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ddejavvu · 2 days ago

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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!

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demie90s · 2 days ago

Note

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

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izloveshorses · 3 days ago

Text

warm up sketch for the evening

#anastasia broadway #dimya #iz draws #fan art #my art #sketch #in a crowd of thousands #i am trying to get comfy sharing things i don't intend to finish so here have anya pretending to be unimpressed and an offended dmitry lol #i'm also trying to warm up more often now that i'm back in the swing of drawing regularly again #and drawing a complete illustration u know #so we gotta have a means to loosen up before diving in #anastasia musical #anastasia

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 day ago

Text

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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sammyquarius · 3 days ago

Text

The JukeJoint

Note: This is part 2 of Beneath the Mississippi. Enjoy

Part 1:

Clarksdale, Mississippi – That Night

The juke joint pulsed with life.

It was loud, packed, and hazy with the sweat of laughter, fried food, and cheap perfume. The sound of blues guitar slid through the air like smoke low, slow, aching. Folks crowded into the small wooden building, their bodies swaying to the music like the whole place was holding its breath and remembering how to breathe all at once.

In the back kitchen, Annie moved like she never left.

Her hands seasoned meat like a memory. Cornmeal battered catfish cracked in hot oil. Steam rose from pots and pans like the past boiling over, and every now and then, she’d glance through the small order window and see Smoke moving through the crowd like a shadow with too much weight on his shoulders.

He hadn’t said much since she agreed to cook. Just gave her that same quiet look, like he didn’t quite believe she was real.

But Annie was real—and so was the attention she drew.

Out in the joint, a tall, caramel-skinned man in suspenders leaned on the bar beside her serving window, watching her with a little too much interest and an easy smile.

“Girl, if I’d known heaven was back in town, I would’ve set up a welcome parade,” he said loud enough for Smoke to hear.

Annie rolled her eyes but didn’t bother hiding the smirk. “Get outta here, Leon,” she called, her tone dry.

“I’m just sayin’, if you cook like that and look like that, Smoke better watch his step.”

Smoke stiffened across the room, glass halfway to his lips. His jaw clenched tight enough to crack the glass if he wasn't careful. Stack saw it right away.

“Oh hell,” Stack muttered, grinning behind his cigarette. “Here come the thunder.”

Smoke didn’t answer. He just kept watching, eyes locked on Annie and the man grinning at her like he had a shot in hell.

Stack nudged his girl Mary beside him. “Better go keep my fool brother from blowing a gasket. You know how he gets.”

Mary arched one perfectly plucked brow, her pink lips twitching with amusement. “He better not say a damn word unless he wants her to walk out again.”

Stack smirked. “I’m just here for the drama. And the hushpuppies.”

Mary smacked his chest and moved toward Annie.

Back in the kitchen, Annie felt the shift before she saw him. Smoke stepped through the swinging door like a storm rolling in off the delta.

“You enjoying the attention?” he asked low, trying like hell to sound casual and failing miserably.

Annie didn’t turn around. “I’m cooking, Smoke. Not auditioning for a man.”

“You didn’t shut it down either.”

That got her to spin around, eyes flashing. “Excuse me?”

Smoke took a step closer. “He was flirting.”

“And?”

“I don’t like it.”

Annie laughed. It wasn’t kind. “You don’t get to like or not like anything, Smoke. You gave that up when you walked away.”

He winced like she’d hit him. Maybe she had.

Before things could go further, Mary stepped in, cool and collected, like she’d been watching from the shadows. “Okay, y’all need to cool it before somebody gets burned,” she said, slipping off her gloves and tying on an apron. “I came to help. Lord knows Stack ain’t doing nothin’ but talking loud and looking pretty.”

Annie’s lips twitched. “You sure you want to be back here with us broken folk?”

Mary shrugged, eyes soft but tired. “Stack and I fight more than we don’t some days. He says he’s tryin’ to protect me, but half the time it just feels like he’s pushin’ me away. Like lovin’ me out loud is something he’s afraid of.” She glanced at Annie, her voice steady. “But I stay. Even when it’s hard. Even when he makes me question if I should.”

Annie blinked, surprised by the rawness in her words.

“We all got our fights,” Mary said gently. “Yours just came back wearing boots and regrets.”

She glanced at Smoke, then gave Annie a quiet nod of sisterhood. “Don’t let the past boss your present. You want to cuss him out, do it. You want to feed him? Do that too. But make sure it’s what you want.”

Smoke stood there, silent, watching the two women find something he couldn’t touch. Something he didn’t have anymore. Not yet.

Stack poked his head in, grinning. “Y’all done? Or should I send for the church elders?”

“Boy, get outta here,” Mary snapped.

“Just making sure nobody’s bleeding.”

Smoke turned to leave, the scent of fried catfish and hard truths thick in the air.

Annie watched him go, heart thudding like a drum in her chest. She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow. Hell, she didn’t know what would happen in the next five minutes. But she had her apron on, her hands full, and Mary beside her.

And for now, that was enough.

Gonna start working on part 3!

Note: For more content follow me on https://www.tumblr.com/sammyquarius

#sinners 2025 #sinners imagine #smoke x Annie #mary x stack #sinners #annie sinners #sinners smoke #smoke sinners #hdfen2474

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gottencents · 10 hours ago

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Crush - Jennie Kim

main masterlist | navigation | blackpink masterlist

pairing. idol!jennie x reader

synopsis. despite never understanding Y/N’s obsession with sports, Jennie Kim finds herself hopelessly drawn to her sweaty, athletic, loser girlfriend.

A Park in Seoul, Soccer Field

“Why am I here?” Jennie muttered under her breath, oversized sunglasses shielding half her face as she sat on a folding chair under a shaded umbrella.

“Because you love me,” came the familiar voice behind her.

Jennie rolled her eyes, trying not to smile as Y/N came trotting off the field, jersey clinging to her body, cheeks flushed, sweat running down her temple. Her cleats kicked up small puffs of grass as she stopped in front of Jennie, water bottle in one hand, soccer ball tucked under her arm like it was her sixth limb.

“Baby,” Y/N grinned. “Did you see that goal?”

Jennie tilted her head, pushing her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to look over them.

“You mean the one where you slid across the field like you were auditioning for a Gatorade commercial?”

Y/N chuckled, reaching over to steal a grape from the small container in Jennie’s lap.

“I had to sell it. Gotta keep the fans entertained.” She winked.

Jennie looked around at the nearly empty field and deadpanned, “What fans?”

Y/N gasped in mock offense. “Ouch.”

Jennie smirked, leaning back in her seat. “I’m just saying. You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re all sweaty and disgusting.”

Y/N leaned down slightly, getting closer. “So you do think I’m cute when I’m sweaty.”

Jennie scoffed. “I didn’t say that.”

Y/N grinned. “But you implied it.”

Jennie stood up, brushing grass off her skirt. “I implied that you’re tolerable at best when you’re sweaty. Don’t push it.”

But the truth was—Jennie was absolutely, shamelessly obsessed with sweaty, messy, athletic Y/N. She’d never admit it out loud, but something about the way Y/N’s shirt clung to her back, or how she always jogged over with her hair stuck to her forehead and that goddamn boyish smile—yeah, it did things to her.

“You’re staying for the rest of the game, right?” Y/N asked, grabbing her hand casually as Jennie moved to adjust the umbrella.

“I’m contractually obligated, I think,” Jennie replied dryly. “Girlfriend clause. Must attend sporting events and pretend to care.”

Y/N laughed, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jennie raised a brow. “How, exactly?”

Y/N shrugged. “Victory lap. Shirtless.”

Jennie blinked. “You are not doing a shirtless victory lap.”

Y/N wiggled her brows. “Why not? You like my abs.”

Jennie turned away fast. “I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t have to,” Y/N teased, voice lower now as she stepped close. “You look at me like you’re undressing me with your eyes when I’m like this.”

Jennie narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“But hot,” Y/N grinned.

Jennie sighed, muttering, “God help me.”

After the game, Jennie had insisted she was “just going to drop by for a minute,” but here she was—perched on Y/N’s kitchen counter in one of Y/N’s oversized shirts, watching her move around the kitchen in nothing but athletic shorts, her skin still warm from the shower.

“You know what’s sad?” Jennie asked, swinging her legs idly. “You’re good at, like… every sport.”

“I’m a gifted idiot,” Y/N said proudly.

Jennie chuckled. “And I can’t even serve a tennis ball.”

Y/N came over and stood between her legs. “That’s okay. You cheer better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Jennie quirked a brow. “That sounds like a backhanded compliment.”

“Not at all,” Y/N smiled, hands resting on Jennie’s thighs. “You show up. You yell my name. You glare at the referee when they don’t call fouls. That’s love.”

Jennie studied her quietly, lips parted. “You’re such a loser.”

“And yet, you’re wearing my shirt.”

Jennie looked down and sighed. “It smells like grass and sunscreen.”

“And me,” Y/N added.

Jennie bit her bottom lip, gaze flickering up. “I might be into that.”

Y/N leaned in, slowly. “Say that again?”

Jennie looped her arms around Y/N’s neck, eyes mischievous. “I said… you smell good.”

“Mm, that’s not what I heard.”

Before Jennie could argue, Y/N kissed her—slow, warm, steady. One of those post-game, post-adrenaline, full-body kind of kisses that Jennie always pretended she didn’t crave.

Y/N deepened the kiss, hands gripping Jennie’s hips, pulling her closer on the counter. Jennie let out a soft sigh against her lips, her fingers tangling in damp hair.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Jennie looked up at her through heavy lashes.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice soft. “Maybe I do like sweaty you.”

Y/N grinned. “Knew it.”

The post-kiss glow hung in the air like steam after rain, heavy and humming with warmth. Jennie stayed perched on the kitchen counter, fingers still curled loosely in Y/N’s shirt, her legs casually bracketing Y/N’s hips as if she had no plans to move. And honestly, she didn’t.

Y/N leaned her forehead against Jennie’s. “You wanna shower first? Or do you want me to toss you a towel and we go full domestic and bathe together like in those slice-of-life anime you love?”

Jennie snorted. “Tempting. But if we shower together, we both know we won’t make it out before dinner burns.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Jennie pulled back just slightly, eyes narrowing playfully. “No. Because the last time we ‘showered together’ I didn’t get clean. I ended up sitting on the counter again, barely standing by the time you were done.”

Y/N raised her hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

Jennie finally slid off the counter, letting her toes touch the floor with a small sigh. “I’ll shower first. You go sit on the couch and pick something to watch. Something good this time.”

“Baldur’s Gate cutscene compilations are good,” Y/N pouted.

Jennie gave her a look. “No.”

Y/N grumbled, padding away dramatically. Jennie rolled her eyes and walked toward the bathroom, swatting Y/N’s butt as she passed.

“Hey!” Y/N yelped.

“Pick a romcom,” Jennie called over her shoulder. “Something that won’t rot my brain.”

Jennie re-emerged twenty minutes later in one of Y/N’s old varsity sweatshirts, hair damp, skin glowing from the heat of the shower. She found Y/N sprawled on the couch in joggers and a tank top, controller abandoned on the coffee table, a movie paused on the screen.

“You picked 10 Things I Hate About You?” Jennie asked with a small smile.

Y/N looked up. “Thought it’d be cute.”

Jennie plopped beside her and curled into her side without a word, resting her head on Y/N’s shoulder.

“You always smell like cedar and warmth,” Jennie mumbled.

Y/N kissed the top of her head. “You always smell expensive.”

They stayed quiet for a beat, letting the movie play in the background. Jennie’s hand found its way under Y/N’s shirt again, purely for warmth—or so she told herself. She gently dragged her fingers across Y/N’s abs, feeling her twitch slightly.

“I know I make fun of it,” Jennie whispered, “but… I like watching you play.”

Y/N turned her head. “Soccer?”

“Everything. Sports, games… You get this look when you’re in your zone. Like the rest of the world disappears.”

“You mean the dumb concentration face?”

Jennie grinned. “Exactly.”

Y/N nudged her gently. “You’re weird.”

Jennie shrugged. “And you’re hot.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait. Say that again?”

Jennie gave her a smug smile. “Nope. You get it once a day. That was it.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back dramatically. “Unfair. I pull three muscles for you on the field and you won’t even call me hot twice.”

Jennie laughed, then turned, gently crawling on top of Y/N, straddling her hips.

“You want me to say it again?” she asked softly.

Y/N’s hands instinctively found her waist. “Please.”

Jennie leaned down, brushing her lips over Y/N’s. “You’re hot.”

She kissed her.

“You’re annoying.”

Another kiss.

“You’re talented.”

Another.

“And I love it.”

This time, she didn’t pull away.

Their kisses grew deeper, slower—lazy but hungry. Jennie pressed closer, fingers tangled in Y/N’s hair now, her breath catching when Y/N’s hand slid under the back of her shirt to rest against her spine.

The tension melted into the cushions, into each other, into the faint hum of the TV and the dying sun bleeding orange through the curtains. They didn’t need fireworks—they had this.

Quiet, flushed, and golden.

#cents works #blackpink x fem reader #blackpink jennie x reader #jennie x fem reader #jennie kim x fem reader #jennie kim x reader #jennie x reader #blackpink jennie #jennie #kpop wlw #kpop gg x reader #blackpink x reader #jennie kim

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girly-girlk · 3 days ago

Note

Hi! I don’t know if you’ve already written something like this, but if not could you write a fic about firefighter Rafe and reader meeting? Like maybe she’s a waitress at the firehouse’s favorite diner?

diner

firefighter!rafe cameron x reader

summary: rafe is a regular at the diner you work at

a/n: sorry this one took so long, but i absolutely love it! i hope you enjoy!!💕

the bell above the door jingles at exactly 9:14 a.m.

like clockwork.

you’re already behind the counter, tying your apron tight and jotting down today’s pie special on the chalkboard when they come in — the southport fire crew. four of them, loud and laughing, tracking in sand and smoke and the faint scent of cedarwood. they pile into their usual booth like it’s their booth, and honestly, maybe it is.

you’ve been working at shoreline diner for two weeks now. long enough to learn their orders, but not long enough to stop watching one of them a little too closely.

rafe cameron.

he’s the last to come in, always is. tall, sun-tanned, with a jawline you could cut yourself on and arms that strain the sleeves of his navy uniform t-shirt. there’s a lazy swagger to the way he walks, like he knows people watch him.

he definitely knows you do.

“morning, darlin’,” topper grins, flipping his menu even though he always orders the same thing.

“french toast and black coffee, i know,” you say, already scribbling it down. “kelce, eggs over easy, bacon burnt to hell—”

“you get me,” kelce winks.

and then your pen stalls.

rafe lides into the booth last, glancing up at you with that maddeningly calm expression he always wears — like he’s not even trying to be charming, he just is. you swear there’s the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it’s gone too quick to be sure.

“you takin’ care of us today?” he asks, voice low and scratchy like he just woke up.

“i guess that depends,” you shoot back, trying not to sound breathless. “you planning to tip better than last time?”

topper howls. rafe raises both eyebrows, mock-offended.

“she got you there, man,” jj grins around a mouthful of hash browns from someone else’s plate.

rafe doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he says. not a joke. not a line. just a promise that settles deep in your chest, low and warm.

you don’t reply. you can’t — not without your voice shaking — so you nod and head toward the kitchen, scribbling “pancakes, extra butter, side of sausage” on your pad before he even says it.

⸻

they’re halfway through their meal when the first call comes in. the scanner at the counter crackles to life, dispatch barking out a structure fire off main.

rafe is already standing, sliding cash under his plate, eyes on you.

“you work weekends?” he asks, helmet tucked under one arm, sweat already glinting at his temple.

“every saturday.”

his tongue clicks against his teeth like he’s thinking, and then he says it — casual, quiet, but somehow not at all forgettable:

“see you then.”

you nod again, pulse skittering.

and when they’re gone, when the door swings shut behind all that smoke and static and adrenaline, you find yourself looking at the tip he left.

twenty bucks. on a ten-dollar order.

and a note scribbled on the napkin:

“in case i don’t get to tell you next time: you’ve got the prettiest smile i’ve ever seen.” — r”

you stare at it for a long moment, then fold it carefully and tuck it into your apron pocket.

⸻

you don’t know it yet, but that saturday? he’ll come in alone.

and you’ll sit at his booth during your break.

and he’ll ask if you want to grab coffee somewhere that isn’t where you work.

but for now, you just stand there — heart racing, hand pressed to a napkin — knowing full well this isn’t the end of anything.

it’s the start.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader

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yelenasbraid · 5 hours ago

Note

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.

#joe burrow #manda’s asks #joe burrow x reader #maintaining professionalism #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow imagine

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lacelottie · 2 days ago

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QUICK DRAW .ᐟ

western au! — in which you and cate decide to settle an argument with a duel (inspired by @rjjjhyun’s western cate drawing!)

cw — frenemies & lovers, blood/violence, smut (girldick!cate, pain kink, cockwarming into riding), word count: 1.8k

“you sure this is how you wanna settle this, darlin’?” you asked cate, standing twenty paces away from you as your gun twirled between your fingers. “you’re the one that’s convinced i did sumthin’ wrong, sweetheart,” cate said back nonchalantly as she loaded her gun, long strand of straw between her teeth as she spun the barrel and knocked it in place.

“admit that you were flirtin’ with the whore and i won’t shoot you,” you stated sternly as your gaze narrowed, looking at her from over your shoulder. cate laughed in response, the sound echoing across town as she smirked. “darlin’, the poor thing asked for directions. don’t be jealous.”

“you were starin’ at her tits the whole damn time!” you exclaimed as you cocked your gun, turning around to face her as you aimed. "your eyes wander too damn much and i'm just about sick of it." cate's eyebrow rose as she heard the sound of your gun cocking, turning around with a smirk on her lips as her head tilted. "darlin', you know the rules of a duel."

“i don’t care about the fuckin’ duel. admit you were flirtin’ with her or i shoot,” you gritted out as your finger hovered over the trigger, staring her down. “i’ve seen you with a gun, baby. you ain’t sh—”

you cut off cate’s words as you pulled the trigger, the force of the gun causing you to stumble back a bit as you opened your eyes, your gaze falling on cate. she laid on her back, sitting up with a loud groan as she gripped her oozing shoulder, her gaze shooting daggers as it laid on you.

“what the— the hell, baby?” cate yelled as she pressed her palm against the wound, clearly agitated. you smirked, tucking your gun back in your holster as you walked over. “still think i ain’t shit, catie?”

cate looked up at you from the ground, her lips formed into a wincing smirk as she let out a scoffing laugh at your comment. the way you hovered over her all cocky, arms crossed and accentuating your tits— the things she wanted to say could not be said in public.

“you gonna keep standing there or you gonna do sum about this?” cate asked as she stared up at you, her gaze narrowing from the sun. you rolled your eyes, picking the strand of straw from her lips and slipping it between your teeth as you bent down, wrapping her arm around your shoulders as you tugged her up.

“careful, darlin’. jesus. treat me like a lady,” cate groaned as you helped her up, stumbling her way next to you into the saloon. your gaze flickered over to the owner and your good friend, marie, flashing her an apologetic smirk as you two walked in. “the back free?” you asked as you watched her sigh. “you two, swear ta god. hurry it up, and don’t leave no blood on my products!”

you nodded, thanking her again as you pushed past the swinging saloon door, setting cate down atop a barrel as you dug to find the medical kit marie left back there just for you. “y’know,” cate stated as she shifted on the barrel, trying to get comfortable, “you’re always on my ass about ‘flirtin’ with other girls, but are you sure you ain’t flirtin’ with marie?”

that made you pause. you turned to face cate, medical kit in hand as your lips formed into a scowl. “you’re serious? you’re bein’ serious with me right now?”

“ah, please. don’t act like it’s done outlandish idea. if you’re not with me, you’re with her. is it so wrong of me to wonder what my girlfriend’s up to when i’m away?” cate asked with a small huffing laugh as she watched you approach.

you let out a small scoff in return, your palm finding her chest as you pushed her back against the wall, straddling her hips as you opened up the med kit, silent but pissed. cate’s eyes widened as your actions became dominant, letting out a soft laugh as she watched your expression. “ah, c’mon, darlin’. y’know i was kiddin’, right? no need to be upset, princess.”

your jaw clicked with each word she spoke, pulling out a pair of tweezers, a bottle of whiskey and some gauze as you started unbuttoning her shirt, not meeting her gaze. “darlin’. c’mon, now, look at me,” cate spoke softly as you pulled her shirt off, letting out a strangled groan as the material peeled off her wounded shoulder, her breath picking up.

you kept working, tossing her shirt and vest aside as you moved closer to her, your hand settling on her shoulder as the tweezers began to make their way into cate’s skin. she nearly whimpered, her breath hitching and hips jerking upwards against yours as you started fishing for the bullet without warning, biting her lip as she tried to hold herself together. you smirked at her reaction, easing up just a bit as the tweezers made their way further into cate’s shoulder, tongue poking out in focus as you searched for the bullet. you heard cate hold back a loud sound as you made contact with the bullet, grabbing it with the tweezers and starting to pull it out.

cate’s hips jerked again at the feeling, letting out a choked whine as she sucked her lip further between her teeth. “be— be gentle, darlin’, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered out, her breath heavy as she looked up at you, your gaze finally locking with hers as she pleaded. “thought you liked it rough,” you said with a hum, hips slowly grinding down against hers as you watched her expression. “at least that’s what your boner’s telling me.”

cate huffed as you called her out, rolling her eyes a bit as her mouth hung open. “you’re the one grindin’ down on me, sweetheart. my body ain’t resistant to contact.” you let out a soft scoff, raising an eyebrow as you twisted the tweezers in her shoulder, smirking slightly as you watched her whimper and her breath stutter. “darlin’. please.”

“please? that’s new,” you hummed as you tilted your head, studying her expression. “tell me what you want,” you insisted, your hips moving against hers again as she bit her lip. her gaze flickered from your face to her hips, grinding them up against you with a small smirk.

you scoffed, your hands making their way down to her jeans as you started to undo her belt. "you care more about your bone than you do your wound. don't know what kinda pathetic is." cate whined, drawing blood from her lip as she bit down on it further. "stop teasin'. just— need you, alright?"

"i know, baby," you cooed mockingly as you tugged her jeans down her thighs, eyeing the way her cock strained against her boxers with a soft smirk as you grabbed it through the fabric, starting to stroke her. "mgh— c'mon, darlin'. just put me out my misery for fuck's sake." god, you'd think she was a child the way she endlessly whined.

yet, you did. put her out of her misery, that is. hooking your finger on the waistband of her boxers, you tugged them down, raising your hips as you grabbed her cock at the base, your other hand working on your own jeans as you tugged them down, lining up your cunt to the tip of her cock. "no panties?" cate asked, staring down at your pussy. "this ain't the first time we've dueled, baby. i know how this ends," you said with a small laugh before lowering your hips against hers, her cock sinking into you.

cate groaned, her head lolling back against the wall as her fists clenched at her sides, hips bucking at the warmth of your insides. "uh-uh," you tutted, pressing her hips down as you settled against her. "no moving. m'in charge this time, babe."

"oh, come on!" cate whined, looking up at you with pleading eyes. you smirked at her insistence, picking up the tweezers again as you dug into her shoulder, continuing to remove the bullet from her wound. she choked out a moan, her eyes fluttering shut as you felt her twitch inside you. "i've gotta finish cleaning you up. so you'll wait," you said with a hum as you pulled the bullet out, setting it aside as you reached for the bottle of whiskey, popping the top off. cate damn near mewled as you pulled the bullet out, the sweat building on her forehead causing her hair to stick to her forehead as her breath caught, pre-cum leaking from her tip as you started to clean her up.

"sweetheart, please," cate whispered out as she teared up, her vision blurry as she watched you take a swig of whiskey before pouring some on your wound. "nghh, fuck—!"

"shh," you cooed, setting the bottle aside as you grabbed a rag, wiping the blood off her shoulder as your hips started to move, riding cate. "ba—baby. i can't—" she cried, trying not to buck her hips as tears slipped from her eyes. "yes, you can," you hummed, folding the rag as you wiped the sweat off her forehead, "and you will." you kept riding cate, your hips picking up speed as she whimpered loudly, hands clutching at your shirt as you started to wrap her wound. "dar—darlin', if you keep movin' like that—"

"m'almost done. don't cum," you stated with a soft moan, raising her arm as you wrapped under her shoulder, your hips stuttering as you felt your own orgasm coming on. your head lolled forward, both yours and cate's foreheads pressing together as your breaths mixed, reaching for the tape as you finished wrapping the wound.

"mhgh, can't— can't hold it," cate whimpered as her mouth fell open, her arms wrapping around your waist as her hips bucked hard against yours. "gonna— fuck, cum—cummin'—!" she groaned as she leaned forward, hips stuttering against yours before you both ended up on the floor with a moaning yelp from you, your orgasm crashing over you as your back hit the floorboards. cate's arms were tight around you as her forehead practically glued itself to your shoulder, her breath heavy against you and your legs tight around her as your head lolled back against the ground, struggling to catch your breath.

"you—you never fuckin' listen to me," you muttered out after a moment with a huffing laugh, looking down at cate. her head perked up at your words, smirking softly with a laugh as her chin rested on your chest. "sorry, darlin'," she said with that shit-eating grin of hers. you both laughed, running a hand through your hair before you both jumped, the doors to the back suddenly flying open as you tried to cover up.

marie stood above you both, sighing deeply and running a hand over her face before looking down at you both. "..you're banned. indefinitely."

tagging a few gen v mutuals .ᐟ — @initforthethrill @wondrfuls @stqrfirez @dvnlap @wwwvrly

divider credits: @bernardsbendystraws @bbyg4rlhelps

#(⸝⸝ᴗ﹏ᴗ⸝⸝) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 june writes .ᐟ #g!p #g!p cate dunlap #cate dunlap #gen v #western au #cowgirl #cowgirl au #18+ mdni #mdni blog #യ ˚ ༘ lacelottie .ᐟ

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gtops-thirdwheel · 2 days ago

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~My heart belongs to you~

Warnings~cheating~ angst with comfort~ I love to cuss~ mdni~ piv~ fingering~ age gap if you squint~ porn with plot~ unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it!~ toxic relationship.

Summery~ji-Yong fell for a woman that’s not his fiancée, after finding her cheating on him countless times..but with his wedding in a month, his liver decides to end things..

Word count~4933

Ji-yong groans, using his arm to try and shield the morning sun from waking him up. It doesn’t work, his eyes slowly peeking open with a tired glare towards the window. He shuts his eyes again, rolling onto his side to face his lover. He’s not quite ready for it to be morning yet, knowing that means his two week trip in Paris is over..and that means that he has to go back to his shity fiancé. So he keeps his eyes closed, hoping that the world will evaporate around him, leaving him with his lover forever..

ji-yong doesn’t know what he was thinking proposing to his soon to be wife. Their relationship was struggling already, fights every night, along with the many men he caught her cheating on him with..and marriage never fixes things..so why..why did he have to go and propose to her?

He pulls the warm body in bed next to him closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of y/n’s neck, breathing in her scent. She smells like fucking heaven to ji-yong, her perfume smelling like daisys and honey.. he starts leaving soft, lazy kisses along her neck, smiling into her skin.

”mmm~ ji..stop it..” y/n mumbles lazily, swatting his head away from her neck lightly. He slowly pulls his head away, opening his eyes with a tired smile. “Jus wanna kiss you~” he mumbles, his eyes trailing up and down her barely covered body..the sheets of the bed leave nothing to the imagination, and are only half on her body. The sun that he was previously frustrated with, now baths his lover, giving her an angelic glow.

”shit..” ji-yong bites his lip gently, reaching over to his nightstand and snatching his phone so he can immortalize this moment forever. He snaps a few pictures, each one better than the last. “You look so fucking hot~” he groans, looking at the pictures in awe..this..this is why he loves his phone so much..

Y/n's eyes flutter open, taking in the sight of ji-yong on his phone yet again. She playfully rolls her eyes, a small amused smile on her face. “You're on your phone more than I’m on mine, old man~” she teases with a lazy smile. Ji-yong pears over his phone with a small playful pout. “I’m not old..” he huffs, his small smile giving away his true feelings.

Y/n yawns, sitting up with a groan. “I’m going to smoke..” y/n swings her legs off the bed, grabbing her cigarette pack from her bedside table before standing up and stretching her sore limbs. Ji-young’s eyes land right on her ass, groaning quietly at the sight of her bare body. “I need a smoke too…” he mumbles, grabbing his own pack from his bedside table and standing up, his eyes never leaving her body.

They both pull on robes, not wanting to get too dressed just so they can smoke then have to strip before getting back in bed. Ji-yong frowns at y/n's body being covered, silently cursing their shared addiction for being the reason y/ns covering up. They both walk to the balcony, ji-yong's arms wrapping around y/n's waist the moment they both stop moving. Y/n leans onto the railing, lighting her cigarette and staring at the eiffel tower.

y/n gets lost in thought, wondering why she’s with ji-yong when he’s getting married in a month..she knows she needs to end this..move on..she doesn’t know why she still waits for ji-yong to leave Nam-Gil, like he actually will.. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Ji-yong asks, examining her dazed expression. “Nothing..just sad the trip is coming to an end..”

ji-yong sighs, kissing the back of her neck. “Me too.” He mumbles against her neck. Y/n looks down at her burning cigarette..she loves ji-yong..and she knows…knows he loves her too…but she knows she can’t be his dirty little secret anymore..y/n finishes her cigarette, leaning against ji-yong's chest while she waits for him to finish his.

“One day…one day I want to come back here with my husband for my honeymoon..” y/n mumbles wistfully. ji-yong's heart aches in jealousy, he knows that won't be him..and it hurts more than he ever thought it would.

“That sounds nice..what..what would you guys do?” He doesn’t care that he’s torturing himself by asking..y/ns still his right now, and until she’s not he’s going to imagine himself as her future husband. Y/n smiles softly. “We will go to the Eiffel Tower..and i’ll drag him around sight seeing of course..” she giggles softly, the kind of giggle that melts ji-yong right to his core..

Ji-yong's eyes soften as he looks down at the top of y/n's head..”and we will try new foods every day, and go wine tasting~” ji-yong nods, a sad smile on his face. “Sounds amazing…” the silence between them is loud after, they both wish ji-Yong could be the man y/n comes back with. “Enough about that..let's go back inside and enjoy each other until we have to check out.” Y/n whispers, Ji-yong grunts, tightening his grip on y/n for a moment, before letting his arms fall to his sides.

y/n pulls away, walking back into the hotel room. Ji-yong stays on the balcony for a few minutes, processing everything they talked about.. he lets out a deep sigh, taking in the hotel's view one last time before joining y/n inside. A smirk forms on ji-yong face as he takes in y/n's bare body on the bed, her robe thrown on the floor haphazardly. “Ouuu~” he smirks, stripping off his own robe, and throwing it somewhere unknown.

y/n rolls her eyes softly, turning to face him with a playful look on her face. “I fear what’s going through that head of yours~” y/n giggles softly as Ji-yong plops down next to her on the bed. Ji-young’s arms immediately find y/n's waist, pulling her bare body flush against his. “Why would you fear my thoughts?~” he mumbles in her ear, gently kissing the lobe of it. A shiver runs down y/n's spine as ji-yong trails more kisses down her neck and shoulder, gently sucking small marks into her skin every now and then. “Ji…” y/n mumbles, her body betraying her better judgment, leaning into his touch.

ji-yong smirks, his hands running down her sides and stomach until they finally reach their destination between y/ns thighs. “Fuck jagi~” he groans into y/ns ear pressing one finger between her folds to play with her clit teasingly. “your so fucking wet~” y/n's thighs clench around ji-yong's hand, moaning softly at his touch. “F-fuck~ what’s with you and morning sex~” y/n lets out a breathless giggle. Ji-yong smirks, grinding his growing erection against her ass.

”what can i say, you look so fucking irresistible~” ji-yong growls in her ear. Y/n gasps as ji-yong slowly slides one of his fingers into her weeping cunt. “Mmm~” she moans quietly as he easily slides a second finger into her, slowly pumping them in and out teasingly. “Do you hear that jagi?” He grins against y/n's shoulder at the wet sounds coming from her cunt.

Y/n moans, squeezing her eyes shut and squirming in pleasure. “You sound so beautiful~ keep moaning for me, ok?~” he mumbles, kissing back up her neck. Ji-young’s thumb lightly grazes her clit, making her whole body jolt against him. “P-please ji..” a needy whimper falls from y/n’s lips. Ji-yong teasingly runs his thumb over her clit again.

”please? What~ what do you want jagi~” ji-yong smirks against her skin. Y/n would roll her eyes if she didn’t feel so good, instead she moans loudly, her hands finding ji-yong's free arm and gripping hard. “N-need you to touch my clit.. p-please ji~” y/n squeezes his arm, having to physically fight the urge to dig her nails into his skin, knowing she can’t leave any marks on him.

ji-yong's thumb finally makes contact with y/n's aching clit, rubbing fast circles to match the pace of his fingers. “Shit your clenching down on my fingers so hard~” ji-yong groans, kissing her jaw, leaving hickeys in his wake. Y/n moans, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. “S-shit ji~ g-gonna-“

y/n groans in disappointment as ji-yong pulls his hand away, leaving her empty and clenching around nothing. “Not yet jagi~ i want you to cum on my cock~” he whispers in her ear, gently biting her earlobe, tugging it gently as he pulls away. Y/n moans, bucking her hips against his, desperate for some kind of friction. ji-yong groans, gripping her hips, holding them down.

“I want you to ride me y/n~” he groans, laying on his back, pulling her with him so she’s straddling him. y/n smirks down at him, grinding her wet cunt on his stomach. “I’m starting to think this is your favorite position~” she teases. Ji-yong just smirks up at her, gripping her hips tighter. “Maybe it is~” y/n giggles, rolling her eyes.

y/n sits up on her knees, grabbing ji-yong's cock and stroking it a few times before positioning him at her slick entrance. Ji-yong groans, his cock twitching in interest as his eyes trail down her body and to where they are about to be connected. “What do you say ji~” y/n teases, a small smirk playing on her lips as she rubs his cock through her wet folds teasingly.

Ji-yong throws his head back with an annoyed groan. “Plea-“ y/n doesn’t let him finish, sinking down on him fully. “A-ah~” he moans, looking up at her in shock. “Fuck..you’re so hot” he groans, bucking his hips against hers. Y/n smirks down at him, trailing a finger down his chest and stomach, stopping where their connected. “Your so big ji~ fill me all the way up..” y/n moans, starting to roll her hips slowly. Ji-yong's grip on her hips tighten, bound to leave finger shaped bruises.

Ji-yong lets out a needy groan. “N-need you to move faster jagi~” he grunts, lazily thrusting up into her from below. Y/n starts bouncing faster, her back arching at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. She presses both her hands to his chest for balance as she throws her head back. Ji-yongs thrusts start to match her pace, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. “S-shit ji~” y/n moans, leaning down and connecting their lips in a sloppy, needy kiss.

y/n feels the knot start to form in her lower stomach again, so she pulls away from the kiss, speeding up her pace while she starts to rub her clit. She immediately throws her head back, moaning loudly. “I-I’m cumming ji~” ji-yong groans, the feeling of y/n clenching down on him so hard sends him over the edge. He continues to thrust up, riding out both of their highs for as long as he can.

y/ns body slumps down on him, coming down from her high. “You felt so good, jagi~” Ji-yong mumbles lazily, running his hand through her hair. Y/n smiles against his chest, leaving small kisses where her head is resting. They sit in silence for a few moments, basking in the afterglow of sex.

”We should get cleaned up.” Ji-yong gently rolls y/n off of him, laying her on the sheets next to him. “I'll go run us a bath, be right back” he kisses her softly, before jumping up from the bed and walking into the bathroom. Y/n sighs, watching the closed door for a few seconds before finally looking up at the ceiling and zoning out.

y/n loves ji-yong..and she’s sure he loves her..he treats her like he does, yet.. he always goes back to Nam-Gil…y/n has been thinking about ending this for a while..months even, but a part of her always hopes he will leave Nam-Gil for her. Y/n knows that ji-yong doesn’t love his bride to be..yet he still always chooses her over y/n..well..y/n is sick of being the side piece.Y/n know this is the last time her and ji-yong should see each other, she wants to get married and have kids..and so she can’t have that with ji-yong..

ji-yong walks back into the room with a wide grin. “Baths ready~” he says, stopping at the side of the bed. Y/n smiles softly at him. “Ok ji~” y/n is going to enjoy her bath with ji..then she will tell him.. he lifts her off the bed, causing her to squeal quietly before giggles start to pour from her lips “so strong~” she teases, placing her hand on his chest. Ji-yong smirks proudly at her, carrying her all the way to the edge of the bathtub. He sets her down, grabbing her arm to help support her on her wobbly legs. “Be careful when you get in..” ji-yong mumbles, gripping her arm tighter as she steps into the tub. “Thanks ji” she says as she lowers herself into the tub.

Ji-yong lets go of her arm and climbs in behind her, resting his head on her shoulder once he’s sat down. “You're so perfect~” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around y/n's waist and pulling her closer. He pants a soft kiss to the back of her neck, breathing in her scent. “I love you y/n~” he sighs softly, leaving kiss after kiss in the same spot as before.

y/n has to hold back tears, her voice a little choked up as she responds. “I love you too ji-yong..” y/n mumbles, closing her eyes and savoring the feeling of ji-yong's lips on her neck. They sit in silence for a while, ji-yong never stopping his affections on y/n's neck..y/n enjoys it while she can, knowing this is the last time she’s going to get to be like this with him.

The water is starting to get cold and y/n is dreading what’s about to come, but she knows this is what she needs to do, not just for herself, but for ji-yong too. “Ji-yong?” She whispers, she needs to tell him..it’s eating her alive and she can’t wait any longer.. “yeah jagi?” Y/n tenses slightly, and ji-yong feels it, frowning as he pulls away from her neck, concern filling his eyes.

“I-i…” y/n sighs sadly while ji-yong eyes her from behind, he doesn’t like where this is going.. “What's wrong?” He asks, his hands rubbing small comforting circles on her stomach. “I-i think this should be the last time we see each other..” ji-yong fully pulls away, looking at her with betrayal in his eyes. Y/n sighs, turning her body so she’s facing him, giving him the space he needs.

“Listen ji-yong..did you really think i was going to be your side chick forever..that’s not..that’s not what i want..” ji-yong shakes his head. “No..I didn’t think you would be my side chick forever..” ji-yong can’t bring himself to look at her..he thought he had more time with y/n..he needs more time..this can’t be the end..not yet..tears well up in ji-yong's eyes, he wishes he took more time to memorize y/n. The way she laughs, feels..looks…”i-i love you y/n..” ji-yong grabs her hands, bringing them up to his lips as he continues. “Why does it have to end now?”

y/n frowns, squeezing is hands. “You're getting married in a month, ji-yong…i need to move on from this..us..at least somewhat before your big day comes.” Ji-yong's heart aches, he hates the thought of y/n moving on from him..he knows it’s selfish..but he loves her..and the thought of her with someone else breaks his heart in ways he can’t describe. He nods his head, holding back the tears threatening to fall.

”when we separate at the airport..that’s when we’re officially over..ok?” Y/n asks, her eyes full of unshed tears. Ji-yong looks at her with sad eyes for a moment, but nods in agreement anyways.

Y/n rests her forehead against his. “I love you ji-yong…and i'll never forget you or the time i spent with you…the memories of you will haunt me until the day i die~” a tear slides down y/ns cheek. “I will always love you y/n..i'll always-..always think about you..everything i do thoughts of you will follow..” y/n smiles sadly, nudging him in the side. ‘How cheesy of you~” she teases, causing him to chuckle sadly. “It’s true though y/n…i will find a piece of you in everything i do..”

ji-yong pulls her closer, their body’s flush against the others. He wraps his arms back around her waist and crashes his lips against hers. They savor the feeling, holding each other as close as possible. “The water's cold ji..” y/n whispers as she pulls away from him completely. ji-yong’s hands linger on her hips as he gives her a sad look. “I’m not ready to let go yet..” he mumbles, looking at her with pleading eyes. “I know..but it's time..

y/n stands up, ji-yong's hands falling away from her sides. She frowns down at him before stepping out of the bath, wrapping a towel around her body. “Come on ji” ji-yong watches her for another second, before pulling the plug on the bath and stepping out, wrapping a towel around his own body. “this sucks” ji-yong grumbles before walking to the outfit he planned the night before.

y/n nods in agreement. ”Your right…this does suck..” y/n sighs pulling on a cute pair of gray sweats and a dark red crop top. Ji-yong eyes her outfit and smiles softly. “You look beautiful y/n..” he mumbles lovingly, sad eyes taking her in one last time. Y/n sighs. “Don’t do this ji..” she groans sadly, avoiding eye contact. He huffs and crosses his arms. “Do what?” he glares, making her laugh humorlessly. “Acting like were a couple..i-i just..I’m in fucking airport clothes..a-and…ji..i just..” y/n can’t finish her sentence, tears streaming down her face.

Ji-yong’s anger vanishes almost instantly, his eyes widening slightly. “N-no! Don’t cry..i get it ok? I wont act like we're a couple anymore..” he reaches over and gently wipes her tears. “Please stop crying..” she whispers, hating when she cries. He pulls her into a comforting hug, she melts into it much to ji-yong's relief. “We have to check out now..” y/n sighs, pulling away from ji-yong's embrace. She turns to the mirror, hiding any evidence of her crying.

they both quietly grab their bags, stopping at the door to turn and take one last look at the hotel room, which has now become a capsule of all their last memories together. “If you ever change your mind on marrying Nam-Gil you know where to find me…” y/n says before leaving the room, not giving ji-yong enough time to even process what she said.

y/n and ji-yong don’t really talk unless they need to the whole way back to Seoul..they don’t know what to day to each other..so they just stayed quiet, they didn’t want to accept that this is actually the end of them.

Nam-Gil meets ji-yong at the doors of the airport, jumping into his arms and kissing him deeply, even though they both know that she doesn’t give a shit about him… as he’s putting his bags in the trunk of his car, he turns and watches y/n get in a taxi, realizing that’s the very last time he’s going to see y/n..the love of his life..

*one month later*

it's the day of ji-yong's wedding..he’s all dressed up in a fashionable suit that matches his style perfectly, the only part of the wedding he got any say in. he feels nauseous standing in front of all the waiting guests, and not the good, excited but a little scared nauseous..no, this is the most dreadful, gut wrenching, heartbreak kind of nausea. Today he’s going to marry the wrong person..

Ji-yong scans Nam-Gil’s family..they're all happy for the two, not knowing that their relationship had crumbled beneath their feet months ago. That's why he proposed in the first place, to fix things after he caught Nam-Gil cheating the first time..but he knows that this marriage won't change her behavior..she’s just using him..and he’s just letting her.. y/ns words at the hotel have been ringing in his ear since they split. “If you ever change your mind about marrying Nam-Gil, you know where to find me” ji-yong sighs, tearing his gaze away from his soon to be wife’s family.

The music starts, and ji-yong's stomach drops..this is it..why is he doing this?.. he sees Nam-Gil, a fake joyful smile plastered across her face, along with fake tears of happiness falling down her cheeks. She’s really selling this, and if ji-yong didn’t know what real love felt like because of y/n..he would have probably fallen for it too.. he lets tears of his own fall, but not tears of happiness, they are tears of heartbreak, it's not like any of the guests will know otherwise..

Nam-Gil steps up in front of him, and he forces himself to look up at her..y/n in a wedding dress flashes through his mind, and his heart aches, the fact that he will never see her again eating away at his soul..

y/n stares up at the wedding venue, a small frown settling on her face. Tears well up in her eyes, he’s still doing it..marrying Nam-Gil..so why is y/n even here..ji-yong doesn’t want her or he would have fought for her..but y/n knows she needs the closure from doing this, no matter how much it may hurt at first.

She walks up the steps and through the venue doors, the sound of the officiant speaking filling her ears. She shouldn’t be doing this…but if he tells her to leave she will be free to take the job offer she got in Paris, and they’ll never see each other again..hopefully. Y/n peeks around the wall, watching the wedding secretly.

Y/n’s eyes land on ji-yong, he looks…defeated..yet still so devastatingly handsome.. she can see that he doesn’t want this, it's written all over his face..how can the guests not tell his tears aren’t from joy? Y/n’s frown deepens..she knows ji-yong feels trapped in this engagement, she doesn’t know why she waited for him, she should just turn around now, move to Paris and never look back..but he’s the only person holding her here and she doesn’t want any regrets when she leaves..so its time for her to finally close this door for good.

”Does anyone object to this union?!” The officiant calls out. Y/n takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for potential heartbreak. She steps out, her eyes landing on ji-yong. “I-i do!” The whole room freezes, before everyone silently turns to face y/n. Y/n shrinks under the gaze of so many people, focusing her eyes solely on ji-yong. His eyes light up when he sees her, looking at her like she hung the stars, and in that moment she was confident she would be walking out of the venue with ji-yong by her side.

y/n takes a few steps, keeping her eyes on ji-yong’s the whole time. Nam-Gil scoffs angrily. “Who even are you?” she shouts, glaring at y/n with a certain fire in her eyes. Y/n ignores her, the only person that matters to y/n right now is ji-yong, and she wants him to know it.

Ji-yong feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs, he hasn’t seen y/n since the airport..and he’s missed her so damn much. Now..seeing her in front of him after all this time apart..y/n looks breathtaking. Nam-Gil glares at him angrily. “Do you know her ji-yong?!” she stomps her foot demandingly, looking like a small child who got told no when asking for a new toy.

Ji-yong doesn’t answer, he just starts slowly walking towards y/n. Nam-Gil gasps. “J-ji-yong! Tell your fan to leave!..now!” She shouts, once again stomping her foot like an angry child. Ji-yong continues to ignore her meeting y/n in the middle of the aisle.

Y/n grabs his hands and looks him dead in the eyes. “I’m so sorry I crashed your wedding..i-i just..i had to do this..” she sniffs, squeezing his hands. “If you tell me to leave..you’ll never see me again..i'll never call or text..i won't seek you out..and I’ll pretend nothing ever happened between us..” ji-yong's heart aches at the thought of never seeing y/n again..never hearing her voice or her laugh..he shakes his head, before looking her in the eyes again.

”i love you so much ji-yong..a-and i want to be with you for real…this is our last chance ji..if you send me away now..I’m going to move countries and never look back…�� ji-yong's stomach drops, she‘ll leave? No! That can’t happen! The idea hurts..a lot..he smiles at her softly. “You know..it's funny, I didn’t have to find you when I changed my mind..you came to me~” he grabs her cheeks gently pulling her in for a deep loving kiss, people around them be damned.

ji-yong missed y/n's lips this last month, there’s no stopping him now..The crowd gasps, and Nam-Gil practically screams. She storms over, grabbing ji-yong by the arm before pulling him away from y/n. Nam-Gil slaps y/n..hard, the sound echoing off the walls. Y/n rubs her cheek, her cheek red and tingling in pain. Y/n admits she deserves it..she knew ji-yong was engaged the whole time she was with him and its a shitty thing for her to do.

ji-yong is appalled by the slap though, his eyes widening angrily. “What do you think you're doing?!” ji-yong shouts. Nam-Gil raises her hand to slap him too, but he catches her wrist gently, not wanting to hurt her. “I can't believe you would do this to me! I thought you fucking loved me!?” Nam-Gil shouts, trying to pull her wrist from ji-yong's grip so she can slap him.

ji-yong laughs angrily at her. “Maybe if you hadn’t cheated on me all those times I wouldn’t have fucking cheated myself!” She scoffs, finally getting her arm free, she doesn’t go to slap ji-yong though. “I thought this whole engagement was to fix our relationship!” Ji-yong scoffs, a small humorless chuckle falling from his lips. “To fix our relationship you need to actually stop cheating on me!” Ji-yong yells, gently putting his hand on y/n's back before starting to lead her out of the venue.

“Where the fuck are you going!?” Nam-Gil shouts after him. “The weddings off! we‘re over!” He yells back, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he leads y/n outside. They both let out a sigh of relief, the cool air feeling amazing on their flushed skin. “Come on, let's get you home~” ji-yong purrs in y/n's ear as he leads her to his car. He opens the door for her, smiling as he watches her sit down..he’s so happy he made this decision, he knows it’s the right one, he knows he will be way happier with y/n who he actually loves, and loves him back.

he hops in the driver's seat, his hand immediately finding y/n's thigh. She smiles, grabbing his hand in her own and resting her head on her seat, gazing at him lovingly. “Sorry it took so long jagi~” he frowns, pulling the back of y/n's hand to his lips. She smiles at him, savoring the feeling of his lips on her skin after weeks of nothing. “I would have waited centuries if it meant i get to be with you like this~”

he grins at her words, his heart fluttering in his chest. “Well your waiting is over” he mumbles, leaning over the center console to give her a quick kiss, before pulling out of the wedding venue parking lot. Ji-yong holds y/n's hand all the way to her apartment, not wanting to let go even for a single moment.

When they get to y/n's apartment building, ji-yong practically drags her inside, before pushing her up against her apartment door and smashing their lips together. Ji-yong pulls away and observes her cheek with a small frown. “Does it hurt?” He asks, bringing her palm to his lips, kissing down to her inner wrist. “Not anymore~” y/n whispers, before grabbing his face and pulling him into a deep kiss.

ji-yong will think about the fact that he still lives with that she witch later…right now he’s going to enjoy the love of his life’s body~

Hey guys! I’m starting a tag list so comment or message me if you want to be in it!! 💛💛

#bigbang #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #g dragon x reader #bigbang x reader #bigbang gdragon #gdragon #g dragon #g dragon fanfic #jiyong x reader

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