “That’s not how they work-“

“How am I supposed to know that.” Bobby mutters, pushing himself to his feet. “I dream about loosin’ my teeth and gettin’ chased by a vamp in a dress.”

You grin, shrugging as you uncoil your body to follow him. “Why is it in a dress?”

“Fuck me if I got a clue. What are ya’-“

“Pasta?”

He grunts. “I got stiff ass spaghetti.”

You nod, trailing after Bobby into the kitchen, forcing down every spiraling thought into focus on what you can see. What you feel can’t be everything right now, and later—when you go to bed, and it’s just you and the Darkness once more—you’ll have plenty of time to take your every thought and strangle them until you’re a little more sick and alone. But now you just need to sit in the kitchen and eat shitty spaghetti with Bobby. 

And he isn’t angry with you. He’s not happy, but he’s not wrathful. He didn’t really yell, and he didn’t tell you that you were a disappointment or problem—he did call you dumb a few times, but you deserved it—so you’ll be alright. You can see Bobby. You can see that he’s not mad, and you can see that he’s here, and that’s more than you can say for other people.

Because the day does pass, and the Darkness is still weighted and painful in your body, but it’s not trying to be more than that. Nothing is easier, melted into Silver or in soft and simple harmony, but nothing is worse. The Darkness is rooted in the White, and the White is loud and lonely, and that’s everything. 

It’s horrible.

And it’s tolerable.

Nothing breaks, you don’t explode, and when you shuffle off to bed that night with a mumbled promise to Bobby that he won’t wake up and find both you and one of his worse cars gone, that’s when it all gets bad.

Because now there’s nothing to hold you down or distract you. Through the day you could see things. Read a pointless, fun fantasy book and not think about the pain. Talk to Bobby about the latest random lady at a grocery store he won’t be asking out, and not think about Dean. Keep moving—even when you were curled in a chair—and not worry about what’s next, because you were home.

But now you’re alone, and all you can do is feel. 

The pain isn’t worse. It really just is as it’s always been. And it’s probably not good that it’s always been like this—stabbing and pounding and biting at your organs and something deep in your body all the fucking time—but it’s better than before. It’s better than its worst. You can get through it. It’s only pain. It’s only twined with the Darkness, and it’s only as sick as you always are.

Because the Darkness is still growing. Not at the rapid pace that happens when everything is too much, but in the slow, steady, weed-like way that’s been happening over the years. You’ve really started to feel it. Feel how it seeps further and further into the White, and with every passing moment you grow sicker, and the Darkness becomes more feral. Every moment it’s leashed and muzzled in your body it seems to become furious, and it’s not sustainable. It’s choking the White. It’s choking you. 

And you still really don’t know what you are. You know that this isn’t fixable, but you don’t even really care to try it right now. 

You’d just really like to know what you are. What you’ve done or what you’ve become that makes these demons track and hunt you like you’re nothing more than a prized deer.

If there are others like you. If they’d know how to control this, to keep the Darkness down so nobody ever gets hurt but you. If there’s some new type of pain you haven’t tried that will keep you in check.

If they can also feel the White. If it’s glowing in them as well, or if that’s just another way that you’re something no one understands.

But if they do feel the White, they must feel the pull. Their White must have staked a claim on something without reason or right, they must have someone that the White whines and bucks until they touch, this can’t just be you, alone and wrong in the whole world.

You have too much time to pass. And you don’t want to be benched, but you’re tired of not knowing. Of being reckless and dumb and dangerous. 

So—just until Bobby stop glowering at you every time you move to the door—you’ll use this time as you always have at home.

Reading. 

You’ve been through every book in Bobby’s house at least twice. You’ve scoured every page for just a clue to what you are, why you’re like this, and always found nothing at all. But Bobby always finds you new books, and you always go in with the same blind determination for something. Even if it’s worse than what you imagined, you’d really just like something. Anything to point to and say that’s me. 

Any solid reason that will drive you away from Dean forever—just for his safety, if you learn you truly are just a monster—or offer you a chance to tell him. To say what you are—because you’ll know—and not have him leave you because there would be nothing to leave. 

So you read. And read and read, and take notes and come up with nothing, and keep reading. At some point—after a few days and a phone call from Sam—Bobby officially demotes you to book duty, and when you’re not reading about strange myths and rare monsters, you’re helping Dean.

He doesn’t know you’re helping him, but you are. They’d asked Bobby for what he knows about demons, if he has any ideas about what got their mom, and Bobby asked you to help find answers. Sam had said they wouldn’t be back for another week or so, and Dean hasn’t called you, but that doesn’t stop you from really wanting to help. To be more than a wasteful, spoiled girl to him, to prove him wrong and give him one single reason to not hate you.

You really need to get a handle on this. Not now—when you’re stuck on half house-arrest and Dean needs your help—but after. You need to beat it into yourself that you cannot hinge your every action on making Dean Winchester not hate you. On convincing him to stay, when he’s made it clear he doesn’t really have an interest in staying for you.

It’s another thing you’ve decided to put off. It’s another thing you’ll work out later, when you have the time. Right now your whole life is sitting in your bedroom and trying to work out what you are, or sitting in the library and trying to help the Winchesters.

Specifically helping Sam and Dean. John can eat glass, and he’s lucky you don’t know how to not care about Dean, or you’d let that demon do whatever the hell it wants to the old fuck.

“You ever seen a red demon?” Bobby asks from across the table, and you frown up at him. 

“I- maybe?” You glance back to your own book—covered in coffee stains to the point of being almost impossible to read—and chew on your tongue as you think. “This one doesn’t have anything about red demons, though-“

“That one’s all theoretical shit,” Bobby grunts, sliding his own book across the table. “I heard of red-eyes before, but ain’t ever seen one.”

“So why-“

“Winchester’s demon don’t sound like average black eyes. I’m lookin’ for alternatives.”

“Could it be the green-eyed demons?” You suggest, making another note about possession in the margins, next to a line that reads any living thing, bound to earth by a human soul, can be victim to demonic possession if unguarded. “The one from last week seemed to know Dean.”

“Don’t seem like it.” Bobby grunts. “Nothin’ to rule out, but this demon sounds like it’s got a vendetta.”

“My demons seem to have a vendetta.”

“You got demons.” Bobby gives you a pointed look. “Bunch of ‘em, all scouring for you. From what the boys have said, this seems like one sorry asshole.”

You shrug, grinning at your paper. “Maybe I’m just more important than the Winchesters. And they need more demon-power to track me.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “That ain’t funny, kiddo.”

“I think it’s hilarious.”

“Course you do. Find anything on fire?” 

You shake your head. “I mean, demons very famously like fire. I think that lead might be a dead end, at least until I can get a sulfur sample-“

“The hell you mean a sulfur sample?”

“I, uh-“ You swallow, giving him a sheepish look. “I had another idea.”

Bobby sighs, his voice dry. “You don’t say.”

“It’s a good one! I think I could track it, or summon it with the right ritual, I would just need some of the demon’s sulfur-“

“What’re you meanin’, the demon’s sulfur-“

“I mean I think their sulfur is like their fingerprint. And I could, uh…” You trail off for a second, and you hate when this happens. When all these theories and ritual that appear in your brain against your will make you sound downright insane. “Track it?”

Bobby pauses, scanning over your face with a frown. “You think it’d work on any demon?”

“I guess.” You shrug, tilting your head at him. “You believe me?” 

“I’m past worryin’ about belief,” Bobby mutters your name, looking back to his book. “Next time I get a call from Sam, I’ll ask him to start lookin’ for sulfur.”

You nod, and look back to your book. There’s no guarantee your theory will work, but they almost always do. Like your brain is just wired to know this shit. 

That’s another lead you have on yourself. Another route to chase that will likely come up at a dead end.

But you have time to chase it. Because when Sam does call again—you haven’t heard Dean voice in almost two weeks, and it would be amazing if the White would stop being a whiny little bitch about that—it’s to say that they’re in Iowa, looking for a gun, and that they need to know more about how to exorcise a demon.

Bobby tells them. He explains everything about demon traps, and vessels, and most of what you’ve found. He doesn’t mention the green-eyed demons. You’re thankful for that, because you don’t want the questions right now.

Sam says they’ll be gone a little while longer. That there’s another demon—Meg is a really fucking dumb name for a demon—who’s working the one John’s been hunting, and they just wanted to know how to deal with her when the situation arises. 

You won’t be getting that sulfur sample. 

And you’ll keep spending long nights alone in your room, trying to just find something on what you are, and coming up empty handed. 

Night after night passes, and you have nothing. You sort through boxes in the basement, trying to find a book you haven’t read or that doesn’t have your notes already scribbled over the worn pages, but it’s useless. You’re not a demon, or an Alpha monster—whatever that is sounds worrying, but it will have to wait—or a Nephilim, or an angel. 

You’re not even sure angels are real. 

And you’re running out of ideas.

When Bobby unceremoniously drops a book on your lap, you blink at him. It’s leather-bound, with yellowed pages, and you’ve never seen it before.

Bobby doesn’t have any books you’ve never seen before. You’ve even seen the romance books he keeps in his room. 

“What-“

“Went after a few witches last month with Rufus.” He grunts. “Nasty bitches, been usin’ animal bones to try and reanimate their kids. Found this in their attic.”

You wrinkle your nose. “You got me a dead witch book?”

“I got ya a dead witch book we ain’t ever seen before, smartass-“

“I’m joking.” You give Bobby a grateful smile, moving the book into a small pile to your left. “Thank you.”

Bobby grumbles something that’s probably a little rude but likely justified, and shuffles back to the kitchen. 

It takes you another few nights to get to the dead witch book. You had other books to comb through, other notes that became dead ends, and barely enough sleep to properly function. But regardless—after a long night of failed attempts at sleep—you end up with the book in your lap under the covers, a flashlight one hand and a pencil in the other as you scan over the pages.

You don’t know how you developed that habit. You’re a grown woman who’s well within Her right to be reading at three in the morning, and it’s not exactly smart hunter instinct to hide under bedsheets, but you’ve never been that bothered by it. It feels safe, and warm, and helps you focus. You do it at home, and in motel rooms. 

And it helps you pretend that nothing could ever be that worrying. You’re under the covers, reading about witches like it’s never been that important, underlining the pages like you’re studying for a test rather than trying to figure out if you’re human or not. 

The book is long. And old. And complicated. Every sentence seems to double back and turn over on itself, and every spell and ritual is needlessly convoluted to the point that you don’t think half of them will work. There’s a whole chapter about familiars that you don’t make it through, a series of pages about forbidden magic that you only can skim, and a section devoted to ass-kissing a group called the grand coven.

It’s not useless. If your eyes weren’t itching with sleep and your head wasn’t heavy with how everything is a little fucked right now, you’d probably find it interesting. But now you flip between pages, mindlessly looking for anything at all that could point you where to go. There seems to be a witch government, and you don’t really care about their social civics. They have history that will be the same in a few months when you have the brain power to study it, and different magic classification, and different study classifications, and different witch classifications-

That makes you pause, doubling back over the index to find the exact words—witch classification, pg. 683—and flipping to the sections with your pencil between your teeth.

It’s mostly useless nonsense.  Most witches learn magic via study, and others borrow it from demons. You only seem to learn magic against your will—and it doesn’t feel like just magic—and you certainly didn’t make any demon deals that would result in you being… you.

You seem to fall closest to the last kind. People born into magic, who have an affinity for it. 

And that’s when you lean forward, chewing on the pencil as you read. As something starts to stir in the White, and every word feels important.

Natural witches have a predisposition to the practice of magical arts. They have an innate ability to harness the universe within the confines of their practice, and require less exertion to perform any spell, ritual, or curse.

You don’t require any exertion. Most of the time you’re suffocating yourself trying to not perform.

But it’s closer than anything you’ve found before. So you keep reading.

A weaker natural may have an affinity to certain form of magic. It is unknown why this may be-

Not helpful.

Curses are known to be disproportionally cast by naturals-

Useful to remember, but not what you need.

Many natural witches come from a bloodline in which the trait has appeared before. A longer, stronger bloodline will often be connected to a stronger natural. Most powerful witches date back to pre-first century, however there is only one bloodline that has survived since the beginning of witchcraft, often theorized have proceeded or created the very practice itself. However many scholars debate its existence, calling it a witch-tale to create reason for the beginning of the art. As such it is lost to history, whether there was ever even the existence of the-

You can read that word. 

Sort of. 

Not really. 

It looks different than every other word on the page, but you can still understand what it says. Like a shifting mirage you know shouldn’t make sense, but does. And it seems to be one word, but your mind insists it’s four.

Women of the high.

You re-read the sentence. Once, twice, a third time. It still looks like one word. It still says women of the high.

Lost to history, whether there was ever even the existence of the women of the high.

You didn’t know there were witch scholars. You didn’t know witches had tales. And you scan over the whole book, but all you find is one last paragraph in the history section.

There is little known about these very first witches, often called-

There it is again. Women of the high.

They are said to be far more powerful than any other witch, their harmony with the universe extending beyond that of even the most powerful natural. However, there is little to no historical evidence of their true existence, and it is a more commonly held belief among scholars that witchcraft is and always has been an evolving discipline.

The page goes on. 

You stop reading, caught like a scratching vinyl on that phrase. Women of the high.

Harmony with the universe. 

That could be one thing to call it. A heavy, involuntary harmony with everything around you, whether you like it or not. But these women, whatever they are, don’t seem to be real.

It could explain why you’ve never had a lead.

It may be the reason for the scar on your hand.

It would make you human. It would make this truly just a thing of your blood, or affinity, or whatever, and you’d just be a strange human the universe likes more.

Really nothing more than a witch. It would be really nice if you were nothing more than a witch. Not a monster. Not sick. 

But the Darkness has started to spread, the longer you think about it. Focusing on it makes everything worse, and you can feel how the flashlight is burning, and the sheets feel swollen with you presence, and the pencil in your mouth-

There’s a snap, and a heavy taste of graphite as you chew right through the pencil.

There’s nothing left to do here but make yourself more than you are, and spin around this thing that doesn’t have an answer. You could be this.

You could still be nothing.

And you still really do feel sick. So fucking sick. With every passing it feels like air is being ripped through your lungs, and every breath is too thin. Your body feels rotten. Your heart feels like it’s been seized and thrashed and shredded and sown with something thin and bright.

You can feel those pieces again. Those fractured things Dean left deep in your body that haven’t be splashed with anything but agony since that fight. They hit somewhere deeper. Not quite critical, but closer to it. And they’ve been like dull knives along your spine that you’d retaught yourself to tune out, simply because there was too much other pain to spare them a thought.

But they’re powerful. They’re covered in grime and still trying to grow over your body—reconnect and mend and crystallize—and they fucking hurt. All of this fucking hurts, if you’re whatever that women of the high shit is, if you’re supposed to be in harmony with the universe, why does this always fucking hurt. Why do theses strange pieces Dean scattered through your body unravel your heart more than any stain of the Darkness, why do they blister over your gut worse than the demon’s knife, why are they sunken and smoothed and washed out like they’d been drowned when you’ve become so practiced at ignoring them, and why does it fucking hurt-

Your phone rings, and it almost makes you jump out of your skin.

It’s four in the morning. Bobby’s a floor up and a room over, if he wanted to talk to you, he’d come downstairs. If Rufus wanted to speak to you, he’d yell at Bobby to make you visit him. If Dean wanted to talk to you-

That’s what makes you scramble for the phone. This is exactly what Dean would do if he wanted to talk to you. Call with no warning in the dead of night with nothing to say, just because he didn’t think past calling and you always pick up the phone.

But it’s not Dean that’s calling. 

It’s Sam.

You pick up, because Sam never calls you when you’re not on a hunt. Even on those two hunts, he’d wait until Dean called you before yelling in the background. 

But the little, robotic letters on your phone say Sam Winchester.

And you pick up.

“Hello?”

You could swear you hear a breath of relief. “Shit, good, you’re up. Sorry, I didn’t think you would be, but I figured better to try and call in the morning if you didn’t. But you- You picked up. So now I guess I, uh, I have to say it.”

“Say-“ You frown into the air, sitting a little straighter in bed. “Are- Sam, is everything okay?”

“Uh…” Sam swallows through the speaker. “No. It’s bad.”

“Sam-“

“It’s Dean. He’s really hurt.”

You don’t think you heard him right. You couldn’t have heard him right. The Darkness is suddenly and meaninglessly rocketing out of your body, and it’s making the blood pound in your ears, so there’s no reason for you to hear him right. Bobby’s house has shit reception, and your phone is basically a fancy brick, and you’re unbelievably tired, so you didn’t hear Sam right.

Sam says your name, and he sounds cautious. Like he’s worried you’ll explode from just his words. “Are you-“

“Yeah, I’m uh, I’m here.” Your voice is unsteady, and you’re not sure why. You misheard Sam, so nothing’s wrong. “I didn’t- I’m not sure I heard you right, so-“

“What did you hear?”

“I- I’m not sure.” You swallow. The room is suddenly far too dark, and the pain is back. You’re not sure how it hasn’t reduced you to nothing but a stature, frozen and cold from nothing at all. “Can you repeat it?”

You don’t want him to repeat it. You want Sam to say he called you because Dean broke his phone, or because he lost a bet, or because they’re hunting something strange and there’s no one help them but you.

But Sam says something, and this time you really don’t hear it. It’s just a numb sound your brain seems to tune out, and the White feels like it’s being burned and frozen all at once.

“Sam-“

“I- Dad doesn’t know I’m calling you,” Sam continues, and you don’t think he knows you didn’t hear him again. “But Dean would want you here, I think.” He pauses, his voice a little lower. “I’d like you here. I- I think you should be here. For him. Just in case.”

You can’t really breathe. You’re not sure what’s happening. “In case of what?”

“In- Just if-“ Sam pauses, and the static through the phone is like a toxin over your skull. “I- I don’t want to say it. You know, it’s-“ He lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “One of those things, right?”

“I-“ Your nails are drawing blood on your skin. You don’t really feel it. “Sam, I don’t-“

“If you don’t want to, I get it. I know you guys were fighting or something, but I- I really-“ You can hear Sam’s long, deep breath. “Please come. For me. I- I don’t really want Dad to be the only other person here. Please.”

“What- what was-“

“Demon.”

You didn’t mishear Sam. 

You can’t really breathe.

“How bad?” You whisper, and anything would be better than this long silence before Sam answers.

“Bad.” 

“Where-“

“Jefferson City.”

“That’s-“ You think you’re choking on nothing. Everything hurts. “Sam, that’s like eight hours-“

“He’ll hold.” Sam mumbles. “Please.”

You swallow, and glance around your room. You can pack fast.

You can drive faster.

“I’ll be there in seven.”

It’s faster to hang up without saying goodbye. You don’t really want to say the word goodbye at all right now. 

Because it’s easier to move without thinking about why you’re moving. You’re getting out bed because that’s what you have to do. You’re grabbing your bag like you’re going for a hunt, because there’s really no difference. You don’t know how long you’ll be gone. You don’t know when you’ll come home again.

So you need a bag. 

Your usual one is still filled with clothing from the kelpie hunt. Half dirtied and crumpled shirts and pants, as whichever Winchester packed your bag hadn’t really bothered with being neat.

You understand that.

You’re not really bothering with it either. 

All you need is clothing—you don’t really bother with style, because that doesn’t really fucking matter right now—some toiletries that you don’t trust motels with, a notebook just in case, and your knife.

The knife Dean gave you. Perfectly weighted in your hand, proof that he at least thinks of you, and no better than any other weapon but soothing. Like a baby blanket that can stab someone and always grounds you in something a little stronger than gravity that reminds you of Dean. Silver, sharpened blade glinting in the low light of dawn, already starting to break through the sky. 

You need to go.

You’ll allow yourself one last combing of your dresser for cleaner socks and bras, but if you can’t find any then you’ll just have to trust that wherever Sam and Dean are will have laundry. And that bra’s covered in blood, and those sock stains don’t really look like something you’d want to touch—again—and there’s something shiny at the bottom of the drawer-

That’s not a sock, or a bra.

It’s a ring. Dean’s ring. The one that your brain has never given note, because it’s always seemed like just as much a part of him as his hair or nose or amulet.

And it’s lying at the bottom of your sock and bra drawer.

He wouldn’t have just left it here. You’ve never even seen him take it off, let alone set it down. But there’s no reason to set it down in a dresser. No reason for him to leave it with you-

He’d left you your jacket. He’d kept your jacket, then left it for you to find. The same jacket you’d shrugged on only a second ago, and had understood to be a silent promise that he’d been here. That he wasn’t here now, but he hadn’t just turned to air and vanished into the margins of your life once more. That he was keeping himself written all over you insides in the way he always did, still never grasping how the marks he left over your spine and heart were more like tattoos than stains.

The ring felt like a promise as well. Dean would never just leave it. If it was goodbye, he would’ve just left the jacket.

But he left the ring.

He’d meant to come back.

You don’t have time indulged the sting behind your eyes or the lump in your throat. You shove the ring in your pocket, grab your bag, and go. You’ll call Bobby later, and explain why you’d left in the dead of night and stolen one of his better cars—you can’t afford to worry about breaking down on the side of the road right now—when you’re not choking on your own lungs. When the Darkness doesn’t feel wired, and those fractured pieces in your body aren’t shaking and sparking and neon.

The drive is eight hours. You’d told Sam you’d be there in seven.

You’re pulling into the hospital lot in six.

There’s a long moment where you just sit at the wheel, your hand threatening to strangle the metal and your eyes squeezed shut. You need to move. To climb out of the car and find Sam, because he’d asked for you to be here and you’re just sitting the parking lot. 

But the Darkness doesn’t feel containable. It’s stretched over everything, you’re stretched over everything, and you feel like you’re about to split in two. The engine of the car is exhausted from the strain you put it through. The seat is tired of your taut weight. The pavement of the lot is distressed from wear, and the telephone wires over your head are strained and tensed. 

You drag yourself back together with a firm bite of your hand, and it leaves a mark. You’ll have to keep your hand in your pocket.

Sam has enough to worry about. 

You realize two things when you walk into hospital lobby. First, Sam isn’t expecting you for another forty minutes, so he’s not going to be waiting. You’d probably have to call him.

Second, you won’t need to call him. Because hunched over the front desk, hissing low words in the face of a poor receptionist with pinned-up hair, is John Winchester.

In the blurring numb of everything, you’d forgotten he’d be here. Sam had even mentioned it, but you hadn’t really registered it until this moment, when you’re staring at the man himself. 

You should run. He’s going to kill you. You can make out the shape of a gun tucked in his pants, and he’s going to press it to your temple and fire. You’ll bleed out through your brow, and that will be the end. 

But you don’t move. A force like gravity is trying to move you forward, and all your willpower is put into being rooted in place. Stiller than a statue to that—maybe when John turns and spots you—he’ll think you’re nothing more than an odd decoration. You’re so fucked.

The receptionist sees you first, and her eyes widen in relief, like you’re a savior from whatever John’s been hissing at her. Before you can shake your head or look away—pretending you’re just wandering or pacing, nothing to mind or speak to—she’d opening her mouth.

And you don’t run.

“Do you need any help, ma’am?”

You cringe a little—being called ma’am is weird—and shake your head. “No, I’m- It’s nothing, thank you.”

You’d made your voice soft, and an octave higher than usual. Like some docile creature John would never need to bother glancing at

But he still recognizes you. You can see his back tense and his hands curl into fists on the desk, and when he looks over his shoulder there’s already hatred in his eyes.

You wish you were more certain he wouldn’t actually shoot you in a hospital.

“It’s alright, ma’am, whatever you need I can take care of now.” The receptionist waves you forward with a sweet, almost hopeful smile, and all you can do is wander forward with small steps. “How can I help you?”

“Um…” You swallow, forcing your gaze not to move to John, right at your side. His eyes are searing into your skin, but not in the way Dean’s do. When Dean looks at you it’s like he can see under your skin, and he’s trying to work out what’s inside of you. It’s hot and branding because he seems to be seeing more than what you are. 

John’s gaze is painful. He sees exactly what you are, and he hates it. He hates you. 

“Ma’am-“

“Sorry, I’m-” you clear your throat, forcing your voice to steady. “I just- I’m here for- I-“

Words feel far away. Everything feels far away. All that you’re certain of is that you need to be here, and you have to leave. John won’t let you near Dean. If your brain had been processing things right when Sam called, you would’ve told him no. That John wouldn’t just not want you here, he’d loathe your presence. You’d be putting everyone in danger, because you can feel the exhaustion of the receptionist’s big, blocky computer and the tension of the scrubbed and sterilized walls, and it’s all too much-

When Sam shouts your name, everything doubles. It’s all too much. You’re everything and nothing and you’re going to die and you’ll never see Dean again and that shouldn’t be your biggest worry but you can see him all over this hospital in gold, just like in your room, and it’s all pain-

Big arms wrap around your shoulder, something tugs you forward, and Sam’s hugging you. 

It takes you back down. It’s doesn’t make anything hurt less, and nothing is in the Silver harmony that Dean gives you, but you’re you again. The Darkness is a little more on edge than usual—it is Sam, and that just seems to be something he does—but you’re nothing more than you.

And you take a long breath, and hug Sam back.

“Thank you for coming,” he mutters in your ear, and you just nod. Of course you came. You didn’t really even think about it, you just did, because it’s Dean. 

You don’t know how to not do something for Dean. You only know how to follow him down.

“Yeah.” You whisper. It’s all you can really think to say. “Is he-“

You don’t know how to finish that sentence. Sam seems to understand that.

“It’s-“ He pulls back, giving you a tight, close-lipped smile. “I think it’s better if you see.”

“There’s no chance in hell she’s goin’ in to see Dean.” John snaps from behind you, and you flinch. Visibly flinch, enough for Sam to notice and frown at you. “I don’t even know what the fuckin’ Christ you’re doing here, girl-“

“I called her, Dad.” Sam’s defending you. You’re not sure why. “She deserves to be here. Dean would want her here.”

John’s eyes narrow. “She doesn’t fuckin’ know Dean-“

“Yeah, she does. They’re friends, Dad, and Dean probably never told you because he knew you’d be an asshole about it-“

“Watch yourself, son.” John hisses, and you feel caught in the center of something. You’d like to run. You still can’t. “Dean knows that she,” John points to you. He still hasn’t actually said your name, like you’re nothing more than an object. “Isn’t the sort I want you boys associating with. And he doesn’t lie to me-“

“Apparently, he does.” Sam snaps. “They’re friends dad. We’re friends. I want her here.”

“You don’t know what you want-“

“I’m not seven, Dad. This isn’t a toy we can’t afford. She’s here for Dean, and she’s staying.” Sam raises his chin slightly, and he needs to stop talking. If John keeps pushing he’s going to reveal your relationship with Bobby, and how you and Dean are…whatever you and Dean are, and Dean might get in trouble for associating with your sort.

But your brain is too caught on the idea of John didn’t know. Dean didn’t just keep you separated, he fully lied. To his dad. To stay near you. And you’re Sam’s friend too. That’s two friends.

You’ve never had two friends. 

And your friendship with Dean has always been more complicated. At least to you, it’s been confusing and consuming and a little dangerous. Like it sinks deeper into your body than where a friendship should stop, and you’ve thought about Dean in ways you don’t think friends should think about friends. 

But being Sam’s friend sounds easier. The Darkness may find him to act as an odd, untraceable trigger, but the rest of you likes him. He’s sweet. He wants you here, and you believe him.

It gives you enough of a spark to clear your throat, and meet John’s glare with a neutral, passive gaze. You’re staying. And if John wants you gone, he’ll have to call you what you are—whatever he thinks that is—to your face, where Sam can hear it. 

“Sam’s not lying.” You say, and your voice is stronger than before. You’ve always been in pain anyways. What’s a bullet to the brain on top of your own body tearing itself apart. “Dean’s my friend. I’m not going.”

You’ve never had someone look at you like that. Like they hate everything that you are, with no exception or ideas for your use. It’s unnerving. 

You’ve survived worse.

“You and Dean are friends?” John’s voice is a vile and poisonous sneer. You force yourself not to flinch. “How long you been friends, girl?”

“Years.” You shrug. He doesn’t get the satisfaction of more.

“And she’s staying.” Sam adds, but John barely looks at him. He seems to be trapped in staring at you. 

You think he can see everything inside of you. All the Darkness and pain and torture you inflict on your own body. That he can see exactly where Dean’s marked and shattered and dulled you, and he’s trying to pry those pieces away from you. You can see it all over his face, how he doesn’t think you’d deserve any piece of Dean, even if it was offered and not created or stolen. 

You’re almost certain that, if he could, John would fashion his hatred of you into a blade, and drive it right into your body. Carving out the White so it can never call you to Dean again. 

But he hasn’t killed you yet. So you stand your ground. 

“Only way you’re getting in that room,” he hisses at you. “Is over my goddamn corpse.”

You hum, and nod. “Alright.”

John blinks, and before he can speak again, Sam’s grabbing your shoulder and looking at you with wide eyes.

“But you said-“

“I’m not leaving, Sam.” You give him a small, tight smile. “But I’m not going to fight in a hospital. Are you hungry?”

Sam nods slowly—his expression weary as he looks between you and John—and you loop your arms together

“You know where the cafeteria is?” You ask, and Sam blinks at you.

“I, uh- Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.” You shoot John a flat, passive smile as you walk away, and that’s it. He doesn’t get to see you fall or crumble. He doesn’t get to know that you’re torn between a desperation to find Dean and make sure he’s still real—do whatever you need to in order to fix this—and an overwhelming sense of relief that you don’t need to see Dean yet. 

You can’t really stand the idea of him being in pain. You’re not ready to witnesses it, not when you can remember the horror of all the worst hunts. You’d be too tired to control yourself, if the Darkness got out of hand.

Right now eating lunch with Sam is all you can really do. 

He doesn’t try to talk to you. You walk in silence through blue and white tile halls, Sam pays for two shitty sandwiches, you pay for coffee, and neither of you say a word until you’re sitting on a plastic bench, staring with slightly glazed attention at the cup of off-brand greek yogurt in front of you.

“He gave you back your jacket.” Sam breaks the silence, and when you look up his expression is unreadable.

“I-“ You glance down to your sleeves, and nod. “Yeah. You knew he had it?”

“I saw it in his bag.” Sam shrugs. “He said he kept forgetting to give it back. Glad he remembered.”

You nod slowly, unsure where this is supposed to be going. “Yeah. It’s- yeah.”

There’s another long stretch of silence, and Sam might be the only person you’ve met who chews as loud as Dean. It’s not as obviously obnoxious—with purposeful vulgar sounds and pouted lips that have always been incredibly distracting—but it’s still loud. You think he’s waiting for you to try and make conversation. That’s fair.

“Thank you,” you mumble, poking at the yogurt with your spoon. “For not… for defending me with your dad.”

“Don’t worry about it. Dad’s just… he’s paranoid.” Sam sighs, frowning at his plate. “It’s been a long few weeks.”

“I guessed that.” You mumble, and Sam gives you a tight smile. 

“How’s your stomach?”

“Fine. Bobby patched me up.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

You grimace, and shake your head. “I’m gonna call him tonight.”

Sam nods, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “It’s- Bobby told us most everything, by the way. So you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Most-“ You clear your throat, forcing your voice to remain even. Bobby had said they’d have questions. You’d been practicing what and what not to tell them. But Sam sounds like he just knows. “What do you mean?”

“That he found you when you were a kid. And that he had to keep you away from everyone, cause of the sick thing.” Sam gives you an odd look. “I’d guess there’s more, though.”

You give a small nod, your voice soft. “Yeah. Kind of.”

And Sam doesn’t push. He just nods, and goes back to his food. 

More long silences, all suddenly scattered with small talk. Your drive was long. Sam read a good book he thinks you’d like. This food is shit, and the coffee is worse. 

Sam misses the coffee at the country club.

You visibly sit up straighter.

“Did-“ Sam glances down at his plate—like he’s debating just taking another bite to shut himself up—then back to you. “Something happened, right? When you went to go get Dean?”

You only stare at him. And as Sam pushes on, his words are slower. 

“It’s- You don’t have to tell me everything. But you vanished, and Dean was freaking out, and you- you know him. He doesn’t freak out.”

He doesn’t. Dean gets angry and bites hard enough to scar over your bones and muscles, but he doesn’t panic. His head is level, until it’s not, and even then there’s a white-hot rationally to it. 

“I’ve tried to ask him,” Sam mumbles. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“I- I don’t really want to talk about it either.” You whisper, giving Sam an apologetic look. You don’t even know how to talk about it. How to explain that nothing is ever more real than Dean, which means that no pain is ever stronger than when he inflicts it, and no anger is ever as loud when he hates you. You say that, you won’t make it obvious that it’s more than an addiction or additional sickness, how you fall into every beautiful and ugly part of Dean, never with any will or desire to drag yourself back up. He’s like a cure that thinks it’s the disease. 

And you’d sound insane if you said that aloud.

“Okay.” Sam lets out a long breath. “Sorry.”

“No- It’s-“ You don’t really want to look at him, so you focus on peeling the skin around your nails as you speak. “We had a fight. That’s it.”

“I kinda worked that out.” Sam says your name, his voice soft. “I just- I’ve never see Dean lose it like that. I think he flipped a boulder.”

You flush slightly. “Oh.”

“You’re good for him, you know.”

You blink up at Sam, shaking your head. “I don’t-“

“I mean, everything’s been insane. And the kelpie hunt was- It was the easiest I’ve seen him, up until the end.”

You just stare at Sam, and he sighs.

“I just think you should hear it, you know? I- I get the feeling Dad’s going to be kind of a dick to you. So I’m saying it now.”

“Okay.” Your voice is quiet, but the small smile you give Sam is real. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Sam returns your smile, his voice somehow more cautious as he continues. “Do- Are you ready? To go see him.”

You’re not. You won’t be. 

But you nod anyway, and walk behind Sam in shuffled steps to clear your trays and leave the cafeteria. 

Your breathing is shallow as you move back through the halls. It’s an effort to keep the Darkness in your body, an effort to let Sam bring you into the room without running away. You don’t want to see this. You want to believe that everything Sam says has been exaggerated, that you’ll walk through the chipped-paint blue door and Dean will be sitting up in his bed, shifting through the channels on the shitty hospital TV. That he’ll see you and say hey, Princess, didn’t think Sammy would be able to get a hold of you. That he’d wink at you or yell at you or tease you.

That he’d do anything but what’s so painfully and obviously before you.

Nothing.

He’s just lying there. He’s been stripped of whatever he was wearing during the attack, but damage isn’t just tattered and dirtied clothing in a pile on a chair. It’s bruises and gashes and swollen parts of his face, how even as he breathes through a tube it’s not a steady movement. How there are cuts on his knuckles and a line of stitches near his neck.

The White is screaming. It’s rioting inside of you as all you do is stare, and Dean just keeps lying there. Why won’t he move. He’s supposed to move. He’s supposed to be any annoying, bouncing ball of insufferable charm, bumping into you and saying every right and wrong thing every second. But the only sound you can hear is the beep of a machine, and where the White is supposed to be tugging to towards him, it’s tugging you slightly off to the side. 

The Darkness is oddly docile. It seems to be cowering, scratching and clawing at your skin but not trying to break out, just shredding you apart from within. Those fractured pieces are freezing and breaking a little further, and when your legs start to carry you to the side of the bed, you’re too tired to fight them. 

You manage to stop yourself from touching him. You don’t know if he would want you to touch him, and it feels wrong to do it without him knowing.

You wish he’d wake up to tell you, even if the answer was no. Even if he hissed that he wanted you to leave forever, even if he never apologized for your fight and even if said things worse than before, you’d really just like him to wake the fuck up. If he wakes up you can hear his voice, even if it’s laced with hatred. If he calls you a bitch and tells you to go, at least this time you’ll learn to hate him, and it will be justified.

Right now you can’t do anything but stand here and stare, your hand hovering at your side as you keep yourself from running fingers over his face. He’s sweating, and his hair is stiff and muddied, sticking his scalp, and if you ran your fingers through it maybe he’d let out one easy breath.

You don’t know why he would.

But the White is convinced that it’s what you need to do. And you can’t, you have to reign it in and keep it together, just for Dean’s sake, because he wouldn’t want you to-

Something grabs your hand and moves it forward, and before you can yank it back your nails are scraping Dean’s scalp with a feather-light touch, and there’s mud on your hands as you comb through Dean’s hair. It’s still soft, just wet and dried with something you know is dirt and another, darker thing you can’t bring yourself to say aloud.

You should pull your hand away. You can’t. It’s like a force really and truly outside of your control—not the White or the Darkness—is moving it for you, and whenever you try to move back it holds you here.

The White still isn’t calling you further down into Dean’s sleeping body. It’s trying to make you fall back into nothing but air.

And when you hear John clear his throat in the doorway, you still don’t move. 

“Sammy, I told ya-“

“Dad, you make her leave, I leave.” Sam says from behind you, and there’s a long silence as John weighs his words.

You’re not sure what you did to earn Sam’s loyalty. 

You’ll never be able to thank him enough for it.

When you finally drag your gaze away from Dean’s beaten face—your hand still held delicately on his head—John’s sitting in one of the hospital chairs. Holding a paper cup of coffee and glaring at you like he’d like to hack off your arm for daring to touch his son.

If you respected him more, you’d explain that you can’t stop touching him. The invisible force won’t allow it.

“You look like fuckin’ shit,” John grunts your name, scanning over you with a scowl. “You ever sleep when you’re runnin’ around, invading proper hunter’s work?”

“No.” You shrug, turning a little bit of Dean’s hair between your fingers. You could swear he makes a small sound of content. “Usually I don’t sleep because I’m doing proper hunters jobs for them.”

John’s eyes narrow, and Sam’s voice is nervous as he pipes up.

“Dean mentioned you guys went after a demon together, before the one in Colorado-“

John shoots Sam a sharp look. “What demon in Colorado-“

“Not him, Dad. I exorcised this one.”

You look between Sam and John with a frown. “Him?”

“The demon that killed our mom-“

“Samuel.” John hisses. “I don’t want you poking her into our fuckin’ business-“

The force on your hand tightens, and you raise your chin slightly. 

“I’m not going to do or say anything.” You snap. You could say you already knew, but you don’t want to. Not when you think the backlash would fall on Dean. “And you don’t have to tell me-“

“We figured out a way to kill it.” Sam pushes on, ignoring John’s glare. “Have you heard of Samuel Colt?”

“Samuel Winchester-“

“Yeah.” You nod. “I’ve read about him.”

“He made a weapon that kills demons.” Sam says, looking back to John’s furious expression. “Dad, can you-“

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’-“

“She could help.” Sam’s voice is almost pleading. “Please, Dad, she’s a really good hunter-“

John lets out a loud, dry laugh, and it twists in your stomach. “Sammy, I don’t know how you’ve forgotten-“

“About my family?” You cut in, raising your brows and holding John’s shocked expression. “The one you figured me out with?”

“I did figure you out,” John sneers. “You’re nothing more than a spoiled brat, raised by a bunch of soft fuckin’ pussies-“

It’s your turn to laugh. “The same soft pussies who gave me this?” You raise your palm, your other hand remaining on Dean’s brow. “The one’s I haven’t seen since I was eight years old?”

John tenses, and you give him a sickly sweet smile, your voice growing cold.

“You don’t know me, John Winchester. You don’t know who I am.” You raise your chin, holding his gaze. “Don’t think for one second that you’ve figured me out.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and it’s like stone around your lungs. You’re almost sure that John is going to lunge out of his seat as rip your theory out, or stab you, or just shoot you and get it over with, because he may not have you figured out, but you remember his warning from the poltergeist. You haven’t forgotten that he knows you’re… whatever you are, and he well within his right to hate that-

“Show her the Colt, Dad.” Sam breaks the silence, his voice soft. “For Dean.”

John scowls, but reaches behind his body and pulls out a thin, well-detailed revolver, placing on the side table with careful hands.

You blink at it. “It’s a gun.”

“No shit, girl-“

“Dad.” Sam mumbles. “Please.”

John lets out a long, slow breath. “It’s a demon killin’ gun.” He mutters, his words pushed through his teeth. “And it’s fuckin’ ours, so don’t you even think about trying to take it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you drawl, ignoring John’s glare as you scan over the gun.

You wouldn’t dream of it. You don’t need a gun to kill a demon, that something your body seems to be able to do all on its own. That could be another women of the high thing. It could just be a you thing.

Because you still don’t feel fully human. And usually the Darkness balks and roars at threats. Lashing and spreading when there’s a monster that could hurt Dean on a hunt, when someone says something that it perceives as a threat, whenever John Winchester walks into a room.

It has no interest in this gun. It’s a gun, in John Winchester’s hands, and it feels like nothing more, and nothing less.

You’d like to hold it, to study it, but your hand is still trapped against Dean.

And you certain John wouldn’t take too kindly to you crossing the room and trying to pick it up. So you remain where you are, and only hum.

“Okay.”

You’re getting really sick of all these long silences. Sam keeps trying to make more small talk—and he hasn’t gotten better at it the last hour—as John refuses to acknowledge you any further, and you just stay next to Dean. You think the sky could fall and the earth could shake and you still wouldn’t be able to move. Not as that invisible force keeps you there, and you can’t feel anything wrong with it. It’s almost calming. Almost natural, keeping you where you’re supposed to be in spite of any fear or feral instinct to run from where John Winchester could decide that Sam’s pleading isn’t enough, and make good on his promise all those years ago.

But he never does. Eventually John—after a long, strange moment of just staring at Dean’s body—excuses himself with a mutter. 

Sam gives you an odd look and shrugs it off, saying he’s going to get some more coffee, because you could all use it. 

And you’re left alone with Dean. Dean’s body. Not Dean himself. 

Dean would smile and tease and joke with you. Dean would be shoving away your hand with a grumble of I’m not a freakin’ dog, Princess, before teasing you about petting him at all.

Right now he’s just a shell. And it’s horrible. It’s mold in your body and over your eyes, and you don’t want to look at him but you can’t look away.

You pull his ring out of your jacket and place it on the side-table. It’s his. He deserves to have it back.

And when you swallow, you know this might be your only chance to tell him something, even if no one but you hears it. You have to tell him something.

“Dean- I-“ You’re choking on nothing. You have to be able to push through this. “I- Stop. Stop sleeping.” 

He’s not sleeping. You know he’s not sleeping.

You can’t find it in you to say the truth.

“Just- Stop.” You take a shaking breath, bowing your head to stare at your hand, still tangled in his hair. “Please.”

Something feels like it’s squeezing your hand, a warm wind ghosting over your knuckles, and then the force is gone. 

You move your hand away slowly, like you’re not sure you’re allowed to. And when you look at your palm, it’s tainted in gold.

In Dean.

Your head shoots up, your mouth opening to call his name, but the door swings open. 

You stare at John Winchester. He stares at you.

“What-“

“Need that.” He grunts, pointing to the Colt, still on the table. “Shouldn’t have left it here with you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, clearly a terrible choice, given it’s still here.”

John just scowls, grabbing the Colt and tucking it back into his pants. “Stay here until Sammy gets back, and have him call me if Dean starts to move. Got it?”

“Where are you going?”

“Not your-“

“And before you refuse to tell me,” you snap, standing a little taller. “Remember that I am not your kid, and I have no reason to do what you tell me to.”

John’s jaw ticks. “It ain’t telling you, girl, that’s-“

“An order?” You raise your brows. “I don’t take your orders. Where are you going.”

John scans over you with a scowl, his voice low when he answers, like he hopes you just won’t hear him. “I’m fixin’ this. Stay here.”

“Fixing-“ You pause, glancing at the gun. At the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket, right next to a stick of chalk. You can’t read the paper. 

You recognize one of the symbols on it. You’d seen it just a few days ago, pouring over a book in Bobby’s kitchen.

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it-“

“I can help.”

John scoff. “I don’t need your help, girly-“

“John.” Your voice is flat, but it’s all you can bother with right now. “I know what you’re doing. And you don’t have to do it like that.”

You nod to his pocket, to the demon summoning ritual printed on torn paper, and his eyes narrow. 

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re getting at-“

“I can help.” You repeat. You will help. You don’t know what John’s plan is, but you know that if Dean doesn’t stop sleeping, you’ll… 

You don’t know. All you do know is that the pain is drowning you, you’ll to anything to make it stop, and everything in you wants Dean. It’s all washed out and colorless without him. 

And you can help.

“He’ll come for me.” You rub your thumb over your palm, shrugging like what you’re saying is nothing at all. “Demons always do.”

You don’t know exactly what about your words convinces John, but you don’t really care all that much. Because he glances at Dean, looks back to you, and nods.

And you follow him into the boiler room, hugging your body like you can hold the Darkness in your body as it starts to stretch once more. 

John says the demon’s name is Azazel. It’s a proper demon name.

It makes everything too big. 

And when you say it, when you call for him, you know why you hate the word before he even appears. It tastes like as, and the world goes gray, and this was a mistake.

But it’s too late to run now.

Azazel smiles at you like he has before. It would never matter what body he was occupying, you’d always recognize that smile. It creeped over your skin and haunted your nightmares, the same way Dean’s winning smile followed you into every dream.

The shade of yellow in his eyes is sickly. You’ve only seen it from afar, twisting and rotting in body.

It’s worse up close.

“Hello,” He says your name, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. “Pleasure seeing you here. Wish I could say I’d been knocked out of my boots, but,” he sighs, clicking his tongue, nod it almost sounds like he’s disappointed in you. “I seen you with the smaller one? Bigger one?” He laughs. You’re going to vomit. “The one that’s wasting away as we chat. Dean.”

“Stop talking to her.” John grunts. “She’s just the caller, you’re here for me.”

Azazel attention flicks away from you, and his grin grows. “Well, if it isn’t old Johnny Winchester. Didn’t think I’d ever see you two pairin’ up. She’s a little above your pay grade, don’t you think-“

“She’s just a girl-“

Azazel laughs at that. You can’t really remember how to speak.

“Just a girl?” He cackles again, and the Darkness feels like it’s going to shred you apart, staring in your lungs and ripping up your spine. “Oh, you have no idea. We’ve been watching you, darling, and you are so much more than you let on. More than any spirit or monster, more than sweet Sammy Winchester and the others, more than me.”

You blink at him, your voice hoarse. “I don’t- Sam’s-“

“Oh, he’s a little more than he seems as well. John knows what I’m talkin’ about, ain’t that right?”

John expression is firm. Unreadable. 

The room is sort of spinning.

“That’s not her business.” John says, and Azazel laughs again. You wished he’d stop.

“Oh, it’s more than her business. Do you really know, John? The grand hunter himself having damnation right under his nose, not able to sniff it out.”

You swallow. “I- I’m not- damnation-“

Azazel shrugs. “That’s fair, you haven’t quite hit that milestone yet. And you could be salvation, but I don’t you will be. You seem to like the pain too much, don’t you.”

John looks between you and Azazel with a frown. “She’s nothin’, and this isn’t-“

“Wrong, Johnny! She’s everything.” Azazel shoots you a wink. “Might end up more, if she lets herself. But she’s a righteous little witch-“

You pray John heard it as bitch. 

You’re not that lucky.

“She’s a what.” 

You thought he’d know. But he’s shaking his head like he doesn’t believe it, and you realize that he didn’t. That he’d only hated you, not what you are.

But he certainly knows now. He’s walking away from you, looking at you like you’re a bomb set to go off any moment. It’s terrifying, and you can’t worry about it right now. Azazel’s wasting time.

Time Dean doesn’t have.

“She’s an obstacle,” Azazel sneers. “Smart, pretty thing. Got Dean wrapped around that finger of hers-“

“She doesn’t have Dean-“

John’s snap is cut off by Azazel’s shrug.

“Not now. But that’s just cause the boy is dying, and nobody’s got him. Nobody but you, John. You’ve always got your sons, always keeping them nice and safe, comfy and hidden from the truth-“

“I’m protecting them.” John grunts. If you weren’t falling and burning from the inside, you’d press about what the fuck the truth is. “And we both know what we’re building up to-“

Azazel sighs. “Well, I was hopin’ you’d try to kill her.” You must visibly go pallid, because he waves you off with a hand. “Don’t worry, darling. John’s gonna take care of Dean first, then deal with you. For now, we’re gonna cut to the chase. I can save Dean, but I don’t just want that gun in your pocket.”

John’s eyes narrow. “What-“

“I want you, John. Damned down in hell, like you shoulda been long ago. Gimme you and the gun, and Dean wakes up like nothin’ ever happened.”

“I want to see him. Make sure you follow through.” John holds Azazel’s gaze, and the demon shrugs.

“Seems fair. We got a-“

“And.” John jerks his head to you, and the Darkness recoils and explodes. Still trapped in your body. “I want her gone.”

Azazel sighs. “That might be a little outside my jurisdiction, I’m afraid-“

“Demons don’t got jurisdictions-“

“With her?” Azazel laughs. You wish you could remember how to scream or speak or move. “We all got jurisdiction. But,” he raises his brows. “I can kill everyone she cares about and make her life worse than hell, if she gets near your boys again. Deal?”

John doesn’t hesitate. He nods, shakes Azazel’s hand, and that’s it.

You don’t get to scream or protest or fight or explode. Your fate is sealed and it’s out of your hands. John doesn’t look at you as he leaves you in the boiler room, Azazel smirks at you again before he evacuates his vessel, and it’s… over.

You won’t get to say goodbye. You don’t doubt Azazel’s promise—if you go near Sam and Dean again, Bobby will probably die and you’ll live a life worse than hell–and you can’t fix this. You won’t even get to say goodbye.

But Dean will be okay. Azazel will heal him, and he’ll be broken by John’s death but that’s not your problem, because you have to go.

And you’ll have to get through this. Alone. 

You will get through this. You’d say you’ve gotten through worse, but if it really does feel like this is something a little lower than low, and that can’t matter.

You’ll get through it. You have to get through it. You always get through it, and you don’t have any other choice.

And then color burst along your vision and over the White, and there’s silver harmony in everything, and Dean’s okay.

But you still don’t get to stick around. You’ll never get to shout at him for almost dying, or fight about how you did the same to him only two weeks ago. You won’t get to know what the gold is. You won’t get an apology, or another chance to try and hate him. You’ll have to learn what you are alone. You’ll tell Bobby you’re searching for a cure—one that isn’t Dean, even if you can’t really imagine there being anything else that could even compare—and you’ll figure out how to not be damnation. 

You don’t really want to be salvation either.

But you’ll have to learn how to be nothing more than you, alone.

And those pieces Dean left over your body aren’t shattering, or eroding, but freezing. It feels like a stasis. Permanent light trapped in your body, gravity calling you back to Dean’s side that you can fight against because you still have that iridescent light lining everything inside of you.

You don’t get to say goodbye.

But you’ll get through this. 

You always do.

End Note: John Winchester you should be glad you’re dead and also not real or I’d kill you with my bare hands for what you did to my husband. Also I’m SORRY but you have to TRUST I’m doing something!!! I’m cooking!! 

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

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[celeste-clearwater-06]

The Kitchen Window (pt. 2)

(Bayverse! Raphael x F! Reader)

desc- (raph keeps coming to see you, much to his older brothers' distaste, meanwhile you're making a few new friends.)

warnings - none, some swearing (to be expected

word count - 3.1k

READ PT 1. HERE

“You went back to see her?!”

Raph rubs a hand in a downward swipe against his face, pulling his lower eyelids dramatically. He knew this was coming.

“She was being attacked!” He counters, “Am I just supposed to just stand around like an ass? Is that what you want me to do, Leo?”

He was a hot-headed, ass-kicking, crime fighting, vigilante. Still nothing could save him from the wrath of his older brother squawking like a mother hen whenever he got the chance. Ever the virtuous leader.

“You went back Raph, saving her or not,”

Leonardo always talked with his hands when he was scolding his younger brothers. Raph quietly wondered if that dramatic swing of his arm was helping with trying to get his point across. The two stood in the airy living area of the lair, close enough to keep tension.

“Okay, so I went back,” he mirrors his older brother’s theatrics, uncrossing his arms and waving them outwards, “What if I hadn’t? What’s the harm in stoppin some creep tryna reach through some chick’s window?”

The elder of them huffs out a dramatic sigh and pinches the bridge of his beak. It makes Raph’s throat burn. It’s condescending. He hates when Leo does that.

“We stopped taking that route for a reason, Raph. She could take our picture, find out where we are-“

“It’s ONE girl! One person, Lee. Just a chick who happened to see me!” Raph cuts through Leonardo’s harsh tone, louder and escalating, stepping a firm foot forward to emphasize his voice.

“And one is all it takes for us to slip up.”

“What about April, huh? She’s one chick.”

“We know April. That was pure luck. Anyone else could be the reason the rest of the world figures out where we are! What we are. We’re not normal, Raph.”

Raphael can only roll his eyes to cope. He knows his older brother is right, at least about that. Nobody just forgets seeing a masked mutant turtle staring right at them.

He remembers the moment he crawled out of the sewers, behind the rest of his brothers and being the one to close the manhole cover while they all made way towards the top of the building. When he lifted himself to the slick balcony in a quick pull of the ladder. The wet metal almost made him lose his footing and he just happened to look to his left, right into your mortified, gawking stare. So much for that ridiculous ‘ninja’ title. He was a deer in headlights under that unblinking gaze, just barely lit by a light somewhere in the room behind you. Raph took the opportunity to scramble up the ladder like an idiot when you fell backwards into the dark. He couldn’t even process the clatter of one of his twin weapon’s falling from his belt, trying to get away, with heavy breaths.

Stupid, stupid! Some fuckin joke this was.

His brothers already know something’s happened when they saw him grasping to get word out with eyes practically bugging from his skull.

“Dude, you good?”

Mikey was the first to notice his older brother falling behind the rest. Raph nearly trips over his sandaled feet, regaining balance as he glances over his shoulder, ensuring to weren’t following him up the fire escape.

“What? What happened?” Leo scanned over his younger brother with concern, eyes darting from his shocked face to his feet that scuffed the cement roof.

“Raph.” Donnie’s head quirks to the side a little, “What’s wrong?”

At first he can’t get any words out, usual wit and snide gone. Raphael’s shock had apparently rendered him speechless.

“I-I… she-“

“Someone saw you.”

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t shake his head. Leo’s stare at Raph’s dumbstruck face is confirmation enough.

“What’s the biggie?” Mikey’s voice indicates his nonchalance, “People see us all the time?”

His question goes unanswered.

“Did she see us get out of there?” Donnie cuts in.

“I-I don't know! I just hopped up on the platform, and she was just-just there!”

He’s scrambling to explain before Leo intervenes, tone stern and demanding.

“In the alley? Where?”

“In her apartment! She was standin there!”

They all go quiet, exchanging worried glances. Gradually, Mikey is put under the hardening, disappointed glares of his three older brothers. A nervous chuckle escapes him before he tries to plead his case.

“Guys-“

“Mike, you told us nobody lived in this complex.” Donnie speaks first.

“I did!” the youngest held his hands up in surrender, “The lights are always off, I thought they were empty!”

“You didn’t think anything, idiot!” Raph’s open hand makes contact with the back of Mikey’s head and he swats it away with a shout.

“Ow! I really didn’t think anyone lived here, dude, I swear!”

Leo groans and turns to curse up at the light-polluted sky.

“She could’ve seen us crawl out of there Mikey!”

“Or not! We’ve never even seen her there!” Mike flinches, expecting another swipe from his older brother. It doesn’t come.

“Yeah until now, dumbass,”

Whack. There it was.

“She was gawking straight at my face, and that was when she was right up against damn glass. Who knows how long that chick has been livin there.”

Donnie and Leo turn over to him, making him the center of their chastising again.

“How long were you standing there?”

The red banded brother rolls his eyes with his whole body, arms raising and flopping back down to his sides defeatedly.

“Man, I don’t know! A couple seconds! She tripped backwards and I just took off!”

Leo’s huff of annoyance is plenty to send Raph reeling.

“I couldn’t fuckin’ help it! If Mikey had maybe done a little deep dive, we coulda figured out another exit before all this bullshit.”

“Well we’re gonna need to find another route regardless. If she knows where we came from, she might try and follow us down.”

Donnie pulls out his tablet before he finishes his sentence, already typing a million buttons a second, while his siblings cluelessly scrounge for any ideas their heads can throw together.

“Maybe we could talk to her!”

Mikey’s idea is immediately shut down with three, gruff ‘No’s’. He crosses his arms with a pout.

“Bad idea,” Leo’s quick to make a point, “We don’t know her. What her intentions are.”

Raph doesn’t say it out loud, but the expressions plastered on your face read more like a clueless, horrified bystander than some mutant stalker.

“I think I found a better route for us.”

Donnie’s face is still lit with the blue light coming from his device, pointing at something they can’t see. Leo doesn’t give it a second thought. He’s already moving to the opposite end of the rooftop.

“We better get going. Can’t risk anyone following us,” he waves an arm, “we can talk about this more back at base.”

Donnie and Mikey pursue with no hesitation, leaving Raph to stand there with a stupid look on his face for a moment. He turns to look at where the ends of the ladder meet the ledge of the building in thought. Maybe he was expecting your frightened eyes peeking over. Maybe. He sighs, and then follows his brothers in a full sprint to leap across another alleyway, starting the late night hours of his patrol.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

“We have oat milk, and regular dairy, ma’am.”

Your patience has already worn thin, 4 hours into the full day shift you’re taking head on. A middle aged woman is giving you a nasty glare from across the counter.

“You’re telling me that a chain business cafe doesn’t have any soy options?”

“Unfortunately, no miss,” that apologetic, customer-service smile is slowly coming undone, “I can offer you oat milk, or if you’d like, we have plenty of other non-coffee options for you to take a look at.”

She sneers and mumbles something about having a chai latte under the name of Diane and shoves a 5 dollar bill and some loose change into your hand for you to punch into the register. How lovely.

The ticket prints and you stick it to the back of the glass display case for your other singular coworker to start making.

No wonder you were understaffed. No one would wish the horrors of working the food industry upon their worst enemy. This was the third extra shift you’d picked up this month, and man was it getting exhausting. Regardless, the money was more than enough to cover rent in that shabby apartment, and get your nails done every once in a while. Until you could get a “real job” (whatever that entailed) it would suffice.

Thankfully, a Tuesday morning was slow enough for you to catch your breath between rude customers and over complicated orders, so you take your time opening the money drawer and putting each cent in its own compartment. You don’t look up when the bell to the front door tinks.

“Look who it is.”

You could pick up that annoying voice from a mile away. Still, you can’t help your smile, looking up to see your brother’s stupid grin and horrible fashion taste, passing through the open doorway with ridiculous confidence, and a beautiful woman to his left. She shoots you a smile.

“Hey stranger.”

Vern struts up to the front counter with a warm greeting.

“You look horrible.”

Your tongue clicks.

“So nice to see you too.”

There’s nothing to counter that with. Little, to no, sleep is apparent beneath your eyes even with the makeup you repeatedly put in every morning. The low effort, company-policy, ponytail probably also does nothing to aid your appearance.

“I miss seeing you around.” His poor apology is accompanied with the offer of a fist bump that you turn into a snail with two fingers. Your secret handshake.

“Could pay me a visit if you miss me that bad.”

It’s the normal, uninteresting flow of your conversations, not that you minded too much. That's the way you and Vern had always been, even before he moved. Before he can interject with his usual excuse of ‘just being a busy guy’, you point your attention to the woman with a little too much enthusiasm. She’s been watching with a curious eye.

“You gonna introduce me to your hot friend?”

She laughs softly and lends her well manicured hand, along with a name that suits her pretty face. April. You accept it, and then offer yours.

Vern’s confidence is already shot out the window.

“April, this is my little sister.”

“Younger sister.”

You correct him. Barely an inch shorter than Vern ’The Man’ Fenwick was not little.

“Right, younger. This is her, uh, cafe I was telling you all about.”

Your brother had such a way with words.

“Vern, it’s not my cafe, I’m just the floor manager.”

“Awh, come on, you practically own the place.”

A nicer apartment in the upper streets of New York would be your home if you ‘owned the place’. But you bite your tongue, indulging in his attempt to make you look at least a little cooler than you actually were.

“Okay, order a drink before I kick you out.”

While Vern takes his happy time staring at the overhead menu, you make small talk with April. She’s a reporter, covering news about all the weird happenings around New York. Way more interesting than your job standing at a register all day. The chat continues as you type in a latte for your older brother and the same for her.

Up comes the topic of last weekend, when that man tried to pull you through your kitchen window. You leave out the part with the giant turtle monster, for more than obvious reasons, but the story is still surprising and concerning to both Vern and April. They shoot each other similar looks that feel a little more than odd to you.

“Some guy stopped him?”

You nod, focusing on lidding the hot cups rather than the topic at hand.

“Yeah. Just knocked his sorry ass off the fire escape and then took off. I didn’t really see what he looked like.”

Liar.

“It sounds a little crazy,” you admit. You draw a smiley face on April’s cup, and a frown on Vern’s.

“I know enough about feeling crazy,”

April’s condolence brings you to meet her eyes with an understanding smile.

“I appreciate it.”

You want to change the topic suddenly.

”So, a family discount for you,” Vern takes his drink from your hand, “And a having-to-put-up-with-his-sorry-ass discount for you.”

Your brother scoffs when April takes the drink and grins up at him.

“We should get going. It was good seeing you, kiddo.”

“You too, Vern. Call me! Or text. Or whatever.”

He leaves the door before April does, with a wave of his free hand. She peeks her head through the closing door.

“Keep me posted. Maybe we can find whoever your guy was.”

A nod from you is what finally sends the two outside, where you can see Vern dramatically burn his mouth on the hot cup and April strutting past him with an embarrassed shake of her head.

Idiot.

It was a nice visit, but way too short for your liking. The day dragged on into the evening, when you let your younger coworker head home early. She’s worked her ass off all day and she excitedly thanked you, rushing out the door while you filled up the mop bucket. Closing took just as long as the day, if not longer to do, but it was finally done. You didn’t relax until hearing the lock click with a turn of the keys, and your shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh.

The walk home was just as repetitive as shutting down the shop. A few short blocks from your place, with the still traffic packed streets and massive cityscape that swallowed your simple little life. Your feet ached. Your eyes strained.

And that lonely, dark, apartment was still waiting for you like always when you pushed the door open and shuffled inside.

Shoes kicked off. Jacket thrown on the couch. Your nice, comfy bed just down the hall. That soft comforter was beckoning your name.

And so was a noise outside of your closed kitchen window. Figures.

No scrape of metal though, or footsteps up the fire escape. It was a loud yowl.

You can barely make out a scrappy little cat sitting on the rail of the fire escape.

You all but run over to slide the window open, and shed some warm kitchen light on her silvery fur. A quiet meow is all you get from her.

“Hi sweet baby.” You coo. She seems interested, but doesn’t move. You’re still hesitant to stick your arm out past the window, so you make a little ‘pspsps’ noise to beckon her over, which seems to work for a split second. When the cat stands to her dainty paws, she freezes, eyes and ears pricking upwards.

You know what she’s hearing.

“Come here kitty! Come on!”

You can’t bring yourself to stop her head from lifting, and then make a sad, soft whine when she hops down and makes her way up the steel steps with a meow.

And your thoughts were easily confirmed.

“Go on, get back down there.”

His voice is hushed, stern. It’s almost comedic. It’s none of your business, but you call out anyway.

“I know you’re up there.”

Silence.

“You don’t know shit.”

Okay, rude.

“Will you bring her down?”

It’s quiet again, longer than before. Enough to make you think he’s gone. But then, the metal sways back and forth just a bit before his feet thud down in front of your window. Mr. ‘Your Worst Nightmare’ is holding the cat in one of his arms, the other bracing himself on the rail. She's purring. You can’t see his face from where you’re standing, but he holds her out, three fingered hand outstretched just in front of the opening, where she calmly climbs down to sit on the brick outer sill.

“Is she yours?”

You swallow nervously.

“She is now.”

The turtle lets out a sort of gruff snort. You’re surprised when he leans down to stroke her. This is the clearest you’ve seen his face in the light bleeding out of the kitchen. It was rude to stare. You just couldn’t rip your eyes away. The way his brow bone furrowed looking at her curiously shaped face and missing ear. His scales were a deep veridian, scattered with scars, like the prominent one above his upper lip. He was chewing a toothpick that jutted out of the side of his mouth.

“Kinda cute.”

It was a fascinating thing, the way the wall separated you both, a human and an otherworldly creature, and yet this tiny kitchen window allowed for both paths to be crossed, admiring a sweet stray cat. His skin jumps a little when your hands just slightly graze past each other. His eyes flick to yours and then away and you avert yours back down to her licking her front paw.

The quiet moment fleets, when he stands just as suddenly as he leaned forward, moving with an awkward cough. And your eyes still stay on him. There’s a dark, spiraling tattoo on his upper right arm that you could see much better in the light.

He’s about to say something but the static whine of a radio comes from somewhere outside.

“Raphael, do you copy?” It’s one of the voices you had heard the night before, and he jumps at the noise before reaching up to his shoulder to click a button on the walkie talkie.

“Yeah! yeah I hear ya.” He whispers sharply into it and waits for a response.

Raphael.

“We’ve got a robbery at one of the banks, on St. Peter’s Avenue. Could use some backup,”

“‘Kay. Headin over.”

He leans back down, gaze’s locking, and trips over his words.

“You uh… you stay safe.”

All you can do is nod your head stupidly and he’s gone once again. The cat’s little trill is what pulls you from staring where he once stood. You smile softly down at her and lift her inside.

“Let’s get you warm, miss girl,” she purrs in your arms when you scratch behind her ear, “I’ll grab you some food tomorrow. And a litter box. You better not shit on my floor.”

Meow.

The next morning when you leave for your shift, you don’t miss the fuzzy little cat toy that’s sitting just outside the kitchen window.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

HERE'S PART TWO!!! THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE SUPPORT ON MY LAST POST, IT MEANS EVERYTHING TO MEEEE 🩷💓💕 ngl i already have the next two chapters written out and waiting to be edited cause I've been so excited to see where this story goes 😭😭 DON'T FORGET TO REBLOG!! IT HELPS THIS REACH THE RIGHT AUDIENCE!!

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[scoupsakakitty]

hi can you write one where the 14th member gets blamed for a mistake they didn’t make during a performance? liiike, they try to defend themselves but no one believes them and it causes tension in the groupp? angstyy pleasee

Betrayal Under The Stage Lights | Seventeen x 14thMember | angst

The performance had been a disaster.

What was supposed to be a flawless stage turned into a chaotic mess when one of the members missed their cue, throwing off the entire formation. The mistake was glaring under the bright stage lights, broadcasted to millions. And somehow, the blame had fallen on you.

Backstage, the air was heavy with frustration. Sweat dripped down your temple, mixing with the suffocating heat of disappointment. You barely had time to catch your breath before the accusations started.

“Y/N, what happened out there?” Seungcheol’s voice was sharp, his leader’s patience worn thin.

“I— I didn’t mess up.” Your voice wavered, but you stood your ground. “It wasn’t me.”

Jihoon sighed, rubbing his temples. “Then who was it?”

The silence that followed was deafening. No one stepped forward.

“I saw it,” Mingyu muttered, arms crossed over his chest. “You were out of place first. That’s what messed up the transition.”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not true. I was exactly where I needed to be.”

Joshua’s expression was unreadable, but his usual gentleness was absent. “Y/N, maybe you didn’t notice in the moment, but we all felt it. The energy was off after that.”

Frustration bubbled in your chest. “I know what I did! I’ve practiced this a thousand times, just like all of you. I wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“Then are you saying we’re wrong?” Jeonghan’s voice was quieter, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. What could you say? The weight of their doubt pressed against your ribs, crushing any words before they could form.

“I’m not lying,” you whispered. “I swear.”

No one said anything. The silence was heavier than the accusations.

And that was worse than anything else.

She felt the sting of betrayal more than anything. The people she trusted, the ones she called family, didn’t believe her. It wasn’t just about the mistake anymore—it was about them not believing in her.

The tension in the room was suffocating. No one looked at her, no one reached out to comfort her. She wanted to scream, to demand that they see her, hear her, trust her. But she knew it wouldn’t change anything.

She turned to Seungcheol, her voice shaking with emotion. "You’ve always said we’re a team, that we support each other no matter what. But the second something goes wrong, I’m suddenly the enemy? Do you really think so little of me?"

His expression faltered for a moment, but he said nothing. That hurt more than anything.

Blinking back tears, she took a step back. "Fine. If that’s what you all believe, then there’s nothing more to say."

She left before anyone could respond, the door closing behind her with a finality that sent a shiver down their spines.