#he also got rid of the button. like

[hawnks]

also gojo wears the same jujutsu tech uniform that he did when he was a student.

Gojos collar actually got a little bit higher! Im assuming that it’s to protect his neck after…. toji stabbed him there. You live and you learn ����

Megumi also has the standard uniform, which I think is interesting. They both frame themselves as anti-establishment but they both also DO obey the rules set forth by that establishment, regardless of what Gojo says.

[elytrafemme]

having fond memories of when me and my best friend took a walk and we just started like. discussing platonic/socratic philosophy. like idk if this is a Gay Person activity but there's something about meandering back and forth from a CVS listening to your buddy talk about Alcibiades

[muqingslover]

This question is related to the last ask you posted, but what do you think the lads men most unexpected/unconventional turn-on would be?

Your depiction of Zayne got me thinking, what is that shy man gonna do if mc finds his "weak" spot lol. Cuz yeah, obviously he'd be turned on about his beloved sending him risky pictures BUT the moment mc realises one of his unexpected turn ons that maybe he himself wasn't even aware of? Oh lawd.

[ this one had me thinking for days oh my goodness! Just a heads up, I got carried away with some of these...very carried away.....shhh. ]

Your lips.

Alright, alright, i know it sounds confusing but stick with me here.

I've thrown some of my takes on his kinks around but I didn't want to repeat myself so I spent some time stewing over this.

Eventually I landed on the idea that Zayne would be very particular about sharing anything that touched your lips, especially before an official relationship.

Drinking from the same straw, sharing the same spoon, tasting something you already bit into it— It's an instant way of getting his poor mind to go into overdrive.

He is a very proper and respectful man. He doesn't like to have indecent thoughts about you, but the idea that his lips touched something yours did as well make him all tingly and shy.

Massages.

He loooooves the feeling of your weight pressing down on his hips when you straddle him, though that's not even the tip of the iceberg as to why he is so into this.

Your hands are truly magical when it comes to getting rid of the few knots on his body and the further he relaxes, the further Xavier begins to grow more aware of you.

The comforting weight is slowly causing him to grind against the mattress under him each time you shifted on top of him and the way your hands make their way down his bare spine has him biting the pillow sheets.

Not to mention that the minute your fingernails scratch his scalp in an otherwise affectionate gesture he nearly cums in his pants.

His ears and neck feel so hot he decides to bury his face in the pillow to keep you from noticing.

He would either flip the tables on you at some point or (try to) go to sleep in hope everything would be fine once he wakes up again.

Gentleness.

That's right. You heard me. This man will crumble at your feet every time you care for him like he's a pretty princess.

I'm not necessarily talking about grand gestures. Simple and natural ones are the most effective. The type that you wouldn't even notice you are doing it.

Slow caresses on his shoulder or hands, checking to see if he's alright while cradling his face, patiently explaining something to him, wiping his face if there was something on it, running your fingers through his hair... ECT.

He has a distinct memory of you being so worried about him when he scrapped his hand during his daily troubles— It was no different than a paper cut to him, but the blood made it seem worse than it actually was and that caused you to immediately fuss.

He watched with such genuine adoration as you tended to his wounds; Your furrowed eyebrows as you focused, the soft concern in your voice when you asked if the disinfectant stung and how could Sylus not pretend that it hurt? Just a little bit. Just enough to hear more of your encouragement that it was almost done and he was doing well.

Trust me, it will lead to him kissing you without warning, seemingly out of nowhere, once it's done and prepare yourself for the best night ever.

(I cut this short like four times and still ended up being long....oh well.)

Helping him with his clothes.

Each time you fix his crooked, poorly tied necktie (which he absolutely hates to wear) or straighten up his collar for him Rafayel is fighting back demons.

This also applies to you helping him actually dress up (or undress) and picking out his outfits without him having to ask.

The sight of you standing in front of him, hands swiftly buttoning up his shirt, has him weak in the knees. It makes him feel as you're truly his partner. That this is the married life the two of you deserved to have eons ago.

Speaking of undressing, this naughty fish will absolutely tease you about unbuckling his belt.

He would take a seat on a nearby chair with a dramatic sigh before he asked for you to help him with his clothes because he was oh so very tired to do it himself.

He leans back against the chair as if it was his own personal throne, knees slack as he spread comfortably and tilts his head to the side to rest it on his hand.

"I have an early morning tomorrow, you know. Won't you finish helping me so we can head to bed?" It sounds innocent enough, rather playful even, but the expression on his face is anything but. Just look at the volume on his pants, he ain't fooling anybody.

Hearing his own name + Whispering.

Last but most definitely not least, everyone's favorite boy.

It doesn't matter what's happening the second you say his name his full attention is on you. It's like a very well trained dog.

He can tell what you're feeling, sometimes even thinking, based on the way you call him alone. It comes with the years of experience of being your best friend.

It however also comes with the perpetual problem that his body reacts so well to your voice that it ends up being a little *too* well.

You may be in the middle of an argument yet the moment you say his name Caleb would be fighting back a boner. upcoming fic sneakpeek—i mean what

Another odd turn on of his is when you whisper something in his ear.

It doesn't really matter what you're saying. The sound of your voice so close to him and the way he can feel your warm breath tickling his skin is enough to have this man crossing his legs and praying his bulge is subtle.

You can imagine the nightmare this was during teen years when the two of you would sneak around grandma's house.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 2 forever teen Danny adopts post-JJ Tim. Tim accepts he has a new dad.

[Pt 1: here][pt3: here]

Tim has known Danny a month, and he can say it has had a positive effect on his life. He's super understanding and accepting of all Tim's weird quirks. And when he ran away back to the Bats (which was a train wreck. B and Dick seemed relieved for 2 seconds, then tried to throw him in Arkham. Between him not selling out "Phantom" and still having JJ traits, they found him unacceptable.), Danny let him go, understanding, before accepting Tim back as easy as breathing when he came crawling back. He helps Tim break into Drake Manor directly after, revealing the invisibility and intangibility Tim thought he hallucinated to get clothes, toiletries, his phone (there's 20 missed calls, 5 are Dick, 2 are Bruce, 2 are Barbara, 1 is his parents, and the rest are his school.), his photographs, camera, and the card linked to the allowance his parents send every 2 weeks. Tim took the last thing because he doesn't want Danny to suffer for taking him in and help with expenses, Danny frowns before giving him a lecture about that not being Tim's responsibility when he finds out. Tim still buys groceries and gets them both new laptops when Danny isn't looking.

Danny modifies any electronics to be untraceable, showing Tim the whole process, so that Tim can contact his school with a fake doctor's note, a fake kidnapping story (some thugs heard what Joker tried to do with Robin and tried their own hand at it. Harley squawked about the JJ thing and how a new meta called Phantom killed Mista J, so it's all over the news. (A fake police report magically appears in the GCPD)), and how Tim won't be able to physically be at school for a while and if they could please send his schoolwork over. Tim holds off on contacting his parents, curious to see if they notice anything, and can't find it in himself to be disappointed that they don't (not even when they stopped by the manor a few days ago, they texted him exactly 1 time to scold him about the lack of food in Drake Manor).

When Tim's physical injuries are mostly healed, Danny moves them from the shitty 1 bedroom apartment to an equally shitty 2 bedroom apartment, still in Crime Alley. Tim feels slightly guilty about Danny refusing to let him sleep anywhere other than the bed, taking the floor or couch before he moves a second bed into the new apartment. Tim isn't sure what to do with the level of care Danny showers him with, but he loves it.

Danny, while disapproving and disliking Tim wanting to continue being a vigilante, doesn't actually stop him (something about being a hypocrite if he says no?). Tim designs a new costume since he can't be Robin, and Danny helps create it! Tim isn't sure how Danny got the nearly indestructible materials that need specialized cutting and sewing materials, but it's awesome!

The costume's base is black. Black cargo pants, an armored turtleneck, black domino mask. But he decides that since he unfortunately can't get rid of all his JJ traits (the laughing fits, the scars, his hair is growing green??, the (bipolar depressive/) manic episodes, etc.) and the Bats won't accept him anyways, so why not lean in. Over the black base, he adds a gothic tailcoat vest. It's very dark purple with bright Kelly green lapels and buttons. The lenses on his mask and his combat boots are the same shade of green. He feels like the green ties his new vigilante look to Danny's ghost form. He also finds the whole fit awesome and a giant fuck you to both Papa J and the Bats.

This does lead to his current dilemma. He needs a new name before he debuts his new vigilante identity.

"I refuse to be Joker Junior!" Tim huffs at Danny, who's calmly making dinner.

"Like I've said before, then don't be."

"But what should I call myself? I can't use a bird or bat name either. I've never had to think of a name for if I was an independent before!" Tim flops on the floor. The kitchen and frontroom is basically one room, so Danny can still see him being dramatic without Tim getting underfoot.

"Name yourself a ghostly name."

"Huh?" Tim sits up to look at the slightly blushing man trapped in a child's body.

"I mean, you're already connected to my ghost form, since everyone is going to connect you to your old vigilante identity, so why not pick something ghostly or supernatural." Danny turns to do something Tim can't see, but Tim knows he's just trying to hide how embarrassed he is about sharing the suggestion. "You don't have to. You could pick something more personal, like Shutterbug or Mania or something."

"Huh... That would work. It'd really rub in the Bats' faces that they basically killed 2 Robins." Tim mutters before twisting himself into a pretzel. "Any suggestions?"

"Depends. What do you want people to get from your name? And what annoyed do you want people who know both your IDs to be? Phantom was a literal pun off my lastname."

"How is Phantom a pun off of Kronokori?"

"Kronokori is Jazz's last name, mine's Kronoyios."

"Huh??"

"And those are our lastnames because Clockwork, or I guess Kronos, adopted us. Our original lastname was Fenton."

"You got adopted by a god?"

"Basically, yeah. Don't worry about it. It's probably one of the least weird things to happen during that time, but that's for a different time. What do you want from your name?"

"Uhhh..." Tim takes a moment to really think about it. "It should be something loud and chaotic, but not necessarily good or evil? I don't really care if it would make people eye roll or groan if I share my ID. Maybe something that is angry? I definitely feel angry."

"As you should." Danny affirms and thinks a second. "Wraith? It's a vengeful spirit seen shortly before or after death."

"Mmm... No."

"Sprite? It's a-"

"No way!" Tim pauses and thinks on his violent reaction. "... Sorry.. It just feels childish and like I'm a 2 dimensional game sprite. Not something that can grow with me or demand respect."

"It's fine, Tim." Danny flashes a reassuring smile. "How about Bashee? They scream to warn someone death is near."

"Aren't they all women?"

"Not necessarily. Kinda like selkies, there's more myth about the women, but there's men too." Danny starts plating the food he made. "Apparition? They're closer to an after imagine of the dead."

"But are they loud?"

"Not usually...hmmmm" Danny hands Tim his plate while scrunching his face in thought. "Let's see, Dullahan, Kelpie, Sphinx, Shade- Oh! Oh! I know! Poltergeist! They're loud, chaotic, usually malicious, they bite and scratch and slam things! It also doesn't sound childish, so you can keep it for as long as you need."

Tim munches on his dinner while thinking it over. "I think that would work. Hehe! A Poltergeist under the care of a Phantom."

Danny smiles, "Glad to help, kiddo."

Tim sets his mostly empty plate down and launches himself at Danny. Danny used to the behavior, quickly gets his own plate out of the way and catches him in a hug.

"Thank you, Danny." His tone indicates he's thanking him for more than just the name.

"No problem." Danny kisses the top of Tim's head. They stay like that for a moment before Tim pushes himself up.

"I think I should talk to your sister." He grabs his plate and sits near Danny on the couch. "I don't want someone to trigger me with a dumb comment or something."

"I'll tell her tonight." Danny says, "She's been wanting to meet you. Mostly because she wants to know her new nephew, but also because she likes to psychoanalize hero types. She finds us fascinating, but is still usually chill about it. Unlike when we were teens."

"What happened when you were teens?" Tim asks curiously.

"So Jazz has always wanted to be a therapist, and unfortunately, that means she knew a lot on the topic, but had none of the tact in implementing the knowledge." Danny looks absolutely fond. "She'd corner me to try and force me to talk about my feelings. "You can't keep it all bottled up, Danny." "You're hurting yourself and others by not talking." It was very annoying for an angsty teen to hear. She was right, but her methods needed work. And she's definitely put in the work since then."

"Any chance she's going to be anything like Harley?"

"Not a chance. She hates clowns and isn't one for jokes that aren't well thought out. You have to be really clever to even get a chuckle at a pun." Danny explains, taking their empty plates to wash them. "She isn't opposed to dark humor, but only if she knows the reason for it and knows it's not your only coping skill."

"So you got in trouble with her a lot, didn't you?" Tim teases, knowing Danny still uses dark humor as his main coping mechanism.

"All the time, but I started listening to her advice when I was.. 30? 32? Somewhere in my early 30s." Danny admits. "I got really tired of wanting to die all the time. And her advice has definitely helped minimize the want, unfortunately, mental illness doesn't truly go away."

Tim thinks about that. He knows you can't cure the types of mental illness he has, and Danny has been very open about his own issues, but he can't help his disappointment.

"Hey, on the plus side," Danny speaks up as if sensing Tim's thoughts, sometimes Tim is positive the man can. The man isn't facing him currently, so it's definitely not because Tim was making a face or something. "You're legally a person, so Jazz can get you meds. At least for your bipolar. I know you've been struggling with the whiplash between your extreme emotions."

"That's good..." Tim stares at the back of Danny's head. "You're not legally a person?"

"Nah. In the eyes of the government, I'm dead. It's why I've been hiding out in Gotham. The government has no place here, and as much as I hate the guy, Bats keeps the people hunting me down away." Danny pauses. "You know, I wonder if they think I faded? I haven't made an appearance in nearly 20 years. Then again, Harley snitched to everyone in existence, so I might have to start dodging ghost hunters again. At least the Anti-Ecto Control Acts got repealed, so I won't be taken to a secret government lab to be experimented on again. Shout out to Amity Parkers for clawing their way into office."

"The dad lore of your life is extensive." Tim jokes.

Danny chuckles. "Being a lab accident made ghost child vigilante with a portal to the infinite realms in his basement and ghost hunter parents and the government after you and the other ghosts visiting your town will do that. You'll have your own out of pocket stories to tell your kids one day, well, if you want kids. Otherwise, shocking friends is just as fun. Just imagine telling someone about the last 2 months. "Yeah, hi! My name's Tim! I was the 3rd Robin because a furry couldn't get his act together and then the Joker kidnapped me and I got adopted by the dead guy who showed up and killed him!""

Tim giggles. "I don't sound like that!"

"Maybe, maybe not, but it's still something you could say." Danny grins at him, drying his hands. "Do you need any help with your homework?"

"Yeah, there's a chemistry problem I don't understand-"

Tim loves living with Danny. It's everything a Tim pre-Batman would daydream about. Just a dad taking interest in his life and interests and taking care of him.

[txniesha]

Complication Sylus x Non!MC reader Pt.3

Synopsis: Sylus says no love is purer than his, which is true. But he forgot to include that no obsession is more intense then his.

CW: SMUT and it is explicit, cursing, some angst but not a lot, typos, grammar. Other LI are mention. Zayne x non!mc

A/N: thank you guys for liking the first two parts, y'all I been working on this for like 4 days because I lowkey been busy but also the Zayne scenesssss. I take..inspiration.....from my own experiences. Hope you guys enjoy! Tagging is allot of work I hope I didn't miss anyone

Words: 5092

You spent the rest of that night drinking your frustration (and embarrassment) away, drowning your sorrows in 1942 anejo and deftones. You woke up the next morning feeling like shit, not remembering the rest of the night after your third glass of tequila. When you checked your phone, you saw you had a few missed calls from some friends and two missed calls from Sylus. You scoffed seeing his name and were going to text him to see why he had called but was surprised you had already texted him.

You open it and read the message “fuck me” you curse as you read the texting containing your resignation from Tarus within it. You had gone off on Sylus calling him every name in the book as well as stating ‘don’t come looking for me dickhead’ at the end of the message. “What the actual fuck did I do” you say frantically typing out a text to Sylus before stopping. You realized if you didn't send this text, you would never have to deal with Sylus again, but you would be out of a job for a few weeks, which you were perfectly fine with considering you had more than enough money saved up. If you did, you would never be able to get rid of the feeling you had for Sylus, to be able to rid yourself of the resentment that you held for him picking another woman over you.

The two of you would never be able to have a ‘normal’ boss/employee relationship, it would always be something more there. Words left unsaid, calls you wanted to make but couldn't because he's there with her, feelings left unrecognized. You just couldn't deal with that, not after last night. You sighed, putting your phone down, and going to take a shower. 

 When you got out and were getting dressed you went into your purse searching for a pair of earrings you had sworn you packed but instead came across the business card you had acquired yesterday. You smiled looking down at the card ‘Zayne Li Chief surgeon Asko Hospital xxx-xxx-xxxx' you took this as a sign to finally call him. You put the number into your phone, confidently pressing the green call button.

The phone rang maybe twice when a soft voice spoke on the other end “Dr. Li speaking” he says, the statement sounding monotone. “Hey Doctor, this is [name], we met yesterday at the airport” you say a little nervously, you didn't know why you were nervous, but you just brushed it off. The line went quiet for a moment before he made a sign of acknowledgement “I remember, I didn't actually think you would call” he sounded amused now, but his voice was still a bit monotone.

You could hear the sound of a chair moving back making you picture him in his office, stretched back at his desk with a smile on his face while speaking to you. It made you feel like a schoolgirl talking to your crush.  “Did you call for more information on the health risk of smoking cigarettes” he says in a way that made it impossible for you to tell if it was a joke or him being serious. You let out a laugh at this statement sitting down on the couch that was in the room kicking your legs giddily at the conversation “no I'm calling to invite you out to lunch” you say biting on your manicured nail nervously, “that's if you're not busy” you quickly add.

The line goes quiet for a second and you hear the sound of papers rustling. He speaks up after a moment “No I'm not busy, I just finished with my last patient. When do you want to meet?” he says. You let out a small sigh of relief putting the phone on mute for a second as you let out a squeal, you clear your throat and unmute the phone “in an hour if that's okay, I'm staying in a hotel that has a pretty good restaurant. I've heard plenty of good things about it” you say, your nervous habit of biting your nail coming back once again. He doesn't hesitate this time, “that sounds fine, text me the location and I'll be there in an hour” he says softly. You go on mute again and let out a squeal and do one of those happy jumps for a second before quickly composing yourself and unmute “I'll be waiting” you say coolly, he just hums, and you end the call.  

For your lunch with Zayne, you wanted to make sure you looked good, putting on a black strapless satin maxi dress with white and gold heels and gold Jewlery to match. You looked down at one of the rings that you were putting on realizing it was one that Sylus had gotten you for your birthday. It was a solid gold band with your birthstone in the middle and an inscription saying ‘eternal.’

When you had first gotten it, you were confused looking up at Sylus with a big grin on your face and a raised brow “what do you mean by eternal” you said looking over to him where he sat across the dinner table sipping on his wine. He put the glass down and grabbed your right hand slipping the ring onto your ring finger, you looked down at your hand confused and then back at him. He smiled, this one was different from the other smiles, it was softer “that's how long I'll be here for you, how long I’ll care for you” he said bringing your hand to his lips and kissing the ring finger.

That memory was one you held dear for a long time but now, now you wonder if it was just a sick cruel joke he was playing on you. If he had meant anything he said, anything he had ever done for you or of you were just a place holder for when he eventually found his way back to her. Your eyes watered at the memory, and you quickly blinked the tears away pulling the ring off your finger and flinging it onto the bed.  

The hour to get ready to meet Zayne passed quickly and you were now rushing out of the door to get downstairs to meet him. You saw him as soon as you stepped out of the elevator, he looked even more beautiful than the last time you saw him. His gaze found yours quickly and he smiled softly as he saw you walking over to meet you halfway. He was wearing a three-piece suit again, this one a cream color and the sleeves weren't rolled up this time. “I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long” you say as you approached him.

He laughs softy looking you up and down “no, I would say you’re right on time, you look...good” he says the last part a bit awkwardly, you could see the tip of his ears go red despite the stoic look on his face. You laugh at his compliment and smile, “thank you, I already made the reservation for the restaurant” The restaurant inside the hotel was elegant but modern—sleek marble tables, soft jazz humming through the speakers, and light filtering in through high arched windows.

You picked a table by the window, one with a perfect view of Linkon City’s skyline, hoping the bright setting would keep your mind off darker thoughts. You pulled your phone out taking a picture of the Linkon skyline wanting to capture the moment. You looked over to Zayne seeing he was watching you with a small smile on his face. You smile and apologize to him, to which he just shook his head still keeping that soft smile on his face. The server came over and got your drink orders to which you got a glass of Dom Perignon vintage, and he got some mocktail that sounded overly sweet. “You don't drink Doctor” you ask him as you looked over the menu. “No, I try not to because I don't hold alcohol very well” he says not looking up from the menu. You were about to respond when you heard a familiar voice cut through the soft jazz music. 

 It wasnt a lot of people in the restaurant so it wasnt hard to tell her voice through the noise of others, especially when it was a voice you had begun to hate. You gripped the edge of your menu tightly as you clenched your jaw, you stopped yourself from looking over at her as you already had a feeling who she would be with.

You felt a soft hand touch yours and you looked up at Zayne, his expression showing concern “are you alright?” he says softly. You shook your head forcing a smile “I'm fine” you choke out. He shakes his head, his long slender fingers wrapping around your wrist, his index finger pressing against your vein “Your complexion has paled, your pulse quickened, and your breathing has become a bit erratic. Those are not the symptoms of someone that claims to be fine” he says a bit sternly. You wanted to snap at him, to snatch your hand away but you didn't. You liked that he showed concern, and the warmth of his hand wrapped around your wrist.

You went to respond but this time were stopped by her calling your name, both you and Zayne looked back at her. He was a bit surprised to see her also and you were (not) all that surprised to find Sylus standing behind her. His face was hard as he looked at you and it was an expression you had never seen before. Zayne stood to greet her making your eyebrows furrow “MC, I didn't expect to see you here” he says his tone the same as ever. She smiled “I didn't either especially not with [name]”

Her comment was so backhanded, so...petty, that you couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and sucking your teeth. This wasnt something that went unnoticed with the three of them looking over at you. Sylus smirked bit at your reaction, and you stand not wanting to deal with his unbearable interaction any longer. “I’m going to the restroom, I'll be back” you saying smiling at Zayne giving his arm a slight squeeze. You were already walking away before Zayne could even respond not missing the “what's wrong with her” coming from MCs mouth. Your hands balled into tight fists as you walked away. You wanted to go back and slap that stupid fucking smile off her face, but instead you just kept walking. Instead of going to the restroom you stopped by the Maitre d stand and asked if one of them had a cigarette, thankfully one did.   

You stood outside of the hotel smoking a cigarette with shaking hands, taking long drags as your mind raced. “i thought you would be here” a voice speaks up behind you. You sigh deeply, turning to look at Sylus as he stood there, his expression unreadable. You continue to smoke the cigarette “Stop pretending you fucking care” you snap at him. He just stands there and looks at you and then he grabs your right hand causing the cigarette to fall out of your hand. You scowl trying to pull your hand away, but he holds it firmly “the fuck are you doing” you say angrily.

“Where is it” he says harshly glaring down at you. You sigh angrily looking away from him “I took it off, now let me go” you say pulling your hand again. He backs you up against the wall, grabbing your face making you look at him “You’re not allowed to take it off, you're not allowed to quit, and you damn well aren't allowed to be on dates with other men” he says sternly his face close to yours.

“Why are you being like this, you're here with her right now, you left me for her last night, everything you do you do it for her. I don't get why you're acting as if you actually care about me when she's the one you want; I'm just something coming in between the two of you and I don't understand why you would make me feel as if I mattered to you. Why you go to the lengths you do to sit and play in my fucking face as if your heart isn't in there with that bitch. Why does everyone around her act like she's their entire fucking world. I matter too Sylus, I have feelings just like she does and for you to continue to choose her over me it hurts!” Your voice raised with every word, your eyes watering more and more as you spoke and he just stood there, looking at you. “I meant what I said even if I was drunk don't contact me, don't try to find me, stop thinking of me as yours because I'm not” you say pushing him away forcefully causing him to stumble back. 

 You walk back into the restaurant quickly, wiping any evidence of the interaction you just had away, seeing Zayne still sitting there at the table. He smiles as you approach, and you sit down at the table “everything went well in the...restroom” he says his tone light. You nod smiling and pick up your glass of Dom, quickly downing it. He looks at you with a hint of amusement on his face and his brow raised, “everything is okay now’ you say straightening your dress out. He hums and nods his head. You looked over as you felt eyes burning into the back of your head, seeing Sylus a few tables away staring at you and you ignored him.

The rest of your lunch was spent with you and Zayne getting to know one another, the conversation was unlike any other you had with a man before. He listened, took interest in what was being said, and gave you advice (even if wasnt asked for). When lunch was coming to a close you found yourself wanting to spend more time with him. He sat eating his overly sweet dessert that was covered in chocolate, and you raised your brow. “Don't you know all that sugar is bad for your teeth?” You said amused, he looked up at you and shrugged. “I'm a doctor I know all the health risks that excessive amounts of sugar bring. But just one sweet a day will not kill you” he says taking a bite of the dessert. “I'm not a big fan of sweets” you say taking a sip of your champagne. He raised his brow “weird” he says quietly. You laugh “I heard that.” He looks at you with a smile “I said it loud enough for you to hear it” he says with a playful eyeroll. The server comes and puts down the check and he swiftly grab it sticking his card in the bill and handing it back to the server. You smile “I could've paid you know, Dom isn't cheap” you say, and he just shrugs “I'm not short on cash so I don't mind” he says. You two finished up your lunch and he offered to walk you back up to your room like the gentleman he was.  

When the two of you arrive at your door you smile at him “well this is me” you say shrugging and he nods. You grab his sleeve “you don't have to leave just yet though, stay if you’re not busy.” He hesitates for a moment and then once again just nods, his expression unreadable.  You swipe the card to open your room and push it open holding it long enough for Zayne to enter.

You slip your heels off sighing and put your purse on the table nearest the door. Zayne walks over to the open curtains looking out over Linkon “This hotel has some really nice views” he says as he looks out the window. You hum in agreement sitting on the bed and rubbing your feet. He looks over at you “the heels you're wearing are terrible for your feet; the arch isn't deep enough to support comfort and are too high. It's recommended that you only wear heels no higher than 3 inches” he says walking over to the bed and sitting next to you. He gestures to your feet “may I?” he asks softly. You nod and he grabs your legs slinging them over his lap. His hands work expertly down your legs, massaging the tight parts in your calves before finally reaching your feet. You bite your lip suppressing a moan as he worked his magic, he wasnt even doing this in a sexual way but the actions were turning you on.

“I didn't know it was part of a doctor's duty to be a masseur” you joke, and he laughs. “it's not a requirement but it does come in handy” he says. You looked at him, his face wasnt as stoic as it was when you first met, and you could tell he was a bit more comfortable with you. “You don't open up to people easily, do you?” you ask him softly. His movements stop for a moment, but he continues and then answers, “no I don't, not usually” You nod “Then why me?” you say quietly almost scared to ask the question. He stops completely now and looks at you “truthfully...I don't know. You just...make me feel comfortable to open up. You don't ask for anything out of me or see me any other way other than as Zayne. Which I know is a little silly to say as we’ve only known each other for a few hours but that is what I feel”  

You scoot closer to him and smile “I get what you're saying. Truthfully, you're not what i expected. I thought you’d be cold… but you’re warm. Quiet. Kind” He turns to you slowly, his eyes tracing your features. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but you feel it in your chest—the same way you felt the tension earlier, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long during lunch. “If I kissed you right now,” he says, voice low, “would you stop me?” You don't answer, you just lean over and kiss him.

His kiss was different from any others you’ve had. It was soft and gentle. His hand went to the back of your neck holding it gently as he deepened the kiss. You reposition yourself, now sitting on top of him as you deepened the kiss. His arms come around your waist, not possessively or pulling you closer, just grounding himself. You push him backwards onto the bed slowly, your kisses getting more and more desperate. “This isn’t… what I usually do,” he murmurs against your mouth, but he’s not pulling away. “I can tell” you say back to him.  

He runs his hands up your side slowly and unsure. It was almost as if he was waiting for permission to touch you more, waiting for you to tell him to stop. But you don’t. You deepened the kiss, pressing your body flush against his and tangling your hands through his hair. Zayne holds you firmly as he flips the two of you over, his body now on top of yours. “Are you sure you want this; we can stop anytime” he says softly staring into your eyes. You smile at him and nod “I'm sure.”

That was all he needed. His lips were now pressed to your neck leaving soft kisses on it as his fingers trailed up your thigh. He caressed and massaged your thighs as his lips worked against your neck making its way to the curve of your breast. Looking up at you for permission, he slowly pulls your dress down, revealing one breast—and he takes it into his mouth. You gasp, his hot tongue swirling around your nipple, making your back arch as you grind helplessly against the growing bulge between his thighs.

He doesn't object or stop you, instead he guides your legs open further “wrap them around my waist” he murmurs against your breast. You obey, your dress riding up to your stomach, allowing your aching core to grind against him freely. His hands grip your hips, guiding you, letting you use his body for the friction you crave. He pulls away from you breast and sits up unbuttoning his vest, since it was a three-piece suit you decided to help him to get him out of his clothes faster.

You work with him to quickly discard his shirt and run your hand down his firm chest. “Like what you see” he teases as you run your hands over is abs “I do” He grabs your waist again but this time he helps you out of your dress leaving you only in your panties. His lips find their way back to your skin, leaving soft kisses trailing all the way down to your panty line. He grabs at the edges and slowly pulls the lace underwear off. You bit your lip as you looked down at him.

His eyes trail over your body, they don’t linger with lust; they linger with admiration, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you. “You’re so beautiful” he murmurs his hands trailing down your sides. He dips back down but this time he's positioned between your legs. His breath hot against your aching pussy as he looked up at you “tell me if you want me to stop okay” he says as his tongue darts out leaving a hot, wet, streak against your clit. You grab his hair tugging at it tightly as he expertly worked his tongues against your heat. His hands hold your hips still as you bucked against his face. Every flick, every swirl, every press of his tongue is met with a response from your body, and he adjusts to it seamlessly. When you gasp, he stays there. When you shudder, he doubles down. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging desperately as you moaned and writhed beneath him, coming undone on his tongue. He chuckles softly against your pulsing clit, refusing to let up as he pushes you through it. “Zayne” you moan desperately “please I need you inside of me.” He looks up at you his lips wet with your slick and a soft smile on his face “you don't have to beg” he says, kissing your thigh “all you have to do is ask.”  

He kisses his way back up your body stop just low of your jaw. He swiftly slips his pants off leaving him only in his underwear. You could tell he was big even without him being fully naked yet and the sight made you even wetter. He looks down at you sheepishly “I don't do this often, so I don't carry condoms with me” his ears went pink slightly as he said this. You just laugh and slap his chest softly “it's okay I'm always prepared for anything” you say reaching to where your purse was and pulling out a three pack of condoms. His face visibly went red at this, but he just cleared his throat “that is a very smart practice, always be prepared” he says grabbing the box. He takes one out and finally pulls his boxers down.

You lick your lips at the sight of his long thick cock standing towards you, the tips leaking precum. You reach up and rub it softly causing him to let out a sharp breath, his eyes following your every movement. You swipe your thumb across the tip smearing the precum all over the slit. His hips buck slightly at the action, and he lets out a soft moan. He grabs your wrist gently, removing it from his member. His hands grip your hips, and he pulls you towards him. He takes his cock and rubs the thick head up and down your slit, dragging it slowly around your clit. You buck against his cock, aching to have him buried deep inside of you.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark and intense. “You’re so wet,” he mutters his voice strained. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He pulls away slightly and rolls the condom onto his aching cock. He grabs your legs hoisting them up to your chest and you wrap your hands around your thighs to hold them there. He rubs his dick along your slit one more time before he pushes into your tight wet hole with a long, drawn-out moan.

You dig your nails into your thigh, burying your head in your arms as you moan. The stretch makes you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as he slowly fills you. Inch by inch. Deep and deliberate. You clench around him instinctively, and a guttural groan tears from his throat. He digs his nails into your thighs letting out a soft restrained moan as he pushed in and out of you slowly. His thrusts were deep and slow and hit that spot that made you clench around his cock tightly every time.

Your moans rise with each movement, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the room. One of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling it in time with his thrusts. You rutted against him seeking for him to go deeper and this sent him off. His thrust became harder and faster, his fingers circling your clit faster. You couldn't take it anymore. The orgasm crashes into you fast and hard, your walls pulsing around him as you cry out his name, your body shaking beneath him.  

He grabs your thighs and quickly flips you over. You gripped the sheets tightly as he pounded into you, the position making it feel as if he was thrusting into your stomach. He gripped your ass pulling you back against him with every thrust, his moans coming out loud and ragged. “Fuck...you feel so good,” he growls through gritted teeth, his rhythm relentless, his control slipping with every moan you let out. Your thrust back against him , breasts pressed to the bed and ass high in the air, and every time he slams into you it sends another wave of pleasure crashing through your core. You arch your back for more, and he meets you there, one hand trailing up your spine before curling into your hair to tug your head back gently. His hands had a gentler but firm grip on your hair as he made you look at him. Your mouth was open letting out loud moans as you stared into his eyes.

You can barely breathe. Barely speak. All you can do is feel—his cock pounding into that spot again and again until your whole body trembles. “Fuck Zayne I think....” your voice breaks as another orgasm builds. “I know, baby,” he says still staring into your eyes his voice ragged, he slams into you harder, “I’ve got you.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You scream his name as your second climax hits, thighs shaking violently as you fall apart around him again. He follows soon after, thrusts erratic and deep as he buries his head into your neck his hand now wrapped around your throat. He bites down on the back of your neck as he spills hot cum into the condom with a final hard grind of his hips. He lets go of your hips, his cock sliding out of you with a wet sound.

You collapse onto the bed panting, and you feel him get up from beside you. Moments later he returns with a warm wet rag “Turn around” he says softly, and you do. He gently wipes you down and puts the towel to the side. He lays down beside you propping himself up on his elbow “You okay” he asks. You nod turning towards him, he was so different from Sylus that it made your heart ache with how sweet he was. He hums satisfied with your answer, his fingers trailing up the flower tattoo sleeve that lined your entire leg. “Did this hurt?” he asks curiously, you nod again “Like a bitch” you say with a smile. His eyebrows raised in amusement at your answer “I’ll pretend like I know what that means” 

You two spent the rest of the evening talking and cuddling and eventually turning on a movie. You don't remember falling asleep, but you were woken up to the sound of your phone ringing. You shift in Zayne's arms and reach over to answer it not even looking when you answered. You wished that you had. “Had your fun?” Sylus’ deep voice came through the phone. You tensed in Zayne's arms, and you guessed he wasnt a deep sleeper from the way he reacted. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer to him, his hands gently stroking your sides. “What do you want?” you ask with a shaky breath.

“For you to stop being stubborn and come back” he says calmly. You grip the phone tighter in your hand, your knuckle starting to hurt from how tightly it was gripped “I quit Sylus, I left.” you say shakily. Zayne shifts behind you slightly, sensing the tension, his hand brushing up your arm protectively, but he doesn’t speak. “Come home sweetie” he says “Don't make me come and get you myself" he says and then the line goes dead. You look at the phone, your hands shaking in anger. You chuck the phone at the wall in frustration “fucking bitch” you say loudly. You stare at the shattered phone on the floor, your chest rising and falling as your breath comes in quick, furious gasps. Zayne sits up behind you, concern written on his face. “Hey... hey,” he murmurs, his voice like a splash of cold water on a hot day. “What happened?” You look at him angrily “I’m going to kill him. He thinks he can just call me in the middle of the night and snap his fingers like I’m supposed to come running” you say angrily. Zayne doesn't respond, he just wraps his arms around you and holds you for the rest of the night.  

tags: @sillyfreakfanparty @crimsonmarabou @z3vl @96jnie @perqbeth @justpassingdontworry @malleus-draconias-rose @sleepykittyenergy @aboobie @syluslittlecrows @scrambledhuevos79 @madam8 @fandomenbylover@insidious-innocence @etherealsoul90 @xsammijoanneex @acasualattempt  @sylusgirlie7 @jasperjokester @animegamerfox @jae48 @goldenbirdiee @zoezhive @rxelarailuj @huuvu @simphoursonly  @athanasia-day

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Do you think Harry would swear or has sworn? Such a niche question, but trying to realistic write him swearing is such a mixed basket. On the one hand, I don't really picture him doing it, even under extreme distress. But I can also imagine him letting out a light swear if he's having a bad day and has a minor inconvenience

I 100% believe Harry swears. This post ended up being a little longer since I kinda went off and detailed how a bunch of characters in HP swear, not just Harry.

Sometimes, characters are shown to "swear" on page:

“Blimey,” said Ron weakly. (CoS)

“Blimey, it is!” said Ron quietly (OotP)

“What in the name of Merlin are you doing?” said Ron (OotP)

“Why the hell,” panted Ron (DH)

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,” said Neville. (DH)

“Merlin’s beard,” Moody [Barty] whispered (GoF)

“Merlin’s beard,” said Mr. Weasley wonderingly (OotP)

“Harry, what the hell’s going on?” asked Bill (DH)

“Blasted thing,” Snape was saying. (PS)

("Blimey" and "blasted" are here since they were considered mild swear words when they became part of the language like "gosh" and "darn". "Merlin's beard" is kinda like saying "Jesus Christ" which was also considered a mild swear, even if no one really considers most of the above swears by today's standards).

The above is done when the swears are (very) light and something that you could print in a children's book. But sometimes, characters swearing is censored in the books:

Dean swore loudly. (CoS)

Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore. (CoS)

Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear. (HBP)

and Lee swore so badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug the magical megaphone away from him (PoA)

The lift clattered into view and they hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr. Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button. (OotP)

When that happens, I assume the swears are ones JKR couldn't get away with in a children's/YA book series. Like: "fuck" or "shit".

(Molly calling Bellatrix "bitch" is the only harsher swear word not censored in the books)

When Harry swears, it's sometimes not censored:

“She doesn’t love me,” said Harry at once. “She doesn’t give a damn — ” (OotP)

“And he didn’t think my mother was worth a damn either,” said Harry (HBP)

“Why not?” asked Harry. “Let’s get rid of the damn thing, it’s been months — ” (DH)

“Where the hell have you been?” Harry shouted. (DH)

But often enough, Harry's cursing is censored:

Harry swore under his breath (OotP)

Harry swore and turned away. (OotP)

Harry swore at the top of his voice, spinning on the spot to see where Mundungus had gone. (HBP)

Harry swore. Someone screamed. (HBP)

So, to me, this suggests Harry says "fuck" or British stuff like "sod off". He 100% does use harsher swears, and it's in character for him to do so. He swears under his breath when shit goes badly or he finds himself in a situation he really doesn't want to be in. He swears loudly when Mandungus escapes him, so when he's really angry, he can go and shout a proper F-bomb. Let Harry say "fuck", his life sucks and he deserves it.

Ron also swears sometimes harsher swears than "hell" or "bloody hell" but he does so more rarely than Harry and when things are really bad. Usually, he goes for lighter stuff like: "Merlin", "hell", or "blimey".

Hermione doesn't swear except for the "Merlin's pants" comment in DH which was clearly meant to be "Merlin's balls" but JKR got censored by her editors and one time she says "damn" in DH. Hermione doesn't even use light swears like "Merlin", "damn" or "hell". She, just, doesn't swear until DH, and even then only twice. Like, her most extreme for the majority of the books is going: "oh my", "oh my god", or "oh my goodness". Hermione is the only member in the Golden Trio that doesn't swear:

“Oh, my — ” Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm. (PoA)

“Oh my goodness,” said Hermione suddenly (PoA)

“Oh gosh, I forgot!” said Hermione (OotP)

“Oh my ...” Harry heard Hermione squeal, terrified, beside him. (OotP)

“Today?” shrieked Hermione. “Today? But why didn’t you — oh my God — you should have said — ” (HBP)

“Oh my — !” shrieked Hermione, as she and Ron caught up with Harry (DH)

I went a bit off track, but theses are some characters and how they swear that I found while searching this:

Harry, Dean & Lee: swear in profanities that need to be censored ("fuck", "shit", "sodding hell") often and sprinkle lighter swears ("hell", "damn") in there. Harry uses "damn" relatively often.

Ron, the twins, Bill & Arthur: use mostly light swears ("hell", "bloody", "blasted") but use some harsher swears ("fuck", "shit") when needed (and Molly isn't looking).

(I assume Ginny is in this above category too, but I only found her saying "damn" once)

Neville, Dumbledore, Hagrid & Snape (at least, when we see him): use only light swears such as "hell", "blasted" or "Merlin" and its derivatives.

Molly: Doesn't really swear except that one time (calling Bellatrix a bitch).

Hermione & Luna: never use profanities unless really at their limit. Don't even use light swears or "Merlin" and its derivatives. Hermione says: "oh my god" or "oh my goodness", Luna says: "oh, no".

Lupin doesn't swear anywhere on-page either.

Surprisingly I couldn't find any mention of Sirius swearing, not even light stuff (like "Merlin's beard"). I guess he really was raised to have proper manners. Or maybe he's actively censoring himself in front of Harry to be a good role model.

[writing-mlm]

I saw you say you wanted to write for Clark some more could I request a ftm reader who has like a lot of piercings and one day he surprises Clark with like getting Superman jewelry for some of them

Like a belly button piercing or or or nipple piercings like I just recently got mine did and like it hurts but they look so so so so pretty

Clark discovers a new kink (or three)

Summary: Your piercer has some new jewelry and you learn some things about your boyfriend. Pairing: Clark Kent x Ftm!Reader Word count: 1.9k Tags/Warnings: piercings, nipple play, smut, t-dick and hole used to describe sexual parts, implied top surgery, fingering, squirting, creampie, whimpering Clark Kent, a little after care, soft-dom Clark A/n: Saw this request and couldn’t get it out my mind

You had a decent amount of piercings, you guess. You had your septum, the array of ears, eyebrow, angel bites, navel, and nipples. Lately, you’ve been considering others; a tongue ring, bridge, other lip piercings but you weren’t sure. At least until your friend had suggested you come with her to get her tattoo at your typical studio. You figured, why not. You had some spare cash, enough for a piercing and if you felt like it, you’d get one. 

The studio, a little hidden place tucked above a barber shop and a hair salon, had a couple of services. They did tattoos, waxing, piercings, and sold items for all three in the front of the shop. While your friend was getting herself situated, checking in for the appointment and paying while you scanned the piercing shelves, hoping something spoke to you. 

And boy did it. 

Under the new section sat a wide selection of hero-themed jewelry. It had all the major ones, including Superman. He seemed to be the more prevalent one, considering you were in his city. But in the vast assortment, you couldn’t help but be drawn towards the nipple bars and belly rings. 

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” Your friend asks, leaning against the glass as she looks down at the piercings. “Oh, score! They got Wonder Woman, might get the septum one.” The cashier drifts over and you get the three goods been eyeing while she decides not right now. Her septum isn’t healed enough for her to change out the jewelry. It wasn’t a lot, all things considered, less than the spare change you had in your pocket. 

The two of you moved to the tattoo booth, her tattoo artist and she began talking while you eyed the jewelry. 

Clark was probably still at work, he’d get home around five if there wasn’t someone who needed saving. And fuck, you can almost picture his reaction to seeing you wearing his logo. 

While they were still talking about placements, you quickly excused yourself to the bathroom to put them on. Half sure that this is safe because why wouldn’t a tattoo and piercing bathroom be sterile and safe but also half driven by the idea of a pent-up Clark. Sue you. 

— 

As expected, Clark got home exactly ten minutes after he clocked out. The front door was opening as you were lounging, looking for something to watch. 

“Hi, I’m home, sweetheart!” He calls before he can even see you. 

“Hey, baby! How was work?” The door closes and locks, he’s working on his shoes at the door. Shifting on the couch, you get rid of your shirt and stand up to meet him in the hallway. 

“Uh, good. I started working on an article about the number of lead pipes in the city, it’s been approved. What about you? How did Gen’s tattoo go?” His black oxfords get placed neatly on the shoe rack as you wait at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall for him to look up. 

“Eh, good. She has another session tomorrow. It’s looking cool,” As he stands to his full height, his eyes fall on your face. He smiles at you, already getting his tie off. You’re a little upset he doesn’t look you over immediately but you’ll forgive him because he’s mid-step, about to say something when he finally notices. 

“Christ, is that—?” He’s in front of you faster than you can process, his hands on your hips as he looks at your nipples and then your navel. 

“Like them?” You ask, grinning. He looks at you through his eyelashes, licking his lips. 

“Like them?” He echoes, dragging his left hand up to your nipple and rolling his thumb over it. He’s breathing loudly, in through his nose and out through his mouth, his focus on the way your nipple hardens next to his symbol. Fuck, his symbol. “I love them,” He mutters while you hold his forearms, eyes half-lidded because he brings his right hand to do the same to your other nipple. It perks up just like the left one and soon enough, you moan a little at his actions. 

He groans before he picks you up, his hands now firmly planted on your ass. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you undo his tie, tossing it to the ground, hoping Krypto doesn’t destroy it if he ends up finding it. 

You’re on the bed soon after, the door shut and locked as if Krypton had grown thumbs and could open the door that way. Clark makes a point of turning the light on, slowly stalking to the bed as you lay there, your new jewelry shining in the light. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” He drags out, climbing onto the bed from the end. 

“Am I?” You tease, looking down at him, now propped up on your elbows. He groans a nod as he climbs on top of your legs, his hands planted firmly on either side of your thighs. Opening your legs, you watch as his eyes dart down, catching sight of your navel piercing again. It dangles, flipped over to the side without his symbol isn’t showing and that simply won’t do. 

He looks up at you as he flips it over, making sure you watch as his hand ghosts over the piercing and down to the waistband of your boxers. Clark ignores it completely, dragging his index and middle finger down until he reaches your slit. 

Once he does, he opens the flap on the boxers and grabs your t-dick, giving it slow strokes. “Fuck,” You whimper, your back arching a little as he does. Grabbing his head, you grip his hair and fall flat on your back. Carefully and without removing his hand, Clark climbs further up on you until he’s eye to eye with your nipples. You watch as he leans down, his tongue slowly dragging from his lips before they latch onto your nipple. 

His teeth graze over it, his canines catch in the metal bar enough that it tugs. The pain is that awfully good pain that you need to chase, pressing your chest closer to his face. His hand ghosts over your scars, reaching up to give your other nipple the same attention. 

“Clark,” You shudder. 

“Kal-El,” His voice is an almost whimper of a plea. “Fuck, call me Kal-El, please.” His eyes meet yours and you nod. You’ve heard his birth name countless times, it’s not typically something he wants you to call him. But you have, and usually always get the same reaction— save you’re not calling him while injured. 

“Kal-El,” You breathe as his lips return to your perky nipples. He groans, fisting the bed sheets, and humps the air aimlessly. “I need you, Kal-El,” 

“You have me,” He promises, detaching and going over to your other nipple. He gives it licks between his words. “My mind, my body, my soul, my future— my everything.” His eyes focus on his symbol, his family crest stuck on your body unless it was deliberately removed. His home and his hope, inside of you. 

“Fuck,” He groans and raises to his knees, his care for his shirt gone out the window as he literally rips it off, discarding the fabric to the floor. He does the same for his pants and boxers before he looks at you for approval. Chewing on your bottom lip, you nod and lift your hips, watching as he easily tears your boxers off as if they were paper. 

He leans down, slowly sliding his middle and ring finger inside of you, the rest of his palm covering your t-dick. Your thighs quiver at the feeling, clenching around his wrist as Clark keeps eye contact with you. 

“Kal—“ You gasp, feeling him work your insides. He nods, egging you on as he continues to finger you, his free hand working on pumping his already hard cock. As your chest heaves, his eyes switch back to your stomach, watching as the dangling charm bounces with each shaky breath you take. “Kal-el, please.” You manage.

He speeds up, his fingers quickly getting drenched and the room filling with wet, sloppy noises. “That feel good?” He asks and you nod wildly, your moans not letting you get a word out. 

“So good,” You clench around him, the same way you do when you’re about to cum and he slows down before pulling his fingers out from you. “No, please Kal-el,” Grabbing his wrist, you try to pull him back inside but he laughs, pulling his arms behind his back before leaning down and kissing you. Kissing him back, you grind down on him, trying to get that high back. 

Clark pulls away from the kiss, his lips dragging down your chin and neck while he keeps his eye contact. “Be patient, sweetheart,” He says while grabbing his dick, rubbing it up and down your slit before he slips the tip inside. With his free hand, he presses your stomach to the bed, keeping you in place as you whine. He has the audacity to laugh at you, slipping the tip in and out just to see you try and chase him. 

“You’re being so mean,” You frown. “Please, baby.” Deliberately, you run your hands up your chest, flicking the metal bar that makes the S symbols on the end bounce. When his eyes zero in on the bar, you know you’ve gotten him and grind down again. This time, he slips past the tip and you let out a low moan, your eyes fluttering closed. Slowly, Clark rolls his hips, watching as he disappears inside of you, watching how your legs move and twitch with each slow, hard thrust. 

It doesn’t last long though, as his eyes return to your face and he starts to pick up his pace. He leans down, kissing and sucking along your neck while you struggle to find a grip with the new pacing. Clark’s not faring any better, he’s a whimpering mess in your ear. Pathetic noises that leave him are like music to your ears. 

You’re holding onto the headboard with one hand, the other is scratching at his back as he pounds into you. “You feel so good,” He slurs into your neck. “Taking all of me, like a good boy.” Your back arches up in the air as you struggle to make coherent sentences, tears budding in the corner of your eyes. 

When you tighten around him, he looks at you, his wet eyelashes clumping together in a way that makes your toes curl and- for the first time- you squirt. He looks down, seeing his pelvis wet from it, and it rolls off of him and onto the bed. The feeling, the sounds, and the sight make Clark moan loudly, spilling into you. Despite it, he keeps himself inside of you, his dick slowly getting soft as his cum slowly seeps out. 

He pants, rising up to his knees. His dick pulls out from you with a small pop and you twitch, staring at the ceiling. “Are you okay, baby?” He hurriedly asks, scooping you up. Blinking, you lick your lips before looking at him. 

“Holy shit,” You chuckle, messing with his curls. “I should’ve gotten those sooner.” He snorts and picks you up properly, carrying you into the bathroom where he prepares a nice bath after cleaning you up. 

— Two days later, Clark doesn’t know how to react when you show off your new tongue piercing. His symbol lay flat on top of it. All he knows is that this is going to be a long, long, six weeks.

[k1mbe3rly]

Could you do something with sub namgyu maybe? Like he gets forced into submission

yess🥵🥵 LMFAOO sorry i was crashing out for hours but im back in mind 🙄 out of sight out of mind 😈

Desperate

warnings: smut, sub!namgyu x fem!dom reader, begging, slight leg humping (out of squid games)

Nam-gyu just came home from his job as a club promoter, he sighed as he looked over seeing you on the couch on your phone, he’s guessing you also just came home from work which you did, despising your wrinkled white button up t shirt untucked from your knee above skirt

He went up from behind the couch and looking over your shoulder, “Hey i’m home” he said whispering in your ear, you weren’t really in the mood since you had a bad day at work so you kinda brushed him off and just nodded, he looked over at you in confusion

He hummed as he moved your hair the other side of your side and nuzzled his face in your neck inhaling your scent, he smirked softly as he begin kissing your neck, “Can you stop? i’m not really in the mood..” you said as you sighed, “Than i’ll turn your frown..upside down” he said chuckling at his own joke and kept kissing your neck slightly sucking on it

“I’m serious Nam-gyu.. not today okay? maybe tomorrow” you said trying to move away but he placed his hands on your shoulder, “Come on..it’ll be fun. I promise baby” he said licking your neck a bit, you groaned and shoved his face away as he whined out and went around the couch and sitting next to you, “What? what’s wrong huh? your usually so needy” he said looking at you, you crossed your arms and looked at him

“Okay well not today, i had a bad day at work.” you said lazily. He hummed a simple understanding, “I can.. change that” he said quietly a bit, you raised your eyebrow and smirked softly “and how are you gonna do that huh?” you said sitting up a bit, “Let me do my job, you’ll be satisfied..” he said slowly getting on his knees infront of you.

He slowly opened your legs and traveled his hands to the edge of your skirt, you quickly gripped on his wrist with a serious expression, “You really don’t know when to stop huh. i told you i wasn’t in the mood didn’t i?” you said still gripping his wrist, he winced slightly “Baby- chill! i’m sorry.” he said scrunching his eyebrows a bit, “Show me your sorry.” you said releasing his wrist as he got up, he smirked a bit

He unbuckled his pants getting rid of his belt and unbuttoning his pants, before pulling them down he grabbed both your legs spreading them and again putting his hands in your skirt, you quickly stopped him again “No. your not gonna fuck me, find another way.. or beg for it.” you said closing your legs, he looked at you with a confused face “Seriously? but that’s not even my place!” he said, “excuse me? either that or you get nothing” you said back, he scoffed “I’m not begging! you know how.. dumb I’ll look!?” he said, “fine by me, i’m not the one trying to have sex” you said shrugging and going back to your phone. He sighed and sat down.

It didn’t take long for him to give in or whatever, so that’s how he ended up on the floor, whining for you, and humping your leg without any pants on, he moved his hips against your leg, his clothed cock rubbing against you. “Please..? i’m sorry okay? can i please just fuck you?” he said still keeping his movements against you, you faked a yawned “boring..babe i don’t know..im getting kinda sleepy..” you said, he whined out again a almost cry and choked out whine “Baby please! i need you! please!! i’ll do all the work i swear! i just need to be inside you!” he said clinging on to your leg, he quickly moved off your leg, picking up one leg and kissing down to your heels.

He slowly took off your heel, kissing your foot a bit (bare with me 😢🙏), and he kissed back up, he went your other leg doing the exact same and placing your heels somewhere else, he than looked up at you “Please? its the most you can do..” he said, “The most i can do?” you questioned. “not like that! baby please! please im begging like you said!” he said whining, “fine..you can only eat me out, than i’ll see how i feel after.” you said ruffling his hair that became a bit messy, he quickly lifted your skirt high enough and slid your panties off

he smiled up at you “Thank you..” he whispered as he spread your legs and quickly put his head between giving your clit a kiss, and slowly sucked on it, you let out a moan as he kept sucking on your clit, he said licked on it, be moved his tongue around and inside, you moaned out shutting your eyes putting your legs on his shoulders, he held onto your thighs as he continued eating you out, you kept moaning and gasping as your hands went to his hair, gripping and tugging on his hair, he let out a low growl and kept e shoving his tongue and managed suck a bit on your clit, he than rubbed your clit with his thumb, soft slurping sounds and moans filled the room as you finally cummed inside his mouth as he swallowed, he cleaned your cunt with his tongue and finally backed up gasping. “Holy fuck baby.. you taste so good” he said looking up and wiping his mouth a bit, you were a bit dumb founded.

“mm-…” you mumbled out, not long after you were riding him on the couch, your hands on his shoulders moaning as nam-gyu moaned, honestly first time hearing him moan was magical, so adorable and it turned you on even more, he gripped on your hips letting out choked gasps and moans, “a-agh~ fuckk baby..s-so tight!!” he moaned out, you moaned out as you begin bouncing on him your tits bouncing inside your button up shirt, he slowly traveled his hands to the buttons and begin unbuttoning them and pulled down your bra and gripped on your tits, he kept moaning out and leaned in whining and moaning into your neck, “Mm! m’gonna cum baby! can i? can i cum inside you baby please!” he panted out as he played with your tits a bit, i felt his cock twitch inside me “Yea- fuck~ cum with me baby! cum inside me” you said as you bounced a tad bit faster, “augh~!! mm- m’cummingggfhh~!” he basically yelled out as he cummed inside you and quickly after you did as well, you slowed down panting as his cum and yours mixed together.

after you both calmed down you slowly lifted your self and went to the side panting as juices and cum leaked out a bit..”are you okay..?” he said to you as you nodded, yall eventually cleaned up and cuddled to sleep.

[hotwings0203]

"I swear, if she had just stayed with the group like a normal person would, she would've saved herself at least 30 more minutes of screentime," your friend says on the other side of the couch.

In retaliation, you playfully chuck a few kernels of popcorn at him and gesture wildly at the screen. "It's the classic bimbo trope! She's wearing a miniskirt and high heels in the forest for gods sake, it practically screams 'Murder me!' on her clothes."

You both squabble for a few minutes like this until the sound of violins coming from the t.v. cues you in for the next foreboding jumpscare. Both sets of eyes turn back to the dimly lit screen and lock in on the gore-fest about to unfold.

The main heroine cautiously creaks a door open in front of a tunnel and warbles out, "H-hello? Is anyone there?"

It's so cliche you could roll your eyes, but yet your heart is still pumping...

And your "friend's" body shifting a mere few inches away from you isn't helping the palpitations.

The two of you had been dancing around each other the past few months in some sort of premature courting method, the flirty remarks and jeers from your mutual friends egging you both on to seal the deal and admit your feelings for one another.

But, like every young romance blooms, the fear of wilt is just as strong.

And so you opt to get as close as you can to the real thing by being satisfied with his arm not-so-subtly thrown over the back of the couch , so softly playing with the ends of your hair so as to not disturb you.

You can barely focus though, as the girl on the screen inches closer to the end of tunnel, the boy behind you also creeps his other idle hand towards yours resting on the cushion.

It takes an incredible amount of effort to keep your breathing even and hands still as you watch from the corner of your eye as his veiny hands trail closer...his fingers outstretching towards yours...and...

Rrrriiinnngggg!

It's like a tidal wave comes crashing down as the woman on screen screams in tandem with your phone ringing.

You feign a groan as you shoot the disappointed man on your couch an apologetic wince, and try not to let your heart fall as he nods back with a barely understanding grimace. You round the couch and let the movie continue playing as you hit the green button and pick up the intruding call.

"Hello?" You snipe.

"Get rid of him."

For the second time in the night, your heart falters, but the former experience is something you'd beg for rather than this.

"H-how did you know someone's at my house?" Your voice drops to a shaky whisper and you throw a panicked glance into the living room to ensure that your lover/friend hasn't picked up on your tone. You duck into your bedroom and close the door slightly, your hands trembling as you do so.

The gravely voice on the other end chuckles, but the sound has anything but mirth in it.

"That's a funny way to phrase it sweetheart. Your question makes it seem as though I stopped keeping tabs on you."

A minute-long silence ensues after that, your mouth gaping open and closed like a fish out of water. There's no sound except for the low hum in the background of your living room, and your caller's shallow breaths on the other end of the line.

"You begged so nicely last time for me to leave you alone, even made it to the cops at one point. I granted you a shred of mercy, a bit of pity after the cops failed to take your report seriously- I mean, I don't blame them. Their time is precious, y'know? They've got bigger things to worry about than a dumb little girl whining about some invisible stalker jizzing all over her and her room when she sleeps," he snickers meanly at the sound of your choked gasps.

The taunting of your trauma is a slap to the face, a wound cut open again. You thought you got rid of this anonymous stalker a couple months back, you thought a police report and growing reclusive from your social life would dissuade any unwanted interactions from this psycho. You felt backed into a corner, dirty and ashamed as the threatening calls became more frequent. Love letters with ominous fluids coating the expanse of the papers started showing up at your front door when you changed your number. He'd attach polaroids of you in your undergarments, when you'd shower, when you'd cook, and so many other unassuming intimate domestic scenes in the envelope, and then when you couldn't take the terror anymore...it stopped.

The calls, the letters, the pictures, all of it...poof.

You had slowly started to hope that he had gotten bored of you and the lack of social life, lack of thrill in general at you losing your color.

With that hope, came bravery. Your friends started coming around again, the parties ensued, you switched your college class from virtual to in-person again, you even met the guy nestled comfortably on your couch currently.

"How many bodies did you think you could hide behind?"

The voice on the other end of the phone croons softly, but pulls you just as violently out of your dread.

"What do you want?" comes your shaky whisper, your fingers gripping the phone tighter in sync with your throat closing up.

"Ohhh sweetheart, now that's a loaded question. You and I have all the time in the world to uncover that, but your boy toy on the other hand..." His teasing lilt twists lower into something akin to a growl, and you can't help the whimper that escapes you.

You don't want to find out what his threat alludes to, or how serious he is.

Slow-burn romance be damned.

"J-just give me a few minutes-"

"Now."

Your teeth sink into your lips to hold back a frantic curse as you duck your head out the doorway to check on the living room.

He's still there, unassumingly checking his phone.

"Okay, okay. I-I'll tell him something came up, just dont-"

Your voice catches in your throat and you force yourself to swallow, taking in a deep breath at the sound of your stalker's pleased hum on the other end of the line.

"I'm watching you. Don't try to pull anything smart with me, unless you're eager to taste my blade in addition to my cock."

You blanch as the call ends, and try to quickly blink away tears of frustration. Wiping your sweaty palms on your shorts, you inhale deeply again before turning the knob and opening the door to the living room.

Rounding the couch, you softly pad your way to your lover and force the tense muscles in your back and arms to loosen, not wanting to give any indication that something's very, very wrong.

"Heyyy, you're back!" He drawls with a loose smile on his face. "Thought the movie scared you too bad and you ran off."

You force yourself to let out a faux chuckle and try to prevent your smile from looking too strained. He seems to unfortunately notice it though, because a crinkle appears between his brows and he sits up, tossing the phone in his hands aside.

"Woah, you okay? Did something happen?"

"No, no! It's nothing like that at all. Actually, this is really embarrassing but one of my girls called and I think she's blackout drunk at the bar near downtown, I gotta head out and pick her up. I had no idea I'd be on babysitter duty tonight, I'm so sorry," You frantically wave his concern off and try for another carefree laugh, but your shaking hands are a dead giveaway.

He stands up and grasps your hands tightly in his, the large and smooth planes of his palms enveloping yours before you can react. Your head spins as the realization of him touching you for the first time under these less-than-ideal conditions overwhelms you.

"Hey, y/n, look at me-no, look- you're okay, alright? It's no big deal, we can always finish the movie another time, seriously."

And before you can move back to save him, he leans forwards and pecks your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second the door closes shut, your phone rings.

Your hand, still on the door handle, drifts up to your lips as you nibble on your nails haphazardly.

You're terrified to know the consequences you elicited. You don't wanna pick up.

And yet, you know if you don't, he's capable of so much worse.

Your thumb slides on the green button when his voice breaks through the call with barely-concealed rage, the waver of fury coating his venom as he spits, "He touched you. He kissed you."

"I tried to back away! I tried to-"

"And I tried playing nice, but looks like we both failed each other, huh?"

The excuse dies in your throat as his hiss overpowers yours.

"I should carve his fucking lips out for touching whats mine," he continues after a beat, an incredulous and ragged laugh erupting from the other end of the call, making you wince.

"It would be so easy to get rid of him too. That shitty little apartment he scrimps and saves for at his 9-5 hasn't changed the locks in the complex for years now, he walks solely at night with his earbuds in, his bones would be so easy to break-"

"Please don't hurt him," you finally break his monologue with a sob of your own, unable to fathom being the reason why your lover would suffer such sinister endings. You throw your hand over your mouth to prevent him from hearing you cry and your legs give out from their mindless, panicked pacing around the house. The soft duvet comforters of your bed provide ample cushion for the fall, but not enough to swallow you whole and hide you from his inevitable wrath.

Your stalker pauses as he listens to your muffled cries, your skin prickling as he lets out a ragged moan at no doubt your misery. You can hear the sound of rustling clothes and a belt buckle hitting a floor of some sort.

"Are you scared pretty girl? Are you scared I'm gonna hurt you, or him?"

"Yes," you breathe.

"You should be."

The call drops, but you dont move for what seems like hours.

Your body feels like stone as you eventually burrow under your covers, mountains of stress weighing you down heavier than the blankets and pillows you use as meager protection. All the doors in your apartment are locked, the windows bolted shut, the knives taken out and placed under your bed, and your phone fully charged.

And yet, you might as well have been naked for the lack of protection you feel as the clock strikes past 1am. You jump every time the branches outside your windows smack the glass, and grip the edges of your covers tighter at the slightest creak from your aged abode.

You're curled in fetal position, tense and alert, ready to call 911 at a moments notice. You wont, you can't let him get to you, mentally or physically.

But eventually your body fails you as you drift off to sleep, the adrenaline high wearing off and lulling you into an exhausted state of rest.

You only awaken when you hear his voice.

"Hereeee kitty kitty"

Body locking up before your mind is fully aware, you freeze under the duvet as you see his silhouette from under the opaque material.

He's merely a few feet away from you, leering over your lumpy form.

Your eyes dart to where your door is, and you can make out the shape of it being opened.

How the ever-loving fuck did he get in?

You can't move, you cant blink, you cant even breathe as he inches closer to you, settling to perch by your feet.

He chuckles and snakes his lithe fingers from underneath your comforters, trailing up your feet up to your ankle, letting his offensive touch rest there as a faux show of affection.

"You're like a present underneath those blankets."

You let out a shaky whimper and tense up even more as he leans in, the dark shape of his head right over your face.

"Does the little slut want me to unwrap her? I think i've won my prize fair and square."

The hand on your ankle moves up to your calves, then your knees, all the while you start to squirm and wrestle against his hold.

He laughs lightly with sick glee as his hold on you tightens, allowing himself to indulge momentarily as one of his hands shoves itself between the apex of your covered thighs, the other squeezing and pinching up your torso to any part of you that he deems soft enough.

You both writhe like this for a minute or two while you fight for air underneath the increasingly-stuffy covers, and you know he's reveling at your losing battle.

Eventually he must get tired of playing with you, because you feel the bed dip and shift as he climbs on top and straddles you. As a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, you throw the blankets off, exposing yourself to him. You try to scramble away after dislodging him, but he's too fast. He grabs you by the neck and slams you down against the bed with a snarl, his hair mussed and disheveled as his hands encircle tighter around your throat. Adrenaline courses through you along with the blood pounding your head as you try to scratch at his face. The harder you fight, the tighter he squeezes, and through the black spots in your vision you can see his salacious grin, his hair falling over his face and barely concealing the victorious and manic look in his eyes.

You feel his skin pile up under your fingernails as you rake down a particularly soft side of his cheek, but instead of him drawing back, he fucking moans as blood blooms through the new cut.

He feels you hesitate for a split second in your awed disgust, and uses the momentary reprieve to rock his hips against your clothed mound.

You gasp feels like its ripped out of you all the while he shakes with tension and laughter.

He feels high off the mix of fear and disgust at your body reacting to his ministrations.

You thrash like a fish out of water in his hold, your desperation a sick contrast to the firm and controlled motion of his body eliciting responses out of you that you never wanted to give to him of all people.

"Fuuckkkk, thats it baby, just give in," he croons and shushes the sound of you choking. A shudder passes through him as he feels your throat constrict under his unrelenting hold, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he thrusts again into you.

He must hit a good spot, because he feels your legs twitch. To reward you for reacting to his touch, he lets up ever so slightly on your abused throat, and opts to duck his head down and replace his hands with his mouth.

The whole ordeal can't have been going on for more than a couple minutes, but it feels like your overstimulation has been lasting eons. You feel the adrenaline crashing down, your defenses rendered useless as he uses both his hands to envelope your own and lace his fingertips with yours, bringing both your intertwined hands up next to either side of your head. He locks your legs under his, ensuring that you can't wiggle out of his grasp, and lifts his head up slightly off your neck from the galaxy-covered hickies he left on the empty planes of your neck to look at you properly.

No makeup, bared open and vulnerable for him, hair looking like a rat's nest from the struggle, neck littered in violent splotches of blue, purple, and reds, lips bloated and shiny from tears trespassing down the planes of your face and down your chin. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, he feels your body tremble as you fight off the waves of exhaustion threatening to capsize your efforts. Your eyes, teary and bloodshot, ensnare him most of all. He feels as out of breath as you as he gazes lovingly, sickeningly down at you with unread emotions.

Love, hate, defiance, disgust, fear.

To him, you look ethereal.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he whispers, pulling one hand out of your own to gently move strands of hair out of your face to see you better. He bites back a frustrated growl as you flinch and turn your head to the side, burrowing as much of your face into the pillow as you can. You don't want to see or hear him gloat, you just want him to take what he came here for and to leave you the fuck alone.

"Stop fucking-no, look at me," the hand that ever-so gently caressed your hair hardens as his entire hand grabs the lower half of your face to face him.

You try to mumble something out, but his invading hand covers your mouth. He doesn't seem keen on moving it or hearing what you have to say from the way he merely presses harder against your ajar lips.

"I can fulfill you better than that wimpy fuck could ever dream," he hisses, leering over you. Your muted scowl doesn't phase him as he continues, "And you don't need friends anyways. I'm enough for you. I'll take care of all your needs, financially, emotionally, and physically."

At this, he presses his hips right into your cunt, and holds his body there, groaning at the way you pulse for him even under the layers of clothing.

You squeal and try to squirm, but your displeasure proved moot as he uses a free hand to slither under the waistband of your short and dip lower.

This brings around another round of muffled screaming, your back arching as his fingers dance over your soft mound, finally claiming his prize and swiping his digits through your lips.

He makes sure you watch as he brings his fingers back up to his mouth and licks them clean, moaning and closing his eyes in bliss as he does so. Your horror is practically palpable as you freeze at the bizarre show, the violation leaving you speechless.

"You should have told me you were enjoying this, you fuckin' brat," he scoffs and wipes his spit-covered fingers across your cheek, chuckling as you scream in rage.

"Had I known you wanted to play rough like this from the start I would've fucked you raw in front of all your little friends."

He leans in, savoring your terror.

"After all, all a brat like you needs is a fat, hard cock stuffing her widdle pussy until she breaks."

He uses your frozen state to flip your entire body over with one hand, immediately closing in on you and covering your prone body with his own. One hand braces dangerously close next to your face to balance himself as he uses the other to grab a fistful of your locks and pull back, craning your head to meet his eyes once again.

Your back and stomach shake with the effort of holding yourself up in this painful and awkward position, and his hips slot themselves against your backside as if it was their rightful place.

He's not lying, you realize with dread as you can feel his thick and hard imprint nestle between your asscheeks, your shorts riding up in the process.

"But don't worry," he pants as he pulls aside your shorts and panties and begins thrusting himself up and down your wet slit, all the way up to your ass, making careful sure to tap his tip against your clit a couple times, making you jerk and whimper at the buzzing sensation.

"I'm not letting you go anytime soon. We have the rest of our lives to break you and put your pieces back together," he bites your earlobe as he hisses the promise, moaning loudly in your ear as he lets his tip indulge in your entrance, barely pulling back and pushing in inch by inch.

You wince and try to move your body forwards to escape the inevitable, but he twists your supporting arm behind your back painfully and lets your head fall back on the pillow in defeat with a hoarse sob.

"You're fucking mine."

[talaok]

Like a Virgin

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

summary: It's been a really long time since Joel has felt the feel of anything else besides his own fist, and once you remind him how good the real thing is... let's just say it's hard for him to live up to his full potential.

warnings: smut| unprotected p in v sex, premature ejaculation, very touch-starved Joel, and allusion to oral sex (f receiving)

a/n: I don't know what to say lmao this is a thing for me ok, don't judge (and also you can't tell me this isn't accurate, like this man hasn't gotten laid since the moon landing probably, and you expect him to last? no way babe). Also I'm sorry about the title it's funny to me lol

Now this wasn't like him.

He hadn't done this in a long time.

The last time he had sex with a woman he'd just met (or any woman to be completely honest) he was 25 years younger and the world hadn't gone to shit yet... so yeah, a long time indeed.

But you were so fucking beautiful, such a pretty face with such pretty eyes, and god but that mouth of yours-

And plus you were new to Jackson, you didn't know yet about all the scary stories folks liked to tell about him, and you were kind and funny, and... did he mention hot already?

Just one night of letting loose, that's what he'd told himself, and then he was gonna go back to his old closed-off self, but for now... for now, he was too busy throwing you on his bed to think about anything else.

You were getting rid of your clothes and he followed your lead more than willingly, almost ripping the buttons off his flannel in the rush.

He bent down to kiss your neck as his hands hurried to your tits.

God, he'd forgotten how good it felt to touch a woman.

And when you let out a little whimper, he swore he had ascended to another universe.

"Joel please"

Fuck him, but he wasn't inside of you yet, and he was already feeling far too close to coming.

Guess fucking his own fist for two decades really does something to a man.

"need something?"

He was acting wayy too smug for someone who was feeling like a virgin all over again.

"Please- I need you inside me, Joel"

fucking damnit- he shouldn't have asked that, his dick was now really suffering the consequences.

He didn't risk saying anything else as he got rid of his boxers, but of course, you just had to come out and say:

"oh wow, you're big" with the sexiest fucking voice he'd ever heard.

"want me to stop?"

For some reason, those words elicited a criminally hot smirk on your lips  

"Definitely not"

You were looking at him like a starving woman and he had to look down to where he was moving his tip to your entrance to get away from you and your dangerous, dangerous gaze

He pushed into you slowly and god fucking damnit but the sounds that you made... those sweet little moans and whines you let out as your warm pussy stretched around him and hugged him better than anything he'd felt in years... he had no words for it- no coherent sounds could make it out of his mouth except for a few groans coming deep from his chest.

"Good christ"

that's the only thing he managed to murmur as he bottomed out and had to take a break to try not to bust his load right there.

"fuck you feel so good" you moaned, as your hands gripped his sheets "please move" you begged, your voice breathy and pleading, and godfuck he should have really thought about it before doing this.

"Joel please-"

"I just need a moment darlin'" he explained, closing his eyes to try and remember how he used to manage to last and coming up completely empty.

He could feel your expectant eyes on him so even if he sure as hell didn't feel ready, he did as you asked and started to move.

The regret reached him extraordinarily fast as he felt your walls tightening around him and as you cried out for him like an angel sent straight from heaven.

"fuck-" you moaned, looking up at him with doe eyes that made him wonder if you really just knew what you were doing, if you actually enjoyed torturing him like this

"god you're so deep"

Yeah, you definitely knew

"and so big-" you cried

He gripped your waist to try and ground himself as he thrusted into your fucking perfect cunt.

"oh my god-yes!" you moaned, your back arching from the bed as his thrust got harsher in the hopes that that would make you talk less.

"just like that Joel- oh-" 

And Joel was tough in a lot of ways and he wasn't one to give up easily, but shit you were making it hard for him.

"Please don't stop- fuckfuckfuck" you begged, shutting your eyes close at the feeling.

And that was it, he couldn't do it anymore

"please stop talking" he breathed, his eyes resuming their tour of your eyes, mouth, and bouncing tits.

"why?" 

"nothing it's just-"

And before he could answer you had grabbed his shoulder and forced him to bend down to meet your mouth with his.

Goddamnit.

"you just feel too good Joel" 

"fuck." he groaned, not able to stop his hips from moving no matter how much he wanted to "shit"

"what is it?"

"Jesus Christ I-"

"is there something wrong?"

"n-no just- fuck I'm sorry sweetheart"

And that's all he could say as he abruptly pulled out of you, his spend covering your stomach not even a second after as he growled so loud his neighbors probably thought he was getting killed.

"shit" again, he sighed, his forehead falling to your shoulder.

"oh" you couldn't help but smile as everything came together

"I'm sorry darlin'" he breathed, leaning away and standing up as shame filled every inch of him.

"It's just- It's been a long time since I've done... this"

You sat up, your legs still dangling off the bed, as you admired his handy work on your belly.

"And you... you're just real fucking pretty" he huffed a half-laugh "I'm sorry"

You looked up at him then, meeting his mortified expression.

"No hey" you smiled, placing a hand on his torso "It's fine, I understand"

"god this is embarrassing, I feel like a sixteen-year-old all over again" he shook his head

"stop" you cooed, gently caressing his skin, as a mischievous spark lighted in your irides "It's fine, really" you promised, "and besides..." you bit your bottom lip as you slowly spread your legs "you could still make it up to me, y'know?"

He groaned again, falling to his knees between your thighs

"that I can do"

[kingsoowolves]

what comes after: (im)perfect for you | l. at

part one (w/ Sungchan) | part two

pairing: Boyfriend!Anton x fem!reader

word count: 19.6k

author's note: Wrote this while listening to a lot of Ariana Grande, her new album just got me addicted. I feel like the song eternal sunshine has lots to do with reader’s memories of her relationship with Sungchan whereas imperfect for you and ordinary things perfectly encapsulate how she and Anton love each other. I also threw in some references from bed chem, by Sabrina Carpenter, for the anon who asked for it a while ago. This is for everyone who requested part 2 and some vengeance/justice for the reader. Thank you all for the kind comments and for caring so much for this story. I hope you guys enjoy this and love this couple just as much as I do! Happy Anton day! ❤

contents: Smut, fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort. 10 years time jump, ex-fwb!Sungchan cameo, regretful!Sungchan. Descriptions about messed up family dynamics, depression, anxiety attacks, taking meds and going to therapy. Insecure!Anton, mention of a safe word, possessive/jealous sex turned soft in the end, Anton talks about Sungchan during sex. Vaginal fingering, oral (f. receiving), squirting, vaginal penetration, petnames, reader sucks Anton's fingers like 3 times. Anton (lovingly) refers to reader as a "whore" once and as a "little slut" in another instance. Supreme aftercare!!! Anton and reader are so sweetly in love it gave me tooth ache — a bunch of praise, i love you's, healthy conversations, understanding and being silly with each other. And a happy ending, YAY!

extra info: This can be read as a standalone, but you might miss some backstory + clues from the first part. for the complete experience and understanding, I recommend checking out part one.

taglist: @shotaru-o @yoursyuno @dreamiestay @tonspresso @maripositaa @strawbrryvyy @hanniehq @sushimilks @severefireangelprune @kkyiu

you can also read this work on my ao3, if you'd like!

You’ve never been one to party much.

Although you did spend some years in college fooling around in parties and enjoying your youth, after graduation you’ve mostly stuck to bars, restaurants and small friend’s gatherings. When you finally hit thirty, the occasional affair became even more rare and you found yourself enjoying your time more inside your own home, either alone or with the ones you love.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you’re celebrating finally landing the promotion you’ve been aiming for for the past two years and you’re doing it in style. You’ve worked your butt off to get it and finally it paid off. You were already in talks with your boss for the past month about getting the higher position, but the news officially got delivered this morning and you signed the addendum to your contract in the afternoon, going over all the bureaucracies necessary so everything could be set in for next Monday. So you haven’t been able to meet your friends and commemorate it yet.

That’s why you’re currently at the most expensive nightclub in Seoul, texting your boyfriend to let him know you’ve just arrived. You send him your real-time location so he can find you inside the club and he replies saying he’s on his way. Then you move to your friends’ group chat, doing the same with them. You’ve just hit the button to send them your whereabouts, getting distracted while staring down your screen, when someone collides with you. Your arm brushes harshly against the person’s arm and some of their drink falls into your hands, also wetting your phone. You curse silently and shake your arm off, trying to get rid of the liquid as the person turns to you.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” a man’s voice says. You catch his silhouette in your peripheral vision while you look down to your phone, automatically trying to clean it on the fabric of your skirt. “Oh no. Here, let me help,” he offers, resting his drink on a small circular table near you and reaching for some napkins. He grabs your phone and starts cleaning it. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

You watch his knuckles while he wipes the device clean. Once he’s done, he hands you the phone back with a couple of napkins that you gladly take.

“Thank yo—” you try to say, but your voice gets stuck in your throat as you finally glance up to look at him.

He has a gentle smile on his face, seemingly distracted and ready to reply when he gazes back at you. He also pauses for a bit while his eyes scan all over your face, with no doubt recognizing you back.

And then, with a stunned face and wide eyes, he asks, “Y/N?”

No way.

There’s no damn way you’ve just stumbled upon Jung Sungchan nearly ten years after that dreaded ending of your relationship. 

But it is him. Standing right in front of you in all his aggravating glory, at the club on the night you’re supposed to be filled with joy and nothing more.

It can only be a joke from destiny or God himself or whatever. Whoever’s the one who orchestrates the spinning wheels of your life must be having a pretty big laugh right now. And they are the only ones.

You sigh whilst you meet the soft brown orbs you haven’t seen for quite some time, feeling your heart constrict inside your chest. Looking at him, it’s hard not to get lost in awful old memories and all the trauma you already unpacked. But you decide that you won’t let this ruin your night. You’ll treat this brief encounter exactly as it is: a brief encounter. Nothing more.

As long as it ends right freaking now.

So you set your eyes hard and nod at him politely. “Sungchan,” is all you say, already moving to walk away from him. He doesn’t let you get very far, though, his hand closing over your elbow and stopping your steps.

Of fucking course he wouldn’t let you off the hook so easily. He never did before.

He seems almost suspended in the air, glancing up and down at you with his mouth slightly open while his fingers grip your skin firmly, no matter how much you try to pull your arm away. In another time, this action would drive a thrill through your spine. Right now, it only makes you feel annoyed and angry. So you rest your shoulders square and give him a pointed look. “Do you mind?” You say, looking at your arm and then back at him. 

He does the same with his eyes, glancing to your arm and then back to you. Finally clarity takes over his features and he releases you, cleaning his sweaty palm on the front of his jeans after. “Sorry. I was just shocked — I am shocked. Wow, I haven’t seen you in so long. It’s nice stumbling into you.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, choosing to give him a closed lip smile instead. “Yeah, well… I actually have to meet someone, so—”

“Wait,” he exclaims suddenly and you flinch back before he even thinks of touching you again. He notices your reaction and switches back to his normal tone. “Sorry. I just wanted to catch up with you, you know? Like, how have you been? It’s been too long.”

It should’ve been longer, is what you think. But you’re still a polite woman and would not say something like that, even though that’s the phrase burning on the tip of your tongue when you finally access him. You wouldn’t walk away from him when he so clearly wants to chat either, even though that’s what you want and what he deserves. Alas, your parents raised you well enough to at least give him a proper reply. 

“I’m great,” you say, curt and final while using the napkin still clutched in your hand to rub at the liquid he spilled on you. It smells like whisky, you realize. After cleaning yourself, you toss the crumpled napkin back at the tabletop he found it on. “You?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good,” he says, his voice wavering a little bit, high pitched and then low. Your hesitancy towards him and your little intention in staying in conversation with him is probably obvious by now and you’re sure he catches it all from your answer with how his cheeks flush and his arm goes to the back of his head to scratch at it.

Before you have a chance to make an escape again, he continues. “You look different — good different, I mean. Fuck, sorry.”

Seeing him this helpless, you can’t help the smile that forces its way on your face or the laughter that follows suit. You’ve never seen Sungchan so out of place before. He’s being so awkward, stuttering and apologizing over and over again. And it’s all because of you, for some weird reason. It’s kind of pathetic. A little endearing too, but mostly pathetic.

You cover your mouth to save some of his dignity and compel yourself to stop laughing. “Sungchan, that’s like the fifth time you apologized to me in under two minutes,” you say, giggles still bubbling on your throat. “Just be chill.”

Sungchan smiles at you, his features softening because of your laughter. “Sorry, I just—” he says, and your giggles break free again because of the new apology, interrupting him and making him laugh with you.

Once the mirth dies down, he tries again. “I guess I’m just nervous. And you’re not helping. You’re looking at me like you want me dead.”

“Well, I kinda do,” you reply back and he narrows his eyes at you like he’s analyzing if you’re joking or not. You quickly quell his worries by giving him a soft smile, deciding ultimately to take it easy on him. Keeping up the tough act would just drain your energy. It’s not worth it. “Sorry, that isn’t true. But it’s not like we ended things on good terms, so can you blame me?”

At your words, Sungchan makes a remorseful face, putting a hand on the front pocket of his pants and casting his eyes down. “I know. And it’s all my fault.” Then he looks up like he had the greatest idea in the world, gaze glinting whilst he steps closer to you. “But what if you let me buy you a drink and hopefully we end things on a better note this time?”

The end of his sentence kind of stuns you. You can’t quite believe that, after all this time, Sungchan is flirting with you. But of course he is, because it’s Sungchan. He’s showing all his telltale signs, too — bulging his arms slightly, lowering his voice, poking the tip of his tongue out to wet his lips then giving you a cocky smile, checking you out like he wants to eat you alive, his free hand hanging too damn close to yours. Unfortunately, you’ve come to know all of his tactics after falling victim to them one too many times.

His eyes are eager and hopeful whilst he waits for your response. You feel like an owner dangling a piece of meat in front of his pet, taunting him with something delicious while still not giving him anything. Finally, after all this time, you are the one in control.

But as much as your ego is being stroked, you don’t want any of this. Not anymore. And it’s been like this for a long time.

“No, thanks,” you reply simply.

Two seconds pass until he registers your answer and his smirk vanishes, the corners of his mouth turning down and self-doubt filling his eyes. He starts to say something that seems like another apology, but at that point you’re not hearing nor looking at him anymore. Because that’s when you see him.

All clad in denim and with his fresh neck-length black hair, your boyfriend is making his way through the mass of people in the club to reach you, your gazes finding each other at the same time. You instantly feel calmness seep into your veins, the slight discomfort provoked by your meeting with Sungchan vanishing and being replaced by excitement while you hold your breath until he reaches you. When he’s a mere meter away from you, you step around Sungchan to receive him.

“Hi, love,” he greets with a beautiful smile, stopping right in front of you. “I know, I’m late. Sorry, I got caught up in—”

You leap on him before he has the chance to finish his sentence, arms going around his frame, and he stumbles back because of the knock of your bodies together. He chuckles, winding his arms around your waist as you hold him closely against you, nestling your head between his neck and clavicle.

“I missed you, too,” he says with laughter still in his voice and grips you just as tightly. You bury your nose on his neck and inhale his soft woody cologne. Peace and happiness run through your whole body at rapid speed. “Fridays in the hospital are always crazy and the line to this place is insane. I’m sorry I’m late.”

You shake your head as you pull away slightly. “It’s fine, baby, you’re here now.”

That’s when you really look at him. The royal blue of his denim clothes suit his complexion and the black belt with a silver buckle around his hips compliment the look. His shirt’s sleeves are folded nicely up to his elbow, showing off his pretty forearms. Everything combined with his long hair and accessories give him a soft rocker aura that makes your mouth water. 

It’s honestly unfair how extra good-looking he looks tonight. You feel the need to pounce on him right now, but you have to settle for giving him a peck and tugging on some of his strands while standing on your tiptoes.

“You look so good,” you whisper when your lips separate.

“You look so good!” He says, his eyes moving up and down your frame. “Real damn good! You got that Shiny New Miss Editor look!”

He moves his mouth to yours again and you smile against his lips, and then he’s spinning you around in his arms. You laugh loudly, hiding your face in his neck while his hands grip your hips, your legs dangling under you. After he completes three circles, you hit on his chest and ask him to stop, getting dizzy from happiness and being whirled. He puts you on your feet back and you try to balance yourself on your legs as he holds you up, pressing multiple kisses to your face. At this point, you’re laughing so much your cheeks start to hurt.

“I’m so, so, so damn proud of you, baby,” he says in between his stream of kisses. “Congrats, my love.”

“Thank you, baby,” you reply giggling, rearing back slightly and trying to escape his lips’ attack on your face. But he just follows you, still connecting his mouth to your skin repeatedly and making you lightheaded. “Wait, baby, I can’t breathe properly.”

Only then he stops, looking down at you with a huge smile on his face. You recompose yourself, putting your hair back into place and straightening your clothes. 

When you finish, you put your hands around his neck again and mutter with sincerity, “I couldn’t have done it without you, babe.”

You’re about to kiss him again, but your little bubble of joy and love pops when someone coughs just behind your boyfriend. You look over his shoulders to find Sungchan still standing there, having witnessed all of your interaction. You sigh, annoyed with him again. 

Does he ever catch a hint?

Of course, your partner, the politest person you’ve ever met, turns around to face Sungchan. The tip of his ears tinge pink at being caught by someone in such an intimate moment with you, but he quickly shakes it off to address the other man.

“Hi! Sorry, I didn’t know Y/N was talking with someone. I’m Anton, her boyfriend,” he introduces himself sheepishly and extends his free hand to Sungchan, his other arm still clinging to you by his side. You want to take a bite out of him from how cute he looks, so adorable being courteous to a stranger while still having his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

Sungchan looks at Anton’s hand for a moment before grasping it and you watch how their palms tightly press against each other, fingers bending while the veins in Anton’s forearm stand out and Sungchan’s bicep bulges slightly from the effort. It's a masculine showdown happening right in front of you. 

“Hi, I’m Sungchan. I’m Y/N’s—”

“He’s a friend from college,” you interfere, looking at Anton to explain it to him. “Back when I studied law. I’ve told you about him.”

Sungchan gives you a sly smile, finally taking his hand away from Anton’s handshake and trying to discreetly flex his fingers. “Has she told you we used to hook up, too? Because it seems like she wants to hide it from you, dude.”

A flash of anger passes through Anton's eyes and a second later it’s gone. Even though his grip around your waist tightens, he keeps cool and collected, his posture relaxed while he moves his now free hand to his pants’ pocket. “Actually, she has. Aren’t you the one who traded her over for a freshman or some dumbass move like that, dude?” He asks, holding steady eye contact with Sungchan and plastering a shit-eating grin on his face.

You snicker into your fist as you watch the arrogance flee from Sungchan’s features. He presses his lips together and drops his gaze down in dismay. Anton’s smile turns triumphal, knowing he had won the confrontation between the two of them. Then he turns to you with sweet eyes and you think it’s the hottest thing ever how he can change from harsh to tender in the blink of an eye.

“Baby, I’m going to grab you a drink while you speak with your friend, okay?” He says, rubbing your arms up and down. You plead him with your gaze to not to be left alone with Sungchan, the long time you’ve been together making it easy to talk with only your eyes, but Anton shakes his head almost imperceptibly, giving you an encouraging pat on your shoulder. “You want your usual?”

You sigh, defeated, and nod your head. “Yes, please.”

“You got it,” he says, bending down to kiss your lips and then your forehead. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

When Anton walks away, you finally turn to Sungchan again. He has his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes are looking behind you, with no doubt still analyzing your boyfriend as he scurries to the bar. Only now you give yourself the chance to take him in. He looks good, in a fitted white t-shirt, black leather pants and a matching dark jacket. The same as ever. Still handsome, only older, just like you. And definitely a little bit buzzed, enough to make a move on you and irritate your usually peaceful partner.

Sugchan’s eyes jump back to you. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” he says, and you half expect him to make a snide remark about Anton, but he just completes his observation with, “He seems like a good guy.”

You smile and look over your shoulders, catching a glimpse of Anton already at the end of the line to the bar. He’s pretending to scroll through his phone and stealing glances at you and Sungchan, trying so hard to seem nonchalant while simultaneously watching you like a hawk. It’s freaking adorable and you make a mental note to tease him about it later. When his eyes meet yours, he lifts his eyebrows up and mouths, “What?”. You just wink at him and turn back to the conversation with Sungchan, still smiling.

“He’s a really good guy,” you answer him.

Sungchan nods, carefully watching your reaction. “You seem happy.”

Your smile becomes bigger. “I am happy.”

His eyes tremble slightly after your reply. Then he tilts his head to the side and relaxes his posture, arms going back to his sides. “You’re a book editor now?”

You’re taken aback that he actually heard everything you and Anton talked about. You were too overcome with joy to pay attention to anything else or care about being too loud.

“Yeah. I’ve been working with Gimm-Young since graduation,” you explain. “They offered me the promotion this morning.”

He listens to you with attentive eyes, nodding his head. “I remember Sohee told me back in college that you switched majors. I was really glad for you. But, wow, now you got an editor position at a big publishing house. And while you’re pretty young, too. Congratulations, Y/N. You made it.”

You’re shocked by his praise, but you take it nonetheless. And then pieces of memories you had with him flood your mind. Back then, you talked to him about your dream, showed him some of your writing and expressed doubts and insecurity on really going for it. In turn, he listened to your worries attentively, read and praised your works and spurred you on to go for what you wanted.

You scrunch your eyebrows up and look down at your feet, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden memories. Maybe Sungchan was an asshole, but he was a supportive asshole.

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes shifting back to him again. “I remember you— You encouraged me to study Lit back then, Sungchan. It was really meaningful at the time.”

He shakes his head. “Well, I’m not taking credit for your obvious hard work, Y/N.”

“I’m not giving you credit,” you say pointedly and he laughs. “I’m just saying thanks, I guess? For hearing me and supporting me back then.”

He shakes a hand in front of him, like he’s declining your explanation. “Hey, there’s no need for that. That’s the least I could do, really. You were great back then and I’m sure you're even better now.”

“Well, maybe you’ll read one of my editing works one day,” you say with a smile.

“Maybe.” He smiles back at you. “Or one of your books. I assume you’re still writing.”

“I am,” you confirm. “But that’ll still take a while to come to fruition.”

“When it does, can your first fan hope for an invite to your first book release party?” He asks, obviously referring to himself as your first fan, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You can’t help but laugh at his antics. He’s showing the playful Sungchan you saw on occasion and the nostalgia gets to you. “We’ll see when the time comes.”

He nods with a smile. Then a beat later he’s stepping closer and the atmosphere turns serious, his sorrowful eyes gazing at you. “Y/N, I want you to know I’m very sorry for how I behaved with you back when we were together.” 

You can’t hide the astonishment on your face, being caught unprepared for this.

“I know it probably sounds like shit right now, but I cared for you. You really were special to me, even though I didn’t show it,” he barrels on. “You are a sweet girl, Y/N. You didn’t deserve what I did. I regret it every day since.”

The sincerity of his surprising words hits you right in the chest and you have to inhale deeply to prepare yourself for a response despite the shock. 

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s fine, Sungchan. I already worked everything out in therapy anyway.”

It’s the truth, you did work everything out in therapy. And despite being annoyed by meeting him tonight at first, you realize you really have no hard feelings towards Sungchan anymore. You’ve already come to the understanding that whatever happened back then, it wasn’t because of your actions, feelings or words. It wasn’t because you were undeserving of his love. He just couldn’t give it to you, for whatever personal reason he had. What happened was Sungchan’s responsibility, his guilt to carry, not yours. And, from what he’s saying, he acknowledges how carelessly he treated you and that finally puts you at peace with that chapter of your life. 

“My therapist thinks you’re an asshole, by the way,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

“Something both me and your boyfriend can agree on, too, apparently,” he says with a chuckle, balancing forwards and backwards on his feet a little. “Well, I won’t keep you from him any longer. I have to wallow in self-pity right now because I let the successful Gimm-Young editor slip from my fingers.”

You scoff, not believing his words at all. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re really sad about it,” you say ironically.

He probably has a long line of eager girls wanting to be his girlfriend, anyway. You’re just glad you’re not one of them anymore.

You stand there with him for a beat, smiling about it. Then, his gaze shifts to something vulnerable and he gulps his saliva down, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he speaks again. “So, just to be sure… If you didn’t have someone, would you still— Well, would you consider—”

You catch on to what he’s trying to ask pretty quickly and reply before he embarrasses himself further by completing the sentence. “Yup, I’d still reject you. That ship sailed a long time ago, pal.”

Because of his failed flirting attempt, you try to concentrate and search for the body reactions you used to have whenever he’d sweet-talked you in the past. But there’s no heat on your face and limbs anymore, no goosebumps on your arms, no itch in your hands from wanting to touch him, no more sweat accumulating on your hairline and no tingling on your body. It’s all gone. The only thing you feel left for him is a quiet sentimentalist from what you shared during your college days that translates into a soft but lingering pang in your heart. Nothing more.

“Okay, I just had to try,” Sungchan says with a blush on his cheeks and a glazed over look in his eyes. “I should probably go now… before your boyfriend’s eyes  actually turn into red lasers and open a hole through me.”

You look behind you one more time to see that he’s right. Anton is tapping his fingers on the bar countertop while he waits for your drink to be made, his eyes completely focused on both of you, not even pretending like he doesn’t care anymore. He does kinda look like he might commit attempted murder at any moment. You send him a kiss despite his sour face.

“I’m sure he treats you better than I ever could, anyway,” Sungchan completes.

You look back to answer him. “That’s not very hard to accomplish, but yes, he does,” you tease with a smile.

Sungchan smiles back at you. “Yeah, I deserved that one.” He sighs and shakes his head, rubbing a hand on his neck. “Thank you for talking with me. It was nice seeing you.”

“You too, Sungchan,” you reply sincerely.

He’s about to walk away, but then he halts his movements, looking at you one more time. “Oh, and Y/N? I really hope you’re happy.”

You nod and smile at him. “I really am, Sungchan.”

“Then I’m glad,” he says with finality, gazing at you one last time and starting to turn around.

However, just before Sungchan can fully spin around, your eyes catch the glimmer of a metallic chain connected in between two of his jeans’ belt loops. Beside it, in his front loop, dangles a keychain with three trinkets hanging from the same clasp — a burger charm, a soccer ball one and, if your eyes aren’t failing you, one very familiar lilac polka dotted scrunchie.

You smile to yourself after the keychain is out of your line of sight. 

Maybe you really were special to him once.

While you watch Sungchan’s retreating back, you’re taken by an abrupt feeling. It’s not the anxiety and dread you used to feel whenever he left you or the longing that always took over you. It’s something keen to relaxation and comfort, like the sense you get when you meet an old friend or are wrapped up in a warm fuzzy blanket on a cold winter night. There’s a tinge of nostalgia mixed with the emotion flowing from the place right behind your chest and spreading through your limbs.

When you can’t see him anymore, you take a deep breath and think that what you’re feeling is relief.

Only when Anton comes to you again with a few of your friends in tow right after, you completely understand the emotion. With your best friends squealing around you in a circle, giving you their congratulations about your promotion, and Anton smiling at your side, looking at you as if you hung the moon and the stars in the night sky, you feel pure, absolute and unrestrained joy.

“Did you know you are the most perfect boyfriend ever?”

Anton is clearly taken aback by your sentence. He has just helped you get inside his car and buckled your seat belt for you, humming happily when you lean close to press a kiss to his cheek. After showing bewilderment, he smiles, a small blush appearing on his cheeks because of your praise. It’s the cutest thing ever.

“Thank you, baby,” he says, the smile still lingering on his lips. “You’re the most perfect girlfriend ever, too.”

He leans in to give you a quick peck, but as he backs away, you put a hand on his nape to keep him there, following his mouth with your own until your lips are pressed together again. It only lasts five seconds, but it’s enough to make you whine when he pulls away completely.

Anton laughs at you and straightens up from his bent down position, getting his upper body out of the car. He closes the passenger door carefully, then comes around to the driver’s side, opening the door to get inside. 

He’s the designated driver for tonight, choosing to opt out of drinking so you could relax and have fun with your friends while he made sure you were safe and back home without any scratches. Being the perfect boyfriend that he is, of course he made sure your friends would get home safe, too, calling them a cab on his own phone and waiting it out with you until their taxi arrived before getting you both inside his car.

Once he’s buckled in, he turns the key in the ignition and the car springs to life. He gives you a soft smile before turning on his blinkers to safely enter the lane. In no time, you’re on the road to your home and your hands are tangled together over the center console.

“You want to stop by somewhere to grab food?” He asks after a while.

You shake your head. “I don’t feel hungry right now. Can we order in later?”

“Of course, baby.” He looks over to you for a brief moment before fixating his eyes back on the road, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, after four years of dating, I found out something new about you today.”

“Oh, did you?” You reply, leaning onto his teasing words. “What is it?”

“You’re a party girl,” he states accusingly, making you laugh.

“What? No, I’m not,” you say, trying to be firm and serious, but your words get interrupted by a giggle. You scrunch up your nose because of your own mistake. 

Anton just chuckles at you as he makes a turn on a street. “Tell that to the four shots you downed today, babe.”

You squint your eyes, pinching his wrist lightly, and he gives you a little groan. “Hey, I was celebrating today! Can’t a new promotee have a few shots?”

His eyes glint while he tightens his hold on your hand. “Yes, you can, love. I’m just teasing.”

“Well, don’t tease me, Anton.” You scrunch your eyebrows up and make a frown, pretending to be angry. “It’s my promotion day. You’re not allowed to tease me!”

“Sorry, Miss Editor, I forgot. No teasing for today, got it,” he says, letting your hand go to make a fake army salute. You laugh and squeeze his bicep in reprieve, and he chuckles with you.

“You’re a menace,” you say, letting him take your hand in his again just as the car slows down to stop at a traffic light.

You take the moment to pull his hand to your lips, pressing soft kisses on his knuckles as your eyes meet his. “Thank you for being with me today, baby,” you whisper over his skin and you smile to yourself when goosebumps rise in his forearm. “And for taking care of me and my friends.”

Anton moves the hand you’re kissing to your face, rubbing his fingers over your cheekbone, and you lean into his touch. “Of course, baby. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I love you so much,” you confess as you start to drop kisses into his open palm now, your lips lingering a bit too long over the tip of his thumb.

“I love you, my girl,” he says, pinching your cheek.

You wish you could do more to show him how much you actually appreciate him being who he is. But the light on the stoplight turns green and you have to reluctantly stop yourself from touching him a little more boldly over road safety. You’ll have plenty of time to make him feel loved once you get home.

You roll your window down and tilt your face towards the chilly wind as you think about how you really did hit the jackpot with Anton. You’ve met him at your job, while you were working in a book launch party from one of your company’s authors, helping out the social media crew that was currently short-staffed and busy.

In your position as an assistant editor, you’ve worked pretty closely with the author launching her book before. Your chief editor trusted you completely and let you bounce ideas back and forth with her, so you knew each other pretty well. Anton was the author’s cousin and when she introduced you to him at the release party, there was buzzing excitement in her eyes. She told you how he was a Korean-American that moved back to Seoul with his brother for medical school. Currently in his last year of college, he had been studying nonstop to get his professional license after it, so he needed a night off to relax and that’s why she ended up inviting him to the party. He had on a nice white jacket that complimented his thick shoulders and when he talked with you, you couldn’t help but be somewhat captivated by such a soft voice coming out of such a broad body, his cute accent making him even more adorable.

Later that night, when the party was already fizzling out and your body started to hurt from standing on high heels for too long, he approached you again. When you complained about the ache on your feet, he found a free chair for you to sit on. And when you laughed about something he said, he asked for your number. He looked too damn cute bouncing up and down between his two long legs while you typed your digits on his phone. And after your contact was saved, he pressed call so you could have his number, too.

When a colleague called you to help with something else, Anton pouted adorably because you had to go so soon. Before you went away, the tip of his fingers brushed against yours for a brief fleeting moment and he made a promise to contact you soon. The next morning, you woke up with a text from him on your phone, asking what type of food you enjoyed so he could take you out on a date.

It took a few dates and a couple of sincere conversations about both of your expectations in a relationship before you and Anton made it official. Since the beginning, he never let his intentions be misunderstood. From the first date, he made it very clear he was interested in you as a whole person, not parts of you. He didn’t want to have your body if he didn’t get to have your soul either. He has taken you seriously since then. After the fifth time you went out together, you brought him home with you. You still remember the image of him hovering above you, cheeks and neck flushed while he stared at you deeply, telling you in the softest voice ever how he wanted you to be his girlfriend. He made you feel secure, the sincerity in his tone helping you to never doubt his words. And when he used that same feathery intonation of his to coax out of you the most powerful orgasm you ever had in your life, you were done for. You wholeheartedly handed yourself out for him and he did the same right back.

You’re together for almost five years now and Anton has been with you through thick and thin. He deeply enjoyed the sheer joy in your mom’s face when you brought him up to meet your family. She kept going on and on about how tall and good-looking and young and amazing your doctor boyfriend was. Nothing you ever did in your life before made her as happy as introducing him as your partner and it felt nice seeing him being appreciated by your loved ones. Either way, whenever your family dinners took a turn and your father would try to convince you to study law again and become a judge like him and your mother would make poisonous comments about the amount of food on your plate, all while your sister boasted about her successful career as a lawyer, taking occasional jabs at you for giving up on it, Anton rubbed circles on the back of your hand under the table, soothing the ache he knew you felt about not being understood by your own flesh and blood, showing that he understands and sees you better than anyone.

Anton was with you during your grandfather’s funeral and one month after it, when your little dog died unexpectedly of a quiet illness. He hugged you and listened to you as you sobbed and babbled on for hours about how unfair death was. When your eyes became red and your throat sore, he wrapped you up in a blanket and held you firmly until you slept.

He was beside you during your depressive slumps, letting you sleep your exhaustion out for how long you needed to and not pressing you on about it, having food ready and plated for you when you woke up. When you made a mild mistake during work and got afraid of being fired, he encouraged you to talk to your boss and fix the problem, helping you come up with a plan to gain back her trust again. He was also with you when your brother married one of your best friends and when they told you they got pregnant. When you were announced as the child’s future godmother, he cried tears of happiness with you.

Anton bragged about you during his family dinners, telling his parents how brave you were for changing career paths and accomplishing so much in so little time and mentioning how he hoped his little brother would find a partner as amazing as you. He made sure your relationship with his parents was as lovely and safe as possible and you are constantly doted on by his family because of it.

Three months after your psychiatrist dosed down on your depression meds, he prepared you a homemade dinner and told you how proud he was of you for battling such a devious disease and pushing through despite all of your struggles.

And when he got anxiety attacks during his time studying for the surgery residency program, you taught him your methods to push through them and made him an appointment with your doctor. You were beside him, helping him work through his fears and the tension. When he got in the program, you were the first person he called. And he was also the number one on your call list when you got your promotion earlier today.

Whenever his sinusitis would flare up, you were also the one by his side, watching on his health, making sure he took his meds, making him tea and helping him with nebulizing.

Sometimes, when your bad thoughts get the best of you, you feel like you don’t deserve him. You think he’s too good to be true, that he does more for you than you do for him and that he’ll grow tired of it and drop you like so many have done in the past. On times like that, Anton always tells you he’s the lucky one for having you on his side and the sincerity dripping from his lips and eyes always scare your doubts away. You believe in him even when you don’t believe in yourself. He makes you see how you bring out the best out of each other. And when any of you are feeling down, you both always feel comfortable enough to be vulnerable.

There’s no pressure to be perfect with Anton. You can make mistakes and try again how many times it takes. And he does the same. Despite you seeing him as a pretty perfect man, Anton also messes up, like any normal human being. And you do the same. Over and over and over again.

Sometimes you speak with him a little too roughly. Or he gives you the silent treatment when things don’t go his way. Or you wake up in a bad mood and take it out on him. Or, on the same day, he forgets to take out the trash from your shared place and you arrive late to an important work dinner of his. You argue and get mad and upset like any other couple. But each time it happens, you talk it out. And he never leaves you alone in your relationship struggles, always meeting you halfway to solve the matter.

The thing is you accept each other, the good and the bad and the in-between. No feelings or thoughts are invalidated or dismissed. He makes you confident and comfortable in your own skin. And you like to think you do the same for him.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome and jacked, too, his swimming career in school building up his muscles nicely to the man he is today. That’s what you’re thinking about while he takes the final turn to enter your apartment building, parking the car on his spot with one hand on the steering wheel and the other one still gripping yours tightly, attentive eyes checking the car mirrors.

His shirt hangs nicely on his body and the two top buttons under its collar are undone, showing his clavicle and a hint of his chest. You lick your lips and breathe through your nose deeply, trying to settle the buzz deep in your belly while you admire him. When he’s done parking, he catches his jacket and your purse on the backseat and gets out, making his way to open your door and offering you his hand to help you out of the car. You grab it and step out carefully. Once you’re securely out of the car, he closes your door and rests his jacket over your shoulders, helping you to slip your arms through the sleeves. Then, with your purse still over his arm, he locks the car and grips your hand, leading you both on the walk to the lobby to call for the elevator.

You squeeze his hand with both of yours and lean your head onto his arm while you wait for the lift, appreciating his presence, warmth and attention. 

“I’m glad you had fun today, baby,” he whispers and you tilt your head up to find his eyes already searching for yours.

You smile at him. “So much fun. I’m so happy, Anton.”

His eyes shine seeing the true joy exuding from your body. “If my girl is happy, I’m happy.”

His admission makes you want to get closer, so you turn to stand in front of him, tugging slightly on his shirt collar to get him to bend down over you. “Thank you, baby.”

“For what?” He asks, an eyebrow shifting slightly up.

“For being happy for me and with me. For celebrating with me today,” you say, looking deep into his eyes.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, baby,” he whispers while his arms cross over your waist, pressing your body against his. “I want to celebrate this and so much more with you.”

“Yeah?” You mutter back, getting on your tippy toes as you watch him with hooded eyes. “Like what?”

He slides one hand up to rub your face, pulling you in to speak over your cheek. “Like when you get the editor-in-chief position next.” He drops a kiss on your cheekbone and moves his lips to your jaw next. “And when I finish my residency.” A new kiss is laid on your chin and another one on the corner of your mouth. “Then our engagement, our wedding…”

“Ahh, so you do plan on proposing,” you tease, leaning back to get your face out of reach from his lips. “It’s taking so long I’m starting to think you’re just stringing me along.”

Anton tightens his hold on your waist. “Stop it, you know I’m planning on it.” He moves his free hand to your nape to pull you close again, his lips one more time landing on your cheek. “You’ll just have to wait and see. It will be perfect. You’ll bawl your eyes out.”

“With how easy you get emotional, I think you’ll be the one bawling, Tonie,” you say, pulling on his hair a little while he rasps his teeth on the side of your neck.

“Oh, for sure,” he says, his voice muffled by his lips constantly pressing on your skin. “We’ll both be crying messes once the ring is on your finger.”

You chuckle at him and pull his head back to look at him, watching his mouth become an adorable pout at being denied kissing you more. “I can’t wait for this mysterious proposal, then.”

Anton’s pout turns into a wide smile. “I can’t wait to wife you up.”

You smile back at him, the thought of being his wife, of calling him your husband sending butterflies flying in your stomach.

The elevator finally arrives then, and you both get inside. Anton presses the number for your floor and slumps against its wall before the lift begins to move up, his arms settling around you and pressing you to his body again. You wind your arms around his shoulders and press a kiss onto his clavicle, making him groan, his hips instinctively moving forward to press against yours.

“Aren’t you eager today?” You mutter, looking up to find a flush creeping onto his cheeks. “What has gotten into you?”

“You’re just so happy right now. And I want to make you even happier.” He holds you flush against him while he nuzzles his nose against yours. “Wanna make you feel so good…”

“Oh.” You press your lips to his quickly, smoothing your thumbs on the sides of his neck. “I’d like that very much.”

“Plus, I’ve been thinking about something…” he says, gaze holding yours steady, building tension.

“Thinking about what?” You whisper, the expectation blooming on your chest.

Anton doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he moves his face to drop kisses on your shoulder, his nose skimming under the jacket so his lips can reach your skin. He trails a path of kisses from your right shoulder until the place under your right ear, nibbling on your lobe while you whine. That’s when he finally replies, his breath blowing over the damp skin he just kissed, “Thinking about being a little possessive tonight, a little harsh…”

His words make your breathing heavy and warmth spread through your body. You tug on his hair, your mind getting dazed from his teasing. “Like, you wanna be mean?”

He shakes his head and places his hand on your face, stroking your cheekbone. “Not mean. Just taunt you, mess with your mind a little.”

“Oh,” you whimper, pressing your thighs together while mulling it over your mind, remembering all the times he teased you in bed and how it always made you feel. “I like it when you do that.”

“I know you do, baby,” he whispers, moving his mouth to your jaw. “You always get so—”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice a little high pitched, suddenly feeling self-conscious of being this close to him and thinking dirty things in the elevator. You can only hope there’s no audio on the camera by the corner that’s aimed directly at you both.

You hide your face on Anton’s neck and he snickers at you. “So, you’re up for it?”

You nod, the embarrassment shining red on your cheeks and heating your skin. “Sure, let’s do it.”

Anton rests his chin on top of your head and digs his fingers on your hips as he squeezes you against him. “If you dislike something, you remember the word, right?”

“Pineapple,” you say against his skin, reciting your safe word to him so he knows you remember.

“Good girl,” he purrs, tightening his grip on you.

When the elevator finally dings and its doors open on your floor, you and Anton both scramble up to get to your apartment as fast as possible.

As you type the code for your door, you think about how the night was fun enough until now. You drank cocktails, danced to songs, hugged your friends, screamed your lungs out in happiness and enjoyed your time. It was really really good. But there’s only one thing left to end this perfect day, one thing left to take the fun to the next level. It’s the one thing that’s been nagging at your mind, body and soul the whole time you were at the nightclub. The only thing you can think about after that spicy elevator ride — having Anton all to yourself.

So when the both of you cross the threshold of your place and take your sneakers off and your purse is out of Anton’s hand, you corner him into your entry door, kissing him fervently, slipping his jacket off your body and dropping it to the ground. Anton responds in kind, pressing his lips to yours just as hastily. When your tongue traces his bottom lip, he opens his mouth for you to invade it with, and when you stroke his tongue, he groans.

“You look so fucking good today,” you whisper on his lips, your fingers deftly undoing his shirt buttons. “I wanted to jump your bones the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

“You look so beautiful too, baby,” he mutters back at you, complimenting you with his soft-spoken voice and gentle demeanor.

Your sweet, loving, kind man. You love him so much. 

When you kiss him again and your nails scratch over the exposed skin of his chest, he moans, sliding his hands down your ass and pressing your body against his. You gasp from the feeling of his dick already twitching and fully erect inside his pants, your mouth opening up in surprise. He takes the moment to kiss you again, licking the inside of your mouth and biting your bottom lip, pulling on it a little before releasing it.

“I kept thinking about being inside you the whole time we were out, too,” he says with his lips over your neck, nipping on your pulse point. He licks the place and speaks against the moistness, making your skin jump. “I’m gonna fuck you so good today, Miss Editor.”

Your filthy, dirty, hot man. You love him so much.

You whimper from his words, trembling hands trying to finish unbuttoning his shirt. Before you can, Anton is lifting you up on his lap, and you yelp in surprise. You both giggle as he strides towards your bedroom and supports you with his hands on your ass, but you give up on laughing in favor of kissing him again, your lips becoming moist with spit. You don’t know how Anton manages to find your room while he keeps kissing you, but in just a few seconds he’s laying you over your silky sheets.

You stretch on the bed, moving further back until you’re positioned in the middle. Anton stands in front of you while he opens the rest of his shirt and you watch as more of his skin is revealed. After he’s done with it, he unbuckles his belt and opens his fly, showing the bulge under his boxers. You lick your lips at the sight.

He leaves his pants on, though, and kneels on the bed, crawling over until he reaches you. You sit up to run a hand on his front, from his chiseled pecs to his taut abs until it stops on his happy trail on his lower stomach.

He bends down to kiss you and your arms go around his shoulders to pull his shirt away from him completely. Anton helps you slide the fabric off his arms and once you throw it on the floor, his hands are pulling up your top over your head, your shirt also being off in an instant. Then he’s pressing his body on yours and laying you back on the mattress.

“God, would you look at you,” he says once your head is resting on the pillows, tracing a hand over your stomach and raising goosebumps over your skin, eyes shining while he looks at your chest. “So fucking pretty. I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

There’s a reverent and low tone to his voice that always turns your insides into mush on moments like this. You press your legs against each other from the praise and tighten your grip on his shoulders, trying to kiss him one more time to show how much you appreciate it, but Anton rears back slightly, his eyebrows shooting up and eyes encouraging you to say what he wants to hear. 

“I’m all yours, Tonie,” you say with heavy breathing and he smiles approvingly. “Only yours.”

“Yeah, baby?” He mutters, his hand covering your boob over your bra. You gasp while he squeezes your flesh. “Seeing your past fling today didn’t confuse you? You didn’t think about leaving me for him, did you?”

It’s like a bucket of icy cold water is thrown on you. Anton’s words shock you to the core and you look at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Thinking about being a little possessive, he said. You never thought it would show up like this, though. You played with jealousy in bed before, of course, but it was always with creative scenarios — celebrities, fictional characters, strangers in the street, unnamed imaginary people. The line was drawn at real people in your life. You’ve never considered using any of your exes, friends or close acquaintances.

But Anton is changing that now by talking about Sungchan and your meeting with him earlier. And you know him well enough to decipher his words and body language, to know that he’s jealous. For real. 

Even though he has no reason to be.

Honestly, Sungchan was the furthest thing from your mind all night, your encounter with him long forgotten while you had the time of your life with Anton and your friends. You can’t quite believe your amazing boyfriend is actually insecure about it. But he is.

You blink up at him, still stunned to silence, and Anton sighs, annoyed by your lack of response. “Did you, love?” He asks again, squeezing your breast a little harder. 

The action springs you to life. “I— No, no, baby. Not at all,” you stutter out as he pulls down the lacey cup of your bra and circles his forefinger around your areola. “What made you— shit, what made you think that?”

Anton pinches your nipple then, making you arch your back and moan. ”I just think you spent too much time talking. Seemed like you were having fun, too, smiling and flirting with him.” He ends his sentence with another press on your nipple, harder than the last one, rolling the bud in between his thumb and forefinger to soothe the ache right after whilst you pant under him.

“I wasn’t flirting,” you defend yourself quickly. “I mean, he was flirting, but I didn’t—”

“Oh, was he, baby?” He asks, eyebrows going up. “And how did you respond to his flirting?”

Anton’s eyes are dark, hooded and lust-filled while he waits for your answer. There’s something about the jealousy and possessiveness he’s exuding that makes you whimper, feeling the release of more arousal into your panties. He looks so fucking hot. But you can’t have him thinking that you would trade him for Sungchan. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“I rejected him. I’m with you and he saw it. I told him how happy you make me,” you stutter. Anton just looks at you, analyzing your words in silence. It fills your heart with desperation. “Baby, I didn’t even think about him after that, I promise.” You reach your hands towards his face, but he remains out of reach, making you paw at the air. “There’s no reason to be jealous, Anton.”

He scoffs at you, tweaking your nipple one more time while his other hand goes around your chin, gripping it tightly. You moan loudly at the action and his thumb starts to trace over your areola again when he speaks. “I’m not jealous.” He hovers above you again and presses his nose to yours, looking down your eyes. “But he sure seemed like he was, talking shit about you two hooking up in the past. Like he had the right to act territorial over you when you’re my girl.”

“Baby, I don’t want to talk about him now,” you plead, your words coming out jumbled from the way he’s now pressing his fingers on your cheeks. At seeing your struggle, he loosens his grip a little and you’re able to speak better. “Please, let’s just—”

“So, what more did you tell him about me?” He asks, purposely interrupting you and ignoring your plea at the same time.

“I told him you’re amazing. And that you treat me so well, that I love you so much,” you babble out, mind racing trying to remember everything you said.

“Hmmm, and what else?” He says, his face still so close to yours.

”What do you mean, what else?” You gulp down, looking up at him.

Anton softens at your question, smoothing his fingers over your features and kissing on your pulse point. Then he descends, sucking on the upper part of your boob, tongue slipping out to flick your nipple. “I mean, did you tell him about this?” His hand moves to your other breast, still bra covered, blunt nails scratching the fabric down so his thumb can press on your nipple. “Or about this?”

Fuck. Anton wants you to lie.

Actually, he wants you to pretend like you’ve told Sungchan about your sex life, that Anton’s so good at it you boasted about his skills to your past affair. What he wants is an ego boost, to know that he’s still the only one that gets to have you like this. So much so that you needed to tell your ex how he makes you his.

It’s a little crazy. And adorable. And fucking hot.

“I did,” you whisper and Anton purrs on your neck, his hips grinding down on yours. “I told him how you always make me feel so good, how your fat cock stretches me just right.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groans, sinking his teeth on your skin. You tug on his hair while bucking your pelvis up to meet his. You love the way he melts into you so easily, how just a little praise gets him weak, even when he’s the one in control. It always makes you confident.

“I told him I’m too obsessed with how you fuck me to ever think about leaving you, baby,” you whisper in his ear, one hand going down to press on his ass so he can drive his hips down harder, the stimulation on your clit over all the clothes getting to you. “And that I’d never trade you for him, not in a million years.”

After that, Anton kisses you with so much force your teeth clash together. But you don’t care about it, letting him kiss you while you grip on his shoulders and press on his back so he keeps grinding down on you. You only break for air when he unfastens your bra, going right back into kissing him while he slides the straps down your arms and takes the button of your skirt out of its loop.

Anton pulls back to tug on the bottom of your skirt and you help him out by pulling your waistband down and wiggling your hips until the item is out of your body. You’re almost laid bare before him and he rests a firm hand on your lower stomach while he drinks you in, his other hand reaching up to cup your breasts, one after the other and then back again. You see his dick jump inside his underwear as his eyes devour you.

“Fuck, you look so pretty when you’re like this for me,” he says and you moan at him, hands trying to coax him back into putting his weight on you. “My perfect girl with her perfect body,” he praises, his free hand going up your body until his fingers meet your lips. He doesn’t need to command you to take them. You do it willingly, opening your lips to suck on his index and middle fingers greedily. Anton hums in approval. “Perfect mouth and tongue.” He pulls his fingers from your mouth and moves them over to your right boob, brushing wetness on your areola before moving to your left one and doing the same. “Perfect tits.” He slides his hand down still, navigating it through the valley between your breasts and the plush flesh of your stomach until it brushes over the waistband of your panties. He caresses over the top of the fabric, and you try not to whimper pathetically or squirm too much. Then, he finally slips his hand in between your legs, cupping your cunt harshly over your underwear. “And perfect pussy.”

“Baby, please,” you moan out. “Please touch me.”

He snickers at your desperate state, but hooks his fingers on the sides of the elastic band and pulls them down. You release a deep breath when the underwear is finally off you and another one when Anton’s hands go back to your body. “Fuck, imagine if Sungchan could see you right now, love,” he says, his right hand coming back to one of your nipples to pinch it again as his left one strokes the inside of your thighs. “If he could watch how much of a pathetic mess you get for me. So fucking desperate.”

“Anton,” you moan as his hand inches closer to your heat and he presses his palm on your left thigh to separate it from your right one, spreading you open before him.

“I wish he could hear how pretty you sound while you whimper my name like that, baby,” he says, moving his free hand to your bottom lip again and tapping on it. You open up, taking three of his fingers into your mouth now, licking over them and sucking on them. He presses his digits deep, reaching for your throat and you gag on them, but still don’t let him pull them from your mouth, closing your hands over his wrist to keep them there. “I wish he could watch you suck on my fingers and gag on them just like that, my perfect girl.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth as fast as he slipped them in, getting his hand out of your hold and moving his damp digits to your pussy. You almost let out a squeal when he rubs on your clit, spreading your legs further apart for him. You look at his face while he watches the movements he makes on your cunt, his other fingers rubbing over your folds as his thumb keeps pressing on the nub on top of it. “I wish he could see how wet you are right now. You’re going to soak our sheets, love.”

You bite on your lip, gripping the sheets and planting the soles of your feet on the mattress while he remains kneeled in between your legs bringing you pleasure. “It’s your fault. You always get me so wet. I’ve been like this since the elevator.”

“Hmmm, I know, baby,” he mutters appreciatively, eyes glued to the juices sticking to your cunt, his fingers noisily working over you. “You’re so naughty. Can’t help getting horny for me anywhere, right?”

You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek now, moving your hips slowly with the movements from his hand. “Yeah. I want you all the time.”

“Fuck,” he groans and you see his dick jumping against the wet patch forming on his underwear. “I think Sungchan would love seeing how much of a whore you become for me.”

“Just for you, baby,” you affirm between moans.

Anton’s gaze slides up to yours again whilst he starts to massage over your hole, the jealousy in it now fizzling out, leaving behind shiny heart-eyes for you. “Yeah, just for me. He can’t have all of that anymore, baby. He can’t see you or touch you or hold you or hear you or fuck you. Only I can, right?”

“Yes,” you groan, bucking your hips up when he finally slips one digit inside you, your walls contracting over it. “Only you can, baby. I’m your girl.”

“You’re my girl,” he repeats, adding another finger inside, making your head spin. “My perfect girl, I’m going to ruin you.”

Anton puts his free hand beside your head and hunches down so he can press his forehead against yours while his other hand keeps working your pussy slowly open. His long thick fingers plunge deep inside of you and it’s crazy how easy they slip in and out, your wetness making the slide smooth, even when he starts to make scissor motions and bending his knuckles.

“Anton,” you moan, touching his neck and trying to keep your eyes open to look at his flushed face. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He says with a sly smile, getting his fingers completely out of you at the same time to run over your pussy lips, making you whine in frustration from being empty again. “Tell me how much you like it.”

“I like how your fingers reach so deep inside me,” you grumble, trying not to close your eyes when you feel him grazing over your clitoris again. “Your cock, too. You’re so fucking big all over.”

“You like that I’m big?” He asks, rubbing little circles on your clit. 

You nod, scratching the nape of his neck to release some stress as he keeps teasing you. “I was afraid you wouldn’t fit the first time. But like I said, you always get me so wet.” 

“I do, don’t I?” He whispers, a sleek smile on his lips, focused eyes watching your every reaction to him.

His hands descend again, looking for your entrance, and you mewl when he finds it, his digits shallowly stroking it. You bite your bottom lip before replying to him. “You do. You’re so patient with me, too. I love how attentive you are.”

“Awww, sweet girl,” Anton coos, mocking your frenzied state, his lips curving up. “All of that praise just because you want me to finger you properly?”

You chuckle at his words. Of course he can read you like an open book. He always can.

You pull his mouth to yours to press a lingering peck on his lips, your hips grinding up to look for more friction. “I mean what I said,” you state over his lips, giving him pleading eyes. “But doesn't your sweet girl deserve a reward for inflating your ego?”

He snickers and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Of course you do, baby.”

Then he’s inserting two of his fingers inside you again, the stretch making you open your mouth in a big ‘O’ and squeeze his shoulders. He’s still relaxed with it, delicately rubbing your walls, slowly bringing you pleasure.

He kisses the moles on your shoulder and you crane your neck to the side, silently asking for more smooches on your skin. He chuckles and follows your silent request, pressing his kisses on your neck and clavicle.

“I love giving you what you want, baby,” he whispers, his thumbnail grazing under your clitoris. “You look so good taking it.”

You try so hard concentrating on what he’s saying, but the pace of his fingers inside you is slow and deliberate, making you dizzy with want, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You’re so good to me,” you reply after a beat passes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he confesses back, his lips now on your right boob.

He keeps kissing you and licking every part of your body his mouth can reach, sucking on your skin and marking you all over. When his kisses travel down your stomach, his fingers start to curl up in your pussy, and you hitch a breath when he comes face to face with it. He presses his free hand down on your lower belly and looks up to see your hazy eyes focused on him. He smirks, adding a third finger and you feel more juices coming out of you, enveloping his fingers in a slick mess. 

He looks down again, now laser-focused on your heat. “My baby’s got such a pretty pussy. I love to watch you from here.”

“Just watch?” You ask, your voice already hoarse from moaning.

He cocks his head to the side, as if he has no idea what you mean. “Why, baby? You want me to do something else?”

You move a hand to his face, thumb rubbing his cheek while your other fingers press on his neck, trying to get him closer to your cunt. He resists you easily, your hold on him being too weak in the state you're in.

“Anton,” you groan, giving him puppy eyes again. “Please.”

He sets his eyes firm on yours. “Ask for what you want with your words and I’ll give it to you, baby.”

“I w-w-want,” you stutter, your breath coming out ragged. “I want your mouth.”

“Where?”

You expel a frustrated sigh before replying. “On my clit, please.”

“You got it, babe.”

You’re expecting him to lick at your bud, but Anton surprises you by enveloping his whole mouth around it and suctioning hard.

“Oh my fuck,” you moan, hips bucking up as he combines speeding his fingers inside you and sucking on your clit with an enthusiasm that has you seeing stars. You try opening your legs more to feel it all and give him space, and he follows your cunt in every wiggle of your body.

“Sweetest pussy ever,” he says after retreating a little. “Can’t get enough of your taste, baby.”

Then he’s back at it, licking up at you, swift and strong strokes of his tongue going from your entrance to your clit and slurping up your juices. You squeeze his neck and move your hand up the top of his head to ruffle his hair and tug on his strands, earning a groan from him that vibrates through your whole body.

You move your free hand to grab at his forearm pressing on your belly. He looks up at you and grabs your hand, his fingers slipping on the space between yours. He moves both of your hands to press on your body again, bending his wrist up to keep your palms connected as his veins become prominent from the force he’s applying, making him even hotter. You ground yourself with his hand on yours, feeling his affection enveloping your body and soul.

You love when he eats you out just like this — hungry eyes gazing directly at you, hand linked with yours, messy hair from your pulls and a skilled experience years of getting to know your body gave him. It always makes you feel close to him and also never fails to drive you crazy.

He goes back to sucking at you in rough and messy intakes and the fingers inside you start to move deeper and harder. You lose eye contact, resting your head against the pillows as a prolonged moan of his name makes its way out of your lips. When it subsides into hoarse whimpers and cries, you begin to feel the bed shake and look down again. You see Anton is rutting his hips on the space in between your legs, jolting both of you with every one of his thrusts. The movement somehow helps with the feeling of his fingers inside of you, making them quicker and sharper, and you scratch on his shoulder from how good it all feels.

Anton catches your gaze again and tightens his hold on your hand, rearing back to lay kisses on your thighs while he speaks to you. “I’m so damn hard for you, baby.”

You press your nails on his skin again, probably leaving marks. Thinking about his hard dick and how his thrusts on the sheets could be inside you has you trembling with want. “I want it, Tonie. Need your thick cock inside me so bad.”

“I’ll give it to you after you cum for me one time, okay?” He asks, thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“Yeah, okay,” you breathe out, nodding at him.

He nips the inside of your left thigh. “You’re feeling good, right?”

You nod again, neck straining from the sensations moving through you. “So good. You’re so good at this, fuck.”

He gives your other leg the same attention, rasping his teeth on your skin. “You close?”

“I’m getting there.”

“Hmmm,” he ponders for a bit. Then he shifts his wrist slightly and bends his fingers in your cunt, finding that spongy spot inside you. “What if I do this?”

Your mouth hangs open in a hoarse moan, hips lifting up on instinct, trying to meet his hand. “Tonie, shit, that’s it. Please don’t stop.”

“Found it,” he whispers to himself, a smirk playing on his lips.

Anton’s mouth comes back to your clit, sucking and licking on it nonstop while he keeps his knuckles crooked inside you, driving his fingers in with more force and speed each time they slide out. He presses down your lower belly with more vigor, putting some of his weight into it, and you start to feel the crushing pleasure from inside and out. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, so you close your thighs on his head and hand, rest your feet on his shoulders and swivel your hips to the best of your ability given the force he’s applying on you, trying to meet his frantics movements, looking for more friction, more satisfaction, just more.

The noises become louder and harder to ignore, driving you to insanity. The squelching sounds from his fingers and your wetness, the slippery suction of your intimate flesh, the creaking of the bed, Anton’s soft groans pulsating through you, the rustling of the sheets, your own moans and whimpers coming out broken.

There’s sweat on Anton’s forehead and you brush his hair back, giving you a perfect view of his shiny black eyes and how he’s devouring you whole. Not only his fingers and mouth, but his mind and soul are working intently to get you to your high.

Your pussy starts to flutter around his digits, gripping them and sucking them in. You feel your muscles straining, tensing and relaxing repeatedly, twitching under your skin. Your legs are shaking, your fingers on Anton’s hair and hand trembling, your throat producing incoherent sounds and a familiar churning growing on your core.

You’re sure you can feel each one of your boyfriend’s three fingers rubbing at your walls, prodding at the sweet place deep inside you, when you become restless. Your impending orgasm creeps up on you unexpectedly, fast flames licking at your ankles, knees and elbows and spreading like wildfire to your limbs and torso, blowing your mind.

Then you feel it. The way your stomach contracts against Anton’s hand, how the weight over it is almost unbearable, a crushing presence urging you to peak. It makes you panic, hand gripping over Anton’s hand so hard your knuckles turn white and your nails dig into his skin.

“Baby, baby, wait, I’m—” You try to warn, but it’s too late. You’re cumming, your orgasm wrecking through your body and a clear and short stream of liquid pouring out of you and hitting your boyfriend on the chin. You’ve just squirted.

You’re instantly ashamed, covering your face with your hands, but Anton is unaffected by it. He just withdraws his face from your cunt, pins one of your legs to the bed and keeps pressing his fingers deep inside you, his thumb replacing his lips and moving messy and loud circles on your clit. Through the crack in between your fingers, you see his tongue poking out and licking down his chin and lips, his eyes set on your pussy, still trying to bring you the utmost pleasure.

He works you for a moment while your orgasm courses through you, and when the flames finally subside, you move your hand to push on his wrist, while tears brim your eyes and your jaw and throat hurt from all the moaning. Only then he pulls back completely, sitting on his haunches, resting his hands over his thighs and watching your chest heaving and the red flush all over your skin.

“I knew you’d soak our sheets,” he says, voice soft and frazzled.

You whine, closing your legs in embarrassment and pressing the heels of your hands on your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Your gargled words have Anton touching and hovering over you again, rubbing at your ankle and kissing your hip bones, one after the other. “Hey, hey, none of that, please.” His hand moves up to your waist and he trails a thread of kisses on your whole stomach. “You always look so sexy when you do that, baby.” He smooths his palms on your elbows, coaxing you to open up so he can see your face. “I wanted you to do it. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

You just whimper again, not loosening up to the pressure of Anton’s hands. 

He moves his hands to yours, rubbing on your knuckles. “Come on, baby. Let me see your pretty face all red.” He places a kiss on your left shoulder. “Wanna kiss you, please.”

You reluctantly pull your hands away, but you press your left cheek on the pillow so he can only see your profile. He chuckles and cradles your face on both of his hands, moving your head straight so he can see you clearly.

“There you are,” he coos, his thumbs swiping at the tears collected on your waterline. “Hi, love.”

You give him a pout and look down. “Hi.”

“Look,” he starts, voice soft and eyes kind. “I have no idea why you get so ashamed when that happens, but you need to know it’s fucking hot. Like, I wish it would happen everytime.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you mumble out, tracing patterns on the skin of his right shoulder, still not meeting his eyes.

“No, I’m not. Baby, some guys only dream of making their girlfriends squirt,” he explains. You flinch at the last word. “I get to do it every once in a while and it feels amazing.” He shifts his face so you have no choice but to look directly into his eyes. “Does it feel like that for you, too?”

You sigh deeply, his reasoning infiltrating your mind. “Yeah, it does.”

“Then stop ruining this for you,” he says with finality. “It’s a body reaction, it feels good, and you like it. So why not enjoy it? It’s not a bad thing, love.”

“Okay, you’re too reasonable for someone that just blew my brains out,” you complain, weakly pushing his face. “Stop, please.”

Anton laughs, his chest rumbling against yours, and you smile back at him. When his lips peck yours, he puts his whole weight on your body to press his still hard length on your leg, the fabric of his jeans rough against your skin. “Reasonable while I’m hard for you, at that.”

You make a grumpy face at him. “You didn’t cum in your pants for me?”

He smiles wickedly. “I held it in for you.”

“Why would you do that?” You ask, an annoyed look taking over your face.

“Wanna cum inside you,” he whispers, nipping on your bottom lip.

You scrunch your eyebrows together. “I don’t think you deserve it, Anton.”

“I don’t deserve it after blowing your brains out?”

“You should’ve cummed with me the first time!” You exclaim, feeling heated over the subject. “Honestly, how much do you like me squirting when you can’t even soil your pants over it?”

He chuckles because of your defensiveness. “Here I was thinking you’d be glad because this way we can get right to it—”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Huh?”

“My love,” you say calmly, trying to sound as patient as he was with you a minute ago. “I like to make you weak as much as you like to make me weak.”

“Ahhhh,” he mumbles, realization dawning on his features.

“So, next time be weak for me, all right?”

“Got it, love,” he says, giving you a happy smile you can’t help but return.

You move your hand to his face, feeling the softness of his underlip with your thumb. Then you’re pulling him in for a kiss and moving your tongue inside of his mouth. He tastes like your pussy and something still undeniably him, and you sigh against his mouth, sucking his tongue and biting his lips. He kisses you tenderly, tucking strands of your hair over your ear and massaging your shoulders. You can’t get enough of him.

When you separate for air, your eyes glint at his, hand going down to press on his bulge. “Great, now fuck me.”

Anton groans and bites your cheek. “You’re so romantic, baby.”

You laugh while you try to tug the waistband of his jeans down, but his hips being so close to yours hinder your actions. He gives you a peck and then slides down the bed to stand up, yanking his pants away and revealing his briefs, a moist patch on its front. Then he’s pulling that down, too, and his cock slaps against his abdomen while he kicks the clothes off.

You lick your lips staring at his puffy cock, moistness accumulated on his swollen tip. He goes back to the bed, climbing atop of you. You quickly wrap your hand around the root of his shaft, then collect his precum on his head to smear it all over his length. Anton whines, his forehead hitting your shoulder.

“So sensitive, right?” You whisper over his ear. “Maybe you wouldn’t be if you hadn’t held it in…”

He snickers, biting on your shoulder. “I said I got it, baby. Can we drop the subject now?”

You humph, squeezing his tip, earning a moan from him. “I’m just making a point here, pretty boy. I can tease too.”

“You tease me all the time by being you,” he whispers against your skin, moving his mouth to your neck. “Being annoyed at me only makes you hotter.”

You smile and kiss the end of his shoulder. “Well, then you should fuck your hot girlfriend, baby.”

He’s so quick to pull back from your shoulder that you almost laugh at him. “How do you want it?”

“Spoon me,” you say and he gets off of you so you can lay sideways.

Once you’re positioned, he comes behind you, chest pressing against your shoulder blades and left arm fitting in the space between your neck and the mattress to wrap around your torso, his hand gripping on your opposing shoulder. He places his other hand on the inside of your right thigh to separate it a little from the left one, getting his hips close to yours. His dick hits the swell of your ass and you wiggle your butt to feel more of it.

“You like that I get so deep like this, don’t you?” He taunts, lips on your earlobe raising goosebumps on your body.

You reach your hand back to grip on his hip bone. “Anton, just shut up and fuck me.”

You love the man, you really do, but sometimes — mainly in bed, when you’re horny and desperate — he just talks way too damn much.

“Alright, Miss Editor,” he says with a chuckle. “So impatient tonight.”

You feel his knuckles skimming against your skin as he grabs his dick to tap it on your cunt, his head sliding against your folds. You both sigh at the first contact, chests contracting and expanding at the same time, and you dig your nails at his skin. Then Anton is moving his hips back and positioning himself, his tip prodding at your entrance for a moment before he’s gliding inside in one swift motion until he bottoms out, your arousal making it smooth and painless.

Anton releases a sigh when his hips are flush against yours and you feel suspended in the air and filled, your chest falling forward, your back separating from his chest and your hands supporting yourself on the sheets.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, voice already strained.

Anton doesn’t let you be distant from him for too long. He pulls you right back against his body, hand moving down from your shoulder to your boob, and thrusts into you shallowly. 

“Stay with me, love,” he whispers in your ear.

You move your hand to grip onto his forearm, grounding yourself whilst you feel your pussy throbbing around him. “Tonie,” you say breathlessly. “Feels so full, so deep.”

He wraps his free arm around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer to him, rocking your hips forward together, making sure he’s buried within you to the hilt. “That’s why you chose this position, right?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his wrist. “Can you move, baby?”

You feel him nod against your neck and a moment later he’s going almost all the way out, letting only his tip inside, and then pushing forward again, until he hits your deepest walls. He does it three times in a row and it’s like you can feel him all the way from your core to your lungs, his thrusts pushing air right out of you and leaving you breathless.

You move your hand back to his hip again for support.  Anton takes the moment to slide his hand down your butt, fingers spreading around one of your ass cheeks as he rests the top of his head between your shoulder blades to watch the way you take him in, keeping his thrusts slow and steady.

“Look at the way your pussy takes my cock, fuck,” he says, groaning in between his words. “Always stretching up for me so good, wrapping all around me.”

“Anton,” you moan, aiding his movements with your hand, trying to pull him closer and deeper inside you.

He starts pressing kisses over your skin and his hand lightly slaps your ass, rubbing the place right after, the sting making you clench around him. “I could live inside this pussy forever.”

His words get to you, like it always happens, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Would you like that, baby?” He whispers, his lips pressing on your neck, the hand on your boob flicking your nipple. “I bet you would. You love having me inside of you.”

You nod, sure that he can see you. “Yeah. I’m obsessed with—” The next words die in your mouth, replaced by a hiss when his hand pulls your leg up, changing the angle slightly.

“Obsessed with what, baby?” He asks, as if he’s not making your train of thought weaker by the second.

“With you… and your cock,” you say through gritted teeth while he starts to speed his pace. “Just obsessed. Love the way you fill me up.”

You’re not lying. You are obsessed with his dick. Truefully, you’re obsessed with all of him. Probably just as much as he’s obsessed with you. You make the hottest maniac couple possible.

You can’t see his face correctly, but you know he’s smiling because of the noise he makes, his smugness showing up from his sounds and the snap of his hips on yours. “I know you do, baby. Can’t get enough of this dick, right? You act like a little slut for it.”

“Jesus, baby…” You’re all out of words, your body and mind being consumed by him.

“My girl got a pussy made for me to fuck,” he praises, hand gripping your thigh so hard you’re a positive he’s bruising you. “Fucking perfect, made for me. Perfect for me.”

“You— you’re the one who’s perfect,” you stutter out, moving your lips to press kisses on his knuckles.

“You’re perfect for me and I’m perfect for you,” he states, his hand going from your thigh to your face, making you turn your head so he can look into his eyes. “We’re made for each other.”

And then he kisses you, stealing what’s left of your breath, tongue licking your lips and invading your mouth. After that, he taps two of his fingers on your lips and you take them in, sucking on them languidly as you give him the sultriest look you can muster. He smiles at you and puts the same fingers around your nipple, wetting it with your saliva as he twitches the peaked bud. His lips descend upon your neck to wrap around your other boob and he sucks on the neglected nipple. You moan and arch your back, driving your ass and hips back in time with his growing thrusts forward, mind going dizzy from how good you’re feeling.

Anton smiles around your breast, looking up at your face and you see in his eyes how much he loves driving you crazy. It makes you put your hands around his head and pull his lips back to yours, kissing him with all your might. You love him so much you think you might explode sometimes.

His hips start to hit you with more force and speed and you pull back for air, but keep his face close to yours, mouths still connected and breaths mingling whenever one of you moans, sharing kisses, licks and bites on each other’s lips.

“Love of my life,” Anton whispers over your mouth. “I love you so fucking much.”

From the very first time you fucked, Anton showed you how much he valued connection. Yes, you two love to try out freaky positions and new ways to pleasure each other. However, he said it time and time again the one thing that surpassed all of it was being close to you. Nothing could compare to the feeling of his skin against yours, of you being wrapped on his body and inside his embrace, gaze locking with yours and his hands being free to roam all around you.

He made you addicted to the feeling as well and without even noticing you started to always search for positions where he’d be pressed as close to you as possible.

The position you’re in right now is good, but not ideal, mainly after his thrusts became faster, his hips sending you lurching with each snap as his arms pulled you back to him, throwing your body back and forth. When he grabbed your face to kiss you, it just turned more uncomfortable, your body now twisted at the waist to keep looking at him as he pounds on you from behind.

You’re about to ask him for a change when he proves he’s one step ahead of you, slowing down his thrusts to a stop and rocking his hips one more time before pulling out. “Gotta change,” he says breathlessly, resting your thighs back on the mattress. “Need to look into your eyes while having you.”

“Should I ride you?” You ask, but he’s already moving over you and pushing your shoulder until your back hits the sheets, his other hand spreading your thighs open.

“Maybe for the second round,” he says and you chuckle, not quite believing he has the energy to think of doing all of this again. “Be my pillow princess for now, baby. Let me take good care of you.”

He sits on his haunches and secures your legs apart before moving a hand back to his cock, pressing on his leaking tip and then moving it down to the base. He teases you both for a second while he taps his cock on your folds, hissing with you in unison, and then he’s passing through your hole and pushing inside again, hips kissing yours.

You clench around him almost as an instinct and Anton throws his head back, reveling in the way you wrap around his cock, his hips pushing you forward. He lowers his chest to meet yours, caging you in between his arms that press on the sheets on both sides of your head, looming over you and dipping the mattress with his weight.

“Still soaking wet and tight for me even after we’ve done this a million times,” he says, pulling back slightly to drive inside you with more force. “You make it so hard to hold myself back.”

You move your hands to his neck, feeling his hair damp with sweat. “Don’t hold back. I want you to feel good.”

“Don’t worry.” He moves a hand to your waist, pressing you against the sheets and thrusting in again. “I always feel good when I’m inside you, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his lower back, crossing your ankles together and pressing your heels on his ass to force him to fuck you with more power. “Baby, you have no idea what you do to me,” you mumble, moving your lips to press on the apple of his cheek. “I feel like I’m addicted to you.”

Anton all but melts, slowing down to look directly in your eyes and pay attention to what you’re saying. “Yeah, baby?”

“I need you to know how much I need you,” you say, your voice starting to falter, your hands getting antsy and squeezing his shoulders. “I’d never ever think about replacing—”

He soothes you with a hand on your face, sweeping your hair back. “Shhh, I know, baby, I know.”

“No, you don’t.” You shake your head, eyes glazing over him. “I really don’t want anyone else. You’re the one for me.”

“I know, love,” he coos, stroking your face and kissing your temple. “You’re it for me, too, sweet girl.”

“I fucking love you,” you utter, your lips skiming against his at each word, in the same beat as he thrusts deep inside you. “Nothing— no one else measures up to this, you and me.”

He smiles, resting his forehead against yours. “You and me, baby. That's all that matters.”

You seal your vows with a kiss, your mouths clicking like puzzle pieces. Just like how your body fits beneath his, how his hands are carved to drag on your skin, how your fingers are modeled to grip his hair and your nails to rake through his back, how both of your moans sync up, harmonizing together, how his hips attach on the dip of yours, how his cock is suit to fuck you, how your pussy is made to suck it in.

There’s so many messy aspects of your lives, so much baggage you both carry. But this, being together, belonging with each other is what makes all the imperfection make sense, no matter how fucked up life gets.

Anton licks his way down from your lips to your neck, his mouth suctioning on your pulse point and his hands squeezing your waist. He’s still fucking you leisurely, every movement deliberate and intense, and from the way he digs his fingers into your skin and your moans make your throat hoarse, you know you’ll cum just like this.

“Shit, you’re so freaking perfect,” he chokes, his uneven breaths hitting your skin. “Perfect for me.”

You agree, lifting your hips up to move in tandem with his, chasing your high. “Yes, perfect for you.”

He bites on your earlobe, then speaks over it. “You’re gonna cum for me, my perfect girl? Gonna make a big mess on my cock?”

You speed up the movements a bit, trying to scratch the itch that gnaws at your lower belly, feeling yourself clenching over him. “Yeah, I’m so close, baby,” you gasp.

“That’s it, love, that’s it,” he says, pressing his face on yours again, nuzzling your nose. “You’re taking it so good. Such a good girl for me.”

He grabs one of your legs to crook it, fitting the back of your knee on the bend of his arm and stretching it up. The new move makes him plunge deeper inside you, his tip hitting the back of your walls, right on your g-spot.

“Oh my gosh, Anton,” you whimper, clawing at his lower back. “Don’t stop, please.”

“Fuck, I love how whiny you get every time,” he says, soft and gruff, pressing his lips to your cheeks. “So desperate to cum for me.”

He wraps his forearm around your leg to reach for your pussy, digits rubbing on your clit at rapid pace, in contrast with his slow fucking. You grow agitated, curling your toes and bucking your hips, hands gripping any of his flesh you can reach and a string of broken moans falling from your lips. Anton gulps on each one of your sounds, lips rasping against yours as he moves his free hand to your lower back, pulling you more into him while you arch for him, both still trying to feel every part of you as possible. Your pussy is clenching around him without control right now and you feel your restraint slipping away with each passing second.

“Shit, you’re clenching on me so tight, baby,” he groans, and you see the burning under his eyes, how his hands get more antsy, too. “Gonna make me cum, too.”

“Yesyesyesyesyes,” you mutter like crazy, pressing a hand on his face to smooth down the place between his eyebrows where his skin is squeezed shut, obviously trying to hold himself back. “Anton, inside, please.”

That’s what does it for him. The desperate plea on your lips, how urgent your voice calls his name, asking him to give you his seed. He kisses you one more time and then he’s cumming, hot thick spurts filling you up and triggering your own orgasm. It hits you right in the chest, stealing all breath while you chant his name like a religious hymn.

Anton doesn’t stop, because he never does. He frees your leg and sits on his haunches, grabbing your hips and making you ride the high together, still thrusting inside you whilst your cunt convulses around him, watching how white rings of your hole form around his swelled up cock, speaking nonsense. Once he’s almost done, he slowly dips inside you three more times, rocking his hips forward the most he can on the last one, until he can see his cum leaking out of you from how much he gave you.

He stays connected with you and sinks back down on the bed, fitting his head on the space between your neck and shoulder. You stay silent for a while, letting your labored breath slow down while you’re both brought down from the peak. You notice how loud you were being. The absence of your moans, the rustling of the sheets, of your skin slapping together and your headboard hitting the wall is calming right now, but it also stresses you for a whole different reason.

You rub on Anton’s shoulders and tilt your head to the side to kiss his cheek. “These walls are thick, right?”

He opens his tired eyes to look at you. “Scared we’ll get a noise complaint, baby?”

“I mean, we can’t afford being expelled from the building, Anton,” you say firmly in response to the humour in his voice.

He chuckles and drops a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “Relax, baby. They can’t expel us until we get like three strikes.” 

You look at him quizzically. “What does that mean?”

“Like, we have to be notified three times for the same wrongful behavior,” he explains. “I read the condo regulations when we got this place.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “What did you read it for?”

“Hmm, moments like this?” He says with a teasing smile. “We both know how loud you can get.”

You roll your eyes and push at his shoulder, annoyed. “Get up, you’re all sweaty.”

He doesn’t back down, instead getting his face all up on yours and kissing your cheek. “You like it when I get sweaty.”

“Not like this,” you say, truly feeling sticky with his hot skin still pressed on yours. You try to push him off you, but he doesn’t even budge. “Seriously, baby, I feel gross. And we need to showeeer.”

He tightens his hold around you and pouts. “Gimme a kiss first.”

You give in to him, pressing your lips on his for the last time before he finally lets up, getting off your body, his softening cock pulling out of you. You feel more of his cum dripping out of you as you sit up and move your shaky legs to the side of the bed. Anton follows your movement, staying on his knees and pressing soft kisses on your spine whilst you breathe deeply.

“My hot, annoyed girlfriend,” he whispers on your skin. “I’ll have to fuck you again if you keep up with this act.”

You finally laugh as he kisses his way up your shoulders. “Well, you’re annoying sometimes! Always teasing me, even when I asked you not to!”

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says on your neck. “Would you forgive me if I carry you to the bathroom princess style?”

You pretend to muse on the thought. “Hmm, maybe.”

The next moment he’s up and wrapping one arm around your back and the other under your knees, picking you up to carry you to the en-suite bathroom. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his clavicle as he walks and a few seconds later he’s dropping you back to the ground.

“Start without me and I’ll join you in a minute,” he says before giving you a long peck on the lips. “I have to take care of the big mess you left on our sheets.”

He turns his back to you and you swat at his butt for that comment. “See? Annoying!”

Anton just laughs as he gets out of the bathroom, leaving you to it. You sigh and get on the toilet, analyzing your frazzled state in the mirror while you pee. Your hair sticks at odd places, your eyes look glassy and your skin is covered in perspiration and link marks. The boy said he would ruin you and ruin you he did. You sigh happily, the thought making you giddy.

After you clean yourself, you walk on still wobbly legs to your side of the bathroom vanity to grab a hair tie, then move to the shower to turn the faucet on. You brush back your strands with your fingers while you wait for the water to warm up, checking in the mirror that your hair looks decent enough before tying it in a firm bun. You step into the shower stream, then, letting it wash away all the grime and remnants of your lovemaking. Anton joins you a few minutes later, pressing his chest on your back so the water stream hits him, too. You hum contendly when he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

His aftercare is the best, as always. He cleans you and himself up almost all on his own. You notice how he initially reaches for your body wash, but ends up brushing it aside to grab his body wash, lathering you up with bubbles. You keep your lips sealed about it as he scrubs you softly with your violet sponge, even getting down on his knees to brush it over your legs and feet, making you laugh. He also lets you hog the stronger stream of water, too busy kissing and caressing your skin to care for it. It all feels so good you start to feel sleepy. Once you’re done, he wraps you both in your matching fluffy white robes and pulls you back with him to the bedroom, kissing your lips again.

As you step in the bedroom, the room feels chilly and fresh, the pine scent of your air freshener spray lingering in the air. Your bed is made with new crispy white sheets and a pair of Anton’s pajamas rest over the quilt. He grabs the bottoms and starts to put them on and you move to your wardrobe to catch a nightie for you. But he’s quick to pull you back to him by your wrist, the top part of his pajamas in hand.

“Would you mind wearing this tonight?” He asks, voice soft and careful. “Please? For me?”

It’s funny how he’s gingerly requesting you something while towering over you, big shoulders and arms on display. A strong bulky man turned uncertain and sweet in front of his much weaker and dainty girlfriend.

“Sure, baby,” you reply, opening your robe and letting it fall off your shoulders. You reach your arms up and look at Anton expectantly. “Can you help me put it on, please?”

He gives you a giddy smile and rushes to do just that, helping by putting his shirt on you, first passing your arms through the holes first and then your head. He pulls it down until the comfy fabric hugs your body nicely and the bottom of it reaches until a little past your butt. With this, you’re completely wrapped around Anton's scent. Which definitely was his goal all along.

He makes it crystal clear when he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up and putting his nose right on your neck and inhaling deeply. “You smell so good, baby.”

You giggle, crossing your arms over his neck. “I smell like you, you mean.”

He pulls back with an embarrassed smile, a pink tint flushing his ears. “Exactly.”

You press your hand on the nape of his neck and pull him down to kiss him languidly. Anton hums happily on your lips, sitting down on the bottom of the bed and moving you to his lap. You sit with your legs perpendicular to his and wrap yourself tightly in his embrace, giving smooches on his face and neck.

When you pull back, Anton is smiling like a school boy at you. “Oh, I already ordered some jajangmyeon and fried chicken for us. It should be here in a few minutes,” he tells you.

You smile back at him and move a hand to your now growling stomach at the mention of your favorite comfort food. “Wow, you really are the love of my life.”

He nods proudly and grips your hand to press kisses onto your open palm. You trace the lines of the muscles on his shoulder with your free hand while he does it, scouring your mind for a way to softly broach the subject of his obvious jealousy.

Then you sigh and decide to just rip the bandaid off. 

“So, uh,” you start uncertain, and his eyes go to yours, showing he’s listening to you, his lips still pressed on your palm. “The Sungchan thing really bothered you, right?”

Anton tenses and pauses mid-kiss on your skin, his body becoming stiff under yours. He scrunches his eyebrows together and shrugs, trying too hard to seem laid back. “No, not at all. Does it look like I’m bothered?”

You bite on your lower lip and nod slowly, seeing his cheeks blushing.

“Oh,” he mutters after a beat, dropping your hand and looking down. “Well, I guess it did bug me a little bit, then.”

You scratch on his hair, trying to be supportive, and softly ask, “Can you tell me why, baby?”

“I don’t know,” he says, still looking down, suddenly very engrossed in pulling at a thread on his pants. “I mean, you told me all about him. And I think, maybe, knowing it all— Like how he was your first real thing, the first guy that you actually loved… It all made me a little insecure. And then he appeared out of nowhere and he’s obviously tall and handsome. And then he’s flirting with you, you said so yourself, and you’re chatting up with him all buddy-buddy—”

“I wasn’t buddy-buddy with him,” you say and Anton looks at you exasperated with the interruption, but you gaze back at him with an adamant expression. “We just talked. He heard about the promotion when I was speaking with you and asked me about it. Honestly, it didn’t mean anything to me, baby.”

“I’m not saying it meant something to you. But he was very obviously trying to get you, even after he saw you were committed. I’m not dumb, Y/N. It just upset me.”

“But I rejected him. Very clearly, at that — like no, thanks, you wouldn’t have a chance with me even if I didn’t have my amazing ass boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know all of that,” he huffs, still brooding. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t give you a play by play of our talk while you ravaged me,” you say, voice full with sarcasm.

He gives you a pointed look. “You could’ve told me before that!”

“And how was I supposed to know you were so upset about it if you didn’t say something?” you counter. “I know I’m great and all, but I can’t read minds yet, Anton.”

He shrugs and pouts. “Anyway, you asked me how I felt about it and that’s it.”

“You’re so cute when you’re this jealous,” you tease, squishing his cheeks and finally getting back at him from all the ways he taunted you tonight. Anton glares at you and you soften up, holding his face tenderly, your thumbs rubbing at his jaw. “Look, baby, I meant every word I said. You’re it for me. There’s no one else, no ex or past fling that can whisk me away from you, especially not a fuckboy like him.”

He nods at every word out of your mouth, eyes understanding.

“I completely get why you felt troubled tonight,” you continue. “But I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it when I say it doesn’t matter what he or anyone else tries to do, I won’t leave you. You’re stuck with me, baby boy. No take backs. No running away. No cheating. It’s you and me until the end… okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he replies. His eyes are set firm now and you can tell he feels more confident by your reassurance. 

“You trust me, right?”

“I trust you, baby. And I feel the same way. You and me, always.”

“Always,” you nod, giving him a happy smile and looking him deep in his eyes. “I love you so bad.”

He visibly melts, his hands pressing on your waist again. “I love you, baby.” And a beat after he asks, “Was it okay, though? The possessive thing?”

You squint your eyes at him and stretch your arms around his back. “Well, I didn’t use our safe word…”

“I know, I’m just checking in,” he explains. “I  think I should’ve asked your color, right? But I was just so into it.”

“I was into it, too,” you confess, shimmying yourself further into his arms. “Honestly, it was freaking hot. You can do that again whenever you’d like.”

He laughs and pulls you closer, until your chest is flush against his. “Dirty girl.”

“What was it that you said again? That you’d love if he saw me like—”

“No, I said he can’t ever have you like that again. Never.”

“Never is such a strong word, baby,” you tease.

Anton’s eyes harden. “Is that your way of begging me to wreck you again? Because I will do it, Y/N,” he warns.

“I’m kidding!” You say, arms going up as if you're surrendering yourself. “Damn, tough crowd.”

“Wow, you should do stand up comedy, baby,” he sneers, still moping.

After that, you spend a while peppering kisses over his face to get him back to his smiling self and soon enough he’s cheerfully kissing you back.

“Oh, one more thing,” you say suddenly, rearing back to look at him. “You know what we talked about celebrating?” Anton nods and you barrel on. “I was thinking about how once you finish your residency, I’ll also be a year settled in my new spot at work. So we could totally take a few days off, maybe plan a big trip…”

“Oh, I like how you think, dirty girl,” he says and you jokingly slap at his arm. “No, seriously, that’s a great idea, love. Were you thinking about somewhere special?”

You nip at your bottom lip, nervous. “I was, actually.”

Anton moves his thumb to your mouth, brushing on your bottom lip to release it from your teeth. “Tell me, baby.”

“I was thinking… New Jersey,” you say with a smile.

Anton’s eyes widen at your answer and he corrects his posture a little, sitting up a little straighter. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his cheeks as his shocked bright eyes look at you. “I just want to know the place you grew up in. You already got to know all my family, my town, my school friends, everything… It’s only fair I get to know yours too, right?”

“Shit, I love you so much,” he says suddenly, catching you by surprise. He places his hands on your face and pulls you in, resting his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how happy you make me.”

Heat rushes to your face because of his praise and you smooth your thumbs over the sides of his neck as he looks at you with stars in his eyes. It’s crazy how he still makes you feel like a shy schoolgirl after all this time. “I take it you like the idea, then?”

“I love it,” he whispers, pressing his lips on yours for a brief moment. “I can’t wait to show you around. And I’ll get to show you off to my friends, too!”

You smile seeing his happiness. “I’m glad you love it, baby. We should start planning it soon.”

He nods and pulls you to a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head. You hug him back just as tightly while you breathe together for a moment. Then Anton breaks the silence, “Wanna know what else we’ll get to do once we’re in New Jersey?”

“What?” You whisper.

Anton doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he moves his face to drop kisses on your shoulder, making you sigh. It’s a simple action, but it already riles you up and ignites a flame on your core, and soon you’re whining in his arms. That’s when he finally replies, his breath blowing over the damp skin he just kissed, “I’ll get to fuck you on my teenager bedroom, too.”

“Shit, baby,” you whimper, tugging on his hair, feeling yourself flush with heat.

You press your thighs together while you think about it, the scenario automatically appearing inside your mind. You imagine Anton rushing you into his bedroom, how he’d get you on his twin bed and drop to his knees while taking your pants off. How he’d move a finger to his lips to ask you to be silent before he starts dropping kisses all over your thigh. And how he’d spread you apart and close his lips on—

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Anton asks, interrupting your imagination and you bite your lips at being caught red-handed.

“Yeah,” you reply faintly while he keeps kissing your body, his mouth now on your jaw. You let your hands wander over his chest and arms, pressing on the muscles he carefully built over the years.

“Filthy, dirty girl,” he mutters teasingly, digging his fingers on your hips as he squeezes you against him. “You really want me to destroy you again.”

“You started it!” You accuse, driving your pointer finger into his chest.

“And I’m gonna finish it, baby,” he says playfully, pulling you in to kiss you.

You kiss him back, letting his tongue invade your mouth, and then, just as the kiss starts to get more desperate, your hands roaming over each other, the doorbell rings.

You push on his chest and leap out of his lap. “Yay, food’s here.”

Anton shakes his head at your happiness state because of food when he’s already half-hard in his boxers. But he can’t help but smile when you beckon him to follow you, hollering giddily, “Let’s eat, my love!”

He’s on your tail a second later, wrapping his arms around your waist and hauling you up, making you squeal. “Yeah, let's eat so we can quickly get to the dessert after,” he whispers with his lips over the shell of your ear, making you shiver all over.

The next day, while you’re having a fresh cup of coffee Anton made for you, a small piece of paper is flown under your door. 

Anton grabs it and smiles, walking back to your kitchen table to place it down in front of you. 

You take a peek at it with sleepy eyes and then tilt your head up to him. “A noise complaint?”

He drops down just enough to put a hand on the back of your head and peck your mouth. Then he whispers proudly over your lips, “Strike one, baby.”

As he laughs, you roll your eyes at him, not believing this silly annoying man is the love of your life.

But you’re so happy he is.

This might be my most self-insert work to this date. So many of reader's struggles are inspired by my own life, and that's why this story is very very very dear to me. As always, comments are appreciated. You can also talk to me about the fic on my askbox or tip me on my ko-fi, if you want. As always, thank you for reading!

[szarina]

Too dark got it: How about Zayne just blackmailing MC to stay away from his family, like him forging evidence she wanted to seduce Zayne?

blep cat

❆ ₊⋆ content warnings. blackmailing

a/n: there is always a block button.

“Dr. Zayne......”

She call his name in a whisper in a familiar tone. Watching as he walked through the doors in long strides. Surprised or more like longing was evident on her face.

Yvonne didn't told her that it was the Chief Surgeon who was meeting her today and not her current primary care physician that the surgeon had referred her.

She doesn't know what hurts more. Maybe, it's her heart that is being wrung out in her chest or the way he looks at her as she turned insignificant to him. Fondness had long disappeared in his eyes for her.

“Dr. Corwin is currently indisposed at the moment. He will be meeting you later.” Zayne informed her. The surgeon standing across her, former primary care physician and since he married you and heard that he's a real father now, she was easily assigned to a another physician that had the same qualifications as his.

This time it was usually her check-ups with him but it was replaced by his time with you, being a devoted husband and loving father to his children.

His strides were long, with purpose as he entered the conference room. The same sterile room with the AC blowing on to keep the room cool but with his sharp gaze it dropped a few degrees lower.

He pulled a chair and sat without hesitation. He was still the same white coat and the midnight blue high collared shirt underneath that coat.

“I won't waste of our allotted time. Let's get straight to the point. Don't you ever talk or approach my wife again. I don't need you poisoning her.”

Her eyes widens in disbelief and her breath got stuck in her throat at the sudden shift and accusation. She turned speechless and suddenly her hunter's uniform was tight all of a sudden. The gloves in her hands digging at her skin when she closed her fists in utter disbelief.

“P-poisoning her? It's the truth.” She stammers but her words were firm to prove her point.

“And how did my wife reacted from that truth?” Zayne's gaze were piercing and she didn't like that eyes of his looking at her like that.

Wife. The word stabs her in the chest. You had replaced her in his heart. It also reminded her of her place in his world. She was a nobody. Just someone who had a heart disease that he's still looking a cure of. That should make her special since he started that for her but it wasn't time for being delusional. It wasn't also for her, it was also for the thousands that shares the same fate as hers.

She looks at her and his gaze were still the same. Cold and calculating. Something tells her that if she breathes wrong, he's going to get rid of her.

“She deserves the truth.” Her voice came into a murmur. She won't going down without proving her point. It was her stubbornness that was putting herself in danger — as always and her love for him too.

“The Hunters Association strictly abides on its rules and that extends on how you hunters conduct yourselves in public. In your case, it can be quite damaging. The Association doesn't tolerate its hunters' misconducts.” The surgeon reminded her.

She knows that. The Hunters Association were unforgiving when it comes to acts of misconduct that will sully the integrity of the Association. She was close to being a Tenebra and Zayne was about to make her one.

“I didn't harassed her. I only talked to her.” She defended herself. Her hands clasped at her lap into fists.

“You won't like Zayne when he's angered. He won't show it but know it's going to come.” She hears your voice at the last conversation she had with you and this is what the extent of your husband's anger towards her.

“That conversation is upsetting and a conversation that is saved between mine and hers. You have no business in our lives. That is considered harm towards a citizen of Linkon.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“No.” He pauses for a moment to made sure that she was getting the gist of his point. “I'm keeping your stubbornness and prying unto people's lives under wraps before you end up causing harm.”

If he was teasing, her heart might skipped a beat and he was only rather amused at her antics. His worries disguised at teasing remarks but this is not. It was a threat. It will ruin her.

He turned into a black ice. Incapable of melting until it was to his significant other that is at home and tending to his children.

“Don't you love me anymore, Zayne?” She asks him, defeated but is still hoping.

Zayne abruptly stops when he stood up. Staring at her and she meets his gaze.

“Don't mistake my care as being love towards my patients. I didn't gave you a reason to.”

She smiles bitterly and her heart hurts. Enclosed in a fist or being pricked by his icy thorns. She thought he was still the same boy who stopped her popsicle from melting but he's not anymore or he still can but not to her.

Because when he gets home, he will he making figures of snowman in his palm for his little ones. Maybe, an ice figure of those chubby little seals. Who knows? She thought she had known Zayne but it was only the surface and it was cold.

He places the chair back to its place. “I hope you keep this conversation in mind if a thought of disturbing my family crosses your mind.”

Zayne began to walk away from her just like what you did but before he really walks away from him and the door had opened. He said,

“Dr. Corwin is now waiting for you.”

And just like that she was alone in that conference room, the temperature is back but she was left a cold feeling. A neverending bitter winter that awaits for her.

[harryhighkey]

look after you

Hi! Here is another Lee Byung-hun one shot!!!

This is pure fluff, older boyfriend looking after his drunk girlfriend.

Hope u like!!

You were drunk. Perhaps wasted was a more accurate description. What had started as 'just a few drinks' had turned into many plus the odd shot or five, honestly, you'd lost count of how many shots it had been.

You'd had fun, you loved to be out with your friends, but now you were too far gone and only had one person on your mind. So between long, slow blinks you began texting that exact person.

-TEXT CHAIN-

Hi

Hi miss, having fun?

Lots but I am so feeling drink

Are you okay?

Missed call from BH ♡

Baby, please let me know you're okay.

Hi yes I ok but I want come home now

Want me to pick you up?

Yes plsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss love you

I love you, I'll be there soon.

Your drunk self smiled at that response, knowing that soon actually meant soon with your boyfriend. You'd dated men your own age before but never had you been able to believe someone so confidently. Twenty-four years was a significant age gap, but god your heart had never felt safer. Lee Byung-hun offered you a sense of security you had never experienced before.

Which is why when his car pulled up, you quickly said goodbye to your friends and began hurrying to him. You'd never been the girl who was in a rush to get back to her boyfriend. But fuck, you were so in love with this man.

Upon seeing you, he got out of the car - being the gentleman he is - planning to open your door for you. These simple acts of kindness was another thing about him you hadn't experienced with guys your own age. Once the door was opened and he turned back to face you, you crashed into him with a hug, swinging your arms around his neck. It was lucky he was not drunk because it was his hands on your waist that kept you upright.

"Careful, my girl." He cautioned, his eyes scanning over your face to gauge how drunk you were. The flush in your cheeks and your eyes not being as opened as they normally were combining with the frequent slow blinking gave him the answer he was looking for. What he wasn't expecting was for your face to contort into one of pain and for you to suddenly push him away with force.

He watched as you began moving so quick to turn and take a few steps away from him. "(Y/N) what-" He was cut off by the sound of you vomiting.

---

"Feeling better?" Byung-hun asked.

You were now sitting naked in the bathtub whilst your boyfriend held the showerhead in one hand and soap in the other, sitting on the edge of the bath. You'd wanted a shower when you got back but he was worried after you'd gotten sick so he insisted on doing this for you.

"Mhm." You nodded, you had your eyes closed and were enjoying the feeling of the warm water running over your body and the fresh smell of the soap ridding any smell of alcohol as he ran it along your skin. It wasn't all you were enjoying, you were also enjoying how nice it felt to be looked after. Which is exactly what he'd been doing all night.

When you vomited, he held your hair back and rubbed your back. Once you were done, he helped you into the car and did your seatbelt up for you. He kept his hand on your thigh through the drive, giving it a squeeze anytime you groaned and said something like "Why did I drink so much?" In a very whiny voice. Throughout the drive he was continuously opening and closing your window from the control panel on his door, anytime you asked for fresh air he happily pressed it down but once you screwed up your face and turned away from it claiming it was too much wind, he lifted the button. He had to do this many times, and did so patiently.

He sat you on the kitchen bench top when you got back and made you two slices of toast, at first you protested, still feeling ill from the alcohol but he knew you hadn't had anything to eat since drinking and that this would help to make you feel better. He stood between your legs and held up one of the pieces of toast to your mouth, telling you he'd give you a kiss for every bite. He laughed as you rolled your eyes and took a bite. "Good girl." He told you and then you giggled as he kept his promise and dotted kisses across your face and rubbed the outer part of your thighs as you ate the toast.

Then you ended up here, now being bathed by your boyfriend.

"All clean now, baby. Let's get you to bed." At the sound of Byung-hun's voice you opened your eyes to see him turning off the water and placing the showerhead back in it's place.

He smiled down at you and you smiled back but he could see how sleepy you were, your eyes barely able to stay open so he held out his hands, once again offering his help. You placed your hands in his and he helped you up before wrapping a towel around you quickly so you'd stay warm.

Once you were dried and dressed, you swore you had never been so happy to be in bed. "Oh my god, I love to be horizontal."

This made your boyfriend laugh. "Horizontal?"

"Yeah, look at me, I'm horizontal. I don't love anything as much I love being horizontal."

"What about me?"

His question had you snap your vision to him. If only this man knew how he set your heart on fire.

"Except for you."

"Come here." He told you as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close so your body was flush against his. You fit so perfectly together.

"I mean it, you know?" You said, and your eyes welled up as you started to get a little overwhelmed by just how grateful you felt for him. The amount of alcohol you had drunk tonight only helped to intensify your emotions.

He noticed the wetness in your eyes and pulled you in tighter. "What's wrong?"

"I love you, I love you so much." You brought your arms around him this time and buried your face in his neck, clinging onto him.

"I love you too," He switched one of his hands to cradle the back of your head, his other rubbing circles over your back. "What's going on?" He was confused by the sudden outburst of emotion. "Are you okay?"

"Don't ever leave me, okay?"

"Hey," He called for your attention. "Let me see your face."

You brought your head up from it's hiding spot in his neck and met his gaze. "I'm not going anywhere." He reassured you, placing a kiss to your forehead before finding your eye contact again. "Okay?"

You nodded and offered him a smile, blinking away the tears that had built up momentarily. "I've never had anything this good, I can't lose you."

"You won't." He pulled you in tight once more and you relaxed into him. "Close your eyes now, baby. You need a good sleep."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 2 - Under My Skin

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

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

Chapter title from Akaska Sad by Rina Sawayama

Word Count: 15.7k

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

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

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Read on A03!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This magic, witchy bullshit was fake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dad scowled. “A cat.”

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

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

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

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

That last question did get them kicked out, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had probably been a lie too.

It hadn’t sounded like a lie. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A really long time. 

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

“Dean Winchester.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Dean shrugged. “I asked louder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

 “I don’t need your pity, sweetheart-“

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

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

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

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think you’re smart-“

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

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

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

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

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

“You got a problem with that, Winchester?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you seen it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not alone.

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

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

“You’re not going to deal with me.”

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

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

“What makes you think that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he stayed.

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

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

“Where are you staying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You remember my car?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How-“

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

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

Maybe he’d get to keep Her.

Maybe they could start over.

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

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

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

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

“I heard that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why-"

"You don't drink."

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

"Safer?"

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

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

"Because you hunt alone."

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean blinked. "What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's- I-"

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

"That's not-"

"You listen to me, Princess-"

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

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

"No I don't-"

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

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

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

"I am not stupid-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean frowned. He was not obsessed with Her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean blinked. "Go? Like, now?"

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

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

"You take care of the girl?"

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

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

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

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

Worse, it meant Dean was here.

And you're going to fucking scream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Bobby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean, you got the guns?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean it like that, Dad-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need a gun-“

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

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

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

“You’re getting in my fucking way-“

“You’re-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dean’s still slumped on the floor. 

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

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

You don’t know what he saw.

“What the hell-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out.”

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

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

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

“I ain’t askin’-“

“It’s not up to you-“

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

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

“You’ve done enough.“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “Bobby, look-“

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

“Um, he might have already seen it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ran into the Winchesters-“

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

“Bobby, I gotta-“

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

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

Bobby sighs. “I wasn’t gonna yell-“

“Yeah you were-“

“No-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “I will.”

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

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

Away from Dean.

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

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

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[xoxorory]

The Glitter Incident (Also Known as That One Date That Never Happened) !

POV: Fem!Reader Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff | Humor | Chaos | Domestic Softness Featuring: Glitter trauma, Damian being a concerned (and lowkey entertained) boyfriend, and Fem!Reader being Very Done™️ Word Count: ~2.6K Requested by: @simpingmyassoff more damimi reqs pls. . . Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: This is my frist time writing for Damian. . .l!! Hope y'all like it (don't crucify me pls) A/N 3: This happend once to me. . . when i was getting ready for my gymnastics competition. . .

The Getting-Ready Phase of Doom

There was something magical about preparing for a date.

Maybe it was the soft playlist you had on repeat (romantic pop, naturally). Maybe it was the way your lipstick matched your earrings. Or maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t blown up anything all day, which in Gotham, was basically a miracle.

You twirled once in the mirror. Soft shimmer on your eyelids, a gentle curl to your hair, the most perfect flowy dress you'd found after an hour of wardrobe warfare.

It was going to be perfect. Damian was picking you up at 7 sharp. You were ready.

Almost.

Until, of course, the Universe got involved.

The Glitterpocalypse Begins

While grabbing your phone from the dresser, your hip bumped a small table. A small, rickety, decorative table you kept meaning to fix or get rid of. On said table: a lone, forgotten glitter popper.

The plastic kind from a birthday party six months ago. The kind you meant to throw away. The kind that, right now, decided to fall and detonate on impact like a sparkly bomb from hell.

POP.

A deafening burst.

A mushroom cloud of metallic pink, blue, and gold.

“…No,” you whispered in horror.

It was too late.

Glitter rained down on you like cosmic punishment. It clung to your arms, your face, your curls, your LIPS—

Your dress was no longer elegant. It was a walking glitter nightmare.

Your makeup? Ruined. Your soul? Also ruined.

You looked like a disco ball had exploded on a very confused Disney princess.

Cue Damian.

Knock knock.

“(Y/N)?” Damian’s calm voice came from the hallway. “I’m here.”

You froze. Your hands mid-air. Your eyes wide. The glitter sparkled menacingly.

You opened the door in slow motion.

Damian stood there, freshly dressed in a soft button-up (black, obviously), hair slightly tousled from the wind, holding a single dark red rose like the romantic menace he was.

And then he saw you.

His brow furrowed slightly.

“…Are you… under attack?”

You just looked at him. “No.”

He blinked. “Did someone glitter bomb you? Was this Grayson? Brown?”

“No.”

A long pause.

“…Did you fight a craft store?”

You groaned, stepping aside and letting him in. “It’s worse.”

The Explanation (And the Panic)

Damian stared around the room. Glitter covered the floor, the furniture, the ceiling fan, even the cat (when did you get a cat?). You paced in front of him like a general who had lost the war.

“There was a popper,” you said, distressed, gesturing at the table. “It fell. It exploded. The glitter’s in my lip balm. Damian, I’m shiny. I’m a human mirror. I sparkle in low light. What if someone sees me and thinks I’m trying to join a boyband from 2008?”

Damian just watched you. “You do sparkle.”

“That’s not helping!”

He reached out and brushed a flake off your cheek. His touch was gentle, his smirk subtle.

“…You’re kind of cute, actually.”

You gasped. “Damian Wayne, this is a crisis.”

“An adorable one.”

Plan B (Glitter Recovery Mission)

Seeing your eyes start to water (and not just from glitter dust), Damian immediately switched gears.

“Alright,” he said, taking your hand. “New plan. No crowds. No candlelit restaurant. Just us, here.”

“But the reservation—”

“Screw the reservation. You need a glitter decontamination unit, not crème brûlée.”

“…That’s fair.”

“I’ll run the shower. You’ll rinse the glitter. I’ll start the laundry.” He sniffed dramatically. “Also, the air smells like sparkly trauma.”

You finally let out a laugh, slumping against him. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

He pulled you into a slow, comforting hug, ignoring the glitter sticking to his shirt. “It already is.”

Phase One: The Shower Battle

Twenty minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom in a bathrobe, hair damp, cheeks pink, smelling like vanilla and regret.

Damian sat cross-legged on the couch, now in sweats, with a vacuum cleaner nearby and a trash bag full of glittered paper towels.

“The floor’s safe,” he said. “Mostly. I think the couch is beyond saving.”

You eyed the spot next to him. “I’ll just sit on the floor.”

“No you won’t,” he said, pulling you down beside him with a grin. “We suffer together.”

You pouted dramatically. “I’m still glittery inside.”

He tilted his head. “...What does that mean?”

“I inhaled it. I can feel it in my soul.”

He nodded seriously. “We’ll get you a priest.”

Movie Night: Glitter Recovery Edition

You ended up curled on the couch, a blanket over your legs, watching an old black-and-white movie while you sipped cocoa through a glittery straw (the last indignity).

Damian pressed a kiss to your temple. “You okay now?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be. You looked magical. Like a chaos faerie.”

You looked up at him. “I hate how weirdly nice that sounds.”

He shrugged. “It’s true.”

You sat in silence for a beat.

“…You’re still a little sparkly,” he added.

“I will fight you.”

Bonus: The Batfam Finds Out

BATPSYCHO'S!!! (oh and Damian's girlfriend)

Steph: [sends a blurry photo of your glitter-covered self from earlier] Steph: “WHAT HAPPENED. WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE A BEDAZZLED PIÑATA.”

Cass: “Pretty”

Jason: “Demon Spawn. Did you lose a glitter war.”

Damian: “She's fine. Do not come over.”

Tim: “So that’s a yes.”

Bruce: “No glitter in the Batcave.”

Damian: “It was ONE TIME.”

Alfred: “I’m making tea. Stay sparkly, Miss.” You: ''Thanks Alfred. . .''

The End (Probably. Unless More Glitter Happens.)

As the night wore on and the movie ended, you turned to Damian, sleepily curling into his side.

“…You really don’t mind the glitter?”

He kissed the top of your head. “Not even a little.”

“Even if it’s in your hair forever?”

“I’ll live.”

“You’re a good boyfriend.”

“You’re a sparkly menace,” he replied.

You smiled into his shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

[thesecretdcblog]

Do you have any batfamily headcanons?

BOY DO I EVER-

I'll go in age order for simplicity's sake.

I tend to base headcanons off people I know in real life, and also what I think makes sense for the character

Bruce

- Hella autistic

- Constantly mixing up his kids' names (based off my grandad, who had seven kids with my nan)

- Exposure to the bats in the Batcave has lessened his fear of them but not completely gotten rid of it

- One of those celebrities that always have the wildest stories to tell on those late night talk shows

- Huge ABBA fan

- Bisexual with no gender preference

- Duke once showed him an 'eat the rich' meme and he took it seriously enough to apologise for being a billionaire on twitter. He became a meme.

- Great at dancing, prefers slower ballroom dances

- Sometimes on quiet nights, he and Selina will dance on rooftops together

- Doesn't know how much things cost, gets memed on by his kids for this

Duke: How much is a loaf of bread?

Bruce: (internally) this is a trap (outwardly) ...$12?

Duke: *starts wheezing*

Babs

- Half Irish, Half Puerto-Rican

- Metalhead

- Loves big dogs, the bigger the better

- Wants a borzoi one day

- Doesn't want to be the mum friend and yet

- Cass and Steph are her favourites

- Allergic to birds

- Swears like a sailor

- Dad joke connoisseur

- Will roll her wheelchair over people's feet if they annoy her

Dick

- Will square up at the drop of a hat, especially if his siblings are involved. Don't test him.

- Undiagnosed ADHD, everyone knows he has it but he doesn't care enough to get tested

- He learns languages for fun. Pick a language, he probably speaks it, and if he isn't fluent he will be in a week.

- Can cook but gets distracted most of the time so he ends up missing an ingredient or skipping an important step or accidentally burning it

- Contortionist level flexibility (might be canon I don't remember)

- Had a MySpace account

- Pulls out circus skills at the most random times

Someone: we need a distraction

Dick: Say no more

Someone: Where did you get a unicycle?

- The actual coffee addict in the family

- Cries during any Disney movie

- Bisexual with a preference to women

Cass

- Can technically cook, but doesn't care about flavour so if left to her own devices she's making plain rice and unseasoned chicken (I do this irl)

- Twins with Tim (similar build + hairstyle)

- Is a couple months older than Jason

- Probably has a weird pet like a tarantula with the most cutesy name like Buttons or Princess

- Favourite ballet role is the Rat King in The Nutcracker

- Selective mutism but also uses it to get out of speaking to people she doesn't like

- Favourite sibling is Tim

- Loves capybaras - they're her favourite animal

- Biromantic demisexual

- Can't drive a car but can drive a motorcycle lol

Jason

- Quarter Native American and White on his mother's side, half Peruvian on his father's side

- The best cook in the family after Alfred and also stress bakes

- Never actually apologised for the Titans Tower incident, doesn't want to bring it up because it's been so long and it'll be awkward. He's pretty sure Tim doesn't even care that much (Tim doesn't but would still like an apology out of principle) (based off my two brothers, the older broke the younger's arm and never apologised. Younger is still bitter)

- Is that one insufferable person that complains about book to movie adaptations and how "it was better in the book"

- Aromantic-asexual but isn't aware of it just yet

- Plays Neopets

- Unironically listens to bubblegum pop

- Got a teaching license solely to fuck with Tim, and later Duke and Damian

- Recites Shakespeare to annoy goons with the audacity to kidnap him

- Very physically affectionate but holds back due to fear of rejection

Tim

- Half Russian, half Vietnamese (I think it was starrykitty013 who wrote a couple Russian Tim fics and I love the idea so much). And I don't remember who the artist is but I saw some Vietnamese Tim art and love that as well. So combine the two. (Edit: Artist is @/Axiliern)

- Sneaks out every now and then to go perform as a drag queen at a gay bar. All the tips he makes get donated to queer and youth charities.

- Has a bunch of random skills from either High Society Expectations(tm) or random shit he picked up while in boarding school or just living in Drake Manor by himself.

- Such skills including but not limited to: horse riding, playing the accordion, dancing, skateboarding, surfing, snowboarding (anything with a board), tennis etc

- Can cook but doesn't like to cook for himself, he will only do it if he's feeding multiple people. If he's eating alone he'd rather just order takeaway

- The Worst Road Rage

- When Jack started getting better they bought an old muscle car to fix up together and it's one of Tim's best memories with his dad. He still has the car.

- Not a coffee addict, but he is a soft drink/energy drink addict

- One time on a family vacation to Bondi Beach, he got stung by a blue bottle and it was one of the worst things he's ever experienced and he's been stabbed on multiple occasions

- Had a scene kid phase. With the side fringe and everything.

- Also had a MySpace account and found Dick's account. He also has a Tumblr account where he posts his photography

Steph

- Also had a scene kid phase

- Has a Tumblr. Mutuals with Tim

- Has German ancestry from Crystal's side but struggles to learn the language

- Undiagnosed ADHD because her parents couldn't afford the test

- Huge fan of Kesha. Went to see her live once with Tim and almost passed out from excitement (based off my best friend)

- Really obsessed with fish and has like 3 aquariums in her apartment

- Used to go swing dancing with Tim when they dated and she really enjoyed it so she just kept going even after they broke up

- Puts stickers on everything

- Favourite ice cream flavour is dulce de leche

- Allergic to honey

Duke

- Heteroflexible (Makes "I'm not gay but $20 is $20" jokes

- Redditor but solely to read the AITA subreddit

- Somehow gets away with everything, despite personally giving Bruce at least 5 new grey hairs

- Will start arguments because he's bored

- Bullies Dick for being a cop

- Was a dinosaur kid (still is a dinosaur kid)

- Learned to sing in the church choir (I did and I'm projecting)

- Will throw hands if someone leaves a room without turning the light off or leaves his room and doesn't close the door

- No PR training and refuses any and all attempts to make him do it

- Loves 90s and 2000s music

Damian

- Actually did eventually apologise to Tim for trying to kill him (Tim called him a wuss for it though)

- Constantly complaining about not being able to drive the Batmobile

- Vegetarian, and will tell you the differences between vegetarianism and veganism

- Will pull the "Baby of The Family" card to get his way

- Autistic as fuck. Special interests include animals and horror games.

- Knows all the FNAF lore

- Wants to be a veterinarian

- Calls his siblings by nicknames in Arabic, but hasn't yet caught on that they all speak Arabic at least a little

- Warrior cats kid

- Currently trying to convince Bruce to get him a horse, and some more cows so BatCow has some friends