#they really are pathetic it’s just the best

[chobunz]

only you, darling.

pair: toxic bf!sunghoon ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: smut, jealousy, toxic relationship, f.ngering, dacryphilia, slight dub-con ??

[ 💭 ] jealous mean bf!sunghoon who gets off on humiliating you and making you feel guilty for spending too much time away from him. it seems like no matter how many times you apologize or reassure him it’s never good enough— he won’t forgive you unless you really mean it.

a/n. i originally wrote this for giselle from aespa but i thought this concept was also fitting for hoon so i made this version too >~<

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

you’re crying out pathetically, sinking your nails into sunghoon’s arm as he’s fingering you roughly, pounding his fingers into your sloppy pussy at a rapid pace. his other hand is enveloped around your neck, choking you but not enough to fully cut off your airflow.

his knuckles are red and injured. the wounds on his skin as a result from his work out due to him not being careful, using the punching bag without gloves. you’ve told him before to at least wrap his hands in bandages, but he kept on insisting that he was ‘fine’.

you felt his fingers trace the inside of your cunt making your face contort messily, your bottom lip held captive by your upper teeth. you wanted to shut your eyes so badly, but you knew you couldn’t— if you dared to even look away for a second you know there would be consequences for it.

“useless fucking cunt,” sunghoon spat out angrily, looking at you as if you’re the person he despises the most in the world, and yet, here he is stuffing you full with his fingers.

your legs couldn’t stop shaking, and the sound of your juices leaking out from your pussy and dripping down to his knuckles is making you see stars. your tiny sobs filled the room, the stretch being too painful, but so pleasurable at the same time..

you were just catching up with an old friend that you accidentally ran into while out at the mall, but, you were laughing a bit too much in sunghoon’s opinion. it felt like walking on eggshells with him, you couldn’t do anything without your boyfriend getting mad or jealous and it’s become tiring at this point. it was unhealthy how possessive he was over you, how he’d track your location whenever you were gone, never letting anyone near you— especially if they’re a male.

“is my attention not enough for you, hm ? i thought you only had eyes for me ?” you try your best to shake your head from side to side, showing your disagreement. “no ?” he wonders, even though he knows he’s enough for you, you’ve told him plenty of times before.

“only... you,” you manage to let out, tears falling from your reddened eyes.

you’re completely naked while sunghoon is fully clothed, still wearing his black t-shirt with a pair of shorts and the silver bracelet with your initial wrapped around his wrist; which only made this situation even more humiliating to you.

he pumps his fingers in and out of you and a slight smile tugs on his lips when you say those two words. he leans in, his mouth just beside your ear. “right, ‘cause you only need me, baby. only me,” he whispers, making goosebumps scatter across your skin, the hair on your arms raising up.

you let out a soft whimper at that, letting go of his arm to crumple his t-shirt between your small fingers. he kisses the side of your face, collecting a single tear of yours at the same occasion. your stomach flutters, your pussy quivers around his fingers and your heart thunders in your chest.

his digits skillfully scissors you open, patting the sweet spot inside of you. and when you come undone, your entire body shakes like a leaf and your vision becomes fuzzy.

you cream his fingers and he slowly pulls them out after, sucking your juices off them one by one. “if you can’t settle for me, i’ll find a way to make you stay. understand ?” his hot breath hits the side of your face as he threatens you in the sweetest voice.

you nod your head in compliance, showing him you understood and he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before crashing your lips with his.

he lies down beside you and you shift yourself closer, hugging him and resting your head down on his chest. you take his bruised hand in yours to observe it quietly, delicately tracing his knuckles, giving them healing kisses.

@leeechin @pshbites ♡︎

[impish-baby]

Platonic Yandere! Changling x reader drabble - 🪺🪲 (Trigger warnings: implied/referenced abuse, death, general creepiness)

There's something wrong with your brother.

Yelling has turned into soft murmurs, slamming of cupboards now only being accompanied by a quick apology and a meal soon placed in front of you.

Turned over a new leaf, he says. Hah. It might be nice if it was even slightly believable.

Your mother is overjoyed with the change, she smiles so much more. He does too, but there's something strange about it. Even on the rare occasions he'd smile, it never looked so out of place on his face. The kindness in his eyes wasn't there before, there's no way it's real.

You aren't dumb enough to fall into whatever ploy this is, you aren't that willfully naive.

The other shoe has to drop eventually.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Jeremiah lingers in the doorway, completely ignoring the glare thrown his way. "Spring is almost here, the flowers are getting ready to bloom-"

"I said no already, go by yourself."

With the way he flinches you'd think you had struck the older boy, he'd have deserved it at least.

"P- Please? Listen, I know our relationship hasn't been.. the best, but-"

"Hasn't been the best?" The outrage you feel has you sitting up straight, hands clenched into fists. "Fucking bastard, you think you can play nice for a couple days and that makes up for everything you've done-"

The door suddenly clicking shut sends a cold chill down your spine.

You're sure a smack is soon to follow, you end up bracing for nothing as Jeremiah drops to his knees in front of your bed instead.

"Please.." Tears are falling in steady streams down his face. "I- I'm a changed man, alright? I'm better."

He grasps your hands delicately, intertwining your fingers. The man sobs as you flinch at his touch.

"I- I'll prove it, just come with me.." He really does look pathetic, eyes shiny as he pulls you to stand up. "Come on.."

It's silent as you walk besides the occasional quiet sniffle, he keeps ahold of you the entire way.

You're lead into a clearing, the trees serenely swaying in the breeze as Jeremiah suddenly stops.

In the grass, your big brother's empty gaze stares back at you.

"I- I've kept it fresh a little longer than usual, wanted to make sure I got all the features right, you know..?" A nervous chuckle, "i- i did a good job i think."

His arms wrap around you from behind as he buries his face in your shoulder. "It's better, right? I'm better."

[latrespada]

ᯓ ✈︎ rotten to the core

Caleb’s jealousy knows no bounds. He becomes fiercely possessive whenever anyone gets too close to you, especially if he sees you interacting with someone else. The moment he perceives a threat, a "punishment" follows, one that’s far from ordinary. His discipline feels more like a mix of control and intimacy, blurring the line between pain and pleasure. As intense as it is, you can’t help but crave more, questioning if it’s truly a punishment when it leaves you yearning for more of him.

lads caleb x reader

warnings: jealousy, teasing, light bondage, couch sex, finger sucking, caleb's evol going out of control, slight choking, possessive sex, rough sex, sex while on the phone

6k words rated : e

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62332453

A/N: I find Caleb's jealousy attractive; not the toxic kind, but the pathetic type that tries to one-up everyone, even over trivial matters. Also the possessive jealousy. That is HOT!!

Take note of Caleb’s outfit in this; it's that nerdy one he wore in his trailer when he’s upset for poking his plumpy butt. The one with the white sleeveless top and his thick, beefy, veiny bicep. And the glasses.

If you don't know what I mean, check it out : https://x.com/kittysylus/status/1879371878793724285/photo/2

CRED divider by @enchanthings-a

The golden hues of the setting sun spill through the windows as you step into your home, finally free after a long day of finishing work reports and your monthly physical. The sight of Caleb sprawled out on the couch immediately warms you. He’s lounging with one arm propped behind his head, a book balanced casually in his hand, the picture of relaxed ease.

“I’m home,” you call out as you flop onto the couch, not caring that you’re practically lying on him.

“Hectic day?” he asks, his voice low, a welcome balm to your weary mind.

“Not really,” you murmur, rolling onto your back and wedging yourself into the narrow space between him and the couch cushions. “I’d still rather be off fighting Wanderers than stuck doing paperwork, though.”

“At least you weren’t in danger,” Caleb replies, turning a page in his book before tucking his arm back behind his head.

You sigh deeply, staring at the ceiling. “I had another appointment with Zayne today. The results are steady, which is good. I just have to keep taking my meds.”

Caleb’s tone shifts slightly when he replies, darker somehow. “Is that so?”

You glance up at him, sensing the tension in his words. He’s staring at the book, but it’s clear his thoughts are miles away.

“Yeah…” you answer cautiously, tilting your head to catch his eye. When he notices your gaze, he snaps the book shut and tosses it to the floor with a thud.

“Does Zayne really need to be your doctor?” Caleb asks abruptly, his voice laced with something unspoken.

You blink, startled. “I mean, he’s the best cardiologist—”

“I know that,” Caleb interrupts, his words sharp but not unkind. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.” He reaches out and places a hand over your face, shaking your head gently, as if to dismiss the topic.

You bat his hand away and sit up, turning to face him directly. “Don’t I deserve the best there is?” Your tone carries a faint edge, one you didn’t intend, but it’s there nonetheless—a hint of hurt.

Caleb frowns, his expression clouding with something close to jealousy. “You do,” he admits, but the words come out like a hiss.

“Then Zayne will stay my doctor,” you say firmly, standing and blowing him a playful kiss as you make your way toward the kitchen.

Behind you, Caleb mutters under his breath, then calls after you, “Why him, though? Isn’t there some policy against this?”

You stop in your tracks and turn to him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Caleb gets up and strides toward you, his smirk not quite masking the seriousness in his eyes. “You can’t have some sort of intimate relationship with your doctor—family, romantic, whatever. Maybe I should report him.” He chuckles, but the sound is hollow.

You close the distance between you, placing a hand firmly on his chest. “That’s not funny, Caleb,” you say, pouting as you meet his gaze.

His laughter fades, replaced by a look you can’t quite read. The tension lingers in the air between you, heavy and unspoken, but the warmth of his presence anchors you nonetheless.

“I’m joking. Since when can’t you take a hint?” Caleb ruffles your hair as he walks past you, heading into the kitchen. He’s trying to play it cool, but there’s an edge to his voice, something unresolved. “What should we have for dinner?”

You lean over the counter, your arms folded, watching him closely. The way his shoulders tense, as he opens and closes cabinets, gives him away. It’s painfully obvious that his mind is still on Zayne.

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself.

Caleb freezes mid-motion, turning to face you with a puzzled expression. “Oh great, you’re probably thinking of a joke he said.”

You snort. “Zayne and jokes, really?”

Silence falls between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. The two of you lock eyes, a silent battle of wills. His expression falters for just a second, enough for you to see that even he knows how ridiculous his comment is. Zayne’s humor is notoriously flat, and everyone knows it. Caleb breaks eye contact first, turning back to rummage through the cabinets, feigning interest in their contents.

You rest your chin on your crossed arms, a smirk playing on your lips as you study him. You know Caleb like the back of your hand—better than anyone. He’s never been one to openly admit jealousy, but his actions scream it louder than words ever could. Caleb has a compulsive need to be the one who makes you smile the widest, laugh the loudest, and feel the most alive.

The thing is, Caleb’s never shown this kind of jealousy toward Zayne before. Back in the day, things were simple; everyone was friendly, and there was no room for these petty emotions. But ever since you became a hunter, with mandatory check-ups and more frequent visits to Zayne’s clinic, Caleb’s demeanor started to shift. Not that he’d ever outright forbid you from doing something—he knows better than to try that—but his subtle, possessive tendencies? Oh, they’re there, and they’re obvious.

You bite your lip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You’re plotting now, deliberately trying to press his buttons.

“You’re so clingy, Caleb,” you drawl, dragging the words out just enough to poke the bear.

“Hm.” His nonchalant response is laced with tension.

“I mean, just last week, you did the same thing.”

That gets him. Caleb slams a box of pasta onto the counter with a thud, his palms splaying out as he leans forward, head tilting back toward the ceiling like he’s begging for patience. He inhales deeply before turning his head, not his body, to look at you. His eyes are sharp, and piercing, and there’s an intensity to them that makes your breath hitch.

“I said I was sorry,” he says, his tone eerily calm, almost robotic.

“Yeah, well, things escalated, and he heard us,” you grumble, leaning back for effect.

Caleb picks up the pasta box again, shaking it as he waves his arms dramatically. “Why does the upstairs neighbor even need to talk to you every time he sees you?” he complains. “What’s his name again, Xander?”

“Xavier,” you correct without missing a beat.

Caleb freezes mid-motion. His shoulders stiffen as he turns his head just slightly, his expression neutral but with just enough of a comedic edge—thick-framed glasses perched on his nose, his jaw set—to make you stifle a laugh.

You catch the faintest twitch in his bicep, a telltale sign that your teasing is working.

You press your hand to your mouth, trying to smother a grin and the laughter bubbling in your throat. You know full well that Caleb remembers Xavier’s name perfectly; he just deliberately got it wrong to downplay how much he pays attention. And now, judging by the look on his face, he regrets giving you an opening to correct him.

“He’s my work partner,” you say with a light chuckle, trying to sound casual. “We were talking about work…” You pause briefly for effect, watching his expression remain frozen. “A work gathering.”

The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken thoughts, but the way Caleb’s jaw tightens just enough lets you know you’ve gotten under his skin. You don’t mind, though—it’s all part of the game.

“And what? Did this Xavier complain?” Caleb sneers, dragging out the name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. His exaggerated disdain is so obvious, it’s hard not to laugh.

“No,” you reply with a chuckle. “Worried, maybe. But honestly, how do you even explain that situation?”

Caleb rolls his eyes in mock frustration, the gesture exaggerated but not unexpected.

“And to answer your earlier question,” you continue, pointing a finger at him while puckering your lips for emphasis, “Zayne isn’t breaking any rules.”

Caleb’s gaze drops to the box of pasta in his hands as if seeking answers there. His silence speaks volumes, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his head. He’s not even trying to mask his annoyance anymore.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” you tease, leaning casually against the counter. “Zayne and I do have a personal connection, but that was way before he became my doctor. Besides, we lost touch long before any of that. So, technically…” you smirk, “no rules are being broken.”

Caleb tosses the pasta box onto the counter with the dramatics of a jilted soap opera star, the motion so over-the-top it makes you laugh.

His jealousy is nothing new—it’s always been there, simmering beneath the surface. But when it comes to Zayne, it’s glaringly obvious and almost endearing. What makes it funnier is that the jealousy is entirely one-sided.

He doesn’t speak. Instead, he just stares, his gaze unyielding but not threatening, more predatory. The intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, but you bite your lip to hide the thrill it gives you.

Finally, Caleb strides toward you with purpose. Your arms instinctively fling open as if welcoming his approach, and his hands grip your waist firmly—almost possessively. It stings, but not unpleasantly. Before you can process it, you hop up, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

His nose brushes against yours, the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips as he whispers, “It’s not fair. He gets to listen to your heart, to be so close to your chest.”

You laugh softly, his childish complaint both absurd and hypocritical. Caleb spends more time listening to your heartbeat than Zayne ever could. Every chance he gets, he lays his head on your chest, claiming it’s his right.

“Zayne needs a stethoscope to hear my heart,” you tease, letting your voice drop into a husky, breathy tone. “But you don’t need that.”

In one swift motion, Caleb spins you around and lays you flat against the counter, his hands gripping your hips. His lips trail down your torso, his breath hot against your skin.

“I should be the only one listening to your heart,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I know every inch of your body better than any doctor. Why would you even need them?”

“Doctors can tell a murmur from a regular heartbeat,” you retort with a smirk.

“I’m done talking about cardiology,” Caleb mutters, his grin wicked. “I was talking about other doctors.”

He spreads your legs slightly, resting his head against your stomach, his breath fanning over your skin as he exhales deeply.

“Am I being punished again?” you ask, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Do you want to be?” he mumbles, his lips brushing against your skin.

You chuckle softly, biting your bottom lip. “No.” With a quick push against his head, you slide off the counter before he can pin you further. “I need to get out of these clothes. It’s been a long day,” you say, your tone dripping with sass.

As you move past him, Caleb grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. “Let me help, then.”

“No,” you reply, shaking his hand off with mock defiance.

He sighs, his voice dipping into a playful growl. “Be a good girl.”

“No.”

“Sit.”

Before you can process what’s happening, your knees buckle, and you find yourself on all fours, your hands bracing against the floor for balance. Caleb’s gravity control Evol pins you down just enough to make his point.

“Atta girl,” he teases, his tone light yet commanding. He crouches before you, tilting your chin up with a gentle but firm hand. “Let. Me. Help. You.”

“He’s going to hear us again,” you giggle, finally achieving the reaction you’d been aiming for.

“Then tell him to stop eavesdropping, pipsqueak,” Caleb retorts with a smirk.

Releasing his control, he effortlessly picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. With a playful grin, he throws you onto the couch and towers over you, his overwhelming and intoxicating presence.

“Another word and I’ll have to keep you quiet,” he warns, reaching for his glasses.

You grab his wrists, your eyes wide and pleading. “No, don’t!” you gasp, as if what you’re about to say is of utmost importance. “I really like those glasses,” you pant.

He pauses, his confusion almost comical.

“I think they’re better than Zayne’s,” you add with a sly smile, exhaling deeply.

Caleb’s lips twitch as he suppresses a grin. “You’re so greedy when you want something, aren’t you?” Without waiting for a reply, he slips two fingers into your mouth, his touch teasing and deliberate, a silent dare for you to defy him again.

The wet, suctioning sound of your lips wrapped around Caleb’s fingers is maddeningly erotic, a melody of your surrender and his control. His fingers press harder against your tongue, sending a jolt down your spine. You gag reflexively, but instead of pulling away, your hands shoot up to grip his wrists, holding him in place, determined not to cough them out. His fingers glide in and out in steady, rhythmic waves, teasing and deliberate, while your chest rises and falls with labored breaths. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you keep them locked on his lips.

Caleb’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips before his teeth catch the bottom one in a fierce bite. His eyes, dark with intent, linger on the way your cheeks hollow with every movement of his hand. It’s written all over his face: this is a prelude to what he really wants. He’d rather have your mouth working over his dick than his fingers.

With a low chuckle, he pulls his fingers free, leaving your lower lip glistening with saliva. He holds his hand up, watching the way the wetness glimmers under the dim light. “You really enjoy using yourself as your own lubricant, don’t you?” he says with a teasing laugh, his voice dripping with smug amusement.

“It’s natural,” you pant, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Caleb shifts, rising onto his knees as he peels off his shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the coffee table. His toned torso gleams, and he snaps his fingers at you, motioning for you to sit up straight. You comply without hesitation, adjusting your posture as he towers over you.

With one knee between your legs and the other planted firmly on the couch, he removes his dog tag, dragging the cool chain across your face. “You know the rules,” he says, his grin wicked.

You pout, rolling your eyes. “I gave you that as a gift, and you’re always using it for your twisted games.”

He smirks. “Then get me another one.”

“No way. It’s one of a kind.” You slide your hands up his torso, fingers tracing every dip and ridge of his muscles. “There’s no duplicate. It’s yours and only yours,” you murmur, cupping his face. Finally, you clasp your wrists together in silent surrender, signaling you’re ready.

Caleb places the dog tag between his teeth. He tugs at the hem of your shirt and in one swift motion, it’s off, discarded to the side. You unclasp your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders as he deftly begins wrapping the chain around your wrists.

“You could use your evol this time,” you suggest, your voice sultry and playful.

His hands pause for a moment, his eyes focused on the chain. “Yeah,” he mutters, though his tone is uncertain. “Last time I tried that, I used it on the bed instead of you. Snapped the legs and bottom planks clean off.”

A smile escapes you, breaking the tension. “That was your fault.”

“Fair,” he admits with a mischievous grin, “but with the way you were screaming my name and begging for more, I got… distracted.” He pulls the chain taut around your wrists, his eyes locking with yours. The tightness isn’t just around your wrists—it’s in the air, a tension so thick it makes your heart race.

Before you can say anything, he grabs his shirt that he tossed aside earlier. Caleb moves behind the couch, you tilt your head back to catch a glimpse of him. He’s smiling, a wicked grin that makes your pulse race. He steps closer, and gently pushes your head forward. “Let’s try something new,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. The soft fabric of the shirt wraps around your eyes, plunging you into darkness.

Your heart stutters, a mix of excitement and apprehension swelling inside you. What does he have planned? Did you push him too far this time? The not knowing leaves you vulnerable, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. Bound and blindfolded, you realize the gravity of your position. Your hands are useless, your sight is gone, and as the shirt muffles the sounds around you, you feel the loss of another sense creeping in. You’re at his mercy, and the uncertainty is both thrilling and maddening.

You strain your ears, desperate for any clue to his movements. The soft padding of his footsteps echoes faintly, but you can’t discern their direction. Is he in front of you? Behind you? The muffled noise seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. You sit still, biting your lip to stifle a nervous breath.

Then, the sound sharpens—familiar and unmistakable. His shoes hit the floor with a soft thud. Your breath hitches as the faint jingle of his belt buckle follows, the metallic clink chilling you to the core. The slow, deliberate rasp of his zipper being pulled down comes next, and you swallow hard. You hear the rustling of fabric sliding against his skin before the faint sound of his pants hitting the floor.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. Caleb is naked. And you are completely unaware of where he is. From which angle he’ll approach, you have no idea. The suspense builds with every passing second, your senses heightened as your imagination runs wild. Every breath, every rustle of fabric, every shift in the air sends a jolt of anticipation through you.

In an instant, you’re pulled, your body shifting swiftly before you can even process it. You find yourself lying awkwardly on the couch, your legs raised high, teetering off balance. The soft plop of your shoes hitting the floor fills the room, and then his hands are on you—strong, purposeful. His touch slides down your calves, lingering at your thighs before settling firmly. It’s clear now—your legs are on his shoulders.

The faint sound of your belt unbuckling breaks through the haze of anticipation, followed by the slow, deliberate unbuttoning of your pants. You feel the cool air on your skin as he slides them down with excruciating patience, taking your underwear with them. The quiet thud of your discarded clothes hitting the ground feels final, leaving you bare and exposed.

Caleb lowers your legs gently, guiding you upward. His hand rests on your back, firm yet careful, directing you as you take a few hesitant steps. The walk is short, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he presses your back forward, bending your upper body over the armrest of the couch. Your belly rests against the soft fabric as he positions you, spreading your legs apart just enough to make you feel vulnerable, your feet planted firmly on the ground.

His hands are warm as they settle on your lower back, and then you feel it—the slow, teasing slide of him rubbing against you. The head of his dick brushes your clit with deliberate precision, sending sparks of heat shooting through you. A silent moan escapes your lips as he continues the agonizing tease, his movements designed to drive you to the edge of madness.

Caleb leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “As of now,” he whispers, his voice low and dripping with desire, “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who knows how fast your heart is going.” With no warning, he thrusts into you, forcing a gasp from your lips.

“Nngh… Caleb…” you moan, your voice trembling.

His rhythm is relentless from the start, his hips driving into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust pulls a sound from you, your bound hands trapped beneath your chest as the chain lightly grazes your skin, heightening every sensation.

“Haah… fuck,” Caleb groans, his voice rough with pleasure. “Do you even know… ha… how possessive I can get?”

You’re silent, unable to form words as your face presses into the couch, your teeth biting down on the fabric in an attempt to stifle your cries.

“And to… ahh, fuck,” he chuckles darkly, his voice strained. “To edge me on like that… mmhn… you must like—” His words are cut off by his guttural moan as his body shudders.

Leaning forward, his teeth sink into your shoulder, the sharp sensation blending with the intensity of his thrusts. His hips angle upward now, hitting a spot that sends you spiraling, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

“Mmmh, Caleb…” is all you can manage, your voice raw and pleading as he consumes every part of you.

Caleb shifts his weight, pulling back just long enough to stand upright. With fluidity and strength, he flips you onto your back. The movement leaves you momentarily breathless, your body pliant beneath his control. He raises one of your legs over his shoulder, his fingers gripping your calf with a possessive firmness. The other leg, he adjusts carefully, ensuring your foot rests securely on the armrest, but not before gently pushing it outward, spreading you even wider for him.

His breathing is labored now, audible and heavy, and though you can’t see him clearly, you can imagine the sight of his chest. Broad, muscular, and glistening with sweat, rising and falling with each ragged inhale. It’s a sight that would’ve stolen your breath, if it hadn’t already been taken by the moment.

One of his arms snakes around the leg draped over his shoulder, locking it in place with a grip that’s equal parts firm and tender. His other hand anchors itself on your hip, steadying you as he positions himself. And then he begins again.

The first thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, his rhythm rough yet calculated, each movement hitting the spot that leaves you trembling. His hips snap forward with a force that feels primal, yet controlled, a deliberate effort to draw out every sound, every reaction from you. You’re soaked, your arousal slick against him. The lewd sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, every thrust accompanied by the wet squelch of your fluids mixing. It’s intoxicating.

He leans in slightly, his lips hovering close, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper as he murmurs your name. The way he says it feels reverent, like a prayer or a plea, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Yeah…” you breathe, your voice soft and airy, surrendering to the moment.

“Let me be…” he pauses, “…let me be the only one… to make your heart—” His voice falters, replaced by a sensual chuckle, deep and rough. “God, let me be the only one to make your heart race like this.”

“Mhm…” your reply comes out sweet but low, carried on a sigh. “Okay…”

The air between you and Caleb is electric, every touch igniting sparks that threaten to burn you from the inside out. With your leg still firm on the armrest, you use it to push your body to the other side, forcing Caleb to adjust. As your leg drops off his shoulder, he moves instinctively, following your silent invitation to walk around the couch.

Before you can process his next move, he’s sitting in front of you, pulling you up with ease until you’re perched on his lap. His hands are warm and firm, one gripping his dick as he guides himself back inside you, the other trailing up your back in a slow, deliberate motion. His fingers rake through your hair, sending shivers down your spine, before tangling and tugging gently but possessively. The motion tilts your head back, exposing the curve of your neck to him.

His lips hover there, a breath away from your skin, teasing, promising. You can feel the heat of his desire, the way his breathing deepens as he restrains himself from biting down.

“Mine,” he breathes, his voice thick and husky.

“Yours,” you moan in response, your voice trembling, “always yours.”

The words seem to fuel him further. He releases your hair and leans back into the sofa, his strong frame supporting you effortlessly. You stay balanced on your toes, knees bent, riding him with an aching, deliberate rhythm. His hands grip your waist tightly, guiding you, pulling you down harder onto him as your hips sway back and forth.

He curses your name, his voice dripping with raw hunger.

“Just like that…” he groans.

Your knees finally give out, and you collapse forward, your body trembling. Though your blindfold keeps you from seeing him, you can feel his presence—his lips so close to yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with your own. You bite your lip, a soft laugh escaping through a moan. With your bound hands, you fumble to touch his face, brushing against the frames of the glasses he kept on.

Your frustrated laugh makes him grin, and before you know it, he’s shifting you both, rolling you onto your side. Spooning you, Caleb pulls your top leg back, hooking it around his own. His arm snakes beneath you, gripping your neck gently but firmly, while his other hand finds your bound wrists. You feel his fingers slide beneath the chain binding them, his touch deliberate.

“If I take this off…” he murmurs, his hips pressing forward as he thrusts deeper, making you gasp. “You have to promise to keep the blindfold on. Got that?”

“Okay…” you manage to moan.

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, his laugh dark and low. With a swift pull, the chain loosens, and your hands are free. Before you can react, he places the dog tag in your mouth. “Here, bite this,” he commands, his lips brushing your ear as his tongue flicks against the sensitive skin behind it.

His pace picks up again, rough and insistent, each movement sending waves of heat through your body. His hand on your neck tightens ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he’s in control.

His other hand moves to your breasts, squeezing and kneading, his grip leaving no doubt about how much he wants you.

Desperate to feel closer, you swing your now-free hand behind you, finding his face and pulling him down toward you.

“C-Caleb…” you choke out, his name a breathless plea.

“That’s it,” he chuckles against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder before biting down softly. “Say my name. Let me be the only name you call.”

His words are a command and a prayer, each syllable dripping with possession. He presses into you harder, his teeth grazing your skin again, his groans mingling with your moans.

The tension between you and Caleb is palpable, every motion from him driving you further into a realm where pleasure and desperation intertwine. His grip on your neck tightens, stealing your breath in the most intoxicating way, your vision blurring with unshed tears as your body reacts to his overwhelming dominance.

Your voice, broken and raw, escapes in a gagged gasp. “C-Caleb…” The dog tag tumbles from your lips, clinking faintly as it hits the surface below.

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach. You barely have a moment to adjust before he pulls your hips upward, your breasts pressing into the couch. His thrusts are erratic, primal, and you claw at the armrest, arching your back deeply to meet him. His hand finds your hair, tugging harshly, while his other grips your waist with a force that leaves bruising promises. His silence, punctuated only by rough breaths and muffled grunts, speaks volumes.

You’ve witnessed this before—when his composure cracks and his evol flares, chaos is inevitable. Around you, the room trembles with his lack of control. Items crash to the floor, shattering against the walls. You gasp, instinctively reaching for the blindfold to tear it off, but Caleb’s hand leaves your hair and slams your wrist to the armrest.

“What did you promise?” he growls, his voice venomous yet dripping with that intoxicating edge of command. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hand firmly.

His pace quickens, his movements losing all semblance of rhythm. You’re caught between gasping for air and choking on moans that feel too loud, too needy. Your head drops forward, but your body remains arched, submitting entirely to the chaos you ignited.

The destruction crescendos until it feels like the entire room collapses in a cacophony of falling objects and Caleb’s unrelenting presence. Then, it stops. Abruptly. Caleb pulls out and steps away, leaving you trembling, breathless, and straining to track his movements through the sound of his footsteps.

“Flip over,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. You comply, lying on your back, your chest heaving.

He spreads your legs, his touch suddenly gentle as his fingers trace your most sensitive places. He slides them inside you, teasing, coaxing moans from your lips. It’s a stark contrast to his earlier ferocity, and it leaves you spinning.

Then you feel it—a cold, slightly heavy object placed on your chest. It vibrates softly, confusing you until you catch the faint ringing sound. A phone.

Your hand instinctively moves to grab it, but before you can pull your blindfold down to see who he’s calling, Caleb snatches the device away.

“Tch. You’re just not listening today, are you?” His voice carries a mix of irritation and amusement. “Invite him to dinner,” he says, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Confusion floods you. Who? But then the line connects, and you hear Zayne’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” Zayne asks, his voice tinged with polite concern.

Your heart skips a beat as Caleb presses the phone to your ear and aligns himself with you once more, thrusting in with devastating precision. Your hand flies to your mouth, desperately trying to stifle the moan threatening to spill out.

“Zayne!” you yelp, your voice trembling. “W-would you like to… haaa… join Caleb and I for…” You trail off, unable to finish as Caleb’s pace intensifies.

There’s a pause on the other end. “I’ve got work to do, unfortunately,” Zayne replies, his tone shifting slightly, as if he’s picking up on something amiss. “Are you alright? You sound… in pain.”

“I’m okay,” you manage, your voice strained. “You sure… about dinner?”

Caleb chuckles softly, low enough that only you can hear, and it makes your cheeks burn.

“I’m sure,” Zayne says, his tone now skeptical. “Is it your heart? Is that what’s hurting?”

“What?” you gasp, your voice cracking.

“Is it your heart that’s hurting?” Zayne repeats, his voice calm but laced with something knowing.

“No! Of course… ngh… not,” you insist, struggling to keep your composure.

“Hm…” Zayne hums, his voice dropping as if the realization has hit. “Take care of yourself. Doctor’s orders.”

“I will. You too… and… haaa… doctors shouldn’t be skipping meals…” you add quickly, finishing in a rush.

Caleb pulls the phone from your ear, grinning like a cat who’s cornered his prey. “Yeah, the busiest man should at least join us for dinner every once in a while,” he says, his tone laced with taunting competitiveness.

“Hang up!” you insist, your voice tinged with panic.

Caleb smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, but he obliges, ending the call. He pulls off your blindfold, his mischievous gaze locks onto yours, his dominance and jealousy radiating all around you.

You pull Caleb closer, your legs instinctively wrapping tighter around his waist as his hips snap forward, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your hands push his glasses up, and you kiss him—a gentle initiation that Caleb quickly turns hungry. His lips capture yours, biting softly at your lower lip, his kisses messy and demanding, speaking a language of unspoken need. Your arms wrap around his neck, nails digging into his back as your laughter mingles with soft moans, the sound a harmony of shared desire.

“Let me see,” you sigh, pulling away just enough to speak.

Caleb tilts his body slightly, granting you a glimpse of him sinking into you, his movements hypnotic. The sight drives you to arch your back, pressing your body further into his, making him reach deeper. You gasp, throwing your head back before kissing him again, your lips clinging to his as though he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Mine,” Caleb murmurs between kisses, your name falling from his lips like a vow. The rawness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His rhythm grows relentless, each thrust drawing you closer to your peak. The pressure of his evol pins you firmly against the couch, intensifying every sensation.

“Caleb…” you whimper, your voice breaking, “I’m gonna come…”

“Hold on,” he growls, his voice strained and desperate, as though battling his limits.

“I… I can’t.”

The confession tears through the haze of pleasure, but it only drives him faster, his movements erratic and unrestrained. Your body tightens around him, and his voice grows hoarse as he whispers your name like a prayer.

The tension snaps, pleasure rushing through you in waves, your cries mingling with Caleb’s as he follows. The room shakes under the force of his evol—objects crashing and scattering as the world seems to respond to his intensity.

Breathless, you both collapse into the quiet aftermath, the weight of gravity settling once more.

“Fuck…” you both exhale in unison, voices harmonizing as you lie tangled together, your heartbeats racing in sync.

Caleb’s glasses slip off his face, landing carelessly beside you as he collapses onto your body, his weight pressing you into the couch. His breath is warm against your skin, uneven but soothing. With a gentle shift, he maneuvers you so that you’re lying on top of him, your head resting on his chest.

You listen to the steady rhythm beneath your ear, his heart racing but calm in its consistency. “Your heart’s going fast,” you murmur, a hint of amusement in your tone.

“That’s because of you,” he replies, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. He reaches for the dog tag nestled between you both, pulling it free as he tilts his head down to kiss the top of yours. “I want to be the only one whose heart you make beat like this,” he confesses, his words a vow and a plea all at once.

“You’re impossible,” you tease, your fingers idly tracing around his chest, circling his nipple in lazy patterns.

He catches your hand, his eyes falling to the blistered marks along your skin. His expression tightens with guilt as he lifts your hand to his lips, kissing each mark tenderly, as though his touch could erase them. “I’ve got to stop using this to bind you,” he whispers, his voice laced with regret.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, your breath finally steady. Sitting up, you straddle him, bending down to kiss him softly. His hands rise to cradle your face, his touch gentle, reverent. Your foreheads touch, the dominant air that usually surrounds him dissipating completely.

For a moment, it’s just you and him, hearts beating as one, and the world fades away.

You rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as the quiet settles between you. His hands stay on your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks, as if grounding himself in your presence. “Stay like this,” he whispers, the words almost inaudible but weighted with meaning. You nod, your lips curving into a small smile, and close your eyes. In this moment, there’s no jealousy, no chaos—just the warmth of his embrace and the unspoken promise of always coming back to each other.

[yrlocalwerewolf]

s1 ! vi x reader hcs ! ✩ (MEN DNI.)

this girl is MESSY. books, clothes, alcohol bottles everywhere.

she loves romantic gestures. if she sees anything that reminds her of you, she's getting it. flowers, records, even a rock that looked cool.

she never minds spending money on you, no matter how much you insist on her not doing that. she loves to spoil you.

vi loves date night with you. even though she never dresses up much, she still savours every moment with you.

picks you up all the time. oh you can't reach the top shelf? no problem. she also just feels like it sometimes.

sometimes she'll 'jokingly' ask to benchpress you. if you agree it'll give her a high for the rest of the day. if she can't benchpress you, then she can't. yet.

biggest fattest puppy eyes ever. if she doesn't get her way she uses them.

loves your hands. she loves running her thumb over your knuckles and kissing them, or tracing the lines on your palms.

if you beg her, she'll let you sit in her lap and do her makeup or her nails. does she understand why you like it so much? no, but because it's you she'll do it.

she gets into fights with you, but if you ignore her for more then ten minutes she'll beg for your attention and apologize your ear off. if you can manage to ignore her and her pathetic puppy eyes, that is.

always playing with your hair. she loves to put your face in her lap and running her hands through it.

she's teasing you all the time, no matter what. but if you tell her to stop, she'll listen and back off.

WORSHIPS your body. light kisses here and there, always touching you.

loves giving you hickeys. it's just the best thing ever for her.

she doesn't shower unless you agree with her. she's used to freezing cold water due to the lack of warm water (and water overall) in Zaun, but she slowly gets used to hot water for you.

gets drunk all the time. when she's drunk she's holding you and telling you how much she loves you and how you deserve someone better then her and is just. really emotional.

has tons of nicknames for you. calling you your name is a sin for her.

"hey, darling," "come 'ere, cupcake," "have i ever told you how much i love you, pretty girl?"

it was love at first sight for her <3

a / n : this one was fun to write !!! send requests for who yall want next :3

[ditzydoe444]

okay wait cuz what about jason tries to make his pillow princess work for it to see what happens but she just gets soo tired easily :(( she doesnt know how to work in sex!!! so jay feels all bad (even tho seeing her struggle to please him does make him feel things) and takes control!!

— your fav, 🍓

MDNI 18+

a/n: i love all of your requests sm anon 😵‍💫😵‍💫

“come on sweetheart, it ain’t that hard,” jason cooed as he watched you bounce on his cock, your lips out in a pout whilst you whined. “s-so tired jacey,” your thighs were burning as you barely caught your breath. your chest was going up and down heavily with each breath you took, your arms trembling as they gripped his broad shoulders.

“sometimes you need to work for what you want, can’t have you just layin’ down looking all pretty whilst i do every can i?”

yes he can, and that was exactly what you wanted. you loved being a his little pillow princess, just laying down taking his cock whilst he did everything. now you actually had to work to get some sort of release and you weren’t sure if it was even worth it.

you were all hot and bothered, your hair stuck to your forehead and cheeks flushed from your frantic and desperate movements. “t-tired,” you mumbled, your movements slowing down.

a low chuckle escaped jason, “worn you out have i?” he teased, his large calloused hand touching your cheek softly. “want me to take over?”

you nodded eagerly, you were already knocked out from a couple of minutes, you weren’t going to handle this for any longer. jason didn’t hesitate to take over as he switched your position from cowgirl to a mating press, his large body pinning you down.

“such a pathetic little thing aren’t ya?” he grunted as his thrusts picked up, his balls slapping against your ass. “can’t even bounce in it hm?”

secretly though, jason loved it. he loved how pathetic and dependent you were on him to make you feel good, how only he could make you come. “this feel better sweet thing?”

“y-yes jacey,” you moaned as your arms tightened around his neck, “bet it does, you making all of those sweet cute noises.” jason loves the way your mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape, and how your eyes would roll back with each thrust.

“now tell me why i should let you come sweet thing, you’ve barley worked for it.”

“m-mph, don’t be mean jacey,” you whined as you snuggled into his neck, attempting to give kisses as a poor attempt of persuading him. “trying to bribe me with kisses now huh?” he smirked seeing how pathetic you were. “didn’t think you were that desperate.”

“p-please jacey, let me come?” you pleaded as sweetly as you could, giving him your best puppy eyes. jason’s eyes sparkled seeing your face, “aw sweetheart, you really want to come hm?”

“next time you need to work for it alright? i’ll be nice this time.”

[dvmbification]

" this one's for you !? " ft. isagi yoichi

ever since middle school, you had a best friend who stayed by your side up until now—and that boy was isagi yoichi, a diamond in the rough, who was so close from becoming the top striker of all time, who just needed a little push and polishing—so you gave him that first little push he needed.

"hurry up, yoichi! let me see!"

"are you serious? you know what this means, right!?" blue lock? it sounded genuine, so you cheered him on to participate in this somewhat legit project. "come on, you should go!" "alright, alright. but.." his sheepish grin slowly turned into pursed lips of doubt. "will I ever see you again?" what kind of question was that? "obviously! i'll see you on the other side." you wink at your best friend, smiling as wide as you could.

the loud booming voice from the speakers announces the next player of the blue lock eleven.

"and #11!" his name is called, and your attention was caught, interest piqued. it's him—your best friend—the boy you've been waiting to see again since early highschool. he enters the stadium, taking the view of over thousands of people in the crowd surrounding him, hoping you were in it, watching him closely—and watching him closely you were.

the game felt long, like, really long. on the edge of your seat, you were kept on your toes, fully invested in the last few minutes of the game.

this is it—the clock was ticking, one more goal from the team you were rooting for with all your heart—the blue lock eleven—and they would break the tie with U20. but who would score the winning goal? the itoshi brothers battling to the death to take the ball for themselves was all you were focused on.. one last goal..

and in the blink of an eye, your childhood best friend, isagi yoichi, the same boy you pushed forward since middle school to become the greatest striker in the world—had somehow been keeping his eyes on the ball this entire time, foreseeing the future before him and where it would land—in this case, right where he wants it to be—taking his only chance to score a goal. and with a stroke of luck..

he scores.

3-4. holy shit.

"and with a devastating direct shot, #11, isagi yoichi—has brought the blue lock eleven to victory!" you scream louder than anyone near you, and while you received a few looks of worry or second hand embarrassment, you couldn't care less. he just scored! the crowd applauses, chanting his name—similarly to his teammates, who quickly gathered around him, celebrating their victory as a team. after a while, isagi was dragged into an interview—being broadcasted on television, and the huge jumbotron in the stadium.

"here he is, everyone! the blue lock eleven's isagi yoichi, who scored that dramatic winning goal! we would love to hear your impressions, now that the game is over." isagi's eyes wander around, just realizing the pressure being put on him at the moment. he rubs his thumbs together, palms growing clammier than ever. "i—uh." you giggle a bit at him choking on his words, bringing your hand to cover up your snickering.

"i.. i'm.. happy. super happy." he feels a pang of embarrassment strike through him, but that's what you get for giving such a pathetic answer—it was cute, though. "we've observed that you have the chance to become the U20 representative today," he gulps, awaiting the interviewer to continue his sentence. "what are you looking forward to next?"

you could notice the way he straightened his back, strengthening his stance. "..win." you almost burst out laughing, but anticipate his full answer. "the blue lock eleven.. will win the world cup. all of us—no, that's not right." the world feels quiet at this very moment.

"i.. will bring japan a U20 world cup victory."

and the crowd roars.

"what a bold statement from blue lock's hero!" "now, isagi yoichi, who would you like to thank especially for the person you are today?" his eyes light up at the thought of you. you, the girl he hadn’t seen with his bare eyes since long ago.. he could envision you in his mind, smiling as wide as you could.

"i'd like to give my thanks to my parents, who have supported my dream of becoming the greatest striker in the world.." isagi's hand finds itself rubbing the back of his neck. "my teammates and opponents, who have shaped me into the player i am right now.." he looks around him to search for the girl he's missed oh so dearly in the crowd who was carefully watching him and his words. "and the love of my life. my best friend, who gave me that final push into joining blue lock—if it weren't for her.." and at that moment, you swore your eyes met each other. you stared deeply into his eyes, full of yearning for you, to see you once again. i might cry, you think, as thin lines of your tears cascade down your cheeks.

"i wouldn't be here in the first place." it feels like time had come to a stop. he finally finds who he was looking for, you, in the crowd. directly looking at you, he smiles as wide as he could.

© dvmbification ( formerly dumbification ) . do not repost or recycle my work.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 4 - You Bleed Like Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Starting a tradition for my long series when chapter 4 is just love interest bonding. Enjoy!

Chapter title from clementine by Halsey

Word Count: 16.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an arrangement. Usual warnings, extra graphic violence warning.

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

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Read on A03!

“This doesn’t really seem like an us case, De-“

“There are us cases?”

She glared up at Dean, her eyes narrowed. “Yes. And this isn’t one.”

“Why not?” He propped his elbows on the table, smirking at Her as he picked up his burger. “What’s an us case, sweetheart? So I know what I should be looking for-“

She snorted. “You’re full of shit, Winchester.”

“Oh, yeah, but that’s not going to get you out of this.” Dean took a large bite, grinning at Her expectantly, and she sighed.

“It’s something that goes fast. That’s strange enough to be interesting, but not dangerous enough that, if one of us has to go early, the other is left dead in the water. And it should play off of our strengths, to make it easier.”

“Huh.” Dean swallowed his food, watching Her carefully. “What’s my strength?” 

She gave him an amused look. “What do you think your strength is?”

“I think it’s my huge, thick, throbbing…” He leaned forward, wigging his brows. “Brain.”

Her bright eyes rolled, but Dean didn’t miss the way there was no venom behind her annoyed groan, or how her lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “You proud of that one?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, shooting Her a wink. “What do you think it is?”

She hummed, tilting Her head at him. “You want the honest answer, or the flattering one?”

Dean frowned. “Both?”

“Cool. You’re the face.”

“I’m…” Dean trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m the face?”

“Uh huh.” She grinned at him, poking Her own food with a plastic fork. “You get us in the door, so I can do all the work.”

“You do not do all the work-“

She gave him a flat look. “Who’s higher up on the kill scoreboard?”

“You. But,” he pointed an accusing finger at Her. “Only because I’ve have to leave early for the past three hunts.”

“And I’m up by nine, dumb dumb.” She sat up a little straighter, pride written all over her gorgeous face, and it made Dean feel all soft and gooey. “And that’s exactly why I should get to veto this hunt-“

Dean clicked his tongue, not even trying to fight his smile. “We’ll get back to this hunt in a second, sweetheart, you need to explain the face thing.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I already did-“

“Well, was that the flattering one or the honest one? Cause if it’s the honest one, you need to start appreciating me more-“

“I appreciate you plenty.” She snapped, flushing slightly. “And that was the flattering one.”

“Alright, what’s the honest one?”

“I’m not telling you.”

Dean gave Her his best puppy-dog eyes—nothing compared to Sammy’s, but he was getting better, at least with Her—and a pout that he hoped made him look adorable and not constipated. “C’mon, I can take it-“

“No. You’ll have to earn it.”

He scowled. “How the hell am I supposed to earn it-“

“Good question.” She gave him a teasing grin, Her eyelashes fluttering slightly, and Dean’s pout turned a little more real as warmth settled in his gut. “But that does sound like a you problem, Deano.”

Dean leaned back in his seat, rolling his eyes. “You suck.”

“I know.” Her smile grew, lips full and wide and slightly parted and fuck, Dean wanted her to suck on them- “You’re still here, though.”

“I am.” Dean stomped down his pathetic, unreasonable need for Her and took another bite of his burger. “But that’s just cause I don’t know how to leave, Princess.” 

She flipped him off, returning the conversation to the hunt, and Dean wasn’t sure if the flash in Her eyes was from amusement or hurt. It shouldn’t be hurt. He hadn’t meant to hurt Her. He never wanted to hurt Her, it always made him feel ill. Hell, it had been three years since the poltergeist—three years since he’d seen real, pure hatred for him on Her pretty face—and Her expression before she stormed out of the bar was still shifting like ash inside that pit in Dean’s body, reminding him what a piece of fucking shit he was. He’d never apologized for that. He wasn’t sure how he would, because that would require a longer conversation to explain himself, where he finally demanded answers for what Dad had found on Her during the moroi hunt.

And he wasn’t fucking strong enough to have that conversation. Not now. Not when he finally had Her in the loosest possible way, and he didn’t want to screw it up. Didn’t want to open his mouth and poke and prod Her—demand more than he deserved to have—until she left him, like everyone else did. Dean would not whine about his feelings like a little girl. Not when he knew it would drive his only friend away. Not when it would ruin whatever this was with Her. 

He wasn’t really sure what this actually was, but he knew it was something. Friendship seemed to be the easiest thing to call it, but there was more than that. It was over a year of meeting up for hunts, hanging out a little while after—laying on a bed or sitting on the floor or leaning across a table—before parting with grins and promises to call and meet up again. And they always did. There were always weeks where Dad was away, Dean was left alone, and he’d kill that time with Her. With another case that they handled together, as a team, and another week of falling into this enigma of a woman he couldn’t avoid if he tried. 

Because there had been truth in the joke that he didn’t know how to leave. He’d tried. He’d gotten messages for hunts that were a little further away from his motel then was smart, and still gone to meet Her because it was Her. It was a chance to see Her and talk to her and watch her move through the world as if it had been designed for Her. The idea that Dean was the face was baffling, because She was the one who turned heads wherever they went. Backwater dive bars and small farm towns, crowded cities when they walked down the street and roadside diners where they met up, fancy gated communities where people made odd faces at Dean because they could see that he didn’t belong, but smiled at Her because she was meant to be there. She was beautiful, walked with a purpose—Her steps certain, her chin raised high—and said every word like it was a privilege to hear her voice.

And dammit, it was. In the weeks between seeing Her, Dean would be haunted by her voice. It hadn’t stopped following him into dreams, but now it surrounded him on the wind. Every other voice sounded crude and grating compared to Her’s, to the point that Dean had to tune out every woman he slept with, because their moans were like chalk screeching and scraping on his ears.

He’d started to imagine Her moans. When Dad was gone, and She wasn’t available for a hunt—too far across the country or busy with something else She didn’t need Dean for, although nobody ever really needed Dean for anything—he would wrap his hand around his cock and lose his mind to her in the dark. He thought, if She did moan for him, She’d say his name and smile at him, looking at him like he was the only person in the whole universe. And the longer he indulged those fantasies, the more they spiraled out of control. He had to fuck women on their stomachs, because it was easier to pretend that it was Her beneath him. He’d started to fucking look for chicks that had similar features to Her at bars, started to smell them like a goddamn creep, because if there was a fruity smell it turned him on all the more.

But even when there was, it wasn’t Her smell. None of them were ever exactly like Her, not enough for Dean to find real satisfaction. Their hair was the right texture, but not as shiny. Their eyes were the same color, but they weren’t bright. They seemed passionate, but they didn’t seem like the universe. She was the universe. She was bigger than the universe. She was some sort of ethereal royalty sent to test Dean’s self-control, all laughter and teasing and sharp words in a siren voice, pulling Dean into Her orbit without ever letting him collide.

And that wasn’t something friends were supposed to feel about friends. Which was the more part. Dean wanted more. He wanted Her under him, against him, around him, his skin slapping on Her’s until she moaned and Her smile became blissful and calm. He wanted to pull her into a long kiss until she sighed his name, wanted to have an excuse to see Her that didn’t involve death or blood, wanted to know everything about Her until he either held Her for as long as she’d allow or he found a reason to hate Her again. 

Because so far, he wasn’t really having much luck on that last thing. He couldn’t work out how to ask what the hell was up with Her family—her past, her lies, or the way She seemed to shut down at odd moments—without ruining this. And he really didn’t want to ruin this. Even without that more, even without the explanation, this was good. This was the sole constant in Dean’s life. She was the only person who looked at Dean and saw him, the only person who didn’t seem sick of him, the only person he sat with in silence without ever feeling the need to speak. 

Dean wanted to know every fucking thing about Her—beautiful, horrible, and twisted—but he also refused to be the one to fuck a good thing up. If She felt the same blinding, consuming pull to Dean that he felt to Her she would’ve mentioned it by now, because son of a bitch it was impossible to ignore. Dean had to spend active effort in Her presence to not touch her, to not blurt that she was the hottest woman he’d ever seen, to not pick Her up and fold her into his chest or fall to his knees and wrap his arms around Her waist, pleading with Her to just stay all the time.

He was pathetic. She was awesome. And he’d have to be insane to mention the pull, because She’d look at him like he was worthless and horrible for even thinking he could ever deserve to be the one she allowed protect her, then he’d be alone again. 

It didn’t stop him from imaging a world where he was allowed to be Her knight. Be Her dark, following Her like a shadow and pulling her apart where only he was allowed to see. Which was, again, insane. But Dean had already lost his mind to Her enough. 

Because he’d been lying. To Dad. 

Dad didn’t have a clue Dean was doing this. Worse, Dean had no plans to tell him. And Dean fucking sucked for lying to Dad when all Dad did was help and protect him, but Dad was also stronger and smarter than Dean, and knew how not to fall for Her entrancing smile and words and face. Dad knew how to hate Her, and Dean didn’t really want to see the disappointment on his face when he found out how Dean would actively look for cases to work with Her, call Her whenever he could, and take any excuse to be in Her presence. 

Dean didn’t need the extra shame, because it already flailed around that pit inside of him and ate at his bones. He didn’t need to be reminded of how easily this arrangement with Her could come crashing down, because the thought had been buried deep in his skull, but still managed to worm out whenever he was really, truly alone. Whenever he’d cum in his hand to the thought of Her, or squeeze his eyes shut to imagine that she was the one under him, and then realize was a perverted asshole he was. Whenever She’d look at him too long and he’d wonder if she was seeing that pit inside of him, seeing how hollow and disgusting he was, how he was never fully able to wash the mud off his skin to match the way She seemed to glow. If She was realizing that no matter what lies or tricks she pulled on Dean, he was so worthless that he’d always fall for her, so he wasn’t worth her time. 

Even now, in a white tile food court of a florescent mall, She looked a flower growing in a junkyard. Not out of place, but strange. Too beautiful for a place where anything could be, too delicate and natural for anywhere at all. And She wasn’t delicate, but she was something a little to the side of it. She didn’t flinch at blood, and she didn’t balk at challenge, but She didn’t belong at Dean’s side. She was worth more than that. Worth more than the way he wore out everything around him.

And he hoped She never realized that.

Because he was a selfish piece of shit.

“I just think this case is too big.” She was watching Dean with a hesitant gaze, fidgeting with Her own fingers. “We don’t have any real leads, except this,” She made a loose gesture around the mall. “Is the epicenter. No connections between the vics, and most of them aren’t even from this town, which mean no feuds. There’re no connections between the ways they’re dying, either, and no reported odd events-”

 “I’d call five random deaths an odd event-“

“But nobody’s ever died at this mall before.” She propped Her chin on her hand, a small, pretty frown on her face. “Which means it’s not a vengeful spirit, and that’s the only thing that would make sense here.”

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, putting down his burger. “It’s a puzzle! Which mean it’ll feel so much more awesome when we solve it, right?”

“What if we don’t solve it? What if this is above our pay grade?”

“Nothing’s above our pay grade, Princess, we don’t get paid-“

She rolled Her eyes. “You know what I mean. These deaths are violent, random, and without any sort of monster or spirit MO. Hearts stay in the chests, no blood drained from the body, no EMF or temperature drops. Nothing.”

“So we’ll find something.”

“What if we don’t.”

“We will.” Dean grinned at Her, leaning a little forward. “That’s your strength, sweetheart. You’re the puzzle master.”

She snorted. “Puzzle master implies I create the puzzles, Deano. Not solve them.”

“Whatever.” He waved Her off, holding her gaze. “Still your strength.”

“If it’s my strength, why did you say we’ll find something-“

“Because that’s how teams work,” Dean drawled Her name with a smirk. “One person does all the work, and the other,” he gestured to himself, puffing out his chest slightly. “Gives the presentation. That’s my strength, right? I’m the face and the muscle?”

She shrugged. “Sure.” 

Dean raised his brows. “Really?”

“Nope. And I’m not telling you.” 

He frowned. “Would you tell me if I guessed right?”

“Probably not,” She hummed, glancing around the food court with a frown, then looking back to Dean. “Do you really think we can handle this case?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, watching Her carefully. “I think we’ve got this, Princess. We’re gonna kick ass.”

She hummed, and Dean could read the hesitation behind Her eyes. Clouding over the usual light, Her brain obviously spinning as she weighed whatever doubts she had against Dean’s faith that they could handle this. 

He hoped they weren’t doubts against him. He always fucking worried She’d get sick of dumbing herself down to his level, of slowing Her pace to match his. This case was right up Her ally—Dean knew how much She loved weird shit—but it wasn’t up Dean’s. Hell, he didn’t even have an alley, he just fought whatever he was pointed at. He knew he was only here because She allowed him to be, because She had, for some unexplainable reason, decided that Dean didn’t get in Her way like other hunters did.

He didn’t think that was true. And this was evidence of it.

But She still sighed and nodded, and Dean felt something tight around his lungs go slack.

“Fine.” She said, running a hand through her hair. Dean wished She’d let him do that. “How long have I got you for?”

Dean blinked at Her. “I, uh, what?”

“For the hunt.” She raised Her brows, giving him an odd look. “How long until your Dad is expecting you back?”

“Oh.” Dean felt his face heat slightly, and prayed She hadn’t caught how he’d short-circuited at the thought of Her having him. “Uh, Dad’s in Arizona, so at least a week and a half with the drive back.”

“Okay,” She ran Her thumb over that scar on her palm, her brow furrowed in thought. “Then I’ll give us a week to get it ourselves, but if we don’t get it by then, or the deaths get out of hand, we call in backup. Deal?”

“Sure, but-” Dean frowned. “Backup? You have backup?”

“You’re not the only one who knows other hunters, Deano.” She shrugged, shooting Dean a teasing grin that didn’t help him collect himself at all. “Let’s get moving, we’ve got some investigating to do.”

Dean muttered an agreement, shoving the rest of his burger into his mouth in one movement, and tried not to let the sore thought of who the fuck else does She know circle around his skull as he stood up. Dean wasn’t Her keeper or guard or partner. He wasn’t Her anything. He didn’t have a right to get pissed off and possessive over the very idea that She might think there were other hunters she’d want to handle this. Hunters She’d chose over Dean. Hunters She’d trust over Dean. 

He could handle this. He could prove to Her that he could handle this. He could focus, and be serious, and work this case until they solved it—together, not just Her being cool and smart and Dean trailing in Her wake—so that She’d never worry about needing backup again.

Dean reminded himself as he watched Her comb over the mall map—Her nose adorably scrunched in thought and her tongue tracing over her slightly parted lips—that She only hunted with him. She might know other hunters, but Dean was the only one She sought out for cases. The only one She asked to work with her. 

He was pretty sure he was the only one. She might be lying about that, but he didn’t think She was. She was still lying about Her past—Dean had only tried to learn more with careful, casual questions, but she always kept Her answers vague, and Dean didn’t know how to flat out ask—but he’d grown less and less certain that She was, in any way, a manipulative bitch. She’d gotten uncomfortable stealing a pencil from a diner once. That didn’t scream master thief and con woman, and Dean couldn’t understand how what Dad had showed him was the same person before him. Especially because everything She did say about her past seemed to be true. Most everything she said, ever, seemed to be true, despite Dean’s direct knowledge that should tell him it wasn’t.

But he’d developed a sense for when She was lying. Something would scratch at his head and he’d know that She did care that he was leaving a case early, She did think Dean’s joke was funny, and She didn’t actually care about cars, but She did want to hear Dean talk about them.

Which clashed with what Dad had told him all the more. Dad had repeatedly painted a picture of a spoiled brat, who didn’t care about people like them. That’s what he’d said when She left after the poltergeist. That Dean couldn’t have expected her to stay, because She’d never be able to even pretend to give a shit about people she saw as lower than Her. But then She’d watch Dean with an unwavering attention and soft amusement as he told Her about cowboys and cars and other stuff she obviously didn’t give a fuck about, but listened without ever complaining or trying to shut him up. 

She seemed like that with almost everyone. Dean conducted the interviews at Her side—moving through store after store to ask about the various deaths—and watched Her look at everyone with a similar open, gentle interest in what they told her. At the Radio Shack a tall man with long, ratty hair somehow ended up talking about how his wife loved those solve the crime shows, saying that she would be thrilled he got to act as a witness, and She let out an intoxicating, sweet laugh before telling the man that, while She wasn’t a fan of those shows herself, she’d once been thrilled to be let into a big house like the one in the Sound of Music, so she understood. She said Her dad had to threaten to leave because they were the for work, and She shouldn’t be singing on the staircase.

Dean had frowned for a brief second after, because She should’ve been raised in a big house.

“Did you do the dancing too?” He asked as they walked out of the store, leaning down to mutter in Her ear. “On the staircase?”

She nodded. “Oh yeah. I even got to go back and do a different song after he was done with the case.”

Dean blinked. “Your dad let you do that?”

“His idea.” She looked back to give Dean an easy, mind-numbing smile. “He’ll never admit it, but he enjoyed it more than I did. He said I was big screen talented.”

She wasn’t lying. He didn’t get that story at all—not only the house thing, but Her dad letting her waste time on something pointless, let alone enjoying it—but She wasn’t lying, so Dean’s returning grin was wide. 

“You think you’ll ever sing for me, Princess?”

“I don’t sing in front of people.”

“You just said you sang for your dad-“

“I’d kill someone for my dad.” She shrugged, waving Dean off with a casual hand. “He doesn’t count.”

“You wound me,” Dean mock-whined Her name, and She wrinkled her nose at him. “You wouldn’t kill someone for me?”

She hummed. “Night’s young.”

Dean’s heart almost stumbled to a halt as She just kept moving, and he had to physically shake himself to jumpstart his brain. She wouldn’t kill for him, or sing for him, but the night was young. Dean could jog after Her and walk by her side with the hope of being important enough to Her—Dean would like to be important to anybody, but being important to Her would be awesome—that she’s kill for him. That She’d sing for him.

Walking at Her side, though, was just as awfully simple as speaking to Her. Just as contradictory to everything about Her Dean was supposed to hate. He knew that already—from hunting and walking with Her for a year—but the force of that fact still shocked him. The person Dad said She was wouldn’t toss strangers genuine smiles as they passed each other in the crowd. Those smiles wouldn’t be softer for children, wide regardless of if people smiled back, and somehow bigger when aimed at Dean. She wouldn’t smile at Dean in the crowd like he was the only one she was truly happy to see. She wouldn’t walked so close to him, and look around the world as it parted for Her like it might cave in just as fast. 

The person Dean should hate wouldn’t look so entranced by the dirty, loud mall around Her. Wouldn’t watch everyone with a fasciation that didn’t seem to come from watching animals in a zoo—caged and lower, made only for Her amusement—but like they were beautiful. Like She was water in a bottle watching the river flow, and longer to be a part of it.

Hanging out with Her was making Dean smarter. He wasn’t even sure what that meant, but it sounded pretty. And it felt right. That was how She watched people laugh with each other, how She looked at the clothing in the stores, and how She stared at all the little pastries in the bakery. 

“Do you want one?”

She looked up at Dean with wide eyes, shaking Her head with a nervous laugh. “No, I’m- I don’t need one.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s food, ‘course you need one. C’mon, we can get one of the small ones, they’re like, two bucks-“

“Dean, I’m fine.” Her voice was firm, Her back a little straighter, and Dean frowned. She had called him Dean. That meant she was serious.

“Whatever,” he shrugged it off, watching Her carefully as he continued. “I’ll get one, I’m fucking starving-“

“You just had a burger-“

“Two hours ago,” Dean drawled Her name, lowering down to examine the display case. “I’m gonna get that one, it looks like a tiny pie-“

“This isn’t going to work, Winchester.” She snapped, and Dean glanced up to see Her glaring down at him, arms folded over her chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.“

“This.” She made a circling gesture over Dean’s hunched body. “You can’t guilt me into splitting one with you.”

Dean grinned at Her. “I’m not trying to guilt anyone-“

“Good. Because it’s not working.”

“Yeah, I don’t care, cause I’m not trying to do anything.” Dean turned back to the display, flagging down the chick behind the counter to grab four of those awesome mini pies, ignoring Her glare behind him. “You got something you wanna say, Princess?”

He could easily picture Her glare deepening. “Why’d you get four.”

“I’m a growing boy.”

She snorted. “You’re twenty-five.”

“Well, you’re not a doctor. I could grow some more.” Dean turned with his bag in hand, guiding Her out of the shop—they’d already decided it was a dead end, and Dean had pies to eat and a point to prove—with a smirk. “Never know.”

“I do know.” She mumbled. “You won’t.”

“Not if you don’t believe in yourself. That mindset, you’ll never get anywhere in life-“

“Shut up.”

Dean tossed the first mini pie into his mouth. “Bossy-“

“I’ll hit you, Winchester.”

He winked at Her, speaking through his half-chewed mouthful. “Promise?”

He dodged Her kick to his shins, only to fall right onto Her elbow in his gut, spluttering up some of his pie. 

“Shit!” She grabbed his arm to steady him, Her eyes wide. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to get you that bad-“

“Nah, ’s fine.” Dean dusted himself off, pulling himself back to full height, giving Her his best winning smile. “You warned me, that one’s a freebie.”

“I’m still sorry-“

“Don’t be.” He winked at Her. “I’m careful, sweetheart. That’s why I got four.”

She flushed, mumbling another apology, and Dean really didn’t care. He still had three pies, She was adorable when she was embarrassed, and it was kinda funny. He’d spat that up like a cartoon.

He did only get two of those pies, but that was because he won the previous argument, so all was right in the world. Dean made it through his first whole one with dramatic and vulgar sounds of pleasure, watching Her scowl at the air, then flush, then start to glance at Dean with hungry eyes.

He was unable to hide the smug glee in his voice when he raised his brows at Her.

“Hey, Princess.”

She glared at him, Her lips in a pretty pout, and Dean’s smirk grew as he dug around through the bag, pulled out one of the pies, and offered it to Her.

She looked between Dean and the pie, snatched it like She was worried it was a bomb set to go off, and marched away as she shoved it in Her mouth. 

Dean didn’t understand Her at all. 

He didn’t really care.

Most of the stores were dead end leads—everyone they interviewed not able to mention anything strange about the mall or off about their store the day before someone was literally murdered in it—so they ended up fucking around more than any two hunters on a case probably should. Dean was cracking more jokes than Dad would usually allow, but She was a receptive audience, and Her giggle was like lightning through Dean’s blood. She kept watching everything with that same fasciation, and the pie had seemed to open some sort of dam in Her as the afternoon crept on. She spent the half the time in Yankee Candle smelling things, inspected over the stuffed animals in a toy store like she was choosing a counsel, and spent so long starting at books in Barnes and Noble that Dean decided it was fine for him to take an hour in the vinyl store.

“Of course you like vinyl.”

Dean frowned at Her. “Yeah, I’m not a freakin’ heathen-“

“I know.” She said the words simply, like they were obvious, and Dean felt something hum happily in his chest, just to the right of his heart. “But it’s been an hour, De, and I know for a fact you already have that album as a cassette tape-“

“It’s about appreciating art, Princess.” Dean shrugged Her off, turning back to the shelves. “You can head out whenever you want. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

She scowled, but didn’t leave. She stayed right at Dean’s side, even asking him a few questions about the albums and not acting like She regretted it when his answers were long and detailed. She scanned over the store with a small, thoughtful furrow in Her brow as Dean spoke, but he knew She was listening because then she’d ask fucking follow up questions. She must have been looking for a clue or lead, because halfway through talking about Metallica She grabbed his arm and dragged him to a corner of the store, crouching down to run a hand over a crack in the wall, and looked up at Dean with a sigh.

“Sorry, I thought I-“ She shook her head, frowning at the crack. “Never mind.”

“You thought it was something for the case?” Dean dropped at Her side, not really caring to examine the crack. It was a plaster wall, there were going to be cracks and he didn’t really think it was anything at all.

But She had. And Dean always wanted to know why she thought something. 

“I’m not sure, I just-” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, twisting a ring on Her finger. “I don’t know.”

Dean frowned. Lie. “Don’t know what.”

“What we’re looking for.” She muttered, her voice lined with frustration. Truth. “I don’t have a fucking clue, De, and I don’t like it. I mean, we can interview the victims’ families again, but they’re all different demographics, and I don’t- I don’t know-“

Dean said Her name cautiously, placing his hand on Her back, but She just kept talking.

“I don’t know, this, it feels bad.”

He frowned. “Yeah, it’s a bunch of gruesome murders-“

“No, I mean- I know you can’t- Only I- It’s just bad. It’s really bad and I can, I can feel- it’s like-” She sighed, slumping slightly into Dean’s touch, which made him feel like he was flying. “It’s wrong, Dean. It’s dark.”

Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue what She was talking about, or why She was watching the crack like it might spread up and collapse the building, but She looked really worried. He’d never seen that on Her before, and it felt like a blaring alarm in his chest, demanding Dean listen to Her. That he fix this.

“Look, Princess, I’m not sure what you’re talking about-“

“I know. I sound insane.”

“Yeah, you do, but-“ He offered Her a small grin, even though her attention was still fixed on the crack. “We’ve still got a few more stores to go, and we’re going to find something. No funny business on our watch, right?”

“No, but,” Her tongue peeked out between her lips as she let out a long breath. Dean wanted to pull it between his teeth. “This… I don’t really want to know what it is.” She finally looked to Dean, and there was something nervous in Her eyes that made his whole body tight. 

“We can’t just give up,” Dean said Her name carefully, rubbing his hand in a careful circle. “We deal in the nasty and bad, that’s the job-“

“I’m not saying we give up, De.” She mumbled. “We’re going to fix this, but I’m saying I really don’t like this. I can’t describe why, but I don’t, and maybe we should call in the backup now-“

Dean shook his head. “You promised me a week-“ 

“I know, I’m just saying we don’t have anything. Not even a real lead.”

He shrugged, rising up and offering Her his hand. “We’ll find one. It’s about attitude,Princess. Fake it till you make it.” 

“I don’t think you can fake evidence. I think that’s actually a felony.”  Her voice was a little lighter as Dean helped Her to her feet, and it made him feel hot, bright pride. He’d cheered Her up. Just Dean.

“Lucky we’re not real cops then, right?” He winked at Her, and she snorted.

“No, that’s actually also a felony-“ 

“You’re focusing on the negative,” Dean drawled Her name, guiding Her out of the store with a hand on her back. “Remember. Attitude.” 

She rolled Her eyes. “You’re a dork.”

“I’m hilarious and charming.” He corrected, trying not let Her small smile move too deep into his heart. “That’s my strength, sweetheart, I keep the spirits up while you get all emotional-“

She whacked his chest, giggling as Dean took a large, dramatic step back. “I am not emotional-“

“You just hit me because I hurt your feelings- Shit!”

He barely dodged the kick to his shins, taking a large step back to avoid the elbow.

“Ha,” he let out a loud, triumphant laugh. “I’ve learned all your tricks- fuck!”

Dean did not dodge the tackle. She side-slammed into him with a light force that Dean should’ve been able to absorb, but still sent him stumbling. Not because he was hurt—She never actually hurt him, her every hit controlled and delivered with a gleam in Her eyes that made Dean grin—but because She seemed to not anticipated catching him off guard, and ended up pressing Her whole body to Dean’s and setting him on fire. She fit there, soft and warm and natural, and Dean couldn’t stop his arms from flying to wrap around Her, to take her down with him.

Landing them both on the floor of the mall, looking more like teenagers than the official police investigators they were supposed to be. But if people were staring, he couldn’t see them. He could only see Her. Beautiful and consuming in his lap, his arms around Her torso and her hands braced on his chest. Smothering him with the smell of fruit and sugar, drawing him in closer as they just stared at each other. 

He was blinded. Her eyes were wide and vast and seemed to be wrapping around Dean until everything in the universe was one color, and that color was Her. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing down to Her lips. Slightly parted, the feeling of them still branded onto his cheek, just as bright as the rest of Her and luring him closer like he was only moth-

She swallowed, shifting slightly above him, and it broke him out of the spell. She could not be squirming above him in public. Not when they had a job to do and Dean wasn’t sure She’d like or want the consequences of that action.

“We should, um-“ Her words were slow, as if she had to think every single one out. “Case. Evidence.”

“Right, yeah. Case.” Dean stood carefully, helping Her to her own feet. “What, uh, where are we-“

“Macy’s.” She mumbled. She was still standing too close, where Dean could feel the heat of her body. “It’s actually the last stop.”

“Good, awesome-“

“No, not awesome.” She gave Dean a flat look. “This is our last store, and we have nothing.”

“I told you, Princess, we’ll find something.” He trailed at Her side as they began walking, staring at Her as they moved through the crowd. She’d stop him from hitting anyone, and she was so much better look at than a bunch of random strangers and shops. “It’s all about the attitude and teamwork, about playing to our strengths. My strength is, of course, being the level-headed decision maker-“

She laughed. “No.”

“Alright, but you gotta tell me-“

“I don’t have to do anything.”

He sighed. “You’re so mean to me.”

“That’s because you’re a loser, Winchester.”

“If I am, you’re losing with me.” He grinned at Her, she glanced at him with a light in Her eyes, and those words didn’t stab him deep in the soft tissue of his stomach like they should’ve. Dean was a loser, but she didn’t say it the way most people would’ve. She said it like it was endearing. Like She wouldn’t want Dean any other way.

He hoped She wanted him at all. The most evidence he had that She did was that she was here. Hunting with Dean, talking to the cashiers and walking by his side. Giggling as he made stupid jokes about the glittering heels in the shoe isle, making Her own jokes about a rack of hideous dresses, watching Dean with amusement as he glared at a bedazzled belt in the men’s isle.

“What would you even use that for?” He asked Her, turning it over in his hand. “It’s all freakin’ sparkly-“

“I think that’s the point, De.” She shrugged, standing right at Dean’s shoulder as he continued to glower at the belt. “Sparkly cowboy belt, who wouldn’t want one?”

Dean scoffed. “This is not a cowboy belt-“

“Yeah, it is.” Her arm brushed over Dean’s as she grabbed the tag, and he almost completely forgot what they were talking about as every bit of his existence flew to that touch. “Bling Western Belt, Men’s.” 

“That’s… that’s fucking dumb as hell, cowboys don’t wear glitter-“

“Fun cowboy’s wear glitter.” She nudged her shoulder with his, Her smile brighter than every stupid rhinestone on the belt. “Maybe you’re just a boring cowboy.”

Dean raised his brows at Her. “So I’m a cowboy? Is that my strength?”

She wrinkled Her nose at him. “That’s not a strength, it’s a characterization-“

“But I am a cowboy-“

“A boring one.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

“You do that.” She hummed, looking over Her shoulder with a frown—that little furrow in Her brow deep, her eyes focused—and Dean paused, letting the belt drop from his hands.

“You good, Princess?”

“Huh?” She looked back to him with an open expression, the wrinkle still there, and God, he wanted to touch it. “What’d you say?”

He scanned over Her carefully, looking for any sign of distress, anything he needed to fix. “I asked if you’re good-“

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She grabbed Dean’s arm and tugged him away from the belt, down the aisle. “Let’s keep moving.”

She didn’t seem fine, but she also wasn’t frantic or edged enough for pushing Her to be worth it. Dean had a feeling She’d just bristle and snap, or shut down completely, and he didn’t know how to the hell to fix it if She did. He didn’t want to ruin this. He couldn’t ruin this. He had Her as close as she’d allow, and he wanted to keep her there until he was forced away. Dean wanted to keep listening to Her speak about things he normally wouldn’t care about, but felt fascinating when She said them. He wanted to know Her every thought on this case, understand what she meant by it feeling bad, and maybe learn enough that, if She tested him, he’d pass and be allowed closer. Close enough that She’d explain herself without Dean ever needing to ask.

Close enough that he might be able to spend whole days with Her walking through a mall, no threat of death hanging over their heads. Just Dean making dumb jokes, Her explaining things to him, and Dean telling Her his opinions and kissing Her on the head when she hit his chest, both of them smiling and their hands tangled perfectly together-

Dean did not need to hold Her hand. He was not a toddler. His fingers might be aching to touch Her skin and his body might be straining to press against Her’s, but that was just his body. His body that didn’t seem to care that She was, still, lying to him. That Dean should be a lot more focused on the people being murdered part of this rather than lost these countless fantasies of Her. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t dream of them tonight, where they couldn’t affect anyone but Dean. Where all they did was carve into his resolve and pull him further down into Her, where he couldn’t afford to be.

Where he didn’t have the will to leave. 

It was why he kept trying to get his head in the case, but couldn’t. He just kept thinking of Her in front of him, kept getting lost in Her voice with no need to be found. 

“God, this shit is expensive.” She mumbled at Dean’s side, her eyes scanning over the price tags of various perfume bottles as she fidgeted with the EMF reader. “I mean, I use that one, and it is not worth a hundred bucks.”

Dean mumbles a passive agreement, glancing at the bottle She’d nodded to. Fancy and crystal looking, filled with golden liquid and labeled with a French word he couldn’t pronounce. He almost looked away—he didn’t really care about perfume at all—but then he realized that could be it. That could be the fruit smell.

He grabbed the bottle, turning it in his hands, and She gave him an amused look. 

“You looking for a new perfume, Deano?”

“Shut up.” He muttered. “What’s a keynote.”

“It’s like the main smell of something.” She hummed, and Dean frowned between Her and the label.

“This says the keynote is vanilla.”

“Uh huh.” She looked back to the EMF reader. “I think this area is clear, which means we still have-“

“And you’re sure you wear this?”

“Pretty sure, considering I got it for myself-“

“This.” Dean held it up for Her to see. “Vanilla. You wear the vanilla.”

“Yep.” She gave him an odd look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,“ Dean placed the bottle back on the shelf, shooting Her his best winning grin. “I’m fantastic, Princess, just didn’t pin you for the vanilla type.”

She raised Her brows. “What did you pin me for?”

Dean couldn’t answer that, because he’d sound like an insane person. He already felt like an insane person, because every time he’d been near Her, he’d smelled fruit. He was goddamn certain of that, because it drove him out of him mind and made him feel like a giddy, dumbass teenage boy. And there was no universe where Dean would be able to look her in the eyes and say well, I think about how you smell all the time, sweetheart. And you do not smell like vanilla.

So he just winked, shoving his hand in the pockets of his jacket and moving right back to Her side. “I’ll tell you if you tell me my strength.”

She sighed. “Nice try.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope.” She was scanning the store around them, and Dean was about to ask what would work when She did a double take, grabbed his arm, and yanked him down to the floor.

Dean’s balance stuttered slightly as he went down, and he flinched as he landed flat on his ass. “Damnit,” he grunted Her name, rubbing his tailbone. “What the hell was that for-“

Her hand shot out to cover his mouth, Her voice falling to a whisper. “Quiet, I need to-“ She cut herself off, craning her neck up, then ducking back down a second later. “Fuck.”

Dean raised his brows at Her, and she glanced at him with a that little furrow between her brows.

“What?”

He gave Her a flat glare, pointing to her hand, and she flushed.

“Shit, sorry-“ She pulled Her hand away and Dean glowered her, his voice rising to a hushed shout.

“Why’d you do that-“

She covered his mouth again, giving him a stern glare. “Quiet.” She hissed. “I think we’re being followed.”

Dean blinked at Her, dragging her hand off of his face. “By who?”

“Tall, hot lady with the dark hair.” She whispered. “She’s been right behind us through the whole store, she was at the food court, and in almost all the shops-“ She paused, giving Dean an odd look. “You haven’t noticed?”

“No, uh, not really-“

“She tried to hit on you, De. Like, five times.“

Dean frowned. Nobody had hit on him today, let alone multiple times. It had just been Her and Dean the whole day, only ever speaking to other people when they were doing the interviews or getting food. He’d remember if a tall chick had been coming onto him. He’d remember if he’d spoken to a hot lady at all.

But he only remembered talking to Her.

“You said she’s has been following us all day?”

“She called you cute in the bakery, Dean. And complimented your music taste in the vinyl shop.”

Dean frowned into the air, trying to will the memory into existence, and came up blank. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She snapped, glancing over Her shoulder wearily. “I was right next to you.”

She sounded sour. Like the words tasted bitter on Her tongue. Shit, even Her pretty face was scrunched slightly, Her nails scratching at her skin and her body tensed.

Dean’s face broke out in a wide grin. “Holy shit,” he leaned a little closer to Her, dropping his voice into a loud whisper. “You’re jealous.”

She looked back to him with that gorgeous flush and wide eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“You’re all pissy because I might have not been paying attention to you-“

She rolled Her eyes. “You literally don’t remember her. And even if you did, I would not be jealous.”

Dean knew She wouldn’t be. The sour thing was probably more from Her overall worry about them being followed. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to keep taunting Her until she shoved him, not when he got to see her all adorably and mumbly and embarrassed. 

“It’s okay, I get it. You don’t have anything to worry though.” Dean’s grin was probably shit-eating, and he took the risk to lean in closer, until his body was almost covering Her’s. “I only got eyes for one lady to stick around in my life.“

She raised Her brows at him, her voice dry. “Your dads car?”

He shrugged. “Two ladies.”

“You don’t know two ladies.”

“You’re a lady, genius-“

She snorted. “I am not a lady.”

Dean waved Her off, bracing his other hand on the perfume self. “You’re the most lady lady I know, you use perfume-“

“Because I like smells, Winchester, not because I’m a lady.”

“You can dance-“

“I’ve told you, anyone with legs can dance.”

“Not me.” 

“You can rodeo, cowboy.”

Dean gaped at Her for a long second—still scanning around them for his alleged stalker—and he couldn’t really remember how to speak. She’d called him cowboy. She’d said it like it was plain and obvious and shouldn’t set off fireworks along his ribs. Like it shouldn’t suddenly be incredibly important to Dean that she call him that again very soon, ideally now-

“Our shadow’s gone.” She muttered, looking back to Dean with a small frown. “I still think we should be careful.”

Dean shook himself out of the gaze, giving Her a lazy grin in the hope She hadn’t noticed his almost drunken daze. “I’m always careful, sweetheart-“

“Says the guy who didn’t even notice he was being followed-“

“I can’t be expected to remember every chick that hits on me, Princess.” He spread his arms wide, smirking as She rolled her eyes. “I mean, look at me. C’mon.”

She gave him a dry look, opened Her mouth to spar back at him, but froze with a gape and flash of Her eyes. 

“Uh,” Dean waved his hand in Her face, saying Her name. “You good in- damnit-“

He lost his balance as She grabbed his hand out of the air, turning it palm up and running a light touch over his fingertips. Small sparks of electricity flew over his skin at the contact, at how feather like and gentle it was, like Dean was worth being touched carefully, and fuck, he wanted to hold Her hand so bad-

“What are you-“

She raised one finger, and Dean fell silent, watching Her examine his skin like it was priceless. Turning it between Her hands, leaning down to look closer, really touching Dean, lighting him up golden from inside-

“Hey, uh-“

“Dean.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’ve got it.”

He blinked at Her stupidly. “Got what.”

“What we’re after.” She dragged two fingers over the pad of Dean’s thumb, then held them up for him to see. “Sulfur.”

His brain still wasn’t back to normal. Not while She was still holding his hand. “Huh?”

“There’s sulfur.” Her grin was almost manic, and Dean would be a little freaked out if it wasn’t Her, and he didn’t recognize that as Her I’m about to be right about something smile. “Which means…?”

She was prompting him, and Dean had to rub his head slightly to remember. “Uh, demons, right? They-“ His eyes widened as he finally caught up, all the pieces—violent murders, random victims, no normal leads—fell into place. “Shit. That’s not good.”

“No,” She hummed, squeezing Dean’s hand slightly. “But it’s something.”

——————

You can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep crashing into Dean over and over, expecting it not to leave a mark. It does. It always does. He keeps sinking into you in ways you don’t expect, until your back feels bare without his hand and everything is worse when he’s not there with you. You’ve spent the past year running your fingers over cassette tapes and fighting to urge to get one for him, lost money to buying food because you think Dean would like it, and wasted time staring at your phone and willing it to ring so you could hear his voice. It’s gotten worse the longer your arrangement has gone on. You still don’t know what it is, but you know it’s all only gotten worse.

It’s not a maintainable way to live. Dean has only left you in your motel room, and you already miss him. It’s been ten fucking minutes and you’re uneasy, the White twisting and coiling because Dean’s not next to you and it seems to believe that he’s a given. Everything falls into smooth harmony when he’s there, and when you separate it’s like being doused in ice water that grips your throat and drags the world to press against your skull. He’d walked you to your room with a wink and reminder that he was just down the strip, and you waved him off and told him you were a big girl who wasn’t going to hurt herself changing her shirt. Then he’d shrugged, you’d closed the door, and everything had been worse.

It all felt smaller. The room was too narrow, the ceiling too short, the mirror too close and its reflection too sharp. 

And that’s not Dean. That’s just you. That’s how it always is, how it’s always been. The White glows and the darkness eats you and everything is too small until it’s not. Until the darkness makes you not only you, and it’s all vast and infectious until you drag yourself back down and it’s all small again. It’s dangerous. You’re dangerous. The darkness has gotten stronger in this past year, and you’ve grown sicker, and it’s dangerous. You can’t control it, and the old ways don’t work as well as they did before. 

“I had another one,” you’d mumbled at few weeks ago, glancing up at Bobby from across the table. “Wendigo hunt, in Oregon.”

Bobby had grunted, running a hand over his beard as he watched you carefully. “You alright?”

“Yeah. But I,” you’d swallowed, a foul stench still trapped in your nose. “I ruined a creek.”

“Whatdy’a mean, ruined.”

“I mean the water flew out of it.” 

Bobby had blinked at you. “Out of- out the whole damn creek?”

You’d nodded, and he’d leaned forward in his chair, his voice low and cautious. 

“You’re still tryin’ to remember what sets them off, yeah?”

“I was…” You’d swallowed, because you couldn’t tell Bobby the full truth.

You’d been hunting with Dean. He hadn’t been answering your messages, and the darkness had started to expanded until you were the dirt and the leaves and the mud and the water, and the water had felt distressed, and you’d been falling apart and Dean wasn’t there and then-

He’d been fine. His stupid, dollar store pager had been snapped in his backpack while he was pissing, he hadn’t had signal to call you, and he’d just laughed and brushed you off when you’d shoved him and shouted that he couldn’t just vanish on a hunt when he was the asshole who insisted you hunt together in the first place. If he’d noticed the suddenly dry creek bed, he hadn’t said anything. If Dean has noticed any of the real outbursts—the ones you don’t catch before you lose control—he hasn’t mentioned it, or even given you an odd look.

But Bobby didn’t know you were hunting with Dean. He still doesn’t.

So you’d said you were afraid, because it wasn’t a lie. 

“The… the wendigo was near me, I could feel it, and I freaked out.” You’d sighed, twisting a ring on your finger. “And that was it. No deaths.”

“Good.” Bobby had muttered, glancing down to your hands. “Any injuries I need to know about?”

“No, I got the wendigo-“

“Injuries on you,” Bobby had said your name with a knowing look. “I know how you handle this shit, kiddo, and it ain’t my place to tell you how to deal with it, but if ya’ got anythin’ I need to patch up-“

“No.” You’d whispered, hanging your head slightly. “Nothing.”

Nothing visible. Nothing Bobby could see. He knows about the scratching and biting and picking, but he doesn’t know about the iron. He still thinks you wear the rings because they’re fashionable. He doesn’t know about how they crush the darkness further down by force, or how they leave stains along your bones and over the White. 

He doesn’t know how they seem to be fucking useless lately. How the blowups have not only been more powerful, but the darkness has risen with more ease. 

You think that’s Dean. You’re not sure why, but when you’re with Dean with darkness and the White seem to meld peacefully, right up until they don’t. Right up until you’re in another situation like Vitus last year, and Dean’s by your side, and it’s all suddenly devouring. Over and over the blowouts have been bigger when you’re hunting with Dean, over and over you’ve had more… episodes when you’re together. When there’s a monster you know wouldn’t look or lunge at you, but now Dean’s here and he’s in danger.

Danger from the monster.

Danger from you. 

Because you really can’t control it, and if you have a real blowup—not just everything being too big as you cling to a little bit of control with your teeth—Dean will pay the price. He hasn’t asked much about the episodes, only given you strange looks after and patted your head awkwardly when they linger a little longer, cracking soft jokes and refusing to leave your side. Thankfully, he just seems to think it a girl thing, because he’s an adorable dumbass who mostly hangs out with his dad.

Which is another problem. Every time you indulge yourself—every time you cave into this strange need to be wherever Dean is—you’re a step closer to a death at John Winchester’s hands. All it would take is one easy case, one slip up where he finds out what Dean does when he’s left alone, and you’d be fucked.

But you’re already fucked. Because you really don’t care. You don’t care that John might find out what’s happening and try to kill you, because you’re faster than that asshole, and you know how to disappear. You don’t care that Bobby will kick your ass when he finds out what an idjit you’re being. You only care about the way the world seems to fall into place when Dean greets you with a wide grin and shout of your name across a parking lot. You care about how he’s still here, and he hasn’t gone anywhere, and you don’t think he will. You don’t know if he’s grown blind to what you are, or forgotten, or simply isn’t bothered by it anymore, but you know he’s here.

In the same motel, just a few rooms down.

He’s tried to convince you to share a room—it’s just a room, Princess, and if I was gonna stab you, I’d have done it by now—but that’s where you draw the line. You simply cannot put yourself in that situation. Where Dean showers and you can hear the water, where you wake up and he’s sleeping across the room. You can’t allow yourself to find out whether or not he wears a shirt to sleep, or what side of the bed he prefers, or if he tosses and turns through the night.

You’ll get weird. You’ll be tending to a part of this desire for him that will consume you if you’re not careful. It’s already pathetic and strange that the White is always tugging you to his side. That you always smell grass and spice, even when Dean must be states away. It’s bad enough that you dream about him, that his touch is like a cure to the pain that lives in you, that it feels like you’re growing and for once it’s not malignant. It’s already too much how the darkness is soothed into the White when he’s there, that those fractured pieces scattered through your body always grow towards each other like a spiderweb that’s learned to mend itself. That when Dean smiles at you all those pieces start to catch light and throw it across the darkest, deepest corners of your innards.

It’s worrying that when Dean’s gone, they curl and fester until he returns. 

It’s the fucking worst that whenever he’s even near you, you want… more. Not just his hands on your bare skin or his lips wherever he wants to put them, but all of him. 

So you can’t share a room with Dean. Because if he wanted all of you, if he had even a sliver of what kept calling you back to him, he would’ve mentioned it. He would’ve had to, because the words tell me you feel this too, please, just so I know I haven’t lost my mind always live on your tongue. 

But he hasn’t said anything. 

And you don’t want to destroy this. If it breaks, you won’t know how to live with only the pieces left in your hands. 

Not when it’s been this good.

Because you’re crashing into Dean every single moment, but you’re bending to him too. You’re allowing him to be something you’ve never really had.

He’s your friend.

He looks out for you. He talks to you like you’re not only ever speaking out of turn. He’s even convinced you to start hunting with a weapon.

“What’s this?” You’d asked him, and he’d shrugged, a wide grin on his face.

“It’s a knife, Princess, it goes chop-“

You’d rolled your eyes. “I know what a knife is, I’m asking what this one is doing here.”

“It’s for you.” His voice had dropped slightly, his eyes scanning over your face slowly. “So you don’t get yourself killed when you hunt alone.”

“Dean, I’ve never gotten killed before-“

“Yeah, it’s kind of a one-time thing,” he’d drawled your name, his hands in his pockets so you couldn’t shove the knife into them. “And now I’m not gonna have to worry about you-“

“Aw,” you’d grinned at him. “You worry about me?“

“No, I-“ He’d scowled. “Just take the goddamn knife.”

“Say you worry about me.”

He’d swallowed, his eyes narrowing, and grumbled so low you’d barely heard it. “I worry about you. Pinky promise you’ll actually use that thing.”

Dean had raise his pinky, you’d beamed at him as you locked it with yours, and now that knife stayed under your pillow when you slept. And Dean worried about you. As a hunting partner. As a friend.

You think that’s what this will have to be. It doesn’t seem to be enough for any singular part of you, but it’s more than you’ve ever had before.

It’s poking fun at each other in a way that doesn’t bite and sharing amused looks when someone says something dumb. It’s telling him most everything about yourself and him acting like you’re the most fascinating person in the world. Him doing the same to you, and you hanging onto his every word like they’re the most important things you’ll ever know. It’s not as if you never tell people about yourself, but you really like telling Dean things. He only looks at you when you’re speaking, then he makes stupid jokes that pull a giggle from your lips, and his face wears a shit-eating, prideful grin that makes you want to touch his lips to check that he’s real.

If you don’t count Bobby—and you usually do—Dean might be the only person in the world that knows you and likes you.

Mostly knows you.

Knows everything but that one last, foul truth. And sometimes, you do want to tell him about you being… whatever you are. A witch, a monster, something bigger, something worse. Times like when he sits with you after one of your episodes and you want to explain. Times like when he seems to think you’re more important than you are, when he makes a passing remark about you being fancy. 

Times like at the mall, when you’d felt something sicker and darker than you in that crack on the wall. Rotting and molding inside of and around it, reaching out to you and trying to wrap around your skin. 

It had felt like you, but with nothing colorful cast around it. The whole mall had felt like that, but that crack had been worse. Focused.

You’d checked your notes when you’d gotten back to the motel. Checked what you’d gotten on the vic in the vinyl shop. 

A lumberjack who’d had skin under his nails, like he’d fought back. Bruising on his ankles like he’d been yanked down by them.

So now you’re bent over the sink, trying not to choke on bile or look in the mirror. Because unless you’re wrong—and you don’t think you are—that had been damage left by the demon’s anger and pain. Damage that had been like you. 

You pull it together. You run a shower that burns your skin, sit in the tub with your knees folded into your chest, and pull it together. Dean will be here soon, so you have to fucking pull it together.

But you take off the rings. They’re not nearly enough to stop anything, and even when you stop feeling the suffocation of your tangled sheets, pure pain is still wrapped around your skull like a halo. You know taking the rings off won’t heal or mend it, but at least it will lessen the agony. 

And that will have to be enough.

Dean knocks on your door with a wide grin and dramatic bow, and from here the night should be simple. You’ll go to a bar, Dean will get a beer, you’ll get what he calls a girly drink, and you’ll figure out the Demon’s pattern so you can kill it. You’ll lean back in your booth as he leans forward, and you’ll laugh and talk until you realize it’s almost midnight, then you’ll have to actually work on the case.

From there it will be easy. For you. You’ll lay out all the pieces—it’s a demon, Dean’s pointed out that all the killings seem to happen at night, and you’ve been caught on the fact that over half of the victims seemed to live outside the county—while Dean offers adorable and mostly useless comments. He’s not dumb, but he seems to think he is, and likes playing it up for the bit. And White always sings when you tell him he put something together and his grin becomes toothy and boyish, so you never bother telling him to shut up in a way that you mean.

And that is how the night goes. Dean’s foot keeps pressing against yours—making everything silver and your body melt closer to his—and he orders a lot of food when you finally get to work, but you’re still thinking aloud and Dean’s still cracking dumb jokes, so it’s easy.

Right until around 1am, it’s easy.

“I don’t understand why all the murders are different.” You lean your head back onto the booth, keeping your eyes on Dean’s. “It’s not just the different stores. There’s never the same kind of murder. One blunt-force, one neck snapped, one hanging, and one girl’s report said she was flayed-“

“Hey,” Dean points to his burger, raising his brows. “As much as I love your dirty talk, Princess, I’m kinda eating.”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just…” You trailed off, frowning at the ceiling and rubbing your palm with your thumb. “Demons don’t always follow a pattern, but they usual have an MO. A favorite type of victim, a favorite way to kill them, something that can be used to figure out where they’ll strike next.”

Dean shrugs, speaking through a mouth full of fries. “You’ll find it. I’m gonna get more fries, you wanna basket?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes as Dean shuffles out of the booth and racking your brain for anything you can use. Night killings, never in the same store. Inconsistent timeframes, too, because it seems to have been two nights since the last murder. But that means there’s probably a new one coming, and if it’s nighttime right now-

“Hey, baby, what’s a pretty girl like you doing here all by herself?”

You open your eyes to see a man that’s definitely not Dean dropping across from you. He’s a litter shorter, a little more wiry, with gelled hair and a smirk that crawls on your skin instead of sparks on it. 

“Uh, I’m not by myself.” You glance over to the bar, your eyes finding Dean in a second. His back is to you as he leans over the counter, and you can easily imagine his wide grin as he watches the bartended collect his fries. “My friend’s just getting food.”

“Well,” the man settles into the booth, leaning forward with a wink. It’s not as pretty as Dean’s. “I can keep you company until she gets back.”

“Actually-“

“Name’s Frank.” He extends his hand, and when you shake it, his hands are clammy. “Pretty girl got a pretty name?”

You say your name, watching him wearily. “And I’m kind of working-“

Frank laughs. “It’s one in the morning, baby, you should take a break-“

“I got two, ‘cause you always say you don’t want any then you try to fucking eat mine-“ Dean cuts himself off with a scowl when he sees Frank, and you think he’s suddenly standing a little taller. “Hey, buddy, you’re in my seat.”

Frank shrugs. “Sorry, man, I got here first-“

“You did not.” Dean snaps, dropping the fries down on the table. “Cause that’s my seat.”

“Didn’t see your name on anything, bro. And she,” Frank gestures to you, and you blink. “Is way out of your league, so beat it.”

“Beat it?” Dean laughs, and that’s his hunter laugh. You’ve mostly heard it right before he kills something. “Listen, bro, I’m asking one more time before your ugly mug and my fist have a chat-“

You grab Dean’s wrist—you’re in no position to get in a bar fight, especially not over a seat—and give him a pointed look. “De, my root beer is empty, I’m gonna go get another.”

He frowns at you. “That’s your fourth one-“

“And?” You squeeze Dean’s wrist slightly as you rise out of your seat. “You’re not my dad, Winchester. I’m a grown woman, I’ll have fifteen if I want.”

“Damn right you’re a grown woman, baby-“

Dean shoots Frank the most venomous glare you’ve ever seen. “Shut it, haircut. And you,” he turns back to scan over your face. “I can go get your root beer, you eat the fries-“

“I’m not hungry.” You nod to your booth. “And you can have my seat. Compromise.”

Dean stares at you, an emotion you can’t read painted over his every feature, and shakes his head slightly. “No, I’ll, uh, I’ll come with you.”

“Sure.” You shrug, giving Frank a sweet, polite smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, we have to go-“

Frank frowns, his words clipped as he cuts you off. “So you are with pretty boy over here-“

“Yes.” Dean snaps. “We’re partners, douchebag. C’mon.”

You don’t get another word in before Dean’s pulling you to the bar, sitting you on a barstool and dropping at your side.

“Are you okay?” You ask, watching him scowl at the bartender. “You look like someone shat on your burger.”

“I’m fine.” He grunts, giving you another odd look. “Did you give him your number?”

“No, why would I have done that-“

“Good. Wouldn’t be safe.” Dean turns back to the bar, ordering your root beer as you stare at him.

“Yeah, I know.” You tilt your head at his bitter expression, and let it go for now. Dean can be strange, and you’ve learned to mostly ignore it. Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. “I had an idea by the way, while you were getting the food-“

“Before or after Slimy McHairgel sat down-“

“Before.” You shrug, giving the bartender a full-lipped smile as she passes you your root beer. “I got distracted after, but-“

“You got distracted-“

“Yeah, he was talking to me. But look, all the murders have been happening at night, it’s been a minute since the last one, and they’ve never hit the same store twice, so, if we patrol the mall tonight-“

“We might catch the demon in action.” Dean finishes your thought, turning his own beer in his hands. “Good plan, Princess. See that’s your greatest strength-“

“You’re really hung up on that, huh.”

Dean throws up his hands, his voice almost a whine. “Sue me for wanting to know what my-“

“Is this seat taken?”

You and Dean blink at each other as a silky voice cuts him off, and you turn to see a tall, hot woman with dark hair smiling at you. 

The lady from the mall. Who’d been following you all day, and Dean apparently had never seen.

You didn’t go insane. 

“No.” Your hand shoots out to grab Dean’s on instinct, and he tenses, sitting a little taller. “We’re actually talking-“

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I saw you at the booth with him,” Mall Lady points back to Frank, still wallowing in Dean’s seat. “And thought you were together, so-“

“They’re not.” Dean snaps. “We are.”

You’re going to kill him later. He can’t just say shit like that, because he means you’re at the bar together, physically, but the White grabs those words and flies away with them. You’re together. You’re two things, but now you’re one because you’re together, and that’s not true but it doesn’t stop the bellowing of your whole body to move further down into Dean. It’s annoying.

Mall Lady said something to you. You didn’t hear it.

“Sorry, can you-“

“Oh, I was asking where you’re from.” Mall Lady doesn’t even seem to be looking at Dean, her eyes focused on you with a strange glint that makes your skin crawl. 

“America.” You keep your voice flat, raising your brows at Dean in a silent confusion. He just shrugs. 

“Where in America?“

“The part with land.”

Dean snorts, and you kick him under the table.

“I see.” Mall Lady still won’t look away from you. “And have you always been… on the land part-“

“I dunno, I’ve on a boat a few times-“

Dean says your name as he stands, and you realize you’re still holding his arm. “I’m getting tired, you wanna get out of here?”

He’s squeezed himself between you and Mall Lady. You’re not sure he knows he did that. It still makes you smile.

 “Yeah,” you rise up, linking your arm through his. “Let’s go.”

Dean drops his voice as you move out to the parking lot. “That was weird.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You glance at him. “Are you actually tired, or are we ready to look at the mall.”

“You mean break in-“

“It’s not a break in. I’m picking the lock, nothing’s getting broken. So,” you raise a finger at him with your best stern glare. “Shut up.”

Dean chuckles. “Bossy.”

This time, he dodges your every hit, laughing the whole time.

It’s not a big mall, but there’s still a lot of space to cover, and Dean flat out refuses to let you split up. You suggest it three times on the drive and twice as you pick the lock, giving it one last shot as you scan over the colorful, peeling map, and he’s just pretending he doesn’t hear you. 

“Real mature, Winchester-“

“I’m not trying to be mature.” He grumbles, watching you pull out your knife out of your bag. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t get killed.”

“I am not going to get killed-“

“Yeah, you’re not. Because we’re not splitting up.”

You’d lost the argument, and now you’re wandering through the mall in the dead of night—Dean only a pace behind you—finding absolutely nothing and only listening to Dean’s slow breath. 

“You breathe really loud,” you grumble, and he scoffs.

“Yeah, well, you breathe really quiet.”

You shoot him an amused look over your shoulder. “Good one.”

“Shut up.”

You hum, turning around and scanning over the empty halls. The darkness feels hot. The air is heavy and burning in your lungs, your skin is covered in a phantom cold sweat, and everything is so quiet. Too quiet. Quiet in a way that buzzes in your ears and rattles your head.

“Something’s wrong.” You whisper, your voice sounding small in your own ears. 

“I’d say, this whole place is freakin’ freezing-“

“No, I’m worried-“ You stop, turning to face Dean with a frown. “No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is, look,“ Dean lets out another loud breath, and it clouds the air around him. “And my fingers are like damn ice, can we stop at a gas station for hot chocolate when we’re done-“

“No, we’re not getting hot ch-“ You cut yourself off with a sigh, another flash of heat hitting your body.

You’re losing your mind.

Dean says your name slowly, taking a tentative step forward. “Are you feeling alright-“

“Yeah.” Your voice is tight and clipped, every breath scraping at your throat, and you don’t sound fine. “I, uh, c’mon. If it hits dawn and nothing happens, we’ll go get hot chocolate.“

You turn on your heels and march away, Dean’s voice slightly out of breath as he jogs after you. 

“Wait, you said no hot chocolate-“

“Don’t question me, Winchester.”

He laughs as he lands back at that pace behind you, and you feel dizzy. “Yes, ma’am.”

You waste another hour, finding nothing. Hearing nothing. Doing nothing. You’ve checked all the spots that haven’t been hit yet multiple times, nothing. Not even a drop of blood.

“I need to pee,” you mumble, and Dean grunts from behind you.

“Let’s go to the bathroom-“ You turn to frown at him. “Let’s?”

He nods, and you give him a flat glare.

“You’re not going to the bathroom with me, Dean.”

“We’re hunting a freakin’ demon, Princess, I’m not leaving you alone-“

“You are so I can pee!”

He shakes his head. You’re going to punch him. “No, it’s not safe-“ “What if you stand outside?” You offer, because he’s a fucking toddler you have to barter with. “And I get to piss alone.”

He scowls, but gives in, and you go into the bathroom alone.

You don’t see it until you’re at the sink. And even then, you feel it first. Dark without any reprieve all around you, withering and drenching your head in something spiked and heavy.

The sink cracks, but your hands are by your side. There’s a feeling like you’re underwater, you see your reflection grow jagged in the mirror as it shatters from the edges, and when you turn, she’s there. 

Mall Lady. 

And you’ve seen dead bodies before.

But something about this one is worse.

It’s filled with that same rot that was in the crack. Her eyes are bloodied, and her arms and chest are covered in scratches, and her fingers are missing nails and her teeth have little bits of something soft and sickening caught in the gaps. Like she’d fought for her life.

Then, she’d lost. 

And now she’s strung up by her neck for you to see, and you can feel the strain of the rope to hold her up and the suffocation of the water trapped in pipes over your head and it’s too big, this is all too big-

You think you screamed, because suddenly Dean’s there and his hand is in yours, but he can’t be here right now, because this is too big and you don’t want to hurt him-

Something strong wraps around you, and it doesn’t drag you back down, but it keeps all the darkness inside you. Not soothed, not pushed, but just down. Pressing at the edge of everything but not trying to explode. 

You’re not at ease until cold, untainted air hits your lungs. Until something steady grabs your head and brushes sticky hair from your eyes, and you know that you’re you. You’re not the coldness of the building behind you, or the wear of the concrete under your feet. You’re just you, sitting on the curb of the parking lot as Dean tries to talk to you, his thumb running down the bridge of your nose.

He looks worried. He looks panicked. Eyes wide on yours, his grip nervous—like he’s worried he’ll make one wrong twitch and you’ll burst apart—and he keeps muttering your name in a tone that’s almost too low to hear.

“Hey.” You whisper, and Dean lets out a long breath, dropping his head.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking up at you under hooded eyes. “You good?”

You nod, unable to break his gaze. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you petting my nose?”

He stares at you, then at his thumb. “I dunno.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna, um,” Dean’s grip on your face tightens slightly, his expression filled with something you don’t understand. “I’m gonna go get the car.”

You nod, and Dean still doesn’t move. He just watches you in the dark, his thumb still pressed to your nose, and neither of you move.

Then he leans forward and kisses the top of your head, and the world does a strange sort of stutter. Like a vinyl scratch or static on the TV, all color and noise when Dean’s lips press against your skin, leaving a glowing stain you know will linger when he’s gone.

It had been like that last time too. The same feeling, the same tattoo, the same burst of silver over your ribs, blooming and twining through your body as the fractured pieces on your body begin to grow back together.

It lasts only an infinite second, and then Dean’s gone. Walking away to get the car, with one last glance at you over his shoulder.

You don’t want him to go. You can walk. You can go get the car with him, then drive somewhere that’s not horrible to work out your next steps. You really don’t need to wait here. You really don’t want to be alone. You should stay with him, just so you can see him and know he’s real and you’re you enough to touch him-

A hand lands on your shoulder, and you flinch as someone says your name over your head. “Funny meeting you here!”

You glance back and it’s Frank. In the parking lot. At almost 4am.

“Uh, hi.” 

“Small world, right?” Frank grins at you, leering above you. “First the bar, now here. Some might call it fate!”

“Yeah, sure.” You glance around the lot, entirely empty. You’d made Dean park off to the side. You’d been a fucking idiot. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Just out for a walk.”

“At 4am?”

Frank laughs. It’s bone-chilling strange, and it’s a little harsher than it had been in the bar. “I like to get a head start on my day, babe. What are you doing here?”

You push down the bile in your throat from babe. “I’m, um, waiting. For my friend.”

“What, your partner who talks like he thinks he’s some big shot?”

You frown. “No. I mean, yeah, but-“

“I don’t see him.” Frank does a dramatic sweep of the abandoned lot, then grins at you. “How could anyone stand a pretty thing like you up-“

“I’m not a thing.” You snap, your nails digging into your skin. “And he didn’t stand me up.”

Frank shrugs. “I mean, you could do better.” 

“No,” you mumble, trying to curve your body away from where Frank’s still touching you. “I don’t think I could.”

“You could. With someone better.” Frank’s hand creeps over to your neck, and you freeze, looking up to see a strange glint in his eyes. It was the same one Mall Lady had, before her eyes were only blood.

And something snaps into place in your brain.

Fuck.

“Like…” You trail off with your best innocent look, letting the pain of Frank’s grip hold the darkness down for you. “You?”

“Oh yeah, babe.” He says, and you think it’s meant to be charming. “I know a back entrance in there,” he jerks his head to the mall. “And we could have a little fun, get some privacy. What’d you say?”

There it is. You’ve got it. And this time, when you narrow your eyes and focus all the darkness with a deep scratch on your skin, you can see something revolting and glinting roll around inside Frank, leaving the same horrible imprint on him it had left on Mall Lady. 

The demon. Trying to lure you as he had lured all the other victims, like he had probably meant to lure Dean with Mall Lady. 

A date or hookup, a strange, interesting spot to explore. People from out of town who won’t know about all the previous murders. The most horrific death the demon can think of in the moment, probably for some sort of sick sport. 

You don’t really want to be a part of his score. You don’t want to know why he’d switched from Dean to you so quickly, why he was so set that he’d follow you. Why he’d still target you like this, when he must know that you’re a hunter. 

When he might know that you’re something like him. Something wrong.

“So?” The demon leans down, barely a breath away. “Wanna have some fun?”

You open your mouth—hoping you figure out how to talk yourself out of this one when you start speaking—and feel relief wash over your body as headlights blind your vision and Dean screeches to a stop right before you.

“Hey!” You almost melt at the sound of his voice. He can never know. “What the fuck are you doing here, bitch-“

“I’m talking to your bitch.” The demon sounds proud of his not-joke, and you scrunch your face. “You dropped a hot piece of ass, bro, sorry she’s moving onto bigger things. Right, babe?”

The demon squeezes your neck right as Dean looks to you with a deep glare. “Right,” you whisper, holding Dean’s gaze as he blinks at you.

He’s only blinking at you.

And you blink back. Two firm times, keeping your eyes wide otherwise.

He catches it instantly, his eyes flicking down to the demon’s hand near your throat, then back to yours. Blinking once. Check in.

And you blink twice. Not safe.

Dean’s moving in a flash. Gunshots echo around the lot, and you duck and roll as Dean charges forward. When you push yourself to your feet he’s already trading blows with the demon, but they’re not even. The demon is stronger, far stronger, and you think the only thing that’s keeping Dean matched is all his pure fury. You can see it covering the profile of his face, cast in the shadows of the streetlamps, but there’s already blood on his lip and a swelling mark on his cheek and he can’t keep this up-

You fumble for your knife, but Dean must have taken it and put it in the car. You can feel the darkness crashing back up and out, but you can’t detonate, not here, not now-

The demon raises Dean up by his neck, you hear a strangled sound that might have been a scream leave your throat, and there’s a crunch when Dean falls down. 

And there’s the rush. Big and not all yours to control, the darkness all around you and a little more, but aimed where it needs be. Over Dean’s slumped body, and right at the demon.

Your hands don’t move this time, but the demon still implodes. You’re everything around you—chilling wind and cracked sidewalks and chipped paint on the pavement—and it’s crushing the demon, folding and caving it in inside of Frank, gathering it into a tiny ball before bursting like a nebula out of his body. Frank’s eyes flash with gold and orange and red light, his mouth opens in a distorted roar, and then the darkness sucks itself back into your body, and it’s over.

You fall to Dean’s side, barely feeling the scrape of your knees of concrete. He’s groaning, eyes fluttering slightly, but you’re certain he’s survived worse. This just needs rest and water. The crunch looks to be only his hand—at an odd angle and completely slack—and there is a larger bruise near his temple, but he’ll be alright. You will make it so he’s alright. You’ll move his big-ass body as carefully as you can into the car and ensure that he’s comfortable in the passenger’s seat before you set off to the motel. You’ll keep careful attention on him as you call 911 for the real Frank, who will be traumatized, but live. You’ll keep a hand on Dean’s chest as you drive, because he keeps slumping forward and it makes your blood cold.

When you park, you’ll run to unlock your room before lugging him inside. You’ll lay him on your bed and take his hand in yours, wincing slightly as you hold his hand and feel the cracks in his bones.

This is the first time since the poltergeist that you’ve seen him knocked down like this. The first time since the poltergeist that the darkness has felt like it could fix something. Fix Dean. It’s right at the tips of your fingers, moving in an odd harmony with the White, and you could fix this. 

You let a little of it out. Just a drop, moving from your hand to Dean’s, and you might chew through your lip because what if this just hurts him, what if this makes it worse-

Dean’s fingers flex. And when you trace over his hand, there’s nothing. Not even a fracture.

It worked. You fixed him.

And it hurts. The White and darkness are starting to clash against each other, and every part of them that touches seems frayed and fragile. It hurts just as much as when the darkness gets the better of you, but this is somewhat worse, because it’s just you hurting. Just you caving in on yourself, and just you deserving it because what if you hadn’t healed Dean. What if you’d infected him, and now he was going to be in pain like this too.

You fist your hands, tuck them behind your back, and move to your couch. You can’t be close enough to Dean that you could touch him. You might make all of this worse if you touch him again. But you can’t leave him, not when he might need something. 

So, couch.

You track Dean’s every, even but slow breath as he lays on your bed, and your own exhaustion begins to catch you. It creeps over your eyes until you’re eased down into soft, dreamless sleep. You’re not sure when you fall fully under, but you blink and suddenly there’s light leaking through the slats of the motel shades, and Dean’s not passed out on the mattress.

He’s sitting up on the headboard, his jacket discarded to the side, watching you with another one of his unreadable expressions.

“Morning, Princess.” He mutters, and his voice is low and rough and still filled with sleep. 

This is exactly why you hadn’t allowed yourself to sleep in the same room as him. His hair is messy and sticking up at funny angles, and there’s still some dried blood on his chin and a bruise on his cheek, but he’s also relaxed. Splayed out on the bed, his eyes softer than you usually see them, and it’s really amazing how the universe keeps finding new ways to fuck you. New reasons to crash and bend and mold further and further into Dean, until you’re all the way down and there’s no turning back.

So all you can do is rub your face clear of your own sleep, and give him a small smile. “Are you feeling okay?”

He raises his brows. “No morning back?”

“You know what time it is,” you sit up a little straighter, studying his face for any further evidence of injury. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling like I want you to say good morning-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Good morning, Dean Winchester.”

He clicks his tongue. “Shit, full name, I’m in trouble-“

“You will be,” you give him a pointed look. “If you don’t answer my fucking question.”

“Bossy,” he mumbles, his eyes glimmering as he tries to coax you further down. Even if he doesn’t know it, he’s trying to make you crash fully into him.

You’re going to re-break his hand.

“Dean-“

“Jesus, alright, I’m okay.” Dean gives you his wide, winning grin that’s usually designed to make you roll your eyes and giggle, but right now just makes you scowl. “See, barely a scratch. All that’s left of that demon douchebag is a headache.” Dean pauses, his grin faltering slightly. “Shit, what happened to the demon.”

“I exorcized it,” you lie through your teeth—he can’t know the truth, he’ll either call you crazy or try to kill you—twisting your skin on your finger as you watch his reaction. “We’re good.”

Dean’s face drops into a frown. “You’re lying.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“You didn’t exorcize the demon.” He mutters, watching you through narrowed eyes. “I know you didn’t.”

“You do not know-“

“Yeah, I do.” He snaps, sitting up a little higher in the bed. “I’m goddamn certain, sweetheart, so tell me the truth.”

“Dean-“

“Truth.” He spits, and you might be drawing blood on your skin with your nails.

He’d called your bluff, and it might just be luck, but it doesn’t seem like it. He didn’t sound like he was making a gamble. He sounded like he was taking a shot a foot in front of him. But you can’ttell him the truth. The truth will take him away from you forever. The truth is building wider and wider around you, all while strangling your throat, and your tongue always hates lying to Dean but everything else in you doesn’t want to lose him-

“I didn’t-“ You try to swallow the words, but you can’t seem to keep them down. “I didn’t exorcize it, I-“

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shouts your name, running a hand over his face. “You just like the asshole get away! Just because I was injured?”

Your brow furrows as you gape at him. “You were passed out, Dean-“

“And that was a goddamn demon, who’s killed over half a dozen people in two weeks! You always prioritize the hunt-“

“Over your life?!” You rise up on your knees, glowering at Dean, the darkness starting to rumble as he glares back. “We’re partners, Dean, my job is to have your back, that’s the whole point of hunting together-“

“Not over the case.” He pushes off the bed and moving to tower over you, his hand braced on the couch. “Other people are going to die because you decided to play hero for me-“

You laugh up at him. “Like you never play hero, Dean. Dragging me out of the building like I’m little damsel for you to save, like you’re rescuing me and I’m just too fucking pathetic without a big, strong, white knight serving me.”

The words hit their mark. Hit deeper than you’d meant them to. You don’t even know where you were aiming, or why you’d fired, or when you’d found the bullet, but you’d hit Dean so far down, you can almost see him flinch.

He doesn’t say anything. His jaw ticks, and his fists clench and unclench, but he won’t just say something and you’re losing your mind because you didn’t mean it, the darkness had just been everywhere and it had all been too much but Dean had felt real. He’d still felt real and it all hurt because you’d always prioritize him over some stupid demon, and you were still lying to him, and you hadn’t played hero. You’d just matched the demon, and gone darker. You were the monster, and you’d always save Dean-

Suddenly he’s moving. Hunching down to grab his jacket and stomping to the door. 

Going away. 

You don’t want him to go away.

“Dean, wait please-“ You know sound pathetic. You don’t really care. “Just- I’m sorry-“

You’re faster than he is, and you manage to fly over the couch and move in front of the door before he can reach it.

“Wait, I’m sorry, I-“ You shouldn’t be about to cry over this, but you’re clenching your jaw until your teeth break to stop the tears. “Dean, I’m sorry, I-“ He tries to move around you, and you shift to block his path once more. “Just wait-“

“Why, you still need a hero?” He sneers, leering down at you

“No, I didn’t- I didn’t mean-“ You take a long, shaking breath, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “I don’t think you’re trying to play hero, Dean, I just, I think you’re-“

“Your knight?” He sneers, raising his browns. “Your fucking bodyguard or toy-“

“I think you’re my partner!” You shout, because even calling him your friend feels like it’s too much right now, because it would make this need for him all little more real. Something that you really could break. “I think I’d probably have been fucked without you, and I didn’t- I didn’t mean to- You’re-“

You run a hand over your face, scratching slightly to try and drag the words together, and Dean’s frown almost seems to falter.

He mutters your name, but you push on.

“Your strength is that you’re a fighter, Dean.” You snap, and his eyes widen slightly. “But not just in a muscle way, you’re… smart. Under pressure. Any pressure. I freak out but I get to freak out because I know you’ve got me. I don’t think you’re trying to play hero. I think you’ve got my back.”

“Oh.” He blinks, and all the electrically in the room seems to dissipate as he just looks at you. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “No problem.”

Neither of you move for a long moment. The darkness is settled back down, and the White is straining for Dean, but it’s always doing that so everything is back where it’s meant to be. But you’re still watching Dean to make sure he doesn’t flicker and vanish. To check that you’re not asleep, or this isn’t an odd torture from the demon or your own mind. 

Dean looks like he’s watching you the same. 

And he’s really close. You’re drowning in him. In grass and spice and gunpowder, in his eyes on yours and the warmth that radiates off his body. 

You can’t touch him. 

You really want to.

“Are we-“ You rub your arms as you hug your body, and it’s a dumb question but you have to know. “Are we good?”

“Yeah.” He gives you an odd look, but his words sound like the truth. And if they’re not, you’ll just pretend they are. “We’re good.” “Cool.” You mumble, trying not to lean forward as Dean takes a step back. “Do you, um, do you want hot chocolate?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Aren’t we gonna look for the demon?”

He won’t find the demon. The demon’s gone.

But you can waste a little more time looking for it. Eventually you’ll suggest that maybe it just skipped town, and if you see another series of mall killings, you’ll know exactly what’s going on.

And you’ll get to stay next to Dean a while long. Talk to him. Laugh with him until you forget the look of real, hateful pain on his face.

“Yeah.” You shrug, offering him a small smile. “After hot chocolate?”

Dean chuckles. “I think I can live with that.”

“Good.”

You’re watching each other, and it’s not angry, but it’s tense. Dean looks like he wants to say something. You know that you want to say a million things, and you’re not even sure where to start. Another apology, an explanation of your episode in the bathroom, the truth about the demon, a scream of can he feel this, is that why he’s staying, he shouldn’t stay, he should run and never look back because you’re stuck with you, but he can go-

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod, and Dean’s lips drawn into a small pout. 

“You, uh, you talk about your dad a lot.” He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you guys still close?”

“Yeah, we are. He, um,” you glance down at your hand, running your thumb over your palm. “I visit him all the time-“

“Where does he live?”

“North.” You keep your words simple and vague, and Dean gives you an odd look. “But when I visit him, we always try to do something that isn’t…”

“Fucking depressing?” Dean offers, and you let out a small laugh.

“Yeah. Fucking depressing.” You let out a long breath. “Usually it’s just going grocery shopping and not buying doomsday bunker food, eating something sugary and stupid, and sitting out in his yard to, um, watch the stars and talk. I tease him about the cashier that flirted with him at the grocery store, how his best friend pulls more that he does, and he tells me that I shouldn’t talk when I-“ You cut yourself off, flushing slightly. Dean does not need to know that you’re worse at flirting than Bobby is. And you’ve seen Bobby try. It’s horrific. “I- uh- I need his house and food for the next week. Then we go inside and watch a really old movie, then go to bed.”

You glance up at Dean, and find his mouth slightly open. 

“That’s… awesome.”  

You look up at Dean’s open expression, so pretty, and real, and here. Dean’s still here. Not touching you, but close to it. Not trying to push past you anymore. He’s staying.

And you smile at him. “Yeah. It is.”

End Note: I love leaving little clues for things that won't be evident until chapters later.

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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[glamourscat]

TAKE ONE | actor! TIM DRAKE x actor! reader

rivals to ..? | pt 1? | gn! reader

“How can you not understand?” Tim yelled at you, his voice rising above the relentless rain pouring down on both of you.

“I love you. I am so madly, pathetically, in love with you. And yet, you keep running back to him. Back to that damned jerk, over and over again. While me— I’m… your stupid best friend,” his voice cracked, raw and vulnerable.

“I’ve always been here, and you know that. Every late night holding you while you cried, every single t—” His words broke off as your lips collided with his, cutting him off with the force of something long overdue. Something he had dreamed of for months, no, years.

His hands moved instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was hungry yet soft, an overwhelming intensity that sent shivers down his spine. Goosebumps on his skin.

“And… cut!” the director’s voice broke through the moment, followed by an applause from the crew. “Great job, everyone. That’s the last scene for today. Go get changed. Meeting in room 2 in an hour.”

The crew began dismantling the props, the artificial rain stopped and the two of you stood there, still drenched, now with an awkward distance between you.

It wasn’t that he hated you. But he couldn’t stand you either. He’d been in this industry since he was a kid, nepotism, some would say. But haters will always be haters. Not his fault he was born loaded. Still, now at 23 he found himself needing more substantial roles. Filled with drama and twists. And, of course, his on-screen love interest had to be you.

The same person who keeps stealing Golden Globes right out of his grasp. Award after award, casting roles, and even his damn agent. So, no. He didn’t hate you. But, if he had to describe you, he would probably say you’re that annoying itch under your skin that not matter how much you scratch it, never really leaves.

Yet… there was something about you. Maybe it was the constant bickering that spilled from the script into your daily interactions. Maybe it was the fact that this kiss scene had taken six exhausting takes, but he couldn’t stop thinking about your lips on his.

And though he refused to admit it, he was beginning to crave this feeling. That terrified him.

“Why are you following me?” he asked flatly, his back still to you as you trailed behind him. “Your trailer’s on the other side,” he added, his tone deliberately detached.

“I told you this morning, but you never listen,” you scoffed. “My trailer’s out of order. There’s a leak in the bathroom, so they moved some of my stuff into yours for now.”

He stopped, turning to face you. His expression flickered between annoyance and disbelief.

“And there was no other trailer they could put you in?”

“Obviously not,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

He scoffed, resuming his pace as you followed. When he reached his trailer, he stepped inside without a backward glance, immediately peeling off his soaked clothes.

“Come in, close the door, but don’t lock it otherwise we get stuck in.” he said nonchalantly, walking around in nothing but his boxers

“You have no decency,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you stepped in.

He smirked, glancing over his shoulder. His blue eyes trialing over your figure. “You’ve seen me in far less, considering the other scenes we had to shoot. Don’t be such a prude.”

“It’s not about being a prude. You’re just…, never mind. Jerk.” you grumbled under your breath, pulling off your drenched clothes too.

He turned, and his smirk widened. “Well, that’s a choice,” he teased, eyeing your Batman underwear, barely concealing his laugh.

“If you say anything, I swear, you’re done for,” you warned, trying not to laugh yourself.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “Whatever you say,” he hummed, turning back to dry himself off.

But in his mind, he was already storing this moment away for future need. Oh, he was absolutely going to use this against you one day.

Pt2? 👀

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[ghostgirl-22]

patrick catching art humping his pillow… and art is so fucked out he can’t get his hips to stop. hes red all over and drooling and hes whimpering sooo loud godddjfjfbfb

Oh anon…he’s going crazy thinking about kissing his best friend. Wants him so bad. Wants Tashi too. He’s so confused and a mess and Patrick’s staying with him and he’s out on a date with Tashi which is making Art extra insane. Patrick gets home early because Tashi’s friend needs help getting out of a date and he catches Art in media res, losing his mind with the pillow fantasizing about the two people he wants most but can’t have.

CW: 18+

—-

Patrick steps in the dorm room and it takes a little time to orient himself but once he realizes what’s going on he can feel the images etching themselves permanently into his brain. Art laying in his bed, thighs cradling his pillow, hips moving fast as he dry humps the plush fabric. Patrick means to turn around, leave the room, give him some privacy because he’s clearly having a moment but Patrick can’t keep his eyes off of him. His face is flushed, hair all over the place, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted and wet. He’s drooling on the blanket and whimpering. These soft little sounds, these pathetic little moans.

Patrick feels his pants getting tighter. He’s watched Art get off before but not like this. Not this vigorously. His mind starts going to crazy places, he considers approaching Art, getting on the bed behind him, pulling Art onto his lap and letting him hump that instead. Imagines sliding his dick in between those parted lips. Or tugging his shorts down and shoving himself inside. God, he didn’t think he was still this attracted to Art… wanting to crawl inside him levels of attraction… but after the kiss and now this, clearly it’s just been hidden deep down.

The headboard is knocking up against the wall with the force of Arts movements and he’s moaning.

Even though it’s been forever since they jerked it together Patrick is still so intimately familiar with Arts patterns. Knows he’s about to come. His voice pitched soft, the sounds make Patrick grip the door knob just a little tighter. He’s losing himself, while Art is coming. Falling apart mentally, memorizing the image of his best friend fucked out and all apart on the bed in front of him.

Art collapses breathlessly, falling on his back. “Oh god,” Art sighs. “Gonna fuck you so good.”

Patrick clears his throat and Art stills looking over at the door. “Surprise, I’m back early,” Patrick says sheepishly.

“Fuck,” Art groans, covering his face with his arms. “Why didn’t you say anything Patrick?”

“I mean… I didn't want to ruin the moment. You uh— you really showed that pillow,” Patrick smiles as he approaches the bed, delighted by the way Arts flush is only deepening. Patrick knows he’s barely concealed in these dress pants. He’s almost certain the hard outline of his dick is plainly visible. But Art doesn’t seem aware yet.

“Look man,” he’s saying, rubbing his hands on his thighs. The wet spot visible on his navy gym shorts, Patrick wants to lick at it. “I say all kinds of weird things when I— I didn't really mean I wanted to do any of that stuff. I was just working myself up. Random words, okay?” Art continues..

“Uh, okay…” Patrick says curiously, he hadn’t really heard much more than his babbling towards the end. But he kinda wants Art to believe he heard everything so he’ll share more with him. “I don’t know, you sure you wouldn’t be interested in that stuff?” Patrick suggests.

Art squints, this adorably stunned expression on his face. “You serious?”

“Uh well…” Patrick shrugs. “Well you sounded serious.”

“No I mean, yes, but what about Tashi?”

Patrick shrugs again, narrowing his eyes. Of course it’s about Tashi, he’s still so obsessed with her. God Patrick’s probably just agreed to let him fuck Tashi. Which he’s tempted at times to let him try his hand at it. Poor baby. She’d eat him alive.

Patrick gently pats his cheek and the way Art is looking up at him makes him want to unzip his pants and push his dick into Art's mouth. So he’s actually quite stunned when Art reaches for the zipper instead.

“Okay man, I guess I meant some of it… and maybe you liked it too…” he says quietly, staring at Patrick’s swollen dick the whole time as he slides it out, like he’s mesmerized. “If you tell her about this… I’ll deny it.”

“Uh right,” Patrick says, taking a breath as Art takes him into his mouth. “Definitely not gonna tell her.” He sighs, tangling his fingers into Art's messy hair. Dream come true.

[fenya-scribbles]

Escape

♥--------♥--------♥

Pairing: Bangchan x fem!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend went too far this time and Chan picks up the pieces.

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, friends to lovers?

Content warnings: mentions of domestic violence, mentions of blood, curse words, nudity (non-sexual), lmk if I missed something :)

Word Count: 674

A/N: My first Stray Kids fic, inspired by The Last Night by Skillet. It just came to me. If anyone's interested, I could see myself doing one of these for the other members as well.

♥--------♥--------♥

When you turned up at Chan’s door, you didn’t even remember how you got there. You just remembered leaving your boyfriend’s place, running through the rain without a jacket, freezing and bleeding and crying. You just remember the fear in your bones. And now you were here. 

It was the middle of the night, but you knew Chan was awake. Chan seemingly never slept, which often made you worry about him. But right now you were glad about it, because he didn’t take long to open the door. “Y/N?” His curious look quickly turned into a worried one. “Fuck, what happened to you?”, he asked as he pulled you into his apartment. 

You wanted to tell him, you really did, but all you could to was break down crying. He immediately pulled your rain soaked body against him, arms locking tightly around you as you started to sob uncontrollably. “Hey, hey”, he spoke softly, gently running his hand over your hair. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I got you.”

You stood there crying for what felt like forever, but eventually your sobs died down and you motioned for Chan to let go of you. He did so just enough to be able to look at you. “You’re bleeding, Y/N. What the fuck happened?” He said as he pushed a wet strain of hair out of your face. You swallowed hard. 

“It was my fault”, you said. “I dropped a plate. I should’ve been more careful.” Chan raised his eyebrows. “Your fucking boyfriend did this?” He sounded angry now and you flinched at his tone. “Hey, hey, sorry”, he immediately softened his voice. His eyes went to the bleeding cut on your cheek. “I need you to know that this was not your fault.” You opened your mouth to disagree, but he immediately interrupted you. “Don’t even think about blaming this on yourself. Your boyfriend is an aggressive asshole. You’re not going back there.” 

You were too tired to argue, the heaviness of the situation suddenly hitting you like a freight train, so you just let Chan take you to the bathroom, where he treated your wound. “How about you take a hot bath, hm?”, he proposed, “Wash that pathetic excuse of a man off your skin?” 

It was so nice to be taken care of by Chan. He’d been your best friend for years and he’d never liked your boyfriend. Of course, your boyfriend had also not liked Chan and had tried to break up your friendship multiple times. Chan wouldn’t have any of that, and in this moment you were eternally grateful for that. 

Chan started to run the bath and then helped you out of your soaked clothes. Under different circumstances you might have felt embarrassed to be naked in front of him, but there was no energy for shame left in you. Chan was respectful and gentle, helping you into the hot water and proceeding to wash you with a soft sponge. 

“Can I stay the night?”, you said eventually. “I already told you, princess, you’re not going back there.” “What about tomorrow?” “You’re never going back there. I’ll handle it.” You looked up at him with tired eyes. “Really? He’ll be pissed if you show up instead of me.” Chan let out a huff. “Don’t worry, princess, I can take him.” 

Chan proceeded to wash you, wrap you into a soft towel and carry you to his bedroom. You didn’t fight it, didn’t want to fight it. Chan had always been your comfort person and he was exactly what you needed right now. “Get some sleep, princess”, he whispered as he tucked you in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

When he got up to leave, you reached for his hand. “Please”, you said sleepily, “don’t leave me alone.” He smiled and laid down beside you. “Alright.” He wrapped his arms around you, shrouding you in warmth, safety and comfort. “Never leave me alone”, you whispered. “I promise, princess, you will never have to spend a night alone again.” 

♥--------♥--------♥

Masterlist

[arliedraws]

I really wish Jegulus weren’t so popular because I actually think it’s an interesting idea. It works for me as a crack!ship. But when things get too popular, I get allergic to it because “too many cooks in the kitchen” and it turns boring.

Look, I do find it compelling if James were forced into a situation where Regulus was in trouble and James was the only person around to help. And NOT because he gave a shit about Regulus—but because he loved Sirius so much and deep (deep, deep, deep) down, James knew that Sirius still loved his brother. And wet cat Regulus is hissing and screaming at James to let him be while James just sort of picks him up.

Ohhhh, you know what I could see? Maybe Regulus escapes the cave and comes to Sirius for help—except Sirius is gone on an assignment for the Order and it’s James who finds Regulus instead. Wet and dying, Regulus bitches at James who’s like, “Aw fuck, now I gotta deal with this pathetic loser.”

Regulus is mean, cruel, mean until James shuts him down and berates him for being an asshole to Sirius for years. And then finally Regulus bursts into tears—and he’s a bit like Gollum in the way that you sort of feel sorry for him because he’s so pathetic. And awkwardly, James pats his shoulder like, “Er—there, there.” And maybe Regulus has always had a crush on his older brother’s really hot best friend (who wouldn’t), so Regulus leans in for a kiss.

Okay, maybe I don’t ship Jegulus because I guess that’s as far as it goes for me. But look, I can somewhat see it. Not long term, and James feels like complete shit about it, but it has potential. And James would have to be separated from Lily or something because if he’s going to “cheat” on her, it would only be with Sirius (and probably because he doesn’t see it as cheating—it’s just what they do together, obviously, it’s normal).

[eternal-love]

I’m having a really bad day today, gimmie some Benny smut I know you’ve got something in that brain of yours 🤍

LEAVE

Pairing: Benny Cross x reader

Summary: You try to leave Benny, but he has other plans.

Warning: smut, toxic relationship, Benny being a pathetic ass, reader has a child, Benny gets physically violent.

Note: Couldn’t deny Miss Cross herself y’know? 😏I know I’m not as good writing smut but I do my best for you. Hope you get better and this makes you feel better! 🫶💗

Also, this is heavily inspired by a combo @aust-een and I had about how Jeff held back a lot from what the real Benny could have been. I just know Benny wasn’t this quiet nonchalant thing. He was jealous, possessive and violent.

Your life was monotonous, you woke up, got ready, had breakfast, went to your job, put your with annoying customers, came back home, slept. Repeat. That was up until you met Benny.

Your life did a 180, in your routine and emotionally too. Benny was an interesting character, he was a mistery to a lot of people. And to you too, your friend warned you to not even look in his direction, he was always cruising for a bruising. Him and his bike were in for any sort of trouble. That’s what drew you to him.

Your last boyfriend was too plain, too vanilla. You often sought out a way to create any sort of tension. With Benny, that wasn’t necessary. He was the problem himself. With you having to bail him out of jail more times that you liked to admit it. A part of you knew this wasn’t healthy. Specially not for your son, he saw everything.

Benny lived in your house, so, obviously you were the head of the house, you worked and brought in the money. But Benny didn’t care, he flouted in and out the house as he pleased. Anxiety ruled over you, not knowing if he would come back or not. You could stay awake all night just waiting for him.

At some point, you knew it had to be over, it wasn’t healthy anymore and you spent days more stressed than happy. So you waited for him to come back. You had put your son to bed upstairs. Your leg bouncing as you drank a beer, you heard the front door open and you saw Benny come in, black boots stomping on the wooden floor.

“What are you doin’ awake still?” Benny spoke up as he saw you in the couch, his eyes a bit tired as well as his voice.

“Waitin’ for you.” You said, putting out the cigarette on the ashtray.

“You ain’t gotta do that.” Benny scoffed, he took his pack of Marlboro Reds out his pocket and lit up just one, he walked towards the kitchen and grabbed a beer. He looked around, no food. “No food tonight, I see. That’s how you care for your man?”

“It’s too late at night, only cooked for Robbie and I.” You said, you stared at him as he walked around. He just smirked in disbelief at what you said.

“What’s with the face?” He asked you as he came back to the living room, taking another hit from the cigarette.

“I want to talk to you about something.” You said, taking in a deep breath.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Benny rolled his eyes.

He had been off and weird lately, you had believed you were crazy but no, you started to accept that he was in fact different.

“I can’t live like this no more, Benny.” You confessed as you stood up, your hands on your hips. “This ain’t right. Not for me or my Robbie. I want you to leave.”

You said, it took everything in you to get the words out of you. Because you didn’t know how he would react.

Benny pressed his lips together as he took a deep drag from the cigarette, shaking his head. “That ain’t happening. I ain’t leavin’.”

Benny was hard headed and he did not follow nobody. If he was told to do something, he did the opposite, but you were tired. Of everything.

“It’s not a question, Benny. I can’t keep carrying on like this. It’s eating me alive.” You said, trying to appear firm as you stood up.

“You can’t keep carrying on like this?” He repeated your words, you could easily tell he was mocking you. “What else did you think this would be?”

You stared at Benny in disbelief, a part of you thought you could have changed him. Make him more responsible, more emotionally present, more anything, but no. He was still the same troublemaker you met. It hurt you to kick him out but there wasn’t any other choice.

“I just want you to leave. Get your things and leave.” You said, the words getting stuck in your throat.

“So you can bring in another man? Who you gonna bring next? Cal or that son of a bitch with the camera?” Benny accused you, he was very jealous and possessive. He didn’t like bringing you to meeting too much, specially not when Danny or Cal talked to you. There was a reason he didn’t let you meet up with Danny to do his interviews.

“What are you even talking about, Benny? This is about us. You and I!” You snapped, he always tried to blame others for everything, because in his own words ‘he never asked anyone for anything’.

“Don’t even yell at me. Watch it.” He said, his voice monotone.

“I’m tired of you leaving without saying anything. And expecting me to take you back. I can’t keep waitin’ on ya. I just can’t. So please, leave. Because I can’t handle you being a son of a bitch anymore.”

Oh, that set him on fire. You, calling him a son of a bitch. He didn’t like that. There was a silence in which he clenched his jaw, put out the cigarette into the decorative table by his side.

“Right?” Benny said calmly before he snapped. And he threw the decorative table to the floor, making the flower vase break down to little pieces.

You flinched, Benny had his violent outburst, you hadn’t quite gotten used to them yet. Throwing beer bottles or anything on his reach. His nonchalant demeanor was something that was only a façade to either give you the cold shoulder or appear more brave with the club.

As soon as he walked towards you, you backed off, only for Benny to grab you by the neck.

“Who do you think you are?” Benny growled, his voice always held that nonchalant tone to it. Which you hated. You never knew if he did this because he cared and wanted to stay or just for the fun of it. “I ain’t asking anything from you, so you can’t come here askin’ anything from me.”

Benny was so close to your face, his hand wasn’t really gripping your neck tightly but he was holding you hard enough to scare you.

“I ain’t gonna let you go around like one of them loose women. You’re mine. Mine. You get it?” Benny whispered in your ear.

But you wanted this to end. For your son.

“I ain’t doing this because I don’t love you. I do it for my son.”

“I really don’t give a shit about your son. Never did and never will, doll.” Benny scoffed. “I should listen to what you’ve told me, give you a baby so you can finally shut up. So that I’ll never be able to fully leave you.”

Benny placed his knee in between your legs, pressing it against your core. Making you shiver, most of the time, Benny having you by the neck turned you on immediately, and it was working right now.

“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” Benny purred in your ear. “No words now? Did the cat get your tongue?”

Benny leaned in and kissed your lips, the friction of his knee with your core sent shivers across your body. You wanted to rip off his clothes, and so he did. He ripped open your shirt, those cheap buttons didn’t stand a chance.

“How many times have I told you I hate these clothes? Mhm?” Benny whispered. It was a two piece set, the sleeveless button shirt and the matching shorts. It was a look that was in right now, you had wanted to fit in. Albeit, Benny didn’t enjoy it. “You want everyone to look, don’t ya? Everyone. There’s a reason why I got you that jacket.”

Benny pulled you to the couch, throwing you into it. The jacket was the one that had ‘Property of Benny’ in the back, made you wear it every time there was a meeting.

Benny got rid of his colors, his jacket and vest on the floor as well as his worn out white tshirt, he got on top of you. His lips finding their way to yours, you tasted the whisky on his lips, made you hum. You were enjoying how aggressive he got at times.

His hand traveled from your hair to your breast, squeezing it through your bra, you moaned on his lips, your back trying to arch but his body blocked you from doing so. Then his hand traveled all the way to inside your shorts, his touch feather-like as he caressed you over your underwear, your toes curled up at the feeling, you shivered once again.

“My doll is so desperate. I thought she wanted me to leave.” He kept rubbing you over your underwear. You let out breathy moans.

You wanted to deny it. But you couldn’t even speak properly. He wasn’t even doing anything extreme and you were already losing it.

He worked with his hands, he was so masculine. The smell of Marlboro Red filled your nostrils. It made you so— ugh. You couldn’t get enough of it, or him. Even if part of you hated it, there was something about him that you couldn’t reject.

“I’m gonna make sure— everyone in the fuckin’ street knows who you belong to. Alright?” Benny grunted as he undid his pants, he was as hard as he ever was when he’s with you.

And to be fair, your ex-in laws lived next door. You were in for a ride as soon as he pulled down your shorts and underwear. His boxers came down as well.

“Don’t be quiet.” Benny said, as he filled you up with his cock in one swift thrust.

“Motherfucker!” You moaned out loudly, loud enough to blush afterwards. You saw his smirk.

He liked how he got to you. How much you were willing to put up from him. His thrusts were anything but gentle, the sound of skin slapping, moaning and grunting filled the living room.

“You like it? Hmm?” Benny asked as he relentlessly fucked you in the couch, but this want his favorite position, not at all. He found it boring to say the least.

Your eyes were rolling back, your mouth open and filthy noises escaped your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Move.” He said as he pulled out of you, you whimpered when you stopped feeling his cock. Damn, that’s how much you needed him.

Eventually he manhandled you, he threw you around until you were in all fours. He was behind you and without any sort of mercy, he pounded into you from behind, his cock filling you up, giving you pleasure like no other.

“Benny… p-please” You whined, it was too much, he was too much. All of him.

“What? I’m sorry, can’t hear you.” Benny said, as his hand reached to grab your throat, squeezing the air you had.

It was the adrenaline of having no air combined with the pleasure of it. It gave you too much ecstasy. You didn’t even remember the last time he fucked you like this.

“I’ll leave whenever I want.” Benny whispered in your ear as he kept choking you, you tried to grasp on whatever air was possible. But it was in vain, and after a while, he withdrew his hand from your throat and slowly made its way down to your clit.

That was your breaking point and you couldn’t hold back your moans anymore. Every moan that came out of you came from the deepest of your soul.

His hand worked wonders on your clit, making you feel overstimulated, waiting for that usual feeling for being close to the edge.

“Keep… g-going” you managed to mutter through the moans. As his cock kept filling you up, you knew no guy could ever compare to him.

Not even one. And you didn’t even dare to think of it. Afraid that he could read your mind and get mad.

“We’re gonna have a baby. So you won’t ever kick me out again. So that your brat of a son— knows his place.” Benny kept going even faster and harder, it seemed like he was on the edge. “And so that photographer son of a bitch knows that you’re taken.”

“Benny!” You yelled as Benny hit that sweet spot of yours, pleasure erupted as you finished, your muscles relaxing immediately.

He kept fucking you, for at least a minute more before you heard his voice falter, his breath ragged. “Oh, f-fuck…”

Benny filled you up, made sure to not waste a single drop of his cum. After all, he wanted you heavy with his baby in a few months. He couldn’t wait to see your son’s face. That little brat. Knowing his mommy wouldn’t get rid of him.

“So good for me…” Benny leaned over you, whispering in your ear. “If you tell me to do anything ever again, I’ll do the opposite. Okay?”

[kismetlotts]

cw: angst, mentions of sex, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of knives, mentions of hurting yourself but no implications of actually doing so or having done in the past, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, clueless Simon Riley, crying in each others arms, helping out your best friend, reader is self less

part 2 of Best Friend Simon Riley Angst (I recommend reading part one first to understand certain elements better)

You woke up in the morning, daylight shining through your curtains and you already knew it wasn’t sunshine- bound to be nothing but grey clouds out there, flooding the sky like a polluted ocean. Your nose and head ached in the silent flood of last nights memories, your crying, your actions and worst of all, your best friend.

Oh Simon, what a dickhead you were. Why did you have to come here?

Your body flushed against the cold sheets behind you, a weightless bed, giving you the impression he’d done a runner. Typical him honestly- you wouldn’t be surprised if that was what initiated their breakup; the same breakup that was at fault for all of this.

He was always so forward, front and confrontational within the field. The notorious ‘Ghost’ that installs fear in every enemy he has to face. He’s a fighter at work but ironically, in life, all he knew was how to retreat. Pull away before he can cause anymore damage, pull out before the mess gets bigger.

You flung the covers off you, their pretty, pink, innocent pattern already making vomit surface in your throat. He’d flopped down on that bedding countless times in the past: memories which made it hurt more came to mind. The knives that were already jammed in your gut, heart and what’s seemed as your brain, twisting a little deeper before freezing up in place.

You remembered the times when his body would accidentally fling you around the mattress, grunting and smirking while he settle down and got comfy. You remembered the way his fingers tapped on the cotton as he leaned over to see what you were looking at on your phone. Nosy but never prying in too much.

Imagining how you looked when you watched his hand sweep across the duvet on movie night, pushing every crumb onto your bedroom floor with a laugh and an apology leaving his lips. His hands, shooting into the air as he surrendered in playful shame. Not really paying attention as your voice scolded him for eating in your bed.

Your fingers stripped the bedding from its covers. Tossing them into a pile on the floor beside your laundry basket, the sheets so stained with both of your sweat and dirt from the situation, your nose scrunched up at the sight. You left it there ready to put in the wash later.

Though, a part of you can’t help but wonder if they will ever feel as clean as they did before.

If they’ll ever give you the warm, comforting sensation you got every night before nodding off to sleep. Would you ever hear their soft cries to slip back in bed when you wake up early for work? The covers flopped back in agony, silently pleading for you to come back and have five more minutes?

No. Now they just feel like you never got out of that bed, the duvet still wrapped around your body keeping you hostage and forcing you to go about your day. The weight of everything on your shoulders enough for you to trip and fall on the material.

You’d burn them if they weren’t so big.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, why the fuck did you let it happen anyway? The sex with him wasn’t anything like you’d wished or dreamed of nor would it have never been.

He didn’t love you but something inside you obviously can’t comprehend that. Every chance you get to show or pretend that the two of you were more than what you were- you’d leap for it: eyes sparkling with the same hope a lost kid has.

He used you last night and you let him like the pathetic, lovesick loser you always were. It wasn’t sex, it was nothing more than a mere distraction and waste of time. A waste of his time, more hassle just for him.

Your fingers wrapped around your smooth doorknob as you pushed open your bedroom door, trailing into the kitchen before an aroma of pancake batter and fresh baking gripped you by the throat. Your big eyes meeting Simons, his familiar, large figure pressed against your kitchen counter as he sucked on his bottom lip.

His face was pale and his brown pupils never left the plate of fucked up pancakes, left on a placemat on the table.

You laughed. You laughed because you couldn’t trust anything else to come out- You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t break down crying, that you wouldn’t scream or hurt yourself in front of him, that you wouldn’t wince at this- idiotic gesture.

Was this an apology? Was this all you meant to him? A plate of sweet treats you’d have to force yourself to eat, to swallow down and help you forget everything bad that happened. Maybe, or perhaps it was pure coincidence it summed up his perspective of the night; perfectly.

“Did you make me pancakes?” The tremble and nerves in your voice was apparent and he nodded slowly, gesturing to the massive bag of groceries on the countertop.

“With berries and sugar on top. I’ve got some other things here though, chocolate- all kinds, some syrup and honey and other fruit in that bag if you want any. I just added berries because I know they’re your favourite.” He rambled on.

“When did I tell you that?” Your head turned to the side, twitching in uncertainty as you sat down in front of the plate. Eyes squinting as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You said when we…-oh.”

That’s not her, Simon.

His hand lifted to his eyes, rubbing them to avoid looking anywhere. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster and you just knew how is heart felt, flooding with guilt and embarrassment at his own actions.

Staying mad at him was hard when you knew him so well. Mistakes get made and feeling get trampled on but he wasn’t a bad person. That’s why you fell for him all that time ago.

The knife in your hand cut through the pancakes like butter, your posture up straight and distant from the plate while your appetite warned you not to bite. Your eyes flickered over to Simon again, seeing his hands still firmly placed over his eyes, broad shoulders retracted inwards as his body jolted in silent cries. The metal rattled against the table as you put the knife down and jumped out of your chair.

“Simon don’t do this-“ You spoke comfortingly, lunging over towards his body. Your soft skin met with the roughness of his arm but before you could say another word he shoved your body away from him.

A voice you’d never heard before coming out loud and brute, as you took a step back from his harsh rejection.

“Can you just fuck off trying to make me feel better constantly- I know i’ve fucked up and I know i’ve upset you. Stop acting like everything is alright when it isn’t, you do this every time- i’m not a kid!” His fist clawed at his shirt. Pulling it away from his chest as if he wanted to rip his heart out to stop the torture he was suffering.

Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes looked red, sunken with despair. Your voice died in your mouth, tongue soaking up all your saliva and you tried to swallow.

He was lost. He ruined the thing he needed the most- fucked about and caused chaos with his lifeline. You were his saviour and always had been. He didn’t need for you to fix his relationship or his problems, he needed you to fix him. He didn’t sleep with you to use you intentionally, it was a drunken mistake and a shitty timing.

He inhaled through his mouth, his throat croaking as he gripped the counter for stabilisation. Face was locked down to the floor, glued and staring at his shoes on your kitchen floor.

The drops of his tears on the black leather of his boots and the drops on your tiles reminding him of how pathetic he was being. He was a man, he worked in the military. He had slept with people before, cheated, and ruined relationships but nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing knocked him down so hard he was afraid to get back up, he was afraid to lose you. Simon was scared.

“I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I can even do to make it up to you- fucking pancakes- it is stupid I should know better and I should know what to do but I-” The whiteness in his knuckles disappeared as he lessened his grip on the counter. Hands falling to his side as he broke down on the spot.

The hard armour he lived in unraveling like flimsy pieces of ribbon. His wet eyelashes hitting his cheeks as he wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist.

“I can’t think. I can’t be me without you here and I don’t know what to do, please, i’m so sorry just please come back to me. I know i’ve lost a part of you and I will fight until the end of day to get it back, but for now just let me have the rest back. I need my best friend back.” His hands met your lower back as you flung your arms around his neck, your own eyes dripping with tears of outrage and hurt but above all you needed Simon too.

You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he held you close to him finally getting his breathing back to normal. You bit your lips shut and breathed slowly so he couldn’t feel your body shake for air. You didn’t want him to realise how much you were struggling in his arms- how lost and abused you felt. You didn’t want your emotions to worsen his because he had to come first.

He’d lost the love of his life and he needs someone to be strong for him, help him get on his own feet. Be beside him with wide arms and a welcoming face. It wasn’t him being selfish, it was something you had to understand Simon to understand.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you hesitantly sat down and talked. It was a long talk hidden by cheap smiles and forced laughter but of course, he didn’t catch on. You let him speak, you gave him advice- hugged it out and as weeks passed by, the two of you were back to normality again.

He’d found a new girl quicker than you thought he wouldn’t, pretty girl and ironically she your figure and eye colour. The more you watched them interact the more they seemed to happy together, kissing, hugging, buying each other gifts. It felt just like how it was before.

Back to Simon and his lovesick best friend that will always be there for him even if he’s never there for her. Back to Simon and his awful dating life as he hops from one awful breakup to the next because they all are missing something.

All he wants, is girl with your hair colour. A girl with your eye colour and your smile. All he longs for is a girl that he can hold hands with but can also roll his eyes at when she teases him for being too cheesy. He wants a girl who can laugh and joke with him but still support him and by there for him in more ways than one. Not just a girlfriend but almost as if a best friend at the same time. That’s all he wants and asks the world for but for some reason she just isn’t out there for him.

And until he realises why he looks for you in every girl he meets. Until he steps back and opens his eyelids to everything right in front of him. She won’t ever be.

[bowsandsturniolos]

pairing: virgin!nerd!matt x bsf!confident!reader

warnings: innocence corruption, handjob, oral (m), smut, edging.

-------------------------------------------------------------

after getting caught in the heat of the moment, you and your best friend, matt, had just broken away from an intense make out session. you're now kissing a trail down his neck and collarbones.

once you reach the collar of his button up, you look up at his flushed face and crooked glasses. "can i.. take this off?" you ask.

he lets out a trembling breath. he's never even been shirtless in front of a girl. "uh.. yeah." he says shakily, swallowing thickly.

you reach for the top button of his shirt and slowly start to work the buttons out of their loops until his shirt is fully unbuttoned. he's propped up on his elbows, watching you.

he swallows when you tug his shirt of completely, heart thumping in his chest. he refuses to make eye contact with you.

heat crawls up his neck and twinges his cheeks a reddish pink when you speak. "can i take your pants off?" he swallows and nods, not trusting his voice.

you unzip his fly, watching his face intently as you tug down his pants, leaving him in his black boxers that read "CALVIN KLEIN" along the waistband in a white font.

you wait there for a moment, just staring at the completely tented material of his boxers, noticing the small wet patch that forms right where his tip is.

his chest is heaving already. you gently bring your kisses across his crotch, kissing the outline of him through his pants.

a whine dies in his throat as you do so. you chuckle and hook your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. "can i take these off?" his eyes widen.

he takes a deep breath before nodding timidly. you gently tug them down until the fabric pools at his ankles, face to face with his dick, standing at attention.

he covers his face with his hands, skin so red he could be mistaken for a tomato. he's never been naked in front of a girl before. really anyone, honestly. he even gets nervous in locker rooms sometimes.

he whimpers. you chuckle softly. "is it okay if i touch you, matt?" he nods eagerly, still covering his face. you smile and gently wrap your hand around his base.

he whines, his eyes widening when your touch lands on the most intimate, sensitive part of his body, you being the first to ever do so.

you make a fist around him, gently pumping his shaft. "o-oh- oh.. oh my g-god." he whimpers, hips bucking as he covers his face with both his hands.

you smile and gently rub your thumb over his tip, collecting the precum dribbling from his slit. his eyes roll back in his head. his hands fall from his face and to his sides, white knuckling the sheets.

"y/n i- i don't know what's- oh god.. what's happening i feel like-" you chuckle and stop your movements, making his impending orgasm leave.

he whimpers. "whenever you feel like that, tell me. it's means you're gonna cum. okay?" he nods, eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut as you start your ministrations again.

his chest rises and falls unsteadily, the sounds of him gasping for air and his moans filling the room. you take your free hand and gently reach down to tug on his balls.

his eyes roll back in his head. "y/n!" he screeches. you grin and immediately stop, your touch leaving him completely. tears prick the corners of his eyes.

"why'd you stop! no!" he whines, kicking his feet like a little kid. you smile, running your hands up his thighs. you gently kiss his tip.

he sucks in a sharp breath, the feeling of your mouth foreign and exciting. you smile and wrap your lips around his flushed and leaking tip.

he squeezes his eyes shut and covers his own mouth, muffling his pathetic noises. you chuckle and begin to swirl your tongue around his tip, lapping at his slit and savoring the taste of his precum.

"fuck.." he whimpers, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back. you suck on his tip for a while before dropping down on him, taking his full length without warning.

his mouth drops open and the hand that was covering his mouth flies to grip the sheets. he lets out the loudest moan he has today, his eyes rolling back in his head.

god, he looks so pretty like this. cheeks flushed, eyes squeezed shut, bucking his hips into your face, dangly earrings hanging from his bright red skin, he's so pretty.

you hum around him, sending vibrations coursing through his shaft and working to tighten the coils in his tummy.

he lifts his hips when your tongue laps at his underside. "y/n i'm-" before he can get his warning out, he screams, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he shoots his cum down your throat.

you lick and suck him through his orgasm, moaning around him. he squirms under your mouth. "wait y/n i-" he wiggles, starting to get overstimulated.

you chuckle and pull off of his softening cock, licking your lips and standing at eye level again. his still breathless and wordless.

you smile and press a kiss to his lips. he doesn't even care that he can taste himself on you, he grabs your face and begins to make out with you again.

you giggle and straddle his lap, the situation slightly ironic. he's completely naked and already though an orgasm, and you're fully clothed.

a comfortable silence falls between you two as you passionately kiss. not a word is exchanged, but you both come to a mutual agreement. you could get used to this.

-------------------------------------------------------------

author's note: it's actually so crazy to think that my stories genuinely get people off. i was thinking about that last night, and it's like insane. i'm honored to help you freaks out, though. 😉 anyways, more nerd matt coming soon. (literally.) with love, bows, and sturniolos. 💗🎀

@ryleescomet @evie-sturns @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga @sturnshood @emely9274 @slut4christopherr

[diushek]

Shen Yuan concept without being a NEET just because my sister and I thought of this and lol we had a good time

So Shen Yuan is this rich kid and all, but he actually has this hobby that started taking up 80% of his free time: designing clothes. He started out as a cosmaker, can you blame him? Cosplays are so poor quality these days. And Shen Yuan is used to good quality clothes even if they are just simple t-shirts. So when he started realizing how pathetically expensive some cosplays were compared to their quality, he just... Well, he had to design his own!

Little by little, he evolved. And one day his wealthy family found him this job designing clothes for xianxia dramas, and Shen Yuan, a little delirious, accepted. It's okay! He designed a lot of sketches inspired by arts, historical research here and there, things that also looked nice and realistic. Shen Yuan enjoys his job almost as much as he enjoys criticizing each new PIDW chapter. How is it possible that they've been thirty chapters into that subplot and there have been more papapa scenes than a resolution?! Outrageous!

Shen Yuan designs a lot. He still works as a cosmaker, as he really enjoys doing embroidery. It's a time-consuming job, but he gets paid well and his cosplays are the best in the entire community. His family is happy that he has left his lonely life and has this job and this new business experience, they congratulate him on his new achievements, they urge him to enroll in some university fashion or clothing design.

Shen Yuan dismisses it. He misses his life as a NEET a little, but in reality on his days off he just plays around and does nothing, which is the same thing he does on his work days, except he embroiders and sews or draw on those work days. Days so busy, they are not.

So Airplane ends PIDW like absolute shit, Shen Yuan drowns and dies.

And he opens his eyes. Well, what the hell. It doesn't take long for him to discover that he transmigrated into an NPC. Tailored, apparently, because he's an no-name NPC apprentice to a spider demon seamstress!

He has a lot of knowledge about all of this, so it doesn't take him long to put it into practice. His teacher congratulates him and he makes a lot of sales. Soon, he gains a very good reputation. Maidens from other kingdoms come to Shen Yuan to design clothes for them for festivals, for dances, for family celebrations. Shen Yuan designs, sews, embroiders. It's not far from his old life, although he misses Project Sekai and caffeine a little.

He opens his own workshop almost a year later, with the goodwill of his demon teacher. She warns him of something: Shen Yuan is a thread woven to another soul. And soon, his soulmate will come for him.

Shen Yuan is a little nervous, but, oh well! A soulmate! If only!

He knows, for a fact, that that's impossible. They're in the disgusting world of PIDW, and at least half of the dresses he's made have been for Binghe's future wives. Some would even be torn apart without any care! What a waste of his time and effort!

He doesn't think about it too much. Shen Yuan just focuses on his work. He designs, sews, embroiders. He sleeps little but enjoys the smile on the faces of the Meimei's when they hug the pretty fabrics. It is, despite everything, a good life.

Then, Emperor Luo Binghe arrives at his door.

In person. Not with servants, not with a letter, not with an invitation. It is Emperor Luo Binghe who arrives at his door.

Of course Shen Yuan is going to make robes for the emperor! There's no need for him to ask or offer to pay for them! He's nervous and a little scared, but Luo Binghe is... well, he doesn't seem to have no kind of threatening aura or any kind of charm. He asks him for the designs of some robes and stays there while Shen Yuan makes the first sketches. Luo Binghe gives more directions, more corrections... And Shen Yuan discovers that Luo Binghe is requesting Qing Jing robes from him, if the fanarts are accurate. He tears off that sheet of paper, starts another sketch with Qing Jing's exact robes without uttering any words, leaving Luo Binghe speechless as well. Luo Binghe nods, correcting details of length and shape, not even asking or saying anything about designs of cultivators clothing, and Shen Yuan has to move on to the... er, awkward part. He has to almost strip Luo Binghe to take his measurements!

Ignore that part. His face is very red when he finishes, but he has the exact measurements of his back, his arms, the size of his fit, his length and width, everything necessary to work with the first molds.

Shen Yuan has no idea why Emperor Luo Binghe wants Qing Jing's robes. He won't ask either, he values his tongue very much. So, he just decides to continue his work like a good professional, embroidering every detail to perfection (he has done two Ning Yingying cosplays in the past, so, it was easy to him remember the embroidered patterns).

Maybe he makes it too perfect.

Luo Binghe is looming over him, his new robes on display, eyes red with fury, zuiyin shining on his forehead.

"Cang Qiong has been burned for more than two hundred years. How can a weak mortal like you recreate these patterns so perfectly?"

Shen Yuan has three options, honestly.

a) Tell him he's a transmigrator. He doesn't have any fucking System, and maybe telling him he's from another world will save him from his imminent death... But he highly doubts Luo Binghe will believe him.

b) Telling him that he's a reborn soul! That he may have worked for the sect in the past! It's not a bad idea, and it's actually quite common, isn't it? Some souls are reborn with some memories, huh, not bad...

c) Not saying anything and playing dumb.

Shen Yuan chooses to play dumb, only because he doesn't have enough brain cells and is so panicked that he can play the reborn.

"I don't know what Junshang is telling me! I just followed the directions and patterns in the design given by Jungshang!"

Luo Binghe does not strangle him. Makes things worse.

Luo Binghe carries him over his shoulder and carries him away. This is kidnapping?! Shen Yuan is being kidnapped from his own shop in broad daylight!? And obviously no one is going to stop him!!

And so, Luo Binghe simply puts him in a room somewhere in the palace, gives him some papers and many tools so he can draw and tells him to design something that he like. And he leaves.

... That is, a kind of test? Is Luo Binghe testing him in some way? Ah, he hopes his customers will be understanding. He's sorry for the delay in their dresses, but Emperor Luo Binghe has kidnapped this seamstress, but he hope to get back to business soon!!

(Luo Binghe is having the closest thing to astral travel. Why does that boy who looks like a young and sweet version of Shen Qingqiu know the patterns of Qing Jing so well? Is he his own "kind" Shen Qingqiu in this world? So why does he act like this and not like a haughty teacher? What should he do?

At least he brought him to his palace. He's not sure if he's the person he's looking for, but, well... he's not really going to let him out of his sight. Just in case.)

[kisspurins]

Whats your thoughts on mean dom sohee??🤔😳

FIRST SOHEE ASK WOOHOOOO!!!!!! hi hi nonie i absolutely have thoughts abt mean dom sohee 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

୨୧ warnings｜dark content，very mean dom sohee，strong power play dynamics，humiliation，degradation，mean names and words used against reader，dildo play，nudes，slapping，manhandling，reader gets called pet

i feel like sohee can actually easily be one of the meanest.... he feels very into power play n humiliation to make sure you and everybody else knows who's in charge :( he seems so sweet too n such a lovely boyfriend to everyone else too!!! and he really really is!! always has a hand on you when you're in public, everyone knows he always updates you on things when you're not together and hes such a gentleman!!! but nobody knows his hand on you is to keep close ownership over you :( its a way to remind you not to step out of line bcs later he'll be quick to fix that attitude!!! or that his little updates when he steps aside is really him sending you gross messages :( telling you to send him a picture of your bare cunt or a picture of him flexing his arm veins to rile you up :( maybe even pictures with your tongue stuck out n your dildo he bought you all messy from spit from him making you deep throat it and send videos !!!!!!!

would love humiliation sooo much :( always makes it a point if the boys are talking about fucking around you or it comes up to mention how much you would do for him :( says how wet you get when he slaps you around or chokes you, pointing out how you're probably clenching thinking about it and its so embarrassing because you are :( legs pressed so tight together and you can barely look him in the eye :( would call you pet.... his pretty pet n guides you on your knees n makes you crawl around just so the boys see how much he has over you :( can never fight back too afraid of what he would do to you

speaking of dildo's sohee is the type to make you "put on a show" but its him forcing you to your knees n making you get yourself off in front of him :( rubbing your cunny with your fingers n if you're not leaking through your panties fast enough he adds that to the number of spanks you'll get :( making you strech yourself out n cum all over your dildo for him :(( watches with such a scary face n his knuckles so red from how hard hes gripping onto the couch :( tells you how fast or slow you can go with your dildo n if you don't listen hes gonna get so mad :( calls you all sorts of names :( sayings how dumb n pathetic you are for not even being able to pay attention or listen to him :( just a stupid bitch n you wanna cry but if you cry he can get meaner </3 (he also chokes and slaps you when you're being hardheaded.... would be holding onto his hand when he chokes you, eyes all teary n red n he shakes you around n tells you to fucking pay attention)

sohee loves making you feel so mentally weak that you don't have it in you to physically do anything!! loves how he can make you drop down to such a low subspace :( uses that to his advantage when playing with you :( dragging you around by your hair and folding you into whatever fuckable position he wants you in!!!! only thing you can think abt is serving him and being the perfect fuckdoll <33 feeling you struggle under him and you sound so weak n defeated asking him to be a lil nicer :( and the best part is how he can look you in the eyes and tell you no because you belong to him