#this is the fucking SECOND TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED. what the FUCK

[ms-demeanor]

what. what happens when you plug both ends of an ethernet cable into a switcher?

It creates a loop where the traffic that the switch is sending out gets redirected back into the switch and then tries to send out and then goes back into the switch and then tries to send out and then goes back into the switch and eventually someone figures out that someone plugged the network into itself and has to track down where that happened and everyone gets real mad.

It's the kind of thing that you have to plan carefully to avoid when you're building networks and network architects/engineers spend a lot of time working to avoid loops in complicated networks and that can get fucked up in a second if someone just does something stupid with a cable.

My old boss Gary, for all that he was a huge asshole, hated firing people. The first person I ever saw him fire was a tech who, on his first day, took down our client site when he plugged a switch back into itself to "tidy things up" and then didn't admit that he'd done it for six hours.

That guy probably shouldn't have been sent out to a client site his first day, but he was shadowing a senior tech and wasn't really supposed to be doing anything.

We had a client last week who borked their network because someone didn't want to leave a cable hanging loose from a switch but also didn't want to unplug the cable because they thought it might get lost. So they plugged the loose end into an empty port.

Basically this:

[nadvs]

the power play (part six)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe drives down the dark street, silent while his mind races and whirls with regret.

He shouldn’t have offered to come with you tonight. He shouldn’t have let himself see you like that, with all your friends, with the guy who’s blind to how lucky he is that you love him.

Envy courses through him, burning and vicious. Who would he be if he had a life like Beck, surrounded by people who loved him? Why couldn’t he have that? Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone you’d want?

“You might be right,” you say happily. “Maybe Beck is jealous. He wouldn’t stop looking at me tonight.”

Rafe is still in his head. He hated that your eyes wouldn’t stay on his at that party. That other eyes were on you.

“Neither would that guy who plays for Hatfield,” he mutters.

“Marcus?” You sink further into the passenger seat, settling in for the hour-long drive back to campus. “What do you mean?”

He rubs his jaw, reminded of how warm your cheek felt on his when you whispered to him during that stupid game of truth or dare.

“He likes you, too,” he says.

You have to laugh.

“No way.”

“So, he’s never tried anything,” Rafe states, unconvinced.

You look out your window as he turns onto a busier street. Through your high school days, Lyla had implied that Marcus had a crush on you, but you refuted it every time.

“Well…” You sigh. “Lyla thinks because he asked me to a dance one time, it meant something, but he told me himself he was asking me as a friend.”

“He said that to not look like a loser if you shot him down,” Rafe huffs.

“I’m not so sure,” you say.

His pain weighs even heavier. It’s messing with him how you imply that guys don’t look at you like that. It took you this long to say that maybe Beck’s jealous.

You’re oblivious to the effect you have on people. On him.

Frustration wrenches in his chest and his words come out unfiltered.

“You really are clueless about this shit,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

It’s the first time Rafe’s words truly cut into you. You’re used to his brashness, to how he doesn’t hesitate to let you know when you’re irritating him, and normally it makes you laugh or roll your eyes.

But this stings. And it throws away the joy you’d felt seconds ago. You’re already painfully aware that you’re inexperienced, having spent so much time stuck on one guy who kept you trapped in a confusing loop.

Despite the pang in your heart, it’s comforting to know, to really know, that you could never like Rafe like that.

You’ve seen bits of tenderness in him, but he’s more hard, icy edges than anything else, and he’s not the type of person you’d ever feel safe giving your heart to.

At least you know you’ll be able to avoid Rafe hurting you the way Beck has.

Rafe glances over to see you turned away, your dejected pout reflected in the window. He hates himself for being such a dick, but fuck, it kills him that you act like it’s ridiculous that someone could have feelings for you.

He’s falling off the edge right in front of you and you don’t see it. And it dawns on him that it’s a good thing you don’t, because you wouldn’t fall with him.

“That was mean,” you say quietly. You look over and catch glimpses of the writing you left on the inside of his wrist as the streetlights flood in and out of the car. “Even for you.”

The thinness of your voice is a razor that slices into him.

“You’re not always right about everything, okay?” Rafe says stiffly.

“I never said I was,” you reply. You look out the window again and take a moment before you continue speaking. “But what happened with Beck did mess with my confidence, if that’s what you’re getting at. And you’re not making it any better.”

Knowing he’s only adding to your baseless insecurities cuts him deeper.

“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbles. He stares ahead as he pulls onto the freeway. “All I’m tryin’ to say is that you don’t need to be so jaded just because one asshole strung you along.”

Your ache numbs a little. In his own, tactless way, he’s attempting to help.

“Your approach needs work,” you say flatly, “but I see your point.”

Tension sinks between you, every sense of camaraderie gone. And Rafe is desperate to undo it, to make you feel better.

“You can tell you’re getting to him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say in a hush, although the high of witnessing Beck’s jealousy is gone now.

It’s satisfying to know he’s seeing what he’s missing, but it hurts that you had to go to these lengths for it to happen. It hurts that you still care.

“Good,” he says.

Rafe’s met with no response. And he wants to beg you to speak. His lips part, heart hammering.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice fractures the silence.

You bite your lip, remembering the first time you were in this car, when Rafe suggested he drive you back home because you wouldn’t stop talking.

Now, he wants you to talk, and if he didn’t ask, you wouldn’t offer up your thoughts like you usually do. Not after that dig.

“You ever wish you could make yourself not care about something?” you eventually say.

“All the time,” he admits within an exhale of relief that you answered him.

“Really?” you ask, your brows lifted in surprise.

He knows he manages to seem like he doesn’t give a shit about most things. It’s a defense mechanism that works until his anger gets so heavy that he cracks.

He refuses to crack in front of you again. Right now, he’s okay with giving you the vulnerability you’re always trying to coax out of him if it means you’ll be you again.

“She told you I wouldn’t move on, right?” he says sardonically.

You gaze at him, reminded of the way his ex had laughed when she told you he wouldn’t stop bothering her.

“I kept trying to work things out and I – I wish I didn’t.” He shakes his head, embarrassed. “And I don’t even want to be with her now, but I care enough to want to piss her off. I know that’s not normal.”

You eyes are fixed on the license plate of the car ahead of you. The things you know about his past relationship, things that Emma said, things that he said, come together to paint an ugly picture.

“I think it’s how a lot of people would feel,” you say. “It doesn’t sound like she was very nice to you.”

Rafe knows he could be just as poisonous, raising his voice and escalating fights, but Emma made him feel like he was insane for being human.

Any time he was hurt, she said he was overreacting. He wasn’t allowed to be angry. To be sad. To be anything.

And he always feared she was right. He was too much, felt too much. He’d heard it from so many people, the first and loudest voice being his father’s.

“She wasn’t,” he answers. “I wasn’t, either.”

You don’t doubt it. You can only imagine how vicious their arguments were.

“Can I tell you something?” you say.

He’s upset, but he takes a page out of your book, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he mumbles.

Despite yourself, you chuckle.

“You already very kindly established that I’m no expert on relationships,” you say, your joke splitting the tension, “but do you ever think that maybe things were toxic between you?”

You’re prying again, but Rafe’s relieved you are, because it means you’re okay.

Maybe his relationship was toxic, but he doesn’t know otherwise. It’s how he operates, always on the cusp of chaos, always on the edge of imploding.

“What?” he asks, just to stall.

“You said you wanted to hurt each other when you fought, right?”

The tires continue to rapidly roll over the asphalt with rhythmic pats, the wind whooshing over the windows.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you fight about?”

“Everything,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I have a short fuse and I – I say shit I don’t mean, but she acted like she never did anything wrong.”

“That’s hard to deal with,” you sympathize. “What’d she do wrong?”

He grits his teeth. The memory of how Emma would shut him down whenever he had a problem with something she did flashes through his mind like a bad dream he wants to forget.

“She acted like she only liked me when I was happy,” he tells you, on edge, in disbelief that he’s hearing his voice admit these things.

“What would she do when you weren’t?” you ask.

His jaw tenses, the memories of Emma’s shouted words a punch to the gut.

“She’d tell me to grow up,” he says dryly.

Rafe is sure you’d never say something like that to him, but there’s still an alarm going off in his head that he’s opening up too much, giving you what you need to hurt him, sharing criticism that you might silently agree with.

Every piece that he shares with you could serve as proof that he’s a catastrophe of a man that you’d be better off staying away from.

You look down at your lap, your heart pinching. The space between you is delicate, fragile, a bond you never could have imagined growing between you.

You’re upset to think about how Rafe clearly already doesn’t really do feelings and was made to feel bad for showing his to his girlfriend.

Emma had called him pathetic, but you feel that the word describes her instead.

“That’s not fair,” you say. “Nobody deserves to hear that from someone who’s supposed to care about them.”

He only offers a rigid shrug.

You’re still curious about what he told you when you asked him why he liked her. He’d said things were simple with her, that she made him feel uncomplicated, but it sounds like all they did was bicker.

You want to know why he tried to get back together after they’d had such a rocky relationship, why he’d called her crying.

“You said she made things easy?” you say.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not sure how much more of this conversation he can take.

“When we weren’t fighting, we had fun,” he explains. “I didn’t have to think about anything, you know?”

And she never pushed to see the pieces of himself that he hides. And all you do is push, so why the hell is he losing his mind over a girl who’s done nothing but try to make him face what he runs from?

But when he looks at you again through the darkness, it’s like he can see how good you are.

And that’s why.

That’s why you’ve taken him captive. You’re warm, the way you find joy in almost everything, the way you’re unabashedly yourself, the way you want to understand people for who they really are.

You take in his awestruck expression, looking like he can’t believe he just told you all that.

You get it now. Emma didn’t want to deal with the heavy stuff. And it worked for him. Until it didn’t. It doesn’t sound like they had that deep of a connection if she punished him for having feelings.

“I really don’t like her,” you say quietly.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “Brutal coming from you.”

You chuckle. Rafe takes a few breaths before he speaks again, hating that he actually feels shy right now.

“Sorry I said…” He trails off, not wanting to repeat the word clueless. He went too far. “You’re smart, okay?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times,” you laugh.

“We friends again?”

You smirk.

“Maybe if you say please,” you say.

“Shut up,” he laughs.

“Hmm.” You squint. “Try again.”

You watch him with an expectant expression, a playful smile on your face.

“Please,” he mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alright, you don’t have to beg,” you chuckle.

Rafe groans in annoyance and you laugh again, picked back up out of your low mood.

You get the feeling of being linked to him again, the one you had when you watched him from the stands before you even spoke.

He’s wading through the pieces of a broken relationship, and you’re trying to shake yourself out of infatuation, and they’re different circumstances, but you both need the same thing. To not care anymore.

“I read something about how the opposite of love isn’t hate,” you say. “It’s indifference. Eventually, you won’t care about what she thinks. And you’ll find the girl you need when the time’s right.”

Rafe stares ahead.

“Yeah,” is all he can say. Because he’s already found the girl he needs. She just doesn’t need him back.

════════

In the span of almost five days, Rafe has gone from bad to worse.

On Sunday, the team just barely won the first game of the tournament. He watched from the bench, pissed off beyond belief watching the gameplay. They were lucky the opponents’ offense was so choppy.

It was both frustrating and validating when his coach told him that he hopes Rafe can play game two, because defense is suffering without him.

Yesterday, he saw the team’s physical therapist. He managed to move his arm with full mobility, but still felt a minor, stubborn pinch. He was cleared for game two, so long as he saw a doctor to get imaging done and make sure he wasn’t putting himself at risk.

He had the appointment this morning and he’s already dreading the call with the results. He can’t lose hockey. It’s the one thing keeping him sane.

Now, he’s walking under the hot afternoon sun, on his way to an off-campus uptown cafe you’d suggested for your tutoring session. He had to park two blocks away after looking for a spot for ages.

He’s in a foul mood, rereading your text just so he doesn’t take it out on you. You gave him the head’s up that this place is usually busy and parking could be tough, offering to stick with the library if he preferred.

He went along with what you wanted, because he’d rather not let you down. At this point, it hurts seeing any hint of sadness on your face. He’s still pissed off at himself for what he said to you in his car last weekend.

He steps into the small cafe, the air smelling of coffee, the machines whirring over overlapping conversations. He finds you in the corner, your head adorably tilted in thought as you type on your laptop.

The knot in his stomach loosens once you look up and smile at him.

Every morning, every afternoon, every night, you’re on his mind. You’ve thrown him completely off center, dominating every second of his day, the longing to see you when he’s not with you insatiable.

Rafe strides towards you between full tables, and you take a moment to drink him in, the strong, self-assured way he walks, never the type to act like he thinks he doesn’t belong wherever he is.

“Hey,” you say. “Was parking okay?”

“You warned me.” He pulls out the chair across from you, dragging it across the hardwood. You shut your laptop. “Why are we here? I got that tattoo for nothing?”

You glance at his wrist to see that the marker has washed off.

“It’s gone anyway,” you giggle. “I thought we could use a change of scenery. Plus, this place has the best treats.”

You slide a small brown paper bag towards him.

“I’ll trade you for your laptop,” you say.

Minutes later, you’re checking in on his grades. Your stomach drops when you see a warning in red text next to last week’s submission link.

7 days late.

“Rafe,” you say soberly. “You forgot to send it in.”

You look up at him from across the table, confusion creased into his features as he finishes chewing.

“Remember, last week?” you say. “Your laptop died and I told you to submit the essay before midnight?”

He readjusts his posture.

“It’s not a big deal,” he sighs defensively.

“It’s 5% lost every day,” you reply. “I’ll submit it now.”

He scowls, agitation rippling over his features. It discredits the text that Lyla sent you the morning after her birthday party, not that you believed it anyway.

My mom said it’s cute how obviously in love Rafe is with you.

The way he’s looking at you right now is the farthest thing from love. Like he said, he’s a great liar.

“This matters,” you reiterate. Rafe glances away. It’s hurtful to witness how disinterested he is.

You submit the assignment, displeased by his apathy, reminded of how much his bad attitude and moodiness can get to you, but try to remain positive.

“Let’s see what you have so far,” you say, opening his draft document. “This week’s discussion question is about the significance of time in the novel. Did you notice it was sometimes spelled with a capital T?”

Your brows pinch in concentration as you lean forward, reading what he’s put together. It’s sparse, disjointed, just like his work when you first started tutoring him. It’s like he’s gone backwards.

You look up at him, but his eyes are downcast, lips turned down. Something’s wrong.

“You didn’t get much time to work on it?” you say, keeping a kind tone to your voice.

“This book made no sense,” he mutters.

“It is pretty convoluted,” you say. “But there’s substance to it. I like how it explores the idea of friendship. Speaking of, friends tell each other when something’s wrong, so get to talking.”

If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d think you're trying to hurt him.

Disappointing you was painful enough. It’s why his instinct was to act like that late assignment wasn’t a big deal; because then, he wouldn’t have to accept that he was messing up in front of you yet again.

And now, you’re rubbing it in that you only see him as a friend, adding salt to the wound.

“It’s been a shitty week,” he admits.

You lean over to push the bag of treats a little closer to him, earning a nearly silent chuckle.

“Is your shoulder feeling okay?” you ask.

“I had to do some scans,” he says. “I’m waiting to see if I can play. But I’m good.”

Your lips purse in thought. It’s like Rafe is nothing but knee-jerk reactions, snapping when he’s mad, direct about when he’s annoyed, but he hides everything else, as if he’s telling himself he’s not allowed to feel anything besides anger.

You wonder if he was always like that, or if his last relationship left that particular scar.

“Is midterm season getting to you?” you ask. “Because it’s getting to me. Studying’s hard enough and now I have a group project that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“It’s that bad?” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“You know when you’re put into a group with guys who think dropping paragraphs into a slide deck counts as contributing?” you say. “And when you try to meet up outside of class to practice the presentation, they pretend they didn’t see your text? Does that kind of stuff not happen to you?”

A smile pulls on his lips.

“Just me, then,” you reply.

“Do I need to talk to anyone?” he asks, and he realizes he’s only half-joking.

“You mean like, to threaten them? Only if you can fit it in your schedule,” you joke. “I don’t want to put you out.”

You think he’s kidding. He’s not. He feels insanely protective over you, and while he can see that you’re not that bothered by this, he’d get those idiots you’re working with in line if you needed him to.

This is only getting more difficult. He wants to tell you that he’s serious. That he’d do anything to make things easier for you, that you don’t deserve to be ignored, that you should cut this act out and be with him for real.

But he has to accept that while he’s spent his life being ruthlessly honest about what he thinks about people, good or bad, he needs to swallow down his words around you.

He can’t talk like that with a girl who’d never want him. Who he’d never recover from getting rejected by.

“You know you can tell me when something’s bothering you, right?” you say. “It’s not like I’d…”

You don’t finish your sentence, your gaze soft. He can tell you’re trying to reassure him that you wouldn’t criticize him for being stressed like his ex used to, the reminder of your last conversation planting discomfort in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he utters, eyes darting away again. You nod. So he does care. And now you feel bad if you made him feel ridiculed.

“Was I too intense?” you say dolefully. “I’m sorry. I just want you to do well. We worked hard on that assignment and it’s a waste of effort to lose points for lateness.”

You pull out your notebook, full of study notes you took last semester.

“It’s okay,” you conclude. “It’s just one assignment. We’ll finish up this essay and then start prepping for the midterm.”

Rafe’s muscles loosen, in awe of how quickly you just turned his mood around.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, “do you want me to come to the next game? I can drive up with Lyla. It’s an away, right? This Saturday?”

“You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” you laugh.

“Yeah, you should come,” Rafe says after a beat. “If I play.”

“Deal,” you say with a grin.

He’s hopeful you follow through. Because even if you’re there as a friend, as all you’ll ever want to be to him, he plays better knowing you’re watching.

════════

Rafe sits on the team bus on the way to game two, his eyes following the dips and valleys of lush trees lining the road. Music buzzes in his earbuds, his fingers interlaced in his lap, his knees bouncing.

He needs this before big games; the closest he can get to solitude, confining himself into his own mind, finding focus.

He’d never liked quiet until he started playing hockey. He chased noise, commotion, distractions. And he still gets his dose of chaos with every game, but it’s always preceded by this stillness. This moment he gives himself for the calm before the storm.

He got the call yesterday. The scans came back fine. They showed nothing serious, no signs of tearing, no reason for him to be freaking out.

Rafe texted you right away, finding himself wanting to tell you of all people the good news first, even before his coach.

As expected, you responded with an enthusiastic message telling him you couldn’t wait to cheer him on. The focus he’s trying to find right now keeps getting derailed by thoughts of you.

The song fades out, replaced with ringing. He picks up his phone to see that you’re video-calling him.

His stomach flips and he feels like a little kid with a crush on a girl in his class. The effect you have on him is starting to get really damn embarrassing.

Your pretty face appears on his screen, the backdrop a well-lit ceiling and colorful display shelves.

“Hello,” you greet him cheerfully. “We just stopped at a gas station. Do you want me to grab something for you for after the game? You know, because you’ll need nutrients and electrolytes and all that.”

“I will?” he says, his lips turned up in a smirk. “No shit?”

“Okay, I’m just being nice,” you laugh. “Don’t you get tired of being so sarcastic all the time?”

“Not really,” he replies.

Isaac, who always sits beside him on these drives, hears Rafe mumbling. He leans over and gazes at the screen.

You see the corner of Isaac’s face, then grin and wave.

“Hey, I have a really quick question,” Isaac says.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“She said to leave her alone,” Rafe murmurs.

“I did not,” you laugh, realizing only Rafe can hear you through his earbuds.

“Lies,” Isaac says. “I have this essay that’s killing me. You’re good at that stuff, right? Could you look at it for me? Please? It’s a huge chunk of my grade.”

“Sure,” you say with a nod. “Send it to me. You can get my email from Rafe.”

“She said no,” Rafe says.

“I saw her nod,” Isaac retorts.

“I’ll give you her email, alright?” Rafe says impatiently. “You done now? I’m trying to talk to my girl.”

Isaac feigns offense and leans away after giving you a thankful smile.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” he tells you.

“Suit yourself,” you say. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says simply, because he can’t be honest that he’s nervous about this game, nervous that he’ll mess up his shoulder again, nervous that he’s falling so hard for you that you could shatter him without even knowing it.

His mind is blank, words refusing to form.

“Okay,” you say, unhappy he’s being so short with you.

You don’t know what you did wrong, why he gets so irritated with you all the time. You’d called him impulsively, only ten minutes into your drive with Lyla when you stopped to buy a drink, but you assumed you were in a good enough place to call whenever you felt like it.

It’s all too familiar, this sinking feeling of questioning what a guy thinks of you, just like you always did with Beck. You know things between you and Rafe are platonic, but you thought he’d like to hear from you, because you like to hear from him.

Still, you can’t pretend that the sound of him calling you his girl didn’t make your heart lift with an unwelcome warmth. You remind yourself it’s a lie. Beck’s surely sitting close by, overhearing Rafe’s words.

“I’ll see you after the game,” you say low-spiritedly.

Rafe grimaces, guilt sinking into his bones. You’d once told him he makes you feel annoying and you were joking, but he hates to think that he’s really making you feel like that.

“How ���bout you?” he asks hurriedly. “How’s your drive been?”

“Aside from Lyla’s road rage?” you joke.

“I do not have road rage,” Lyla defends herself with a playful gasp from the other side of the aisle.

Rafe watches as you look off-screen, the corners of your eyes crinkled as you laugh.

“Be careful,” he says, worry icing his chest. “Tell her to drive safe.”

“Oh, my God, I do!” Lyla half-shouts with a laugh. “Is he always that protective?”

“It’s why I like him so much,” you answer.

This is the point where Rafe would just be direct. He doesn’t play games. Never has. He’d ask you, straight up, the next time you're alone, if you meant that or if you were just faking affection in front of your best friend.

But he can’t do that when he already knows the answer. You told him yourself last weekend. I like you. Just not like that. Imagining something more with you just makes him a masochist.

“I’m offended that your boyfriend doesn’t trust me,” Lyla says.

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” you counter playfully. You look back at the screen. “I’ll let you go. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Look what I found,” Lyla sing-songs. She holds up a bottle of the drink you’ve been looking for.

“I love you,” you tell her.

Hearing you say those words and knowing they’ll never be directed to him is its own brand of agony. And it’s so soft, so insane that he’s already thinking about love, but you’ve thrown him for such a loop that he can’t control it.

He catches his reflection in the corner of the screen. It’s almost unbelievable how good he is at it, looking so careless, numb, when his heart is cracking down the middle.

“Good luck today,” you say to him. “You don’t need it, though.”

“Thanks,” Rafe replies. “See you.”

You hang up.

“For a second, I thought you were telling Rafe you love him,” Lyla says.

“Oh,” you laugh, turning to look at the items on the shelves again. “No.”

“Do you?” she asks. “Or do you see it getting to that point?”

“Maybe,” you reply.

“You’re giving me crumbs,” she whines.

You meet your best friend’s eyes, having already heard her complaints about how little you share about your relationship. You’re tight-lipped about Rafe because you’d rather not have to stomach the shame of feeding Lyla lies.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

“Everything. Start with the juicy stuff. Have you guys kissed?”

Imagining what it’d be like to kiss Rafe makes your stomach flutter. You wonder if his kisses would be like him; rushed, hard, impatient, or if he’d be soft and gentle and slow.

Your cheeks burn as you think about it, once again trying to pull yourself back into reality.

“Lots of times,” you say with a shrug.

“Have you guys…?” She raises her brows.

You laugh nervously. Her brother saw you leaving Rafe’s room. You doubt they’d ever gossip about you like that, but it’s better to keep the lies consistent.

You nod in response.

“And?”

“Let’s not do this here,” you chuckle, playing it off. “I don’t want strangers overhearing.”

Less than a minute after you hang up, Isaac gets Rafe’s attention with a nudge. He takes out an earbud.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Isaac says, “but how’d you get her to like you?”

“How the hell do I take that the right way?” he replies.

“No offense. She’s just so… nice,” Isaac tells him. “It’s a good thing. I can tell you’re happy. Way happier than you were with what’s-her-name.”

Rafe suggested this ploy so it’d seem that way. But with time, with getting to know you, with seeing what it’s like to be someone you care about, it’s become the truth.

════════

The game is hardly a nailbiter. Within the first period, you can tell the opponents aren’t strong contenders. It ends in an easy win.

You catch Rafe’s gaze a few times throughout the game, but you don’t get a chance to talk to him. On your way back to campus, he texts you that the team is celebrating their win in one of the common rooms in the athletes’ dorm building.

Lyla parks and before you can let her know you’ll call Rafe to come downstairs, she pulls out her phone.

“Hey,” she says after a pause. “Can you come down and let us in?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, stomach turning. You know she’s talking to her brother.

“I could’ve called Rafe,” you say nervously when you step out of the car, walking side-by-side to the building.

“It’s no problem,” she says. You can tell that she thinks she did you a favor by taking care of it, but these days, being around Beck brings you an unwelcome, awkward tension.

Beck lets you in, holding the front door open as you exchange casual greetings. You pace through the lobby and the elevator door slides shut behind you.

Beck stands by the buttons, Lyla leans against the corner between you, and you cross your arms and look up at the numbers changing.

“When’s the last time just the three of us hung out?” Lyla says lightheartedly. “And this doesn’t count.”

Your eyes flit up to Beck, whose stare is already on you. Lyla has no idea what’s gone on between you, that an unspoken heaviness has settled between you since that day in front of his exam room last semester.

Does he regret it? Does he want to take it back? Does he wish he’d never spent years leading you on and just pursued you from the beginning? Does he want to tell you what he’s really thinking? Will he ever?

The questions swirl through your head, a pattern that, at this point, you could do in your sleep.

And you realize that the answers don’t matter. Not really. Because if it takes a lie, a delusion that you’re with another man for Beck to see your worth, he never deserved you in the first place.

It gives you hope that you’re finally taking back your heart, piece by piece.

You need to allow yourself to see who you are without this hold he has on you. To love yourself instead of waiting for somebody else to. To give yourself space to be you, unencumbered by what anyone else thinks.

“It has been a long time,” you say. “I think we’ve all just been swamped.”

“Swamped?” Beck asks you. “You doing okay?”

His eyes drift over your face, shadowed with a hint of sadness.

The elevator reaches its stop. The doors open with the ding of a bell. And you nod.

“Yeah,” you answer. “My head has never been clearer, actually.”

════════

Rafe was hoping you’d still be wearing his jersey, rubbing it in Beck’s face that you’re wearing his name, no matter if it is just a ploy.

His throat tightens when his eyes land on you as you step into the common room, taking you in as he leans against the armrest of a couch. You’re not in his jersey. And you’re with Lyla and Beck.

His heart sinks. Why didn’t you call him to come get you?

“Hey,” you say, beaming at Rafe as you approach him. “You were great tonight.”

You pull him into a hug, arms draped around his wide shoulders, inhaling the smell of his body wash.

Part of you is embracing him because it’s what a girlfriend would do. The other part is because it feels good to be held by someone who knows just how much pain you’ve been holding onto.

Rafe’s hands tighten at your waist, his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“Pretty relaxed celebration,” you say, looking around when you part. Teammates and their friends and girlfriends are scattered around the room, grouped in different conversations.

You look at Rafe again and you swear that he’s somehow getting more handsome the longer you know him. Being inches away from him after daydreaming about kissing him makes the realization all the more overpowering.

The only thing you can feel is frustration because this is the last thing you need, to jump from liking one guy to another. Especially to one who has proven that he’d only hurt you.

You need your crush on Rafe to remain superficial. Any deeper and you’re just opening yourself up to more heartache.

“Yeah, this is really lowkey,” Lyla agrees with you. “You guys didn’t have it in you to party?”

“We’re pretty worn out,” Beck explains.

“Are you?” you ask Rafe, gazing up at him in that way that he’s grown to adore.

He is. He’s exhausted. And he’d fucking love it if you could go to his room just down the hall, lie in his bed together, doze off wrapped up in each other.

“Getting there,” he replies.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Lyla says, then looks at you. “Or whatever it is you do.”

“Lyla,” you groan with a laugh. She slips away, prompting Beck to do the same. Nowadays, he seems to hate being around you when you’re with Rafe.

“What was that about?” Rafe murmurs to you quietly.

You lean on the armrest, settled next to him with your arm pressed against his, finding that you’ve grown to enjoy the conversations you’re always having outside of the crowds, the feeling of being tucked away into privacy together.

“She’s annoyed that I’ve been so secretive,” you reply just as quietly. “I don’t give her details about us, but can you blame me?”

“What does she want to know?”

“If we’ve kissed and… stuff,” you say, looking at the floor, feeling too awkward to tell him the truth. “I said yeah, but I couldn’t exactly come up with details about something that never happened.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, staring while your gaze stays on the floor.

“You tellin’ me you want to break your ‘no kissing’ rule?” he asks in a joking tone, as if his heart is pounding in his ears right now.

“No,” you chuckle, looking back up at him. “I still want my first kiss to be real.”

It’s the first time he doesn’t like the sound of your laugh, because it’s apparently funny to you to consider having genuine feelings for him.

He swallows down the bitterness, determined not to punish you for his own pain. He’s done that before and he hated himself for it.

“If I played so great, why’d you take off my jersey?” he asks.

He didn’t his best tonight, feeling pricks of pain in his shoulder only a few minutes into the game. It made him afraid of getting into any hard collisions. He’s never been like that. It’s just as aggravating as it is depressing.

You lace your fingers together in your lap, fidgeting.

“I left it in the car,” you answer. You don’t offer him anything else, a faraway look in your eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You breathe out slowly, still in disbelief of how easily Rafe can read you. It’s a good thing you’re not really falling for him. He’d be able to tell.

“You’re too perceptive,” you murmur. He smirks. “It was just a weird elevator ride.”

“You could’ve called me to let you in.”

“Lyla called him before I could.” You clear your throat. “I’m finally seeing him act how I always wanted him to and… it doesn’t feel like I thought it would.”

Rafe studies you intently, hanging onto your words like they’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Everything that happened with him made me so insecure,” you confess. “And I think I shouldn’t date for real until I’m totally over him.”

At least Rafe won’t see you with another guy once you call this off, but now he’s wondering if he’ll see you at all, if you want to stay friends with someone like him, if he can manage being platonic with a girl who has so ruthlessly claimed his heart.

“And that’ll be long after we stage a mature, civil breakup where we mutually decide we’re better as friends,” you say. “And we are staying friends, got it?”

You offer him a smile. He returns it, relieved that you answered his unspoken concern, lucky that you want him around at all.

Rafe hopes you mean it, that you’re not just being nice. He can’t not have you in his life. He’ll just have to get used to quietly wanting you.

“Do we have to?” he teases, keeping his pain hidden.

You breathe a laugh, gently elbowing him, the contact making your heart feel a little less heavy.

It’s moments like these, when Rafe jokes with you and flashes his dimpled grin and shows glimmers of softness, that you worry your feelings will plunge into dangerous territory.

But you spent too long silently hoping someone would like you back. You can’t do it again.

(to be continued)

author’s note my bad… i love a man yearning too much to end it just yet… slowest slowburn i’ve ever written stg

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[avaredava]

Safe word?

Master list's

⯌Sum

You said your safe word and boy does the jjk men freak out.

Satoru Gojo

That man was plunging into you, talking about his day not exactly paying attention to you. It wasn't bad or anything it was a bit weird though because the angrier he got the more rough.

"And this stupid fucking-" thrust "higher up keeps being a total-" thrust "bitches."

It was starting to hurt but seeing the annoyed look in Satorus eye just made you feel bad. So you stayed silent.

But the fact that he also wasn't really giving a shit, just talking about the people he hates and being kinda oblivious to what's happening makes your stomach and heart hurt and not in the good, orgasmic way.

Sex is supposed to be loveable, and sacred not something for fun. Yeah, people might not agree but that's how you and Satoru were.

You start to cry, again, scared of the beast that's plunging into like you're just a pocket pussy. And fuck he takes it the wrong way.

He started pounding faster.

"Stupid fucking slut, you always want more, nothing else. Whore."

The fact that's the only thing he's really said to you the whole time, and it was a mean thing, you just start to sob and a cracked up safe word comes out.

He pulls out instantly. He was checking your face and body, then something truely shook him to his core his the bit of blood on his cock.

"Fuck baby, I'm so, so sorry." And what really made him gasp was when you flinched away when he tried to touch you.

"Listen do you want anything? Maybe a hot bath and a massage or cuddles? If you don't want me here I understand, I would either so-"

You giggle at his rambling and a bit of pressure comes off his chest but he's still extremely stressed and worried. But it's for you this time.

"Maybe a bath and you in it for cuddles..."

You never seen that man run that fast. And just because he accidentally hurt you, you knew he's never gonna do something that ever again. The fear in his eyes? That made you know he loves you to the very deep of his heart.

After all, you're his girl.

Nanami Kento

Nanami Kento is never rough. That man is scared to break you with one touch. He treats you like a porcelain doll. Hence the nickname doll he has for you.

He treats you like an absolute princess, no queen. And the sex is even better, constantly checking in and out with you.

It's so intimate.

And you love every god damn second. He touches you in places you wouldn't know felt good.

You're ovulating right now and he has a long ass work trip. And you have bad ovulations and Nanami always takes care of you.

But since he was leaving soon you couldn't have him for a while. So you need him now, and make sure you're well taken care of and you won't need him frequently.

So he decided to have a long ass sex session, to the point where your crying of overstimulation. But in the best way possible. So that's what he did. Or tried.

Mid sex when his thick cock was rubbing against your g-spot and slowly going to your cervix, the deep lust, loving look in his eyes made your thighs shake and breath get shallow mere seconds from sharp breathing.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as his hands were moving up and down your body as he rubbed your nipples and massaged your hips.

God this was great.

Until a ring from his boss came through. He answers and his voice was formal as his hand was wrapped around your throat gently making sure you stay quiet.

His thrusts began to become more deep, he started to kinda zone out. But it felt too good and you started have breathy moans.

And they started to get louder.

And louder...

Until he was so in his call and he needed you to shut up he wrapped his hand around your throat too hard. You started to have breathing problems but you kinda kept moaning too.

He just thought it was just you being pleasured so he wrapped his arm around tighter. And now you couldn't talk. And you started to get fucking scared. Your arms are pinned down so you couldn't move.

You choked up your safe word. But he didn't hear, and you started to panic. You started to mildly scream, and he looked down and quickly hung up and let out.

You started to have a raspy cry. He quickly pulled out and threw his phone. He quickly realized the bruising on your neck. He kissed all over your neck and when you flinched he practically threw himself back.

He pulled you on his lap and bounced you on it. "You're on sex ban Nanami."

"Okay."

He held you so close, fuck he could live without sex but he couldn't live with out you. And he whispered that all night. Making sure you knew that. Also he did absolutely not go on that work trip. He stayed in bed with you.

He didn't give a shit about his stupid job. He gave so many stupid shits about you though.

Toji Fushiguro

Disrespect Toji? You're gonna get punished.

And you were a little shit sometimes, and you knew that. He usually just fucks you for hours. And you love it. But he realized it's not teaching you anything much so he has a new strategy.

He decided to slap that cute ass. He was repeatedly hitting just making you moan and squirm. He did some slaps as his fingers plunged his fingers in and out.

But once again you loved it. The little bit of pain and his muscular fingers massaging you g-spot over and over. So of course you were about to cum. So he edged you a bunch.

That wasn't too bad. And of course you liked it. So he took his fingers fully out and you whined. He started to slap again.

The room was dim with light and he was sitting on the edge of the bed with you're draped over his lap. And of course your ass is up.

He realized you're still moaning so he started slapping harder... And harder.

Until it was starting to sting and you began whinging. He started to slap harder because he thought you were enjoying.

You let out little ows with tears in your eyes. He laughed.

"You deserve it. Dumb bitch."

That just cracked your heart open so you let out a little broken safe work softly repeated over and over. And when he stopped you kept mumbling it.

He knew he fucked up.

When you barely reacted to him gently saying your name it took him a few seconds to look down from your face and it hit him that your ass is red and covered with deep purple bruises.

He pulled the cover over both of you. And he went under it. He was gently kissing the burning sensation covering your butt and it made you melt feeling the warmness of lips fluttering over your ass made you smile to sleep.

The next morning he was pretending like nothing happened. But you realized he also put massage oils on your ass and also massaged it, duh. It didn't hurt.

And he denied the fact that you felt small wet droplets falling on your ass when he was kissing it.

Suguru Geto

Suguru Geto was obsessed with eating you out.

So that is why he is eating you out with the fullest of the top notch pussy eating. Making out with it like he hasn't seen it in years, even though he was doing the same thing last night.

And it never gets worse. Somehow it gets better.

He's always just sucking and licking. He never goes beyond. And you don't want to go further either.

But tonight he was stressed and pissed off. And he needed something to cool down, you. Your sweet pussy, it just relaxes him.

And of course you allow it.

So now he has your knees pinned to your breasts being held down as his tongue quickly moves up and down your folds. Then in between. Basically everywhere.

That man couldn't get enough of your taste. But something weird was happening. It isn't that he's not enjoying it, but it wasn't as sensual as he usually is.

But it still feels good and he is stressed so you let it happen. But unfortunately he gets to rough.

He starts biting.

It was innocent nips and then harsh sucks on your clit, so it felt good. But then he started actually biting, especially right at your sensitive nub. You start whimpering and crying.

"Close?" He mumbles. But it made your insides cringe. You start pulling at his hair and he loves it so he starts biting rougher, until you say your safe word before it got too bad.

He pulled away and looked down, it was a light red dusted all over your folds. Your clit was all swollen. It wasn't too bad but he could tell it was gonna get worse. So he still felt bad.

He was mumbling about how immature he is and how he can't control himself, but he was so tired he fell asleep massaging your folds with his face squished in your boobs.

This man.

_

Sukuna's from a couple weeks ago

[hyruling]

“So. How are you really?”

Buck stares into his mug, thumbs the smooth edge. The ride from the airport had been all stilted conversation; funeral logistics and small talk and updates on Chris, on Maddie and the rest of the 118. Eddie pointed out the Dairy Queen that opened a few miles from the house sometime in the two months he’s been gone. Buck told him about his gym flooding three weeks ago. It got pretty quiet after that, conversation ultimately turning towards the inevitable, and neither of them seemed inclined to break the seal. They made it home in record time by LA’s standards, and Buck pulled into the driveway with an uneasy sort of relief.

Eddie had hugged him, at least, in the middle of the crowded baggage claim. Dropped his duffel and wrapped both his arms around him, held him longer than anticipated. The scruff of his stubble scratched Buck’s neck, and just before pulling away, Eddie ducked his chin and pressed his mouth to Buck’s collarbone for one loaded second. And that had felt — normal. Not normal. Left him wanting more.

Now the coffees been brewed, the bag put away, suit hung safely in the closet. Their knees press together under the table, a grounding point of contact that he leans into. Eddie just looks at him, looking soft and rumpled from travel, and Buck wants to touch him again so badly his fingers ache with it.

“I’m—“ Buck starts. Stops. “I don’t—I don’t know, Eddie.” He scratches idly at his neck, an itchy feeling under his skin that he can’t settle. “I’m just kind of going through the motions, I think.”

It’s the most honest he’s been in weeks. He’s not sure it makes him feel any better.

Eddie nods and sips his coffee. Buck picked up a bottle of his creamer yesterday, and Eddie gives him an appreciative little smile around the lip of the mug.

“That’s okay,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to be anything right now.”

“That’s what my therapist keeps saying,” Buck says with a half-hearted laugh that Eddie returns. They each take a drink, and Buck asks, “How are you?”

Eddie sighs and looks towards the window. “I’m… it’s still a little surreal, to me. I haven’t been—I’ve been so removed out in Texas, it’s like—like it’s not real to me yet.”

“Yeah,” Buck says. His phone buzzes with a text from Ravi that he ignores for now. “I kind of feel that too.”

Eddie frowns, mouth twisting in a familiar way he hates.

“I should have been here,” Eddie says, hushed like a confession. He stares at the placemat, tears starting to form in his eyes. Buck’s already shattered heart breaks impossibly more.

“Don’t do that,” Buck tells him. Eddie shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “You can’t go down that road, Eddie. He—he wouldn’t want that.”

“I should have been here sooner,” Eddie clarifies, still avoiding Buck’s eyes. “I know—no one could have known what would happen. No one will ever know if I could have—if I could have changed anything. And I’ll just—I’ll have to live with that. But I should’ve gotten on a plane the second you called, I should have been here with you, I’m—fuck. I’m sorry Buck.”

“Hey, no, come on. Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie ignores him, gone somewhere Buck can’t reach him. His arm is right there, his hand clenched in a ball on the table only inches from Buck’s. He lays it over Eddie’s white-knuckled fist before can think better of it. It works, draws Eddie’s attention back to him, flicking between Buck’s hand and his eyes.

“Buck,” Eddie whispers.

Slowly, Eddie relaxes — he unclenches his fingers, lets them splay out beneath the weight of Buck’s hand. Buck watches, entranced, as he twists his hand around to hold Buck’s hand properly, fits his fingers between Buck’s. Squeezes gently.

He’s always had such beautiful hands. Big and warm and perfectly sized to fit in Buck’s, knowledge he doesn’t know what to do with now that he has it.

“I don’t hold anything against you, Eddie. You have to know that. You were exactly where you needed to be, Chris needs you more than I do. You—I’m not yours to worry about.”

“Yes you are,” Eddie says. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s known, a simple fact of the universe. But to Buck, it’s as if the world that had stopped spinning two weeks ago shifts beneath his feet, shudders with the effort to start turning again.

Eddie doesn’t look away, even as his cheeks go pink right as Buck’s do. He doesn’t let go of his hand either, thumbs over Buck’s knuckles in a way that has the potential to ruin him.

“I’m—really glad you’re home,” Buck admits quietly.

Eddie smiles, soft and crooked — and though their world has irrevocably changed, Eddie’s smile still has the power to flood him with warmth.

“Me too.”

[cranberrymoons]

Tommy is genuinely so intriguing to me because like you said he’s so inexplicably attached to Buck and wants to be with him SO badly that he makes himself look so pathetic and desperate but he also like. Genuinely doesn’t even seem like he likes Buck all that much. He is short w him and impatient and confused by everything that comes out of his mouth they do not get each other At All neither one of them really cares all that much about what the other has to say and they are discussing third date information about themselves on their six month anniversary. Like what on earth does Tommy even GET out of this relationship he’s so desperate to hang onto that he will embarrass himself over and over for this guy he barely enjoys being around. I truly cannot wrap my head around this behaviour it’s so crazy

right like this is what I mean. exactly. EXACTLY. bucktommy is fascinating to me in a canon way, not in whatever made up fanon people have crafted around them about them being a perfect beautiful dream couple or whatever. in canon they do not seem to even like each other all that much, and yet Tommy is so so so determined to stay with buck and keeps getting dragged back in to this drama. like this clearly messy horrible fucked up drama of these two guys who are in love with each other but refuse to admit it, and Tommy KNOWS he's standing directly in the middle of it. like literally exactly, they do not know BASIC FACTS about each other after dating for half a year. and I can understand maybe after you've broken up and you're a little drunk and you run into the other person and the sex was always good (like by all appearances, maybe the only good part of the relationship) and so you have a regrettable hookup. it happens to us all lol but WHYYYYY are you trying to get back together the next morning with this frankly kind of clingy and clearly rebounding guy who you dodged a bullet from by dumping him the first time. and then you get dumped a second time for the exact same reason. like. Tommy.

[iamthatonefangirl]

So I'm curious on your take on the winter soldier causing some genuine damage by accident in the middle of sex.. like . Maybe forgetting his strength or something

I love your writing ❤️

ok I fwt anon... here's how I imagine it would go

(lmk if you'd like to choose an emoji!!)

also disclaimer: homicidal ideations (NOT towards reader I promise.) fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship. dark themes. read at your own discretion.

~~~

like always, he's up on his knees behind you, while your own knees are digging into the sheets. you're holding yourself up on your forearms and whining, keening into every thrust.

there's nothing more than the sounds of his hips pounding against yours, the little breaths he takes with every movement, and your endless moans as he gives it to you just the way you both like it.

he's holding your hips, moving you against him in time with his rhythm as he fucks you.

maybe you try to move, try to adjust your positioning, and as you do, his next thrust hits wrong. it's some fluke thing that makes you scream out in pain.

he's immediately taken aback, hands falling from where he's gripping you, removing all contact entirely. his eyes open wide, scanning you from head to toe, unsure of what the fuck just happened as you fall to your side. you bring a hand to your abdomen, clutching your stomach in pain, and your other hand comes to your face, biting down on your knuckle as you try to hold it together, and try like hell not to cry.

you don't know what the hell just happened. he doesn't know what the hell just happened. but something went majorly wrong and now you're cowering in pain, curled in a ball, burying your face in the pillow and hiding your tears from him.

his mind is almost blank, staring at you, hands moving even further away from you so he can't hurt you any more than he already has, apparently. he's trying to figure out what he did wrong, what's wrong with you, what he's supposed to do now??

you lay there as the cramping in your stomach begins, hissing through your teeth. he glances down to see a trail of blood dripping between your thighs.

you're the one person this isn't supposed to happen to.

the one person he doesn't want to see bleed. the one person he doesn't want to see crying in pain. the one person he doesn't want to inflict damage on.

he's not a man of words.

so in less than a second, he's up, running for whatever he can find to help you. you assume he's not coming back, and through the cramping and stinging pain, you mentally plan the way you're going to curse him out later for leaving you here like this.

he comes back, carelessly throwing a water bottle next to you as he carefully maneuvers you onto your back and brings a warm cloth between your legs.

you just lay there as he cleans up the small trickle of blood and holds the cloth in place for a few minutes.

don't bleed out. don't bleed out. please.

when it comes to his victims? he loves watching the blood pour from every orifice, from every nook and cranny as the life slowly leaves their eyes, their skin going pale and cold. it feels like heaven to him.

not you.

this is his own personal hell.

after a while, he gets up and discards the cloth in the bathroom. you're not hissing in pain anymore, recovering quickly enough. he stands in the corner of the room and debates what to do.

you watch him for a minute, holding eye contact with him as you try, and fail, to read what he's thinking.

he's thinking about leaving and never coming back, if only to keep you safe from him. from what he's capable of, from what he can't, won't do to you.

"please," you say calmly, holding out a hand to him.

he waits. thirty seconds go by. a minute.

you roll your eyes and look up to the ceiling, letting your hand fall to your side. you should've known better than to ask.

and then the weight on the bed shifts next to you, and he's wrapping himself around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. he looks so small and vulnerable in a way you've never seen.

you thread your fingers through his hair as he breathes you in. you can hear it, his shaky inhales, as he listens to your heartbeat and feels the heat of your body against his. the signs of life he usually puts out are all still there, thank god.

he's cautious, ever so cautious to not put any weight on you below the waist. if he caused you any more pain, he'd be out the door without hesitation.

he clings to you like never before, and you hold him tightly. you know what it means. this is his version of an apology.

the closest he can get to telling you he cares.

~~~

I'm literally a sucker for this weird, fuck ass relationship they have. they're so weird I love them. send more ideas.

masterlist

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[calebslittlecrow]

How To Assume

(stop being an overly anxious potato over manifesting)

Sometimes I see shifters asking “Oh, what should I do? Nothing is working :(“ and they get hit with the good ol “just assume” stamp and send on their way. And then, barely 10 steps later, they turn around and whisper “... the fuck do I even assume?”. Before I chew your ear off: assuming isn’t hard. Well, not really, but people tend to make it hard. We as humans just love acting like we need to turn ourselves into a pretzel every time we want something “big”. We actually assume every day - when we decide we suck, when we tell ourselves we’ll never shift anyway, when we confidently declare we are stuck in our 3D and shifting is just too good to be true and all those people in the reddit community saying it’s just astral projecting or deep lucid dreaming are right (what is even going on over there atm?). Guess what your 3D is doing with those assumptions? It grabs them, says “bet!” and starts running like it’s a race. Congrats ^-^ But hey, the good news: if you can assume all of that shit, you can also assume that you have shifted. Yeay! In the spirit of keeping it simple, I turned the way I see assuming into a neat little list. Enjoy, or not: 1. Just Decide That’s it. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, exit is to the right. Okay, it sounds suspiciously simple and I know some brains will twitch a bit right now with “That can’t be it”. But it is. You sit down, breathe and say “I have shifted”. No begging, no pleading, no howling at the moon. You just decide, and that is where a lot of people crumble already by pleading for it to happen instead of deciding it has happened. You don’t need an approval stamp, you are the CEO of your own reality, not the intern grabbing coffee. Act like it. Deciding isn’t hoping or praying, it’s simply knowing. No matter if shit catches up immediately, tomorrow or next week. Doesn’t matter, let go of the need for it to happen right now. 2. Stop checking You said you shifted and now you are still checking your reality every 2 seconds like a teenager waiting for a message from their crush. Stop it. You’re rereading your script, watching shifting TikTok like the answer to all your problems will jump at you, poking your subconscious like “are we there yet?”. That’s not assuming, that is panic dressed up as productivity (or something like that). You are basically saying “I don’t actually believe this is done and decided”. Cut it out. Just go live your life. Play some games, touch grass with two hands and one face (beware of bees), breathe some fresh air. Your desire won’t implode because you stopped choking it out and stopped micromanaging everything. Obsessing doesn’t equal manifesting. Just let it cook. 3. You commit or you quit Assuming means you have to kinda commit to it. You’re not almost there, or halfway shifted. You are there. You have shifted, no more ifs and whens and buts and any other kind of spiraling. Take five minutes out of your day, relax into that knowing (or deciding). Feel your DR bed, hear your DR friends be loud as fuck for no reason, smell the DR air. Let your imagination drown out this reality like unwanted background noise. Similar to the fake arguments you rehearsed in the shower. You never needed help with those, did ya? 4. Yell at your doubts Maybe do this one internally, unless you are really feeling bold today. Every time your doubts creep in and whisper “What if it is not real?”, you turn around, embrace your inner main character energy and yell back “Shut the fuck up Brenda (sorry to all the Brendas out there), get back into the backseat. You’re not driving, I am.” Your doubts don’t get a say in what you want. They are not invited. You think your DR self is out there wondering if they are real or not? No, they are living the life you are telling yourself is unreachable.

5. Feeling ready is overrated, just do it Stop waiting to feel ready and questioning if your script is perfect or not. Your brain will rarely send you the green light you think you need to go ahead. You will feel silly, you will feel delusional. And you might feel like a clown. Embrace it, be the clown. Insist on what you decided until your 3D gets nervous and bends over in existential fear. You don’t wait to feel certain, you decide you are certain. And then go and act like it’s done.

TL;DR (how dare you, but fine T-T) Assuming you have shifted is like assuming the sun will rise tomorrow. You don’t argue with your friend about it. You don’t beg the sun to rise again. You just know and walk with the confidence that it’s happened, and with shifting you do so because you said so. That’s it. Stop overthinking. Assume and now go, I need to do some drawing stuff.

[melanchoire]

Been thinking about..Car Racer!Yujin with Model!reader who happens to be the girlfriend of yujin's rival, So when yujin heard the news of them breaking up she takes the opportunity to use reader to get at her rival🤭

cw: exhibitionism, strap use.

yujin being this star racer in the field of racing; a damn expensive car and a latest generation model, thousands of fans who go to all the races where she is one of the competitors or simply attend as a spectator in the stands, and an incredible driving technique where no one can beat her… except for one annoying guy who always seems to be after her ass to annoy her! always boxing her in with her car against the corners in races, making her skid more than expected or lose control of her car for a moment because she is put in a situation where she is often close to losing or even crashing — she can’t see the boy’s face through the helmet, but yujin bets he has a mockingly bright look and a shit–eating grin on his face

it’s a shame the ugliest, most annoying guys always have the hottest girlfriends! in other words, you being the model and pretty girl who's this pathetic guy’s partner, occasionally attending their competitions and waving happily every time the big screen focuses on the audience for a moment and you just happen to appear on the screen, smiling sweetly and waving, yujin doesn’t understand how you can be with him! even before races, after saying goodbye to her boyfriend and talking to him for a moment until he gets into his car, you turn to yujin and say a sweet “good luck, ahn.” and she would think you were being sarcastic or wishing her ill, but your smile is so genuine that she knows there is no malice in you

until the popular news that you had broken up with your boyfriend reaches yujin’s ears. she wasn’t so sure how real this was because you ended up attending the race that night anyway… although she didn’t give it any importance because she had a plan in mind, and a very good one! you just had to wait

ohhhh yujin winning the race against his rival, being side by side with him in the last stretch of the track, rolling down the car window for a moment just to wave mockingly at him and speeding up as fast as the vehicle would go, moving ahead almost instantly and crossing the finish line a few seconds later — watching your once boyfriend get out of his car and practically burst into flames was what made yujin’s day and her favorite memory so far

finishing the race and everyone leaving the place, yujin saying goodbye to her acquaintances who came to see her and fans who approached her to congratulate her on another great victory and some asking for a photo or an autograph, not expecting to see you approach her and greet her to congratulate her for winning! honestly, she thought you just wanted to tease her for being your ex boyfriend’s rival, but even when you broke up with him you didn’t seem to have the intention of pissing her off

until the sweet words and exchange of smiles end with you two kissing as if you wanted to devour each other’s mouths 😳 yujin being had this big crush on you, shamelessly peeking whenever you were with your boyfriend and she was with her own technical team preparing for a big race, getting moody because she is not the lucky one to have a charismatic and pretty girlfriend like you 😒 oh well, until today! she definitely wouldn’t miss the chance to fuck you and claim you as hers starting tonight

yujin taking you to the garage where your ex boyfriend’s car was and fucking you right there 😵‍💫 bending you over the hood of the car and making you lie back against the surface while she fucks your pussy from behind with her strap, keeping her hands on your shoulders and taking care to maintain pressure on them to keep you in place every time you tried to lean on your elbows or stop pressing your front end against the car

and if i say that she wants to fuck you in all parts of the car... taking advantage of the fact that the windows are a bit dusty to fuck you again from behind, only this time she takes care to press you hard enough against the glass so that the print of your tits and palms are drawn on the dirty car windows <3 ughhh the tits stain and your hands plus her hands on the driver’s window were more than noticeable and anyone could guess what happened there, but yujin didn’t care about that! the loss of your boyfriend was her victory, and yujin was more than happy to claim her prize after a victorious competition

[lover-of-mine]

i haven’t been on in ages and now there’s all this discourse and you usually know things about everything

so what the hell is going on with 911????

Okay so, the 8b opened with buddie being a romcom intertwined with a criminal minds episode where Maddie and Athena try to catch a serial killer and Maddie tells them to kill themselves then gets kidnapped by them, she gets her throat slashed trying to escape, because Chimney shows up where she's being held, he doesn't know and almost gets killed himself, don't worry though, she survives and saves Chimney's life with a hammer, did I mention she's pregnant? She's pregnant, doesn't miscarry. It's a boy. Hurray. Eddie moves to Texas. Buddie goodbye in the rain sponsored by U-Haul.

Bobby's mother shows up, she runs a cult being a faith healer. She's dying of cancer though, Bobby then forgives her for leaving him alone with his alcoholic father and leaving him to become a child alcoholic himself. While we are figuring that out, Eddie isn't on the episode but Buck says his name 15 times, he hooks up with Tommy, then Tommy tries to get back together but he calls Eddie the competition, Buck snaps and says he doesn't want to fuck everyone he has feelings for and doesn't have feelings for everyone he fucks, then he escalates to somehow saying Tommy was accusing him of being hopelessly pining for Eddie. Oh, all this happens while Buck moves to Eddie's house, yes, Tommy hooks up with Buck on Eddie's house, fully aware it's Eddie's house then wakes up in the morning, buys champagne and about 100 dollars worth of groceries, because the competition is gone. It didn't go the way he was hoping.

Then we finally see Eddie in Texas, no one cares about what sent Chris to Texas anymore, there isn't an opening at the firehouse, Eddie doesn't have a job, so he sells the truck, becomes an Uber in a 8 minutes long montage of random people in his car, patches things up with Chris after Chris and one of his friends get him as their driver. The episode has product placement for Uber, Prius, Playstation, and m&ms. In the meantime Maddie loses her voice in some fear reaction to getting back to the job, she's fine though.

Four buddie facetime calls later, Eddie's parents are being demons, Chris throws up at his chess tournament, Eddie "dad's up" and takes Chris back. We find out he did ballroom dancing. Not relevant, just putting it out there. He didn't yell at his mother but he did leave his father in a city 6 hours away, you win some, you lose some. While this was happening in LA everyone but Athena forgets Hen's birthday and they keep running into the same guy. The guy hijacks a bus, accidentally stabs someone, Hen ends up hostage, the guy is actually quite nice, he gets Hen a gift. This episode is actually added at the last minute, allegedly finished about 7 days before it was set to air.

Maddie gets a failed gender reveal party. They answer to a pileup, Ravi doesn't check the backseat, there's a kid trapped, Bobby goes to get the kid, the car explodes, Bobby's survives, Ravi wants to quit, Buck doesn't let him, they answer to an explosion at a lab that researches infectious diseases. Crazy scientist creates a super virus to sell the cure for the pandemic she will start because she really really really wants a Nobel Prize. There's a second explosion, Buck is locked out of the lab. Chim is infected, Hen has a collapsed lung, Bobby does surgery. Their PPE is their normal gear and duct tape. They're diy-ing treatments as Chimney is dying on the phone with Maddie. They find out the cure is in the lab after the military decides they all can die, Ravi, they call him Rav now, goes to get it, they all get threatened with terrorism charges. The cure isn't there. Everything is lit in the bluest light ever created by men. Athena and Buck go after the cure themselves, they find it, the cure was in a bedazzled Stanley cup she stole from another researcher, this is not relevant, I just like saying it. But then the army and the fbi find them, because every law enforcement agency is in the case, they distract them, with a helicopter chase, sounds cool but it was really boring, the showrunner wanted it to be 4 minutes long, had to be stopped, Athena gets the cure to the lab. Chimney is cured. We find out Bobby is infected. He got infected saving Ravi. There's no more cure. Bobby is dead. All charges get dropped because they won't risk people finding out that there was almost an outbreak in LA. We don't see a body though. Eddie is not there.

But a bunch of stuff about this episode leaks beforehand, including Bobby's funeral procession, a script that shows his burial and resurrection in the form of a 911 call where he says he's being buried alive, and a video of Peter on set in uniform with everyone at the station post filming everything for his death. Everything about this decision is confusing. The episode is rated 4 on imdb. Kenny is crying in interviews, Peter says he doesn't want to leave, Angela says there's no Athena without Bobby. Oliver is being cryptic on Instagram posting and deleting pictures of Brad who would've died in his show but didn't, and referencing the Wrath of Khan in his goodbye post, Ryan is sharing edits of Bobby with a pink bow, Aisha shares a goodbye post with an emotional caption, deletes it and reuploads with a more vague one. A Disney executive goes on record about how they didn't want or approve of this death. Oh, while they were filming the procession there was an alleged fight about tomatoes between the Ryan and Lou. Stills from 813 were also deleted because there are lines of white powder next to Kenny, the actual scene might've been edited to cut that out too.

Anyway, there's a 2 week hiatus, nothing makes sense. Everyone is wondering if Bobby is dead for real. No promotion for the episode, jounalists get screeners day of, no interviews. 816 airs. It's actually about Athena helping a mother who thinks her dead son was kidnapped and his death was a coverup. Athena goes full Athena, exhumes the body, there is no body, all signs point to the mother was right, plot twist, the mother was wrong. Lesson to accept loss or something. Lowkey feels like the show is mocking us. Athena didn't want to choose where to bury Bobby, the military was holding up his body, Gerrard is back, Chim is firmly in the anger stage. Eddie is serving after having 50 seconds of screentime total in the past 3 episodes. Buck is somehow the stable one. No eulogies. The funeral is actually the last 5 minutes of the episode. Athena sends Bobby to Minnesota to be buried with his first wife and kids. No one but her and the kids are there. The scene is somehow the same from the leaked script. We brace ourselves for Bobby to rise from the dead. He doesn't. The episode ends. The water is on fire in the promo for 817. The episode is rated 2.2 on imdb. No one is happy. Even the Facebook wine moms are pissed and saying they'll never watch the show again.

And that's what you missed on Glee.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome to my favorite part of any slow burn: horny

Chapter Title from Vertigo by Griff

Word Count: 18.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A very special valentine’s episode. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

Read on A03!

They hadn’t talked about it. 

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. He didn’t know where that conversation led. 

It could be simple. He could corner Her in Bobby kitchen, ask Her what it meant to Her, and they’d have to have The Conversation. And Dean—for once in his life—might get pretty damn lucky, and She’d say it meant the same to Her that it had meant to him.

Everything. 

The kiss had meant everything. It what most of what he was made of, now. The memory of it playing on a heavy loop in his head, the taste of Her lingered on his tongue—he was starting to develop a small habit of licking his lips every single freaking second, trying to gather up whatever little bits of Her remained like some sort of creep—and his hands were itching to touch Her again. 

He didn’t have a goddamn clue how he’d managed to go so long without touching Her. Kissing Her. Trying to find out every single way She could possibly moan his name, because son of a bitch, that was the best thing he’d ever heard.

She was the best thing Dean had ever had. 

And he didn’t even know if it had meant anything to Her.

There were a lot of ways that conversation could go, and Dean had played out most of them in his head already. It was a like planning for a hunt. He’d grab her in the kitchen, because that would give Her more of a warning than if he started The Conversation in Her bedroom, and a better place for him to escape than if he used to Impala.

In some versions, he started The Conversation, then pussied out and ran away. He was a fucking coward. Dean knew how to talk to ladies. He was good at talking to ladies. He was good at talking to Her.

But not about this. 

“Why’re you up, Princess?”

Dean had woken up a few days ago, and She hadn’t been in bed. The only thing that kept him from freaking out was how he could still smell Her on the sheets. And She wouldn’t have just left. She’d pinky promised him She wouldn’t just leave.

He’d found Her in the library. Of course he had. Absentmindedly scratching notes on a small piece of paper as she read, Her brow furrowed in the cuter, less painful version of Her little wrinkle, not even flinching or starting as Dean made himself known.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She’d muttered, and Dean had shrugged.

“You’re not gonna sleep, if you’re down here.”

“I’ll be fine.” She’d written down another note that—when Dean had craned his neck—was obviously in Enochian. She’d been doing that more lately, and Dean didn’t really want to think about why. “Go back to bed, De.”

He could’ve. But that would mean leaving Her, and Dean had promised not to do that. And this had been the perfect time. For The Conversation. No Bobby to try and shoot him, no Sammy to tease him, no Jo to make little jokes about it. Just Her and Dean, in the dead hours of the night.

In the moment, he’d really thought he could do this. 

“So, uh,” He’d cleared his throat, and She’d glanced up from Her book. “Angels.”

She’d frowned. “What about them? I- Nothing has tried to break through the wards, right? Because a lot of those sigils are experimental, but they should start like, glowing, if something is coming-“

“Nothing’s coming.” Dean had mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just. You know. Lotta stuff happening.”

“Like…” She raised Her brows, and Dean wasn’t sure how She always managed to look so perfectly put together. “Angels?”

“Yeah.”

She’d hummed, scanning over Dean with an unreadable expression, and he’d felt like She was looking right into his soul-

Son of a bitch, She probably was. She could see Dean’s soul, and if Hell somehow hadn’t made Her run, this was going to. He didn’t know how it worked, but the want in his body for Her wasn’t pure, and if She saw it and hated it, Dean would end up alone-

“Are you feeling okay?” Her voice had been soft as She cut off Dean’s thoughts, and he’d blinked. “De, you- You’re really red.”

“‘M fine.” He’d mumbled, and She’d shaken Her head.

“Did you get sunburned or something? I know it’s winter, but you’re outside all the time, and I have aloe if it hurts-“

“Nothing hurts.” He’d thrown Her his best, widest, most charming smile, and moved to drop at Her side. “What are we reading?”

She’d smiled slightly, pulling Her book away from Dean’s gaze. “We’re not reading anything.”

“I can read-“

“Not this.”

“But-“

“It’s a girl book, De.” 

He hadn’t known what a girl book was. He still wasn’t entirely sure. 

He’d stayed anyway.

“C’mon, I did those face masks with you and Jo. I can read your girl book.” He’d reached out a hand, and Her eyes had widened.

“Dean-“

“I’m not going back to bed.”

She’d stared at him, and Dean had known She’d heard the silent words. 

Without you. I’m not going back to bed if you’re not there.

“Do you…” She’d swallowed, Her eyes never leaving Dean’s, and maybe he should’ve damned it all and kissed Her again there. “I’m hungry. Are you-“

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean had grinned, and offered Her his hand. “Gas station?”

She’d given him a small smile and nod, The Conversation hadn’t happened, and Dean had decided that bringing it up naturally—which had, somehow, been the plan in the library—had to be taken off the table as an option.

But he didn’t know how to do it otherwise. 

Hey, Princess, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and if you want to kiss me again, I won’t stop you. Wrong. She was beautiful being that was above goddamn heaven, Dean couldn’t ask Her out like it was a suggestion to get him more pie. Like this wasn’t the most important thing he’d ever done. 

I’m a piece of shit, sweetheart, but I want you, so I’m sorry about that, but could you please fucking kiss me again before I lose my mind. Wrong again. She shouldn’t have to. It didn’t mean anything if She kissed Dean to keep him from losing his mind. She had to want it.

I think you’re fucking awesome. She knew that. It had never gotten Her to kiss him before.

Every single time I dream, it’s about you- 

He wasn’t a teenage girl.

Do you have any idea how fucking hard I get whenever you smile at me? How many times I’ve imagined grabbing you and pinning you to the wall, or bending you over the table, or getting on my knees and-

Bobby would shoot him. He’d deserve it.

You’re like the universe, and I’m sorta like the stars, so how this should work is I fill you up-

He was going to shoot himself.

And there were too many variables for what She might say. Maybe it really had meant nothing to Her, and She’d tell Dean that, and he’d just have to fucking live with that. 

Worse, maybe it had meant everything to Her. Maybe Dean really, fully had Her if he wanted Her, and now he could lose Her. Break Her. Maybe She’d say Deano, of course I’m the universe, but you’re somehow the best thing that happened to me too, and climb on his lap and kiss him again, and he’d get to hold Her, but know angels were hunting Her and Alistair might try to take Her away.

Even if that was the case, even if She did—against all odds and reason—want Dean, he had to have The Conversation about it, first. 

He still didn’t know how to do that. Because it was exactly like planning for a hunt. And the number one rule of making plans for hunts was that you were going to have to improvise. Move on instinct, and stay alive. Speak on instinct, and keep Her by his side.

Dean did not know how to speak on instinct. And if he stumbled or tripped in a hunt—he didn’t, really, ever, as killing monsters was a whole lot easier than trying to tell Her that he’d kill and die to kiss Her just one more fucking time—the only thing it would cost Dean was himself. He never hesitated, when it was Her or Sammy on the line, so the only person that ever ended up hurt because of Dean fucking a hunt up was himself. And that was acceptable.

He didn’t know how to do that for The Conversation. How to find his way with all the right words should he lose them. He could say something horrible, say something wrong, fuck it up and lose Her forever. There were no bullets or blades to jump in front of, if She started to get upset.

Son of a bitch, what if She started to get upset.

What if She started to cry, and Dean wasn’t allowed to calm Her down because he’d fucked it all up. He couldn’t live with himself, if that was how it played out. Dean could barely tolerate himself now, when he’d down and swear that there was blood on his hands once more. She’d stayed when She knew about the blood. If Dean lost Her now, because of his words, there would be no one else to blame but himself.

He was supposed to be Her shadow. And this was part of being Her shadow, but the most important part was keep Her safe and never let anything hurt Her.

Dean could have hurt Her.

But She’d kissed him back. Over the past few weeks, whenever Dean would roll over and look at Her in bed, he’d remind himself that She’d kissed him back. She’d wanted it. He was a piece of shit, but not that low and ugly in the mud. He’d never do that to anyone.

But he was still fantasizing about Her. And it was wrong, so fucking wrong to look over Her in the night and brush hair from Her face because he was allowed to, only to turn around and shuffle into the shower in the morning, and replay the kiss over and over in his head until his cock was raw in his hand.

Even now, sitting in the dark of a parking lot with Her at his side, Dean was having too many fantasies.

They’d been doing it every other night, since the library. Going out to the gas station in the dead of night, just them, together, whenever one of them couldn’t sleep. Tonight She’d even woken Dean up with big glossy eyes and a sad little furrow on Her brow. 

“I- I’m sorry.” She’d whispered, looking a little too much like the exact image that had been in Dean’s head only seconds before. Where She was hovering above him, but his hands were on Her hips, and his mouth was wrapped around one of Her nipples as She rode his cock and screamed his-

He'd been dangerously close to getting hard, and forced himself to focus on the soft nervousness of Her voice—obviously distressed and, for reasons he'd never understand, seeking his comfort—to calm down.

"You can go back to bed, if you want, but-"

"No, 's alright." Dean had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, holding Her against him before she decided to run away. "I was up anyway."

That was a lie. They both knew that was a lie, but She smiled, and it was worth the consequence of another sin added to his roster. 

"You need a ride?" He'd asked, and She'd flushed, giving him a small nod.

"I- Um, yes. Please."

It hadn't been until they were in the car that Dean caught his own wording. Or the fact that holding Her to make sure she stayed had meant grabbing Her by waist and pinning her to his body.

That would be a good way to start The Conversation.

Baby, if I had kissed you right there, would you have stabbed me for real this time, or let me take care of you.

Dean wasn't brave enough to say it. But he could think it, over and over until he drove himself insane. And he could stare at Her in the soft shadows and lights of the parking lot, and know that he'd never be able to have The Conversation. 

He couldn't afford to push his luck. When he didn't dream about kissing Her, he dreamt about Hell. And She'd started to infect those dreams too, since Boston. Since Dean found out She'd been there, and still hadn't left him. He would've left him, if that was an option. Shit, Sammy and Bobby still didn't know, and he dreaded the day they looked at him and saw him. Saw that vast fucking pit that had been in Dean his whole life, ripped open into a chasm by his own hand, and knew what he was.

Worse than a monster. Lower than the mud. 

Never fucking worthy of anything, let alone Her. The drop-dead gorgeous, ethereal, literally fucking magical woman made of stars, who could see him, and was staying.

Dean couldn’t take more from Her than she was already offering, just by staying and letting him care for Her at least like this. He'd gotten to kiss Her once, and that was more than he deserved. He got to be the one She came to in the dead of night for comfort and company. She wasn't leaning against anyone else in the car. Wasn't holding their hand like it was a lifeline as they wandered through the gas station. Didn't stand on Her toes to whisper in anyone's ear but Dean's, because he was Her shadow. No one else.

She'd asked if they could get ice cream. Asked it like Dean wouldn't give Her the fucking Sun if he could figure out how to grab it.

And now She was curled up at his side, a little bit of it stuck on Her nose, and Dean would be fine never kissing Her again, as long as he got to be the one who wiped the splotch away with his thumb and licked it clean. 

“Do you want some?” She held the tub out with raised brows, and Dean gave Her a small grin. 

“Nah, I got my pie.”

“But you gave me some of yours-“

“Cause you were staring, Princess, and I’m a-“ Dean paused, frowning at the air. “What do you call those guys who give people all their things?”

A small, soft smile covered Her features. Dean had never seen anything prettier. “Samaritans?”

“Yeah, that. I’m one of those.”

She giggled, leaning Her head back on the bench. “You know, Sam told me you threatened to exorcise Ruby if she tried to take your ice last week.”

“Well, the bitch didn’t fucking pay for it.” Dean grumbled. “And it is Ruby. You’d have threatened worse.”

“Touché.” She turned Her head to the side, watching Dean through the dark, and he knew She could see it. If She could see his soul, She had to see the chasm as well.

And She was still looking at him. Staying at his side. He didn’t fucking understand why.

“Dean?”

He grunted, fiddling with his jerky bag. She’d grabbed it before anything else. They’d barely been in the store for ten seconds before She’d shoved it into Dean’s hands, the same way he’d grabbed a root beer and passed it to Her without a thought. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. 

“I’m worried about Sam. He’s- You know I don’t trust Ruby, and they’ve been hanging out a lot-“

“I know.” Dean muttered. “I am too, but- I don’t know, sweetheart. He’s not listening to me about it anymore. Says I’m blinded about-“

He cut himself off, because the end of that sentence was Her. That Dean was blinded in his worry about Her, and how because She and Ruby didn’t like each other, they couldn’t bring Her on the seal cases. 

They’d gotten in a fight about it, last week. On the drive back, Dean had grumbled something about missing Her, wanting to bring Her on the next one because She’d fucking nail it—these were Her exact types of cases, weird and impossible to understand until she gave it a once over and got it in ten seconds—and thinking it was unfair that Sam got to bring his untrustworthy demon everywhere, but Dean couldn’t bring his awesome, brilliant, perfect Her.

Sam had sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want her here, Dean, you know I do, but- Ruby’s worried she’ll kill her-“

“Good.” Dean had muttered. “She will.”

“She shouldn’t! Ruby’s the only demon we’ve got completely on our side-“

Dean had snorted. “Jesus, Sammy, I really thought you were smarter than thinking a demon would ever be on our side-“

“Ruby is, she’s proved over and over that she is-“

“Proved to you.”

“She’s tried to prove to you as well, man, but you’re just never wrong about people, I guess-“

“I am wrong about people! I know I’ve been wrong about people, but you know who’s never fucking wrong about people?” Dean had spat Her name, and Sam’s mouth had snapped shut. “I don’t need Ruby to prove herself to me, she needs to prove herself to-“

“The woman who wants to kill her?” Sam had mumbled, watching Dean carefully, and he’d been damn near close to strangling the wheel.

“To the woman who can see fucking souls. She’s not wrong. And I want her on the next seal.”

Sam had sighed. “Dude, if you just want to stay with her, you can skip the next case. I- It’s not just about Ruby.” Sam had said Her name gently, giving Dean a sympathetic look he didn’t fucking want. “If we put her on a seal case, the angels will notice. It won’t be safe for her-“

“I’d protect her.” 

“But what if you can’t, Dean.” Sam’s voice had been too fucking soft. “It’s- The seals are a lot, but all the Magdalene stuff is… different. You told me Cas doesn’t understand it, and Ruby-“

“Don’t.” Dean had pushed the words through his teeth. He was done with the conversation, because he would protect Her. That was the whole point of being Her shadow. If he couldn’t touch Her, at least he could protect Her. And if He couldn’t do that, he might as well just be another asshole in the mud. 

“Dean-“

“No. Don’t tell me what Ruby thinks of my-“ Dean had snapped Her name, and if Sam caught his slip, he didn’t say anything. “Ruby called her a bitch. You know that, Sam? Ruby called her a self-important bitch.”

Sam had—wisely—looked down at his hands with a shameful expression. “I- Dean, I’m not trying to-“

“I don’t care. You know she’s better than Ruby.” She was better than all of them. “And I want her. On the case. Got it?”

Sam had nodded, and that had been the end of it. If She wanted, they’d bring Her on the next seal case. 

If She wanted.

Dean hadn’t asked yet. He hadn’t found a time for it. She was already dealing with enough. 

Yet was another reason they hadn’t had The Conversation. Between the seals, his fights with Sam about Ruby, and the whole dangerous bringer of change thing Cas had dropped on them, this was simply not a good time to start begging Her to tell him what he meant to Her, like he was some kind of pathetic little yipping dog. Trying to get Her attention and affection, when she needed to be working. 

They all needed to be working. 

Dean still spent too much time staring at Her lips, and wondering if just licking them would let him taste the fruit again. 

He’d been staring at Her for too long now. Where She could see it. She’d asked him a genuine question, Dean had been a piece of shit and lost himself in thoughts of licking Her. 

“I, uh- At least you’re coming with us. Instead of Ruby.”

She frowned at him. “What?”

“Next seal case. You’re-“

“Dean,” She sighed, and he’d done something wrong. She was pouting at him a little, and rubbing the scar on Her palm—She’d never actually told him how She got it, but it would once again be far too greedy to take more—so Dean had done something wrong.

“If you want.” He added, trying to keep his voice perfectly even and natural. “They’re just a lot of weird, crazy shit, and you love that stuff-“

“It’s not that.” She whispers, giving him a sad smile. “You remember what Cas said. I- Sam’s right, keeping me away from the seals. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Dean had a lot of issues with that. To start, Sam was not right. She should not be kept away from anything. Second, and more importantly- “What are you worried about, then?”

“I- I think she’s doing something to him.”

“Ruby? To Sammy?” Dean frowned. Sam was the same. A little angrier, and more exhausted, but the same. 

But She nodded, the movement nervous. “I- I don’t know how. Or what. But I’m really worried about him, Dean, I shouldn’t have run when you-“ She swallowed, and Dean hadn’t missed how She’d been doing that. Aside from their fight in Texas, She never said dead, or died, or death. And Her lips were being chewed raw by her teeth, and Her eyes were a little glazed as she stared at Dean, and- 

There was the wrinkle.

Dean pulled Her fully into his arms without thinking about it. If She wanted to shove him away, She could, and he wouldn’t fight it. But she just dropped Her head into his chest with a long breath, shaking Her head against his body.

“We’re past that, Princess.” He murmured, not sure what else to say. “You’re not running anymore. Remember, I’ll catch you if you try.”

She sighed, the sound a little shaky. “You still need to explain that, Winchester.“

“I’m good.” He shrugged, smiling a little into the air. “I’m not blaming you for what Sam did while I was gone, same as I’m not blaming Sam for you.”

That was a little bit of a lie. But it made Her relax, and She didn’t need to know that he’d shouted at Sam and Bobby for losing Her, so he let it go. 

“Sammy’ll be fine. He’s an idiot, but he’s the smartest little idiot on the planet-“

“He is not little.” She mumbled, and Dean chuckled.

“His soul is little.”

“No, it isn’t.” She buried Her face a little further in Dean’s body. He couldn’t think about it. “It’s big and shiny.”

“Huh.” Dean frowned down at Her. “What about-“

“You’re big and shiny too.”

Warmth inflated in his chest, and that shouldn’t have made him as proud as it did. He was big and shiny. Even if She was obviously hitting the point of sleepy where Dean would think She was drunk if he didn’t know better, She’d called him big and shiny.

And golden. She’d said Dean was golden, and no matter what She could see on his body after Hell, she hadn’t taken it back. 

“What are you?” He asked, running his fingers through Her hair and making his voice soft, and She shrugged. 

“‘M not anything.”

“You-“

“But I can feel it. Everything.” 

“Oh. Of course.” Dean smiled down at Her. “You ready to go home, b- Princess?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Her fingers curled into his shirt. “What about the next case?”

Dean sighed. He wanted Her there, so fucking much. 

Almost as much as he wanted Her to get what She wanted.

“You don’t have to go-“

“I want to go!” Her voice was almost a whine, and Dean couldn’t let himself think too hard about it as She leaned back, looking up at him with big eyes and shiny hair falling around Her face. “I wanna go Dean, but I- What if the angels don’t want me there?”

“Who gives a shit what they think?”

“I do.” She whispered. “What if they put you back in Hell?”

Dean didn’t know if they could do that. “They won’t.” He hoped he sounded more confident in that than he felt. “They need me for all the seal stuff, and you’re gonna be great at it, so they need you.”

She shook Her head. “They don’t need me. They don’t want me interfering. Cas said they’d take precautions.”

“I don’t care.”

“Dean, I care. I- I’m not already pushing it just by staying with you at Bobby’s, I don’t want to-“ She took a shaking breath, staring at Her hands on Dean’s chest. “We still don’t really know what I am. And if the Magdalene who brought the Roman Empire was barely even five percent…”

“Magic?” Dean offered as She trailed off, and she nodded.

“What am I going to do?”

They hadn’t really talked about this either. The Magdalene thing. Dean didn’t really have anything to say about, because it really hadn’t been an actual answer. They had a name, but no matter how many books She and Sammy read, how many contacts Bobby and Ellen reached out to, nobody had ever even damn heard of it. And angels and demons freaking out about Her wasn’t anything new, and nothing had shifted where She was suddenly some sort of lamb to be sacrificed, or monster to be caged.

She was still just Her. As far as Dean cared, no matter how they framed it, She was Herself, and nothing else really fucking mattered. He’d keep looking for answers because She wanted them, but for Dean, She was enough all on her own. 

“You’ll do whatever you want.” He muttered, holding Her gaze. “And if you want to come on this next one, that’s it.”

She sighed. “Dean-“

He hummed Her name back, and grinned at Her glare.

“What if I’m a seal?” She grumbled. “Have you thought of that?”

“Nope.” Dean slid Her back into her place, pressing a greedy kiss to her brow at the last second. “And I’ll have you however, arfing or not.”

She giggled, shaking Her head. 

It was resting back on his shoulder.

He’s not allowed to think about it.

“That’s not funny.”

“You laughed.”

“I’m tired-“

“And I’m trying to get you to bed.” Dean started Baby’s engine, and She let out a soft hum. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, Princess. Let’s get you some rest.” 

She didn’t fight it. When Dean pulled Her out of the car, she slumped into his side. He got to all but carry Her up the stairs, and help her back into bed, before crawling in right beside Her. And that was more than anyone else got.

It would have to be enough. For Her to let Dean touch Her at all, when she’d seen what he’d done. For Her to listen to him at all, and agree to go on the case, when all She’d have to say was no, Dean, and he’d drop it. He’d suck it up and deal with Ruby for another week, forcing himself not to grab his phone and call Her every ten minutes. 

But She’d agree. 

She was going on the case. Dean wouldn’t have to deal with Ruby, and—more importantly—he’d get to see Her. All week. In the rearview mirror on the car ride and on the other side of his motel bed, across from him in the diner and next to him at the bar. 

“It’s good we know this is a seal going in.” Sam said, watching Her draw on a paper napkin. 

She’d been doing that a lot, lately. In Enochian, without bothering to tell Sam and Dean what she was doing.

Dean really wasn’t sure how he’d ask. The best he could offer himself was pressing right into Her side and staring over Her shoulder, only half listening as Sam tried to talk about the case.

In his defense, none of them were really paying attention. Dean was staring at Her, She was focused on her napkin, and Sammy kept getting distracted by a redhead making fuck-me eyes at him. Then he’d make the eyes back, before coughing and trying to continue the conversation whenever Dean glanced over and caught him.

She paused, glancing up with a small frown. “Do you usually not know?”

“Sometimes Cas drops in and gives us a heads up,” Dean leaned a little further forward. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He wasn’t magic, and he definitely couldn’t speak angel. “Told us that heaven knows Lilith’s making moves in Florida, and whatever she’s starting, we need to squash.”

She gave Dean an amused look. “Cas did not say making moves.”

“You can’t prove that, sweetheart.” Dean winked at Her, and Sam cleared his throat. 

“We also know what she’s doing-“

“What moves she’s making-“

“Shut up, Dean. A lot of couples have been murdered at the resort we’re headed to.” Sam wrinkled his nose. “Like, a lot. Too many to be normal.”

She hummed, looking back to Her paper. “How many is a lot?”

“Eight.”

“That’s not a lot.”

Sam frowned at Her. “What number would be a lot?”

“I dunno. Fifteen?” 

“That is not a-“

“Yes, it is.” She looked up to Dean. “Fifteen’s a lot, right Deano?”

Sam scoffed. “You can’t ask Dean, he’s just going to agree with you.”

Dean scowled. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are, dude-“

“Well, you’re not giving him a chance to answer, Sam-“

“And I wasn’t going to agree with her-“

She turned to give Dean a pretty, wide-eyed look, and son of a bitch, his cock twitched in his pants. “You weren’t?”

“I- Uh.” Dean coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t really think about it! You and Sam started yelling and shit, I wasn’t really paying attention-“

“Why?” Sam raised his brows, suddenly looking a hell of a lot more smug than earlier. “What were you looking at instead, Dean?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Shut up, Sammy. Go flirt with the redhead who’s been making eyes at you and leave us alone.”

Sam sighed. “We’re in the middle of a case, Dean-“

“Technically the case hasn’t started,” She hummed. “And we get it. Dying couple, resort, Lilith, figure out exactly what the seal is and stop it from being broken. Easy.”

“It’s not easy, and you haven’t even heard the actual plan yet-“

“We’ll go undercover,” She refocused on Her napkin, voice smooth and bored. “We’ll need a patron, a bartender, and a staff member. Optimized access to the facility, a lot of good reasons to talk to people, none of us too out of place for talking to each other.”

Sam frowned. “How would staff and patrons talking not be conspicuous-“

“Staff could be work friends. Patron could be just nosing their way into the conversation. As long as we’re careful, it’ll be fine. The patron will have to stay in their room, to keep appearances, but I doubt Lilith is wire-tapping phones.”

Sam’s mouth opened and closed, and he finally gave in with a sigh. It was a good plan. Of course it was. It was Her plan.

Dean let that show all over his face, as he shot Sammy a smug look. They hadn’t even gotten to the seal yet, and his girl was already killing it. Ruby would’ve talked about sneaking around and breaking in and other stupid shit. She was smarter than that. 

“Go flirt with the redhead, Sam.” She didn’t look up from Her napkin, and Sam sighed.

“I’m not- It’s almost valentine’s day, guys, I’m not trying to be. You know. The guy.”

She looked up. “The guy? What’s the guy?”

“You- Dean knows. He’s been the guy-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted. “Shut it. Go flirt.”

She shook Her head, frowning between them. “I- Sam, what’s the guy-“

“It’s a dude thing.” Dean snapped, and She scoffed.

“I thought we were breaking gender barriers, Winchester. You did me and Jo’s girl things-“

Sam grinned. “What girl things?”

“Nothing. Both of you, shut the fuck up. Sam,” Dean pointed firmly at the red-head with the fuck-me eyes. “Flirt. And you,” Dean turned his glower down to Her, and she covered his mouth with a hand.

That shouldn’t have been as effective as it was. Dean was suddenly too consumed by Her hand—warm and soft and over his mouth—to keep protesting.

“Sam, what’s the guy.”

At least Dean got an apologetic look first. “It’s, uh- The valentine’s day bar guy. Who sleeps with lonely women, because he knows that’s all they want. And,” Sam was still talking. Why the hell was Sam still talking. “Dean hasn’t been that guy in a long time, I promise, I was just making fun of him.”

“Oh.” Dean couldn’t read the expression on Her face. “Okay. Go.”

Sam frowned. “Go-“

“Redhead, Sam.” Her hand dropped from Dean’s mouth. He wanted it to come back. He could kiss Her knuckles, then pin her arms over her head and-

Dean could not get another boner in public, just from thinking about Her. He needed to pull it together.

“But, uh-“ Sam was still protesting, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not-“

“Maybe she’ll be your soulmate or something.” She shrugged, looking back to the napkin. Dean couldn’t read that tone either. “Go.”

“I, I haven’t done that,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down the bar. “In a while. What if-“

“You’ve got this, Buddy.” She gave Sam a thumbs up, and Her voice was bubbly. Dean’s never heard Her be bubbly before. “Go.”

Sam nodded slowly, scooted out of his chair, and the moment Sam was out of earshot, she sighed and rolled Her eyes at Dean.

“Thank god. I could like, fucking feel her.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

“The redhead.” She nodded to where Sam had disappeared in the crowd, Her attention back on the napkin. “She’s been staring at him all night, and god, she’s horny, Dean. It’s like, all over the table.”

She wasn’t tired. She’d actually slept really well last night. And She still didn’t drink, so Dean didn’t need to be worried about that.

He still didn’t have a clue what She was talking about.

“What.”

She sighed, looking up to Dean. He couldn’t breathe. “Her soul. When someone want companionship, they put out like, pheromones. Kind of. It’s hard to explain when you can’t see them.”

“Oh.” Dean paused, then tensed as it hit him. She could tell when people were horny.

Dean was horny all the fucking time.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Are you-“

“Yeah, Princess I’m-“ He swallowed. “Can you just like, see it? When people are, uh. Lookin’ for action?”

“No. It’s, like- It’s not a smell, but it’s not not a smell, and they’re kinda like tentacles-“ 

“Tentacles-“

“No, but yes, and-“ She sighed, shaking Her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain it-“

“Hey,” Dean grabbed Her hand before he could second think it, and Her lips parted. Hitched breath. 

Shit.

“You’re fine.” He muttered. “I was just wondering. Don’t hurt yourself, Princess.”

She nodded slowly, still staring at him, and Dean could feel the heat on his face. This was getting too close to something that might cause The Conversation. Dean was not ready for The Conversation.

“Uh, since when can you see that shit?”

She let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know. Being around people is doing… A lot.” She frowned at the napkin. “It’s kind of messy.”

“Messy-“

“Colorful.”

Dean nodded slowly. He didn’t really fucking understand—with Her, he never did—but he knew what mattered. “It’s it too much?” He tried to keep his voice soft, and he was rewarded with a small nod. 

“Too much.”

“Alright.” Dean pushed off his stool, moving his hand to Her lower back. “Let’s go. We’ll pick up Sammy in the morning.”

She blinked at him in adorable confusion. “Dean-“

“C’mon, we’re going back to the motel.” Dean smirked over at where the redhead was half in Sam lap. “Think we’re done here anyway.”

Dean was certainly done here. He was done anywhere that would make Her curl up into Herself, and there was nothing else for him to do—in this bar or anywhere in the world—but care for Her. 

Sammy seemed happy with his fuck-me-eyes redhead, but Dean was going to have to punch him later for bringing up how Dean used to be one of those guys. It didn’t matter that he had been. Dean had—very purposefully, for a long time—been one of those guys, and he’d been pretty fucking good at it. He wasn’t such a fucking asshole to deny that he had very much thrived on being one of those guys. It had kept him satiated in the dark, the brief touches and lies of permanence and possession. It may have been an artificial light—leaving him hungrier and lonelier than before, once the effects wore off—bur it had worked. He’d done it. And he wouldn’t take it back, because the pit might have swallowed him otherwise. 

But Dean wasn’t one of those guys now.

He really hadn’t been for a while. He hadn’t been that guy on Valentine’s day, but he also hadn’t been that guy at random bars, or the roadhouse, or on the cases. And he didn’t know when it had stopped all together-

That was a fucking lie. 

He knew exactly when it stopped.

It was sooner than he’d ever admit to anyone. It wasn’t after he got back from hell, or he found out about Her magic stuff, or when she learned about the deal and stayed. It wasn’t even when he’d started sharing Her bed.

She’d settled into the backseat of his car like She belonged there, decided to stay for the first time after those witches in Utah—when they’d been looking for Jo and found Her—and Dean had been done with bars and fuck-me eyes. Done with artificial light to keep him from falling into the pit.

And She’d told him about photosynthesis, a while ago. He didn’t know how the hell that had worked itself into a conversation, but She said it’s how plants eat, Deano. They absorb the sunlight and turn it into energy. 

Dean might be a plant. 

She might be the sun. 

And he couldn’t go back to artificial light if he tried.

He did still make fuck-me eyes, though. As he stood alone in the shower—Her long asleep in their bed—Dean could admit he made fuck-me eyes a lot. At Her.

She never seemed to see them, though. Even when they’d been obvious, and he’d been so fucking worried he’d been caught, nothing on Her features had ever shifted. 

Other people made fuck-me eyes at Her, as well. They have to be insane and blind and stupid not to. Everyone should want Her. Dean just didn’t want anyone else to have Her. Not like that. Not less than She deserved, without complete fucking devotion and a feral kind of feeling in their bodies Dean knew he had. And he wouldn’t have any logical reason to stop Her if she took up their offers—he could try no, I’m yours, take me instead, but he didn’t think it would work—and he’d gotten really good at not destroying himself about the idea, because She never did.

Dean had never seen Her fuck-me eyes, now that he thought about it. Not where he could see. 

But he knew She did give him the fluttering, blinding wouldn’t it be good to die for me eyes. 

She might not know she does that.

She can’t know the way that just picturing them is making him so hard it’s a little painful. Just like She can’t know that, before he crawled into bed at Her side, he’d beat his cock into his hands until he came with a groan of Her name.

Dean shouldn’t have kissed Her. 

The knowledge of how She tasted, felt, sounded—gasping his name like She wanted him—was making his decade long practice of best friend, don’t think about Her like that in the daylight, because you don’t deserve it and could never have it a little fucking impossible.

But he was hiding it well.

Dean was pretty fucking sure he was hiding it well.

“There’s no fucking way she’s being the patron, Sammy.” 

She glared at him in the rearview mirror, and Sam looked really fucking amused and pleased for a guy that had stumbled back twenty minture late without underpants.

Dean would’ve ever been proud of him—if he had to be stuck in the orbit of some sort of fucking Goddess he couldn’t touch, at least Sammy was getting some—if he hadn’t just suggested something fucking insane. 

“I can be the patron.” She snapped, Her eyes narrowing. “I’d be a great fucking patron. I can wear a swimsuit, and order stupid drinks, and- and I can act ditzy! And sit on the beach!”

Son of a bitch, She was adorable. Glaring at Dean, mumbling about how She could be ditzy—ditzy people didn’t use the word ditzy—and completely fucking missing the point. Dean knew She’d be a good patron. Between the three of them, She’d be the best patron. She already looked the better and fancier than everyone else part, all the time. She already carried Herself like an angel fallen to Earth—better, actually, because the angels tended to walk all stiff and angry—and She already spoke like if She told the ocean to stay at low tide forever, it would. She’d just need to lose all the softer light in Her eyes and blinding smile that told people She was crafted only from good things, to stop using Her manners, and be a whole lot less adorable and caring, and they’d have their perfect patron.

But Dean was, once again, a selfish piece of shit. 

The patron would have to sleep in the resort. Alone.

Away from the other two.

She’d have to sleep away from Dean.

“I’m not worried about your talents, Princess.” He muttered. “Sammy’ll be a good patron, I can tend bar, and you can be staff.”

Sam raised his hand. “I’m not going to be a good patron. There are like, different forks I’ll have to use, and I never learned those-“

“I did!” She leaned forward, almost propping Her chin on Dean’s should. It wasn’t helping. “I took etiquette lessons until, um- Well, until I made all the cups explode because I needed to pee and no one would let me, but I remember all the forks!”

God fucking damnit. Of course She knew all the forks. “You’re not going to a gala, Sammy. You don’t need to know about the forks.”

Dean’s grip on Baby’s wheel was white, and his last plea for this to end in his favor failed.

He lost the argument. Sam wasn’t comfortable trying to act all fancy,  She had what Sam called a sort of scary pretty face that important people have—She’d flushed and mumbled a thanks, but Dean agreed with Sam’s assessment—and Dean wasn’t allowed to just shout that he couldn’t sleep without Her. 

He fucking couldn’t. He didn’t know how anymore. At least not useful sleep, where he woke up alert and rested the next morning.

Sleep where he woke up panting and swinging at the air came just fine without Her. 

It thrived on the lack of Her, actually. It festered and spread over Dean’s skull, when he didn’t know She was across the mattress, safe and sound.

He somehow made it through the first night. The day had been filled with quick set-up—this resort didn’t seem to be run all that well, given how Sam and Dean didn’t even have to lie that hard about why they needed jobs right now—and recon, and it meant Dean collapsed on the bed barely a moment after he and Sammy returned to the motel. 

But then the morning came. And Dean turned to look and check that She was there and peaceful, because he did that every morning, only to find Her missing. 

He panicked.

Sam said he panicked.

Dean didn’t really remember it at all. There was a blur of ripping up the motel room and grabbing his gun, Alistair’s voice muttering in his ear that he’d find her, Dean’s lovely little Princess, and make Her beg for death ringing in his ears. It didn’t help that all he could really see was an image of Her from Texas, with ragged hair and hollow features and dark stain on Her stomach, red markings imprinted on Her wrists and a skeletal expression on Her face that made Dean want to dice and carve whoever the hell had done that to Her. 

He couldn’t scrape that image from behind his eyes. Sammy had brought him down—reminding him that She was fine, and at the resort, and had literally texted Dean twenty minutes before he woke up that she was going to try and sneak him some good coffee—but he couldn’t fucking relax because all he could see was Her. In pain.

When She’d needed Dean, and he hadn’t been there.

The day was long. Sam stopped by on his breaks, saying that he’d been looking for signs of demons everywhere but found nothing, and She gave by at random points through the day, giving Dean a bright smile from across the bar and making something to the right of his heart fucking howl. 

“Sam slipped me all the vics reservation records.” She said, eyes focused on Her little paper umbrella as Dean cleaned a glass. “And he says he can’t find any demons.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I heard. You seeing anything?”

“Nothing.”

Dean risked a glance over. Her lip was between Her teeth.

He had to rip his gaze back away.

“We looked at the files last night.” He muttered, trying to pretend he didn’t want to grab Her over the bar and kiss Her until she moaned his name. “None of them had the same last name. Not married couples.”

She paused. “That’s- huh. I was eavesdropping-“

Dean couldn’t stop himself from shooting Her a grin. “That’s pretty freakin’ rude, Princess-“

“Shut up. There were these two old ladies, and they were saying one of those poor girls had such a bright future, too. They mentioned finding the ring on the beach, and, you know, how big and shiny it was.” 

Dean frowned. “The ring?”

“Yep. So not married, but-“

“Engaged.” He muttered, glaring down at his well-polished glass. “Shit, I’ll pass it to Sammy later.”

She nodded, and was gone before Dean could say anything else. . 

Night fell, Dean left Her at the resort, and the nightmares were back in full fucking force. 

This time She was sitting on the edge of the bed in Boston, Dean rose up to kiss Her, and she turned into ugly mold and dirty water, seeping into the bed, then down, down, down into the floor. Vanishing like She’d never been there at all.

That one was going to be reoccurring. Dean had been getting a lot of new nightmares lately, and he’d gotten really good at telling which ones were going to haunt him for a long, long time. 

It kept going like that for a few days. Valentine’s Day itself was creeping up, and they hadn’t found any evidence that it was itself important to the seal, but they hadn’t really found any evidence at all. 

Sammy still hadn’t found any demons, but he had heard rumors from the other staff that some of the girls had been see cheating, hours before their deaths. And after She heard similar rumors, they decided to focus their energy there.

“Maybe it’s like…” Sam had trailed off at the motel table that night, frowning at his laptop. “The seal opens if enough girls cheat on their partners.”

Dean scowled, turning his beer bottle between his hands. She’d smiled at him today, and Her lips had looked glossy, and he couldn’t tell if his head was fuzzy from want or drinking. “That doesn’t make sense, Sammy.”

“No.” Sam had sighed. “It doesn’t.”

Dean’s next nightmare was another frequent flyer. One where Azazel flayed Her and Bobby alive, and but it kept flicking between Azazel and Dad, then it ended with Her broken body in Dean’s hands and Azazel-Dad telling him that it was for his own good.

They still had fucking nothing.

Dean’s job sucked. They found another set of bodies, but he was stuck behind the bar. He had chicks making the fuck-me-eyes at him, but whenever She’d stop by for their briefings, She barely met his gaze. 

It was for their cover. In case something was watching that even Her magic shit couldn’t detect. 

It still made his stupid heart whine. 

And at least Dean got to see Her. Got to chance quick, assessing scans over Her body, just to make sure She was still okay. There was no dried blood on Her lips or caking her nails, and no scratch marks visible on Her arms. Her wrists looked a little odd, but that might be sunburn, or chafing. She was wearing Her jacket, which meant she had Her knife.

It also meant he needed to be worried about Her getting heatstroke.

“You need some ice, sweetheart?” It was an acceptable thing to ask. Sometimes Shirley temples needed ice, and Dean was a bartender.

“No, thank you. If I eat ice, my fingers will get cold. And I won’t be able to hold my pencil.” She gave him a small, pretty smile under Her fluttering lashes. “Thank you, though.”

He couldn’t help himself. “You already thanked me, Princess.”

“Eat my fucking balls.”

Dean had to cough to cover his snort. 

At least he got to hear Her voice in something other than a fantasy or nightmare. 

“I got confirmation about the cheating.” She continued like nothing had happened, although it felt a little more like she was telling Her napkin rather than Dean. “I talked to a woman who was friends with one of the vics, and apparently she’d been talking about leaving her fiancée for some random new guy.”

Dean frowned. He’d been doing that a lot this week. “And this lady is still on her vacation?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging on Her lips. “Get your money’s worth, I guess.”

That was all he was getting, it seemed. Maybe all She had.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh-“

“Text me.” She gave Dean a soft, dark smile that made his knees weak, and slid Her napkin across the counter. 

Those weren’t Her fuck-me eyes. They were a cover, so She could tell him not now, call me later. The napkin didn’t even have one of Her burner phone numbers. It was just a bunch of Enochian, with one specific word-thing repeated over and over.

That night, Dean had one of the older nightmares. A green demon grabbing Her, driving it’s knife right into Her stomach, and Dean unable to move or do anything as She bled out on the motel floor. Then Bobby would burst through the door shouting things that Dean couldn’t hear, but still hurt, before pulling out his shotgun, aiming it at Dean’s head and never pulling the trigger.

The nightmare never ended with Bobby pulling the trigger. Usually they’d just stare at each other for a long time, and Dean would see all his own pain and devastation from Her loss reflected on Bobby’s face, and then—after an eternity—he’d wake up. 

And he’d been right.

Dean made the mistake of falling back asleep after hour, and the kiss-death nightmare returned.

This day was the slowest yet. Dean hadn’t seen Sam since they split up this morning, and he hadn’t seen Her all day. He’d been doing nothing but turning over the case in his head, and he didn’t even have anyone to tell his ideas.

He missed Her. He didn’t know how he was going to go another fucking night without Her, he didn’t know how he’d ever gone a night without Her, no wonder Bobby had told him he looked like shit every single day She’d been gone, he wasn’t fucking sleeping-

“Hey.” She dropped onto the stool across from him, almost conjured—maybe they should revisit that angels thing, because what Dean had been doing did feel a little too close to prayer—and Her hair falling over her eyes. “Anything?”

Her voice was a little shaky, but the bar was loud, so Dean pressed on. “Yeah, uh- I was thinking about how they’ve all been cheaters, right? But it’s only been the chicks.”

“That’s… right.” She paused. She still wouldn’t look Dean in the eyes. “Shit.”

“Yeah, and you know the girl that died second day we were here?” He picked up a new glass. He’d gotten better at pretending to be busy. “All her friends were gossiping about stuff, and one of them said that it was real sad she died a virgin.”

She sat up at that. He had Her attention. “What?”

Her voice was definitely shaky. And a little smaller.

Dean would ask Her about it after. “And you told Sam that those ladies said they couldn’t believe the other mister and missus corpse waited so long, and we thought they were taking about like, engagement-“

“But they were talking about sex.” She muttered. “Fuck.”

“Is that, uh, that’s a good fuck, right?”

“Dean.” She whispered, and he wished She would fucking look at him. “I know what we’re hunting. Fuck, it’s, one shouldn’t even be here but maybe that’s the seal, maybe she gamed it and there aren’t any demons or angels because- but I’ve been- Fuck-“

Dean grunted Her name, throwing cover out the window. “Breathe. You’re fine, you’ve got it, and we’ll gank it and go home-“

“No, Dean, it’s-“ She had started to shake Her head, the movement almost frantic, and She was rubbing her wrists like she was trying to scrub something away. “Fuck- It’s a Pink Boto- I should’ve known, they lure in young women and seduce them, then kill their- Fuck-“

This was getting away from them too fast. Dean damned it further, and grabbed Her face between his hands over the bar. She stopped shaking Her head. Her breathing didn’t slow. “Listen, you’re gonna be fine-“

“I can’t remember, Dean, I- Fuck- I don’t know what to do- I need to know what to do- Why can’t I fucking-“

“Cause you’re tired, Sweetheart, we’re all tired-“

“But I- No-“

“Hey.” Dean made his tone firm, and She froze. “Look at me, Princess. Please.”

She slowly glanced up, and Her eyes were a little glossy. Puffed. Red.

She’d been crying. 

Dean moved faster than he thought.

He tangled his fingers in Her’s, abandoned the bar—it was a shitty bar anyway, and all their whiskey that Dean wasn’t supposed to be drinking tasted like piss—and pulled Her into a small backroom he’d found on one of his breaks. 

“What happened.” He grabbed Her face between his hands, trying to gently angle it so he could find the damage. It was probably on Her body. “Where’s- Shit, I didn’t grab the rubbing alcohol- Stay here and keep it elevated-“

“No- Dean-“ She grabbed his arm before he could move out of the closet, Her eyes wide. “I’m not hurt. It’s just-“ She let out a long, slow breath, and Dean’s heart might have stilled in his chest. “It’s been a long day.”

He nodded slowly. “You gonna tell me about it?”

“I- I can’t.” She whispered. “It’s not that bad, Dean, it’s stupid- I shouldn’t have even, and Sam-“

Dean’s jaw clenched. Sam wouldn’t hurt Her. Even if they lived in a world where Sam didn’t like Her—which he did, the kid fucking adored Her—he cared about Dean too much to hurt Her. They might be fighting about Ruby and the seals, but Sammy was his brother and wouldn’t fucking hurt the only person Dean-

“Sam was trying to help.” She sniffed, and Dean’s fists relaxed. Of course he was. That was good. “But I- Dean, I’m so tired-“

“I know. ” He muttered, letting his hands move back up to frame Her face. “We’re almost done, sweetheart. Then we’ll go home.”

And it was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. They weren’t going to be done. Even if they stopped this seal, there were more. Lilith didn’t seem like the type to roll over and go quietly, and Ruby was still a fucking problem, and She was still something the angels were hunting for insane and cryptic reasons.

Dean hadn’t forgotten what Cas told them. 

Her existence heralded danger. Change. Something big, that they’d have to deal with after this.

But they’d deal with it, and She’d still be here.

And Dean would stay at Her side, all the way down. Her shadow however She wanted it, running his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until She relaxed into his arms. 

“It’ll be okay, Princess.” Dean muttered, and for Her, he’d believe it. 

Even though they had to pull apart, and separate once more. At least they had a name. A better idea of what they were dealing with, so this fight could be done.

But this nightmare was the worst one yet. It was another new one, and Dean didn’t even know what was happening for most of it. There was just a lot of noise, a big crowd, and everything was so fucking colorful. It was like a hurricane, and he was screaming Her name but he couldn’t find Her. She screamed back, but it always echoed around and Dean couldn’t figure out where She was, where did She go, She needed him but he couldn’t find Her-

He burst onto an invisible edge, and started to fall.

Everything was big. Too big. Dean could see a whole lot of the sky, and not much else, and son of a bitch it felt like something was watching him, but She still wasn’t there-

Dean woke up in another cold sweat, and She wasn’t there. 

His phone found it’s away into his hand, and he couldn’t stop staring at the little letters of Her name, a promise on his screen. She was just on the other side of a button. 

It would be dangerous to call Her. Dean couldn’t call Her. He couldn’t risk it.  

He couldn’t take another night of this, and they were always safer together, but the case-

Dean nearly chucked his phone into the wall when it started to buzz. 

It was a good thing he didn’t.

Because She’d called him first.

He’d have to have lost his mind to not answer

“Dean?” Her voice was soft over the phone, and he muttered Her name in response.

“Are you-“

“I’m okay. I, um- Can you…” She trailed off, and for a moment it was only static through the phone. 

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk for me-“

“I don’t want to- This room is really big.”

Dean froze, shooting a quick look over to Sammy. Dead asleep and comfortable. “It is, huh?”

“Yes.” She whispered. “There’s- I have a minibar. It has the chocolate you like. If you’re hungry.” 

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean grinned into the dark. “Parking lot?”

She hummed, Her voice still so soft. “Thank you, De.” 

“I know.”

“Say you’re welcome.”

“Bossy-“

“Dean-“

Dean bit down his snort as he pulled on his shoes. “I’m not saying it. I’m not doing this for the thanks,” He drawled Her name, and he could almost hear Her frown.

“Then what-“

“I’m doing it for you.” Dean didn’t let Her respond. He’d said it for himself, and so She’d know. All She needed to do for him was know. “See you soon.”

They didn’t talk about it, when She grabbed his hand in the parking lot and pulled him into the resort hotel. They didn’t speak at all in the elevator, when She wrapped her arms around his body and pressed Her face to his chest. And when Dean moved Her into bed, dropped on the impossibly soft mattress at Her side, he let out a groan that made Her smile.

He could see it in the dark. 

Same as he could see Her crawl slowly over to his side, drape Herself cautiously over his body, and settle down like the fanciest, smartest, hottest cat in the world.

Dean could be Her shadow like this. Holding Her through the night without a word, drowning in the smell of fruit, and sleeping easy because She was there. With him. 

They never had to talk about it. 

As long as She was with Dean, he could make it into enough.

——————

It’s been a weird week.

You might not have been fully yours for half of it. You’ve been the anxiety of all the guns in Bobby’s house, and the exhaustion of all the roads and bridges you drove over, and the heaviness of the ocean right out your window. The Silver is growing and infecting everything, and you can’t control when it decides to want to become the whole fucking universe, or when it slams back into your body.  For almost every waking moment you’ve been suffocating in it, the fear that it will hurt something and the terror that—as you rub your wrists and try to just focus the Silver, even without pain—something will hurt you.

You really haven’t been yours at all. All the time.

Almost all the time.

You’ve been yours with Dean.

In the Impala at midnight, bumping his knee and shooting you small grins across diner tables, all but carrying you out of the bar when you get exhausted and your brain starts to get fuzzy. Whenever he’s slept next to you in bed, even if he wasn’t touching you.

And you get that.

You wouldn’t touch you either.

It doesn’t matter how much you want Dean to touch you. How you can’t stop thinking about his lips against yours, about how he tasted a little like coffee and the apple you’d made him eat that morning, but he mostly just tasted like Dean. Salt and spice, sort of earthy, and Dean.

He’d been warm above you. You remember him being so fucking warm and safe above you, and he had touched you like he wanted you—with a lot of rough hands on your skin and soft groans and all his weight pressed over you—but he hasn’t touched you since. Not like that. His hand still rests on your lower back when he guides you around, and sometimes you’ll wake up with his fingers tracing over your stomach like he’s worried your long-gone stitches are going to rip, but he hasn’t touched you.

But it really doesn’t fucking matter how much you want to tackle him and kiss him until you’re both just sunken down to the floor, you can’t.

Rule one is this isn’t about you. Kissing Dean would be about you, not him. Rule two is you can’t overindulge. He thought you were dying, and he kissed you, and you didn’t break anything because Dean kissed you, but you’re not allowed to grab that and run with it. He hasn’t kissed you since, and you’re not allowed to kiss him, so now you’re here.

Loving him. Silently.

And fucking hating this stupid fucking case that’s going to make you fucking stab someone.

You shouldn’t have let Dean talk you into this. But you’d missed him, whenever he and Sam went off on a case without you and you were stuck at home. And it’s not about you if Dean asked you to come.

Plus, you were getting what Bobby called hunter fever.

“That’s not a thing.” You’d muttered when he’d brought it up, and he’d scoffed.

“I ain’t just makin’ it up for shits and giggles, kiddo. It’s real and you’ve got it.”

“I feel fine-“

“No, you fuckin’ don’t.” Bobby had given you a flat look. “You been runnin’ around like a headless dog all week-“

“That’s not the saying.”

Bobby had ignored your mumble, pushing on with narrowed eyes. “You’ve started readin’ on the floor again. You only do that when you’re losin’ your damn mind.“

“I am not losing my mind.” You’d snapped. “I’m trying to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now that we know. What if I start the end of the fucking world? What if my thing is like, the sun explodes, or the moon decides it want to be part of earth again, or- Fuck, what if I kill God-“

“God ain’t real,” Bobby had said your name firmly, dropping down at your side. “And if he is, you’re not killin’ him.”

“But Cas said that Lilith was a Magdalene, and she started demons, and- shit, what if I start something worse than demons? What if I start super-demons?”

Bobby had sighed. “You ain’t gonna start super-demons. We don’t know what your thing is gonna be, but we’ll work it out when it gets here-“

“But what if it’s really bad.” You’d whispered. “He called me the Magdalene. That- I don’t know what that means-“

“I don’t either. And it sounds like Cas don’t have that big a clue either.” Bobby had run a hand over his face, letting out a long breath. “You’re not helpin’ anything by worrying about it. Or doin’ this.”

He’d tapped the papers scattered over the table, all covered in Enochian, and you’d swallowed.  

Some of it was just the soul exercise. Trying to map out Bobby’s soul, watching Sam and Dean when they were home and trying to figure out what the hell they were made of. A lot of it was new rituals or attempts to figure out who other Magdalene witches could’ve been—Cas had made it sound like they could be born anywhere in the world, which really didn’t narrow down anything—and an embarrassing amount of it was just trying to figure out how to write Dean’s name. 

Your excuse was that writing something on purpose would help you distinguish Enochian in your head. 

The real reason was that you loved him, and needed at way to show it where no one else could see. 

“When was the last time you went this long without a hunt.” Bobby’s voice had been soft. Cautious. 

And you’d sighed. “I’ve never gone this long. You know that.”

“Hunter fever. You’re gettin’ sick of being still and not doin’ shit, and it’s makin’ all this,” Bobby had tapped one of the notes. “Worse.”

“That’s so fucking stupid.”

“Hey,” Bobby had given you a glare, the expression massively undercut by the small smile he was failing to fight. “Don’t be rude, kiddo. Raised you better than that.”

“No you didn’t-“

“Tried to.” He’d shrugged, moving back to his feet. “Not my fault it didn’t take.”

You’d rolled your eyes, glanced down at your chewed up pencil—another new habit, because apparently if you couldn’t bite yourself you had to bite something—and you might have had hunter fever. Between the notes, and the restless itch. settling over your bones, sinking deep and deeper every second, it makes sense. You’ve always been moving until the pain made you drop. Now you can’t move, and goddamnit Bobby really was right.

Hunter fever. 

That was a stupid name. You’d told Bobby that, and he’d said that if you come up with a better one he’s all ears, but until then he invented it, so he gets naming rights. 

And the hunter fever had only gotten worse, the longer Sam and Dean were on that case. You’d gone to the library and checked out so many history books you’d had to make two trips to get them all in the Firebird. You’ve been watching so many documentaries that Bobby set a three per day rule, and started making you stop between them so you remembered to eat and use the bathroom. You’ve run out of paper to write on, so you’ve switched to pen and started drawing on yourself. It pricks your skin, but it’s better than carving with your knife or nails when the Silver gets set off by nothing and you can’t reign it back in. 

And you’ve started to keep track of all the times Dean could’ve kissed you and didn’t. 

Every night in the Impala. Whenever he’s been a little drunk and you’ve helped him to bed, letting him hang around your body before pouring the rest of his beer down the toilet. When he’s grinned up at you from the couch, and any time he’s called you Princess, and every waking second where you’re in the same room, and he could grab you and do whatever the hell he wanted to you, and you’d be fine with it because it’s Dean.

It’s most likely for the best that he doesn’t. For so many reasons. You’re dangerous. You’re a Magdalene, and knowing is better than not knowing, but you still don’t fucking know a lot. You’re not exactly stable, and neither is Dean, but letting yourself crash into him isn’t going to make him more stable. It would only make the Spiderweb glow, and fully consume you with Gold, and this isn’t about you. It can’t be about you.

And only a few days before you left for Florida—when Dean was still gone and your room was colder and lonelier—Cas appeared in the middle of your room, the only warning of a glowing sigil on the wall.

He’d said your name with a deep, serious tone, and you’d sighed.

“Hi, Cas.”

“You told me we needed to speak again. About my timing.” He glanced around your room, a small frown pulling at his features. “I am here to do that.”

“I don’t care about your timing.” You’d sighed, moving to lie flat on your back. “That was a cover.”

“A cover over what?”

“Over why I needed to talk to you. It’s a phrase.”

“Oh.” You’d craned your neck up, and Cas blinked at you. “What talk are we covering?”

You’d rubbed at your wrists, lying back down. “Can you sit, please?”

“This body can sit, yes-“ Cas had cut himself off, and you’d let him work through that one himself. “You are… asking me to sit.”

“Yep.”

“I do not need to-“

“Cas. Please.”

You’d expected more resistance. Instead he’d just dropped awkwardly at your side, shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress. “This is... better. Thank you.”

You’d hummed an acknowledgment, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me.”

“I cannot promise-“

“You have to.” You hadn’t cared if he could hear the desperation in your tone. “Please.”

Cas had paused for a long moment that was tight over your lungs, then sighed. “Alright.”

He’d folded with such little resistance, again.

That didn’t really feel like a good sign.

“Thanks.” You’d mumbled. “Ready?”

You glanced over to see him staring at you, giving a small nod, and you’d taken a long breath.

“You said I could be what you’ve been waiting for.” You’d muttered, running your thumb over your palm as you spoke. “What does that mean.”

Cas had been silent for a long second, only staring, and you’d briefly wondered if this was what it felt like for everyone else, when you’d look at them and see their souls.

It was a little unnerving. 

“When I said that.” He starts, his words slow and measured. “I was not aware of what you were. However, I am… not sure that matters.”

You’d frowned. “What, that I’m a Magdalene? I thought that was the whole thing-“

“You are the Magdalene.” Cas had corrected. “But that is not the… reason, I guess. I was not considering that, when we spoke before.”

“So am I not whatever you’ve been waiting for?”

“No.”

“No, I’m not, or-“

“You are.”

You’d sighed, pushing up on your palms to fully meet his gaze. “Cas. What have you been waiting for.”

“God.”

Maybe you should’ve had a bigger reaction to that. Cas must have noticed the complete neutrality on your face. But even in the safety of your room, where the Sky couldn’t see you, you’d still been able to feel it. The Silver had started to seep out, and you had been the fear of the vines on Bobby’s house, and they had felt the Sky watching them.

So you’d just swallowed, and taken a long, slow breath.

Why not. Between angels and Dean rising from the dead and the Sky, why not have God be a fun, new problem too. 

“There will be consequences. For you being the Magdalene. And I do not think even my superiors fully understand them.” Cas paused, holding your gaze. “From what I have found, you have long been thought to be a lie. A sort of… myth, is what you might call it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about how my kind aren’t real-“

Cas had shaken his head. “Not the Magdalenes. You.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed, and Cas had sighed.

“That is what I meant, before. It is not the Magdalene in you. It is you.” He’d said your name, still watching you so carefully. “There is something… holy.”

You’d blinked at him. “About me?”

Cas had nodded. “It is more than an angel grace. Or a soul. I have only seen it once, a long, long time ago.”

You’d had a pretty good sense of where this was going, and you really hadn’t wanted to hear it, but you were so tired of not knowing. Of only ever having more questions. “Where did you see it?”

“The only time I met my father.” Cas had muttered, frowning down at you, and maybe he’d been able to see it then. In the dark of your bedroom, at midnight, there was an impossibly high chance that Cas looked at you and saw something holy. 

That was more terrifying than anything in the world.

You aren’t holy. You’re barely more than a monster. You’re sick and in pain and exhausted, and you don’t know what looking at you and seeing holy means, but you know it can’t be good.

Nothing you ever do leads to something good. 

Dean will never get to know it, but you’re starting to think John really should’ve saved everyone a whole lot of trouble and put a bullet in your brain. You’re making everything harder. You’re not good for anything but hunting, and you can’t even really do that anymore. You’re going to hurt or break or infect something, because that’s what you do, and just because the Darkness is gone doesn’t mean you’re cured. If anything it means you’ve evolved, like a pathogen or bacteria, and now you can press further and further into the world without resistance. 

You’re not good for Dean. John was right about that, too. You just take from him—his time and sleep and attention—and you’re not going to leave because you promised, but one day Dean’s going to find someone better for him, who never makes him yell or cry or worry, and they’re going to demand you’ll leave.

It’s another reason you fucking hate this case. It’s full of sweet, pretty women with no scars and toothy smiles, humming syrupy words to Dean, right in-front of you.

And they have no way of knowing that you even know Dean. And he doesn’t even look at them. 

But one day he will. 

Then you’ll have to live with that. 

For now you can cling to how Dean brushes off the better women in favor of giving you small, cocky grins. You can feel the bright, colorful rush of the Spiderweb glowing under his attention. You’re addicted to it. 

And God, it’s going to kill you when he finds the woman that makes you leave. Who makes Dean happy, but gets uncomfortable about the weird freak who keeps following him around like they don’t know what else to do—you don’t—and then you’ll have to leave, because Dean loves her and not you. 

You already hate her, and it’s not even her fault. She’s not real. She didn’t do anything to you except not be you. You can’t blame her for not having scars littered in odd places across her body, for having the type of softness and experience and ease that Dean deserves. It not her fault she never makes him kill things for her, or forces him to carry her to safety when she loses her mind like some weak fucking problem. 

And she won’t depend on him. Not like you do. She won’t be a parasite or leech that wants to wrap around Dean and drench herself in gold. She’ll be able to sleep without him, because she’ll be kind and normal and stable. She’ll never draw her own blood or vomit from grief, because Dean will settle down in a simple, white-picket life with her and forget all about how he ever even considered wanting you. 

She won’t be a sickness that’s not strong enough to cure itself. She won’t try to get better, just to make everything so much fucking worse. 

Things won’t be complicated with her. She’ll deserve Dean, and all his Gold.

You don’t. You’re not even close to deserving Dean. He never fucking falters, even under all the crushing weight of everything. All the blood on his hands he had to shed, and every worse thing he’s done was because he had to. 

Dean was pushed into everything. It wasn’t his fault that John made him hunt. He made that deal to save Sam because he’s a good, selfless man. He broke in hell because anyone would’ve broken in hell, and he’d still held on for so fucking long before he gave in, because he was strong.

You’re not.

You’re just like this. 

The first day without him is the worst. You’re alone for most of it, save for when Sam finds you and hands you a towel, the vic records folded into them. He mutters that there’s been no sulfur or temperature drops, and you nod, mumbling an agreement.

You see Dean once. Smiling at a one of those better women from behind the bar.

And his grins goes wide and boyish, the moment he spots you, and it sets off fireworks over the Spiderweb, but you can’t get addicted to that. It’s not going to be permanent. 

But it’s not overindulging if Dean’s grinning at you.

So you smile back.

And that night, you try not to think about it too much. About Sam’s words at the bar, when he’d called Dean one of those guys.

You’d known that. You’ve never been bothered by it. He’s never done it in front of you—where it would’ve ripped you in half—and you’d never had a claim over him that could’ve made him stop. It hadn’t mattered that you’d follow him all the way down, or that you love him, or that there’s a whole part of you that just for Dean. You’d never thought there was even a chance of him wanting you like that until that amazing, stupid fucking kiss, so you’d simply forced yourself not to think about it.

It’s all you can think about now. Dean sliding a woman that’s not you his motel card, telling Sam to find somewhere else to hang out for a while, then kissing her. And she’d kiss him back without any fear or anxiety, because she’d know how. She’d have an idea of what could drive him crazy, and he’d fall on his knees for her with only joy on his pretty face, and then they’d-

This is torture. The whole night is fucking torture, because all you can wallow and sink into it the loneliness, and the reminder that Dean deserves better. Someone who will match him.

Not someone he’ll have to take care of and guide through everything. 

The morning breaks, and you’re not sure you slept at all. 

The second day is worse. You don’t see Dean at all, and there are so many fucking people, everywhere,  all the time. You hadn’t realized how fucking horrible that would be until you were in it. There had been a lot of people, on the lich case with Jo. But the only time they’d all been in one, loud place was the last night, and you’d been more focused on Dean. On keeping him safe and alive. You’d almost tethered yourself to him, because as long as he was there and Golden, there hadn’t really been much else to look at. 

But then you’d spent those weeks between cases letting the Silver grow and grow, letting Dean soothe it into something easy you didn’t want to fight, and it seems to have bloomed. 

You’ve lost control. You can’t remember the world ever being like this in your life—so loud and consuming and overwhelming—and you barely been able to handle it when you were a child, and it was just single colors lined with quickly fading imprints. 

Now it’s so much. You’re a little bit everything all the time and there’s so much. Why is there so fucking much. This is worse than the bar, when souls had simply been loud and amplified by the drinks and emotions. At least there you’d still be able to cling to Dean’s Gold, to breathe in the smell of spice and try not to think about how a whole lot of desire was blaring out from all the souls in the bar, directed to where you and Dean had been sitting.

It was a new trick. It had started after the kiss. You can see souls creeping and drifting out of their bodies, trying to latch onto other people. Trying to sink into them. You’d been able to see the redhead’s hot pink, almost bubblegummy-ness aiming over Sam, and it had been fucking sickening and pungent. Not for Sam—all the parts of him that were still purple had been vibrating from the attention—but for you, and you’d needed to get it away from you. 

And this is so much fucking worse. There are so many people, so many souls, and twining and burning and washing over each other, and you can still smell Dean’s spice when he’s not here, and you’re going fucking insane.

They found another body, that morning. You didn’t see it, but Sam did, and he said it was ugly. Looked like they got beat up by the ocean, and that some of the staff were whispering about how the girl had been seen cheating before her death.

“I’ll ask around.” You mumble, pretending to be busy with the coffee while Sam takes an impossibly long time to grab the trash. “There’s this group of ladies who have been trying to talk me into going to the beach with them, and I think they knew the vic.”

Sam nods. “I’ll pass it onto Dean.”

You swallow, and the Spiderweb whines. “Tell him I say hi.”

Sam gives you an odd look and his mouth opens, but you walk away before he can speak. You don’t want to hear it. You know Dean wants you, at least enough to kiss you once, but he hasn’t kissed you since.

Maybe it was horrible for him. It was perfect for you, but he’s not in love with you, and he probably has a higher standard for good kisses. He’s hasn’t changed since the kiss, but he hasn’t tried to do it again. 

There’s a chance he’s waiting for you to kiss him, to make the scores even. He kisses you once and puts it on the table. You kiss him again and then you get to have him.

You don’t deserve to have him. And you’re not allowed to kiss him first. 

“What about you?” One of the women—the ones you’d told Sam about, with long nails you really wish it would be practical for you to have—says your name, and you blink at her.

They’d already confirmed that the girl had cheated, and you’d mostly been tuning out the rest of the gossip after that. It was too colorful, and thinking about Dean was better than drowning in the vastness of the Silver, so you’d just focused on that.

But now you had to participate. You hadn’t been ready to participate.

“What about me?” You ask, throwing on a small, nervous smile and slipping back into your role. Ditzy. You’d told Dean you’d be ditzy. 

“A man.” A second woman—Monica? You’re pretty sure her name is Monica—grins at you, leaning back in her chair. “You have one?”

Pretty green eyes and soft hair and full lips and Gold- “No.”

“Oh, come on.” The first woman—Halle? That sounds right—rolls her eyes. “You’re so pretty, babe, you’ve gotta have someone, or there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

“I- I don’t-“

“Is it a girl?” Monica whispers, leaning forward. “It’s okay, you can tell us. We’re like, super chill about that.”

You sigh. “It’s not a girl.”

The last girl—Karen, that one’s easy to remember—grins at you. “So there is someone?”

“No, it’s not- It’s complicated-“

Halle scoffs. “If it’s complicated, he’s an idiot.”

You scowl at that. “No, he’s not-“

“Ha!” Karen grins, and this was a mistake. You should’ve just eavesdropped on their conversation like a normal person. “There is someone! What’s his name?”

“I- I’m not-“ You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to find a way out. “It’s really complicated. There’s like, a lot of moving parts, and we’ve known each other a really long time-“

“Awww.” Monica gives you a sweet smile. “Childhood friends? That’s so cute!”

“No- It’s more-“ You choke on the word complicated. “I have to go.”

Halle shakes her head as you stand up. “No, wait, we’re sorry, you’re just cool and we thought there had to be someone-“

She’s still talking. Still apologizing. 

But she grabbed your wrist to stop you from leaving. Right where Ketch had tied you up. Right where the lich grabbed you. 

You can’t breathe. The Silver is bursting and burning through the world because no, no, you’re so tired and it hurts and no-

Something shatters, an impossibly large wave sweeps over half the beach, and the wind picks up, ripping through the air like you’re at the top of a mountain.

The women are shrieking in fear, because this shouldn’t be happening, and you run. Not forever. Just until you’re back in your room, staring at your phone and forcing yourself not to call Dean. 

Half of that had been you. The shattering and wave had been you.

The wind had been the Sky. It had been watching. And the cold had bitten your skin, and it had been more of a warning to you than a defense for you. 

And you’re falling apart. You miss Dean, and it’s worse than when he’d been on a case, and you’d been at Bobby’s. At least you’d been a little useful, there. At least you’d had company, and could think about things that were better women, touching Dean in the dark while you were alone in bed. 

Here, you’re useless. You can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be hunting—which is supposed—to be something you’re good at—because it’s all so loud and colorful and you’re not sleeping, and you miss Dean.

Maybe he’s spending this night with another better woman, again. There are plenty to choose from, this luxury resort filled with people to know how to have something and not infect it. And it’s almost Valentine’s day, so they’ll want company, and anyone—whether they can see the Gold or not—should want Dean. Will want Dean. 

You torture yourself with that for another night. The idea of Dean in bed with someone else, touching someone else, kissing them the same way he’d kissed you, but this time they go further, and then the next day you’ll see that the rivers of silver had been painted over with another color.

Embedded. Cas had said you were embedded in Dean, and that couldn’t go away easy, but what if it does. What if only a gentle, knowing touch cures Dean of you forever, and it’s that easy, and he leaves. 

You’d promised you’d stay, but he didn’t. You both said all the way down, but that was before he kissed you. 

It would be smart to want to take it back. To go back to never thinking about that, because you didn’t think it was an option. To not be getting withdrawals from something you never even fucking had, not really.

You know that.

Knowing never helped.

And at least you still have the Gold lingering on your lips. It’s never been there before, and it makes you feel a little like that holy thing Cas had called you. 

You really are fucking useless. Staring at mirrors and trying to write Dean’s name in Enochian and imaging that he’ll burst through your door and sweep you away. 

It doesn’t help that the wrist thing is looking like it’s here to stay.

The next morning, Sam pulls you into an abandoned room for a meeting.

But he grabs you by the wrist.

And you can’t stop yourself from swinging.

Blind, frantic punches thrown into the air, uncoordinated from exhaustion and landing on nothing, someone is shouting your name but there’s a lot of red in them—red like blood, red like poison—and the fists aren’t enough so you grab your knife and start slashing-

Sam shouts your name, and the blur fade enough for you to know it’s Sam, but then he grabs your wrist to stop the fall of your knife, and the Silver explodes.

There’s a crash, and a ringing in your ears, and-

“Holy- Ow.” Sam stumbles up from the floor, his hands raised in the air and the wall a little dented behind him. “What the hell was that?”

You blink at him, the blur fading, and all that’s in its wake is pain. Pain and a gnawing fucking guilt, because you hurt Sam, why the fuck did you hurt Sam, what’s wrong with you and why can’t you control this without trying to kill yourself-

Sam frowns at you, something softening in his gaze. You don’t deserve how gently he says your name. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, drawing yourself up tall and forcing your voice to stay even. “I’m sorry. You startled me. Is your back-“

“It’s fine. I mean, it hurts, but I’ve have worse.” Sam pauses. “Are you sure-“

“What do you need, Sam.”

He stares at you and—in a small mercy—doesn’t push it. Whatever Sam can see on your face, he’s able to work out that now is not the time to talk about how he just touched you, and you tried to kill him. 

Sam only sighs, and moves on. 

“I think we’re dealing with some sort of sex demon.” He says, shuffling back to your side. “All the vics have been cheating, but every single thing I’ve heard about them makes it sound like they were really in love. There has to be some kind of manipulation going on.”

You nod slowly, letting out a long breath. “How do you know they were really in love? Just online snooping?”

“They did all just get engaged. And I mean, people make mistakes with that sometimes, but it’s usually a sign of… you know.” Sam shrugs. “A future. Together.”

“Okay.” You frown at the air. “You pass it onto Dean, and I’ll keep looking for what the seal actually is, so we can stop it.”

Sam shakes his head. “I, uh- I’ve actually got the seal, too. Bobby called me.”

“Oh.”

“He would’ve called you.” Sam rubs at the back of his neck, and suddenly the air is wired. “But this is- Um, it’s sort of better to have in person.”

You narrow your eyes. He’s being weird. “Sam. What’s the seal.”

“Bobby thinks.” Sam won’t meet your eyes. “Based on some old texts that be found, some of yours, actually-“

“Samuel-“

“It’s making a true love stray.” Sam mumbles, his gaze locked on the floor. “And Bobby’s theory for the murders that none of them have been a true love, so after they strayed, they got.” Sam winces. “You know.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s- It makes sense.” You pause. “Why does that need to be said in person?”

Sam glances up, something cautious in his eyes. “Because you and Dean need to be careful.”

The world stills a little, like a heart murmur, but you must have just heard him wrong. “What.”

“You and Dean.” Sam mumbles. “Any two people with, um, strong emotions are in danger.”

“Sam.” You keep your words slow and careful. You can’t really hear them over the ringing in your ears. “They’ve been targeting engaged couples. Dean and I are-“

“You’re really obvious!” Sam almost shouts, and you flinch like he’d stabbed you.

“No.” You whisper, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and the Silver isn’t even growing. This isn’t a danger to it. 

It should be. You’re a danger to Dean.

“Sam, we’re just- I’ve told you-“

“Jo told me about the kiss.” Sam’s voice is gentle. You’re going to claw out your own eyes. “And I know you guys are dealing with other things, but you’re not just friends. And I- I’m sorry,” he mutters your name, and a little bile creeps up your throat. “But I knew a long time before that. You guys are obvious, and I’m not trying to tell you want to, you know, do about it. But you have to be careful.”

No. You don’t. Dean doesn’t love you, but you’ve never even looked anywhere but him and the Gold and that deep life in his eyes, so not only is Sam wrong, he’s cruel.

Dean doesn’t want you like that, and if he loves you, it’s not the truest love. It can’t be. You’re you, and you’re a danger, and you’ve never brought him anything but extra work, screams of his name, and your own tears for him to eat. 

You can’t live on tear and names. You could—you could conquer the world if Dean offered you tear and your name from his lips—but nobody sane and easy can. Dean will live off of good food from a better woman.

And you’ll die with the Sky watching you, alone in that high, cold, lonely place it had promised you when you were young.

“Sam.” You whisper, your hand wrapping around your throat on an old instinct, but the Silver still dormant in your body, because it’s lined with the Spiderweb, and the Spiderweb loves the idea of Dean’s love. “Please don’t say that.”

He says your name, and it’s gentle again. You think you’re choking on the air.

“Don’t-“

“I’m really not trying to push you guys to do anything.” Sam’s voice is almost desperate. “I just- I can’t lose you both again. This demon is taking the couples-“

You make a weak sobbing sound, and Sam catches his mistake.

“Pairs, it’s taking the pairs and if you both go, I don’t know- Shit-“ Sam pleas your name, moving to reach for you, and you take a step back.

“I- I’m going to go tell Dean.” Your voice is strained, and you don’t care about the irony of your own words. “Bye.”

You’d promised Dean you wouldn’t run. 

You haven’t promised Sam fucking shit.

And you were running to Dean. You didn’t care if that made you a hypocrite, or liar, or a whore. You needed to see him, because it made the Silver feel good, and the world manage because you could cling to Dean’s Gold, and know it was going to be okay.

Then you break twice. Once at the bar, when you were supposed to be working, but Dean needed to calm you down because it was all too fucking much and you’re useless. Then again when you caved and called him, just to hear his voice—overindulging—and ended with him wrapped around you in bed.

You’d slept. Well. Easily. And Dean looks peaceful, in the shifting light of dawn, starting to break through the windows. 

He’s perfect. The newer, stronger Gold seems like molten lava in the morning light, but it’s still not fire. And it’s moving rapidly through his body like air, but it’s not. And there a power to it like water, and strength to it like earth, but it’s never enough of one and far too much of the others for you to pin it down.

You don’t really need to pin it down. 

It’s Dean.

You love him all the same.

He tries to hold onto you, when you twist to get out of bed. He makes a cute, disgruntled sound, and tugs you right back into his body before you know what’s happening.

It takes ten minutes for you to slowly swap yourself with one of the pillows. And you don’t want to leave—it might be a dream, to just stay where Dean is holding you for the rest of your life—but you need to think. And you can’t do that when a big, warm hand is spread over your stomach again, and Dean’s breath is hot on your neck.

Your thoughts had kicked back into gear, after Dean calmed you down yesterday. And you’d made some connections.

Connections you’re going to have to tell Sam and Dean about, because they mean you’re good. You can gank the Boto Monster and fuck off. Go home. You don’t even have a seal to deal with.

And you’re going to have to find a way to convince them of that without the truth.

Because under no fucking circumstances can you actually say the truth.

Dean had said the first vic was a virgin, and it had hit you in small, fragmented pieces you’d strung together in the hours after.

Sam had been wrong about the sex demon. This has to be a Pink Boto. You’d hunted one, while you were in Brazil, and this is their exact MO. Make a young, virgin woman cheat on her partner. Then kill them both, with symptoms similar to drowning. You’d remember how to spot one, too. They’d be in a human form of their choice, designed to lure the woman in, but they’d always wear a hat. Their true forms were pink dolphins—botos—and they could shift however they wanted, but they could never get rid of their, so they’d have to cover it. With a hat.

And that was great. Simple. 

It also wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that Lilith brought the boto here, to make the true love stray.

True. Not pure. 

The seal won’t care about any virgins. But the boto will. It will target them, smell it on them, fucking see it. The same way that they can sense when humans have emotional bonds, so they can sniff out couples.

At least, that was how it had been explained to you, in Brazil. 

It was how they’d assured you.

You were single. 

You wouldn’t be a target.

And this is where Sam was right. You and Dean were in danger. You were the target. Lilith brought the boto here because she needs the seal broken, and she knows about your love for Dean, and she probably fucking knows about you. The other deaths haven’t been about the seal. It’s just been the boto feeding. You and Dean have been the endgame from the start.

The good news, you decide as you sit alone on the beach, your toe right on the edge of the water as the sun climbs into the sky, is that Lilith is fucked. You’ve really never even thought about anyone but Dean. Not like that. You missed the window of experimentation in your teens, met Dean at eighteen, and then there was just no fucking point to anyone else. It was Dean. It’s always been Dean. All the way down.

It’s not saving yourself, because that makes you sound fucking pathetic, like a midwestern church girl who won’t show Her ankles because Jesus will get mad. You just don’t think about it, if it’s not Dean. And it’s not like anyone else has ever really looked at you.

That was your first kiss. 

You are never going to fucking tell Dean that.

And you’re staring down at the sand—at the water slowly climbing over your ankles—when you hear him clear his throat behind you. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, not looking up from the sand. “I should’ve texted. I just needed to- you know.”

“Yeah. I do.” You hear the sand shift at your side. He’s sitting down. “Just got worried. I mean, woke up. You weren’t there. Damn near ripped up the room looking for you.”

That gets a small smile. “You think I was going to be under the couch, Deano?”

“No. I’m just saying I was worried. Don’t run off like that.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, and something is wrong. The air is wired and tense, and it’s never like that with Dean. And the Silver isn’t exploding, but it’s not soothed. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters suddenly, and it really sounds like Dean, but you’re still staring at the sand. “I just got worried, you know? You shouldn’t be out here, the sun is barely even up.”

Dean would be worried. But he wouldn’t say it like… that. 

You suddenly really don’t want to look at him. He’s rubbing strong circles on your back but they’re only making your breathing labored. He’s right at your side, but you don’t feel any of Dean’s gravity.

But it sounds like Dean.

And you’re frozen. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” Dean’s voice hums, close to your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel fucking sick. “You know I love you, baby. Let’s go back to bed.”

Baby.

Dean only calls his car Baby. 

But that was his voice. Calling you Baby. It’s echoing around in your head, and you can’t fucking breathe, and you have to open your eyes.

It looks like Dean, too. Pretty features and a boyish grin and green eyes, it’s skin a little more tanned, but only in a way that’s noticeable to someone who’s insane and in love with him.

You don’t need to rip its stupid baseball cap to know it’s not Dean.

It’s not Golden.

And you can still hear it, as you explode.

Baby. You know I love you, baby.

You’re scrambling back, as the Silver presses into the boto. And it not killing it. Not simply sucking up its life and throwing its soul into wherever monsters go after they die.

You’re eliminating it. The same way you’ve eliminated Hell’s Assassin’s.

But you’ve never done it to something with a functioning soul again. A soul you can see. Sense.

Hear.

Those aren’t the screams of the boto, when it’s turned into pure fucking nothing. 

It’s the soul. Begging you for mercy.

Baby.

There’s a last, weak sound, and then the boto is gone.

You fall flat on your back, and stare at the Sky.

It stares back. 

You can’t fucking breathe. The tide is starting to rise, but you can’t fucking move, and you can’t tell what salt is your own tears and what’s the ocean.

And the Sky is just fucking watching.

Dean roars your name, somewhere down the beach. And that’s how your Dean roars your name, and the Spiderweb is glowing, and he’s Golden when he appears over you like some sort of knight, sent to save you from the monster in the water.

You’re the monster in the water. If Dean’s a hero—and he is—he should let you fucking drown.

But he doesn’t. He’s perfect, so he scoops you into his arms with only a grunt and carries you away from the beach. 

When you look over his shoulder, there’s not even a fucking body. It’s like the boto never even existed at all.

“You’re okay.” Dean’s muttering in your ear as he sets you down somewhere with flowers and a small marble waterfall. “Son of a bitch, Princess, you can’t just fucking disappear. I- You weren’t there and I fucking thought- Godamnit-“

Dean grabs your face between his hands, starting to wipe the linger saltwater from your cheeks. You’re blinking at him. In a firm pattern on once, over and over, trying to tell him everything is wrong. But he’s too focused on checking you for injury to see. And that’s how your Dean would be worried. 

Touching you so carefully while shouting at you with a distress you can hear.

You sob before you can stop yourself, and Dean’s eyes widen.

“Fuck, wait-“ He pulls you right back against his body, walking backwards until his back is pressed to a white-brick wall, and you’re still held in his arms.

He wants to be able to see anything coming. He’s trying to keep you safe.

Your tears start to flow.

“No- shit- Don’t cry, Princess, you’re okay, it’s okay, you’re- Fuck-“

Dean’s thumb starts to run down the bridge of your nose, over and over until you’re almost slumped against him. 

It’s peaceful here. Against Dean. Warm and safe. Home. 

And exhaustion is already starting to pull you down, but you can still hear it.

Baby.

“Talk,” Dean mutters your name, brushing away the hair that’s been stuck to your brow. “Shit, I- I need you to talk, I can’t fucking do anything if you don’t tell me what happened, why the hell were you drowning yourself-“

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Dean stares at you.

He thinks you’re sorry because of the vanishing act and state he’d found you in.

He’s wrong.

You need to know. Just in case this is a more sophisticated trick, or a dream, or the last chance you ever get. Just in case the angels swoop down and try to take you, or the earth opens up and Dean’s dragged back to Hell, you need to know. It’s selfish and unforgivable, but you need it. You need Dean. 

Baby. I love you, baby.

“You’re-“

Dean words are cut off as your hands fist in his shirt, and you yank him down into a kiss. 

He responds immediately. Dean deepens the kiss in half a second, pulling you somehow closer. Like there wasn’t ever a question of if he would.

And you know.

But you don’t hate yourself enough to pull away.

This isn’t like the first kiss. You’d both been moving through that like you were afraid it would be ripped away at any moment. 

Now you’re both moving like you know it’s going to be ripped away, and you refuse to waste one fucking second.

It’s violent. Heavy and hot and wet, open-mouthed with Dean’s tongue down your throat and his lip between your teeth. Your nails scratch at his back and shoulders as he flips you around, pinning you between his body and the wall. And he’s still touching you so carefully—like he’s afraid you’ll break—but there’s no hesitation when one hand grips your waist hard enough to bruise, before trailing down and under your shirt-

A million fucking sparks set off when Dean’s knuckles touch the bare skin of your hips. Your back arches as he groans and massages your waist, and you’ve stared to grind up into him without thought, because he’s Golden and made of gravity and you want him to devour you. To touch you wherever he wants until you’re painted in Gold, to kiss you until you’re just putty like this, forever. Tended to and touched and without any fucking pain, there’s no fucking pain because Dean’s too good to have pain. 

There can’t be pain when you’re safe against his body. Nothing can exist but Dean kneading at your skin under your shirt, and moaning your name against your lips when you press against something big and hard, poking right at your hip-

Dean pulls away with a grunt, both of you gasping for breath, and your brow drops to his shoulder.

He just smells like spice, now. And you can taste it, too. 

You love him. 

You’re not allowed to say it.

So instead you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him like there won’t be any consequences. Any prices to be paid.

There will be.

You’ll live with them.

“Dean?” You whisper in his ear, and his hum of response rolls through your whole body. “I- I took care of it. Can we please go home?”

You’re ready for him to push back. To ask what took care of it means, and tell you that you need to be sure, and consult Sam, and you can sit the rest of it out, but you can’t leave just yet.

Instead Dean just sighs, running his fingers through your hair, and nods.

“We can do whatever you want, Princess.”

You want him. You’ve only ever wanted Dean.

But it doesn’t matter what you want. 

You’ll have whatever the fuck Dean offers you. 

And if it’s love, you’ll rip the Sky in half to keep it.

End Note: Okay so I made her a virgin because let’s be so fr, she’s impressively oblivious about that stuff, AND she was not about to get laid when big emotions made things blow up. We’re lucky Dean didn’t kiss her when she was still suppressing her powers. Girlie would’ve blown up the moon about it.

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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[revelboo]

AAHHH I got my favorite boys! D16 making sure that sentinel watches his step. I hope that your day is going well! And i love your content. 🤩😁💜💜💜

Thank you! They’re so cute!

I think you jinxed me, though jk. I bought two boxes after work yesterday hoping to get Bee and Hide and got this jerk instead.

At least the Megatrons seem to be happy? And Grimlock, he got a couple of swords out of it

🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

TW: slight n0n-c0n/forced seduction- reader’s not in the mood for Megs’s BS

Violence

TFP Megatron

• “What?” Rumbling a warning as you just stare up at him, pointing imperiously for him to drop the vehicon he has by the helm dangling from his grip. And you arch your brows like you actually expect him to obey you. Baring his denta, he slings the mech and is rewarded by a yelp and swearing when he nails Starscream with the vehicon and they both go done. Grinning down at you as you just scowl.

• Really? Maybe you should get a spray bottle and see if you can train the asshole. Every time he does something shitty, you can spray him in the face. Of course, that would only work if he mass shifted or voluntarily leaned down for you and you don’t see that happening. “Violence isn’t always the answer, you know.” And he grabs a second vehicon by an arm and slings him right as Starscream manages to get to his peds, nailing him again. Maybe you could convince him to get you an industrial pressure washer. That might work.

• “Violence isn’t the answer,” he repeats with a mocking sneer and you roll your eyes. How many times have you tried this? Trying to convince him that it’s better to be loved than feared? Fear works well enough. Fear is respect. Bracing his hands on the surface you’re on and leaning closer, your defiance, your anger sinks into him, intoxicating him. And you slap him, immediately grimacing and shaking your hand, before pointing with the other one. ‘Bad,’ you say and his optics narrow before he lazily grins. Oh. You’re paying for that.

• That was a mistake. Realize it as soon as you do it and he offers you a sharky grin, optics flaring. “Don’t you dare,” you whisper, backing up a step as his servos flex on the surface and you shriek as he mass shifts to vault up with you. Dimly aware of Soundwave using his tendrils to herd everyone out of command and taking up a spot at the wide open doorway with his back to you, tendrils lashing as he plays guard while Megatron is vulnerable. But your focus is on the warlord stalking your way. “Fuck,” you groan and his grins widens. ‘If you insist,’ he growls. That wasn’t an invitation!

• Laughing as he catches you and hauls you up against his chassis, your legs kick as you shriek at him that you’re mad at him and he’s not getting a reward for being an ‘asshole.’ Biting your shoulder to make you gasp, he goes down on his knees and you try to kick him in the face as soon as he lays you down on your back. Your anger fizzles out when he splits your robe to reveal bare skin adorned in the delicate chains of his harness, though. Glossa sliding up the inside of your thigh, you’re still swearing at him even as your thighs part for him. “You can’t solve every argument with your glossa,” you mutter sullenly as he settles between your thighs trusting Soundwave to have his back. And you’re underestimating him and his glossa, but you arch with a ragged sound as soon as he puts his mouth on you.

[soliloquent-stark]

i just watched thunderbolts and here are some rambly thoughts (don't read if you expect incredibly nuanced takes. also, obviously, spoilers coming up):

i am saddened that for the first time in a while, i left the cinema feeling pretty negative after watching a mcu movie. i was so hyped to see this; people made it seem like it'll be so amazing, the promo was so over the top, the trailers were great, some people even said it was their favourite mcu movie in a long time (or ever) and that it rivaled catws (spoiler: it doesn't). and it's wild to me that captain america brave new world had way worse ratings, less hype, less promo (doesn't surprise me...) when to me it was a way more enjoyable movie. i am kinda baffled and confused.

yes, thunderbolts has good moments. yelena was quite wonderful, as expected, and there was a few funny moments, some emotional beats, a pretty decent attempt at exploring loneliness and mental health issues (not perfectly so, but what can we expect). the visual effects were cool, and i really liked the eeriness of the void (both the black shadows, and the void itself, the way going from room to room was depicted and going back into their memories, and especially seeing more of the red room. that was nice). that's... about it, i think?

i am a big bucky fan, that's true. so maybe i am biased in feeling disappointed with how he was written, but i am. i am not saying he should've been the main character, but i expected way more. really hot take here: his role could've been played by another character and the results would've been pretty much the same. ava brought specific skills to the table, so did yelena (and she brought her dad along), even john with his stupid military knowledge and the shield etc saved their ass in a way maybe someone else wouldn't have. at the very least, scenes were written with that in mind, to highlight their skills. it felt like they really had to work together to get out of that bunker, and they were pretty well defined. but after that? unless i am mistaken and don't remember, bucky hasn't done anything that only his specific set of skills or knowledge could've done. i am not saying that to shade him, i am saying it because they had bucky, sebastian stan at their disposal, and he was kinda bland and completely overshadowed by everyone else. i mean yeah the motorcycle scene was cool... but?? i am glad they at least didn't include him in the whole speech about people who need to redeem themselves, they probably anticipated the backlash on that, but otherwise it felt like they really disrespected his character and journey once more. and goofy bits aside (for example, them all, one by one, saving people, then together holding a rock up... like okay, sweet idea i guess, and clearly showing why the marketing was effective afterwards, but like... c'mon now. the same way they kept having val say her plans to her assistant as a way for us to understand what's going on. such lazy writing omg) all that aside, the plot was kinda flat and predictable, one hour in and all the events had already been showed in the trailer, and at no point did we really feel any mystery or had to wonder what the bad guy is up to or where the movie is headed. it's just wild to me that this movie has better ratings than brave new world like whattt (and i will get to sam in a second). also another bit of lazy writing was how quickly mel turned on val (just to then, of course, unturn when it was convenient for the plot) and just called bucky up to spill everything like c'monnn ok yeah he's charming but?? yet another moment where there wasn't any cool old school spying or hacking happening, they were just... fed information and they just showed up. this movie could've been an email ngl, with the way they fucked the pacing and spent so long on some bits and then completely rushed the ending. but yeah you have ava and bucky there and you give us nothingggg about their lives, just one dimensional all around; we found out more about what's happening in walker's life and his emotional state than bucky's — but of course they were gonna glaze over the woman of colour but also somehow the fan favourite popular character who's been in the franchise for over a decade and somehow keeps getting disrespected every project. ugh. and sebastian was kinda acting like he didn't wanna be there, maybe that's what happens when you're not acting alongside anthony, but he seemed bored and flat and i know he's an amazing actor and a great bucky but i don't know, it truly felt off. maybe it's the divorce, maybe in the half a year or whatever how long it's been since cabnw there's been an actual breakup between them because what the hell was with that energy...

i am sure there's more i am forgetting but now regarding the ending: what the fuck. okay yeah i expected them to form a team under a different name because of the stupid asterisk, but more in the direction of like, dark avengers or something. 'new avengers' is just a slap in the face to sam and the avengers' legacy (especially after bucky made a whole deal about how that shield is steve's legacy and how sam threw it away and all that stuff i don't wanna rehash but sam was in the right and now look who's not worried about messing up the legacy?) and THEY WENT WITH IT? WHY DID THEY GO WITH IT? why would a team of badass people who hate taking orders just... go with it. to have leverage over her? ok cool you're professional assassins you could make her disappear in a second. you could put her in jail in no time. how was she legally able to stand there and tell everyone she brought a way to protect america and suddenly it's all okay? they could've easily told everyone the danger was due to bob which was hear creation and that she really needs to be locked up?? yes i understand they're protecting him but like what the fuck how is she not at the very least impeached. or maybe she was but then WHY are they still a team fourteen months later? AND GOING AGAINST SAM. that is the biggest disrespect i could've imagined and i was shocked by that last scene. i love bucky so much. i love sam so much. i love sambucky so much. so my brain melted at the idea that they're still doing it without sam, calling themselves the new avengers, and then actually saying his name out loud and disrespecting him so badly. the ONLY TIME they acknowledge that there is a captain america, a non enhanced captain america who just protected everyone from the red hulk, in a movie full of supersoldiers, is when they complain about him. and bucky lets it happen?? and moreover, they make it seem like they fought (which i understand, i would also fight with him over this if i were sam??) and it just makes no sense. why would you do that? after tfatws, after framed photo in the office, after i love you buddy, we get no mention of him in the movie, no respect showed to him, and then bucky not defending him?? this is HELL this is the bad timeline and i know i should expect this from marvel but with the other movie being only from a few months ago i thought we established they're on good terms so i am just confused and betrayed and SAM DESERVES BETTER. (and surely deserves better than having people now call him names and completely dragging him for taking legal action against this bs. not to mention his legal action was merely a trademark... get tf out of here) bucky deserves better too in the way that what the fuck is he doing why is not retired or fighting by sam's side WHY IS HE IN CONGRESS that was still not fully discussed like?? what, to bring val down because she was experimenting on humans and he is against that? well um now you work for her like what?? also who voted him in how did any of that make sense and also the way pretty much none of his plot had anything to do with him being in congress. he could've been watching the hearing on tv. he could've snuck into the gala and talked to the assistant as a civilian. what was the purpose of him being in congress? or you're telling me he will continue to be, after all this mess, and there will be a point later on?? why is he putting up with any of it. besides the fact his hair looked amazing in that last scene and he looked like prince charming i have zero good things to say about that and i wish it never happened. god the more i think about it the more angry i get. also where are all the other avengers guysssss stand UP. sam pick up the phone network around and you'll have them rounded up within the week how are y'all letting this happen !!! ok rant over

edit to add: civil war and all THAT didn't happen just for the 'avengers' to led by a member of the government. not even the UN, or an ethical body of sorts, no, just ONE corrupted and awful CIA director. how the FUCK would bucky stand for that and how is that not a slap in the face to steve, sam, nat, and everyone else affected by the accords (and this is coming from a tony stan)

[losver07]

lmao it's fine i wouldnt care much about repeating tbh, i think slowing down a bit might be good for me :)

"why am i always sick? well you see, every full moon i— seriously mate i have a fucking chronic illness, and you have a problem with being nosey. god, i'm not allowed to break bones anymore? for fucks sake"

i mean please look at him and tell me that's not a baby version of timothee. like a special edition lmaoo

oof yea i get that :((

yeah!!! like it happens to me with writing & drawing, my hand just doesn't wanna pick a side lol

obv it makes sense babe we share a braincell

yuppp she's lowkey crazy so it's fun to hear from my bedroom lmao. anyway they've broken up now so ig i won't see her until..... tomorrow probably (and then three days later aprox they'll break up again, so fun)

YES have you seen futurama cause i think there's a chapter where they have a time machine and it's like. the same shit over and over again. like there's a ton of liberty statues buried one on top of each other. gosh that show is my childood

AXOLOTLS ARE SO FUCKING CUTE!!!!! and yea moles are awesome. i identify as a mole when im out in the sun (astigmatism)

oh definitely we should french revolutionise her. and yup the stuff she says does not even make sense?? like did an actual human being say that??? idk it makes me depressed tbh she's having a huge economical impact in the worst stuff when she could be donating to orgs that at least don't harm anybody. like ok, you don't like trans ppl. fine. you can donate to OTHER stuff. idk, help orphan children? she should care about them taking into account hp.

i honestly think she's just stubborn and wants to piss us all off. i took a look at her birth chart some time ago and i think she's a leo so yea. she think she the loudest roarer but we used to screamin our lungs out!!!!

↑ idk what that was i just woke up if you couldn't tell :)

i mean how could i reject a cute doggo pic.....

YES IM CONVINCED ITS THEIR REINCARNATION!!!

lmaooo im suuuuch a shakespeare (im not i say dumb shit so the occasional smart shit sounds exceptional)

YAY ill be listening tomorrow hehehee

lol no please god i cannot let my tumblr comments be better than my actual writing jsbckdbckd

okay i can confirm the brush is not that bad. but the expensive ones last years and this one is probably gonna last two months at best (again, can't complain for 4€)

REMUS REEINCARNATION???? we need to find the rest. it's a quest.

sorry did i hear shark tooth collection???? 1. yes that smells like neurospice 2. THAT IS SO FUCKING COOL WTF

in my case i think both my parents have something going on lol, like i very clearly got the ocd from my mum but my dad has over 2k books and probably around 100 game consoles at home so..... (also he has like 6 copies of the divine comedy which is fun cause of course you need six of em dad, sure)

anyway not complaining cause i can play street fighter in a big ass arcade machine :)

not sims but if i wake up from a coma and they tell me i've been dreaming everything since 2020 i would fully believe it. literally every single aspect of my life changed that year. crazy. a lil too crazy...

nuh uh i totally didn't adapt my fashion sense to a fandom.... that's embarrassinggggg......

WE THE FUKIN BEST!!!!

oh shit we already do that LMAO, i have one w a wolf howling at the moon (cause we're cubs but also.... rjl) and one w just the cover of the dark side of the moon. and i have a bowie one in my scarf but that's second hand shopped i fear. we have a lot of meme pins it's scarily funny (the most popular one is the "I DONT SELL COOKIES" one)

you ARE a disney princess like whatttt that's so sweet!!! poor birdie i hope it's okay :(

this is one of the best interactions in the history of tumblr btw. like wtf

"my child is fine" ma'am your child prioritises memorising every single full moon that happened in 1975 over their schoolwork

[fuckedupfate]

⭑𓂅 . ☘︎ ܁˖ ﹕ SAFETY NET.  

leading roles ﹕ dean winchester , f!reader

notices ﹕ swearing dean trying to ignore the fact he's in love fluff author's entry ﹕ this has been in my wip folder for WAY too long, but it's now here! made this while listening to safety net by ariana grande over and over again (i think i listened to it at least forty [maybe fifty] times) so i could get the vibe correct. so let's pray it helped and worked.

it isn't a secret that dean has trouble opening up, letting someone in. especially when that someone is of romantic interest. someone who he looks at and he feels his heart skip a beat, shoulders relax, expression soften. something he hasn’t felt for so long. and he wasn't even aware of it until he caught himself looking at you for longer than a second. or two. he looked at you for ten seconds. admiring you, head tilted to the right, eyes full of admiration, affection, and.. love? love? dean winchester looked at someone with love in his eyes? he was shocked himself, going into a deep rabbit hole of confusion and fear that he, for once in years, was falling in love. 

but he was. as much as he wanted to fight it, wanted to deny it and push it away, it was there. even if he hated it to be true. love. it was there. every time he looked at you. of course, he cared for you. of course he cared, and got worried, when you were hurt. or upset. or something happened. it didn't mean anything that he always felt inclined to help you. to grab anything that was out of your reach, to make sure you came out of fights unscathed, or without any major injuries. he’d hate himself if he let you get hurt. 

he saw the way sam looked at him after he, too, saw dean zone out while watching you. he saw it. the way sam raised a brow, gave him the ‘what was that about?’ look after dean—may have—gone a little overboard about you not getting hurt or putting yourself into a dangerous situation. he knew sam knew. he knew that sam saw the way he looked at you with complete and utter affection. softness. care. love. that fucking word again. love. he hated that he felt this way. he couldn’t get attached to you—no, he couldn't. because he knows how it’ll end. like it always does—you’ll be targeted. you’ll be hurt. killed. taken away from him. like everyone else he's ever loved, or decided to get close to. so he always chooses to never get close—even if he wants to. especially with you. 

but you’ve got him hooked, lined, and sinkered. despite all of his worries, fears, and paralysation, he was falling further and further. falling into a love with someone where there wasn’t a safety net for him to land into. there was no surface. no landing point. no stop. not even a pit stop. each and every day—without his permission—he finds himself slipping. falling at a speed faster than light and sound itself. getting sucked in by every single thing about you. your smile. your eyes. your hair. how you hold yourself. your confidence. every.single.thing. he tries, so desperately, to push you away, to keep you at arms length. not wanting you to get close to him. because he’ll be responsible if something happens to you. for if you get hurt. physically, emotionally, and mentally. every single way. he could scar you. lash out and hurt you. make you never want to get close to him ever again. he could lose you. you. and he won’t be able to save you, won’t be able to keep you safe, won’t be able to make sure nothing ever hurts you. and he hates it. it’s so unfair—and he’s the first man to ever know about unfairness. it’s his life. every thing in it. 

he’s unfair. cursed. 

he sits at the the table inside the bunker’s library, scrolling aimlessly on his laptop, searching for some sort of crisis which has happened so he and sam could potentially have a case on their hands. it’s been quite quiet lately within the supernatural world, so he doubts there’ll be anything. just as he’s roaming through the different websites and news outlets for anything, he hears footsteps. not heavy ones like sam’s, or ones that sound like cass’, no. they’re softer, more quiet, calculated. they’re your footsteps. he can tell. and as soon as he knows that you’re walking towards the library, his heart quickens without his permission, breath hitching slightly, and his mind races with what to say if you talk to him. 

a small smile graces your lips as you catch sight of dean. “whatcha doing?” you ask, head tilting to the right ever so slightly as you continue to walk, walking closer to him before you’re sitting down across from him at the table. shit. you’re sitting down too? his mind races, clearing his throat slightly to make sure his voice sounds as normal as he can make it. “just.. looking for a sign of any cases.” dean responds, voice even and sounding as it always does, but perhaps it’s a little softer? hopefully you don’t catch onto it. but what is he thinking? of course you’ll be able to hear it. damnit. 

“find anything?” you ask simply. and god it’s such a simple question, but for him? everything you say is more than simple. everything to him is a gateway for his brain to ramble with thoughts, for his body to fill with different feelings and emotions, for his heart to quicken, and for his eyes to glisten with admiration whenever he looks at you. fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuck. he gulps slightly, managing a small, rugged nod. “yeah—yeah.” it’s a complete lie, and when he catches that, he’s quick to backtrack. “no. no. actually. no. i didn’t. nothing out there, apparently.” he so badly wants to look at you, so badly wants to admire you, see the way your eyes are on him, see the way you’re looking at him. not sam. not some random person. him. but he doesn’t. he can’t. not with how he’s acting. not with how his heart is pounding and rushing blood quickly throughout his veins. 

he doesn’t see it, but he swears he feels the way your eyebrow raises at his response, at how quick he had spoken. he swears he can feel the way you’re letting your gaze flick over him, skeptical on what is going on with him, because he knows he is acting odd. acting differently to his usual self. get it together, dean. “..right.” you finally say, voice laced with skepticism and confusion, maybe even a hint of amusement. “and.. everything’s alright?” you ask, head tilting to the right slightly as your gaze remains on him. 

his heart skips another beat—which is like the fourth time in the few minutes you’ve been sitting there with him. he takes a beat of a moment before nodding slightly, clearing his throat once again and offering you his, watered down version of, signature smirk once he’s—finally—glanced up from the laptop screen and met your eyes. “perfectly fine, sweetheart.” he manages, ignoring the way his heart drops to his stomach when his eyes meet yours. 

you let out a quiet huff of amusement, nodding slightly as the corners of your lips twitch up into a small smile. you don’t push it, even if you can feel that there’s something off with him. “alright.” you hum and slowly get up from the wooden seat you have been sitting at, tapping the table with your fingertips before walking away and out of the library. 

and once you’re gone, it feels as though a weight has been lifted off of his chest, finally allowing for a normal amount of air to enter his lungs. finally allowing for his heart to slow down and go back to normal. finally allowing him to breathe. finally allowing for his brain to quiet, but not as much, because he can still smell the lingering scent of your perfume. the lingering presence. your voice echoing inside his mind. fucking hell. 

as you’re sat in the backseat of baby, talking with sam, dean is sat in the driver’s seat—driving, of course—but his mind is elsewhere. focusing on how your voice sounds. how he can smell your perfume. how he can hear the soft riffling of book pages from the book sat on your lap, which he found that you fiddle with mindlessly whenever you’re not reading it. in all honesty, the sound of sam’s voice is just a background sound in his mind, muffled and deafened by the workings of his mind, so he can completely focus on yours and yours alone. even if he doesn’t mean to. even if he doesn���t want to. 

he can feel you lean forwards, leaning into the front of the car’s space, arm reaching over in sam’s direction, trying to grab ahold of the bag which sits in his lap. keep it together. together, dean. keep.it.together. he forces his eyes to not stray from in front of him, from off the road before them. he hears the rustling of the paper takeout bag, hears you protest against sam’s disapproval of trying to grab the bag, hearing the quiet laughs which come from you. he then hears the sound of victory you make when you’re successful in grabbing the bag, laughing at sam and beginning to eat the fries which are inside. much to sam’s (faux) annoyance. on the road. keep your eyes on the road. 

eventually, the impala comes to a stop outside of the outer entrance of the bunker. sam moves, opening his door and getting out, the door shutting shortly after. along with your own door. dean is quick to get out, watching sam walk down the steps and to the door, and he stops you before you can. “wait—” he manages to get out, gently grabbing your wrist, causing you to turn and look at him. calm and collected, dean. ease it out. 

you quickly glance down to his hand wrapped around your wrist, but you quickly avert your gaze back up to his eyes. you tilt your head, raising a singular brow at him. “mm?” you hum out, looking at him confused and expectantly. 

he takes a shaky inhale, glancing away for a moment. don’t be an idiot. god, don’t do this. just.. “i—fuck.” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall back down to his side. this is such a bad idea. push her away, go inside. don’t do this. he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes, afraid of what your expression will be like, even if it’ll be the softest expression ever. he can’t bring himself to do it. he can’t look at you. it’ll just make everything harder. make speaking harder. make his heart beat quicker. make his mind ramble on quicker. “i just—i—” he’s never felt like this. well, sure, he’s felt his heart be like this before, and his head, and the blood rushing through his veins, and the hardness of breathing. yes, of course he’s felt like this. but this is more than he’s felt. more than he’s ever felt with his not so little crush on you. he doesn’t even think he can call it a crush. it’s like an obsession. a need. a longing. he yearns for you. 

what makes it worse is that you don’t speak. you haven’t said anything. it’s as if you’re trying to let him take his time, let him do all the speaking. he doesn’t know if he hates that or if he’s grateful for it. he’s on a line of confusion. at a stop in the road, and he can only go one of two ways. tell you how he feels, tell you the truth. risk getting closer to you. risk being with you. or he can lie, say something about something random. ignore his feelings. risk not being with you. risk never being able to touch you. risk never being able to feel your love, feel your softness. feel your lips against his. 

“i need you with me.” he manages to blurt out, words quick but sincere. and it’s easy for you to see that he is being sincere, you can see it in his averted gaze, on his face, in his tone of voice. your expression softens, though your confusion doesn’t disappear exactly. “i’ve—i’ve been—” he stumbles over his words, unable to figure out how he’s supposed to tell you how exactly he feels. he’s never been a sharer, never been one to be vulnerable, never been one to tell a woman that he wants to be with her. that he needs her to be with him. “i can’t let you go. i—i can’t—you feel good with me. i feel good around you. i’ve tried to ignore it. tried to ignore how i felt. but fuck. you’ve got me feeling things i have never felt. you’ve got me thinking things i’ve never thought about. and i’m terrified. i’m scared of what i feel. of what i want to do. of what i want between us.” 

he knows he’s oversharing, but he’s started and now he can’t stop. everything he has been keeping inside, locked and shoved away, never allowing to escape the depths of his mind. it’s all coming out, all at once. and he can’t stop. 

“i’ve tried to avoid it. tried to convince myself that it’s all in my head, and i feel as though it is. i—” he cuts himself off, exhaling quietly. “i don’t know how to do this. all i know is that i want to do this. i want to be with you.” 

after a few moments of silence between you and him, after you’ve stayed silent for some time, he finally dares to let his eyes drift over to you. finally allowing for his eyes to meet yours. to see the expression on your face. to see the way you’re looking at him. 

he sees your lips part, and both relief and dread wash over him. he’s scared. what if you don’t feel the same way? what if he has just blurted out all of his feelings, all for you to say you don’t think that about him? what if you don’t want him back? his fear, heavy and poisonous, fills his veins. freezing his blood, making his heart stop. 

“it’s not in your head.” you say. words and voice soft. truthful. sincere. not at all a lie, nor a cruel joke you’re wanting to play on him. but he has second guesses. concerns. doubts. and you see that, feel it rolling off of him in large waves. “it’s real, dean.” you add on, in hopes to reassure him. in hopes that he relaxes and trusts you. “i feel the same way. i’ve felt scared too. worried that this won’t go well if i let it happen. worried that i’ll tell you too late and you’ll have moved on from me.” your words are so impactful. to him, they’re more than a simple confession. it’s an arrow into his heart, allowing for the fear which froze over him to break and thaw. letting his heart beat, blood rush through his veins. 

he finds himself stepping closer to you, his hand which he forced to stay by his side finally moving. finally drifting up and pressing against the soft, warm skin of your cheek. he lets himself feel. for the first time for years. he just takes you in. takes in the feeling of your skin beneath his. takes in the warmth and comfort which washes over him. takes in how much he truly feels for you. 

“never let me run away.” he all but whispers. voice soft within the silence of the night, mixing in with the soft breeze which is felt against skin, brushing through hair. “i won’t.” you whisper back, giving him a wave of hope to wash over. a small smile now tugging at his lips. 

his lips then meet yours. soft, warm, safe. beginning to feel the same thing he’s been dreaming of ever since he started falling down the abyss of love. he doesn’t ever want that safety net to come. he wants to let himself fall so far down the way that he can’t get back out. that he can’t let himself push you away and run. 

tag, you're it ﹕ @littlesoulshine @h8aaz @multiversefanfics @blossomingorchids ⟆ transportation ! ∿ quickie back to the hub ∿ be in charge of a fic! ∿ join the game of tag!

[ragnarockz]

Um.. I know you already wrote one Maya x Reader fic since the new episode but, may I please have another? 🙈 Maybe with Maya using the squirting strap to paint Reader's face? And then taking pictures? Please 🙈

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ANON! A N O N 🥵😵‍💫🫠

No I'm fine I'm good I totally "thought" about this all for ten min and I...I...had to jump and write this because I uhh because I...

This took me so long to write because I was uhhh I was uhhhh gathering...gathering uhhh...UH SOURCE MATERIAL AND UHHH RESEARCH AND UHHHH

You stay put on your knees and keep your hands planted on the top of your bare thighs. Your eyes follow Maya as she paces her office. She asked you to stay back hours ago, and you had been sure it was going to be about work.

It wasn't until you watched her dig into her purse and fill up a ejaculating cock with lube that you realized what her idea of work exactly was.

And now she was pacing back and forth with her hands on her hips; her high faux hawk like a crown on her head and the ends following behind her. She was in control without a doubt; planning her next move with you. She had already ordered you to take off your pants and shirt, leaving you in your underwear. She basically barked at you to get on your knees, using the toe of her shoe to push you down into submission and position. You choked back a moan as you felt Maya's shoe dig into your thigh.

You'd be lying if you weren't already wet against your underwear; bunching and sticking up against your labia. You shifted slightly to try and unstick it from between your legs; failing miserably as you created even more addicting friction against your clit.

She suddenly stops right in front of you and looks down; condescending pouring out from her. You bite your lip and dare to look up at her, and you realize you can barely look her in the eye. She smirks and shakes her head, and her left hand travels down to grab the base of the silicone toy erect between her still-clothed legs.

She was fully clothes; every piece of clothing on her still. Prim and poised; spotless as you watched the lube dare to drip out of the hole from the head of her cock. She overfilled, you realize suddenly, as your eyes snap back up to her face.

She knows you know now, and she smiles back. Bigger. Bolder. Deadly.

Your stomach lunches and drops and you feel the deep, dull pang of emptiness inside of your cunt.

You know that's not what she's going to give you, however; not on your knees this way.

She steps even closer; feet between your legs as you are inches away from her cock at your lips. And you know as she stands there, still with her hands on her hips, she wants you to open up your pretty mouth and take her.

All of her.

Every fucking inch she has.

And you have to because you have no choice because it's her.

It's Maya fucking Mason with her cock in your face and she's growing impatient with each second you aren't sucking her off.

You tense your jaw muscles before relaxing them and use the same muscles to open your mouth.

You suddenly realize you're not fast enough as you see ever so quickly her fingers, the peach painted nails, push down. You blink rapidly as something your brain doesn't register just yet come right at you; land on your lips and cheeks. It's room temperature and wet; slick.

She came on your face as a warning.

She came on your face because she could because she wanted to.

Your mouth finally opens but not to take her into your mouth because of your sudden shock. She came on your face, and she's...oh god, she's...

Her fingers that were on the plunger go back up a little to reach into her pants pocket and pull out her phone. She uses her thumb to swipe up, and then, you watch as she holds her phone right above you.

Once again, your brain is slow to register all that's happening. Cum on your face and you don't know why she's pointing her phone down at your face.

"Bring your arms in closer..."

The first time she's spoken to you since she got you down on your knees and your cunt clenches at her voice and the tone of it. It drives you crazy how nonchalant she can sound in moments like these; how mean and cold she comes across.

You know deep down, secretly she's just as turned on as you are.

You head her command and push your arms closer, which, you then realize, pushes your breasts closer together inside of your bra.

You hear a snap sound, and your brain fog clears almost instantly.

She's taking a picture of her money shot.

"...Maya?..."

She stops and lets her finger hover over her phone screen, looking past it now and down at your face. She looks like she wants to devour you; eat you up on the spot. She doesn't day anything as if she almost doesn't acknowledge you in that moment as she shifts her phone into her other hand so that she can find the plunger at her hip once more.

You hear another sound and realize that as she keeps her phone still, she's changed from PHOTO to VIDEO.

You open your mouth once more to say something and once again, met with the sudden sensation of her cum squirting onto your face. A higher shot this time as you feel the familiar lube on your cheeks and just under your eye; clinging to your bottom left eyelashes.

Your face burns in both arousal and embarrassment, and the rest of your body follows suit. You can feel your nipples harden against your bra and your clit throbbing inside of your underwear; he all familiar slick coating your underwear as well. You're a goddamn mess and she's getting it all on video.

"...Do...do you like making me your dirty little whore, Maya?"

You make your voice as sweet as you can and watch Maya's expression falter and swear in that second she's trying everything in her body to stifle back a moan.

You open up your mouth once more to egg her on and realize she's one step ahead of you. Always.

She pushes herself into you; into your warm and waiting mouth. Her cock grazes your teeth and you almost choke on her; not planning to have her force herself like that into you. Her hand moves quickly as she brings her arm down in a rush to shove her phone into her pocket so she can fully focus on you before her, under her.

She wants to fuck your mouth without any distractions.

"Oh, Baby...look at you...God...you actually are such a dirty little whore..."

She's cooing at you; sticky sweet as she rocks her hips every so slightly. She hears you gag slightly as you try to take more of her down your throat and suck at the same time. You can barely stand it as you decide to disobey her unspoken rules.

Your hands slip in between your thighs so you can finger yourself against your underwear. You don't know if she notices, but you don't care; you need to give yourself some sort of release.

Your eyes snap shut as your cheeks hollow out and you suck as much as you can and wait for her to, as you would assume, cum into your mouth.

When she doesn't and pulls out; a trail of saliva following her exit, you pout up at her and all she can do is grin down at you.

She uses her shoe, the same toe, to push your fingers away from your sopping wet core. You whine in response as your hands come up to, what? Plea? Pray? Grab her cock so you can take her back into your mouth?

She beats you to it once more as she grabs hold of the girth of her cock and lifts it upwards ever so slightly before she brings it down and let's the head hit the side of your still wet jaw; watching the muscle twitch underneath it in delight.

[angel-writes-here]

Covenant

Choi Seunghyun x AFAB! Reader x G-Dragon Synopsis: Jiyong shows up at your door, but what does he want? What will Seunghyun think? Warnings: SMUT! Oral (both receiving) unprotected p in v (Wrap it up!) fingering. Angst, fluff A/N: Part 7!! Due to my torture of the last two chapters I was excited to get this out! Enjoy my sweets! As usual, comment if you want to be added my tag list! ❣ Part 6

Your stare at him for only a second before you go to shut the door in his face, but Jiyong stops it with his foot.

“I don’t want you here,” you spat as you try to shove the door closed, but he won’t budge.

“I know,” is all he can say as he pushes the door back open and pushes past you into the room.

“Get out!” You stare him down, anger bubbling in your veins.

“I know you’re mad, but,”

“Mad? You think I’m fucking mad? I’m livid! I’m fucking furious.” You throw your hands and up as your chest heaves. The emotions won’t stay down any longer. Jiyong wanted to be in the room, well now he gets it.

All of it.

“I’m in a loveless marriage where we were supposed to be working on things and yet when we get home, after my sister fucking died, his fucking side piece is on what’s supposed to be our couch! I was alone! He left me alone our first night back home, spiraling in my head. I couldn’t call you because I was so pissed off. You left me alone, Seunghyun left me alone and you kept me from saying goodbye to the only person I was sure loved me in this entire world,” your stepping towards him now. All you can see is red.

“I care about two men who don’t seem to truly give a flying fuck about me or what I want or how I feel.” You point at his chest.

“And I don’t fucking want you here,” you seethe as a blow hits his chest. He stands there, motionless, letting you get it all out.

“Get out!” You start banging on his chest like a mad woman. He looks at you with sorrow in his eyes, but your anger has control, blows keep coming as he slowly raises his arms and catches yours.

“Y/n,” he tries to speak but you struggle against him, tears flowing free down your face.

“Stop, listen to me,” he tries to calm you down.

“NO, get out get out get out!” you repeat. You struggle against his grip but it’s too strong. It’s no use fighting him.

Your resolve breaks and you stop fighting, choosing to crash into his chest instead, where his arms are wrapped you and his head rests on yours as you sob into his chest.

“I swear I fucking hate you,” you choke out a slight pain in your chest mainifesting. Jiyong’s heart aches, but he tells himself it’s the pain talking. Your cries intensify as he holds you, his eyes shut, trying to keep himself together at the sound of your anguish.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. My life wasn’t supposed to go this way,” your hands fist his shirt.

He slowly leads you over to the bed, crawling on top of it, allowing you to lay with him.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he whispers into your hair. Your wailing is unstoppable at this point.

“I have to fucking bury her tomorrow,” you sniffle as your eyes begin to ache.

“I know, that’s why I’m here.” He rubs your arm with his nails, a soothing comfort in the moment of distress.

“I can’t do it,” you whisper.

“Don’t even worry about it, ok? You just show up. Seunghyun and I will take it from there,” he reassures you.

“Why would you help me?”

“Huh?”

“Why would you help me?” you look up at him, eyes glassy and puffy. He rubs circles on your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Because I loved your sister and,” he takes a deep breath, “I love you,” he says before capturing your lips in a short sweet kiss. He pulls away and you look at him, then down to his lips again. You crane your neck upwards and kiss his lips again, this time more desperate.

“We,” he begins but another kiss causes him to pause, “can’t,” his body betrays him, pulling you into his lap.

“Fuck him,” you whisper against his lips as your hips grind down against his.

“Y/n, you’re still married,” he says between kisses. Your hands go to the buttons on his shirt.

“Jiyong, please,” your voice is desperate. You are desperate, desperate to not feel alone right now, desperate to feel like someone cares, desperate to feel anything but pain and suffering.

“Please,” you plead again as the first few buttons come undone.

“He doesn’t even take care of me, leaves me needy while he takes care of another woman in what was supposed to be our house, our bed,” you explain as the last button pops his shirt open. He slides it off, one final look between your eyes before he caves.

He caresses your cheeks as he pulls your face to him, the kiss strong, full of unspoken words, full of passion and longing, full of everything that had been boiling under the surface the last year and a half.

You kiss down his neck, tongue licking and teeth nibbling on the soft skin. His hand finds the back of your head. A small hickey is left on his collarbone as you work your way down his torso.

“Wait,” he says as you get to his waistband. You look up, a lustful daze clear in your eyes. This is all that matters right now. Not the pain, not the bull shit contract, not the pain of losing your sister and your husband, just Jiyong.

Feeling him.

Tasting him.

“This is about you right now,” he murmurs.

“I want you,” you whisper as your fingers dance around the waistband of his pants.

“I want to taste you,” you almost whimper. Jiyong can feel the straining in his pants, his cock growing harder as images flood of his mind of what you’d look like with your pretty mouth around him.

Your lips on his pelvis pull him back to reality, the skin warm as you press teasing kisses to it.

Your fingers wrap around the waistband of his pants, pulling them down and you watch him spring free, precum already leaking out. Your stomach tenses, heat flooding your body. You squeeze your thighs together at the thought of how good he would feel. You look at Jiyong who’s stiff as a board.

“Relax,” you chuckle seductively as your hand rubs up his thigh. You see his body shake slightly as he inhales.

You look him in the eye as you slowly wrap your fingers around the hard, warm flesh, smearing his juices on his cock to help your hand glide better.

Jiyong’s eyes flutter closed and you stop your hand.

“Look at me,” you command and he forces his eyes open. You go back to the movement, eye contact tense as you can feel him shift beneath you at your teasingly slow pace.

“Fuck, I need you,” he breathes out. You smirk before licking a strip up the underneath side of his shaft, wrapping your lips around the head, teasing his slit with your tongue. The salty taste hits your tongue, something about it addicting.

Jiyong’s mouth falls open as he forces his eyes open to watch you.

“Please, y/n,” he whines and you sink your head down before coming up again. You repeat the movements, closing your eyes to focus on the rhythm. Jiyong feels a mix of pleasure and guilt. He knows its wrong, but truth be told, Seunghyun shouldn’t have left you here either, or at least that’s what he’s telling himself. He watches your head bob up and down, his cock twitching in your mouth as you pick up the pace. You take your mouth off, pumping him with your hand.

“ah, fuck,” he moans as his hips jerk into your hand.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says as he feels the familiar euphoria approaching.

“Fuck, please use your mouth, I wanna cum down that pretty little throat,” he gasps as your mouth reattaches to him in an instant, cheeks hollowed out, tongue swirling around him.

“Fuck, y/n,” his eyes screw shut, hips sputtering as hot liquid bursts into your mouth, shooting down your throat. Your head continues to bob, only slower, as he comes down from his high.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out as he tries to catch his breath. You let go of him with a little pop.

You kiss his pelvic bone again, teasing him.

“That was amazing,” he breathes out and you smile, proud of yourself, but you still feel empty.

“Come here,” he beckons you forward and lays you on your back. He hovers over you, kissing your lips passionately and your thighs, again, squeeze together, a small whimper leaving your mouth.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers in your ear before nibbling your lobe. You gasp at the sudden feeling before he kisses just beneath it, taking his time, savoring the feeling of your skin on his lips.

Your hands find his hair, curling into it and Jiyong moans, his teeth sinking into your skin. A small gasp is heard and it makes his hunger worse. He pulls off your top, allowing your chest to sit before him, free and full. He bites his lip as he takes the time to drink in the image before him. For all he knows it’s the only one he’ll ever get.

He notices a blush creep up your neck as your hands go up to try and conceal your self from him. He slowly pulls your hands away before leaning in to kiss your lips again.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and your blush deepens.

His mouth attaches to your nipple, his wet tongue hardening the bud as the nerve endings send small waves of pleasure to your core. Your legs instinctively spread at the feeling, a small pulse being felt in your center. You squirm underneath him and he takes your nipple between his teeth, ever so slightly applying pressure.

“Ah, Ji,” you hiss.

He rolls the other in between this index finger and thumb, your mouth slightly parting.

“Jiyong,” you whimper out and he can’t control the growl that escapes him.

He kisses down your stomach, teeth grazing you in his wake.

He kisses your thighs, nibbling on the soft flesh, licking over it to soothe the pain.

“Please,” you lift your hips up as your desire grows.

“So needy, huh?” He teases.

“Such a shame he’s never even tasted you,” he mumbles to himself before spreading your folds, his tongue dipping into you, collecting your arousal as you gasp at the sudden, but welcome, intrusion.

“Mmm,” he hums as he furiously begins circling your bud, the sudden contact causing your body to shake. His tongue does figure 8’s as he mercilessly laps at your clit.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp as your back arches off the bed.

“Ah- yes, ah,” your eyes screw shut, the feeling strong as pleasure takes over completely. It’d been so long since another person had you, you almost forgot what it felt like to leave your pleasure in the hands of someone else.

Your hips start to grind on his face, Jiyong pulls away, sticking two fingers to your mouth. You suck on them as if your life depends on it.

“Good girl,” he praises as he slips them from your mouth. He kisses your pelvis once more before he inserts his fingers, curling them and watching you closely.

“Oh, fuck yes,” you sigh as you feel his fingers hit that beautiful spot just inside your entrance.

“God, ah go faster, please go faster,” he obliges and his tongue is back on you adding to the buildup of pressure in your stomach. Your hips roll as if they have a mind of their own, your walls clamping down around his fingers, telling him you’re close.

He speeds up, wet sounds filling the room amidst the moans and whimpers falling from your pouty lips.

“Fuck,” you whimper out, barely audible. Your body tenses, a wave of bliss crashing over you as your ride out your high with a loud, pornographic moan.

Jiyong’s finger pump still, helping your ride it out.

“That was incredible,” he says more to himself than you.

“That was,” your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath, “intense,” you giggle. He comes up kissing your lips, your arousal still on his tongue.

“Jiyong, please, let me have you,” you ask against his lips. He looks into your needy, lustful eyes.

Fuck it.

He lines himself up at your entrance, looking to you one last time before he continues, and you nod. He slides in slow, the stretch causing you to choke out a gasp.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” His voice is laced with concern.

“N-no, just give me a sec,” you breathe through it, the feeling foreign to you.

“Ok,” you nod after a moment. His hips slowly rock, the feeling fresh, full and down right heaven sent.

“Go faster,” you urge him and that’s all he needs, what was once a slow rock of his hips, careful and calculated, has now become a more forceful, desperate slam of his hips. Your heart begins to thud against your ribs, a blush carefully blooming onto your cheeks as you can feel him hit your sweet spot almost every time.

He kisses your lips once before replacing his lips with his thumb. Your mouth opens instinctually and you begin to suck on it, the pad flat against your tongue. Jiyong’s eyes widen as he feels his cock twitch. Your eyes are wide, blown and fucked out as he slams into you repeatedly, skin slapping skin echoing in the room.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he grunts.

“Me too,” you whimper as you bring him close to you. With your foreheads resting together, Jiyong reaches down between you rubbing your clit.

“Come with me,” he murmurs and your eyes screw shut as the pressure builds.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as your orgasm is at its brink.

Jiyong snaps his hips one last time and that’s all it takes, the two of you are moaning and groaning as the blissful waves of pleasure wash over you.

Jiyong stays still for a moment, bracing himself on one arm as he looks at you, your face dusted pink, body slick with sweat and warm underneath him. Then his eyes grow wide.

“Oh shit,” he almost yells as he flails off you.

“What? What happened?” You quickly scrunch to cover up, as if he hasn’t seen your entire naked body all ready.

“Y/n, we, Seunghyun, he’s,” he stutters as he can’t look at you.

Fuck Seunghyun. It’s time Jiyong knew.

“Jiyong, I need to tell you something.” You take a deep breath as he wills himself to meet your gaze, you slip your clothes back on, half way, and slip under the blankets of the hotel bed.

“Seunghyun and I, it’s not a real marriage.”

Jiyong tilts his head.

“What are you talking about?” You take a deep breath.

“We did legally marry, but we don’t love each other, I’m not even sure we like each other. I don’t know what we are honestly.” You sigh as you pick at the invisible lint on the white sheet on the bed.

“What?”

“You know about the all the shit he went through with his image, how he was constantly in trouble. His label said he needed a girlfriend, then he needed a wife. It was never supposed to get to marriage but he couldn’t keep his ass out of trouble.” You sigh.

“So it’s not real? This whole thing is a smoke screen?” You nod timidly. Jiyong breaks out into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Holy shit, so that means we didn’t, oh thank God!” he almost laughs as the tension ceases in the room and he leans over, connecting your lips. The kiss is sweet, passionate, and longing. You smile into it.

Jiyong picks up his pants and shirt.

“You wanna go get something to eat?” He asks and that’s when he notices the small frown. The reality of life crashes into him at the sight.

“Oh, baby we can order in, I know tomorrow,” he begins but you nod.

“I’m upset about that yeah, but I have to keep up my contractual obligations. At least until the label can get us divorced. Meaning,” you take a deep breath but Jiyong beats you to the punch.

“We can’t be seen out together,” he nods. You nod to confirm his words.

“Exactly.”

“Wait, so tomorrow, I can’t be there for you?” he asks and his eyes look discontent.

“You can, but we can’t be together,”

“No holding your hand, no kissing your cheek, y/n that’s not fair. If he doesn’t even care,” he huffs knowing it isn’t your fault, but he wants to be there for you. However, you need him.

“Just promise you’ll hold me afterwards,” your voice cracks slightly and looks to see your eyes start to turn glassy.

“Baby, I swear it.” He pulls you to him, kissing the top of your head.

-

The next morning, you and Jiyong get your wake-up call. You whine into the pillow, Jiyong’s hand coming up to rub small circles into your back.

“I don’t want to do this,” you mumble out as your cheeks is cushioned against the pillow.

“I know,” he offers you a sad smile. Your eyes brim with tears and you blink them back, forcing yourself to get up.

Jiyong gets dressed, leaving before Seunghyun arrives.

“I’ll see right after, ok? I’ll meet you back here and we’ll order in, watch movies, do whatever you want.” He smiles before pressing a deep kiss to your lips.

You hug him tight before he leaves, the scent of his cologne still faintly in the air as he disappears.

You take a deep breath as Seunghyun texts you letting you know he’s outside. You exit the elevator, paparazzi everywhere. Your eyes widen, no one was supposed to know. You see Seunghyun come through the doors, he notices your panicked state.

“I know I’m sorry, I have no idea what happened, I,” he stops in the middle of the apology when notices a bruise on your neck. His face is unreadable, but his eyes flash with a tinge of hurt and disbelief.

“What?” You ask definitely.

“Nothing, let’s just go.” He says through gritted teeth. He takes hold of your hand, the paparazzi swarming you despite the body guards around.

“Y/n why did you stay in a hotel last night? Are you T.O.P having problems?” one reporter tries to put a mic to your face.

“Y/n, we’re sorry to hear about your sister’s death, tell us how will this affect your relationship,” another goes.

The lights are blinding and the sea of people is over whelming. Once you’re safe inside the car, your tears spill over.

“Fucking vultures,” you mumble under your breath. Seunghyun watches you, putting a hand on your thigh.

He puts an arm around your shoulder, allowing you to lean into him. You do, despite your feelings and frustrations with him. You needed someone today, and it’s not as if Jiyong could do it.

“I told him.”

Seunghyun’s heart drops, he knew you wanted him to know but a small sliver of him hoped fate would keep it from happening, giving you and him a real shot.

“So, what does that mean?” he murmurs.

“It means he knows.” You sniffle, dabbing a tissue under your eye and checking your mascara.

“No, I mean, for us,” his voice is weak, unsure.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “I didn’t know where we stood before he got there let alone now,” you look out the window, the air between you feels isolating. Similar to how it was not long ago when you were first married, only this time, it felt as though you were losing something; someone.

“We’ll figure it out,” he tells himself more than you.

“Can we just not do this today?” You ask as nicely as you can.

“I have to bury my sister and I don’t want this drama weighing on me while I do it.” Seunghyun simply nods, the same feeling of isolation encapsulating him.

-

You get to the funeral home, more cameras and even fans show up wanting pictures and asking questions. You sigh as you give Seunghyun a dirty glare. He throws his hands up in mock defense.

“It wasn’t my idea,” is all he says before the door opens. He takes your hand, weaving you through the crowd to get you inside.

The funeral home is nice, a cold atmosphere, but overall as pleasant as one can be on a day like this. The viewing is small, friends, family. Your mother is beside herself with grief. You try to comfort her as much as you can, but it’s no use.

You spot Jiyong in the mix of people, walking away from her and he comes up to hug you.

“You doing ok?” he whispers in your ear. Seunghyun is watching the two of you like a hawk.

“As good as I can,” you choke out with a tear escaping. He rubs your back, holding you for as long as he can before he has to let go.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he whispers before going to hug his best friend. You say hello to people you recognize from her life, friendly faces who are distraught and offer their sympathies.

-

The funeral procession ends at the burial sight and just like the hotel and funeral home, there are paparazzi everywhere.

“What the actual fuck is happening?!” You complain as the car comes to a stop. The people swarm the car, camera’s flashing, sympathies and questions being thrown to your and your husband all at once. Every single one is ignored. The tent is set up as people gather in chairs and standing room to be near the man doing the service. Seunghyun sits on your left while Jiyong manages to sit on your right.

“Have you seen my mother?” you whisper to Jiyong as the service gets started. He shakes his head no. He puts his hand on your thigh, sympathetically and the sudden clicking of cameras reminds you where you are and what’s at stake.

“Move your hand,” you whisper and he pulls it away discreetly, folding his hands in his lap. The service continues, words are said, songs are sung and the time comes for the casket to be lowered. At this point tears are flowing down your cheeks. Seunghyun puts his arm around you, holding you close and as much as you appreciate the gesture, Hae’s words still ring in your head.

“I have your sister to thank for dying. She’s giving me my man back.”

You want nothing more than to shove him off and take Jiyong’s hand and just run, but you don’t. You sit through it. You let the camera’s get the pictures and as soon as you can, you leave the scene.

Jiyong watches you walk to the car, powerless to help you right now. But he watches as Seunghyun lets you go, not immediately chasing after you.

“She told me,” he says walking up to him. Seunghyun looks around nervously.

“Then shut the fuck up, dude,” he snaps. Jiyong looks at him as if he’s lost his mind.

“What the hell is your problem. Y/n, I get. She’s under a whole lot of stress, but you?”

“No one else can know. You’re risk enough without everyone else hearing you,” Seunghyun says it, but he doesn’t mean it the way it comes across.

“You’re afraid I’ll fucking tell someone and screw you over?”

Seunghyun rubs his temple.

“Maybe I fucking should if that’s what you think of me. Since you clearly don’t know me better than that by now,” Jiyong grits his teeth, jaw ticking, before he walks away. Seunghyun’s fists ball at his sides as he watches Jiyong leave in the other direction. He walks back to the car; you’re inside staring out the window.

He gets in, the car silent as it pulls onto the highway.

“I’ll call your company tomorrow, let them know they should have everything they need and we can get divorced.” Your voice is flat, Seunghyun looks up at you like he’s broken.

“What the hell happened to working on it? I know you wanted to give Jiyong a chance but you promised to give us one too.” You hear the confusion and brokenness in his voice and you peer over at him.

“Is that really what you wanted? Or was that just some stupid shit you said because you didn’t have your little girlfriend? Well, now you’ve got an out to be with her, so go fucking do it. You never gave a damn about me, ever. I was just annoying, a pain in your ass, a girl who wanted you for your fucking money.” You spat; voice laced with venom.

“Y/n,” he breathes.

“Yes I said those things, but that was before-,”

“Before what, exactly? You know you literally went down to a bar and had a drink before you came up that hotel room that night wanting to suddenly work on things. You never explained anything further to me.” The car pulls up to the back of the hotel.

“And quite frankly, I’m not sure it matters at this point. Go home to Hae, who’s fucking name is on the deed to what was supposed to be our damn house.” The look on your face causes Seunghyun to go pale. He’d never seen you so angry.

You exit the car, running up to your room, despair and anger bubbling all at once.

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