#time to get back into the swing of things

[charles-leclerizz]

wrong room

on the runway : lando norris x fem!reader

inspiration ( warnings ) : Smut !!! (male receiving!oral sex, (un??) protected p in v sex , light dominance, Lando being a little possessive, mutual pining, soft dom!Lando energy, swearing, teasing, light voyeuristic vibes (friends nearby), mild praise kink, overstimulation), and lots of suggestive jokes.

VIP's in the front row ( taglist ) : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @ksthegreat, @ccupcakqs]

before the show begins ( synopsis ) : What starts as a summer getaway at a friend’s villa turns into something a lot hotter when Lando walks into the wrong room - and finds you in his old hoodie, watching F1 replays. You’ve always been friendly, never close. But maybe the hoodie wasn’t the only thing you’ve been holding onto.

designer notes : well, hopefully it was worth the wait <33 . would ya'll be mad at me if I told you I haven't started chapter 3 yet? nah, cause I'm feeding you guys so well?? ok anyway, remember to wear your seatbelts. love you

The villa is carved into the hills of Côte d'Azur like a dream - terracotta tiles, arched windows, the sea glittering just beyond a blur of lemon trees and white parasols. It smells like salt, sunscreen, and freshly crushed mint. Laughter carries from somewhere deeper inside the house, floating up and over the vines crawling across the exterior walls. 

You shift your bag higher onto your shoulder and knock on the already - slightly - open door. It creaks as it swings wider. 

“Hello?” 

No answer - just music thumping softly from an unseen speaker, and the echo of distant conversation. 

You step inside. 

The marble beneath your sandals is cool. Someone’s kicked off flip - flops by the stairs. There’s a bikini drying over the back of a chair. You already know this isn’t going to be some luxury hotel - style getaway. It’s a shared house. A friend - of - a - friend kind of trip. Half of you doesn’t even remember who invited you - just that you needed the break, and this was close enough to what you craved so you said yes 

“Hey! You made it!” 

A voice - familiar - cuts through the quiet. You turn just in time to see your friend Luca come down the stairs in a pair of swim shorts and sunglasses pushed back into his curls. 

“Finally,” he grins. “You’re the last one here. Thought you bailed.” 

“I almost did.” You lift your bag with a huff. “Traffic was disgusting.” 

He helps you with your things, leads you into the living room where it smells like watermelon and something vaguely alcoholic. A few people are sprawled out on couches or clustered around the pool deck visible through the wide - open French doors. 

And then - of course - he’s there. 

Lando. 

He’s leaning back in one of the lounge chairs, a beer dangling from his fingers, legs stretched out in lazy confidence. Tan lines on his thighs, sunglasses pushed low on his nose, jaw still sharp even in the golden hour haze. He looks over when he hears your name. 

You haven’t seen him in maybe six months. You’ve never really been friends, but you’ve always hovered in the same social circle. Occasionally at the same parties, invited to the same post - race get - togethers, orbiting each other without ever really connecting. 

But now he’s looking at you like he recognizes something new. 

He nods, subtle. Gives you a half - smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.” 

You shrug. “Didn’t know you were either.” 

“Good surprise, then.” 

You’re not sure how to respond to that - so you just smile, polite, and follow Luca further inside. 

Your room’s upstairs, small but bright. There’s a ceiling fan and a tiny ensuite and just enough room to dump your suitcase across the bed without tripping over it. You unpack slowly, letting the noise of everyone else filter up through the open window. Somewhere below, Lando laughs - low and lazy - and you feel it like a fingertip dragged down your spine. 

You should be immune to him by now. He’s Lando Norris. A walking thirst trap with dimples and the most unserious sense of humour known to man. But there’s something about here - the off - duty version, the sun - drenched version, the one who isn’t surrounded by engineers or cameras - that makes it feel… different. 

Less like a boy on posters, more like a man below your window, dipping his feet into the pool. 

You shake your head and change into something breezy: cotton shorts, a crop top. When you finally go back downstairs, the sun’s just beginning to dip below the treeline, casting long shadows across the pool deck. 

People are already drinking. Someone’s pulled the Bluetooth speaker out again. There are half a dozen towels draped across every surface. 

Lando’s still by the pool. This time, he’s in the water, arms resting on the ledge, talking to someone. His wet hair curls a little at the ends. His back is freckled from the sun. You shouldn’t be looking. You are. 

He glances up just as you sit down. 

You pretend not to notice. 

Later, when you’re carrying two Aperol's back to your lounge chair, someone bumps your arm on purpose - gently, just enough to make the glasses slosh. 

“Careful.” 

You turn. 

Lando again. 

He takes one of the drinks from you before you can say anything. 

“That was for me,” you lie. 

“Too slow,” he grins, and sips. 

You narrow your eyes. “Are you always this annoying, or is it just the heat?” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” He takes another sip, gaze drifting over your legs where you’re standing in the late - day sun. 

You cross your arms over your chest, aware of how the top you're wearing hugs tighter now that it’s clung to your sun - warmed skin. 

“Is this your game? Steal drinks and flirt with every girl who makes eye contact?” 

“Only the ones who used to ignore me at parties.” 

You blink. 

“I didn’t ignore you.” 

“You never said more than two words to me.” 

“I didn’t know you,” you protest weakly. 

He smirks. “You still don’t.” 

There’s something in the way he says it - open - ended, inviting. Like he’s offering a chance. 

You roll your eyes and sit down, forcing the tension in your jaw to loosen. “You’re trouble.” 

“I try.” 

He settles into the lounge chair next to yours, shoulder brushing yours briefly before he tilts his head back to the sun again. 

The rest of the evening blurs into the kind of contented, alcohol - soft haze you only get on the second night of a trip like this - just enough comfort to start relaxing, not yet enough routine to feel bored. 

Dinner’s grilled and eaten outside. Someone plays bartender and makes the drinks far too strong. You laugh more than you expect. Lando doesn’t hover, but every time you glance over, he’s already looking. 

You should go to bed early. 

You don’t. 

You stay long enough to watch him light sparklers with a lighter he shouldn’t have, teeth catching on the cap of another beer. Stay long enough to feel the way his laugh drags across your skin from halfway across the patio. Stay long enough to admit - to yourself, at least - that maybe this time, you do want to know him. 

By the time you’re back in your room, showered and curled up on the bed with your phone in one hand and your sleep playlist in the other, you’re warm from more than just the heat. 

The last thing you see before you shut your eyes is the faint blue light of a replay clip of Lando’s onboard from Monaco. You didn’t even mean to open it. But your vague connection the world of driving means that you, just like the drivers, are addicted to watching race replays like a lullaby. You let it loop anyway - quiet, steady - as you fall asleep in a hoodie you stole from a driver party two years ago. 

You barely remember that it’s his hoodie. 

It’s hotter the next day. The kind of heat that makes everything feel heavy - time, clothes, thoughts. 

You wake up in the late afternoon, the bed tangled with your sheets and limbs, your skin still warm from the residual heat of the day before. The villa is quieter now. Most people must already be outside, and when you crack your window open, you catch the sound of a speaker playing something bassy and upbeat, mixed with the distant splash of pool water and a few hollered laughs. 

You take your time getting ready, pulling on the only clean swimsuit you packed without thinking. It’s cute, functional enough - but maybe a little revealing. Maybe not what you’d wear if you didn’t know who else would be outside. Maybe it’s stupid how long you spend in front of the mirror tugging the straps into place. 

When you finally head downstairs, the sun hits you like a wall - too much too fast, and all of it golden. The pool glimmers. Someone’s set out snacks, there’s a melting bowl of fruit beside a stack of half - read paperback books, and a cooler full of drinks wedged under the shade. 

And of course - he’s there. 

Lando. 

Lying on a towel just at the edge of the pool. Board shorts low on his hips, eyes squinting up from behind his sunglasses. He’s propped up on one arm, lazily sipping something bright orange through a paper straw. He’s laughing at something someone’s saying off to the side, curls stuck to his forehead, skin flushed just enough to tell you he’s been out here a while. 

You try not to look. You fail. 

He notices. Doesn’t say anything - just tips his chin up in a sort of wordless greeting. 

You set your towel down two chairs away. Not beside him. Not directly across. Just… within view. 

“Someone’s late to the pool party,” he calls after a moment, voice lazy from the heat. 

“I needed sleep.” 

“You needed to make a dramatic entrance, you mean.” 

You roll your eyes but smile. “You think everything’s about you.” 

“Everything is about me,” he says, deadpan. 

You stretch out on your towel, trying not to notice the way his eyes drift down your legs, then flick quickly away again when you catch him. The air feels thicker than before - or maybe it’s just your skin, suddenly too aware of every inch of exposed surface. 

Fifteen minutes later, you’re already sweating. The sun beats down mercilessly, and you sit up, digging through your bag for your sunscreen. You squirt some into your palm and reach for your shoulder - and that’s when his shadow falls across you. 

“You’ll never reach your back,” he says casually. 

One minute Lily and Kika where beside you, the next they weren’t.  

You blink up at him, “Thanks for the concern.” 

He holds out a hand. “Give it here.” 

You hesitate. Then place the bottle in his hand, trying not to think about how broad his shoulders look from this angle. He kneels behind you on the towel, the lotion cools against your overheated skin. 

His touch is… careful. Gentle at first. He smooths the sunscreen between your shoulder blades with slow, deliberate strokes, his thumbs brushing the curve of your spine before dragging back up again, just before the thin tie of your bottoms. His hands are warm and wide, fingers pressing slightly harder with each pass, until you're leaning into the sensation without even realising. 

“This, okay?” he asks, voice low - not teasing anymore, just… close. 

You nod, barely trusting your voice. 

He doesn’t stop. Works the lotion into your shoulders, your neck, fingertips grazing the strap of your swimsuit before pulling back just shy of scandal. You feel your whole - body hum, strung tight like a wire. 

And then - just as suddenly - it’s over. 

“All good,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. 

You exhale. Try to swallow. 

“Thanks.” 

He shrugs, tossing the bottle back toward your bag. “Don’t want your burning. Would ruin your dramatic entrances.” 

You laugh, light but shaky. “Wouldn’t want that.” 

You stay in the shade for most of the afternoon, half - reading a book you can’t focus on. Every time Lando walks past - dripping wet from a dive, towel slung around his shoulders, alcohol bottle in one hand - your eyes follow him before you can stop them. 

You don’t talk again. Not properly. But there’s something shifting now. You feel it in the way he looks at you longer than he should. In the way your fingers brushed his wrist earlier when he handed you a strong cocktail and didn’t pull away. In the way you can still feel his hands on your skin, hours later. 

Something’s changed. 

And you’re not sure which one of you is going to do something about it first. 

You can’t sleep. 

The villa’s quiet now - except for the creak of floorboards, the occasional pipe knocking in the wall, and the soft echo of wind sliding through open windows. Everyone else is either passed out drunk or tangled up in someone else’s sheets. The hallways feel like a lull, soaked in summer and moonlight. 

You’re curled up in bed, too warm to get under the covers, wearing nothing but the old, oversized hoodie and a faint sunburn still blooming across your thighs. You didn’t mean to put this one on - it was just at the top of your bag. Familiar, soft, slightly too big. 

Lando’s hoodie. 

You don’t even think he knows you kept it. One of those late - night party things - he tossed it to you on a balcony and never asked for it back. 

You’re not planning to see him tonight. Not thinking about the way he touched your back earlier. Not thinking about how he looked at you like he wanted to touch more. 

Your phone’s propped up on a pillow, volume low, screen lit with one of his old Silverstone onboard replays. There’s something soothing about it. The smooth rhythm of the track, the flick of the steering wheel in his gloved hands. He’s in control. Sharp. Focused.  You wonder what it’s like to make him lose that focus. 

The door creaks open. 

You sit up fast, yanking your blanket over the bottom hem of your hoodie. “What the - ” 

“Shit - ” a familiar voice mutters. “Sorry. Fuck.” 

Lando. 

He’s shirtless, in just sweats, hair a little damp like he showered but didn’t bother to dry it. His eyes are slightly wide as he sees you, as if his brain’s still catching up with what he just walked into. 

“I thought this was - ” He looks over his shoulder. “That’s not - yeah, this is definitely not my room.” 

You should say something - ask why he’s even trying to come in when most people are already knocked out for the night. 

But his eyes are stuck on your hoodie.  His hoodie.  You’re half - curled up, one leg bare up to the thigh, the hem bunched at the top of them, collar slipped low enough to show your collarbones and just a hint of skin underneath. 

“You wear that often?” he asks, voice a little hoarse. 

Your heart kicks up, fast. 

“You gave it to me.” 

“Didn’t think you kept it.” 

You shrug, hoping your face doesn’t give too much away. “Didn’t think you wanted it back.” 

He steps further into the room - slow, quiet - until he’s leaning against the inside of your door and shutting it softly behind him. 

You look at him.  He looks at you. 

Then, finally, he speaks - quiet, but direct. 

“You’re not telling me to leave.” 

You swallow. 

“Do you want me to?” you ask. 

His voice is lower now. “No.” 

You shift on the bed, pulse starting to hammer in your ears. “Then don’t.” 

He stands there for a second longer, like he’s giving you a moment to change your mind. And then he’s walking forward. 

He stands at the edge of the bed, eyes dark in the low light. One hand lift - slow, deliberate - and pulls at the blanket until he brushes your knee from where it peeks from under the hoodie. 

“You look good in that,” Lando says, voice soft, hoarse. 

You smile, lips parted. “Thought you said it wasn’t yours.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Was trying to stay sane.” 

“Why?” 

He leans in, fingers tracing up your thigh, grazing higher until your breath catches. “Because if I thought about you in this hoodie too long, I’d do something stupid.” 

Your hands fist into the sheets. “Like what?” 

“Like this.” 

He kisses you hard - not rushed, but urgent. Like he’s been waiting, wanting, and now that he has you, he’s not wasting a second. You meet him halfway, fingers threading through his damp curls, hoodie riding up over your hips as he shifts between your knees and deepens the kiss. 

His hands slide up your bare thighs, slow and reverent, thumbs dragging soft circles. You gasp into his mouth when one hand cups the back of your thigh, spreading you further apart so he can settle between them. 

“Still not telling me to leave,” he murmurs against your skin, lips trailing along your jaw. 

“I’d kick your ass if you tried.” 

The room is barely lit by the faint glow of the bedside lamp. Shadows drape the corners, but the air is thick with heat - your heat, his heat - heavy enough to make every breath feel sticky and urgent. 

Lando’s sitting on the edge of the bed, bare chest rising and falling slowly, muscles tense as he watches you. The oversized hoodie you’re wearing - his hoodie - hangs loosely, but every inch of skin you show feels like a dare. 

You flip over his lap to kneel in front of him, heart hammering hard against your ribs. His cock is already hard, proud and aching beneath the loose sweats he’s left hanging low on his hips. His breath catches when you reach out, your fingers warm as they close around him over the fabric. 

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice low and rough, eyes dark and hooded with want. 

You smile, cheeks flushed and lean in closer, tugging down his waistband, “You’re the one who walked into the wrong room.” 

His hands find your hair before you can even move - gentle but insistent, threading through your curls as you lean forward, mouth parting to tease the tip of him. He groans softly, air escaping through his clenched teeth, and you know this is going to be slow, deliberate. 

You take him into your mouth, starting light - teasing with your tongue, lips barely brushing the sensitive head. His fingers tighten in your hair, nails grazing your scalp, holding you in place even as you pull back, just enough to make him desperate. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he rasps, his hips pressing forward instinctively. 

You hum around him, licking a slow stripe from base to tip, sucking just enough to pull a deep moan from his throat. His hands tighten, gripping the sheets as you bob your head slowly, tasting him, swallowing every hitch of breath he makes. 

When you take him deeper, your throat tightens, the stretch delicious and thrilling. He gasps, hips jerking up just a little, and you feel it - the pulse of his arousal, steady and strong. You slow down, using your tongue to circle the head, flicking the underside with precision that sends shivers through him. 

“God, you’re so good,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. 

His free hand slips to your waist, pulling you up close, and you wrap your arms around his thighs, holding him steady. You want to hear everything - every ragged breath, every curse falling from his lips. 

The way his hips start to grind forward against your mouth, desperate for more. 

His fingers dig into your hair, tugging lightly, and you take it as permission to go deeper - slow, steady, careful. You feel his body tense, muscles flexing as he rides the wave you’re building, his breath hitching in ragged bursts. 

When his hips jerk sharply and he releases a low growl, you swallow him down fully, holding him there as long as you can. He curses your name, gripping your hair harder, and when he pulls away, his lips are swollen, breathless. 

You look up, cheeks flushed, and meet his eyes - glazed, heavy with want and need. 

Without a word, he reaches out and pulls you to your feet, hands on your waist firm and sure. His mouth is back on yours instantly, a kiss that’s both desperate and possessive, teeth grazing your lower lip as he pulls you backward onto the bed. 

His hands roam your body with purpose, sliding beneath the hem of the hoodie, fingers finding bare skin with reverent curiosity. You arch into his touch, heart pounding as he trails kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, whispering soft promises between each press of his lips. 

He moves with slow, sure confidence, pushing the hoodie up over your head and tossing it aside like it’s been burning him all night. 

“You’re all mine,” he breathes, voice thick. 

You shiver, overwhelmed by the warmth of his hands, the heat radiating off his body as he trails down your stomach, palms flat and sure. His fingers brush the waistband of your shorts, hesitating just a second before sliding beneath. 

Every nerve ending in your body sings as he removes your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, exposing you completely. 

He kisses the inside of your thigh, lips soft and warm, fingers tracing lazy circles around your hip bones. 

When he finally parts your legs, his eyes darken, focused, hungry. 

He leans in and presses a kiss to your clit, teasing with his tongue in long, slow flicks that make you bite back a moan. 

His mouth wraps around you, warm and wet and demanding, and you clutch his hair, hips rocking forward into him without thinking. 

“Shh,” he murmurs against you, voice low and serious. “Gotta keep it down.” 

You bite your lip, nodding, desperate to keep quiet but drowning in the sensation of his tongue and mouth working magic. He hums, flicks his tongue faster, and you feel the coil tightening deep inside you. 

His hand slides between your legs, fingers teasing your entrance, brushing just the tip before pulling back to focus on your clit again. 

You’re trembling, breath coming in short, desperate gasps, hands grasping at his shoulders as he pulls you closer. 

When you come, it’s a shattered, stifled cry buried in his neck, fingers digging into his scalp as your body clenches around his mouth. 

He holds you through it, slow and steady, until you’re shuddering and soft again. 

Then, gently, he pulls back and grins up at you - wild, messy, utterly undone. 

“You taste like everything I want.” 

You laugh breathlessly and push him down, straddling him as his hands settle on your hips. 

You take your time, rolling your hips, sinking down slowly, savouring every inch. 

His hands grip your waist tight as you ride him - slow, deep, unrelenting. 

The only sounds in the room are your gasps, his moans, and skin sliding against skin. 

You lean down, kissing him hard, teeth clashing, tongues tangling as you move together - a perfect, messy rhythm. 

When he’s close, you bite his shoulder, smile against his skin, and whisper, “Not so quiet now, huh?” 

He laughs low and growls, “I’m not gonna last much longer.” 

You pick up the pace, bouncing harder, nails gripping his chest as he buries his face in your neck, fingers clutching your hips. 

And when he comes, it’s explosive - deep, guttural, his body trembling beneath you as he spills inside you. 

You ride out the waves together, panting and slick, limbs tangled. 

When it’s over, he pulls you close, pressing kisses along your jaw and whispering, “That was worth walking into the wrong room.”

The morning spills into the room like warm honey. 

Golden light streaks across the sheets, catching on dust suspended in the still air. Outside the window, someone’s already put music on too loud - something distant and summery and muffled by the thick villa walls. But in here, it’s all quiet. 

You shift under the covers, muscles pleasantly sore, skin warm from where Lando’s body presses into yours. He’s still half - asleep, one arm flung over your stomach, curls mussed against the pillow. You breathe him in sunscreen and sweat, salt and something softer. Like linen and heat. 

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your hip bone. It’s the kind of touch that says he's still here, even in his sleep. 

You turn toward him, nose brushing his jaw. 

“Lando,” you whisper, low and quiet, just to see if he’s awake. 

Lando hums sleepily as you kiss his chin. “Mmm, you’re up early.” 

“Not really,” you mumble. “I think it’s nearly noon.” 

He groans. “We should hide. Stay in here all day.” 

You smile. “You drooled on my pillow.” 

He growls softly, burying his face in your neck. “Could be worse. Could’ve been your chest.” 

You laugh, legs tangling with his. “You’re disgusting.” 

“Last night you said I was talented.” 

“I said you were decent.” 

He grins sleepily against your skin, voice still thick. “You came twice. At least give me ‘skilled.’” 

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile too hard - but you’re glowing, skin flushed from more than just the heat. 

His hand slips lower, resting over the swell of your ass, fingers tracing lazy shapes again. You’re not doing anything, not going anywhere. It’s rare - to feel like this. Not just satisfied but settled. 

Until -  

“OH MY GOD.” 

The door slams open, and you flinch, instinctively yanking the blanket up to your chin. 

Lando groans so loudly it’s borderline feral. “No. Nope. Out.” 

Oscar is standing in the doorway, already in swim trunks and a bucket hat, holding a protein shake in one hand like a fucking trophy. Squinting into the light like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“I KNEW IT,” he yells, pointing at you both. “Fifty bucks, bitches!” 

You blink, dazed. “What - ?” 

“I told Lily it would happen before the weekend was over,” Oscar continues, stepping just one inch further into the room like he’s inspecting evidence. “She said you’d pussy out. Guess who was right.” 

You blink. “Wait, you two - bet on us?” 

Oscar shrugs. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And then you started wearing that hoodie again. It was obvious.” 

Lando rolls over and shoves a pillow over his head. “Oscar I swear to God - ” 

“Hey, don’t blame me, you could’ve been subtle. But noooo, you had to be all hoodie and eye fucking by the pool.” 

You groan. “How long were people watching us?” 

Oscar snorts. “We have eyes.“ 

“Congrats, by the way,” he says, like he’s handing out a wedding gift. It’s when he sips at his gym bottle and hisses, you realise there’s probably tequila in there, “Try not to traumatize the maid staff.” 

And then he’s gone. 

The door clicks shut again. 

Silence. 

You both stare at the ceiling for a second before bursting into laughter. 

Lando turns toward you, dragging you under him again, smirking like an idiot. “We are never living this down” 

“I kinda don’t care” 

He hums, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You gonna wear that hoodie again?” 

You grin. “Only if I want everyone to know what I let you do to me last night.” 

He pauses. Smirks. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m not wearing it next.” 

You shove him lightly, laughing, as he tackles you back into the sheets, messy and warm and unbothered - a little wrecked, a little teased, and a whole lot in trouble. 

But somehow, it feels kind of perfect. 

meet the models after the show ( epilogue ) :

It’s the last morning at the villa. 

People are packing. Doors opening, zippers skimming across tile. Half - melted iced coffees line the kitchen counter, and someone’s already yelling about who stole their charger. 

You’re still in Lando’s bed. 

Still in his hoodie. 

Still not ready to move. 

He walks back into the room with two mugs in hand - both his. One is basic ceramic with your initials scratched in red nail polish. The other says World’s Fastest Slut in hideous bubble font. 

He doesn’t even flinch when he hands you that one. 

“You’re really still wearing that thing?” he says, nodding to the hoodie swallowing your frame. 

You raise an eyebrow and sip your coffee. “You say that like you weren’t staring every time I wore it.” 

He shrugs, dropping onto the bed beside you. “Just surprised you never took it off.” 

You smirk. “Why would I? It’s comfy. Smells good. Annoys Oscar.” 

“Ah,” he nods, mock serious. “You stayed in my hoodie out of spite.” 

You hum. “Mostly. Partially because it makes my legs look good.” 

His gaze drags down. “Can confirm.” 

You blink. “You gonna tell Oscar that ?” 

“Absolutely not. He’s been insufferable since he ‘won’ a bet that didn’t exist.” 

You laugh, and he leans forward, catching your chin gently with his fingers. You try not to smile, but he leans forward and nudges your knee with his. 

“You’re still coming back to mine after this, right?” he asks, casual, but his tone softens halfway through. 

You blink. “Did I say I was?” 

He gives you that look - head tilted, lashes low, mouth twitching like he’s holding back something cocky. “You didn’t have to.” 

You take another slow sip of coffee. “Hmm. That so?” 

He leans in closer, fingers brushing the hem of the hoodie as he murmurs, “Only condition is… if you keep stealing my clothes, I get to start stealing your time.” 

You snort. “That was corny as hell.” 

“Did it work?” 

You meet his eyes, and yeah - it did. 

You set the mug down and pull him toward you, letting him kiss you slow, like the world isn’t about to start moving again. His hand curls over your thigh, his smile warm against your lips. 

When he pulls back, you sigh into his shoulder. “Okay. Fine. I’ll come back with you.” 

“Knew it,” he says smugly. 

“On one condition,” you add. 

He raises a brow. 

“I keep the hoodie.” 

Lando grins, eyes half - lidded. “Deal.” 

You settle back into the bed, sun rising behind you, the sound of car engines and goodbyes faint in the background. But here, it’s just him. You. And the hoodie you’re never giving back. 

[bunnis-monsters]

Cafes and knots

Werewolf x Vampire!Reader

WC: 2k+

warning: breeding, knotting, blood drinking, grinding, pining

A/N: Use code: birthday to get 25% off your first month of my Patreon ^^ this was a Patreon/kofi reward, and everyone on Patreon and kofi got to see this first!

It was one of those nights, the type where you spent every moment of your eternal life on your feet, jogging back and forth between customers.

Working at a cafe for monsters wasn’t terrible. If anyone asked, you would say it was a fun job with great perks.

The only problem you had was the pushy, rude customers that either wanted the manager or something inappropriate from you.

Thankfully, some of your regulars always stuck up for you when a situation got out of hand.

Especially him.

Standing at a little over 6 foot and with a muscular frame, his eyes always followed the sultry sway of your hips as you moved around the cafe.

Usually, he came in twice a day. Once in the morning for a black coffee and donut before work, and once at night for a protein shake and any pastries you had left to fuel up for the gym.

So when someone got rowdy, he was quick to run over and get up in their face. Tobias was that kind of guy, always ready to help.

You had no idea that he had a thing for you, and that’s why he was so defensive over his cute vampire barista.

To most it was obvious you were crushing on him like crazy too, but neither of you were aware of your shared love.

Most of the time you spent the day sighing wistfully, watching him from the register as he chowed down on your freshly baked pastries. He had a huge appetite after his workouts, so you decided to treat him.

Although today was relatively peaceful, the werewolf was still on edge, as if he could sense something was about to happen.

“Toby, something up?”

You walked over, placing a pastry in front of him. “Here, it’s on the house.”

Tobias looked up at you as if you offered him the world, taking the pastry into his hands carefully. The man loved his baked goods, and giving him something like this for free meant a lot more to him than you knew.

“Thank you… and it’s nothing, I just…”

His wolf ears perked up when the bell chimed, signaling someone had just walked in. A nasty looking monster walked in, his horrible body odor spreading through the cafe like a thick miasma.

None of that mattered to you, though. You politely greeted him, smiling as you gestures towards your menu. “Welcome, what would you like, sir?”

“Hey, toots. Black coffee and some of those bagels, stat.”

You blinked in surprise, about to say something before Tobias spoke up. “Don’t talk to her like that, she’s a lady.”

The werewolf was barely holding himself back from jumping up and beating the guy, he just wanted to keep the peace and make sure you weren’t mistreated.

“I wasn’t talking to you, was I, mutt? Now get ya ass back there and make me a damn coffee!”

He raised his hand, about to slap your ass before Tobias caught it mid swing. The sound of bones snapping filled the air, and Tobias began to shift right in front of you.

“I’m not mutt, and you should never even try to lay a hand on her, you hear me?”

The monster screamed, pulling back his scaley wrist in agony before running out the door, cursing the entire time.

“Wow… Toby, you saved me.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you smiled fondly at the man as his fur settled down. Slowly, his body shrank and he was back in his usual human form.

“That’s probably what had me on edge earlier, I could smell the bad vibes from a mile away.”

He sipped on his protein shake, his tail wagging while you smiled at him. Did you know how pretty you were, with your plump cheeks and twinkling eyes?

“I really appreciate it… is there anything I can do to repay you?”

His tail thumped against the booth he was seated in, and he swallowed as he looked up at you. “Well… I enjoy your baking… would you mind coming by my place and teaching me a recipe or two?”

It was clear he just wanted to spend time with you, the person he was crushing on, but you didn’t notice. “Oh, sure! I can come over after work.”

“Sure!”

“It’s a date!”

When he walked out, you sank behind the cash register, hands over your warm cheeks as you squealed.

It was kind of like a date, right? In your mind, he just wanted to bake with you, but to you it was a date!

Once you were home, you scoured through your closet, struggling to find something cute to wear that you thought Tobias might like.

After 30 minutes of trying on clothes and tossing them aside, you decided on something simple and comfortable to bake in that would also be appropriate for a possible date.

You stood outside his door, a parasol keeping the fading sunlight off of your skin. After knocking, you heard some rummaging before footsteps approached you.

Tobias answered his front door, wearing only a bag of sweatpants. Sweat dropped down his toned, tan chest and his tail picked up speed when his eyes met yours.

“Hey, sorry I’m still a bit sweaty from my work out. You smell- I mean you look nice.”

You were too busy staring at his glistening pecs to notice his slip of the tongue. “Ahh, thank you…”

He smiled, wiping his brow before stepping aside. “Come on in, I cleaned up the kitchen a minute ago!”

You bit back a laugh, spotting crumpled baking supplies sitting on the counter. Rolling up your sleeves, you got to work whipping up something sweet.

He hovered behind you, watching with great interest as you cracked another egg into the bowl. It was hard to concentrate when you could almost hear his warm blood rushing through his veins, only aggravated by his post workout scent.

You were definitely aroused, but tried to play it off… Tobias, however, knew your scent was off.

You yelped when he suddenly started to sniff at your neck, moving down your back. “T-Toby, what are you-“

He stopped, his cheeks reddening as he stepped back. “Sorry, I forgot that uh… that’s not normal for non-werewolves…”

He looked away shyly, scratching the back of his head. “You just… smell different.”

His tail wagged, and he tried his best to hide his boner as you continued. Tobias was truly a sweet guy with good intention, he was just a bit of a himbo.

The werewolf followed you around like an oversized puppy, his tail knocking over random objects in the kitchen. Although he was making a mess, you couldn’t help but find him cute. Getting to see him at home where he was comfortable felt like a treat to you!

The sexual tension was rising by the second, and you both felt your arousal growing. Tobias still hadn’t put on a shirt, but he was a little ditsy so you couldn’t blame him for forgetting.

“Hey…” Tobias called out as you put the pie in the oven. “Do you… wanna stay for a movie or something?”

Your eyes widened, and you looked over at the blushing werewolf. Although you wanted nothing more than to stay with him a little longer…

“Sorry, I have to feed tonight. If I don’t drink enough blood I get woozy.”

For a moment, Tobias looked disappointed, but suddenly his face lit up. “Just drink from me!”

Your undead heart leapt into your throat as you struggled to comprehend what he just said. There was no way Tobias knew how intimate it was to drink from someone else, you knew that, but it made your plump thighs tremble regardless.

“A-alright… I guess I can do that.”

He sat on the couch, looking up at you with those big blue eyes of his. “Is this an okay position?”

You nodded slowly, climbing into his lap. He blinked, smiling widely as you pushed his dark hair away from his neck. “Y-yeah, it’ll hurt for just a second…”

Your fangs extended, glinting in the faint light of his living room before you leaned forward to plunge them into his neck.

“F-fuck!”

His large hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you down onto his lap until you could feel the bulge in his pants.

Tobias let out a growl, your flustered expression unseen by the werewolf as he began to move you against his bulge.

“Sorry… just… got all worked up, you know?”

You continued to drink, and his tail wagged when he noticed you rocking your hips with him. When you were full, you pulled away and panted softly, blood dripping down your chin.

Tobias leaned forward and licked it off, his blue eyes cloudy with lust. “… how about you just stay the night?”

Neither of you were thinking much as you made the way to his bedroom, you were too busy locking lips. His tongue entered your mouth, and he pinned you against the wall.

“God, I’ve wanted this for a long time…” he said, staring down at you like a lovesick puppy. “You’re just perfect…”

“You… wanted me?”

All those days spent pining after him, wanting nothing more than to feel his muscular frame against your soft one… you could have had him all along!?

“Let’s not waste any time then!”

You surprised Tobias with your strength when you pulled him along to the bedroom, his ears flicking and tail wagging enthusiastically. He was just a needy puppy that was excited to have you all to himself!

Within seconds you were in nothing but the lingerie you picked out to wear underneath your clothes. Tobias’s cock strained against his sweatpants as he drooled.

“You look amazing… want…”

He sat at the edge of the bed, laying on his belly as he positioned his head between your legs. “Need…”

Tobias pulled the lacy fabric to the side, humping the bed like a desperate dog as he took in your pussy’s scent for the first time.

He lapped at one of your puffy lips, his pupils displaying before he buried his face between your thighs and began eating you out.

You bucked your hips tugging on his hair and moaning while he looked up at you with pussy drunk eyes. Tobias found the way you whimpered and tried to cover your face as he devoured your chubby pussy absolutely adorable.

His tongue moved over your swollen clit, stimulating it as his fingers pumped in and out of you. You could already see a wet spot forming on his sweatpants, knowing werewolves came a lot.

“Wanna… wanna mate…”

Tobias climbed up, panting as he pulled the waistband down and let his cock spring free. It was huge, pulsing, and twitching.

“T-Toby… I wanna mate with you too…”

You whimpered, feeling him press against you. The tip of his cock was already pressing into your cunt, and the stretch was… pleasant.

Your nails dug into his back, leaving long scratches in his thick skin. Tobias was stretching you out nice and slow, keeping one of his fingers on your clit.

“That’s it, that’s my little mate…”

He moved his hips at a moderate place, playing with your nipples and clit to stimulate you. You had the urge to feed, to bite down on him, and when Tobias noticed he leaned forward so you could sink your teeth into his shoulder.

The man was a werewolf, he could take some blood loss, and the idea of you biting and marking his body ruled him up.

“That’s it, mark me up… f-fuck, gonna stuff you full alright?”

Another growl rumbled in his chest and he lifted your hips so he could fuck deeper into you. “G-gonna breed you, okay? Gotta have my pups, you’ll give me a litter won’t you?”

Watching your pussy stretch around his cock, squeezing it when you came was enough to have the man groaning with pleasure. You pulled back from his neck to kiss him, letting your tongue twirl around one another before he turned you so you could lie on your soft belly.

Your face squished against the pillow, and now Tobias could properly mount his mate. His cock twitched inside you as your plump ass rippled with each thrust.

“Gonna cum!”

Tobias groaned out, completely lost in the feeling of your pussy. His seed spilled into your belly, filling you up completely.

He slumped over you, a low purring emanating from his body. When you started to move, he used his weight to keep you still.

“Don’t move… gonna knot you…”

Before you could ask, you yelped at the feeling of his cock swelling up inside of you. You could barely take it, panting softly as a bulge formed in your belly.

He cooed, rubbing the bulge before moving the toe of you into a better position. Tobias cuddled you from behind, leaving bites and kisses on your neck.

“Knotting… I forgot about that part,” you murmured. Do to having a crush on Tobias, you had done some naughty research into werewolf sex that involved a lot of porn and masturbation.

“Mmph, that's the best part… now we’re locked up for the next hour.”

The two of you ended falling asleep long before the swelling went down, and from then on you had yourself a boyfriend.

Work became even more fun… especially when no one was in the cafe.

“B-but what if someone hears us?”

“We’ll be quiet, it’ll be okay.”

You pouted, unable to deny your cute boyfriend when his tail was wagging and his cock was pressed against your dripping pussy. Sure, the cafe was empty, but what if someone walked in?

He fucked into you carefully, sighing as you tried your best to keep your eye on the door while peeking out of the bathroom. Tobias covered your mouth to muffle your moans, leaning down to nip at your neck and lick the marks he left.

“My good little mate, taking me so well… you’re all wet, getting excited at the thought of getting caught, huh?”

You bit your lip, letting out a needy whine as he groped your tits. “You’re insatiable, this is the third time this week…”

“Hey, I can’t help that I’m in rut, and when I smell you getting all aroused when I visit it gets me going!”

Tobias came inside of you, nearly making the two of you top over as he relaxed and rested his weight on you.

Now, you were stuck taking orders from customers who could smell the werewolf’s musky cum on you. It was embarrassing, and they wouldn’t look you in the eye.

“That was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

Tobias grinned as he drove you home after work, and it was hard to stay mad at your sweet himbo. “Can’t have any getting the wrong idea and trying to court my little vampire mate.”

You huffed, then laughed a bit when he gave you puppy dog eyes. “Yeah, I guess not.”

You never thought your crush would like you back, but now you had a great boyfriend and you couldn’t ask for anything better.

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight : @puppyboytranny

[hearts4hughes]

With the leaked pics of Wheezie’s actress being on set that came out I request ex!Rafe and reader who’s close to Wheezie.

Maybe one day when she’s hanging out with him outside and they see reader. And Wheezie admits she misses reader but doesn’t think reader will hang out with the little sister of reader’s ex boyfriend.

wheezie’s sitting on the porch swing, knees pulled up to her chest, twisting the drawstrings of her hoodie between her fingers. the breeze is sticky with june humidity. she’s mid-rant about her calc tutor when rafe finally looks from his phone.

“you’re not even listening,” she mutters, catching it with a scowl.

“because it’s boring,” he says, not looking up from his phone.

“you’re boring.”

“you’re a child.”

“and you’re so annoying.”

he smirks, stretches, doesn’t respond. the porch creaks as he leans against the railing, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. that’s when wheezie sees you.

you’re across the street, head tilted, hand gesturing mid-conversation with someone she doesn’t recognize. there’s a tote bag over your shoulder, a pair of headphones around your neck. you look soft and so familiar it hurts.

wheezie goes quiet. rafe follows her gaze lazily. then the earth stops. his whole body stills, like a dog catching a scent.

“she’s with someone,” wheezie says after a second, voice low. “not with with. just…walking.”

rafe doesn’t say anything, but his jaw clicks. you haven’t seen them yet. or maybe you have and you’re just pretending you haven’t. you’re good at that—avoiding things, especially him. rafe watches your mouth move, eyes skimming the curve of your jaw, the way your fingers curl around the strap of your bag. there’s a flash of silver on your wrist—his. well, it used to be.

“you know,” wheezie says suddenly, sharp with the kind of honesty only little sisters get to use, “she didn’t just leave you. she left me.” rafe’s gaze flicks to her, unreadable. “she was like. she was there…all the time. she knew my coffee order. she let me borrow her nail polish even though i always messed it up. and now she’s never around.”

he blinks and scoffs, biting his fingernail. “what, you want me to fix it?”

“no,” she snaps. “i want you to not be the reason it’s broken.” that lands harder than it should. he straightens a little. wheezie sighs and picks at the label on the waterbottle near her. “she probably thinks i’d choose you.”

rafe’s quiet for a long time. “you wouldn’t?” he asks like it’s a shock.

“not if you’re the reason she cries every night.” she shrugs and scrunches her nose. he doesn’t reply. doesn’t move. just sits there and watches you laugh at something the guy says, head thrown back like rafe never existed.

when you finally glance across the street—eyes catching on the two of them, just for a second—wheezie lifts a hand in a soft wave. you smile and wave. a small, gentle thing. hand raised and real. it’s not meant for rafe, but he knows that.

wheezie perks up beside him, waving back with both hands like she’s twelve again. “see?” he says quietly. “she doesn’t hate you. i’m the one she hates.”

still, he’s frozen in place. your smile—it’s not nothing. it’s not for wheezie only. not the way your eyes linger on him, not the way your mouth tilts like you know he hasn’t stopped watching you. but, he doesn’t smile or doesn’t wave back. he doesn’t give you anything at all.

because if he does, he’s afraid he’ll walk right across the street and kiss you in front of everyone just to prove you’re still his. so he just sits there, mouth hanging open, ruined in silence, and watches you walk away.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey

[blenderbender1811]

I think part of it is that a lot of women have felt left out of action oriented genres when they were kids and so they want to write more action oriented women and a lot of men... let's be honest, they don't know how to write women so they either have them doing the things the guys are doing or they end up sidelined. Look at how many big fantasy franchises have twice as many men in them as women. That feeds back into your point about how women's work ends up being undervalued - maybe not on purpose but undeniably.

I think the best answer is to have a large and varied cast of women with different roles and skills. I tend to find female writers are better about that but there are some stories by men who pull it off. I'm very partial to Tamora Pierce's work, which DOES focus on Action Ladies but there's also really cool women who aren't action types and some like Thayet who have the skills of both.

The second post is so true too! There's so many ways to use the soft power and skills classical ladies had to make interesting resolutions and storylines! Yeah, sure, maybe the man knows how to swing a sword but his lady wife's been in charge of the finances for ages and she's been the one dealing with the business contacts. If he fucks with her she'll guarantee he's broke within a week. Or maybe she's been the one bringing the tenants soup when they're sick and checking on their problems so now they're all very protective of her and they outnumber the soldiers five to one.

So for those of you who would like to know more about what upper class women did, here's a list of skills

1) Have and be responsible for children

2) Oversee the staff (for your household if not the whole house)

3) Ensure wine, ale, mead, beer, etc. are brewing correctly and on time

4) Ensure supplies are put aside for famine, siege and/or winter and being maintained and cycled through so it doesn't spoil

5) Negotiate with traders to sell and buy products

6) Keep accounts for household and the overall house's holdings

7) Ensure everyone is clothed - old nobles clothes get given to servants, old servants clothes get repurposed until it's useless and eventually composted

8) Mediate disputes between vassals

9) When husband is away, overseeing the military forces (make them fed, equipped and trained and behaving)

10) If the castle is attacked and husband is away, the decisions on tactics and orders stop with her (even if commanders are still around, they need to answer for her). If it gets bad, there's a non zero chance they'll be given a bow, a small knife/dagger and armour and have to join the defence

11) Politicking - hosting parties and events, hosting visits, paying visits, picking gifts for occasions, and having a lot of influence over fosterings and marriages

12) Teaching the girls to do this stuff

13) Oversee, monitor, and evaluate people she delegates to, meeting with heads of different departments and random spot-checks

14) Needlework - both making clothes and all sorts of other needlework and decorations - in her spare time.

15) "Keep home happy" with painting, dancing, singing, poetry, music, or going on hunts.

16) Discussing matters of province with counsellors or Lord (or whoever husband is)

17) When the husband is gone, making judicial decisions, supervise rent and tax collection, address problems and hire/fire staff

I don't know exactly how to articulate this but... if you repeatedly show historical fiction women rejecting traditionally female skills/duties and doing swords instead, because swords is obviously the Most Important Thing, you are kind of implying that all the work that has been traditionally done by female hands for millennia was useless all along and not, you know, keeping civilization going. Because it's usually rejected not as a personal preference but as This Is The Important Stuff (male work) and That is The Dumb Useless Stuff (women's work) and that kind of bothers me. The message was supposed to be Vital But Underpaid and Underappreciated, not women's work is insignificant so let's all go do swords.

[bbyg4rl]

୨୧ ─ jj gets protective over you . . .

cw: REQUESTED / protective!jj x reader, teasing/bullying, hurt/comfort themes, jj's a petty bitch !!!

It was supposed to be chill. Just old friends, some drinks, a little reunion. But five minutes in, you're already regretting it. “You still do that thing with your fork?” one of them says, tipsy and grinning. “God, I remember that. You were such a freak about your food.”

Another chimes in, “Remember when she cried that one time? That was iconic.” They're laughing like it's funny. Like it’s love. Like it isn’t still scraping something raw in your chest. You smile. Shrug. Sip your drink and sink further into the booth. Your phone's in your lap. You don’t even think about it—just type one thing:

can you come get me?

they’re being weird

You don’t expect him to answer. But ten minutes later, you get a text back:

on my way. five mins out.

And exactly that—five minutes later—the bell above the bar door chimes, and JJ walks in. Messy blonde hair, denim jacket, eyes scanning until they lock on you. You can breathe again.

He walks over like he’s just swinging by. Like this is normal. Presses a kiss to the top of your head, drops an arm casually across your shoulders.

One of the girls raises a brow. “Uh… hey?”

JJ smiles. “Hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Just stopping by—she left her charger at mine.” You glance up at him. There’s no charger. But he winks like, go with it.

“Oh,” one of them says, voice sticky. “You’re JJ, right?”

“That’s me.”

A pause. Then one girl leans forward. “We were just reminiscing. She used to be so shy, you know? Like, full-on crybaby. Adorable.” JJ smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah? Well. Guess she grew out of that.”

“She did,” someone else laughs. “Mostly.”

He hums. “What about yours? Your growth get stuck in the mail or something?” It’s calm. Quiet. But the shift is instant.

Your friends go a little still, drinks halfway to their mouths. JJ’s voice isn’t raised—but it’s final. A line drawn with a smile. “Anyway,” he says, “I’m double parked. You ready, babe?”

You nod, sliding out of the booth. He keeps his hand low on your back as you walk, warm and steady. Doesn’t say anything else.

JJ’s already guiding you toward the exit, hand warm on your back, when he hears it. A whisper—sharp and snide, not meant to reach—but it does. “God, she always needs someone to fight her battles.”

JJ doesn’t even flinch. Just a slight smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He spots the waiter stepping out of the kitchen, balancing a tray of waters. Times it perfectly. Sticks his boot out just enough. The waiter stumbles—just barely—but enough for the tray to tip. A cascade of water sloshes directly onto the table behind you. Gasps. Shrieks. One girl jumps back, soaked.

JJ doesn’t even look. Just tugs the door open for you like a gentleman and nods to the waiter, deadpan, “Oops.”

You’re already trying not to laugh as he walks you out.

Outside, you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for an hour. JJ leans you against the passenger door, cups your jaw gently. “You okay?” He presses a kiss to your temple, “Didn’t like how they talked to you.”

You nod. “They were just… drunk. I think.”

He shrugs. “Still.” There’s a pause. Then, quieter, “You don’t ever have to sit through shit like that. Not for old times. Not for anyone.”

You nod again. Swallow. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’d do it a hundred times.” Then he grins, tilts his head. “I made it in ten minutes flat. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

You laugh. “Did you break the speed limit?”

“Oh, definitely. I was flying.”

You press your face into his chest. “You’re insane.”

He kisses your hair. “Yeah? What else is new?”

♡ requested by @lorleaivv for ꒰ ⑅ ๑  𝟖𝟖𝟖 : : BALANCE ꒱

check out my — masterlist / 2k celebration ૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Say My Name

It began with you meeting up with an old friend.

Georgia found you just outside the visitor’s tunnel, in a vintage wnba shirt and sipping iced coffee, waiting for tip off. She wasn’t suited up tonight…recovering from that torn acl…but she walked out in her team issued warmup, her grin easy, familiar.

“I brought you something,” she said, already digging through her bag.

“Georgia…” You raised a brow.

She pulled out a pristine Mystics jersey. Her name and number stitched across the back, tags still on. “I’m not playing,” she shrugged. “Might as well have someone rep me in the building.”

You laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” she said, handing it over. “C’mon. For me?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Fine. But if Nika scowls at me all game, I’m blaming you.”

Georgia smirked. “Worth it.”

You tugged it on over your shirt barely thinking about it again as you found your seat court side…your usual spot, always just a few feet from the Storm bench.

Except this time, you felt it before you even saw it.

A shift. A heat.

You looked up just in time to catch Nika turning away…sharp ponytail swinging, jaw set, eyes laser focused. And not on warmups.

On you.

More specifically: the red and white jersey on your chest that did not say MÜHL.

Shit.

You’d planned to be here for her. You’d flown in after your own team’s game wrapped last night, took a red eye just to be here for the Storm home stand. You didn’t even post about it…didn’t want to distract her. This wasn’t a public thing. It was your thing.

Our thing.

But Nika hadn’t looked at you once during warmups. Not even when you leaned over the court and gave her the quiet little smile that usually got her to crack mid drill.

Nothing.

The game tipped off, and Nika played tight. Locked in. Too locked in. Her usual flow was there…the vision, the pace, the aggression …but it was missing that edge that came when she was showing off just a little bit for you.

She didn’t look toward the sideline once.

You sank lower in your seat.

By halftime, you were squirming. You hadn’t really thought about how it would look…her girlfriend, courtside, in another player’s name. Even if it was Georgia. Even if it was friendly.

Nika didn’t do drama. But jealousy? That she could feel. Deep and hot and right behind her ribs.

You waited near the tunnel at halftime. No cameras. No attention. Just you. When she finally came out, towel around her neck, face still flushed, you stepped into her space before she could dodge you.

“Nika,” you murmured.

She slowed, eyes flicking briefly to the jersey. Her mouth pressed into a line.

You tugged on her arm. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh?” Her brows lifted. “Because it looks like my girlfriend is wearing another woman’s name to my game.”

You winced. “Georgia gave it to me before the game. She’s not playing, and she asked. It felt… supportive.”

“And you’re here to support me.”

“I am here to support you.”

She didn’t say anything, but the ache in her eyes said plenty.

You stepped in closer, voice softer. “I didn’t think it would matter to you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly…too quickly. “It just… doesn’t feel great.”

Your heart tugged. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

You reached for her hand, lacing your fingers through hers. “You don’t. But if you want me in your jersey, all you have to do is ask.”

She paused. Looked down at you like the world had stopped moving around her.

“Okay,” she said, voice rough. “I want you in my jersey.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “Then you better have one ready postgame.”

Nika finally cracked…just a hint of a smile, lips twitching at the corners. “Custom fit. Just for you.”

“And signed.”

She smirked. “Only if I get to choose where.”

[undyingdecay]

Hi! Write something that’s been on your mind with Bucky x reader. That’s it, that’s the request

LAWDDD THANK YOU FOR THIS OPPORTUNITY

everyone listen pls

dark!bucky who’s really done this time. no more missions, no more being the weapon, no more blood-soaked hands and tactical gear. just a beat-up old house on the edge of some nowhere town, a fenced yard, tools he doesn't really know how to use but pretends he does, and quiet nights where the world forgets he ever existed.

and then there’s you.

too young, too bright, too soft-spoken with those pretty little thank-yous and sorrys. eyes like you’ve never seen the kind of things he’s done. you remind him of a different time, of girls he used to steal kisses from on porch swings and finger in the back seats of parked cars while big band music crackled through the radio.

and he knows. knows what a good man should do. but bucky barnes hasn’t been a good man since 1943.

he tells himself he won’t. he shouldn’t. but the universe, cruel bitch that she is, keeps shoving you in his path. and when you smile at him, all soft and sweet, asking if he wants company for dinner sometime, well — it’s already over.

before you even realize what’s happening, you’re his.

he’s got you playing house in no time. you quit that little job, start wearing those sweet dresses he likes, the ones that cling to your thighs and make his cock ache when you bend down to set the table. he comes home to you barefoot, hair a mess from cooking, apron stained with something you can’t pronounce because you were trying to make it from one of his old recipes. and it’s perfect. exactly the kind of life he swore he'd never have and now refuses to live without.

and in the bedroom? christ.

he’s filthy with it, gets mean in a way that feels like worship. has you face down in the mattress, crying into a pillow, the flesh of his hand pressed to your back to keep you arched the way he likes. stubble scraping your cheek as he hisses against your skin.

"y’know, back then… women just took it," he mutters, voice thick, hips grinding rough against yours. "didn’t bitch, didn’t cry. they knew what they were good for."

his metal hand sneaks down, cold against your burning skin, splaying over your belly where his cock bulges thick and heavy inside you, pressing down just to feel it. and he’s so far gone, so starved for this pretend domesticity he’s built with you, you can feel it in the way he ruts against you like a feral thing.

"look at that," he groans, dark satisfaction flooding his voice. "pretty little thing, already showin’ for me."

he says it like it’s fact, like your body’s already his to fill and breed and own. and you believe him. because how could you not, when every part of you is burning, your mind hazy and sweet and drunk off the way he uses you.

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Seven) (18+) / SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 7.3k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

A/N: a second spring fling update in 2 weeks??? and a long one???? we're so back, baby. this one's juicyyy i hope you like it >:) <3 day two is finished! thank you for sticking around and being patient with me, and I hope you enjoy :) <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You hadn’t exactly tuckered yourself out while mini-golfing, but you’d certainly exhausted your brain and your emotions while thinking through the sunset with Jake, so you’re eager to get your hands on a drink. 

It’s late, past what you’d normally call dinnertime, but not late enough to sleep after getting buzzed. Your only hope is the bar food, and you wonder if you’ll be able to choke down garlic knots after downing three drinks. That’s your plan for the night- three, no more, and hopefully no less. Three is the magic number, the one that will make you forget about your inner turmoil while still leaving you conscious enough to remember the night’s events tomorrow. You’re not the biggest fan of blacking out, but you’re glad you’re with Jake if you do.

You’re snacking on appetizers during your first drink, letting Daniel hand-feed you mozzarella sticks during your second, and by the third and final drink you’d planned for the night, you’re clumsily locking hands and arms with Danica, whirling around the small square of tiles they’re calling a dance floor. You’re whooping, cheering, and laughing as each of you stumble around each other, but you’re having fun, far more thrilling fun than you’ve had thus far and it’s pleasing your buzzed brain to not be thinking.

Jake’s tried to inject some Texan flair into your dancing, seizing the opportunity to teach you what he swears up and down is a ‘simple’ line dance when Fake ID begins blaring over the speakers. 

You think he’s full of shit.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen Footloose, you’re no Julianne Hough.

You and Danica both decide that the footwork is too difficult in your inebriated states, and your shoes just don’t click on the floor when Jake’s do, no matter how hard you try. Although, that might have something to do with how distracting he is, swinging his hips around while turning on his heels, extra pronounced to show you how it’s done.

Not that you’ve been looking at his hips moving, and if you have, it’s totally the drinks’ fault. And it’s especially their fault that- not that, if, it looks good.

You’re enjoying the atmosphere of the bar much more tonight than you were last night, which you feel guilty for, because Daniel had been a dream not even 24 hours ago. But things seem more solid now, more real, more comfortable despite your two left feet.

You’re not sure how, because your entire perception of Jake is widening, deepening, shifting. But one of the perks of being stuck together for years in a work environment where your lives depend on each other is that you happen to trust him, at least a little. 

He might not be the first person you’d choose for this particular endeavor, or the second, or the third, and maybe he wouldn’t have even been the last, before Danica had gotten to you, but you know you can fall back on at least being his friend while you’re trying to rhythmically peel your shoes off of the sticky floor of a bar.

Your brain had been buzzing with uncertainties last night, would Daniel kiss you, when would Daniel kiss you, how would Daniel kiss you, would it be as good as it was in the elevator, but here and now, you can predict Jake’s every move, even if Danica swears there’s new meaning behind it.

“No, darlin’, that’s not- that’s not it.” Jake shakes his head, and the speakers nearly drown him out as he studies your form, “You’re trying to jump, all you need to do is pick one foot up. It looks fancy ‘cause you’re turnin’ too, but it’s just one foot up and a spin, then you’re landing on the raised foot and doing the same with the opposite side.”

He demonstrates, and you stare blankly.

“Like this.” He offers, reaching for your waist with both hands, “Right foot up, heel against the floor.”

You let him shimmy your hips into position, and prop your heel up against the linoleum.

“Good. Now step back this way with the other foot,” He instructs, tugging at your hips, “And you’re gonna turn yourself to the right. Quarter-turn-” He calls, when you give it all you’ve got and nearly end up backwards, “Just a quarter-turn, darlin’. And then you’ve gotta come back the way you came, do it all this way. Left foot now, kick-ball-change.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” You yell to be heard over the music, your shoe slamming against the floor when you nearly lose your balance trying to imitate Jake’s impressive footwork, “Jake, I don’t think I’m made for line dancing!”

“You’re not.” Jake concludes, his voice deepening as he watches you try to keep pace with the song, but it’s useless when the last chorus ends and the music dies down, “But that doesn't mean we can’t try again.”

“The song’s over.” You point out, out of breath and grateful for the single second of silence before the next one plays, “I guess I’ll never learn.”

“I’ve got it on my phone.” Jake informs you, “And if we aren’t gonna have sex we’ve gotta be gettin’ some other exercise. You and me, darlin’, line dance drills first thing in the morning.”

You stuff your face into Danica’s bare shoulder, the strapless cut of her dress giving you a perfect expanse of skin to groan into. She laughs and you feel it where your nose is pressed into her neck- her perfume’s really nice. Elegant but sweet, something you’d want as an air freshener hanging from your rearview mirror.

You rest there, feeling her hand make contact with your waist as she tucks you against her. You sway slowly to the much more subdued song over the speakers, something about love and marriage and babies in the carriage. 

You remember last night’s haze- as much as your brain allows, and you recall being spun in a barstool by Daniel. You’d enjoyed it at the time, but this slow dance doesn’t make you nearly as dizzy, which you give Danica a point for. 

Perhaps a scoreboard would help you figure out what to do here?

Your head’s no longer in the clouds from Daniel’s allure, but thanks to your drinks your feet aren’t firmly on the ground anymore, either.

It’s actually Danica that lists sideways, but the way you’re pressed up against her means that you lean into it instead of against it, and the both of you tumble with startled yelps. You’re not so far gone that you don’t know you’re falling, but you’re too tipsy to balance yourself, and you resign yourself to breaking your nose against the dance floor as you fall for the second time in 24 hours.

Deja vu is not being kind to you on this cruise.

Danica goes down first, and you’re both lucky that Jake is there to chase after you, because he manages to lunge and slip his hand beneath her head before she can crack it against the tile, and he winds up clutching your back to his chest, keeping you upright against his own body. He’s hovering over Danica on the floor, one hand beneath her head and the other wrapped around your middle. It seems almost effortless, the way he keeps you upright, and you find that none of your weight is resting on your feet with the way they’re limply resting on the ground between Jake’s own. You’re just- hanging there, saved by Jake’s strong arms. You can see muscles bulging in his forearms as he tries keeping his center of gravity grounded without dropping either of you, but Daniel’s made his way over by now, mere seconds too late to catch you, and takes Danica’s head from Jake’s palm.

“I got it.” Daniel mumbles, neutral as a combination of gruff to Jake and crooning to Danica. She looks just as shocked as you are at your sudden change of perspective, and she lets Daniel haul her up into a seated position, resting her weight against his side.

“Jesus. You two can’t handle the damn dance floor.” Jake pants, his breath puffing against your ear as he straightens up. He’d been crouched over, and you’re impressed that he’d been able to stay upright himself with the way he’d hung onto your languid form, practically dangling you from his chest.

“Are you okay?” Daniel ducks to meet Danica’s glassy gaze, his voice soft and his eyes concerned. 

She nods, scrubbing a hand over her eyes, “I think so. Jake- did you catch me?”

“I hope I did. Does your head hurt?” He frowns, and now that you’ve remembered how to use your feet again, you attempt to. You stand, trying to squirm out of his hold around your midsection but he doesn’t let go, only squeezing you tighter to his chest like a silent reprimand.

“Jake-” You grunt, trying to pry his hand off of your waist but he swats you away, eyes still worriedly locked on Danica.

“No, it doesn’t hurt.” She decides, “I’m just dizzy. And- um, a little sick.”

Daniel moves much quicker this time, standing and bending over to meet her instead of having his entire body in the splash zone, “Can you make it to the bathroom? Or do you want to just sit for a while and see if it passes?”

She swallows experimentally, and grimaces, “Bathroom. Please.”

“I can take her,” You offer, but Jake’s other hand flies to your waist now, and he manhandles you around to face him. You nearly lose your balance again when he spins you, and you’re so intimidated by Jake’s eyes staring directly into your own that you don’t feel steady despite your feet being on the ground.

“Wait. What about you?” He asks, peering into your eyes like he’ll find signs of a concussion in them, “Did you hit anything?”

His scrutiny reminds you of earlier in the pool, when your bikini had come untied and you’d seen genuine concern from Jake for one of the first times in your life, unmarred by amusement, scorn, or his ego. It had been raw, real, and you see the near-permanent cocky glaze clear from his eyes like clouds drifting away from the sprawling light of the sun. Underneath is Jake, really, truly Jake, and you don’t know how to act when you find yourself met with nothing but sincerity.

“I’m fine.” You manage, your protests melting into a feeble hand on his wrist, not pulling, not pushing, just holding, “Jake, you can- you can let me go, I’m okay.”

He takes a breath, then releases the pressure on your waist, but his hands don’t lower and yours doesn’t drop from his. You stay there for a moment, by choice, and then a soft groan comes from Danica and you remember there’s things going on outside of whatever vortex you and Jake had been sucked into just now. The music comes flooding back into your senses, you remember you’re standing in the sticky remains of dozens of spilled drinks on the dance floor, and Daniel’s eyes on you and Jake blaze, not warm like Jake’s sun but scorching, burning, painful.

Jake drags his hands off of your hips and your arm falls back to your side.

“Come on,” Your voice is almost shaky, something weak and frail as you let Danica drape herself over your shoulders, “It’s not that far to the bathroom. You think you can make it?”

She nods, but her response is more of a grunt than anything else. You feel for her- there’s nausea roiling in your own gut from where Jake had inadvertently squeezed your stomach.

You help her move slowly and carefully into the bathroom, trudging under her weight as she rests her face in the crook of your neck. It’s comforting, but now you’re marveling even more at how Jake had kept you both suspended, your tired limbs sluggish and struggling to hold another person’s weight.

Jake hadn’t been knocking back drinks like you had, but you have to hand it to him; he’s got military muscles.

Jake watches carefully as you and Danica cross the threshold of the bathroom, feeling the same urge to barge in as he had the night prior. This all feels like a time loop, where each day gets more confusing and complicated than the last. Same bar, same people, same drinks, but wildly different feelings in the air.

He wonders if Danica’s advice has been paying off- sure, you’d been receptive enough on the golf course, but he’s unfamiliar with doing anything but needling you, and trying to puzzle out your reactions to things while also engaging in an entirely new set of behaviors is a lot for him to handle.

He wishes he could read your mind.

This cruise gives him the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s an isolated environment that encourages sex without complications and people he’s never going to see again in his life-

Except for you.

Of course you’re here too. 

Of course he couldn’t have just taken Coyote’s advice in peace, of course he couldn’t have gotten away from all the buzz of the San Diego port and fucked his feelings out on some random woman, using her as an outlet for all of his conflicting feelings on getting older and settling down. He’s in his thirties trying to live at twenty-one, used to the bachelor life but watching all of his friends get married and have kids right before his eyes. Each one is a wake up call, and waking up to a stranger in his bed opens a chasm beneath his heart that he digs deeper every time.

And it doesn’t help that he’s found himself drawn to you. At a time he’d have called you enemies or rivals, and even just a day before this cruise he would have described your relationship as something pitted against him. But you’re his favorite to mess with, you’re the one whose side he drifts to unconsciously, even if it’s just to knock you around by your helmet, and he slides into a comfortable routine of giving you a hard time every time you work together. Perhaps it was born out of contempt or jealousy but as he’s grown, shifted, deepened, it’s become something he does by default. The actions have stayed the same but the man has changed, and Danica’s suggestion that the actions may have to change along with the man thrusts Jake into highly uncomfortable territory.

No one has ever called Jake Seresin a vulnerable man, and giving anyone the opportunity to do so now makes him feel like he’s spinning out behind the controls.

Luckily for him, an agitating snarl comes from over his left shoulder to oh-so-kindly snap him out of his reverie.

“Are you just gonna stand there and wait for them to come back?” Daniel asks, his voice rough and jagged, “You can relax- they don’t need their guard dog right now.”

Jake turns, his face hardening into the smirk he wears so often, “Well staying alert was what just saved the day, wasn’t it? I noticed you didn’t get there in time.”

Daniel’s eyes flash dangerously, something steely in them that Jake notices every time something interferes with his faux-chivalry.

“You know what else I noticed? I think you’ve got a problem with me.” Jake pushes, edging into Daniel’s space like he’s practiced with dozens of opponents before. His signature move- push just far enough to get the other person to start the fight.

“Now is it the height,” Jake inches forwards, looking down at Daniel with his shoulders squared, “Or the muscles?” He doesn’t even have to accentuate those, “Or, is it that you thought you were gonna be gettin’ it on with two women tonight, and it’s looking like you’re down to none?”

“She doesn’t like you,” Daniel seethes, “Neither of them do.”

And maybe he hits his mark, maybe it’s ‘like’ instead of ‘want’- love instead of sex - maybe it’s the way he believes what he says, the conviction in his tone and in his tensed shoulders, but Jake bristles, jaw tightening and muscles tensed.

“You’re a cocky, self-centered, arrogant douchebag,” Daniel declares, “And that persona’s a dime a dozen straight out of high school. She wants- she deserves something better than that. She deserves someone better than you. A real man, not some frat boy who thinks one smirk can win him whoever he wants. And even if you manage to ‘get her’, even if you wear her down and coerce her into giving you what you want,” Daniel exhales heavily, reminding Jake of a stubborn, vicious bull, seeing red in the apples of Jake’s cheeks, “You’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing you made hers worse.”

Jake’s only silent for a few seconds, and then his voice is lower and more dangerous than it’s ever been, “Get out of my face before I knock your teeth out, son.”

“You know I’m right. And that’s why you’re mad,” Daniel goads, unafraid of Jake even if he should be, which is infuriating to the hotheaded pilot in and of itself. Jake leans forwards, fist itching, begging to drive itself into Daniel’s jaw but he restrains himself with the last shred of his self-control as Daniel keeps running his mouth, “You’re learning for the first time ever that some women won’t spread their legs for you just ‘cause you ask, and that you might actually have to care about them.”

“I do care about her!” Jake snaps, nearly shouting now, and the last thing on his mind is whether he’s drawing a crowd or not. It’s all-out, here and now, Jake vs. Daniel, onlookers be damned.

“No you don’t. You care about sex. You care about getting laid and you care about winning.” Daniel’s chest heaves, and Jake feels that almost insatiable itch to cock a fist back and slam it into Daniel’s nose so hard it breaks, “She told me that last night. She’s too good for you, man.” Daniel warns, the sneer on his face so disgusted you’d think Jake was a slug he’d trodden on in the middle of the sidewalk, “And whether you admit it or not, it’s true. Whether she forgets it or not, it’s true. So do whatever you want, fuck her or don’t,” Daniel scoffs, “But you’ll never deserve her.”

The only reason Jake doesn’t knock his teeth loose right then and there is because Daniel’s had the good sense to step back a few feet, and compose himself like he’s not about to fight back. There’s a few wary onlookers who eye them cautiously, edging away from the pair just in case they snap, but Jake’s not stupid- he doesn’t start fights, he wins them. He falls into old habits, abandoning sight of what the ‘new Jake’ would do and goading, smirking, pushing.

“And you do? You deserve her?”

“Maybe not. But I do more than you do.” Daniel’s clenched fist comes to rest on the back of one of the barstools, “And even she knows that.”

“It don’t matter what you think we’re worth.” Jake scoffs, breathing heavily, “She decides what she wants. Now who’s trying to win?”

“I am winning!” Daniel seethes, his voice roaring over the music as his fist slams into the upholstered cushion, “Just because neither of us have had sex yet doesn’t mean we’ve lost! All you’ve done so far is stepped on people’s toes and bullied your way into every conversation Y/N has with anyone. You think that’s attractive? She wants a real man, and you’re not one.”

“For once,” Jake narrows his eyes at Daniel, slits that ooze contempt and disgust, “I ain’t trying to win. And seeing you throw another one of your little temper tantrums about it makes me glad I’m not the man I was five years ago. If that’s what I looked like,” Jake spits, “No wonder she doesn’t wanna trust me now. But the difference is, Daniel, that one of us is changin’, and the other one’s punching a hole in a barstool because he’s coming in second.”

“Stay away from her.” 

Jake laughs, a dangerous sound that he hopes Daniel takes as a warning, “No, asshole. You stay away from her. I mean it. She may deserve better than me,” Jake breathes, his jaw clenched firmly, “But whatever that is, it’s not you.”

If Danica hadn’t let out a weak, slightly wet cough from the door to the bathroom, Daniel would have lunged at Jake. But he doesn’t, and they turn to watch you shuffling out with Danica still draped over your shoulder.

“She wants to go to bed,” You glance warily at Daniel, “Just- don’t jostle her too much. Walk slow and don’t take the elevators.”

“Come here.” Daniel hums, hoisting Danica’s limp form off of your frame and cradling her in his own, “Are you feeling dizzy still?”

“Just from the drinks.” She nods, “And- sick. But nothing more than that. I should have eaten better before this.”

Jake hums sympathetically, and you feel your own near-empty stomach roil in indignation that you’d sicced liquor on it before food. Nothing sounds good now, not that you’re full of alcohol, but eating will be better than not eating, so you let yourself drift to Jake’s side and wait for him to notice you.

When he does, his entire focus shifts, and he cranes his neck downwards slightly to peer at you closer, “You okay?”

“Fine. Just- a little sick, too.” You admit, “Can we get something to eat?”

“Of course.” Jake nods, his hand flying to the small of your back whether consciously or not.

“We could all go,” Daniel offers, but the way he leans towards you makes Danica whine in discomfort as her head spins. He’s quick to correct it, but you shake your head at his offer.

“No, she needs to get to bed. Do you want us to bring you something later?” You offer, “We can ask for to-go boxes.”

“You can order room service.” Jake grins, a sneer in intention but not by looks, “Danica, honey, feel better.”

“Thank you.” She croaks, and Jake’s hand around your waist tugs you pointedly towards the door.

You try throwing Daniel and Danica apologetic looks, but you’re dragged out of the bar too quickly.

You feel irritation rising in your chest at Jake, something he’d been getting good at not triggering in you for the last couple hours. You side-eye him, but you let him continue leading you to the elevators instead of wrenching yourself out of his grasp, “That was rude, Jake.”

“He’s rude.” Jake states, his eyes forward and refusing to meet yours, “You didn’t hear what he was saying about you while you were in the bathroom.”

Your brows furrow, and when you enter the thankfully-empty elevator, you turn to face him instead of standing by his side, “About me? What did he say?”

“The kinda thing I would’ve said a few years ago.” Jake frowns, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that’s meant to come off as lazy but really just shows his tensed muscles.

“That bad?” You laugh nervously, trying to diffuse the tension while being eaten alive by your own nerves. Daniel? Sweet, perfect, caring- okay, slightly complicated and anger-prone Daniel? 

24 hours ago you’d have called Jake a liar. Now you notice the stiffness in his jaw as he gnaws on the inside of his cheek and wonder how many times he’s tried to tell you something and you’ve assumed he was messing with you.

“What do you want for dinner?” You try, and he glances carefully at you where you stand across from him. Apparently he appreciates that you’ve dropped the subject, because his shoulders deflate slightly.

“I don’t know what’s open.” He checks his watch, finding the hour a little too late if the wrinkling of his nose is any indication, “The restaurants stop taking reservations after 7. And all that’s left is fast food and ice cream. We might have to order room service.”

The thought of gorging on half-cold room service beside Jake, crammed into the same bed while trying desperately not to touch each other, makes your stomach hurt worse. There’s too many things happening, too many things to think about, and you regret having stopped yourself at three cocktails.

“I want another drink,” You groan, leaning against the wall behind you as the elevator climbs steadily towards the top decks, the ones with the most food service, “Can we go to the buffet?”

--

The buffet is closed, but the bar is not. Drink number four wasn’t planned, but neither were the revelations you’ve been having, and taking care of Danica had really sobered you up. You’re in need of a good old-fashioned margarita, and once you’ve got one in your hands you let Jake parade you around the pool’s deck, peering at menus to quick-service restaurants that are already closed for the night.

“Wings?” You ask, but the kiosk is closed.

“We could do sushi.” Jake offers, but the neon sign is no longer lit.

It’s several twists and turns to investigate every little storefront, and several sips of your margarita to bring back your buzz, but it quickly becomes apparent that there’s only one sign left lit this late at night.

“I guess it’s pizza. Again.” Jake hums, “Is that gonna be okay on your stomach?”

“It’s fine. It’s still better than room service.” You have visions of reheated buffet food, “Let’s just get different toppings and pretend we didn’t have this six hours ago.”

What you decide on is veggie, hoping that the bell peppers and greens might do something kind to your stomach even if they’re soaked in grease from the cheese and bread beneath them.

You beeline for the table you’d sat at earlier as a party of four, but Jake catches your elbow and drags you closer to the edge of the deck.

“Let’s look at the water,” He urges, “Now that the lounge chairs aren’t all taken.”

“We should-” You start unsteadily, having chugged half of your drink in order to not spill it while balancing your pizza as well, “We should get up really early tomorrow to get a spot.”

“Tomorrow we’ll be docked,” Jake reminds you, “We can go to a beach instead of a tiny swimming pool.”

“Oh, right.” You hum, cramming pizza into your mouth to soothe the ache in your stomach, “What are you gonna do once we get off the ship?”

“We can try some excursions,” Jake shrugs, folding his pizza in half so that it doesn’t droop, “The website said something about a golf cart tour, and snorkeling off the coast, if you wanna do that.”

“You don’t have to do everything with me, y’know.” You hum, onions leaving a bitter taste on your tongue, “If you want to do something you don’t have to do it with me.”

He rears back, faux-offended, “Yeah? And what if I want to?”

“Then we can,” You chuckle, “Just- don’t let me hold you back more than I already am.”

He’d been raising his pizza to his mouth to take a bite, but he stops short and watches you instead of eating. You’re turned towards the sea, stray hairs blowing around your face as the nighttime wind pushes across the deck. He’s not sure what you’re seeing in the waves, but probably something induced by your mostly-empty margarita.

“You’re not holding me back.” He hums, soft and low, “I like doing stuff with you. Remember? You’re fun sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” You nod, “Right. Well, I’m just letting you know.”

“I know.” Jake assures you, nudging his knee into yours, “And if I’m ever- y’know, too pushy? You can tell me to kick rocks and eat-”

“Dolphins!” You shriek.

“Dolphins?” Jake’s brows furrow, “Why would I eat- oh. Dolphins.”

You’re pointing frantically off the side of the deck, and Jake quickly maneuvers himself onto your lounge chair to grab you from behind before you can launch yourself over the railing. There is, in fact, a pod of dolphins beside the boat, weaving over and under each other, breaching the surface to showcase their silvery skin that glints in the moonlight. The rational part of Jake’s brain suggests that they’re feeding off of any sea life being churned up by the boat’s trajectory, but the margarita part of your brain seems to think they’ve come to show off for you. 

“Jake, look!” You gush, enthused, and then your ass is in his face.

Jake’s eyes widen when you prop yourself up on all fours, your knees now grating against the rough mesh of the lounge chair as you lean even further over the railing. It puts your ass right at eye-level, and the shorts you’re donning are loose enough that they offer him a rather salacious view of what’s beneath them. He tears his eyes away as soon as his brain comes back to him, even if he feels a rush of blood travel south. In order to stop you from tumbling he has to stand and grab you, rolling onto his own knees on instinct to grab hold of your shoulders and hoist you upright. It means that your ass is firmly, snugly flush with Jake’s crotch, and you don’t seem to notice because you’re too caught up in the dolphins swimming beside the boat.

“Jesus, please don’t fall.” He begs, his lips beside your ear as the wind blows cold against both of your faces.

“I won’t fall! But look, they’re jumping!”

Jake ensures you’re secure in his grip before peering down over the railing, and it really is a sight to behold. There must be five dolphins visible, jumping and diving through the churning water caused by the boat’s motor. They’re not vocalizing much, but every once in a while a click or a screech floats up on the ocean breeze and Jake hears you laugh the way that only someone who’s had four cocktails in a row can laugh.

As nervous as he is that you were going to plummet into the sea, he can appreciate the way you’re leaning into the wind and watching the dolphins below. You’re genuinely excited, something he hasn’t seen on this trip so far, and rarely gets to see on the tarmac. He catches a glimpse of your eyes when you turn your head to watch a dolphin to your left, and they’re shining like the moonlight is on the water. He doesn’t miss the way you melt into him, either, and he’ll take credit for this one instead of letting the liquor.

You let him hold you around the middle, though he’s sure you haven’t noticed that you’re nearly grinding against him when you stick your ass out to lean further over the railing. He’s trying really valiantly not to let himself be affected by this, but he’s fairly certain that at least half of something is going on downstairs from physical stimulation alone. Hopefully it won’t be visible when you pull away, and if it is, hopefully you won’t notice.

“This is like,” You start, your voice nearly lost to the wind as you face away from Jake, “-that scene in Titanic.”

You throw your arms out, and Jake has no problem curling his further around your belly.

“I’ve never seen it.” He admits, shouting to be heard over the noise of the ship and the whipping of the breeze.

“Me neither!” You laugh, and you fall back against him, nearly knocking him off of the chair altogether.

“Hey!” He yelps, but he’s laughing when you squirm at the way his fingers dig into your side momentarily. You’re not a fan of being tickled, and he knows this from painstakingly earned experience, (a kick to the balls), but he tests a few gentle squeezes at your side to get you giggling again.

“Stop! Stop,” You gush, laughing and panting, and he does, his fingers stilling on your waist. He’s on his butt now, with your weight against him, and he reclines the wrong way against the lounge chair to let you rest comfortably.

“That pizza was cold.” You muse, “But it did help. I don’t feel as sick anymore.”

“That’s good. Drinking on an empty stomach,” Jake scoffs, “Are you trying to black out?”

“Kind of.” You admit, your voice taking a quiet, somber turn, “I’ve had… a lot to think about, recently.”

Jake nods slowly, carefully, “Yeah. Me too.”

“And you’re not drinking about it?” You crane your neck to chance a glance back at him, that shimmer in your eyes dulled but not gone, “You’re braver than I am, Jake.”

“No, I’m smarter than you are.” He teases, “Someone has to make sure we don’t fall over the side of the deck.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall!” You whine, “You’re so dramatic. And besides, that’s not fair. I should take a turn being sober so that you can drink.”

“You should, Miss Margarita.” Jake agrees, “Just don’t let me get too smashed before snorkeling tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to try and befriend a stingray.”

You giggle at the imagery, your cheeks flushed and hot where they brush against his bicep briefly. Your grin is toothy and infectious, carefree from the liquor and- dare he say love.

Not for him, of course, or- not like that for him, it’s just that he’d like to think that eight years by your side constitutes some feelings of fondness towards him, and that maybe you could perhaps, possibly say it’s love. Even if it’s completely platonic. Just- you could use the word love, probably.

He wishes he was drunk.

“We should go to bed.” You hum, sounding almost sad, “I’m tipsy and I want to be up early tomorrow for the excursions. We can beat the morning rush and get a head start on exploring.”

“Sounds like a plan,” He lets your waist go as you stand from his grip, righting himself after you’ve proved yourself steady on your feet. You gather your trash slowly but surely, and you only miss your shot at the garbage can with one balled-up napkin stained with copious amounts of pizza grease.

Neither of you say anything about the way his hand gravitates towards your waist again while he’s walking you back towards the elevators. Maybe it’s because you’re too buzzed to have a meaningful conversation, or maybe it’s because he’s doing a good enough job at pretending it’s just so that you don’t tip over again. Whatever the reason, Jake’s grateful for it when you pass by a closed piano lounge, and the tune of your favorite song makes its muffled way through the doors.

“Jake,” You breathe, that same shining excitement in your eyes as before, “I love this song.”

“I know. You put it on in the car every time we drive somewhere,” He grins, letting the hand on your waist serve as a leader as the other grasps at one of your hands, “You’re into them cheesy love songs, aren’t’cha?”

“Not all of us can be line dancers, cowboy.” You inform him smartly, your feet a slight second out of tune with your brain as you begin a slow, clumsy waltz. You reach for his shoulder, letting your other hand melt into his own,“Some of us enjoy the quiet things in life.”

Jake’s never been quiet for a second. He’d ridden saddle bronc in rodeos since he was old enough to, and even then he’d refused to use the smaller, more tame horses that they’d offered him. No, he wanted the biggest, the meanest, the best, and he’s always tried emulating those same characteristics so that no one can ever tame him.

But here, now, you’re swirling him around outside of a closed bar, tipsy and dizzy, stumbling over his feet and your own alike. Your eyes are closed and your face is curved in a soft, serene smile, and he feels your grip on his shoulder loosen comfortably as you ease into a rhythm with him that you’d failed to achieve only hours prior.

Perhaps, like Danica had been suggesting, Jake’s fast-paced, cocky routine might have to wait for a slow dance first. Maybe you’d both be better off waltzing before grapevining, in case one of you twists an ankle or breaks a heart. 

Maybe he needs to appreciate the quiet things in life, if you’re willing to share them with him.

Your nose nestles into his neck at some point, and he feels your breath puff warm down the front of his shirt. Your arm is draped lazily over his shoulder now, not a grip but a presence all the same, your fingers ghosting feather-light over the nape of his neck. It tingles, gives him the urge to shudder but he doesn’t dare, not now that you’re sighing against him and swaying like you’re dancing at a ball animated by Disney.

He’s quiet, and so are you.

When the song ends you keep humming lazily against the collar of his shirt. It takes a solid ten seconds and the beginning of the next song to realize that you’re not harmonizing with anything anymore, and your eyes flutter open as you lift your head from his shoulder.

You’re close.

Very close. 

Your nose nearly brushes his chin, and when he angles his face subtly, almost imperceptibly downwards, your lips are on a crash course. It’s a perfect trajectory, a little down for him and a little up for you. But you’re frozen in time, your eyes locking onto his and getting lost in what they reveal.

There’s vulnerability swirling in both of your gazes, and it’s so striking to see that you’re each rendered speechless. There’s nothing to say, there’s nothing that could properly convey your feelings on what’s happening to you both, there’s only your eyes and his, and your interlocked hands.

Then Jake sees something eerily close to stone cold, sober fear flash through your stare, and you slowly detach yourself from him.

Your hand slips out of his own, you step backwards to free your waist from his grip, and your hand is no longer raking through the wispy hairs on the back of his neck.

You step away, one foot at a time, and stare at him with that almost-petrified gaze, your chest heaving visibly.

Then your face falls into something more neutral, and you back towards the elevators, “We should go.”

“Right.” Jake murmurs, following behind you with lead feet that would very much like to stay planted right where they were a minute ago, with yours stepping all over them. But he follows, because he thinks he might be magnetized to you, even if sometimes you’re oppositely charged.

The elevator ride is silent and awkward. The type of silence that you thought was gone between you and Jake, the thick, tense kind that you’d suffered for years up until just hours prior.

Despite having years of experience sitting in heavy silence with Jake, this bout makes him feel like a stranger compared to the man you’d just been slow dancing with.

You’re sobered now, from the shock of being a second away from kissing him, and from staring at the floor in the elevator until it had dinged and let you out on your cabin’s floor. It gives you enough hand-eye coordination to dig your keycard out of your pocket, and you push first into your room, Jake hesitantly, silently on your trail.

You duck into the bathroom to change and Jake doesn’t tease you like he did yesterday. He doesn’t try to break in once, which is a comforting thing, but your reality check had reminded you that eight years of irritation can’t be solved in a few hours worth of chivalry.

Still, you’d had fun tonight. And you’d felt safe, secure- happy in Jake’s company, comfortable with his arm around your waist and giddy when he’d held you in his lap by the railing. Are you caving? Are you doing the one thing you’d sworn only a day prior to not do? Are you giving in and letting him win?

That’s why you’d stopped yourself. In that moment, you’d wanted nothing more than to press your lips to his and let your fingers sink into his hair, let his hands grope at your waist. And it scared you. You’d wanted to cave, to give in, to betray yourself, and all of the fear that had been momentarily silenced by Danica’s token live advice roils fiercely in your gut like liquor has been all night.

If he’s trying to win, you can’t lose. And he’s doing a good job at convincing you he’s not trying to win anymore, but old habits die hard. How can you be sure he’s not?

You stuff yourself numbly into a nightgown, the most chaste one you’d brought, and you avoid meeting Jake’s eye when you step out of the bathroom.

You’re reminded now, standing barefoot in the walkway, that there’s only one bed. Last night had been a blur, and you hadn’t woken even when Jake had changed you into your nightclothes. You’re still mortified about that, really, and remembering that you’re going to have to crawl into bed beside Jake, who’s already there waiting for you, doesn’t help.

“Um,” You start, your voice dull, “I’ll take the couch.”

“What?” He asks, trying to tamp down some of the brashness that typically inhabits his tone, “That’s silly. There’s enough room for the both of us.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t. I’d better-” You try, and he kicks the covers off of himself, standing and revealing that he’s once again wearing nothing but boxers.

“No, I’ll take it.” He mumbles, not surly, just subdued, “You can have the bed.”

“No, that’s not- that’s not fair.” You finally look at him, your eyes wounded and guilty, “Just- you take the bed.”

“Only if you do.” He looks similarly defeated, standing there in just his underwear, “C’mon, Y/N. You know I won’t do anything to you.”

And even despite the hesitation that had clawed at your heart only minutes ago, puncturing your lungs and making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to stay, you do know that. Because it’s always been true of Jake; he’s cocky, but he’s not a monster. You knew it last night, and you know it tonight. So you cave, you give in, you betray yourself, and you trudge towards the side of the bed you’d been laid in last night.

You feel restless as Jake buries himself under the covers again, and you know sleep won’t come easy. So you keep yourself upright, lounging back on two pillows stacked behind your back and reaching for your book.

“Mind if I keep a light on?” You hum, and Jake shakes his head, peering at your book.

“Late-night reading?”

“Can’t sleep.” You admit, “I’m not even gonna try.”

He inhales- it’s an audible thing, not a gasp but a long, steadying breath. Then he lets it out, and you tug your book so close to your face that it obscures him from your vision.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He hums, his voice barely more than a whisper. You can’t see it, but he keeps himself turned towards you, studying the way your fingers twitch against the cover, wishing he could see the face obscured behind it.

You speak into the pages of your book, hoping your words get lost there, “Goodnight, Jake.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[orelicia]

could i request the seven brothers with a gn!lover who falls asleep the second they cuddle ? like it can start as some simple cuddles, and then their lover is just going to pass out in their arms without a single care in the world. and is hugging them very quickly so they can’t really move. (if the seven brothers is too much pick whoever you prefer)

Cuddles for you, only you!!

Xeijun's Letters: Thank you so much for the love you all gave on the first two posts!! Hope you all enjoy this one too!! Can you tell I really love Lucifer?

Warnings: Reader might be fem coded, so I'm sorry for that. I mean to make it as gender ambiguous I can!! Putting on makeup (Asmo), mentions of cocaine.

Genre: Fluff || Scenarios.

Lucifer

You sat on Lucifer's lap, while swinging your legs and humming to yourself. Being free from your assignments meant the free token to bother your darling boyfriend while he does paperwork as always.

Humming to yourself, your fingers fiddled gently with his hair on his nape while your cheek rested against his shoulder. Lucifer hummed, smiling, the weight of you on his legs felt nice, warm and the humming gently rumbled in his chest as well as he worked. It's been awhile since you've two just been together silently, with all his brothers shenanigans.

As he read the papers, feeling you move, he sighed but smiled, "Is something bothering you now??" he asked as you hummed silently, "Mm..Not really, but you're paying more attention to your paperwork than me." he said silently, pressing your lips to his jaw.

"You better be all mine after this is all done" you hummed as he nodded, "Yes-yes..I get it." he assured you, gently pressing your face back against his shoulder.

He went back to his work, humming to the silent classical music you had played from an MP3, more so for white noise to his paperwork. He wrote down the allocated money for the council and any and all clubs, checked up on Diavolo's reign, the subjects, the demons and witches and sorcerers. Everyone and everything demanded his utmost attention, why is it so?

Why can't people do things without him having to yell at them to check over things for them!?

As he wrote, his hand moved you and pressed you closer to him as you hummed and let out a gentle yawn. After finally being done, he leaned back sighing in relief and slight exhaustion.

"Up now, dear." he mumbled, waiting for you to listen so you two could snuggle on bed, instead of his chair. Yet when you did nothing, he gently lifted your head to find you asleep, warm and quiet.

Your cheek squished gently against his warm hand, a soft and relaxed look which is rather rare and soft snores as he almost grinned.

You were just perfect for him despite being a human..how ironic..

He gently let your had fall back against his shoulder as he gently put his hands under your knees and your back and tried to stand up but could barely budge, oh this again..

He looked down at you, to see your legs hooked under the arm and beside his side to keep him in place as if to hold him against you as tight as h could, likely to melt your skin together so he won't leave...

Well, all the more time to let him admire you!

Mammon

You grinned, counting the grimms and notes Mammon somehow won with you as his 'lucky charm' apparently. The only reason you bothered to join him was because he was sweet talking you far too much to let you ignore him.

Finally Mammon smirked, taking a last shot, shoving the glass on the table and walking after you as you skipped ahead, glad with the money he got. He walked faster, pulled you back by your waist,

"Oi, human! Quit stealin' my money"

He scoffed, but not really mad or anything, really just allowing you to do anything and obviously speaking fondly.

You shrugged, and continued walking ahead to the parking lot and waited for him to unlock the expensive car, and as he did, he got in first. You stretched your shoulders before Mammon pulls his seat back and lets you climb into his lap.

"Better get home before Lucifer hangs us up." he huffed, pulling out the driveway, as you grin.

You usually wouldn't do it, but partaking in the adrenaline rush Mammon does in the private chambers he's booked regularly for the past 1000 years, it's a place of Russian roulette, guns, drugs, alcohol and indulgence in you and his greed.

So you silently got in, leaning your head on his shoulder as he pressed a soft kiss to your head, "You okay?" he asked softly as you nodded as he began driving. You hummed softly, one hand on his other shoulder, thumb subconsciously stroking circles.

Mammon silently turns the sound of the radio up form the tiny panel on the steering wheel, playing some music as one foot subconsciously, very subtly tapped to the rhythm as he drove. One hand on your back, gently stroking.

It wasn't far too long that the House of Lamentation was in sight, as he parked, waited for you to bounce up and open the door and rush in like you always did..

Hm...weird, his head perked up when you didn't so he announced, "We're here, human." he said softly, but you didn't budge did he look down.

Breath soft, glitter everywhere on your body, cocaine somewhere in your hair after he got a bit too playful with 'snow', smell of cigarette and alcohol clung to you..But eyes softly shut in tiredness.

Your feet aching but you ignored for the pursuit of squishing your cheek against his bare chest which showed through his shirt, your shoes hooked on the little panel on the lower part of his door, making it absolutely non refusal to get out lest someone from outside opened the door..

He knew he wouldn't budge, so he just pulled out his phone to send a text to the family chat...

Ah, stupid humans..They fall asleep and do everything so easily, like making him fall in love all over again..

Leviathan

Levi watched with a soft snicker as you groaned, staring at the 'You lose' stamped in bright red as if branding you as an idiot at games. He patted your back softly,

"Lmao..how many times have you lost again??"

He asked with a grin, taking another photo of the screen, gently using the edit tool on his phone to edit the photo to circle a 'losses: 18 || wins: 0'. It was right under the 'You lost' banner and it showed your losses.

You sighed, "I don't get it..How do you pass this damn level!?" you turned to him as he sighed, covered in his blanket to minimise his embarrassment for wearing a Ruri-chan theme night pajamas.

He scoffed with a smirk, his eyes focused on the screen where you went wrong as he spoke, "Lmaooo, loser..AH-sorry, sorry, please don't hate me!!" he said, suddenly realising it was you..

He couldn't say that, what if you hated him for your entire life?? For an eternity and you BROKE UP WITH HIM?! He couldn't ever forgive himself...

But you brushed it off, shoving the controller back to him, as he smiled,

"Let me." he hummed, adding your save as you grumpily crawled onto his lap, instead choosing to pull out your DDD. It wasn't a very much video game marathon, the pair of you just usually did these nights where you both were on your separate devices, doing whatever but still together.

Levi hummed, one hand on the back of your upper thighs, but not quite on your ass as he squeezed gently with his large hands as you snuggled your face into his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss as he played the game.

He pressed the button, forcing the character to jump up while throwing explosions at the main boss, his fingers tapped even more, trying to defeat the many minions the character's way.

A few more hits, he waited as he tried to finish the quest under the time given, he gently pushed your hand over his shoulders as you groaned softly, but didn't protest..Weird.

Finally, Levi grinned as he won, softly whooping under his breath,

"Yessss!! Henry, did ya see??!" he asked brightly, as he waited for an affirming hum and when he didn't receive it..he felt awkward and insecure.

Of-course why would you be paying attention more to him than your DDD? Levi could almost cry but he didn't as he felt soft breaths on his ear as he gently tried to pull you apart to se your face which was hidden in his shoulders, but you didn't even budge.

"Henry..? Uhhh.." Levi softly called your name, as you didn't answer, only snuggling close as he gently pushed back your hair from the side of your face, to get a glimpse of your eyes closed and him unable to move as he sighed.

Squealing excitedly, he sighed out, "Eeeekkk!! They wanna sleep against you so tight you can't move!!! It's exactly like what happens in MycrushisasleepdemonsoIbecometheirpillowandnowican'tbudge!, yes! YESSS!!" he said, before clamping a hand to his mouth, realising he got too loud before he patted your back softly.

Trying to lull you back to deeper sleep, he sighed out with a smile. Oh the stupid otaku has a love so deep!~

Satan

Satan sighed, rubbing the back of his nape as he stretched his shoulders as you both groaned, entering after finally finishing one of the most tiring days at RAD that you could remember in the past month.

You dropped your bags, as Satan quickly attempted to change, throwing you one of his comfy shirts to stay in as you got in his bed, turning on the air conditioner to a slightly higher setting.

Finally done, he got into bed with you, "Who puts three hexes and curses lesson in a row on the same DAMN DAY?!" he asked, removing his blazer and then unbuttoning his shirt and folding it, loosening his tie.

You huffed, tiredly pulling on some pair of shorts of yours which likely laid around with how often you were over, and pulling one of Satan's white night shirts as he sighed, wiping his face with some wet wipes to remove the sweat and all..

Annoyance and wrath was already pooling in his eyes and your sigil of his, his pact, glowed green as you scoffed.

"An idiot does." you scoffed, pulling a book or something to see if you could pass the time until lunch came around. You'd want to start a new one, but you and Satan had been busy reading this book he'd recently got.

You pulled it from his nightstand, cursing since you both forgot to somehow bookmark it as you flipped the pages trying to see where you were.

Satan looked over your shoulder, humming in affirmation to see if you'd read the part of not.

Finally getting to where you both read, Satan laid-sat back as you leaned against him, Satan's thighs pulled up so he could rest the book there as you snuggled into his chest, inhaling his scent of old books, mint, green apples and dark chocolate..

"You know, I'm surprised nothing happened in class today, no?" he said as you hummed in slight agreement.

THREE curses and hexes classes back-to-back, you're surprised no one got sent to the infirmary by one of the seven brother because one of the demons annoyed them a bit too much..

But silently, his eyes trained over the words. The character's discovery to her magical heritage with the help of a demon, she arrives at the new place and is trying to find herself and fit somewhere..

His finger fiddled with the end, the book smelled of cats, dark chocolate and tiramisu from the last time you were eating it while reading the book..He waits for any type of sign that you're done reading after he himself is done. But nothing, so he gives it a few more minutes.

He hums softly, his cheek against the top of her head, he smells your shampoo, presses a kiss and waits. He re-reads the same two pages a few times until he is sure it shouldn't be taking you this long to read.

"MC..?" he looks down, one of his arm was around your waist and the other on the side of the book to hold it straight.

Since he saw your head lolling back and forth as he removed his hand form the book to gently push your hair back and pull your head onto his shoulder.

Snores soft and tiredness obvious, he knew it was tiring today and this was obviously bound to happen. He smiles, gently kissing your forehead as he actually put a book mark in, one you bought him with Claude Monet's painting on it.

He gently put the book aside, having expected you to sleep with how tired you were from RAD, just not this early. He softly laid down, pulling you as he hummed softly,

"Sleep tight, dear." he smiled. Oh Devil, you fit perfectly in his arms!!

Asmodeus

"Ooo, mauve and pink together, Pleaseee!!" Asmodeus almost squealed as he straddled your waist as you laid on his bed. Letting him do your makeup as you sighed.

"Sure, do what you want" you said with a soft smile as Asmo smiled, his glossy lips gently kissing your lips before she sat up, straddling your waist as he applied foundation, he seemed so adamant on this position, not that you minded.

"Hm, you know we should do skin care more often, cutie! Your skin is just glowing!" he said softly, using the clean wet sponge to spread your foundation after primer and all the base. You closed your eyes a bit since the foundation felt itchy and you didn't want it in your eyes, but Asmo gently pushed back your hair and continued.

He spread the foundation, softly humming and whistling 'ghost town' by Veorra which you introduced to him as he gently nodded his head side to side to the beat subconsciously, as he gently patted your skin to see if the foundation got streaky, it didn't.

He gently hummed, putting on concealer, contour and powder softly, humming to himself as he admired you. You usually wouldn't, but you trusted him enough to let him do make up on you, mostly as a test trial.

"Oh my! Your cheeks are so cute!!" Asmo cooed, almost ready to pepper kisses on them, but he paused since his gloss might ruin your foundation and the base he laid down, "Hm.. Pink and mauve, but colour were you thinking??"

He hummed, holding up the make-up palette as you slightly lifted your head at an awkward angle while trying not to give yourself cramps in your collarbones, neck or jaw or anywhere as he hummed softly.

You chose two to three colours, which you knew would go nice together, as he giggled and gently began prepping your eyes before he started to do your eye makeup, complex and pretty.

He softly made cat eye crease, gently colouring your eyes like his personal colour book with makeup as his art supplies as he hummed, his thighs gently squeezing your waist in support as you closed your eyes. Another shade on the inner corner, another colour in the inner-upper side.

A few very delicately crafted eyeliner to pull it together, with rhinestones, pearls or makeup decorations and all.

After eyeshadow, he leaned back and admired his handiwork for a little bit, your eyes closed politely and sweetly like an obedient kid's.

His hand refused to shake as he gently laid down the inky black eye liner with colourful liner too, making sure to fill in gaps but also not leak the eyeliner in your eyes since he knew, as a human, that wouldn't be pleasant.

"Oh, I'm just pretty in everything I do, don't I?" Asmo smiled, cupping his cheek as you hummed softly, your eyes still close, "Hmm-...hmm..Keep your eyes closed, this liner takes a sec or something!" he worked to curl your lashes, mascara and lash pearls so you had dotted eyelashes. Oh you were such ADORABLE!!

And finally, he dug through his bag to pull out multiple lip products, lining with two different colours, lipcolour was a mixture of five different; mauve, a deep shade of magenta, dark wine red, dusty red and a soft purple-pink..

It looked so good, dare he say, heavenly on you!

He applied lipgloss and setting spray and he was finally done, his finger very gently touched your eyelid, on the eyeliner, "Hm..It's dry, cutie. You can get up!!" he squealed, waiting for you to open your eyes and smile.

A second or two passed, as he got concern, "Honey..? Oh shit" he grumbled, looking through his bag, which he kept separated to make sure he didn't use anything that would be harmful or poisonous or anything!

Finding and hurriedly reading anything and everything, he checked your breath to see you breathing normally which made him pause. His finger softly tickled your side, "Cutie..?...oh." he paused.

You were asleep, your legs tight around him so he couldn't get off you..DAMMIT! Don't scare him like that, his skin might get wrinkles..But thank the Devil you're okay! He sighed, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead, before pulling out his phone.

His devilgram followers are going to love your makeup!!

Beelzebub

Finishing, you brushed your hands and wiped them, "You sure you want to wait for me, MC?" Beel asked softly, still in the middle of seven two times, so technically 14, different dishes.

You shrugged, humming since you didn't feel up to doing ANY activity and Asmo, who took you both shopping, let you both stay in to eat. He could handle a few hundred bags himself, he is the fifth born after all and thank Diavolo for that.

You leaned against him, legs across his lap and his bicep as your pillow in the booth you two were sitting as he sat silently. You weren't gonna lie you didn't understand why Asmo was so insistent on dressing up to just go to the mall, but now you understood. It looked like one of the most lavish buildings you've seen.

People decked out in their most fashionable clothes, dressing up casual would just look like a hobo entered in, no offence to anyone.

Just seeing it made you tired as you subtly removed your shoes on the floor, under the table and sat criss-cross, the place was so fricking clean, you wouldn't lie.

Leaning against, Beel hummed in delight chewing on his fifth burger, taking a sip of his second cup of dev-coke to wash it (it had cocaine in it!!), as he dipped his burger into the plate of corn-cheese, eating fries and nachos in between as he swallowed food over and over.

He was glad Lucifer agreed to fund them, his single modelling photos went for billions, who knew trillions of dead humans, sinners and hell-born demons, witches and others since the beginning of time would pay that much for the avatar of pride to model?

He didn't care about that right now, he was busy more busy gulping down his seventh burger, be quiet humanity and demonity!

He chewed silently, licking the sauce of his fingers, pulling a tissue and wiping before he sipped his sprite and coke and his milkshake, then went back to nachos and fifth box of fries.

He hummed in delight, when he finally finished, he patted your thighs, wiping his hands and digging in your purse quietly to pull out a wet wipe to wash his hand, as he sighed with a small smile. He felt so good...for the next two hour or so.

He smiled, "done, MC!" he said brightly, looking down to find you asleep, trying to keep him in place as he tilted his head, "Hm? Oh..you must have been tired." he whispered.

But nonetheless, he picked you up like a little doll, one hand on your butt (for privacy), the other holding you tight as he walked out, thanking the waiter, ducking a bit to not crush his forehead on the doorframe.

He walked a bit, finally meet Asmo in a shoe shop, grumbling with a box over some baby pink heels in annoyance, but it melted when he saw you over Beel's shoulder.

"Ah, they fell asleep!! I got the cutest thing for them, no worries. We'll let them try on at home!!" Asmo said, gently squeezing your cheek on Beel.

The fifth born pulled the sixth born, and you sleeping on his shoulder for more shopping

Belphegor

"And that is Heracles and that one is Jason, I think I met Jason once. Since Lucifer and Diavolo are technically a sort of Hades..I don't know. I think i'm a fury..." he whispered sleepily, barely comprehending what he said.

But you felt compelled to believe him as he sat up somewhat to try and stay awake while he tried to explain the stars to you, his eyes squinting to see where each star was while you admired him.

"God, Jason reminds me of Grey Sister's taxi company...it's mostly just them duplicating themselves to serve demons and entities..They drive so bad, it makes Beel sick." he whispered as you shrugged,

"Who..?", "Grey sisters. Once they made Mammon so mad, he took their eye and tooth and threatened to turn it to gold so they can never see.." he whispered, far too out of it as you laughed softly.

Boys never had a simple story such as visiting a lake, always something crazy with mythology mixed in, again he spoke as if he was an oracle,

"Yumraj likes to see Diavolo every few weeks.", "....The Hindu god of death?" you whispered softly as Belphie snored after almost falling asleep, again, when you snapped your finger to him.

Belphie groaned, actually sitting up and letting go of his pillow to try and stay awake which he sometimes found it slightly difficult to do (as difficult as can be for him, the epitome of sloth) without Diasy.

He looked up at the stars, chewing on a strawberry as he sat on the gingham patterned mat, he could now see the stars more as he hummed softly,

"That star there is Mars. Mars is, obviously, named after the Roman god of War, the Roman counterpart of Ares, the greek god of war." he said softly, letting him rant about random Greek shit. You didn't know he knew so much, but you shrugged. Eyes drooping with love.

He spoke on topic to try and stay awake, despite the difficulty he faced and you appreciated it.

You both were sitting on the backyard of House of Lamentation, on gingham patterned picnic blanket with snacks which you somehow concealed the smell of from Beel using a spell while star-gazing.

Well, you laid and he sat.

Belphie spoke on different stories, his own stories he made up about the constellations and the real stories,

"That is 'Orion'. Orion proclaimed himself to be such a great hunter and that he was the son of Zeus" he said, his fingers moving to motion a pattern of the constellations,

"This made Hera made, it always does but no judgement to her, and she sent a scorpion to kill him. That scorpion later became the constellation of 'Scorpius'..." he whispered softly, his hand gently patting your hair.

"Zeus took pity on him and turned him into a constellations in the stars." Belphie hummed, softly. "Zeus was, no offence, a weirdo." he whispered, as you hummed in agreement, your arm around his waist as he smiled.

After moments of talking, he stood up, "I need to go to the bathroom.." he whispered, but unable to with your tight grip, as he waited for you to let him go..

He looked down, seeing your eyes closing and you on the peak to sleep as he grinned, uncovering the grapes and sighing, he hurriedly teleported to go and came back.

Seeing you sleep, your arm reaching around the blanket to look for him, the sight making him smile. He silently laid down beside you, deciding his own sloth-ness needs to be fulfilled,

"Enough stars for one day..."

© orelicia. I do not give permission to modify, translate, copy or repost ANY of my works. Reblogs are very much beloved!

[demie90s]

Girlypop i got you with the crazy b*tches requests😙😙

Someone starts arguing with Juju post game and the reader just appears from nowhere like stepping between them with that silent but deadly stare that says “say one more thing and ill beat your ass” and Juju holds her back like, “Don’t,” but secretly? She’s hoping reader throws one punch so she can make out with her in the locker room right after😛

Wooooo girl yo ideas😮‍💨. Kiss me!!💋

Her Way

Juju Watkins x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Post-game tension boils over when someone steps to Juju, and just as things get heated, someone appears like a ghost with a death glare.

Word Count: ~ 1k

Genre: Flirty tension, protective energy, sports drama, locker room makeouts

Warnings: Swearing, light violence, suggestive content, aggressive flirting

I’d been on my best behavior all night.

No techs. No looks. No petty fouls. Even cracked a joke with the ref once—and he laughed. Coach damn near gave me a high five on the way back to the bench. That’s how good I was being.

I balled, and I behaved. Clean game. Shake hands. Go home. That was the plan. Until shorty from Notre Dame started talking.

Now I’m not soft, but I know how to act. And even if I didn’t? I would’ve kept it cool for Coach. For the team. For Juju. But this girl?..She ain’t just talking. She walking up. Getting close. Hands moving. Voice getting louder. Like she forgot what building she in. Like she forgot what school we are.

And Juju’s just standing there—cool, locked in, chin raised like she’s letting it slide. But her jaw tight. Her hand’s balled. She only got one more sentence of patience left before she says something back.

Which is when I step in.

Real smooth. I don’t even rush. I just appear. Leaning into one foot like I’m waiting for the light to turn green. Chin tucked. Blank stare. My head cocked just enough to let her know you should stop talking.

I don’t say a word. I don’t gotta. That stare says it all. You got one more time.

Juju flinches a little—not scared, just surprised. She ain’t even see me move. Her hand comes up and presses lightly against my stomach like she trying to hold me back with nothing but skin and hope.

“Don’t,” she mutters under her breath.

But her voice drop when she says it. Like deep down she wants me to swing. Just once. Just enough to shut shorty up. Like maybe she mad she can’t do it herself. Like maybe she knows I’ve been itching for a reason all game.

“You good?” I say low, my eyes still locked on the girl like I’m checking her temperature.

“I’m good,” Juju replies, but she don’t move her hand. Her fingers press in tighter.

The girl from Notre Dame takes a step back like she just noticed the shift. Like she thought this was a game until I showed up. I smile a little—not cause I’m friendly.

Just cause I want her to give me a reason. Just one. Say something slick. Roll your eyes. Breathe wrong.

Juju shifts, trying to play it off. “Let’s go,” she says, tugging on my jersey like a leash.

But her voice got that edge. That buzz. Like she loved that I came. Like the only thing sexier than me playing the game clean was me ready to ruin it for her.

The girl walks off finally, muttering something under her breath.

“What she say?” I ask, finally dragging my eyes away.

“Nothing worth the flag,” Juju says, but she grins. She grins.

We head back toward the tunnel, side by side. Coach is yelling at someone else. The refs are trying not to look shook. Juju’s looking at me like I’m a whole-ass reward. Like I’m the prize you only win if you make it to the bonus round.

“I saw that look,” she says.

I shrug. “She lucky I ain’t have time to stretch.”

Juju laughs and bumps my shoulder. “Nah, for real. You came up fast. Like, ghost-mode fast.”

“Not ghost,” I murmur, just loud enough for her to hear. “Just mine.”

She don’t say nothing back. Just looks at me. All heat. All gratitude. All trouble.

The locker room’s silent. Till the door slams behind us.

I don’t even make it to my locker. Juju grabs my wrist, spins me around like I weigh nothing. And she just stares. Same way she looked at me on the court. Like I just did something that made her forget her own name.

“You really was about to swing,” she says, almost laughing—but there’s something in her voice. That edge. Like she mad and turned on all at once.

I lean back against the wall, letting her look. “Only if she said one more thing.”

Juju steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. She doesn’t break eye contact.

“I saw your face. You wanted her to.”

“I wanted you safe.” My voice is low now, quiet enough it hums between us.

Her lips twitch. Her hands slide up my sides, slow like she’s trying to memorize the shape of me. “I won’t lie..That shit was sexy,” she says, almost whispering.

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I mean—” she shrugs, dragging her fingers down my jaw. “You don’t talk. You just show up. Like some protective ass shadow.”

“Thought you liked me quiet.”

“I do.” She leans in, mouth ghosting over mine. “But now I need you loud.” That’s all it takes.

She kisses me like I’m still standing between her and danger. Maybe stepping up for her got under her skin in a way she can’t let slide.

Her hands are in my jersey, gripping my waist, dragging me closer like she don’t want no space left. I grip her hips, flip her so she’s against the wall now. She moans, low and breathy, and I catch it in my mouth like I’ve been waiting for that sound all week.

“You good?” I mutter against her lips, nose brushing hers.

She nods, voice wrecked. “Better than good. Just—don’t stop.”

I kiss her again. Slower this time. Deep and steady like a promise. Like I mean it. I do.

She presses up into me like she wants more, but not here. Not yet. So I keep kissing her like I own her mouth. Like I didn’t just almost square up for her in front of half the damn arena. Like I wouldn’t do it again.

When we finally break apart, breathing hard, forehead to forehead—she laughs, low and hoarse.

“You tryna get me suspended.”

I smirk, brushing her braid back. “You started it.”

She grins. “You gon’ finish it?”

“Only if you ask nice.”

Juju shakes her head, biting her lip. “Later. Locker room don’t got enough space for what I want.”

I file that for later. But for now, I let her keep kissing me like she’s trying to thank me without saying it. Every damn time.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[revelboo]

May I humbly request anything with the Rescue Bots! I love the bots in the show so much! Plus Heatwave is voiced by Steve Blum who has a wonderful voice!!!

Hope you are taking care of yourself wore yourself!

Sure! 🔞 🌶️

Guilty

Heatwave x Reader

• Slowing down to park in his altmode, he knows this is beneath him. That if any of the others, especially Chase, find out where he keeps sneaking off to, he’s never going to hear the end of it. Sun warming him until he’s fighting off recharge, you finally come out of your house with a folding chair tucked under an arm, a bag over your shoulder, and dressed in a loose, sheer garment with butterflies on it and flip flops. This is exactly what he’s been waiting for, your daily ritual. Settling on his shocks, he watches you bend and unfold the chair, flashing soft skin to make him groan.

• And you’re pulling off the coverup to reveal that tiny little scrap of cloth that’s the only thing standing between him and all your secrets. Luckily the street is dead today, hates when your neighbors are out and see too much of you. That’s only for him. Watches you squirt something in your hand before slowly rubbing it into your skin and he can smell the sweetness even from across the road. Addicted to that scent now because of you as your palms slick that stuff on yourself and there’s glitter in it to leave a faint flush of color to your skin. Every time he comes out here, he swears to himself it’s the last time. That he’ll leave you alone.

• Instead he finds himself right back here just in case you come out if he’s not on duty. You’re becoming an obsession. Watching you lay in the sun and wanting. He could transform, walk over and say something. Anything. Be smooth and romantic. He’s seen Kade flounder enough times to know exactly what not to do. And you’re digging a book out, rolling onto your belly to read, legs swinging in the air. Imagines striding across your yard, kneeling and cupping your face in his hand. Kissing you. Except, you’d probably scream. Growling in frustration at himself, he rocks slightly on his shocks. Because this is so fragging stupid. Why can’t he just talk to you? Why keep pretending he’s just a dumb robot?

• They’re back. Stealing a glance at the firetruck as it slowly rocks, all you can imagine is two firefighters going at it inside. Probably fucking nasty to get a vehicle that big moving like that, too. Maybe they’re voyeurs fucking while staring at you through those tinted windows. Oh. Ew. Immediately wishing you hadn’t had that thought, because now you can’t get it out of your head. And you’re standing up with your book and heading into the house, weirded out. Because that truck is always there.

• Don’t. Don’t do it. Transforming to lunge and grab your coverup, he immediately transforms back and books it to base. What if someone saw that? Maybe you saw. You’re going to think he’s a creep and a thief now. Heading inside and transforming once he’s home, he manages to avoid the others and locks himself in his room, sits on his berth and mass shifts. Pressing the thin, soft material to his face he vents in the scent of you and that sweet stuff you use. Laying back venting against your coverup, he frees his spike and slides a servo over the head then teases down the underside before fisting himself. Imagining you sprawled on your belly naked as he covers you. Pumping his spike as he thinks about how you’d feel wrapped around him. Soft. You have to be and he’s gritting his denta as he wraps that silken material around his spike and works himself in hard strokes. Wondering what sounds you’d make under him as he claimed you. Head back as his hips lift slightly, he gets rougher, rutting against that soft cloth until he’s shuddering and overloading. But the release is hollow when what he really wants is right down the road waiting for him. Frag him, but patience has never really been his strong suit when he wants something.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 26 - Worth the Fight

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Dean about to take gold in the Yearning Olympics.

Chapter Title from Nettles by Ethel Cain

Word Count: 19.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean picks you and Adam up, and everyone makes some choices. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 25 - Chapter 27

Read on A03!

There are a lot of different types of fear, and Dean Winchester has felt most of them.

There’s the white-hot, fury-made fear he feels during hunts. That one is useful. It’s a fuel. He can brace his body and fly through the fight with ease, swinging and shooting and marching right to the other side. Just like Dad taught him. 

But then there’s the rotting fear, and that one is just annoying. It sort of festers in his throat, and then he can’t damn breathe out of nowhere, the fear having taken months to root with no clear way of how to get it out.

Sammy’s moping in the corner about unleashing the apocalypse, can’t figure out the right words to tell the kid it’s not his fault, and it’s electric under his skin that something horrible is going to happen. Bobby’s trapped in the wheelchair, and Dean isn’t a doctor, but one day that’s going to end in an empty chair and another funeral pier.

But this is the worst fear. The frenzied, wired one, that means something’s gone wrong—why the hell does something always have to go wrong—and Dean won’t be able to feel okay until it’s better.

That one can be about Sammy and the demon blood. About being forced to his knees while Anna sliced Jo’s neck open.

But it’s mostly about Her. 

In pain in his arms. Calling him and saying She’ll be in Michigan, but then Dean got to Michigan and all that was left was the Firebird. Then hunters get the jump on his and Sam, because this fear doesn’t make him useful, or delay until he can’t ignore it anymore. It’s demanding, and painful, and every single time they’d walked into a memory of Her in Heaven, Dean had wanted to grab Her and never let go. Even when he damn well knew it wasn’t Her—the memories didn’t smell like fruit, and he should’ve gotten that it was Her in the blanket fort in the first second, because She’d smelled like fruit there—Dean had felt all the air tighten in his lungs.

Then he’d lost Her.

He’d grabbed the real Her—not dead, just walking through heaven like it was nothing, because she was a freaking angel—and then watched Her vanish with Zachariah. 

The rest of the night had been a blur. A lot of Sam and Cas trying to calm him down, things breaking, and graphic threats that he wouldn’t actually inflict on them, but likely on himself. He’d roared at the sky, begging it to split open and Dean catch Her. He’d somehow lost Her again, and there was no damn point in being Her shadow or guard or friend or anything if Dean just kept fucking dropping Her, when She needed to be held like it was the world and all the stars in his hands- 

“Dean.” Bobby had frowned at him from the doorway of their room. 

Her room. Her room, that She trusted Dean to share. That had all his clothing, because they’d all stopped pretending Dean would ever be able to sleep without Her. The sheets still smelled like Her. Dean was holding one of Her notebooks, all the words in Enochian, like he could somehow read it and find a way to bring her back. 

“Don’t say anything,” Dean had muttered, closing the book. “I don’t want to hear it, Bobby, I freakin’ know-“

“She called, ya idjit.”

His head had shot up. “She-“

“Sent a text first.” Bobby had grunted. “Called ‘er, we figure she got dropped somewhere in Northern California. She’s tryin’ to find somewhere to lay low ‘till you get her, but she’s stuck luggin’ that Adam kid with her. I were you, I’d get her fast.”

The fear had been clouding his brain. She’d gotten out, with Adam, but that didn’t mean she was safe. They didn’t know what the hell the angels had done to Her, if they’d hurt Her, if She’d needed Dean and he hadn’t been there. And California was far, and- 

“She fucking hates California.” Dean had said, the only thought able to get itself out of his mouth, and Bobby had only shrugged.

“Then you’d better drive fast.” He’d paused. “Don’t get arrested. I ain’t got the time to bail you out.”

Dean had nodded, and sprinted out of the room. No need to wake Sam up for this, not when they were still a pissed at each other. All of Sam’s Heaven’s had been fucking bullshit—times he’d left Dean, shit he’d pulled off that had spurred memories of Dad spitting in Dean’s face and bruises on his jaw—and Dean had thrown a few chairs after Sam told him he couldn’t just go back to Heaven and get Her. 

They fell the fuck apart, without Her. And Dean needed Her back now. The fear had turned almost numb and electric, and slowly ebbed out the closer he got to the address Bobby had given him.

But it gave way to new fear.

Cold fear. He could sort of feel it in his bones, and he’d been able to feel it since Mom died. He’d felt it every time Dad had gone out for a hunt, and Dean hadn’t been sure he’d return—and whenever he’d fucked up while Dad was on a hunt, and he hadn’t wanted Dad to return—and he’d felt it when he’d been in the demon deal, and She hadn’t known. Felt it every damn month She’d been gone, he’d called Her, and it had twisted in his stomach that this might be the time She didn’t pick up. 

Dread. It was dread. 

And as he pulled up the final dirt street—he’d been driving for over a day without sleep, but he didn’t need sleep, he needed Her—that was the fear that sunk into his body.

The fear that She’d be in pain when he saw Her, and this time, he wouldn’t be able to fix it. 

Dean shut off Baby’s engine, but this would be quick. He just needed to grab Her—and Adam—and get home. And this was the address, but it was a dusty, abandoned looking cabin on the edge of some farmland, so- 

Something tackled him from behind, arms wrapping around his chest and a face pressing into his back. 

Anyone else, and he would’ve shot without thinking. But somehow—maybe the smell, maybe the feel, maybe just a deep instinct that told him don’t shoot the best person you’ve ever loved, dumbass—he knew it was Her. So his arm dropped to keep Her’s around him, and he let out a heavy breath as they swayed on the sidewalk. 

Dean muttered Her name, craning his head back to meet Her gaze, and found her face still buried into his back. Her cheeks were smushed, and Her hair was a mess—but still somehow shiny, even in the dust of California—and when Dean repeated Her name, she just held him tighter. 

“You found me.” She mumbled against his shirt, something soft and choked in Her voice, and Dean twisted fully in Her arms. He needed to hold Her back. To make sure she was real. 

“Course I found you,” he kissed the top of Her head—that was allowed right now, she was crying—and she was going to suffocate him. He didn’t mind. “You-“

“I’m okay.” 

Dean sighed, and took Her face between his hands, tipping it back to meet his gaze. 

Her eyes were almost blinding, and glossy. Tinted red with tears, just as her cheeks were flushed and Her lips were swollen, likely from chewing. And there was that little, worried furrow in Her brow. 

She wasn’t okay. 

Dean ran his thumb down the bridge of Her nose, and tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. He didn’t know how to fix whatever was getting to Her. He had to fucking try.

“What happened?”

She shook Her head, hair sliding over her face that Dean got to brush away with his softest touch. 

“I-“ She took a shaking breath, leaning into his touch. And he really was a piece of shit, because that was going to replay over and over in his head for the rest of his damn life. “I’m-“

Someone called Her name, and Dean tugged Her forward, wrapping an arm back around Her and raising his gun. He got Her, he had Her, she wasn’t anybody’s but Dean was Her’s, and they’d have to kill him to touch Her- 

“What’s-“ Adam’s head poked out from behind the cabin, and his eyes widened, flicking between Dean, and Her in Dean’s arms. “Oh. Dean, you, uh- I thought Sam was coming?”

“Sam was sleeping.” Dean grunted. “And I’ve got the freakin’ car- Shit-“

Dean groaned as She shoved him, right in the gut, and leaned back with a glower. 

He tried to give Her a winning smile, but it was more of a wince. “Ow, Princess-“

“Don’t Princess me, Winchester.” She snapped, and Dean’s grin felt a little more real. He was either going insane, or the hours without sleep were finally getting to him. She was so pretty, and the sun was rising, and all the light seemed to only shine for Her. Making Her almost freaking glow. “Put the gun down.”

He hadn’t realized he was still holding it. But he listened, raising his brows as he tucked it away. 

Her scowl didn’t waver. “Where is Sam.”

“I told you, sleeping-“

“So you drive here alone?!”

“Uh,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and glanced to Adam, but the kid was just staring at Her. “Maybe. But you needed help-“

“Not drive all night help, Dean!” She grabbed his face between Her hands, and Dean didn’t even bother to fight it. He was pretty sure she could try to stab him for real this time, and he wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. “When was the last time you slept?”

He wasn’t sure. He knew he hadn’t slept on the drive to Michigan, then he hadn’t slept in Heaven, but he’d been dead. That didn’t count. And She’d been missing for about a day and a half, plus the drive-

He was well over thirty-six hours.  

Telling Her that didn’t seem like the best idea. 

“I dunno,” he mumbled, and Her hands were so soft. “I’m fine, Princess-“

“Dean Winchester.” She hissed, and he might have lost all the blood in his face, rushing to other places in his body. She needed to keep looking at him like that. Forever. Like his health was something that really mattered to Her. 

He drawled Her name back, but he sounded a little drunk. This wasn’t working in his favor. 

“When did you last sleep,” She hissed—now didn’t feel like a good time to kiss Her—and he sighed. 

“Connecticut.”

Her eyes flashed, and before he was sure what was happening, they were moving. She’d grabbed Dean’s hand and was tugging him around the back of the cabin, and he was Her shadow. He didn’t know how to do anything but follow Her, wherever the hell she wanted to take him. 

Adam mumbled Her name as they passed him. “What-“

“We’re sleeping.” She snapped, and Adam frowned. 

“But-“

“Dean can’t sleep in the car.”

That was true. He couldn’t. And he didn’t know how the hell she knew that, but it didn’t matter. She was holding his hand. Half shoving him into some sort of makeshift bed before crawling up to his side, like She couldn’t bear to be away from him.

“Uh-“ Adam cleared his throat from somewhere near the door. “I thought we were going somewhere safe-“

“We’re safe here.” She shrugged, and Her hand was in Dean’s hair. He wasn’t sure She knew she was doing it. He never wanted Her to stop.

“Oh- okay.” Dean let his eyes flutter open, and Adam was frowning between them.

Dean let out a slow breath, and Adam’s attention settled on him. “We’ll drive in the morning, dude. I’ll call Sammy to get a room ready for you.”

Adam blinked. “For- me?”

“Bobby’s got a lot of rooms.” She hummed. “You can take Dean’s old one. We’ll figure the rest when we get home.”

Adam nodded nervously, and Dean felt a little guilty. He should be doing more, but his thoughts were only circling around old room. His old room. Because now they shared one, and didn’t bother to pretend.

But that wasn’t important. And even if Adam wasn’t Sammy, they were still family. Dean was the big brother. He should be helping Adam. Telling him that he was going to sleep because telling Her no took all the willpower in the world—and with Her hand in his hair and his head on Her thigh, Dean didn’t have any willpower—but then they’d go to Bobby’s, and everything would be fine. 

But he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what had happened to them, in those two days. And Adam was looking at him strangely, the same way Dad used to look at him. The way that made Dean feel like he was doing something wrong, when he was doing nothing at all. And Adam wasn’t Dad—he wasn’t going to hurt Her—but Dean didn’t like the way the kid’s eyes kept flicking between Her and Dean. 

Mostly Her. Adam kept looking at Her with an expression Dean knew from the mirror. Like She was the most beautiful thing in the universe—She was—and just a brush of Her skin against his would be a high better than goddamn heroine. 

Dean could understand a crush. Adam was just a kid, and She was magnetic. But She was sitting with Dean. And he was Her shadow. Adam could want Her, Dean wasn’t going to be weird about that. Dad might crawl out of the grave to strangle him if he ever chose a girl over family—even though She was family, and he’d only just met the real Adam—and Dean didn’t have any right to get possessive. She wasn’t Dean’s to possess. Only to protect, and hold, and maybe touch wherever he was allowed.

Another selfish thought. He should be focusing on Her and Adam’s safety and stability. On how there was a hollowness to Her features that told him something was wrong. But She was warm, Dean was exhausted, and this cabin was safe. Dean could recognize Her handwriting if he was blindfolded, even when said writing was in Enochian. Those were Her wards, the ones She’d put up at Bobby’s, and they’d had to toss three kinds of salt over Cas’ shoulder, dump him in holy water of the spring—rose water that Bobby had blessed with an eye roll—and let Her burn a lock of his vessel’s hair for him to be allowed into the yard. They’d be fine. 

Dean could turn his face to rest on Her abdomen and hear Her breath hitch, grinning to himself at the sound. He’d like to stay here for a while. Maybe damn the world and rest here into the apocalypse and after. Her fingers combing through his hair and making him feel like a dog, the smell of fruit all around him, his body relaxing because it was Her. 

And She was humming softly.

That wasn’t the voice of a siren, or an angel. It was whatever starlight sounded like, humming Ramble On just so Dean could sleep. 

He passed out faster than maybe ever in his life. He didn’t dream. And when his eyes blinked open to hazy, golden sunlight, She was watching him. 

She was so beautiful. There seemed to be a halo around Her head, and Her skin was still glowing, and Her eyes were so bright Dean was pretty sure he’d be able to see them guiding him home in the darkest storms.

He loved Her. 

She looked so tired. 

Dean reached a hand up before he could think better of it, and traced his fingers over Her cheeks. She blinked at him, leaning into his touch as Her eyes went glossy again, and something was wrong. He’d been an asshole, he’d known something was wrong, and he’d just fallen asleep like she hadn’t just been an angel prisoner-

“Feel better?” She whispered, and Dean voice was barely a rasp.

“Now I do, yeah.” He sat up slowly, keeping hold on Her careful. Tight enough that he could shift Her into his lap. Lose enough that, if She wanted, She could leave.

But She didn’t. 

She just wrapped Her legs around his torso, and dropped Her head to his chest. His arms flew up, caging Her back to keep Her steady, hands tangling in Her hair because he could.

Dean muttered Her name, and She held him tighter. “What the hell happened, after we got zapped.”

“I- I can’t-“ She curled further into him, and Dean knew that strain in Her voice. She was trying not to cry. “De, I don’t know how to- I don’t know what to do- I- I’m not-“

“It’s okay.” He kept his voice soft, swallowing down another baby. It wasn’t the time. “I’ve got you, Princess, you’re safe-“

A sob shook Her body, and Dean just held Her. If that was all he had to do right now, to be worthy of being Her shadow, he’d do it every damn time. Until Her breathing was even, and he could carefully tip Her head back and give her a sad smile. 

“I’m here.” He murmured, and She blinked at him through Her tears. 

He wiped them away with his thumb, then let it drift to the bridge of Her nose once more. Her eyes fluttered shut and She let out the best, airiest sigh he’d ever heard in his damn life. Dean could die here. With Her relaxed in his arms, their bodies tangled together, and nothing real in the world but the feeling of Her against him.

But Adam. The end of the world and Adam. 

Dean kissed Her brow, fought the urge to just kiss Her when She made another soft sound and curled her fingers on his chest, and forced himself to get up. He kept Her in his arms—She didn’t fight it, another bad sign—and walked Her outside to the Impala. After She was safely in the passenger’s seat, he went back for Adam. The kid had been sleeping in the room over, and it wasn’t hard to get him moving. 

He just had to say She was waiting in the car.

They were on the road quick. And it was a day long drive, but that was for assholes who obeyed things like speed limits.

Dean didn’t have time for that. She was being too quiet, Adam kept opening and closing his mouth like he wanted to ask questions but wasn’t sure how, and Dean could feel that cold fear again. Something had happened. Something had to have happened. Ellen was gone, all She had was her knives and a jar with something brown and sludge-like in it, and She kept looking at the skyline with that small wrinkle in her brow. 

It was going to drive him insane. He could beat his own muscle and soft tissue going black and blue over it, how he’d just fallen asleep at Her request, like he wasn’t supposed to be the one taking care of Her-

“Dean.” She mumbled, after they’d stopped for gas somewhere in Wyoming, long Adam knocked out in the backseat. “I called Sam. I think Adam’s a little sick, so they’ll be ready to look at him.”

Dean glanced at Adam in the rearview. “He looks fine-“

“He’s got a bite mark.” She was picking the skin on Her nails again, and gave Dean a sad look when his hand shot out of cover her’s. “I-“

“Don’t do that.” He muttered. “How the hell’d he get a bite mark, a freakin’ snake?”

She shook Her head, her hair falling over Her face and Her voice almost a whisper. “Me. I- I’ve never resurrected someone before. I think I did it wrong or something, because it looks like a ghoul bite, and it’s right here.” She reached up and touch the soft skin under Dean’s collarbone. A little electric shock ran through his body at the contact. He was worse than a damn teenager. 

He took a steadying breath—he was a grown man, he’d just slept in her lap, he could handle her touching him and talking to him all gorgeous and awesome—and shot her a small frown. “You’re the one who brought him back?”

She only nodded, and Dean felt the dread move deeper than his bones. Into something colorful and vital and shimmering, that knew Dean was just another thing in Her orbit, but he still had to keep Her safe.

Dean said Her name, and Her fingers twined with his. As if She was afraid he was going to let go. “Tell me what happened, sweetheart. Please.”

Her grip was death like. And it didn’t loosen, as She turned to press Her face into his arm. Her breaths muffled in Dean’s body, but She was also clinging to him like he was a buoy in a hurricane, so he just squeezed Her hand once.

There was a pause, then three squeezes in return. She didn’t seem fine. But before Dean could push it, she was talking. 

“I- I need to tell you most of it later.” She mumbled. “With everyone else. But, I – I don’t know what to do.”

He sighed. “I know, but-“

“I met Michael.” Her words were quick, and the dread was going to eat him alive. “He- He was yellow. And big. And he- he said that I-“ 

She made another weak noise, and Dean muttered Her name. “Breathe, Princess, I’ve got you-“

“Dean.” She whispered, Her chin propping on his shoulder, and when he shot Her a glance, Her eyes were big and bright on his. “Michael told me something.”

Dean frowned. “Like what? His evil plan?”

“No. Not his.”

“Wha-“

“He said I was the bride of God.” She whispered. “He- He said that’s what I was made for. That it’s why I’m like this.”

Dean couldn’t really hear anything. Couldn’t really see anything, either. It wasn’t a safe way to drive, but he didn’t care about driving right now. 

He cared about Her, half clinging to his side, Her voice far too fucking small and defeated. He cared about why She’d say like this—She was perfect, if anything, everyone else should want to be more like Her—and that Michael would call Her that. 

Bride of God.

“What the fuck does that mean.” He muttered, and his knuckles were white on the wheel. 

“Probably what it sounds like.” She mumbled, blinking up at Dean with a nervous expression. “Dean?”

He grunted—he felt like he was drowning without any water to blame—and glanced back to find Her watching him with an open, nervous expression.

“Are you mad at me?”

Dean stared at Her for a moment. That was insane. None of this was Her fault, it was God and the Angels and Hell and all these stupid fucking games with people’s lives that didn’t make sense, he understood it but he couldn’t let it make sense-

She opened Her mouth, and Dean shook his head. Her shadow. The most important thing was being Her shadow, and keeping Her safe.

“I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.” He muttered, kissing the top of Her head and forcing himself to not crash the car when She made another little sound. “We just- Guess we got work to do. We’ll call Cas. See what he knows.”

“Okay.” She dropped Her face back down to Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Course.” I love you. I just want to love you Princess, cryptic douchebag archangels or not. “You’re gonna be alright, Princess. Pinky promise.

He turned his hand in Her’s, hooked their pinkies, let out a slow breath as She hummed into his side.

Bride of God.

She was the Bride of God.

Son of a Bitch, he wished that didn’t make sense. That he could just call Michael a lying asshole and be done with it.

But She was divine. Dean had always known She was divine. Ethereal and blinding, made of something he should never be allowed to touch. Something nobody should be allowed to touch, something that was too good to be stuck in the mud with the rest of them. Not just hunters and people born with no way out but a bloody one. Everyone. Even the fanciest asshole at bars—hitting on Her while Dean had glowered at his beer and shoved down the urge to march over and slam his lips against Her’s—had been beneath Her. Dean had just gotten real damn lucky, being the animal that She grew fond of. 

Or unlucky. 

Because if She was the Bride of God—if that was a real thing, and She was it, and She might as well be because Dean had always worshipped Her all the same—that meant She could never be Dean’s. That the most he would ever get was this. 

Her head on his shoulder as they drove, fast asleep and peaceful. Her hand was still in Dean’s free one—he could drive with one hand, he wasn’t a fucking idiot, and when he kissed Her knuckles she made another soft, sweet sound he wanted to devour—as he listened to the music, and got them home. 

Sam was pacing outside, when they pulled into the yard around midnight. She and Adam had both been knocked out for a few hours, and while She didn’t jolt awake as the engine turned off, Adam did.

“Wha-“ The kid blinked around, rubbing his eyes as Dean adjusted Her in his lap. “Where are we?”

“Bobby’s.” Dean muttered, glancing in the side mirror. Sammy was coming over, he could help Adam while Dean took care of Her. “It’s safe. He’s family, and the place is warded to freakin’ hell.”

Adam paled. “Like- Literally?”

“No.” She made a small noise as Dean wrapped Her arms around his neck, but didn’t try to pull away. He was the most selfish asshole in the world. “Sam’ll help you with that bite, then we’ll all meet up in the morning.”

“How’d you know about-“ Adam paused, then said Her name. “She told you?”

“Yep.” He glanced up as Sam knocked on the window, and nodded his head to the backseat. Sam understood—thank Fucking Christ—and opened the back door.

“Hi, Adam, I’ve got the medkit, and- Dean?”

Dean grunted, and glanced back to see Sam frowning at Her.

“Is she-“

“She fine.” Bride of God. “Need to get her to bed, can you-“

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You want me to-“

“Call Cas. Tell him we’re gonna talk in the morning. Is Bobby-“

“In his office. I’ll tell him you’re home.”

Adam cleared his throat, and they both looked to him with a frown. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “That’s just- It’s kinda freaky.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean adjusted Her fully, and he’d be able to carry Her like this. He’d always carry Her. “Lot more shit where that came from.”

He was being an asshole. Dean knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He needed to take care of Her. 

Their room was untouched, from when Dean had left it. Her notebook was still on the floor. Everything was in its place. 

Including Her. Fit perfectly in Dean’s arms.

Bride of God.

Maybe it wasn’t Her place. Maybe She should be sleeping on a freaking cloud, or on vacation in Jupiter, making angel babies. Dean really didn’t want to think about Her making angel babies. It didn’t matter if it was Her destiny, he didn’t want Her to be anywhere that he couldn’t follow. Because even if She was the Bride of God, God wouldn’t hold Her like Dean could. It was an insane, absurd thought—it was fucking God—but it was the only thing that eased the frozen dread in his body. If God was out there, he hadn’t done shit for Her. Dean would do anything. He loved Her, and he loved Her like it was written into his fucking DNA, and when he eased them both down onto the bed, She wrapped herself around Dean’s body. 

Michael might have been lying.

Dean wasn’t that lucky. 

That could be what being Her shadow was. Her lover in the corners, and Her guard dog, and nothing more than just the luckiest son of a bitch alive, there for Her in all the ways God couldn’t be.

God.

Fucking God.

What chance did Dean stand against God-

She made a soft, sleepy sound, and Dean glanced down. She was drooling, right onto his chest. Her nose was nuzzled into his throat, and son of a bitch, of course She was the Bride of God. She was perfect.

But She was still sleeping on Dean. When he so much as shifted, Dean was the one who got a distressed sound and tight grip around his neck. 

Dean was Her’s. He loved Her, and he’d love Her all the way down. 

He shouldn’t have been able to sleep, with all the lingering dread. But She smelled like fruit, and She was warm around him, and- 

This place was creepy.

The ceilings were too high, everything was too clean, and the polished floor had some sort of weird engraving on it. It looked like Enochian, when Dean squinted and tilted his head. But the people around him couldn’t be angels. Angels didn’t wear fancy clothing like that, and while they did have cold, unforgiving features, they didn’t lurk in dark corners. The only angel Dean had ever seen lurk in a corner was Cas, and Cas wasn’t a normal angel. 

Angels didn’t whisper, and all these assholes were whispering. Slowly milling about until they’d formed some big sort of circle, and shooting glances at the center of the room.

Dean felt like he was supposed to go somewhere. Maybe anywhere but here. He was like a freaking match in a needle stack, surrounded by sharp, polished people, while he wore a leather jacket, jeans, and mud-caked boots. 

At least he wasn’t tracking the mud, as he tried to push through the odd crowd. Given how clean these people were, that would probably be a whole thing. 

He should just leave. He was definitely intruding on something that he wasn’t supposed to see, and didn’t really want to anyway. But something was calling him. Pulling him forward like a magnet, tugging on something just to the right of his heart and telling him to fucking go-

He stumbled forward as the crowd suddenly ended, and there She was. 

A smaller version of Her—a little doll-like with her black dress, perfectly styled hair, and blank expression that made Dean’s gut twist—but Her. Dean would know Her anywhere.

She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the old man standing over Her—he had the same nose She did, and different coloring, but an almost identical posture—and the blade in his hand. 

It looked like an echo of Her blade. A crude replica. And She stared at it as the man took Her hand, and flipped it palm up. 

Dean wanted to call Her name, but his voice was stuck in his throat.

The old man beat him to it. 

“First born daughter of the coven’s last born daughter, you have bled for the first time. Your second blood will be spilt in his name, the great one, Yahweh, the creator, who has promised us greatness in his service. Do you offer yourself to him, in entirely, should you be the Bride?”

He had to do something. Dean was just goddamn standing here, and She looked so young, and her voice was so soft and small and this felt like something someone should get shot about-

“I do.” She bowed Her head, and the whole room started whispering. There were some barely muffled laughs, too. As if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. They were lucky to even be in Her presence, but Dean still needed to do something, why couldn’t he fucking move and do something-

Her name escaped his throat, his voice hoarse, and Her head whipped to his. For a second, She was the version of Her Dean knew, and loved, and would drown in the mud or the ocean or pits of hell for. Then the old man sliced the blade deep into Her hand, and she flickered back into the little girl. 

It was only for a second. As Her hand was twisted so the blood fell to the floor, and the room filled with some creepy chant that nobody seemed to be trying all that hard on. Then She was back to herself, yanking Her hand away from the old man and sprinting over to Dean. She slammed into him with an almost frightening force, but Dean didn’t flinch. His arms wrapped around Her and he lifted her off the ground, their faces inches away, Her eyes blinding on his and Her lips parted with a small flush-

The room shook, and a few people screamed. Dean’s grip tensed around Her, his hand shooting to his jeans for his pistol, but she caught it first.

“It’s fine.” She mumbled, squeezing his hand three times and pressing Her face to the crook of his neck. “I- I’m glad you’re here, De. I hate this one.”

“Course I’m here, Princess.” He muttered, even though he didn’t like this one either, and he didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. “Always here.”

She let out a soft laugh, and just held him a little tighter. But Dean’s eyes were trapped on the sight before him. 

Her blood, no longer just a single stain of red in the Enochian carvings.

It was a river, running through the sigil, fucking glowing silver. Like someone had sliced a little bit of starlight, and dumped it over the fucking floor. It looked molten and dangerous and alluring, and the whole fucking chamber smelled like fruit to the point that Dean was pretty sure it wasn’t just her hair near his nose. 

Dean said Her name carefully, and She shook Her head.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” She mumbled into his skin. “I- I don’t want it to be real.”

And he didn’t have to ask what. He knew. That cut had been exactly where Her scar was, and She’d always told him that her family was full of cultic assholes. That they’d thought She was destined to marry-

Son of a bitch.

She’d been right. Dean didn’t really want to talk about it either. He just wanted to hold Her a little tighter and bury his face in Her hair, as chaos broke out around him. People were shouting and screaming like this hadn’t been the whole purpose of the stupid thing, the Silver was only growing brighter and brighter, and Dean just kept holding Her. 

He’d hold her like this when the real world ended too. 

He’d hold Her until she was ripped from his arms, and he was left in the mud. 

His eyes blinked open to harsh light through the windows, and they’d shifted in their sleep. Dean was still holding Her, but she wasn’t straddling him anymore. Her face wasn’t his neck either, but pressed right against Dean’s as he lay on his stomach. Pinning Her to the mattress. Their legs tangled together and Her knee pressed dangerously close to-

Fuck.

Dean tried to shift away, but he was too slow. She mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like his name, held him tighter, and Dean groaned. Right in Her ear. 

Another mistake. 

She made the softest, most musical and intoxicating sound Dean had ever heard, and he definitely had to move now, but it was too late. Her eyes fluttered open and landed on his, and-

“Dean?” She mumbled, yawning right into his face, and Dean never wanted to move again. 

“Hey, Princess.” He sounded like a fucking idiot. “You, uh-“ His boner. He was so hard it hurt, and She was right there and so pretty with glazed eyes and sleep swollen lips. And he was all kinds of fucked up for having a nightmare then getting a hard-on for his best friend, but that’s what was happening. “Breakfast?”

She hummed and nodded, but made no effort to move. 

That was fine. Dean could move for both of them. He pushed up off of Her slowly, angling his hips carefully to keep them out of Her attention, and let just a little bit of his will falter. He ducked down at the last second, pressed a kiss to Her brow, and grinned to himself as She made a soft, sweet sound. Son of a bitch, he loved Her.

But he was still a piece of shit. He still brushed hair from Her face and ran his thumb down her nose, before shuffling to the bathroom, turning on the sink, and fisting his cock in his hand. Letting his thoughts wander to Her beautiful, heavenly features and soft skin and body tangled with his. The feeling on Her breath on his neck and the flutter of Her eyes in the low light of parking lots. The sound of Her voice saying his name in a tiny gasp and the phantom taste of Her from months ago, they haven’t kissed in over half a freaking year but Dean was still being haunted by Her touch and taste, and he could see Her sprawled out below him in bed, or maybe straddling his waist again and kissing his jaw-

He clenched his jaw as he came, choking on the groan of Her name and squeezing his eyes tight enough for it to hurt. He didn’t deserve Her. He still stopped at the edge of their bed after he cleaned himself up—their bed, he was standing at their bed—and stared at Her for a long moment like some stalker.

Breakfast.

He needed to make sure She ate, because that cabin hadn’t looked like a restaurant, and something told him she’d probably told Adam she was eating whatever rations they’d had, while giving them all to him. And the kid didn’t know how to tell when She was lying. So it was Dean’s job to make sure She ate. 

He opened the door, and almost had a damn heart attack.

“Jesus fucking-“ He took a steady breath, running a hand over his face. “Son of a bitch, Cas, what are you doing-“

Cas frowned at him, as if the answer should be obvious. “Watching over you, Dean. Well,” Cas nodded past his shoulder, when Dean could hear Her shifting in the sheets. “Both of you.”

“Dean?” Her voice was still filled with sleep, Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas, and Cas paled slightly. “What’s-“

“Nothing, Princess.” He grunted. “Go back to sleep-“

“Cas?” Goddamnit. “What are you-“

“I told Dean already,” Cas said, his words slow. “I was watching over you both.”

Dean sensed Her behind him before he felt Her. And he could be normal about this. About Her standing right next to him, Her chin propped on his bicep, his arm braced on the door. He could be normal.

“But you were standing outside?” Dean glanced down to see the prettiest frown on Her face, and Cas shrugged. 

“This seemed to be a private moment, I didn’t wish to interrupt it.” He glanced back to Dean. “You should change. We have been waiting for you to awaken.”

Dean sighed. He couldn’t punch Cas, even if he’d woken Her up. “Don’t say awaken, dude, you sound a million.”

“He is a million, Deano.”

Dean gave Her an exasperated look, and Cas frowned.

“I am actually over a billion-“

“Really?!” Her eyes went wide, and Dean sighed. 

“Princess,” he muttered, letting his hand glide down to Her lower back. Her attention turned to him, Her eyes fluttering slightly, and two boners in one morning was too many. “They’re waitin’ for us to awaken. Go change.”

She glanced back to Cas. “But I wanna ask him about dinosaurs-“

Dean gave Her a flat look, and She sighed.

“Fine. But,” She shot him a glare. “Just because Cas said we need to change. You’re not my boss, Winchester.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I got that, sweetheart-“

“Shut up.”

“Bossy.” He called after Her, watching Her stomp into the bathroom, and turned back to Cas with a sigh. “C’mon. Gotta make her majesty eggs.”

Cas nodded, following Dean down the stairs, and everyone was waiting for them. Seated around the table, frowning at Dean and Cas as they entered the kitchen. 

Bobby cleared his throat. “Dean, where-“

“Getting dressed.” He muttered, walking over to the stove. “She’ll be down soon. You guys already gone over all the shit?”

“Almost,” Sam sighed. “We know that the Angels were going to use Adam as bait for us, that we all got brought back when Zachariah showed up, and Adam says that they were in some sort of magic room for a while.”

“I don’t know how long.” Adam jumped in. “It felt like it was a while? They took me, the brown-haired lady-“

“Ellen,” Sam muttered with a grimace, and Adam nodded. 

“Yeah, her. And,” Adam said Her name, shooting Dean a strange look. “She said she had a plan to break us out. But I blacked out, and when I woke up she was fighting the bald guy-“

“Zachariah.”

“And she made him vanish, then sort of,” Adam placed his hand on his brow. “And I woke up on the side of the road with her next to me.”

Dean frowned. “Ellen-“

“Didn’t make it.”

Their attention all shot to the door, and She looked so small. Her arms wrapped around Her stomach and her words nervous, as if she was worried someone was going to try and kick her. None of them would. Ever. Even Adam seemed to understand that after a day, scrambling to his feet and pulling out the chair next to his. She shuffled over with a small smile of thanks—and a bigger smile to Dean, but he wasn’t going to let that go to his head—and dropped down with a long sigh. 

“I- Um- I got Adam.” She whispered, Her eyes fixed on her hands. “But Zachariah came back. And he grabbed Ellen. I don’t think angels can kill souls, but he- he was going to do something. I couldn’t stop it, and she said it was okay, but- I-“ She swallowed, and Dean abandoned the eggs. There were more eggs in the universe anyway. There was only one Her. 

He muttered Her name, standing right behind her chair, and Her head tipped back to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to-“

“Yeah, I do.”  

She fucking didn’t. But he wasn’t going to win this conversation. So Dean just offered his hand. 

She took it. In front of everyone. Squeezed it three times—She was fine—and took a shaking breath. 

“I don’t know what happened to her. But I got Zachariah-“ She sat up suddenly, and Dean grunted as Her grip tightened. “Fuck- My jar, where the fuck is my jar-“

“I’ve got it.” Sam cut in quickly, pulling it out of his bag on the floor. “What-“

Cas cut Sam off with Her name, his eyes comically wide. “Is that…”

“Yeah.” She sighed, pulling the jar forward. “Say hi, Zachariah.”

There was a long silence, filled with only the sound of the frying pan sizzling and brown sludge slushing around.

Bobby cleared his throat. “Kiddo, you’re tellin’ me that you got an angel in a fuckin’ jar?”

“Yeah.” 

“But-“ Sam shook his head. “I mean, how-“

“Don’t know.” She sighed, setting Zachariah down on the table. “I just… did. Then I ripped open a hole in the room, and walked out.”

“The room?” Cas frowned. “The green room?”

“I don’t think so. This one was in heaven and- Reinforced. With iron. It seemed like it was part of old Heaven.”

Sam raised his hand. “What’s old Heaven-“

“Heaven before God left.” Cas said, still watching Her. “Most of it is off limits to everyone, but archangels have access to certain areas. Did you-“

“Yeah. Micheal.”

Silence again, this time broken by Sam.

“You met Michael? Did he, like, want something?”

“Yeah. Um, a lot. He wanted a lot, and said a bunch of stuff and-“ She took a shaking, long breath, and broke into a frantic ramble. “He wanted my alliance. For me to tell Dean to say yes, just like Lucifer wanted me to convince Sam to say yes, and I know I should have told you guys that when it happened but a lot was going on and I- I don’t know. But Michael said he wanted me at his side when God returned, because I- He-“ 

Dean muttered Her name, and she shook Her head. 

“I’m the Bride of God.” She whispered. “He said it was my destiny. That I should want to speed this along, because the sooner Lucifer is dead the sooner God will return.” She wrinkled Her nose. “For- For me.”

Dean was getting really sick of the silences. They let him feel his heartbeat in his fucking throat. And he didn’t even give a shit that She’d lied about Lucifer, because he’d known She’d lied. He just wanted that last part to be a lie, for him to have a single fucking chance of keeping her.

“The Bride of God.” Cas’ expression was strange, but Dean understood it. And the last bit of his hope sank into his gut like a stone. “That is supposed to be a myth.”

Sam frowned. “Angels have myths?”

“More like bedtime stories.” Cas sighed. “But I have to admit, it does make sense. You fall into every part of the legend, Heaven bent to your will, and you were able to enter the throne room. There is… no other explication. The only part I don’t understand is how you are also the Magdalene-“

“One angel- Joshua, he said it was a cruel joke.” She said quietly. “But Michael said it was on purpose.”

Bobby grunted. “Don’t think it matters. You wanna marry God, kiddo?”

Her nails were digging into Dean’s skin. “No.”

“Then you ain’t gonna. Any other archangels tellin’ you important shit?”

She nodded, and they all just fucking kept talking. About Gabriel, and how he’d explained a way for them to put Lucifer back in the cage, with the Horseman’s rings. And it was important, and Dean felt a little damn sick when She said they’d need to find a way to get Lucifer into the cage—there weren’t a lot of options, and Sammy’s expression meant he was thinking something smart and stupid—but they needed to go back. To stop talking about the last two rings, and start talking about how She was the Bride of fucking God. Destinies weren’t easy to avoid when it was just two archangels trying to ride Sam and Dean’s ass, there was no way God was just going to take Her no thanks and walk away. 

And if She didn’t want to marry the asshole, Dean try his goddamn best to stop it. But it was fucking God. If the guy was still alive, he was going to be impossible to just sock in the jaw and kick to the curb. They needed a plan, to keep Her here. Talking to Bobby about the Horsemen—She said she’d tracked Pestilence to upstate New York as She twisted the skin of Her finger, and Dean knew She was lying, but he was already sort of having trouble doing anything except holding Her hand like she was going to vanish a flash of light—and explaining to Sam how She’d made a spell to track Eileen, but just had to alter it for Death. 

She needed to stay next to Dean. 

She needed to stay Her own. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled that night, the day having passed in a slow inch of planning and trying to make sense of the whole, horrible situation. 

Dean spat out his mouthwash, and frowned at Her, sitting cross-legged on their mattress. “‘Bout what?”

“Not telling you about Lucifer.” She frowned at Her hands, rubbing Her wrists. “And making things more complicated.”

Dean let out a long, slow breath. He wasn’t thrilled about the Lucifer shit, but there were other things to worry about. The end of the world. Getting all the rings. How there was an archangel in a box downstairs, because none of them had really wanted Zachariah hearing their conversations.

Her. 

She was curling into Herself, and Dean was worried about Her.

He crossed the room to stand over Her, taking Her face between his hands and saying Her name as soft as he could. The way he’d say a prayer, if that was something he did. The way he’d always said it. The way that told him, yet again, that She was never his.

But She was leaning into Dean’s touch. 

And he didn’t want to let Her go. 

“Hey.” He murmured, and She looked at him under her lashes like some sort of perfectly designed sin. “I’m not pissed at you.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

He didn’t know. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t remember how to be, when Michael had offered Her paradise and she’d still chosen to be here.

“I lied.” She whispered, Her eyes wide and glossy on his. “And I- I’m not human, I’m just like them-“ She grabbed Dean’s wrists, Her words growing frantic. “Dean, I’m just like them-“

“Breathe.” He made his voice firm, commanding, and it wasn’t good for his health how She obeyed in half a second. “You’re not just like them, sweetheart-“

“Michael said I was designed to mirror god-“

“And I’m designed to be Michael’s favorite outfit.” Dean gave Her a pointed look. “You want me to be a meatsuit, Princess?”

“No.” 

“Then that’s it.”

That was it. 

Looking at Her, still clinging to his wrists and staring up at him like he was maybe the only planet in an infinite universe, Dean got what Bobby had meant. 

It was just Her. She didn’t want to be the freaking Bride or whatever, She wouldn’t be. If Dean didn’t get to have Her just because he wanted Her, God didn’t either. Dean had put in close to a decade of fights and conversations and trust and teamwork into just getting Her to kiss him once. She was here because She wanted to, so Dean would fight until his guts were lining the walls of heaven to keep Her here. 

He’d been right. He’d never been worthy of all Her light and life and smile, of the contact high he got just from being where she might smile at him.

But God wasn’t worthy of that either. And until She looked up at the sky and decided She’d rather be in the stars, Dean would care for Her in the warmth of the mud. 

“Can we-” She took a long, slow breath, and Dean’s thumb paused on Her nose. He hadn’t even realized he was doing that. “Go for a drive?”

Goddamnit. He was going to get another boner. “In… the car?”

She gave him a flat look. “No, De, on a horse.”

“You got a secret horse, Princess?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you about it-“

“Thought you trusted me,” Dean gave Her a wide grin, even as he faked a wounded tone. “Safer together, sweetheart-“

“That in no way applies here.” 

“Maybe. But you’re gonna feel real stupid when I die in a horse related emergency.”

“That means it’s an emergency with horses, Dean. Another one would not help.”

Dean laughed—She was back to being his girl, even if She wasn’t Dean’s anything—and helped Her to her feet. “C’mon, we can get a huge tub of ice cream and stick Zachariah in it.”

She sighed, but Dean could see the twitch of Her lips. She felt better. No longer shrinking into Herself, Her fingers laced through Dean’s as he pulled her outside with low whispers and Her pretty giggles carrying on the wind. They ended up at the convince store—armed, because they weren’t idiots—to get snacks, and sat in Baby’s front seat as the night crept on, and Her head landed on Dean’s shoulder.

He cleared his throat when he was about halfway through his bag of jerky, and She turned to him with that pretty, fluttering gaze. He almost forgot how to talk.

“I, uh-“ Dean coughed, and this was important. He had to ask, or it was going to drive him insane for the rest of his life. “What was Heaven like, before you jailbreaked?”

She stared at him for a beat before answering. “Different.”

He raised his brows, and She let out a slow sigh. 

“I- I don’t want to talk about it.” She mumbled. “Please.”

Dean didn’t want to not talk about it. He needed to know if he’d been in Her heaven. If he’d haunted the edge of all Her greatest hits, the same was She’d lined his. Because half of Dean’s heaven had been the better times with Sammy, and his rose-painted memories of his mother, but the other half had been Her. Meeting Her. Hunting with Her, hugging Her, two out of their three kisses—the second one a harsh, bright loop, because She’d kissed him—and a lot of moments like this. Sitting in his car, talking like things weren’t complicated. In a way that, to anyone just passing by the window, would look like two normal people in love. 

And that was exactly why Dean wouldn’t push it. He loved Her. It had been a long enough day as it was, and he didn’t want to end it in a fight.

“Alright.” He held out a gummy worm for Her, and tried not to jump on Her when she ate it out of his hand. “Who made the better case? Lucifer or Michael?”

She gave him an odd look, and Her voice fell to something soft. “Neither.”

“C’mon, sweetheart-“

“I’m serious.” She said, reaching into Dean’s lap for another gummy worm. She was trying to kill him. “They both sort of offered me the same thing. And even if I trusted one of them more than the other, and I fucking don’t, I’m not picking a side.”

Dean hummed. “What’d they offer you?”

She paused, scanning over Dean’s features so carefully, and he really hope She wouldn’t lie. Not because of the lie, but because if She didn’t want him to know what they'd offered Her, it was probably something he’d have to worry about-

“Paradise.” She whispered, and Dean swallowed. That was the truth. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” He sounded like an idiot. She didn’t seem to mind. 

“Promise me you won’t say yes to Michael.”

Dean blinked. “Wha-“

“Please.” She held up Her pinky. “Promise.”

Dean had considered it a few times. When there looked to be no way out. But then Michael had kidnapped his girl and made Her cry. And Dean had made Her cry a lot, but at least he’d been sick with guilt after. Michael probably thought he’d been right to lock Her up. And Dean would never hurt Her on purpose. So he wasn’t going to say yes to anyone who hurt Her. Ever. 

It seemed to mean a lot to Her that he promised, though. And it was an easy promise to make. 

“Okay.” He hooked his pinky through Her’s. “Pinky promise, Princess. Michael’s too tall to get on this ride.”

She let out a soft, breathy giggle, but didn’t let go. “For anything, right? You’ll never let him in?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”

She let out a slow breath, and nodded. It calmed Her down. Dean was helping Her, and right now, that was the most he could do. 

They had work to do—planning and hunting and trying to stop the end of the world—but Dean most just had to help Her.

“I am not saying that.”

Dean glanced at Cas in the blue light of the TV, and found him glaring at a box in his lap. “Cas.”

Cas’ eyes shot up. “Dean.”

“What are you doing.”

“Talking to Zachariah.” Cas sighed, glaring back down at the box. “He was of a higher rank than I was. I was hoping he’d be able to tell me what Michael knows about the Bride of God, but he is being… uncooperative. And vulgar.”

She hummed, tilting Her head against Dean’s chest. She’d been lying there for an hour. He’d been very chill about it. “You can talk to him, in his jar?”

“Angel radio.” Cas muttered. “A one-to-one line.”

“Walkie talkie.” Dean offered, and Cas frowned.

“I do not know what that means.”

“It’s like a one-to-one radio,” Sam called from the table, not looking up from his book. “Dean’s actually right with this one.”

“The fuck you mean this one-“ 

Dean’s snap was cut off with an oof, and She’d shoved him back down onto the couch, giving him a firm glare before turning back to Cas. Dean was mostly just gaping up at Her like a dumbass. He wanted Her to shove him again, then maybe climb onto his lap and kiss him stupid, until he rolled them over and fucked Her into the couch-

“Do you think it’s important for us to worry about that?” Her voice was catious, and Dean let his hand trail up to Her waist. Just to rub small circles, and keep Her steady. “I mean, it’s not like I am God-“

“Yet.” Cas shrugged, and She tensed. “If both Michael and Lucifer want you on their teams, there may be other reasons than Sam and Dean. And if you are the Bride of God, maybe there is some sort of connection. My search has been useless-“

“Cas.” Sam cut in, his words soft. “I don’t think we should use her as just- A way to find God. This isn’t like Dean’s amulet, we need her-“

“And it’s not like God seems all that interested in what’s goin’ on anyway.” Dean grumbled. “He’s fuckin’ God, Cas, he wants us, he can make a house call.”

“No.” Her eyes were locked on to Cas’, and Dean frowned. That was a weird stare. “I- I’m with Cas. It can’t hurt to check.”

Dean sighed, “Fine.” And got a glare from Sam.

“Really, man? You’re just going to switch sides-“

“We lost, Sammy. Deal with it.” Dean looked back to Cas. “We bought ice cream, last week. We can shove him in there until he starts talking.”

Cas shook his head, and it was the only thing that saved Dean from getting hit. “That will not be effective. I do not believe he actually knows anything.”

She frowned. “Then wha- Oh.” Her eyes widened, and Dean sighed. She was going to say something stupid. “I have an idea.”

Dean needed to get better at saying no to Her ideas. They were always designed to try and fucking kill him. A good idea would be something safe and controlled, where the chances of it going wrong were slim and if it did go wrong, Dean could shoot their way out and carry Her to safety. 

This was not that. 

This was insane. 

Raphael. She wanted to use one of Her easy bake magic spells to summon Raphael and interrogate him like it was a freaking job interview. And there were about a million ways that could blow up in their faces, but Dean used all his willpower to say no to Her hunting Pestilence with Cas and Sam. And that had taken a whole argument in the kitchen, that he’d only won because Bobby cut in, called them both dramatic, and told Her that while her magic shit was still haywire, she shouldn’t be playin’ with jumper cables.

And this wasn’t much better. But at least She didn’t have nightmares about Raphael. 

So, small victories.

“It don’t like this,” Dean muttered, frowning at Her on the floor. She was knelt on the grass in the middle of the woods, drawing a sigil in the dirt. “I wanna go back to my ice cream idea-“

“If this doesn’t work, we can do the ice cream idea.” She stood up, wiping Her hands on her jeans. “Did you bring the mushrooms?”

Dean nodded, fumbling in his pockets with a small frown. “I want it down that I think there are other options,” he muttered, passing her the weird, moldy looking fungus he’d been tasked with carrying. “Jumping right in archangel wrestling is insane, Princess-“

“I’m not wrestling him, I’m trapping him.” She ground the mushroom in Her hand. “And I know you hate this, De, but I’d- I don’t want to do it alone-“

Her words ended in a squeak as Dean rolled his eyes, and tugged Her to his side. 

“You’re not doing anything alone,” he wanted to say baby. Her eyes were so bright on his, and She’d chosen to be here.

He couldn’t get away with it.

So he just said Her name, and held her gaze.

“Safe together.” He grunted, and Her throat bobbed. “All the way down.”

She nodded slowly, the tension in Her shoulder loosening. “All the way down. Are you-“

“Light it up.”

Her hand locked into Dean’s, and She looked up to the sky as she said a word that had to be Enochian. Then another word, then–right as She called the last one—the sky split open and she tossed a match onto the forest ground. 

A wildfire didn’t start. Lighting was striking the ground before him, but Dean wasn’t dying. Their hands felt fused together for a split second—skin melting into skin—but then it was over. The blinding light cleared, and there was Raphael. Frowning around the forest, then scowling as his attention landed on Her. 

“Oh.” He let out a long, heavy sigh. “Of course it’s you. And the most frustrating creature on the planet. And Dean Winchester, I thought I promised to make you wish you were never born?”

Dean shrugged, tugging Her a little behind him. “You can try, buddy, but-“

“You’ve got me in holy fire.” Raphael drawled, giving him a flat look. “I am aware. And reinforced holy fire, too. You are smart to keep such insubordinate company.” His eyes landed back on Her. “Smart to bring the whore.”

 “Listen here, you son of a bitch-“

“You want me to find God again?” Raphael cut Dean off with a bored tone. “Or maybe try to reason with Michael, when I have made it very clear I have no interest in doing so? Maybe you’re coming to your senses, and Michael’s blind faith in her,” he jerked his head to Her, and Dean was getting pretty fucking sick of how Raphael looked at Her like she was meat. “Isn’t misplaced?”

“We just want to talk,” She said, Her voice in a strange sort of song with the holy fire. “I- I have-“ She pulled Zachariah out of their bag, and Raphael’s eyes narrowed. 

“You expect me to care about Zachariah? You brought him as leverage? The most irritating angel I have ever met, including your little pet rebel?”

Dean scowled. “Cas isn’t our pet, dipshit-“

“Ah.” Raphael cut him off with a smirk. “Not your pet. I mean. Maybe your pet. But I was talking about her.” He looked back to Her, and her breathing sounded too shallow. “The Bride. The little girl, running around with angels in her pockets and gallivanting with humans, when she could bring paradise all on her own. Michael doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows.”

“Knows?” She whispered, and Raphael’s grin grew. 

“What you could be, if you weren’t you. He can see it. I can see it. But he will not accept that our father is dead-“

“He isn’t.”

Dean froze at Her soft words, and Raphael frowned. 

“What.”

“God,” She said, taking a slow step forward. “He isn’t dead.”

Raphael flinches slightly, but scoffed all the same. “You don’t know what you speak of, girl. You are still in infancy, and I have seen false prophets before-“

“But I’m not a false prophet.” She whispered, and Raphael froze. She was releasing Dean’s hand, passing him Zachariah, and walking forward. “You know that.”

“Do not tell me what I know-“

“But you do know.” She tilted Her head, and Dean could swear all the colors on the forest were getting saturated. That Her skin was starting to glow from more than the fire. “Just like you know that if you do touch Cas or Dean, I’ll hurt you.”

That was fear on Raphael’s face. Real damn fear. And Dean understood it. 

She’d stepped over the holy fire, and it had done nothing but dance along Her skin. Dean had a feeling if She turned back to look at him, Her pupils would be a brilliant silver. 

“Nobody would ever hurt again,” Raphael said, taking a step back as She walked forward, the Blade spinning in Her hands. “That father of yours would walk, Castiel’s grace would be returned, that girl, on your fingers, we’d bring her back as well, and- I know what Michael promised you-“

“I don’t care what Michael promised me.” She hissed, and Raphael seemed backed right to the edge of the circle. “And I think I can give Castiel his grace back myself. Just as I can resurrect, and heal. I don’t think I need you.”

Raphael’s eyes darted back to Dean, then narrowed. “You don’t understand what you can do. And we have a backup, while you will not get the liberty of a second choice-“

“I don’t need one.” She shrugged, stopped barely a foot front Raphael, all the wind seeming to swirl around Her. “Tell Michael that I’m out. And if he tries to touch my d- family, we’ll find out exactly what does make God come back.”

Raphael opened mouth, and Her hand pressed over it. 

Then there was a second where Dean couldn’t see anything but Her. Like a lighthouse in a storm, telling him to follow Her and dodge the swirling chaos of the lightning and thunder. It hadn’t been raining a minute ago. 

But when his vision cleared, it was pouring. The water pressing the holy fire into smoke, Raphael had vanished and She was passed out in the mud. 

Dean skid to his knees at Her side, pulling her limp body fully into his lap. She was infuriating, and if Her cheeks weren’t flushed, and if Dean couldn’t feel the heat of a fever, radiating from Her skin, he’d shout at Her for trying to give him a heart attack. He’d known this was a bad idea, and now he had to carry Her back to the car, through a whole ass forest-

The forest.

It was blooming. 

Leaves larger than Dean had ever seen, and flowers with petals that he could swear were sucking up light like a void, then spitting it back out into the air. The grass seemed to be singing, and there were oddly twisted branches spreading over their heads as Dean carried Her, as if they were trying to shield them from the storm. Strange, iridescent apples hung over their heads, and whenever Dean glanced over to the side, he could swear he saw a flash of fur or feathers, just out of sight. 

Not attacking. 

Guarding. 

Guarding Her. All the way to the edge of the tree line, when Dean stepped on concrete, and the rain seemed to triple in force. Dean half ran to the Impala, tucking Her into the seat first and pressing a kiss to Her brow before standing back upright. She was going to drive him insane. 

He never really wanted Her any other way. 

And he stared at Zachariah, in his stupid little jar, as he waited for the rain to lighten up. Baby could make it through the storm, but Dean didn’t want to risk the roads. Not when She was in this state, and seemed alright with just the heat of the car one, and Her body curled into Dean’s. He’d changed Her into the dry clothing he kept on the trunk, but kept his eyes off the goods. 

This—Her in his arms, his hand tangled at the base of Her wet hair, and Her breath on Dean’s arm—could be enough. Dean loved Her, even when She pulled crazy shit like this, so it was enough. 

He wasn’t going to say yes to Michael. And if that hadn’t made it clear enough to the feathered douchebags, he hoped this would.

Dean grabbed the angel blade Cas had given him a few months ago, kissed the top of Her head and stepped out into the storm. The sky lit up, and another clap of thunder rolled over through the air. If they wanted Dean, they could hit him. 

But they didn’t. 

So Dean slammed the jar down on the ground and drove the angel blade right into Zachariah’s ugly mug. He looked like a tiny, strange beast, reduced so small and pathetic it didn’t even make his eyes hurt to look at. And it flickered like a candle as the rain pelted down—cold and hard, like small bullets against his skull—but Dean didn’t move. Not until the light went out, and Dean got to slam his boot down, until Zachariah was nothing more than a shit-colored stain on the pavement. 

The whole experiment had failed. But he’d still killed Zachariah. And when Dean finally got to drive Her home, he got to have Her cling to his chest. Got to carry Her inside, and bring Her right to bed. Their bed. 

At least Sammy and Cas had some better luck. 

“It’s just Death, now.” Sam said, frowning at the three rings on the table. “I think we have a little time, though. He seemed surprised to see us.”

“Their plan wasn’t completed.” Cas muttered. “He and Lucifer have been working on infecting humans with the Croatoan virus-“

Dean cut in with a frown. “Like when Zachariah sent me to the future?”

“Zachariah sent you to the future?” She gaped at Dean—wrapped in a fuzzy blanket he’d forced around her shoulders—and he sighed.

“Sorry, Princess, thought I told you-“

“No, you didn’t-“

“Dean got sent to 2014.” Cas said, and Dean was going to have to get him a gift for taking that bullet. “Croatoan had wiped out much of humanity, by causing them to kill each other, and Lucifer had won. Without Pestilence on the front lines that outcome may be delayed, but demons are not idiots. They will be able to finish what Pestilence started.”

“Great.” Dean ran a hand over his face, and the rings were fucking taunting him on the table. Unable to open the door with only three, unable to just grab Lucifer when the door did open. “So we got a game plan to stop the murder plague?”

Cas shrugged. “Imprison Lucifer.”

“By what, asking him nicely?” 

“I- I have an idea.” Sam cleared his throat, and when Dean looked to him, he seemed almost guilty. Dean didn’t trust it. “I can’t think of anything better, and it’s- it feels fair.”

“Fair?” She was frowning, and Sam gave her an almost apologetic smile.

“I’ll let Lucifer in. Then jump into the cage before he can take over my body.”

There was a high ringing in Dean’s ears again. He needed to have a serious conversation with the people he loved about trying to kill him with stupid fucking ideas. “No.”

“Dean, I don’t like it either-“

“I don’t just not like it, Sammy.” Dean narrowed his eyes. “It’s fucking insane. Batshit. What if Lucifer gets the jump on you first? What if you can’t hit eject, and now you’re stuck in the cage-“

“He will be stuck in the cage.” Cas muttered, glancing to Her. “There is no external eject button.”

The color drained slightly from Her face. “What happens if Michael and Lucifer don’t get their vessels. Are they weaker?”

“Yes.” Cas sighed. “But we already know Michael has a backup plan. And I doubt Lucifer will want to fight in his current vessel, but he doesn’t need to. If he waits Michael out, he wins.”

“So we won’t wait him out, he’ll take me and then we can trap him-“

“Sam.” Dean snapped. “We’re not fucking doing that, so stop suggesting it-“

“But-“ Sam looked to Her, and said Her name in pleading tone. “Please, it’s the only way-“

She shook He head. “I- I don’t know. It’s a big risk to take, if we don’t know it will work-“

“It will work-“

“But Dean’s right.” She’d drawn Her knees up to her chest, rubbing at her wrists as she spoke. She was distressed. “What if it doesn’t work, Sam. Then you’re stuck with Lucifer and no way out, and Dean- The future you saw-“

“Lucifer had Sam.” He muttered. “Zachariah sent me there to show me what would happen if I didn’t say yes.”

“Where is Zachariah-“

“I smashed him.” Dean grunted, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “Don’t try to change what we’re talking about, Sammy, you’re not letting Lucifer ride you like a prize pony, and that’s it.”

“But-“

“No but. I said no to Michael, you say no to Lucifer, that’s how this fucking works-“

“They’re just going to try and take Adam-“

“Then we’ll keep him here. And if you don’t stop talking crazy-“

“I could do it, Dean.” Sam stared at the floor, his voice quieter than Dean had heard it in a long time. “I know you don’t want me going to hell, but you did the same for me-“

“That’s-“

“And I started this.” Sam looked up to Her. “I want to finish it. Please.”

She swallowed, Her eyes darting to Dean’s, then Cas’. And they lingered on Cas. Like they were having a silent conversation Dean didn’t get to be a part of, and he wasn’t sure what the hell they were up to, but he didn’t like it. 

“There has to be another way, Sam.” She whispered, and Sam’s face fell. “I don’t think you should do it.”

Sam sighed, and looked back to the rings. “Just- can you think about it? Until we get the Death ring?”

She took a stuttering breath, and nodded. “Fine. I, um- I’m having trouble with the tracking spell, but I’ll get it soon. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Dean didn’t think there was shit to talk about. He wasn’t going to let Sammy just jump into Hell, when there had to be another way. She could kill Lucifer. Death could kill Lucifer. Fuck, Cas could kill Lucifer if She gave him another dose of steroids, like Heaven. They’d figure out another way. 

They just had to find Death first. 

She’d been staying up all night again. They’d watch TV on the couch, Cas frowning at it like it was something to study, Sam pouring over a book at the table, and Her at Dean’s side on the couch, scribbling down notes so fast Dean wasn’t sure how Her hands weren’t getting tired. Bobby would grumble that he was going to bed, Adam would drift in and out of the room like he wasn’t sure where he was allowed to be, and She’d just keep writing. Dean would have to pull Her to her feet, when it hit one in the morning and she wasn’t showing any sign of stopping. Then She’d just sit on the bed, Dean’s head pressed near Her thigh as he tried to sleep, and wouldn’t lie down until Dean pried the pencil from Her hands and tugged the covers over Her body. 

He was worried about Her. She was acting like this started and ended with Her, when she was refusing to choose a side. She and Cas kept fucking whispering, and She’d been looking at a lot of books on angels, and Dean knew Her.

Knew when She was planning something fucking stupid. 

“You’re not gonna use your, y’know.” Dean leaned down to whisper in Her ear, after almost a week of no progress on finding Death. “Thingy.”

She blinked up at him in the dark, and She was always so fucking beautiful. “My thingy?”

“Yeah. Your zap,” He poked Her side, and tried not to grin at Her high squeak. “The magic.”

She whacked his chest, before settling right back into his side and shaking Her head, twisting the skin of Her finger. “No. I’m not.”

Lie. 

That was a fucking lie. And Dean didn’t know how to call Her on it, but he needed to figure it out. How to tell Her that, whatever She was up to, it was probably as insane as Sam’s plan. Maybe more insane. And She couldn’t just pull something without at least warning Dean, because Sam was still pushing the let Lucifer in plan, and if he lost either one of them, Dean was going to go insane. 

But they weren’t making any progress. Cas said they had time, but it couldn’t be that much. They’d gone over Sam and Cas’ fight with Pestilence—he’d tried to make them sick, had whined about humans, and Cas had cut his finger off, nothing special—about a million times in the hope it would give them ideas about Death, or a bigger picture of Lucifer’s plan, but it hadn’t. And they were stuck right where they’d started. Holed up in Bobby’s cabin with only a few small cases, trying to figure out how to stop the end of the freaking world and keeping Adam away from Michael.

“Can you shoot an archangel?” Adam asked, and Dean shook his head, reloading his shotgun.

“Not in a way that’s gonna do anything.” He muttered. “But you can piss them off, if you want.”

Adam nodded, glancing down to his own gun. “So there are no protections?”

“Not for you and me, other than telling the douchebags to take a hike.” 

“How come they’re not, like- Burning down the house, then? If they’re that desperate for us.”

Dean grunted Her name, and something to the right of his heart whined. She was in the freaking library with Cas. She was fine. “Told you, she’s warded the whole property. Nothing’s getting in that she doesn’t open the door for.”

“Oh.” Dean glanced over, and Adam was blushing. “She’s cool.”

“Yeah, she is.” He jerked his head to the lined-up beer bottles. “Shoot.”

He didn’t want to talk about how cool She was with Adam. Not when the poor kid had been making heart eyes at Her all week, and Dean had been trying to figure out if now was a bad time to try kissing Her again, every single waking moment. It probably was. Any time right before the end of the world was, She was still processing the Bride of God thing, and Raphael hadn’t been helpful in telling them about her destiny at all. All they knew was that She didn’t seem to have a 100% approval rating with archangels, she could be more, and God was alive. 

Dean hadn’t loved how certainly She’d said that. He needed to figure out how to ask Her about that, too. As well as what the hell She was planning, and how to talk her out of it without caving, and—if She got the choice, and God returned—She wouldn’t just want to not marry God, but maybe stay with Dean-

“How did you guys meet her?” Adam cut through Dean’s thoughts, and none of the bottles had been shot. 

“Case we worked in 2000. Then we just kept running into each other, and now we’re here.”

Adam frowned. “But isn’t she Bobby’s daughter-“

“Adopted.” Dean muttered. “It’s complicated. The bottles-“

“And she’s, uh- Just your friend-“

“Adam.” Dean snapped. “Shoot the fuckin’ bottles.”

Adam swallowed, and obeyed. He was an alright shot, but getting better by the day. He had asked if She could teach him how to shoot, instead of Dean, but She’d just shaken Her head and mumbled that she didn’t use a gun.

And Adam had a crush. Which was fine. It was a weird, intense crush that didn’t seem to let Adam notice how She was always next to Dean, but it was just a crush. Dean couldn’t be pissed about a crush. Not on Her. She was beautiful and smart and funny, and sweet in strange, small ways that he’d never really understand. Even when She was up until three in the morning—writing and reading in bed, swatting Dean’s hand away whenever he tried to get Her to sleep—She kept quiet so he could rest. And when Dean would roll around with a grunt, Her fingers would tangle into his hair, and he’d feel like a dog again. She kept getting all his favorite foods when She and Sam did their grocery runs. She always sat with him while he worked on Baby and the Firebird.

“You never named him, y’know-“

“I did, actually.” She was sat on the hood of Baby, parked across from the Firebird as Dean ran his maintenance. “I just haven’t told you yet.”

Dean raised his brows. “You gonna tell me, sweetheart?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.”

“Pretty shit surprise-“

“That’s what you think.”

Dean snorted. “That is what I think. And you gotta tell me, Princess, it’s not fair to just tease like that.”

“I think I’ll tell you whenever I want.” She shrugged, leaning forward with a bright, pretty smile. “But you’ll like it.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, you will.” She glanced to Dean’s grease-stained hands. “Do you want gloves, De? It’s cold-“

He shook his head. “I’m fine. But if you gotta go inside-“

“I’m good here.” She said it like it was the plain, simple truth. She was good here. With Dean. 

So he wouldn’t let Her down. And She was awesome, all the time, so Dean would claw himself apart to be worthy of that. He couldn’t be God, but he could buy Her all the root beers in the world, and make Her breakfast, and sit with Her while she did Her research. Soothing Her when she had nightmare. Pretending that the walls weren’t closing in on all of them, as they got closer to finding Death, and didn’t have a plan to get Lucifer in the cage. 

“I can’t get it.” She glared at all Her notes on the kitchen table, shaking Her head. “Dean, I- I can’t get it-“

“Hey.” He grabbed Her hand, and She looked to him with big, glossy eyes. “You’ll get it. You need to go for a drive?”

She nodded weakly. “Or- Maybe a walk-“

“I could go for a walk.” Adam jumped in, his eyes shooting up from the lore book in his lap. She and Sam had been helping him catch up on everything, and he was taking well to it, but son of a bitch, Dean didn’t want Her to go on a walk with him. Not because of insane reason like jealousy, but the kid didn’t know how to take care of Her. How to defend Her if angels started raining down from the sky. If She started having a freak out, She’d need Dean-

“Okay.” She gave Adam a small smile, squeezing Dean’s hand three times as She stood up. “Let’s go.”

Dean gave Adam a small nod as they passed him, and he had to be fine with it. He had no real reason not to be. She’d be fine, Adam would be fine, and it wasn’t like they were storming a vamp nest. She was just being kind, and letting Adam go for a walk with Her. Probably just around the yard. Dean wouldn’t lose more family by letting that happen. 

And Sam kept pushing the Lucifer idea, in the car and the morning and every damn second of peace Dean tried to get. Bobby had put them on ingredient gathering for Her spell—Sam and Dean found them, Cas ran the errand—and Sam wouldn’t stop bringing it up. All while Adam was still trying hit on Her, and Dean had to herd Her away for the ingredient work.

She was already doing everything. She didn’t need to do more. Dean couldn’t take Her hurting herself while Sammy was trying to fucking die. She—by some miracle—gave it up. And Cas was able to sweep up all Her ingredients in a night, so the moment She got it, they’d be set. Then a whole new issue would arise, but that was a problem for after. 

She and Cas had been whispering. A lot. Sam and Dean left for two days, doing demon hunt a town over, and when they came back Adam was reading a book in the living room, Bobby was cleaning his guns, and She and Cas were talking in low voices in the kitchen. Sam shot Dean a worried look, and Dean sighed. He didn’t know what the hell to do about that. They were probably just talking about the Death spell. 

Probably. 

Son of a bitch, Dean hoped they were just talking about the Death spell.

Maybe Cas was helping with it, and they’d get this over with sooner, and She’d start sleeping properly again. Dean could see the bags getting heavier under Her eyes. She’d been eating less again, and all Her sleep had been nightmares he had to hold Her through—or, over the past nights, talk Her down from over the phone—and it was splitting him in half. She was going outside less, as well. Just a few walks with Adam, because the kid kept asking Her, and midnight drives with Dean. Every other moment had been research, teaching Adam about the lore, and whispering with Cas. 

Dean said Her name, and She looked up at him with a wide, blinding smile. She looked exhausted. “Hey, Princess.”

“Hi,” Her smile didn’t waver as She glanced to Sam. “You guys-“

“One piece.” Dean dropped in the chair at Her side, and he might have gotten away with carrying Her out of the room for research, but carrying Her to bed with it was barely dusk was going to get him stabbed. “You eat yet, sweetheart?”

“She had yogurt.” Cas said, and Dean frowned.

“You make her eat the yogurt, dude?”

“Don’t answer that.” She gave Cas a firm look, and his mouth snapped shut, but Dean understood what that meant.

“Goddamnit,” he said Her name with glare, and She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad.”

Sam snorted, and Dean shot him a glare. 

“Shut your face, Sammy-“

“I didn’t say anything, dude.” Sam raised his hands, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I was just going to ask what they did while we were gone-“

“Death spell.” Cas said, and Dean narrowed his eyes. Cas had said that too damn fast. And Dean opened his mouth to push it, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Good,” Bobby grunted, wheeling into the kitchen. “You four travel like gazelle, you know that?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“I find one of ya idjits, the other three ain’t gonna be far behind.” Bobby stopped at the head of the table, giving Her a firm look as he said Her name. “No knives at the dinner table.”

She frowned. “But-“

“No but. We’re eatin’ dinner now, together.”

Cas cleared his throat. “I don’t need to eat-“

“Then you can shove it down your throat and play pretend like it matters. I’m a cripple, Cas, let me have one dinner where none of us are tryin’ to run away.”

They all exchanged quick looks—Dean liked the idea, liked the thought of getting to sit with Her for a family dinner, even if it was forced, and everyone seeing his hand in Her’s or his arms around Her chair or something—and didn’t fight it. They didn’t know how many more times they’d get a chance to sit there, with the end of the world. With Cas still on the angel blacklist, Sam gunning to jump in the cage, and Her whole Bride of God thing. 

None of them had been talking about that. 

They didn’t know how. And God wasn’t going to just swoop down and take Her, so it couldn’t be the focus right now. 

Dean really hoped God wouldn’t swoop down and take Her. 

But it was a thought stuck to the back of his brain, now. All the time. He could defend Her from demons and monsters, and he’d bleed to keep Her from God, but if they guy just appeared and grabbed Her, Dean didn’t know what kind of line he’d be able to hold. Same as if Sammy decided to say yes to Lucifer, without any heads up, Dean wouldn’t be able top stop it. Then he’d lose both of them. And he couldn’t fully enjoy the mock family dinner, because all he could think about was how he didn’t know how this ended. 

It felt like they were building up to a high, horrible drop. Like the rollercoaster he’d taken Sammy on when they were kids, hovering right at the edge of a fall they couldn’t even see with no way out but down. Sam was right. Dean didn’t have a better idea to get Lucifer in the cage. And even if that worked, and they stopped the whole apocalypse train from leaving the station, he’d have lost Sam. His one job was keeping Sam safe. Keeping his family together, and fucking safe.

They were all safe and together now. Adam was still a little stiff—as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here—but he was still making conversation, telling stories about high school and asking them all—mostly Her—nervous questions about their own lives. Cas was answering all Her questions about history, and Sam and Bobby had started to jump in with their own. She and Sammy were nerding out about some science museum that Dean had taken Sammy to as a kid, and she’d visited when She was sixteen and hunting alone. Bobby rolled his eyes and grumbled about her illegally driving, and she just hummed who taught me how to drive, old man. 

Dean wanted to enjoy it. To not feel like he was holding something that was about to break. But there was a sort feeling in his gut, and that deep, cold fear creeping back over his bones. 

And he couldn’t sleep that night. All the was running through his head was a bunch of goddamn what ifs.

What if he let Sam jump, and lost him. What if, after he lost Sam, God swooped down and tore Her from Dean’s arm. What if the world ended, and God took Her anyway. What if God was always going to take Her. And this wasn’t like the vessel deal, where they could say no.

What if, one day, Dean woke up and She was just fucking gone.

So he couldn’t sleep. She’d passed out, but Dean had never felt more wired. He just watched Her, slumped against his body and molded so perfectly against him, and tried to reason how God could ever hold Her better than this. She fit too damn well with Dean. It didn’t matter how God had made Her, Dean got Her. Even when he didn’t understand Her, Dean got Her. He was Her shadow. He loved Her. If he could, he would have made the world for Her too, but he wouldn’t have made it like God. He would’ve made it without pain.

And he wished he could take all Her pain. Instead of just running and hiding like a fucking pussy, making Her deal with it herself.

But he couldn’t.

So when She started to mumble, and the little wrinkle formed on Her brow, Dean cradled Her in his arms. He wasn’t God.

He’d never leave Her to hurt alone. 

She tried to claw out of his arms. Pushed at his chest as a small, distressed noise left Her throat, and the world started go a little brighter without a single light on in the room. But Dean just held Her. Not tighter—he didn’t want to hurt Her, or make Her more frantic—but firmly. And when Her eyes shot open with a choked scream, silver seeming to fade quick from Her pupils as She writhed and scratched at his chest, Dean didn’t move. He just caught Her hand and squeezed it three times, because nothing was okay, but She was safe. They’d spent the time after dinner tracking omen after omen, and the end of the world drew closer with every breath, but right now, She going to be okay.

“I’ve got you, Princess.” He moved Her carefully into his lap, and She melted quick.

Broken sobs shook Her body as she wrapped around Dean, and he tried not think about how this was going to work into his own nightmares.

Something would claw Her out of his hold, She’d vanish up into the sky, and the only proof Dean would have that She ever existed at was an empty room, and pile of notebooks he couldn’t read. He’d have to tell Bobby. Tell Sammy, if he was still with them. Then either keep sleeping in Her room, or find a new one and move on, but he’d never be able to move on. He loved her, and She didn’t want to leave him, but what if God showed Her paradise and she did chose to leave him-

“Dean?” She whispered, Her words muffled in his shirt. “Am I- Did I hurt-“

“I’m fine,” he murmured. She wasn’t allowed to think She could hurt him. Ever. “You’re okay. Just a nightmare.”

She hummed, Her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah.”

“Oh- Okay.” There was a beat of silence, then- “I don’t want to go.”

Dean frowned down at Her. “Go where?”

“Back.” Her gaze titled up to meet his, and Her eyes were so soft and bright and sad. Glossed with tears and wide in the dark, and Dean sort of felt like he was drowning. “To Heaven. I- I don’t want to be one of them, Dean, I don’t want to go-“

“Hey.” He cupped Her face, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re not going anywhere, Princess-“

“But what if he comes.” 

She’d been thinking about it too. And it didn’t make Dean feel better. It only made the cold dread drop right into that dark pit, splitting it wider and wider open. It would slice him in two, if She left. If the dread kept growing, and then he lost Her. 

“He’s going to come, De.” She whispered, planting Her hands on his chest as she sat up. “He- He watches me. I’ve always felt him watching me- And I don’t wanna go-“

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Dean wrapped himself a little tighter around Her. “He, uh- He watching right now?”

She shook Her head. “The windows are closed.”

The windows. And the curtains in every motel, for years. And She didn’t like going outside, and son of a bitch-

“He’s in the sky.” She dropped Her face down to Dean’s neck, and his hand shot up to tangle in Her hair. “He- He doesn’t come inside, and I don’t know why, but- He’s angry with me. I can feel it, and- He wants me to leave but I don’t want to-“

“Princess-“

“I don’t want to leave you, Dean.” She mumbled, and he froze. “I- I never want to leave you, but he- He keeps- I don’t want to leave-“

“So you’re not gonna. We’ll keep you safe-“

“It’s not up to you.” Her voice was so soft, and the dread grew. “He’s just waiting. And watching. But it’s- I don’t think I get to choose, and when he- When- I don’t want to go, De.” She held him a little tighter. “I don’t wanna go.”

Dean felt like his heart was trying to strain out of his chest. He was goddamn useless. He was supposed to protect Her, to make sure nothing hurt Her, but she said it wasn’t up to him. Or Her. 

He should’ve pushed Raphael for more answers. For what the Hell this meant, and how it all lined up. If it was something Dean could kill, or She just needed to be defended. If it was like a demon deal She didn’t choose to make, or a trade they could barter for. Dean could go in Her place, if God was just looking for a human. They could get God a freakin’ dog, if this was about companionship. Or one of those sex dolls, if that was about that-

He felt sort of sick.

Just thinking about Her with anyone had always made something to the left of his heart sour and foul. Thinking of God doing that, when She was crying in his arms-

Not now. She needed Dean here, holding Her. He’d deal with that later. 

Her breathing had steadied, but She wasn’t falling back asleep. She was just tracing patterns on Dean’s forearm in the dark, and he just watched Her in his arms. When She wanted to talk, she would, and he-

“Dean.” She angled Her face to his, Her eyes wide, and he frowned. “I think I’ve got it.”

 “Got-“

“Death.”

Dean blinked, and he wasn’t fast enough to pull Her back to bed, when She crawled out of his arms. This was something that could wait for morning, when they could make a game plan, and She hadn’t just been sobbing ten minutes ago.

“Princess-“

“It’ll take a few hours to finish.” She was cross-legged on the floor, all the ingredients spread out around Her as she worked. “Can you-“ She swallowed. “Please sit with me?”

Dean sighed, and nodded. It was the least he could do, because he couldn’t do much. And he fucking hated it. The itch over his skin of just sitting there as She mixed everything together and started talking in Enochian, before grabbing Her blade and passing it to Dean. She held Her palm open to him, a silent request on Her face, and the dread was starting to fester.

He muttered Her name, and She shook Her head.

“I raised him.” She whispered. “It will work. And the cut needs to go right over the scar, but I don’t think I can get the angle. Please.”

Dean swallowed down some bile, and gave a short nod. He had to. She’d asked him to. 

He still had never felt like such a horrid fucking lowlife as when he sliced Her hand open, and She made a small sound of pain.

“I’m-“

“It’s okay.” She drew Her hand back, and let the blood fall over the fancy bone of an extinct animal Cas had found. “It’ll take a few hours, then it should be like- sort of a compass. Can you-“

Dean nodded, and ran to grab the stitch kit. She didn’t fight it, when he helped Her to sit on the edge of the mattress, and dabbed the rubbing alcohol on Her hand. “Not deep enough for stitches.” He muttered, and She hummed. 

He glanced up, and found Her watching him. Shiny hair falling over Her face and blinding eyes, something gentle in Her face that was rare to see. The was the same position he’d kissed Her in, this first time. 

He wanted to kiss Her now. To show Her, best he could, that he didn’t want to leave Her either.

And he didn’t know how to say it right.

He’d fuck it up.

He’d make it sound like he had a claim to Her instead of God, or She owed him to stay after everything they’d been through. Like Paradise wasn’t something She was worthy of, when he didn’t know anyone who deserved it more. He’d been barely better than a demon in hell, and She’d been made for fucking Heaven, but She was still here with him.

But Dean was good at doing things.

And She was so close, and She smelled so good, and Her breath was hitched and lips parted and-

Fuck it. 

He tugged Her carefully down, winding his fingers between Her’s and starting soft. Just a light press of their lips together, telling Her that he was here. Even when it hurt, Dean was here. 

She let out the sweetest little gasp, Her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck, then kissed him back. 

She was kissing him back.

Her lips were soft and already a little swollen from chewing and crying, but goddamnit, they fit perfectly against Dean’s. And the kiss was a slow and unhurried, letting Dean taste every bit of salt and fruit on Her lips and his hands to wander. Skimming right under Her shirt and savoring Her small shiver. How She angled Her head back to try and carefully push his tongue between Her lips. 

She opened for him in a second, then moaned. Right down his fucking throat, with Her fingers tugging at his hair when he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and pulled Her into his lap, without ever breaking the kiss. Dean was getting dizzy from the high of Her skin—soft and warm and so goddamn responsive, it was going to drive him insane—and body pressed right to his, and She’d started to squirm, and-

They broke apart with ragged breaths, their brows pressed together, and She let out a high, breathy giggle.

“Good?” He rasped, because he had to check, and She nodded.

“Good, De. I…“ Her lips ghosted over his as She trailed off, her eyes fluttering in that way that make his cock twitch.

She squeezed his hand three times, and Dean dragged Her wounded hand up to kiss Her knuckles, and neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. Now wasn’t the time to have the Conversation, either. 

So She curled into his side, Dean kissed the top of Her head. He watched the bone on the floor as the night crept on, and drool began to fall from Her lips. He shifted Her to lay down on the bed, moving the hair from Her face, and let out a long, slow sigh. 

He was never going to be worthy of Her. Born in the mud, likely going to die in the mud, too. Dean was selfish. He knew he was selfish. The angels and demons had spent years warning them to stop letting Her fight, the Horsemen had said this wasn’t Her fight, but he’d dragged Her into it because he’d never wanted to lose Her. And now he was going to lose Her no matter what. She was going to do all the work to save their asses, and Sammy was going to try and take a bullet he didn’t deserve, and Dean was going to do jack fucking shit. 

Dad had been right. He was just a weapon, and he wasn’t even an effective one. All that skill and talent to hurt the people he hated and protect the ones he loved, and She was in pain, and he was on the edge of losing Sam. He was nothing. 

But he still loved Her. And She might be designed for people to love and want Her, but Dean loved Her best. He knew Her. He’d do anything for Her. 

Including, when the bone started to glow, one end turning black and spinning on the ground to angle East, something that was going to get him yelled at. But he was sick of just sitting here. Of making Her do everything, when this wasn’t Her fight. And it was like Pestilence. Dean knew She had nightmares about Death. He was just keeping Her from having more.

And She was going to kill him. Bobby was going to kill. Hell, Cas was going to kill him. 

But he was doing it anyway.

He had to.

The bone stayed on Baby’s dash for the entirety of the drive. Dean’s phone started lighting up in Iowa, but he didn’t look at the messages. Sammy might trace the call with all his nerd shit, and send Cas to come grab him. And if it was Her, She’d yell at him for doing the exact thing he always got pissed at Her for doing. But it was different. Dean had a solid plan of get the ring, even if he had to make another deal, and She had other ways to help. Dean was keeping them all out of the line of fire. It was Death, they didn’t know what the hell he was capable of, and every time She’d faced off with a horseman She’d come out sobbing and clinging to Dean in the dark.

The calls died down when he got to Illinois, the sun long over his head. He’d apologize. He’d come back with the ring, and let Bobby and Sam shout at him, let Cas glare and say low words of disappointment, and let Her shove him and scream until she decided She was done. But Dean was keeping Her from more pain.

He’d rather have Her furious with him than not have Her at all. 

And the bone kept spinning, guiding him to Death, and Dean kept coming up with ways they be pissed, and ways he’d apologize. He’d be fine. His whole life had been jumping in front of bullets, then letting blows land on him for daring to protect the people he loved.

If the bullet was Death, he’d see if it stuck this time. And if it didn’t, he’d go back and pray they still wanted him around.

The bone wasn’t turning anymore. It was spinning around and around as Dean circled a block in Chicago, and it was angled towards a Church.

Dean knew this church.

He’d been dreaming about it lately.

A lot.

And the rain was coming down right so hard he was soaked the second he stepped out of the car, but it didn’t matter.

The second he stepped through the doors, he was dry as a bone. 

This had been a horrible idea. One of his worst. He should have brought Her—She’d raised Death, for Christ’s sake—or at least a bigger gun. His steps were echoing of the walls, his seeming to be the only living soul in the whole building.

But not the only person. 

Because sat in the very front row, the was a man. Thin, pale, weedy black hair. And Dean froze in the aisle, but it didn’t matter anyway.  

“Dean Winchester.” The man’s voice was cool. Measured. Dean didn’t think he was made of anything but the dread anymore. “You’re early. I appreciate that.”

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat. Chicago was such a stupid place to die. “You haven’t killed me.”

“I admire your bravery.” Death shrugged. “You are less than a bit of dust, floating in the air, but you are a very brave and stupid piece of dust. And I would call you inconsequential, but for a piece of dust, you are quite important. By association, of course.”

“Because I’m Michael vessel?”

Death let out a dry laugh. “No. That is like calling the shoelaces of a toddler important. He will get other shoelaces. If fact, he may have already.”

Dean swallowed, and took a slow step forward. He really was a dumb piece of dust. “Then what?”

“Hm. I’d prefer you sit first, before we talk.”

“But-“

Death turned, and his face was sunken. Bored. Almost skeletal, his eyes locked onto Dean’s. “Sit.”

Dean nodded, and half scrambled down the rest of the aisle, before dropping on the pew at Death’s side. It was really fucking weird. Death turned back to the dais with a small nod and sigh, and Dean just waited. This didn’t feel like an icebreaker situation. 

“I supposed you’re here about the ring.”

“Uh,” Dean felt sort of light-headed. Maybe Death was just getting him slowly. “Yes.”

“I am willing to give it to you.”

He blinked. “What?”

Death sighed. “I will give you my ring. That is one of the reasons you are not dead. You are a piece of dust that can swirl up quite the hurricane, if I direct you on the right wind.”

“Can we, uh- Drop the dust thing-“

“No.” Death turned to him with another, painfully blank expression. “Lucifer has me in a bind, I would like the ropes cut free. By putting him back in the cage, you will be doing me a favor, and I will let you continue to breathe until your time comes to a bloody, natural end.”

“Putting him back?”

“Letting Sam go on with his little plan. Not doing anything selfish to stop it.”

Dean opened his mouth, and Death shook his head. 

“People will die, if he does not. It is that simple.”

“But-“

“There is no but. I give you the ring, Sam goes in the pit. If you find another way, you may explore it, but not at the cost of the war lost. Understood?”

Dean nodded, glancing down the ring on Death’s finger. “There are other ways, though? That might work.”

“Not for you, Dean.” Death sighed. “As I explained, you are less than dust.”

“You said I was important.” Dean pushed back, because he could never shut the fuck up. “By association.”

Death gave him another bored look, and said Her name. Dean’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t sworn that outside, thunder clapped. 

“I don’t-“

“You are of quite some significance to her.” Death said carefully. “More than I think you can understand. Killing you would be… a poor decision.”

“You- you know about her-“

“Of course I know about her. I was there when God decided he wanted her. She will likely be there when I reap him.”

“Reap God?”

“One day, yes.”

Dean felt sick, as he whispered Her name. “Does she- One day-“

Death tilted his head. “I am not sure. But you have yet to answer my question. Will you take the ring, and do whatever it takes.”

“You said there was another way-“

“Not for you. Just as there will never be another way for you to keep your princess. Not with a gun, or a bargain. She is the Bride of God, among other things. It is not something she will be. Not something that can be replaced, or worked around.” Death gave him an almost pitying look. “I like her, Dean. If I am being honest, I would happily spend eternity with her. And I do not think he deserves her, but I did warn him. Now, the ring?”

Dean felt like he was drifting. He took the ring with a weak smile and nod, and he made a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, but he didn’t feel it. Death vanished, leaving Dean alone in the church, but he didn’t move for a long, weighted moment. 

No other ways. There were no other ways. 

Not to save Sammy. 

Not to keep Her. 

He checked his phone, before he started the drive back. It was a lot of missed calls from everyone, and a bunch of messages he didn’t bother to read. They’d tell him all that to his face when he got back. The only important one—not worrying about him or telling him to get back now—was at the top anyway.

Sam

Adam’s missing. Get back now.

New shoelaces. Backup plan.

Fuck. 

He drifted through the drive back, too. He brought the bone back—pissing Her off more by losing her magic bone didn’t seem like a good idea—and kept the ring in his pocket, trying not to think about any of it. He didn’t want to lose Sam. He’d promised Death he’d let the plan go forward, and that didn’t seem like a good promise to break. There was no way for Dean to keep Her, even if he didn’t see anything bright through the storm if it wasn’t Her. 

And the rain had cleared, but the sun had set. The clock on the dash read 1am, when he pulled into Bobby’s yard. And all the lights were off in the house, except for one. 

The lamp in the library. 

She just looked up at him. Nothing on Her face that he could read, not a single shout or scream. Only a heavy, exhausted expression and bright eyes tracking Dean’s movements around the room, as he shed his jacket and crossed the room. She wasn’t saying a single fucking word.

It was worse than shouting or hitting.

It was made of the dread. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly, dropping to his knees before Her. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch Her right now. “I trust you, Princess, and I woulda brought you with me, but Pestilence and Famine, those sons of bitches fucked you up, and-“ He didn’t know what he was saying. It was going to be the wrong thing. He couldn’t stop. “It fucking kills me, when you’re like that and I can’t do shit about it. But I got it. I got the ring. And I know you’re pissed, and you can kick my ass and I’ll sleep on the couch, but- I’m sorry.”

There was a long, horrid moment of silence, and he’d lost Her. She wouldn’t be in pain, but this had been the thing, the one that was always going to happen, and She’d leave, and Dean was never going to get to hold Her again-

“I thought you left.” She whispered, and Dean’s gaze shot up. “You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

Son of a bitch. Dean could see it now. The red of Her eyes, the rattiness of Her hair and shine on Her cheeks, combined with the raw skin on Her wrists. 

She’d been crying.

Dean was never supposed to make Her cry.

“I didn’t leave-“

“You said we’d go together.” She cut him off with an almost pleading tone. “And I- I had a freakout last night, and I told you God’s watching me, and we-“ Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We kissed and I- I thought-“

Dean grabbed Her hands, rising up a little higher on his knees. “Look at me.”

She shook Her head, and they done this dance before. A lot.

Dean would keep doing it, as long as he got to keep touching Her. To brush the hair from Her face, take Her face between his hands, and angle Her gaze onto his. He’d do it forever.

“I’d never leave you, Princess.” He muttered, keeping his words low and firm. “I don’t give a shit that God��s watching you. I’m with you. All the way down.”

“Oh- okay.” She took a shaking breath. “I’d never make you sleep on the couch, De.”

He sighed. “You don’t gotta-“

“I couldn’t sleep.” She mumbled, Her gaze still locked onto his. “Needed you.”

Fuck.

Dean could be needed. He could nod, and carry Her to bed, mumbling a lot more apologies, because he was a piece of shit, but he was Her piece of shit. And once he was in bed, he changed fast and crawled into bed, because this wasn’t going to be his to keep, but he had it now. Her in his arms. Her face in his neck. 

And there had to be another way. Death said there wasn’t, but there always was. Maybe not for Dean, but for someone else, doing him a favor. There had to be another fucking way, because if the smell of fruit haunted him like this for the rest of his life, just out of his reach and crying for him to come save it from the tree, he’d drive himself mad. 

“I’m mad at you.” She grumbled against Dean’s shoulder, and he sighed.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” She paused, Her arms wrapped around his torso, and he would fight for this. 

He loved Her. 

And if Dean was good at anything, it was breaking things for people he loved.

“De?”

He grunted, and She propped her chin on his shoulder. 

“Happy birthday.”

He let out a long breath, and took another stupid risk. It was his birthday, and the world was going to end, and She was looking at him so pretty in the dark, and-

Son of a bitch, he just wanted to be selfish. That was the only real reason. 

And it was worth it. Because he sat up carefully, until he was propped over Her on an elbow, and leaned down. Slotted his lips gently over Her’s and taking it lazy and slow, kissing Her just to kiss Her. To taste Her and know She was here and, for now, Dean’s. 

She let him. She fisted his shirt and pulled him deeper, until he was half on top of Her and he could hear only his heartbeat, and all those amazing sounds he was somehow allowed to pull from Her.

He didn’t pull away this time. Not fully. Dean kept his lips hovering over Her’s and folded his hand into Her’s, giving Her his best, widest, most come fucking love me, please, because I’ll love you until I don’t have a soul anymore, grin.

“Thanks, Princess.” He murmured, and he’d stay here forever. 

With Her. 

In the dark, as the end of the world drew closer, but the whole universe was in his arms, and he never wanted to let it go.

End Note: What a beautiful, rare win for their communication skills. Two whole kisses. They're going to be so normal about this.

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

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

L Lawliet x Reader: how L handles pregnancy

Wrote this because I need fluff! Enjoy!

Lets get one thing straight, L would never expect himself to be a father

He's too busy

He's too closed off

He's too much of a target

But, on the other hand, he thought the same exact things about dating before he met you

And all you've done is bring him more joy and peace than he's ever experienced

On the other other hand, babies were entirely different

He couldn't find himself growing attached to a clump of cells, or a screaming raisin with hands

They were a lot of work, and while he had plenty of free time when he wasn't working, when he was he had to be able to devote himself to it completely

They also were loud, and smelly, and entirely uninteresting

But...you did want one very badly. He's not stupid, he can see how you look at toddlers on the street, or ads for baby bottles, or women pushing strollers

It was something you gave up in silence when you committed yourself to him, along with things such as weddings, and settling in one spot, and seeing your family often

All of that to say, his narrow success with the kira case has given him much to think about considering what he wants, what you want, and the value of his own life

He could have died

He could have died.

And what would you be left with? He didn't give you very many options, he's accidently turned you into quite the dependant person

it was the day he sentenced Light Yagami and all of his accomplices to death that he set up a will concerning everything to do with you, essentially setting you up for life. You don't know about this.

Weeks later, something that almost seems like fate strikes. You come to him, nervous, holding a pregnancy test.

You didn't want to alarm him, but your period was late, and most recently you've been experiencing morning sickness.

Turns out you're pregnant, about 4 weeks given the symptoms.

Now, you were standing in the doorway of the bathroom, test in hand, wide-eyed. He can't tell what it is, fear or excitement, or a mix of the two, but you're looking to him for solutions

"L...look..."

"What do I do?"

It's the first time he's been at a true loss for words.

It was a very good question.

What do you do?

"What would you like to do?"

He knew it wasn't that simple, but it would be nice to know your thoughts

"I...I don't know..."

"Would you..." he almost didn't want to ask

"Would you like to keep it?"

And then you were crying

it took quite a while to calm you down

But after a good, long talk, it was decided

You would keep the child

He doesn't know why he agreed or offered

He doesn't find himself to be good with kids

Maybe it was because he wanted something other than cases to do

Maybe it was because he wanted you to be happy

Either way, it wasn't a particularly good reason

In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have agreed so easily

no matter what, he was now determined to at minimum be well-read

you found that within a week, he was bombarding you with facts and questions

"Did you know ginger tea is extremely helpful with nausea? Would you like to try it?"

"The fetus should be about the size of a grain of rice, if we've calculated correctly."

"Are you feeling any tenderness around your breasts, or any mood swings?"

by the second month, he's asking questions you couldn't possibly answer

"How often did your mother pump breast milk? It would be useful to know about any aunts or cousins as well."

"They say a woman's intuition is the best tell of a baby's gender. I'm not one for superstition, but...do you have any feeling one way or the other?"

"It should be about the size of a raspberry by now."

As endearing as it was, his excitement could get a little tiring, especially when these questions were asked at 12 in the morning

That said, he more than made up for it with his patience

every time you rushed to the bathroom to throw up, he was padding after you to hold your hair and rub soothing circles across your back

Every time you had the oddest, frankly disgusting cravings, he was there to bring you pickles wrapped in ham and pepper jack cheese, or fill the sink with dishsoap so you could obsess over the smell while you ate ice

every time you sobbed over the fact that the puppies in the adoption commercials were "too cute to live in a place like this," he was there to run his fingers through your hair and assure you that puppies don't understand social injustice

he, to his own surprise, enjoys watching your belly grow, and your body change to accommodate the life inside

He swears you're glowing

In his own head, of course

He's also keeps you on a very strict schedule

at least 9 hours of sleep, three meals a day, all with the proper vitamins and proteins to support your health

You swear he worries too much, which he quickly bites back with a cool, "many things can happen during pregnancy. We must keep our odds high."

he's made part of his routine resting his head on your stomach every night before bed, with the excuse that he enjoys your fingers on his scalp

To his surprise, about 4 months in, he feels something

Like a little push, tiny and right against his face

"Oh, the baby kicked," you cooed

"Fascinating..."

Ever since then, he's kept his hand or face on you any time you sit down

When the gender reveal comes, you don't have anyone to celebrate with, besides Watari

You decide to do a cake reveal just between you and L

"What do you want? A boy, or a girl?"

"I want a baby."

Typical of him

You let him do the slicing, and at the first peek of blue, you were already screaming

"It's a boy! L, its a boy! We're having a baby boy!"

L knows you well enough to know either sex would have the exact same reaction

Despite his indifference, the reveal does solidify how real it all is

He would have a son

His son, baking inside of you, right now

It's jarring to think about

months later, 5 to be exact, L was rather nervous

"Do birth defects run in your family?"

"C-sections?"

"Have you been hydrating properly?"

You have to reassure him every time that things will be okay

It's best to distract him with questions of your own

"Do you think he'll have your eyes?"

"What should we name him?"

"I bet he'll be just as curious as you are."

The night your contractions start is the night he finally gets to put everything he learned to use

He and watari take you to the nearest hospital, go-bag and carseat already loaded, all while you pant and moan about the pain

Getting you settled in the hospital was the easiest part, luckily they had an available room

The hard part was watching someone he loved go through so much pain

The total time you spent in labor was 12 hours

L held your hand all the way through, even if he's sure you probably broke one of his fingers

"I read breathing slowly is helpful with-"

"SHUT UP, I'M PUSHING A GODDAMN WATERMELON OUT OF MY CUNT"

Needless to say, you didn't really care about facts while in active labor

When the baby finally escaped, L made sure he was handed to you as soon as possible, after all skin to skin contact is highly important for bonding

It was covered in blood and gunk and all other things, by any objective view it was utterly disgusting

But the moment it was cradled against your chest, all wrinkled and small and helpless...

He felt overwhelmed with more love than he's ever felt before

Pure, unending love

Somehow, there was a creature on this earth he loved more than you

When it was finally time for the baby to be taken for cleaning and check-up, he only sat beside you, still holding your hand, quietly waiting for his son to return

"L...we have a baby..."

"We do."

"How do you feel?"

"How do you feel?"

"...answer the damn question, I just gave birth."

"I'm worried for the future. But hopeful, as well."

When the baby finally returns, and he's offered the chance to hold him, he panics, just a little

What if he drops him?

He has to support the head

Remember to support the head

And the body as well

And don't hold him too tight

Or too loose

It isn't until he's actually in his arms that L can relax

Just a tiny thing, with a mess of black hair at the top of his coconut head

And when his son opens his big, black eyes?

L will do anything and everything for this child

For his son

[rafeslvbug]

CHAPTER 4 - maybank!reader series

shoes digging up the dirt. bats swinging. baseballs sent rolling into the grass. and then you, mind preoccupied with the games of 6 year olds, teaching them how to play tee ball on your saturday mornings. slipping from the chateau, taking all the back roads to avoid familiar faces because you couldn’t bear to see anyone today.

you rounded up the children, ushering them inside the sports centre for the end of their class, trailing behind. you sip from your large water bottle, wiping small trickles of sweat from your forehead and breathing in the air conditioning inside. it hits your skin, chilling your bones- almost too cold- but you’ve never felt anything like it. luxury. and you drink it all in.

until someone interrupts your cool bliss with a gruff clear of his throat.

whipping your head around, your brows pinch and lips tighten when rafe is standing behind you. towel over his shoulder, bare chest slick with sweat, and a low hanging pair of sports shorts on his hips. “maybank,” he acknowledges, arms crossing over his chest, biceps flexing in the motion.

“rafe,” you grit out, only to internally curse. sarah begged you to be nice only the other day. and you promised to hear rafe out. just why did it have to be now- or today at all?

“what’d you do here?” he tilts his head to look past you, the little crowd of small people, clamouring over their parents and rushing towards them like flinging baseballs themselves.

“teach kids t-ball,” you answer, inspecting your nails rather than him. you pray he goes away. that’ll he’ll just leave you to it. but he’s here on some sort of mission, and the promise you mistakenly made to sarah is still running through your head.

“that even any fun?” he asks, sitting on one of the chairs in the entrance, comfortable in a way you hate. knowing you can’t walk away, that cole’s coming to pick you up, you reluctantly sit in the chair opposite.

“sure, i guess,” you shrug, eyes fixated on the carpet, rather than his broad shoulders or the muscles lining his abdomen.

“hm, i don’t like kids.”

you raise your eyebrows at the comment, though you’re not sure if being surprised is an adequate reaction- rafe doesn’t look like the type of person to want kids. you can always hear his faint conversation in the country club over how annoying he finds the parents who drag their toddlers along with them, only for them to wreak havoc on the place he pays hundreds a month to attend.

“just too much maintenance,” he adds gruffly, leaning his head back onto the chair.

“i’m sure you were a delightful child, unless you came out of the womb all grunts and grumbles,” you quip.

then something foreign sounds.

a laugh. not a chuckle, or some suppressed sound. an actual laugh from rafe cameron. sitting next to you, whole body vibrating, the purest beam on his face. it sounds like a child’s, ironically enough, and infectious in the sense it even makes you giggle a bit. your joke wasn’t even that funny. maybe he’s just not used to be calling out on his behaviour.

then it subsides, passing into silence and the remnants of smiles before your name is heard calling through to you. “y/n?” cole asks, nudging your shoulder from behind.

“cole! hey!” you get up from your chair, sparing a quick glance to rafe whose watching the whole thing intently. scrutinising your relationship, silently judging in a way he always has with everyone. you’re not even sure he means the look on his face, if it’s intentional. deep set, brows furrowed, gaze solely focused on the two of you. almost making you uneasy.

“ready to go?” cole questions, eyes slipping over to rafe on more than one occasion. shirtless rafe. talking to you, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

“yeah.” his hand slips through yours, tugging you away from rafe.

“bye maybank,” rafe calls out, pushing himself to a stand, and pulling the towel from his shoulder into his hand.

“uh..bye rafe.”

cole looks ahead the whole time, still leading you out, though you don’t miss the final look over his shoulder. checking to see if rafe is still watching. but he’s not when cole looks. he’s making his way back to the gym. he is, however, looking when you turn your head, a brief flick of his eyes towards the door. then away again.

cole’s hand in yours is tight, a death-grip, only easing once you’re by the car, and you’re just thankful he didn’t see rafe look back. the nightmare that would have brewed is unimaginable- and all over nothing.

“how come you were talking to rafe?” the question cuts through the faint music coming from the radio, through multiple minutes of odd silence. uncomfortable and unwanted.

“he came up to me.”

“but why?”

“sarah says he’s trying to make amends,” you reveal, stiff in your chair, the passenger seat feeling weird under your back.

“with you?” cole shoots you a look, fingers tightening around the wheel fractionally.

“no, not me, with sarah.”

“so shouldn’t he talk to sarah?”

“he has, she said she’d forgive him if he got on good terms with her friends,” you sigh, sensing what was coming. cole was evidently bothered. it could be seen all over his face, his body, his words.

“well why the hell did he start with you?”

“i don’t know cole, he had to start somewhere,” you bite your lip to stop from snapping back at him. its painful, but distracting enough.

“i’m just saying..” he mutters. “well it’s not like it’ll work.”

brows furrowed, you turn to him. “what does that mean?”

“well you won’t forgive him..right?”

“why wouldn’t i?”

“hasn’t he been like an asshole to you?” cole raises his eyebrow at you.

“okay..but if he’s trying to change..i owe him that at least.”

“god you’re naive,” he chuckles, not even noticing how the comment hits you. the frown crossing your face.

“i’m not naive,” though your voice comes out broken, not as strong as you want it to be. “i’m doing it for sarah.”

“yeah right,” he snorts, car pulling into the driveway of your house.

“what do you mean? cole i’m not naive,” you reiterate, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. he only hears what he wants. “cole!” you try again. a glance your way. you can see it in his eyes- he doesn’t believe you. doesn’t trust you. thinks rafe can’t change, and you doubt it yourself, but calling you gullible? it hits a line, something that pierces your heart and makes you slowly bleed out. you unbuckle your seatbelt, pushing open the door and slamming it behind you. no goodbyes, no kisses, just quietness, and a sudden bitter cold feeling, pricking your arms on the lonely walk to your house.

the judgement’s thick in the air when you enter the chateau three days later, followed by sarah. the pogues sat around the sofa like it’s an intervention. for you. jj at the head, jaw set tight, hair mussed and tired.

“what’s this?” you chuckle, though it comes out unsure, awkward– scared. sarah sits on the couch next to john b, trying to take his hand in hers, unsure on what’s going on either.

it doesn’t take long for kie to spit out, “i can’t believe you!”

“kie,” jj warns, voice low.

you drop your duffel on the ground, by the foot of the couch. “what did i do?” your voice is a strained whisper. looking around at your friends, looks of betrayal and hurt. but jj…

he won’t even look up. staring at his boots on the floorboards. like it might kill him to try.

“you’re friends with rafe now?” he asks, voice cutting through the air. your gaze shifts to sarah, whose lips have parted in slight shock. this– of all things– is what they’re sat here, mulling over, disappointed in you over?

“no.” you shake your head.

“don’t lie!” kie snaps, and sarah’s eyes dart over.

“she’s not!”

“how would you know?” john b turns to his girlfriend, who momentarily loses her words. how does she begin to explain the night at the bonfire? she wasn’t supposed to go over to him, john b hadn’t wanted her to.

“it doesn’t matter! why do you think i am?” you ask them, crossing your arms over your chest.

“cole told us,” pope admits. the world seemingly drowns out. cole. of course it was cole. things hadn’t sat right with him since he saw you both at the sports centre, even more so he felt uncomfortable when he saw you talking to him normally the following day at the country club. but to tell your brother? turn your friends against you? misreading the situation, and spreading his own truth. you couldn’t believe him.

“i didn’t think you were even close with cole,” you bite out, offended they’d believe him. that your boyfriend went to your brother to get you away from rafe. that your brother trusted him over you.

“does it matter?” jj asks, head snapping to you. “y/n after everything rafe has done!”

“i know! i know what he’s done! we’re not friends! sarah–“ you turn to the blonde girl, whose wringing her hands in her lap.

eyes fall on her and she slowly speaks up, “rafe’s trying to change..”

“oh my god! you don’t believe that!” kie exclaims, falling back into the pillows.

“hey! he’s my brother, okay? i know him best! i want to believe him!” john b gives her a look, like he’s doubting and overanalysing every interaction. misjudged her character. made the wrong choice. “john b..” sarah tries to hold his hand once more, before he recoils it back and walks off to his room, sarah rushing after him.

“and you? what? you believe him too?” jj questions, anger all over him. emanating from him, eyes even red.

“i don’t believe him, i just– sarah asked me to give him a chance,” you explain. it doesn’t work.

“he doesn’t deserve a chance!” kie snaps.

“fine then! don’t give him one!” you retort. not that you care for rafe, or trust him, but the trend of people telling you that what you’re doing is wrong is becoming sickening. treating you like a child who can’t make any responsible decisions of her own.

“you shouldn’t either! y/n, he’s just lying!” jj says.

“what does he have to gain from that?”

“i don’t know! embarrassing us?”

“that’s extreme!” you scoff, like they’d conjure any excuse to just think rafe is trying to be genuine for once.

“stop being naive, y/n!”

naive. that word, again. the word that had you shivering on the walk home. eyes stinging. hot tears when you got to your room. naive. a ten year old kid again. a handprint across your face for being so ‘gullible’ and trusting the adults who said your dad shouldn’t drag you along like that, or that those bruises weren’t normal punishment.

before they could see your tears, you grabbed the strap of your duffel, swinging it around your back again, and trudging out the door.

the door to your house slams. echoes through. silence. no judgement– nothing. pure silence.

then, the stench of alcohol. wafting through the house, and you can’t realise your mistake enough to evade it’s consequence.

“the fuck are you doing, slamming the door that goddamn loud?” luke slurred, jagged steps through the hallway.

“sorry dad, i won’t do it again,” you’re quick to apologise, fingers clutching the bag tighter, heart thrumming in your chest. erratic. panic. the door handle is tempting to twist, but you’re not sure how far you could run. you’ve tried before. you have a scar on your leg to show for it too.

“better fuckin’ not,” he grumbles, rummaging through the fridge, clinking bottles. you slip past, trying to get to your room before he realises. before he can do anything.

“where’re you goin’?” he yells out, and you freeze in front of your door. fingers on the handle, praying you can escape behind it.

“i said. where are you fuckin’ goin’?” he yells louder this time, voice rattling the smashed picture frames.

“i’m tired dad,” your voice hardly sounds.

“speak up!”

“tired!– i’m tired!” you shout back, voice cracking. another mistake. a fatal one. raising your voice. nothing threatening at all, but disrespectful in every way. heightened in the mind of a drunken man.

you don’t register his footsteps when they hurtle towards you, only the blinding pain of your hair being fisted and pulled back. the smell of alcohol down your face when he seethes, “you wanna say that again? wanna speak to me like that again, HUH?” your hand grapples with his, trying to pry his fingers off from around your hair whilst you shake your head, wincing at the sharp pain it gives you.

“no, no, i’m sorry– please let go,” you breathe, hotness welling behind your eyes. slamming you against the wall in the process, luke lets go of your hair. your wrist catches on the smashed glass of the hanging picture behind you, a thin stream of blood coming from the side.

“what i thought. fuckin’ ungrateful kids, just like your mother,” he grumbles, wandering off to collapse on his bed, drunkenly passed out.

when the house stills, you gather your things– the stuff jj had wanted to get back– and slip back out the door, making sure to click it softly.

you walk down the road to your car in the night, hugging your zipper closer to yourself. jj’s angry at you, but he wouldn’t stop you from coming back to the chateau, and you won’t risk staying the night with luke. you wipe away each tear that’s flowing, unsure if it’s from the lingering pain, or cole’s words to jj, or how the pogues are all mad at you.

dead.

the engine won’t rumble to life, stuttering and sputtering in the worst of times. leaning your head against the wheel, the tears flow freely, dripping onto the leather with strangled sobs from your lips. stuffing your palms into your eyes, you force yourself out of the car, opening the bonnet.

“for fucks sake,” you sigh, rubbing your head, swiping away the tear streams still silently coming down.

in the middle of the night, no gas, no gas stations near by and the chateau a thirty minute walk from here. and you’re so tired. night hangs on your eyelids, droplets collecting on your lashes.

“you okay?”

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @supasolaa @octoberbxbyy @rafeobx @jamesbeaufortismylife @vanessa-rafesgirl @bambigirl10 @f4sh10n-m4v3n @amelialovesrafe @letstryagaintomorrow @athenabarnes

[yelenasbraid]

and if i ask for an update on that adorable pair from maintaining professionalism... does that make me greedy? 🥺

then i will GLADLY deliver 🙂‍↕️ it doesn’t make you greedy bestie babes

a/n: this combines another ask that asked for a workout blurb of them

warning: smut! mdni!

Ever since she’s started working for Ohio State, Joe found that to be the perfect excuse to utilize the Ohio State gym facilities. Yes, he gets a workout out of it, but he also gets to see his girlfriend in biker shorts.

“Hey stranger,” she smiles at him, watching as he walks in. He’s dressed in a compression tank and shorts, her favorite combination.

“Hey beautiful,” he smiles back, kissing her sweetly on her cheek. The facility is empty all for the two of them. Whether that’s Joe’s doing or not, she’s not complaining.

“What’s the plan?” she asks, swinging her arms. She’s in an oversized t-shirt and biker shorts, and Joe’s trying his hardest not to salivate. The way the shorts hug her ass and her thighs makes his mind go the worst places.

“I’m hitting arms and shoulders today,” he tells her, “your favorite,”

It is her favorite. She rolls her eyes at him, using the time they’re chit chatting to stretch. She pulls her leg up, holding her ankle, stretching her quad.

“Shut up,” she scoffs. Joe follows suit, reaching over his shoulder to stretch his triceps. He’s doing it on purpose, hopefully getting a rise out of her. He has a secret weapon for later, a last resort some would say.

Stretching doesn’t take long. They both stretch their respective muscles before going to their respective machines. Joe’s on the shoulder press, she’s on the leg press.

His favorite.

One rep. Two reps. Three reps. He counts in his head, the pull of his shoulders as his hands come together forces him to concentrate. He’s not looking at her as he blows out a breath, he’s not watching as her thighs bulge under her biker shorts.

No, he’s actually paying a lot of attention.

Reps are put in. Sets are completed. He’s finished with his workout, but she has her squats left to do.

“How much are you squatin’ now?” he asks as he helps her rack the plates. She hums, counting the plates and the weights attached to them.

“200? I think?” she shrugs, “I dunno, I should keep track,”

“Yeah, baby, you should,” he playfully rolls his eyes. She settles under the bar, fingers flexing around it. Joe flicks her hair over her shoulder, hovering his hands over her hips.

“Whenever you’re ready, pretty girl,” he whispers in her ear, his lips just a hair too close to her skin. For a moment, she’s distracted, her palms sweating against the bar.

“Joseph,” she warns, “not the time,”

“What? I’m just being helpful,” he argues, a smirk on his face. He watches her in the mirror, watches as she goes down, watches her face as it twists with effort. The more reps she puts in, the sweatier her face gets. Baby hairs frame her face, breaths blowing evenly out of her lips.

“Doing good, sweetheart,” Joe muses in her ear, his eyes hungrily watching her in the mirror. Every squat, he earns a peak of her cleavage. Every bend of her knees, he feels the shape of her ass push against his hips.

It’s entirely intoxicating and it’s making him unbelievably horny.

With a grunt, she racks the bar, sweat collecting on her collarbone. Joe’s hands find her hips, sliding up her waist, pulling her back against him.

“Joe,” she groans, her arms and thighs shaky. He hushes in her ear, his lips sucking gently at the skin of her neck. He tastes the salt of her exertion, the musk of her sweat.

Just like he used to back in the Bengals locker room after hours.

“You have any idea how fuckin’ hot you look right now?” He grumbles in her ear, “because it’s doin’ things to me, baby,”

“We are at a gym,” she reminds him, even if the touch of his fingers is coiling her tighter and tighter, “at my workplace,”

“I’m aware sweetheart,” he murmurs, dragging his nose up her neck, “it’s why we’re the only ones in here,”

“I knew it,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers push up her t-shirt, swiping under the elastic of her sports bra.

“Gonna have some fun with you,” he promises, one of his hands sliding down her torso, down under her shorts. Joe’s fingers are masters at making her feel good; they have minds of their own. His other hand snakes around her throat, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

“Joe,” she whispers. He shushes her, and his fingers slide under the seam of her panties. He slides his fingers through her folks, her arousal hot to the touch. She inhales deeply, careful not to moan.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you’re so wet for me,”

She’s aware they’re in the gym, particularly at her workplace. She’s aware that Joe’s positioned her in a place where the cameras can’t spot them. But that awareness is blurring by the second, the movement of his fingers through her folds making it hard to focus.

Joe’s thumb presses into her clit, circling the sensitive bulb. She gasps, and Joe’s quick to cover her mouth with his hand.

“Shh,” he coaxes, “can’t be too loud in here. When we get home, I promise I’ll make you scream,”

His thumb presses harder into her clit, punctuating his words. Slow, deliberate circles, teasing her towards that glorious edge. Her body is squirming, fighting for some semblance of balance as he works her hot, sticky cunt.

Part of the thrill was this being in public. His fingers filtering through her slick folds, lips against her neck, eyes on her. He’s watching her fall apart, watching as one hand grips the rack and the other his forearm. Her eyes are barely open, eyelashes wet with sweat, cheeks red with exertion. She’s beautiful.

He can tell she’s close by how much wetter she’s getting, but also how her back is arching against his chest. His hand is firmly across her mouth, his thumb still working in deliberate motions. She’s trying to hone in on her ecstasy, on the orgasm that’s inevitable.

“You’re right there, aren’t you pretty girl?” he muses. He slides his fingers further through her folds, easily pushing two digits inside of her. She gasps, melting against his body.

“So greedy,” he murmurs, his fingers curling to find that sweet, plush spot. He wiggles his fingers against her, whines pouring against his mouth. Her pussy clenches around his fingers, and it doesn’t take much for her to snap.

Her knees buckle, and Joe’s hand from her mouth goes to her stomach, holding her up against him. He works her through her orgasm, feeling the hot mess against his fingers.

“Atta girl,” he praises, “you’re good, so good for me,”

She bites her lip as she feels the waves subside, swallowing the moans in her throat. Her body is pulsing, throbbing with an undeniable, freshly ignited need. She leans back against his chest as he pulls his fingers from her, sliding them into his mouth.

“My beautiful girl,” he hums as he sucks his fingers off with a pop, “though, I think we ought to go home. Not done with you yet,”

And home they indeed went.

[formulafanfics13]

Good Girls Don’t Brat in Cartier - Toto Wolff 🔥

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She dropped the Cartier bag on the armchair like it was a joke. And that was her first mistake.

It landed soft against the leather, handles falling sideways, the box inside shifting just enough to catch Toto’s attention. He saw it. She knew he saw it. He didn’t say anything at the time. Just glanced down at his watch, that cold silver Patek Philippe that probably cost more than her rent, and raised one eyebrow.

But he didn’t stop her. Not yet.

She padded off toward the ensuite with that practiced little sway in her hips, hair swinging just enough to remind him that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her sundress. The hotel lights made her look expensive and innocent all at once, tanned legs, delicate sandals, that smug little smile that had been irritating him since dinner.

Toto stayed where he was. Poured himself a glass of something neat and brutal. Sat on the couch and waited. It wasn’t the dress. Or the bag. Or the fake innocence she wore like perfume.

It was the attitude. The thankless, pretty, ungrateful attitude.

She’d flirted through dinner. Nothing direct. Just a little too much laughing at the wrong jokes. The way she leaned toward the sommelier when he poured her wine. The way she smiled at Pierre like she hadn’t been bouncing on Toto’s cock just two nights ago in this same fucking suite.

She thought she was clever. Untouchable. That being young and soft and beautiful meant she could play this game on her own terms. But what she didn’t understand, what he hadn’t shown her yet, was that she wasn’t the player here.

She was the toy. And toys didn’t get away with bratting.

The bathroom door opened twenty minutes later. She stepped out in one of his white dress shirts, sleeves cuffed sloppily at her wrists, hem hanging like a dress, bare legs peeking out beneath the high cut.

Toto watched her from the couch. She didn’t look at him. Just walked past, ignoring the Cartier bag again, and climbed onto the bed like she hadn’t just been a fucking menace all night.

His voice didn’t rise. It never did. “You didn’t open the gift.”

She glanced over her shoulder, faux-innocent. “Oh. Right. I forgot.”

He blinked. One slow, measured breath. “You forgot,” he repeated.

She shrugged. “Long day.”

“You brat on my arm all night, you flirt with everyone who looks at you, you ignore the bag I hand-picked for you, and you tell me it’s because your day was long?”

She didn’t answer. That was her second mistake. Toto rose. Unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. Rolled them back slowly, one at a time, until his forearms flexed in the low hotel light.

Then he crossed the room. Every step was deliberate. Calm. Dangerous.

She sat up on the bed, finally watching him. But it was too late now. He was already in front of her. Already looking down with that cold Austrian control that made men twice her age shut up and step back. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

“You accept my gifts.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You thank me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t fucking brat about it like some cheap girl I picked up off the street.”

Her thighs clenched under the shirt. He noticed. Of course he noticed. “You want to be spoiled?” he asked, low. “Then you learn the difference between being taken care of and being owned.”

She swallowed. “Toto-”

“On your knees.”

She slid off the bed instantly. Knees hitting the rug, eyes wide, lips parted. He stepped forward, hand cupping her jaw. “Open.”

She opened.

He didn’t undo his belt. Not yet. Just dragged his thumb along her bottom lip. Pressed it past her teeth and hooked it in her cheek until her eyes watered. “Pretty little mouth,” he murmured. “So good at saying thank you. Until she thinks she’s too good for it.”

She whimpered. He smiled. And then unbuckled his belt with one hand. Pulled his cock out slow. Thick, flushed, already heavy in his hand. “You want to behave like a spoiled little thing?” he said, stroking it lazily. “Then thank me properly.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her mouth wrapped around him soft and slow, tongue curling, lips parting wide. He groaned. Let her work for it.

One hand in her hair. Gentle. Controlled. The other holding the base, guiding her rhythm. He didn’t fuck her throat yet. Not until she gagged once, just a little, and blinked up at him with wet lashes.

Then he grabbed the back of her head. “Hands behind your back.”

She obeyed. He thrust. Slow, deep, decisive. Her nose brushed his stomach. Her eyes watered. Toto groaned like it was relief.

“You look better like this,” he murmured. “Quiet. On your knees. Doing what you’re told.”

She gagged again. He didn’t stop. Didn’t speed up. Didn’t get cruel. Just held her there. Stretched. Salivating. Owned. When he finally pulled out, her mouth was red and glossy, drool trailing down her chin. He cupped her face. “You remember who takes care of you now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll open your gifts when I give them to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smiled. Bent down. And slapped her cheek, not hard, but firm enough to shock her back into place. “Then get on the bed. Face down. Ass up.”

She scrambled.

The shirt rode up as she climbed onto the mattress. She kept her knees spread, hands tight on the headboard, waiting.

Toto walked to the chair. Picked up the Cartier bag. Opened it. Slid the box out with one hand. A delicate gold chain glittered inside, thin, dainty, cruelly expensive.

He set it on the bedside table. “You’ll wear this tomorrow,” he said, climbing behind her.

Her breath hitched.

“Everyone will see it. You’ll smile and say thank you. And you’ll remember how you earned it.”

She whimpered. He grabbed her hips. And slapped her ass. Once. Twice. A third time. The sound cracked through the room like a whip.

“For dinner.”

Slap.

“For the way you spoke to me.”

Slap.

“For ignoring the gift.”

She moaned, knees trembling. Toto dragged his fingers through her folds. Soaking. “Filthy little brat,” he muttered. “You like being punished, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

He pulled her closer. And pushed in with one brutal, slow thrust. She cried out. The stretch. The depth. The ownership.

He groaned behind her. “Fucking tight.” He stayed still for a moment. Buried. Letting her adjust. Letting her feel it.

And then he started to fuck her. Not fast. Not rough. Deep. Controlled. Each thrust deliberate. Like he was rearranging her on purpose.

“You’re mine,” he said, hand pressing down between her shoulder blades. “Not some spoiled girl with a nice dress and a sharp tongue. You belong to me.”

She gasped. “Yes, sir-fuck-yes-”

“Say it.”

“I belong to you.”

“Again.”

“I belong to you.”

He fucked her harder. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip tight enough to bruise. Her moans turned to sobs, not from pain, but from pressure, from relief, from how good it felt to finally give in.

Toto didn’t stop. He bent over her, mouth to her ear. “I take care of you,” he whispered. “I dress you. Feed you. Pay for your life. You think it’s because you’re pretty?”

She shook her head.

“It’s because you’re mine.”

His hand found her throat. Pulled her up until her back hit his chest. He fucked her like that. Deep, slow, relentless. She was crying now. Pleasure. Filth. Submission. He growled. “Come.”

She shattered in his arms. Screamed his name. Shook. And still, he didn’t pull out. Just stayed inside her. Held her. And whispered, “Good girl.”

After an hour, he cleaned her up himself. Towelled her gently. Laid her on the pillows like she was something sacred. Then he picked up the chain. Clasped it around her throat. Not fast. Not soft. Final.

She touched it.

Toto kissed her hand. “Next time you brat in Cartier,” he said, “I’ll remind you harder.”

And she fucking smiled. Because she wouldn’t dream of wearing anything else.