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generalgalaxyfury · 13 days ago

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𐔌　𝓒ON𝓢UME 𝓜E ₊˚ ♡

○˚𑄽𑄺˖° SUMMARY: dean wants to be your everything, no matter the cost.

⋆˚✿˖° NOTES: loser!sub!dean x vampire!reader smut blood consumption finger sucking pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, sweet girl, gorgeous) hair pulling begging dry humping unprotected sex overstimulation they r obsessed with each other!! dean's a little ooc ig meow! it's like semi edited wahh

○˚♡˖° WORD COUNT: 4.4k woah!

˚○ ୨୧ main masterlist taglist navi

dean being with you, a literal vampire, didn’t feel like damnation. it felt like heaven. for all your many centuries of existence and the blood that kept you breathing, you were delicately affectionate from the moment you’d met him. it’s actually what kept him from ganking you during the first few weeks you decided to stick around.

and thank goodness he didn’t.

you practically pacified the sweet boy in just a few months, often resulting in him curled up in your arms like a half tamed puppy after a long day, all of his previous bark and bite from earlier faded to quiet whines and slow blinks as your fingers threaded through his hair.

it’s disgusting the way dean constantly finds himself submitting to you. he’d rip his heart out with his bare, calloused hands and gladly give it to you the second you asked.

he’s screwed.

his love was all consuming, constantly having a dizzying headache of wanting you so bad it scraped his ribs raw. and he figured maybe you had spelled him somehow, to make him want to give up his one and only soul for you, a monster.

because dean didn’t love, not really. he never yearned for someone the way a man in love should. not until you.

he lived for these moments with you, where the shit world he fights against every day is still and kind for once. where he’s shirtless in bed, holding you like he’d fall through the mattress if he didn’t anchor himself to you.

your low cut tank top gave dean a wide view of one of his very few sanctuaries... your tits.

he leans forward to place a small kiss on your chest before tilting his head back to look at you with those hypnotizing green eyes, his hands rubbing your sides to eventually stop at your hips and giving them a light squeeze.

you exhale, lightly rubbing his biceps as you lean back against the headboard. “baby, i haveta.. eat.. soon.” you murmur, gently reminding him of your nature. you’ve always hated bringing it up, having to admit the hunger that stirred beneath your flesh.

he frowns with a sigh, placing another kiss on your chest and nuzzling his head between your breasts like a petulant child, rubbing his nose against the soft skin before looking up at you again with an alluring glance that made your unbeating heart tug.

“jus stay for a few more minutes.” dean grumbles, letting his lower lip fall in a tiny pout as he blinks up at you, his chin still squished between your boobs.

you giggle, petting his hair and bringing up a finger to trace over his pouting lips. “i didn’t say right this second. just soon, kay?”

a soft whine escapes him as the pad of your finger lightly brushes against his lips, like just the small touch from you had blessed him. the large hands resting on your hips slide down underneath your loose shirt, now roaming over your bare skin.

he shamelessly takes your finger between his plump pink lips as you eye him with a soft smile, a little noise of content falling out of you. he sucks and gently nips on it, his eyes never pulling away from yours. you know, like a whore.

you adore when he's like this, all soft and subby. you coo, your free hand still playing with his hair as he swirls his pink tongue around your digit.

he softly whimpers as he reluctantly slips your finger out of his mouth before smooching a gentle kiss on the pad of it. his hands are now soothingly rubbing your back underneath your shirt, his lips trailing down to scatter soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

one of his legs suddenly slip between yours, knee brushing against your core before cooing at your surprised squeak at the contact, your hips automatically jerking at the friction.

“okay,” you rasp, nodding your head in attempt to recollect yourself with a hard swallow. “i said soon as in.. only a few minutes, baby.”

he simply hums before leaning forward and stupidly taking the skin on your jaw between his teeth.

hunger crawls up your throat without warning, blooming hot and desperate. you can smell him more now from this angle— sweat and blood, and god, his awaiting throat is right there.

and he just purrs like he knows how it’s affecting you, the noise vibrating against your skin.

“dean.” you warn sharply, fighting the necessity to indulge in your needs. you resist the urge to sink your fangs into him 24/7, and it's even worse at times like these when he’s all over you.

“i'm hungry, be careful.”

he simply hums again as he places a kiss on your jaw before moving down until his lips press gently against your pulse point, his teeth nipping on the sensitive skin of your throat, almost as if to tease you.

“you’ve already taken my blood before.” he points out with a small grunt, burying his nose into your neck.

you wince at the memory. it was in an empty ghost town where your stash had been destroyed, and you thought your life was over. you’d resisted for hours until you just couldn’t anymore. then dean had offered his wrist with a smile and a “c’mon, sweetheart, you need to. please.”

you didn’t want to, but what other choice did you have? you’d been careful. gentle. he even said it didn’t hurt.

you whine, pulling him closer despite the logical part of your brain telling you otherwise. “that can never happen again, deany.” you murmur, lashes fluttering at his wet nips and pecks.

he huffs against your skin. “why the hell not? nothing happened, right?” he says matter of factly, his tone still soft as his fingers trace patterns over your back. he wants to be what you crave and he wants to be the one to give it to you. he needs to be needed.

“yeah, but,” you start with a pout. “i don’t ever wanna hurt you, honey.” you mumble, eyes following his mouth as he kisses and presses himself all over you like a needy little puppy.

eventually, he lifts his head to look at you again, a small pout of his own on his lips as he stares at you with a pleading expression. “what, you think m scared of you? you’re not gonna hurt me, sweet girl.” he notes with a shift, leaning up to press a soft kiss on your chin, and then your nose.

his knee was still pressed against your center, and he couldn’t help but tauntingly move it, just slightly, enjoying how much it seemed to rile you up.

“i can’t, baby, i can’t..!” you whine, eyes rolling back momentarily. you let out a breathy sigh, a lovesick smile sneaking out as he begins to pepper your face in kisses.

he chuckles, finding your whines and whimpers absolutely adorable. “why not?” he asks with a small coo, his hand petting over your puffed out cheek.

his other hand presses flat against your back, thumb rubbing circles over it as his nose gently rubs against yours. he knew that he was slowly but surely pushing you to give in, and he always plans on getting what he wants.

“because! if i start, i won’t stop— i can’t control it!” you’re quivering now, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded as he rocks his knee against you.

“sweetheart. please?” dean softly hums, his green eyes looking up at you with need. “just a little bite.. that's it.” he murmurs. there’s no hesitation in him. no fear. just a desperate, boyish need to be yours in every possible way.

he further presses his knee against your fabric covered cunt, urging you to grind against him. “fuck, c’mon. let me take care of you.” he exhales.

you let out a heavy breath, hips jerking with a small whimper until you shakily nod. “okay.. your wrist. n-not your neck..” you mumble, listening intently to the sound of his heartbeat.

he can’t hold back from letting out a deep, guttural groan at your confirmation. he brings his wrist up to your mouth, offering it like a gift with pride. “drink, baby...” he whispers huskily, his hand going to your hip to help you rock on him.

you breathily hiss at both the sensation and dean's eagerness to feed his girl, bringing a shiver to your spine. you snatch his wrist into your cold grip before pausing to listen to the flow of his blood, his eyes slightly widening.

“are you sure?” you whisper with closed eyes, hunger twisting low and sharp in your belly.

“yeah, positive.” he breathes, nodding rapidly as he stares at you with pure adoration.

with a flash of movement, you drag his wrist to your mouth, and your fangs sink in.

your nails dig into his forearm as the blood hits your tongue, rich and wild and oh so human. your head spins with the taste of him— it’s overwhelming, addicting, too much, but you drink like you're starved, a low involuntary growl rumbling out of your throat.

dean lets out a soft cry, his entire body pressing up against you. he can feel your nipples poking through your shirt, his forehead dropping to yours as he cradles the back of your head with his free hand.

“jesus christ,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple as his eyes squeeze shut with a grunt.

he bites down on his bottom lip, letting out an involuntary moan. he's never felt something so intense before, the feeling of your fangs inside his flesh, the feeling of you sucking on his skin, and all the little sounds you’re making. he groans as your body arches into him, his jeans somehow getting even tighter.

his body goes on autopilot, hips bucking against yours, desperately in search of more friction. his free hand pulls your shirt up enough for your boobs to bounce out, his tongue swiping over his lips as he stares down at them before glancing up at you again.

“you’re so hungry, aren't you..?” he murmurs, hand moving under the shirt to squeeze a handful of your tit as he plants kisses along your neck.

god, his blood is everything. thick and warm and utterly his, laced with all the things you crave most. his loyalty, his love, the deep desiring thrum of a man who would burn himself down if it meant keeping you full.

your supernaturally tight hold manages to grip harder around his wrist for another greedy mouthful, and you feel him sag into you, breath catching on a ragged sigh. but even still, there's no fear, no hesitation. just dean, wide eyed and adoring, like he’s grateful to be devoured.

and that’s what jolts you back.

you yank yourself away from his arm with a choked gasp, blood still wet on your lips, your heart pounding like it’s about to explode. your fingers loosen their death grip on his wrist as you try to catch your breath.

his hand moves from your breast to caress your cheek, whispering sweet words, only to be interrupted by your snarl. “clean it up before i suck you fucking dry.” you whimper, voice barely holding together.

the sight of dean's blood smeared on your lips and your darkened eyes causes him to let out another low moan. he blinks, drunk on the intimacy still coiling between you.

“fuck...” he whines quietly, his hand on your head still playing with your hair mindlessly. he can't help himself, you just look so cute and kissable in this moment. he leans in closer, fingers going under your chin to lift you up a little, wanting a taste of your bloody lips.

you exhale, eyes shutting as you shake your head and press a hand against his chest to stop him.

his gaze flicks down to his bloody wrist. he lifts it up to his mouth and begins to leisurely lick the blood away, his tongue leaving soft, slow drags on it.

you groan at the sloshy sound, eyes tightening further as you put your hand over your nose, the smell getting to you.

a slight smirk forms on his lips like he knew him swiping up his blood so lewdly would push your buttons. his tongue continues its slow, meticulous work before he mumbles, “m glad you like it. tastes kinda salty.”

one second he’s all teasing and smirking, and the next you’re on him, fangs out, fingers like iron shackles around his wrist as you drag it back to your mouth.

but even at that, which should scare him, even as a hunter, doesn't bother him in the slightest. he lets out a soft coo, his free hand slowly moving up to gently caress your cheek as you settle on top of him.

he doesn't even care that he might provoke you in this state when he murmurs, “so fuckin pretty, honey,” like he’s delighted.

you hover just above the open wound on his wrist, trembling with your mouth parted and full of blood you still haven’t downed. your eyes flash, dark and feral and a little wild— and he just keeps staring like he’s witnessing something holy. like you’re absolutely fucking divine.

his blood lingers on your tongue, warm and metallic. and despite your bloodthirsty disposition, you’re really not seconds away from losing it and all hell breaking loose like you assumed. you know it.

and dean does too. your stupid, gorgeous dean, presses a kiss to your bottom lip, messy with red liquid.

he slowly pulls his wrist away from your grip, but he doesn’t move far. his palm stays cupped against your cheek, grounding you, like he wants to be tasted.

“you good, buffy?” he grins, soft and teasing with his eyes locked on your face, searching for any signs that you might still be hungry.

“mhmm,” you hum, pecking his thumb with a small smile. you shift in his lap, adjusting your weight until you’re draped over him, tucked into the warmth of his body.

“yknow,” he starts, voice low. he peers down at the blood smeared on his wrist, lips parting with an aroused exhale. he clears his throat before turning back to you, still brushing your face. “you can take it whenever you need to, baby.”

you smile softly at the words, shaking your head. you wouldn't do that to him. “thank you, but-”

“no, i'm serious.” dean cuts you off sharply, voice desperate, and eyes intensely staring into yours like a promise. “don't fight it. swear to god i'll give you everything- don't haveta eat from anyone else ever again.”

you swallow, lashes fluttering as you blink profusely. you shakily breathe, and you find yourself nodding, eyes darting back to the blood seeping out of his wound. you can feel your meal sliding down the back of your tongue, thick and warm.

“please, baby, please,” he whispers huskily, his hands roaming down to grip the globes of your ass. “wanna be your everything. please.”

your hand shoots up, fingers curling around his throat, and you shove him back into the headboard— not hard, but needing. his heart's racing as he stares straight at your perfect fangs baring out to him.

and god, he loves it. he loves you. the soft, sweet side you show the world and the raw creature underneath. the monster with blood on her lips and love etched into her bones.

dean groans out your name, wanting you to take everything he has to give. he looks at you with a desperate look in his eyes. you need me, it screams.

his fingers tighten around your thighs, nails digging in. there’s a tremble in his jaw he doesn’t even try to hide. he should feel pathetic, he thinks, being this far gone over you. but he feels chosen. he wants to be consumed. in fact, he wants to cry from how much he wants you, how much he wants you to bite him, and take everything he has to give.

you growl, a sound you don’t even mean to make, and the way dean reacts is almost embarrassing. he shudders underneath you, hips twitching slightly, eyes rolling back.

your bottom lip juts out into a small pout as you squeeze his throat tighter, eliciting a small whine from him.

you shove your lips onto his, licking and sucking feverishly. he immediately kisses you back, returning your lust driven bites with needy twirls of his tongue around yours. it's gross, spit drooling down your chin with your mouth moving in the most uncoordinated motions, but neither of you care. if anything, that's what makes it so good.

your hand around his throat squeezes, and you can feel his pulse hammering against your palm. his heart’s beating like it’s trying to climb out of his chest. he pants your name against your mouth like a prayer, almost dizzy with how much he wants you.

you pull away with heavy breaths, lips bitten and soaked wet with his saliva. he groans, tilting his neck closer to you, his hand gripping your wrist to pull it away. you moan loudly, staring at the skin with eager need.

he breathes, “take me”, and you’re gone for the second time tonight.

you surge forward, fangs sinking into his throat. his blood pours over your tongue once more, thick and alive. your body jolts like it’s been electrocuted as you moan against his skin.

dean cries out, a raw, broken shout as his eyes squeeze shut. his hips buck under you and his entire body arches up into yours.

he’s completely at your mercy, letting you take whatever you need, just as long as he can get that delicious feeling of you biting him, and the crazy pleasure he gets from being your source of nourishment.

his love floods your senses, overtaking every thought. you weren’t starving before, but nothing has ever felt so good as this. as his blood, your dean.

his eyes are heavy lidded and glassy, pupils blown wide as he feels himself being drained. there’s a tear slipping from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t even feel it, too busy whispering your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

“fuck,” he chokes, voice wrecked and boyish. “you’re gonna kill me— oh god, baby—”

you pull back a little, just enough to lick some seeped blood from his neck. your lips are stained crimson, eyes still half feral, and he's fighting to not completely sob at the sight.

you kiss his pulse point, slow and wet. “you're not gonna die, sweet boy.”

“i love you.” he blurts, like the words are punched out of him. he groans, squeezing the fabric of your shirt as he rolls his hips up. “oh, i love you. drain me, fuck me, take me— fuck, please!”

you moan loudly, right in his face as you grip it, holding him like he’s fragile. and he is. he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted so badly.

he can barely even think straight, his thoughts spinning with need and desire. he wants to be the only one you ever need. he groans, eyes rolling back and his hips bucking against yours mindlessly, seeking any sort of friction.

you let out a large exhale, practically shoving your hand to the front of his jeans, tugging down the zipper with little struggle and much need. his eyebrows are pinched tight, lips parted as he yanks his pants down, kicking them off his feet.

he snatches your tiny top into his large hands, pulling it up and over your head before leaning forward to kiss you again, tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth while you slide down your panties with quiet mewling sounds.

he immediately slips two fingers past your entrance, earning a moan from you while his other hand grips the side of your face, keeping your mouth on his. he skillfully slips his digits out before shoving them right back in, over and over again.

you bite his lips, more blood drawing from the stab of your fangs.

he groans, eyes rolling back before pounding his fingers harder into you, the spongy spot of your cunt massaging against them.

you cry out his name as you reach your high, his fingers dripping like water with arousal. he whines, staring down at them. he quickly takes them into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the skin like a man starved. you tug down his boxers, mindlessly throwing them across the room.

he smiles gently, pulling his fingers out with a small pop before flipping you to lay on your back. he bends down, leaving wet kisses along your neck and boobs as you whine with need. “i know, honey.” he coos a little shakily as he starts to drag his tip up and down your folds.

you gasp at the stretch as he slides further into you, eyes squeezing shut at the tight fit. you’re babbling like a fool in love, hands gripping his hair with a death grip. once his dick is fully inside, he pauses, waiting for the go as he murmurs words of praise into your neck.

“please, move, please..!” you plead, tugging his hair to pull him away from your skin, latching onto him as you suck on his bottom lip with a little buck of your hips.

dean moans, sticking his tongue out automatically as he starts to rock into you, thrusting at a steady pace filled with tender care despite the blood still dripping from his wounds.

a hand squeezes your nipple, twisting it between his fingers as your legs wrap around his waist. he shakes his head, using his free hand to pull under your thigh and lift a leg onto his shoulder. you cry out as he starts to hit deeper inside you at the angle, arching your chest into his.

your walls clench around him, girthy cock hitting all the right places. his balls slap against your ass as he slams into you, the lewd sound echoing throughout your apartment. his fingers slither down to your sensitive little clit, starting up small circles against it as you mewl.

it feels like he's staring into your soul as he rubs all over your clit, letting out soft whines at your wanton expression.

you’re frantically babbling, hand still tugging his hair. “g-good boy, dean, mmph..! it's so good, s-so s'good...”

your fingers swipe through the aching crimson mark on his throat, earning a mix of a grunt and moan from him as you kitten-lick your stained digits. he desperately thrusts into you, leaning forward with his tongue sticking out to copy your movement, tasting himself on your skin. it's almost creepy the way you both get off to it. your tongues brush against each other as you keep licking from your fingers, and it's enough to get you close to your release.

he notices, of course, and rapidly speeds up his fingers below, moaning your name as he pinches your puffy nub. you squeal, head tilting back as your hips jerk into his hand.

“shit, sweetheart.” he whines, releasing his grip on your nipple to spread kisses against your other tit, tongue lathering saliva as he spits down on the perky bud. “my sweet girl, fuck, i love you!”

your pussy squeezes around him like a vice as you finish. you both feel like you’ve been doused in a mind numbing drug as you cum at the same time. his jaw drops, red stained lips locked apart and eyes shut as he shoots his cum into you. he kisses your thigh on his sweaty shoulder, your cunt twitching as he lays your leg back down on the bed.

he lets out loud whimpers, cock still inside you as he feels your mix of releases seeping out of your pussy.

you open your eyes, cooing immediately at the sight of his dazed eyes, his head probably still fuzzy from the blood loss. he notices your glance and brings a hand to his neck, wincing as he touches the puncture marks left by your fangs.

he smiles sweetly. he can't help but be filled with joy from you taking his blood and seed.

god, he can barely string words together, barely even remember how to speak at all— but manages to let out one little word.

“more..” he whispers, voice barely even audible, as his hands grip your hips again.

you whine softly, shaking your head as your hands reach for his face. “no more, baby.” you exhale, still panting heavily. “mm, did so good, sweet boy..”

he sighs in defeat, but nods nonetheless. he's tired as fuck, and he did good, he pleased you. that’s all that matters.

you tiredly lean over to the nightstand, pulling out a tissue from the box before putting it against his neck. the pressure causes a slight sting, but he doesn’t mind. he loves the feeling.

his eyes flutter close as he listens to your sweet nothings, feeling a sense of delight washing over him. not wanting to lose contact with you, he grabs your hand, bringing it up to press a kiss on your knuckles. his grip's a little weak as he tugs you closer, laying down on your body.

both of you slightly wince at the aftershocks. you lean closer to give him a peck as you pull him onto you, hands threading through his hair.

he looks up at you with glassy eyes as you lazily suck on his lip, his body relaxing even more. his hand goes up to gently brush some hair away from your face before shutting his eyes. “we should clean up..” he murmurs lightly, tone all soft and sugary, and a little slurred from his fatigue.

“i'll do it.” you coo, pressing a final kiss against his mouth. he hums in content, turning his head sideways so his cheek squishes against your chest as sleep takes over him after one more declaration of love from his lips.

so, yeah. that sick, endless love dean winchester has always quietly craved is here in the grasp of a vampire. and good luck to any fucker who tried to separate them.

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

sorry for any mistakes !!! this has been sitting in my drafts so i kinda just wanted to get it out 😓 i love crazies mwah lowk inspired by this bot !!

taglist: @multiversefanfics @misticsilver

also tagging spn moots cough …! (lmk if u dont wanna be!!! <3) @soldiersgirl @deanstubble @losers-clvb @jaredwnch @mostlymarvelgirl @manicpixievixen @sapphic-destiel @cherrygirlfriend

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generalgalaxyfury · 14 days ago

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I love this ❤️ But I also seriously cried 😭 Like I'm still sobbing while writing this, but also happy that they had a happy ending ❤️

Letters and Lies

Mark Meachum x Y/N Female character

Summary: Mark is an actual criminal who's been writing letter to Y/N a college student while he was in prison, he escapes to find this girl who's been giving him hope while he is diagnosed with an incurable brain tumor.

Warnings: 18+, age gap, toxic masculinity, mentioning of crimes such as murder and drug dealing, smut, jealousy, ...

It's a very long one shot. Be prepared.

Y/N had always been the kind of girl who colored inside the lines. Straight-A student. Sociology major. Raised by two teachers who believed rules were sacred. She was the last person anyone would expect to become a prison pen pal.

But something about the name Mark Meachum tugged at her curiosity.

Convicted of murder and suspected ties to the maffia, one of the oldest crime families in the Northeast, Mark was serving life without parole. She told herself it was for a school paper on criminal psychology. Just one letter. But then he wrote back.

His handwriting was clean, almost elegant. His words were careful, sometimes poetic. Mark wrote like a man who lived behind shadows but saw everything in color. In his letters, he wasn’t a killer. He was haunted. Trapped. Human.

Months passed.

Letters turned into confessions. Secrets traded like currency. Y/N shared things she’d never told anyone—not even her roommate. She didn’t know how old he really was. Late thirties, maybe? Mid-forties? It didn’t matter. He made her feel seen. Understood.

And then the letters stopped.

Two weeks. Nothing.

Until one night.

She came back from class, dropped her bag, and found a man sitting on her dorm bed.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

She gasped, stumbling back.

He looked exactly like the photos she found online. maybe a little rougher. Shadows under his eyes. Muscles taut like a predator who'd been hunting too long. But those same eyes she'd come to know through envelopes stared at her with an impossible softness.

“Mark?”

He smiled faintly. “You didn’t think I’d stay caged forever, did you?”

Mark told her how he’d got to her. No details. Just that someone owed him a favor. That he had nothing to live for except her.

Y/N was frozen. Torn.

He had killed five men—maybe more. His name was whispered in documentaries, always linked to the Valentis. He didn’t belong in a dorm. Not with her. Not among textbooks and safety flyers.

But he smelled like old paper and danger. Like his letters had come to life.

Mark still sat on the edge of her narrow dorm bed, his shoulders hunched slightly, a small, beat-up duffel bag resting quietly at his feet. He hadn't moved since she let him in. She, on the other hand, paced nervously, arms folded tight around her chest.

"You can stay... just for tonight," Y/N finally said, voice tight, eyes darting toward the door. "But this isn't safe. There are too many people in this building. What if someone sees you?"

Mark didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched her with that slow, unreadable smirk—like a man keeping secrets behind tired eyes. Not cruel, not sharp—just… unreadable.

"You never told me you were still a student," he said at last.

Y/N froze mid-step, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "I… I told you I was in college."

"You said you went to college. Not that you were a senior. Not that you were still in this life. Dorm rooms and lectures and RA checks."

She hesitated, then looked away. "I didn’t think it was something I’d ever need to explain. I mean, I didn’t think we’d… meet."

Mark nodded slowly, his eyes dropping. "Yeah. I just… I wish you came to visit."

"We were pen pals," she said, gently. Almost apologetic.

He let out a dry laugh, something hollow in it. His hands twisted together on his lap, knuckles pale. "I didn’t know... I didn’t think that... I thought… I thought there was more." He looked up at her, eyes shining with something unspoken. "When you wrote to me Y/N, you didn’t just send paper and ink. You gave me... reason."

Her chest tightened. She wanted to look away but couldn’t.

"I was walking straight into hell, every day, knowing I wouldn’t get out alive. And then your letters came. At first I figured it was just curiosity. I mean, who writes a convict unless they're looking for some kind of edge? But then… you kept writing. You sent music. You told me about your fears. You let me into your life. And suddenly, I didn’t want to die in that place anymore."

Y/N swallowed hard. There was a flutter in her chest—half panic, half something she didn’t want to name. She didn’t know what to say.

Mark bent forward slightly and grabbed the duffel bag. She instinctively stepped back, unsure.

He unzipped it carefully, pulling out a small box. It was scuffed, worn, the kind of thing sold at gas stations or souvenir stands. Cheap plastic, faded blue velvet on the outside. He held it out to her.

"I know it’s not much," he said, voice rough, "but I wanted you to have this. As a token. That I don’t mean you any harm. I know I made a hell of a lot of mistakes, but I’m not going back to that. Not if I’ve got even a sliver of a chance to be someone better."

She opened it slowly.

Inside was a bracelet. Plastic beads strung on elastic, the kind a child might win at a county fair. It was impossibly small. Impossibly sincere.

"I just wanted you to know," he said softly, "how much you already mean to me."

Y/N stared at it for a long moment. Something in her chest ached.

Y/N looked down at the bracelet again. It was laughably cheap—plastic beads strung on a thin elastic cord—but she slipped it onto her wrist like it was a diamond. Her fingers lingered over it for a second too long. Then she looked at him, still sitting on the edge of her bed.

Mark looked like he didn’t quite know where to put himself. That dangerous man from the headlines, the one with mafia ties and a high body count, now seemed awkward—hesitant even.

“Maybe you should go to bed,” he said quietly, almost to her. Then she caught his glance and he quickly added, “I mean—I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s okay.”

Her brow furrowed. “No. You’re not sleeping on the floor."

" I’ve slept on worse.”

She gave him a look. Her bed was barely wide enough for one person. But something inside her softened.

“If you stay on your side,” she said, “then it’s fine.”

Mark blinked. “No no, you're not giving up your mattress."A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips.

As she turned to grab a shirt to sleep in, she hesitated. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“I need to change. Turn. Around.”

“Oh. Right.”

He spun quickly, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to the ceiling, then the floor, then the duffel bag—as if looking anywhere but her would somehow erase the tension hanging in the air. She kept glancing at him just to make sure he really wasn’t peeking, and he wasn’t.

When she finally said, “Okay,” she was under the covers already.

Mark turned. She handed him her pillow.

“Here. At least take this.”

He tried to wave it off. “Beds in prison weren’t much better than floors. I’ll be alright.”

“Just take the damn pillow.”

He did, with a quiet thank you. She pulled out an old fleece blanket from her bottom drawer and tossed it to the floor beside him. He lay down fully clothed, head on the pillow, arms behind his head.

They were only a few feet apart, face to face, eyes catching in the dark.

Y/N broke the silence first. Her voice was low, unsure. “This has to be a dream. Some mad dream.”

Mark didn’t speak right away. Then, softly, “I really wanted to be with you. And I know this is hard for you. I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

He trailed off.

She blinked. “Didn’t think what?”

“I didn’t think it through,” he murmured. “I guess I thought you'd stay a letter. An idea.”

She laughed. Not cruelly—genuinely, involuntarily. It bubbled out of her before she could stop it. Mark blinked at her. “What’s funny?”

“You,” she said, grinning. “You didn’t think breaking out of jail through?”

He laughed too, eyes crinkling, head falling back against the pillow. “Okay. That part I did think through. Sort of.”

They both lay there, giggling under their breath, and then silence settled again, but softer now.

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking up at her. There was something gentle in his eyes, something dangerous in how it made her feel.

Something snapped.

“Get your ass in bed, Mark.”

His brows lifted. “What?”

“You heard me.

He didn’t ask again.

Mark stood and carefully slid into the bed behind her. She turned away, spine stiff. He settled in, fully clothed, arms carefully kept to himself. But she could feel the heat of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid weight of a man who wasn’t supposed to be real.

“I mean it,” she said over her shoulder. “Nothing funny. I will scream so loud, this whole floor’s going to bust in here.”

He smiled softly. “No funny business. Hands to myself. Promise.”

They didn’t say another word.

Sometime during the night, Mark’s arm had shifted.

Now it draped lazily over her waist.

Y/N was still half-asleep, eyes squinting at the dawn light filtering through the blinds, when she realized two things:

One—she had leaned back into him.

Two—he was... aroused.

Oh God. Her whole body stiffened.

Mark stirred behind her. A beat passed. Then he tensed too.

“Sorry,” he said instantly, voice low, gravelly with sleep. “Shit. Sorry. It’s—it’s nothing. I just—I haven’t—” He cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time. I didn’t mean—my body just—”

“Shut up,” she said quickly, already wriggling out from under the blanket. “It’s fine. Just—it’s fine.”

She jumped to her feet, her face flushed. Her bracelet caught the morning light, a ridiculous flash of pink and blue beads. She reached for her towel, only then realizing what she was wearing—a tank top with no bra and thin pajama shorts that barely reached mid-thigh.

Mark was turned on his side, politely facing the wall.

But she caught him glance back once—just a flick of his eyes before he returned to pretending he was interested in the wall paint.

“Maybe you should, um, get a shower,” he said quickly. “And… get dressed.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Yep.”

She grabbed her toiletries and bolted out of the room, heart hammering in her ears, bracelet bouncing lightly on her wrist as she fled the most awkward morning of her life.

When Y/N returned from the shower, her skin still flushed from the heat and her damp hair braided loosely over one shoulder, Mark was still where she’d left him—sprawled on the blanket like a convict pretending to be domestic.

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve gotta get to class soon.”

He nodded, sitting up slowly. “Yeah, I figured.”

She grabbed her backpack, slinging it over one shoulder. “What are you gonna do all day? Just sit around here?”

Mark smirked, tugging his jacket on. “Thought I’d head into town. Maybe get some clothes that don’t smell like a prison cell.”

She frowned and walked over to her dresser, pulling a few folded bills from a mug. “Here. Take this."

He stood, staring at the cash like it was cursed. “Sweetheart, I’m not taking money from a girl.”

“I’m not a girl, I’m a woman,” she shot back, handing him the money anyway. “And unless you’re planning on robbing a store, you’ll need it.”

He didn’t move.

She crossed her arms. “You are planning on stealing it, aren’t you?”

Mark gave her a look—offended, amused, and caught. “I was gonna figure something out. Maybe pick up a job, day labor or something.”

She softened. Only a little. “Fine. But if you end up in jail again, I’m not writing letters this time.”

He smiled like she’d just confessed she cared. “Deal.”

As she moved toward the door, she hesitated. “Hey—tonight, there’s a party. In the woods, off campus. My friends are dragging me. You wanna come?”

His eyes lit up. “Depends. Is there beer?”

“Obviously.”

“Then yeah. I haven’t had one that didn’t taste like mop water in years.”

Later that night, Mark stood beside her outside the house she rented with two roommates. He wore new jeans and a plain dark tee, fresh boots on his feet. His hair was combed back, scruff trimmed, but he still looked like someone with scars beneath the surface.

Y/N was in high-rise jeans and a cropped, lace-trimmed top that did terrible things to his self-control. Her makeup was soft and warm, her eyes outlined in gold, her lips glossy. She looked... grown.

Mark couldn't stop looking.

“You’re staring,” she muttered, adjusting her bag.

He looked away, but not for long. “I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

Before she could answer, headlights flashed.

A small, beat-up car pulled up, bass thudding. Jessica leaned out the window. “Let’s go, party bitch!”

They got in. Y/N slid into the passenger seat, Mark into the back.

Jessica glanced in the mirror, frowning. “Who’s this?”

“Oh—this is my uncle. Uncle Mark.” Mark froze. Your what?

Jessica blinked. “Your... uncle?”

Y/N turned casually in her seat. “Yeah. Uncle Mark. My fun uncle. Not the physicist. The cool one. He taught me how to shotgun a beer.”

Jessica’s brows lifted. “Since when do you have a fun uncle? I thought your family was, like, painfully academic.”

Y/N smiled tightly. “Different sides of the family.”

Mark cleared his throat and looked out the window, jaw twitching.

The woods were already alive with bass and smoke by the time they arrived. A bonfire blazed in the clearing. Red solo cups passed between dancing students. People shouted, flirted, made out against trees.

Mark stuck close to Y/N. He kept one hand on his drink, the other never far from her.

He laughed more tonight than he had in years. People believed the "uncle" story easily enough—probably because no one expected a 30-something ex-con to blend into a campus party. But he kept getting looks. Especially from guys.

And then he showed up.

Tyler.

He was tall, drunk, wearing a letterman jacket even though college had started two years ago. His eyes locked on Y/N, and his lips curled in a smug, ugly way.

“Y/N,” he slurred. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Y/N stiffened. Mark immediately noticed the way her shoulders squared.

“Didn’t know you were back,” Tyler said, eyeing Mark. "I missed you babe."

"T, please don’t do this, you know we're over."

“Who is he?" Tyler nodded towards Mark. "You're new toy? He doesn’t look like your type. What, did Daddy cut you off and you had to downgrade?”

Y/N tried to push past him. “Leave me alone, Tyler.”

Tyler grabbed her wrist—not hard, but just enough. "Never, we belong Y/N. You and me."

Mark stepped between them. “Hey back off, leave her alone.”

Tyler squinted. “Who the hell are you? Her new daddy? You the one she gets on her knees for now?”

Mark’s eyes flared.

Y/N’s voice cracked: “Tyler—”

“I mean,” Tyler kept going, sneering, “she always was a good little slut. Always begging." he turned to Y/N "You his little whore now? Do ypu do that thing when you-”

The punch landed before Tyler finished the sentence.

Mark didn’t hold back. One hit, then another. Tyler stumbled, then fell. Mark followed, fists flying. Students were shouting. Someone yelled, “Yo, get your phone!” Another screamed, “He’s killing him!”

Y/N grabbed Mark’s shoulder, her voice sharp. “Mark! Mark, stop!” He froze mid-swing, breathing hard. Blood smeared his knuckles. Tyler groaned, curled up on the ground.

“We need to go. Right now.”

Mark looked at her—eyes wild, heart pounding—and nodded.

They ran, vanishing into the dark, into the trees, into the consequences they were running out of time to avoid.

The woods behind them still echoed with the chaos they'd left behind—music, shouting, Tyler’s blood on the ground. But now it was just the two of them, walking in strained silence through the night back toward campus.

Y/N stormed ahead, arms crossed tight, rage simmering beneath every step.

Mark walked a few feet behind, like a scolded dog who didn’t regret what he’d done, just that it upset her.

Finally, she spun around. “What the hell was that, Mark?!”

He raised his eyebrows, incredulous. “Are you serious right now? He called you a slut. He grabbed you. I defended you.”

“Defended me?” she snapped. “You almost killed him!”

“I pulled my punches.”

“Bullshit!” she exploded. “You’re fresh out of prison with no self-control. Do you realize people filmed you? Your face is all over half the phones at that party. You basically put a flashing sign over your head that says ‘Hey! I’m an escaped convict, come arrest me!’”

He stayed quiet. Smirking.

She fumed. “Why are you smiling? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Mark’s smirk deepened. “You care about me.”

“No, I don’t,” she snapped, too fast.

He tilted his head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to say it.

“I care that you're not caught!” she shouted, voice cracking. “Because if you’re caught, you go back to jail, and—God, I don't know—maybe you’ll rot there. I care about that. That’s it.”

But the heat in her voice wasn’t just anger. And he knew it.

She walked faster. He didn’t push. He just followed a few steps behind, silent, like a shadow wearing leather and guilt.Back at her dorm, she fumbled with the key at the door, hands shaking with adrenaline and fury.

Mark leaned against the doorframe, watching her.

“I told you I don’t want you here anymore,” she snapped. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”

His voice was calm. “No, you won’t.”

She glared at him. “And why the hell not?”

He stepped in slightly—close enough to crowd her, not enough to scare her. His arms caged the frame around her, and he leaned down until his mouth was nearly against her ear.

“Because I’m your uncle,” he whispered. “And you wouldn’t call the cops on your uncle, right?”

Y/N let out a strangled sound, then burst into a surprised laugh, hitting him lightly on the chest. “You absolute jerk.”

He grinned. “That hurt, you know. The uncle part.”

“I didn’t know what else to tell Jessica,” she muttered. “I couldn’t say you were some escaped criminal I’ve been writing love letters to.”

“You could’ve said I was your boyfriend,” he said, voice lower now, looking directly at her lips.

Her breath caught. Her cheeks went pink. “I... I don’t even know if you are.”

Mark’s hand rose, slow and gentle, fingers grazing her cheek. He leaned in, voice rough and intimate. “Then let’s change that.”

And he kissed her.

Not soft, not sweet. Hungry. Intense. The kiss of someone who thought he’d never get this, and now that he had it, wasn’t letting go.

She kissed back just as fiercely—fingers digging into his jacket, body pressing into his.

When they finally pulled apart, her lips were swollen, breath ragged.

“Why did you escape?” she whispered, still dazed.

Mark exhaled, turning his head slightly like he didn’t want to answer. But then he did.

“I have a brain tumor,” he said flatly. “Diagnosed right before your first letter. Stage three. No treatment insight. I figured I’d die behind bars.”

Y/N froze.

“But then you started writing,” he continued, eyes locking with hers. “You made me feel alive again. Not just... angry or guilty. I had something to hope for. Someone. I broke out because I wanted to see you—just once. Kiss you once. Be near you before I go."

Tears welled in her eyes. Her lip trembled. She stepped forward without thinking, fingers threading through his hair, and pulled him into another kiss.

This one was deeper. Slower. Her heart was breaking, but her mouth was saying stay.

She didn’t stop when he lifted her gently into his arms. Didn’t stop as her hands tugged off his shirt and traced every scar on his skin like they were all hers to memorize.

The door clicked shut behind them, and the world outside no longer existed.

Mark stood in the soft glow of her dorm room, shirtless now, shadows playing across his chest like they were drawn to him. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the universe keeping him grounded—his breath, his gravity, his reason for escaping

Y/N’s skin buzzed with the memory of his kiss. Her heart pounded, but not with fear

With want.

With everything she’d been too afraid to admit since that first letter.

He reached for her slowly, like she might vanish if he moved too fast. His fingers touched her face with reverence, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, voice deep and ragged, “how long I’ve dreamed of this.”

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed. “Then stop dreaming.”

That was all he needed.

She fell back onto the bed, her pulse thrumming, lips swollen from his kiss. Mark stood over her, his chest rising and falling like he was holding back a storm, watching her with eyes that saw through every inch of her, stripping her bare even though she already was.

“You still sure?” he asked, voice a low growl, gravel and heat. She nodded slowly, chest heaving, but her voice was steady. “Yes. I want you.”

That was all it took.

He crawled over her slowly, like a man savoring the last moment before tasting something forbidden. His fingers brushed along her waist, soft, reverent, before his palms slid under the backs of her thighs, dragging her closer to him like she was gravity itself.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against her skin, his lips tracing fire across her belly. “How much I thought about this... about you.”

She gasped when he kissed lower, his stubble brushing sensitive skin, every press of his lips a confession.

He didn’t rush.

Mark worshipped.

He explored her with the patience of a man who’d spent years with nothing but dreams, and now that she was beneath him—soft, warm, gasping his name—he needed to memorize every second. His lips found every place that made her tremble. His hands pinned hers gently above her head, not to control her, but to feel her, to anchor himself.

And when he finally moved against her—slow, deep, devoted—she arched beneath him, clutching his shoulders like he was something between salvation and sin.

He kissed her through it.

Held her hips still. Praised her with every breath.

He moved back over her skin to her mouth and kissed her again—slower this time, deeper. His hands curved around her waist, thumbs brushing bare skin beneath her shirt, sending sparks across every nerve ending.

He was careful, even though he clearly burned to touch her more. He let her guide it. "You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

He kissed down her neck, trailing soft, lingering kisses across her collarbone, his hands holding her like something precious. He worshipped every inch of her, like each part of her was a prayer he was whispering with his lips.

Every sigh she gave him, he answered with a gentle murmur, a worshipful touch, like she was giving him the world and he was unworthy—but would spend his last night alive earning it.

When she pulled him closer, wanting more, he didn’t rush. He didn’t take.

He gave in, pressing his hips against hers. Feeling how her body was trying to accept him.

Every movement was slow, deliberate. His hands explored her with aching care, mapping her body like he was trying to memorize every soft dip and edge before time stole her away. He asked her what she liked without words, listening to the rhythm of her breath, the hitch in her throat, the way her back arched under his palms

It wasn’t frenzied.

It was everything.

Mark didn’t just touch her—he held her. He looked her in the eyes with every breath, like he needed her to see what she meant to him, how she’d given him more life in a few weeks of letters than prison ever could

He moved with her like he knew her body better than she did—every motion perfectly timed, every kiss setting her soul on fire. And when she fell apart beneath him, her voice caught in his name, he held her through every tremor like she was glass and he was the only one who knew how to keep her whole.

They didn’t speak for a while after.

They didn’t need to.

He wrapped her in the sheets and pulled her to his chest, his arms tight around her like he could keep the world away just by holding her close enough.

She lay there, head on his chest, fingers tracing the line of a scar near his heart.

“Was it everything you hoped it would be?” she asked, voice soft, sleepy.

Mark brushed a kiss to her forehead, his thumb stroking her back.

“No,” he said. “It was more.” He pulled the blanket over her, tucked her into his chest, and whispered, “You just ruined me for anyone else.”

The room was still draped in soft gray morning light, thin curtains casting streaks of shadow across the rumpled bed where Mark lay half-asleep, his broad chest rising slowly beneath the sheets. A faint sound—fabric rustling, a zipper—made his eyes flutter open.

He blinked once, then again, as he saw her near the door, stuffing clothes into a bag.

“...You runnin’ on me?” His voice was hoarse, laced with sleep and something rawer—fear.

She turned, half-grinning as she pushed her hair back. “No. I think it’s time we ran, though. The video from last night’s party? It’s already online. Someone recognized you, and it’s spreading fast. It’s only a matter of time before someone shows up.”

Mark sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down to his waist, his bare torso streaked with soft scars, muscle, vulnerability. His brows pulled together, jaw tight. “You’re serious.”

She nodded and tossed a hoodie over her head. “Dead serious. I checked Twitter. TikTok. Local news. It’s everywhere.”

Mark let out a breath and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Look… I can’t ask this of you. Running, hiding—this isn’t your life, sweetheart. You deserve better. If going back to prison means you feel safe, then I’ll do it."

She froze.

Then, slowly, she stepped toward him—past the panic, past the chaos—and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Still sitting, he was eye level with her chest, but when he looked up, all he could see was her—calm, determined, radiant.

“You think I want that for you?” she whispered, brushing his hair back, her thumb grazing the scar near his temple. “I was scared, Mark. I’m still scared. But something happened last night. I felt it. The same connection I felt in those letters… it’s real.”

She swallowed thickly, blinking back the emotions building behind her eyes. “I believe you’re not who they say you are. Not anymore. And if that means it’s us against the world, then so be it. I’m not letting you face it alone.”

He stared at her for a long beat, his throat tight, chest rising with something deeper than gratitude. It was hope.

“Damn, you’re somethin’ else,” he whispered, reaching up to cup the side of her face. “You’re trouble.”

She smiled, eyes glinting. “Maybe it’s my turn to be.”

—

They slipped out the back of her dorm, made their way to a no-name motel on the edge of town—a place people didn’t ask questions, where the night smelled like asphalt and secrets. They stayed curled into each other for a while, whispering promises and silent dreams while the world outside turned loud with their names.

Later, while she scrolled through her phone with trembling fingers, she saw her name—her face—plastered on every local channel. Her parents had gone public, begging for her to come home.

Her mother was crying on screen.

Her father’s voice cracked when he asked, “Y/N, if you’re out there… we just need to know you’re safe. Please. Just let us hear your voice.”

Mark looked over her shoulder. “Do you want to call them?”

She shook her head, placing the phone facedown on the nightstand. “They’ve never looked at me like that. Not once. I spent my whole life trying to be the good one. Get the grades. Get into college. Keep quiet while they gave everything to my sister because she was always the one in trouble.”

Mark leaned in, silent, listening.

Her voice cracked. “I’m done being quiet. If I can be ‘trouble’ and it means I stand by the man I love? Then I’ll take every damn consequence.”

Mark’s expression softened—his hand found hers, fingers intertwining slowly.

“You love me?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

She nodded. And he kissed her then—slow, deep, full of everything he couldn’t say.

Their mouths moved together, heat blooming between them. His hands roamed her sides, anchoring her to him like she was the last good thing in his life. She climbed into his lap, legs straddling him, and he kissed her again and again until the world outside the motel room could’ve burned down and they wouldn't have noticed.

His hand moved over her back when he whispered. "In another lifetime I'd given you our own apartment. no more running or anything illegal. I'd be the honest man you deserve, who brews shitty coffee every morning for you, and you'd love me for it."

Y/N loved that idea.

But then—a hard knock on the door.

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

They froze.

Another slam. Louder. Urgent. Aggressive.

Mark’s eyes locked with hers.

Neither of them had to say it.

They found us.

The knock had turned into a full-blown pounding, voices shouting outside the motel door.

By the time Mark and Y/N were dressed, tension buzzing under their skin, it was too late. The second they opened the door, hands raised, police were already waiting with drawn weapons—shouting, grabbing.

“Get down! Hands behind your head! Now!”

Mark kept his body half in front of her as much as possible. They didn’t resist—there was no point—but the moment the officers got their hands on them, it turned aggressive. One cop shoved Mark roughly against the wall, twisting his arm behind his back. Y/N cried out when a female officer gripped her wrist too tight, yanking her a few steps away from him.

“Don’t hurt her!” Mark barked, turning instinctively. “She’s not—”

“Shut the hell up,” the officer snarled, slamming him back against the concrete wall.

Neither of them were cuffed yet—but they were both trapped.

And then she saw them.

Her parents.

Waiting just past the police line, standing stiffly. Her mother was pale and red-eyed. Her father’s jaw was clenched, arms crossed like a judge ready to deliver a sentence.

“Y/N!” her mother cried out, stepping forward.

She flinched. “Mom—?”

Her father cut in before she could say more.

“You’re coming with us. Right now.”

“But Mark—”

Then came the officer’s voice from behind her.

“You are being charged with aiding a fugitive. And you,” the man barked at Mark, “are being arrested for escape from prison, resisting arrest, and—” he paused for emphasis, “kidnapping a young woman and coercing her into a sexual relationship.”

The words hit her like a truck.

“What?” she turned sharply, eyes wide, voice cracking. “No. No! He didn’t kidnap me! He didn’t coerce me into anything! We—he didn’t do anything wrong!”

The police ignored her.

“Mark!” she yelled, struggling in the officer’s grip. “Tell them!"

Mark’s eyes were hard now, his jaw tight as he stared straight ahead. His chest was heaving, but he didn’t speak.

And that’s when her father stepped in front of her, placing himself between her and Mark. “Stop defending this man,” he said lowly. “He used you. He brainwashed you.”

“I love him,” she shot back, voice trembling. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Her father’s hand came across her cheek—a sharp, open-palm slap that made her stumble back a step.

Everything stopped.

Mark lunged. “You son of a bitch!”

Officers grabbed him, forced him to the ground, a knee pressing into his back as he writhed beneath them, roaring with rage.

“Keep your fucking hands off her!” Mark bellowed. “You think you’re some kind of father? You don’t know how to love her! You never deserved her!”

Her father took a step back, startled by the fury in Mark’s voice. The cops barked orders over the chaos, forcing Mark’s arms tighter behind his back.

“Mark!” she screamed, rushing forward.

No one stopped her.

The officers were still busy holding him down, but one eventually raised him to his feet, his face bruised and twisted with emotion.

She ran to him.

She held his face in both her hands, ignoring the gasps and the shouts.

“I’m going to fight for you,” she whispered, forehead resting against his. “You hear me? We’re not done. I’ll do whatever it takes. I don’t care what they say. I don’t care what they think.”

His breathing slowed for a moment. Their eyes locked. A half smile curved his lips.

“You’re my miracle,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait. I’ll fight too.” She pressed her lips to his—a deep, fearless kiss, full of salt and desperation and devotion.

There were gasps, voices rising in outrage behind her, but she didn’t care. Her hands held his jaw, his cheeks, trying to hold on just a second longer.

Then the officers dragged her back. “No—no! Please!” But she was already being shoved into her parents’ car.

Mark was placed into the back of the police cruiser, his eyes never leaving hers.

As the door shut, as the car pulled away, her heart slammed in her chest, loud and unrelenting. They could throw handcuffs on him, throw her into silence—but they couldn’t stop what they’d already built.

The room was silent but thick with tension, packed with onlookers, reporters, and a wall of cameras in the back. Mark sat in the defendant's box, hands cuffed in front of him, wearing the orange jumpsuit again — that same suit he’d once promised her he’d never wear again. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes were only ever on her.

Y/N took the stand.

She walked slowly, her heels clicking softly against the courtroom floor. As she sat, she could feel every pair of eyes on her — the girl who ran away with a convict. Some looked at her with pity. Others with judgment. But none of them knew the truth.

Only she and Mark did.

A judge cleared his throat. “Miss Y/L/N, you understand you’re here under oath. You may begin your statement.”

She nodded. Her throat was tight, but her voice didn’t waver.

“Your Honors… I know what this looks like. I know what the headlines are saying. But I need you to listen to me — not to them. Not to the people who’ve never spoken a word to Mark. Not to the people who don’t know what he’s actually done for me.”

The courtroom was still. Even the air didn’t seem to move.

“I wasn’t kidnapped. I wasn’t forced. I ran with him. I chose him. I knew what I was doing. Mark never hurt me. Never even raised his voice at me. He protected me, listened to me, respected me. For the first time in my life, someone made me feel like I mattered.”

One of the prosecutors shifted in his seat, but the judges remained focused.

“He didn’t break out of prison for revenge. He didn’t come looking for a fight. He came because he thought he was going to die alone in a cell. He wanted to see me — just once. And in that moment, I saw him too. Not a criminal. Not a monster. Just a man who’s been through hell and still found a way to be gentle.”

She paused, eyes drifting to Mark. His eyes were red now. He blinked hard and looked away.

"I understand he broke the law by escaping. I’m not denying that. But the new charges? Kidnapping? Coercion?” She shook her head. “That’s not what happened. I was a willing adult. I wasn’t brainwashed. I wasn’t abused. I loved him. I still do.”

Gasps in the gallery. The judge held up a hand to silence them.

Y/N leaned forward, her voice shaking now.

"I know what love looks like. I never got it from my family the way I needed it. I got good grades, I followed every rule, but it was never enough. My sister was always the one they saw. I was always the one in the background. Until Mark. He saw me. He never asked me to change or shrink myself. He told me I was strong. And he meant it.”

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re going to sentence him today. Maybe add years. Decades. But I needed you to hear this first: He didn’t ruin my life. He saved it.”

There was nothing else to say.

The room stayed still as she stepped down. She walked past the prosecutor’s table, past the cameras, past the people whispering in the back. When she reached Mark’s seat, she met his eyes again.

He mouthed, “Thank you.”

And she mouthed back, “I love you."

The hum of the fluorescent lights above was the only sound in the cold, sterile visitation waiting room. The plastic chair beneath YN creaked every time she shifted, her fingers knotted tightly in her lap. She had come every week for over a year now—never missing a visit. Rain, snow, midterms, exhaustion—nothing stopped her.

And today felt no different.

Except for the way her stomach twisted. The way the guards were taking longer than usual. The way silence held the room tighter than normal.

Then a door opened.

Her head shot up.

A guard stepped through. Not the one who usually escorted her to the visitation booth. This one looked younger. Paler. His uniform was wrinkled, his eyes rimmed red.

He didn’t meet her eyes right away.

“Miss YN?”

Her breath hitched. “Yeah?”

The guard took off his cap. His fingers trembled. “I’m… I’m so sorry. There’s no easy way to say this.”

She stood up slowly, heart pounding. “No.”

“Mark passed away an hour ago. The tumor… it moved too fast. The doctors told him last week that he might have more time, but it turns out… it was just a final burst of energy. False hope.”

“No.” Her voice broke. “He was getting better. He told me—he felt better.”

"That sometimes happens,” the guard said quietly. “Right before the end. It’s like… the flame flares once more before it goes out."

She covered her mouth, stumbling back slightly, her legs threatening to give out. She had promised she’d be here. She had been here. And now—he was gone.

“You’re welcome to say goodbye,” the guard added gently. “If you’d like.”

The infirmary was quiet.

The bed was neatly made around him. His face was still—peaceful. The tension he always carried in his jaw, gone. His lips were slightly parted, and his hand rested loosely on his chest.

YN stepped in, holding herself together by sheer force of will. Every breath hurt.

She sat beside him, brushing a piece of his hair back from his forehead. Her thumb traced over the scar at his temple—the one she’d kissed too many times to count.

“You told me not to cry when this day would come,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You told me you'd fight it the be with me as long as you could. And you did, Mark. God, you did.”

Tears streamed silently down her cheeks. She leaned in, pressed her lips to his cooling forehead, and lingered there.

“I hope you’re free now,” she whispered. “I hope it’s warm, wherever you are. I hope they let you drink cold beer, and play poker, and maybe you finally get to sleep through the night.”

She sat up just enough to see his face again.

“In another lifetime,” she said softly, “we’ll be happy. I’ll meet you at the right time. In the right place. And there won’t be bars, or orange suits, or clocks ticking over us.”

Her voice broke.

“We’ll have our little apartment. I’ll wake up next to you, and you’ll make me coffee you still don’t know how to brew right. And I’ll kiss you every morning for the rest of our lives."

She closed her eyes and held his hand for a while longer.

Then she stood up, kissed his forehead one last time, and walked away—heart shattered, but love unbroken.

"In another lifetime, my love."

The small funeral had been quiet. Just her, the chaplain, and a cheap wooden urn she didn’t choose. No music, no headstone. Just a memory of him, sealed by silence.

YN hadn’t seen his body since that day in prison.

Now she stood in the entryway of the old farmhouse they once dreamed about. She bought it anyway. She painted the door his favorite color. The porch creaked with every step, like it missed him too.

Her keys jingled in her numb fingers as she opened the front door. The house was still half-furnished. Dust settled on the kitchen counter. A kettle whistled weakly, forgotten.

She walked inside, and that’s when she saw it.

A letter.

Folded perfectly. Her name in his handwriting on the envelope. Her knees nearly gave out as she stared at it.

Trembling, she opened it.

---

> "If you're reading this, it means I'm gone."

Her breath hitched.

> "I don’t know how much time I had left, but I asked one of the guards to get this to you in case the tumor took me before I could say everything. Properly."

> "I wish I'd met you earlier. I wish I could’ve known you when I was still whole. Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up where I did. Maybe you would’ve saved me before I ever needed saving."

Her hands covered her mouth. Tears welled up fast.

> "You gave me more life in those few days than I ever had behind bars. And it’s killing me that I couldn’t give you more than a few stolen moments."

> "I know you say you’d wait for me. That you’d fight for me. But baby, you deserve a good life. A man who can walk beside you in the sun. Who doesn’t carry ghosts in his chest. You deserve coffee in the morning, hands brushing over paint cans while you fix up that little old house of ours. You deserve more."

> "But if you ever feel me near, if you ever dream of me… know that I’m never really gone. I’ll always be with you. In the creaks of the floorboards, in the wind that shakes the porch, in every damn beat of that heart you gave me."

> "Live, YN. For the both of us. Just in case I never get to come back."

> "All my love, now and forever—Mark."

Tears streamed freely now, unchecked. The letter slid from her fingers onto the table. She pressed her hands to her face, letting the grief come. The ache. The knowing that he was truly gone.

She walked to the window, needing air—needing anything.

And that’s when she saw him.

A figure in the distance, standing still in the golden grass. Hands in his jacket pockets. Broad shoulders. A familiar tilt to his head.

Mark.

Her heart stopped.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no—this isn’t real.”

But she was already running.

She flew out the front door barefoot, across the porch, stumbling into the tall grass.

“MARK!”

He didn’t move. He just waited.

She reached him, tears spilling down her cheeks, breath ragged.

When she leapt into his arms, they both tumbled down into the grass, tangled in each other. She kissed him, kissed every inch of his face. Her hands gripped his shirt like if she let go, he’d vanish again.

“You bastard,” she sobbed. “I buried you. I buried you. I thought you were dead—I read your goddamn letter—how could you do that to me?!”

His arms wrapped around her tightly. “Because it was the only way to ever be with you.”

She blinked up at him, heart pounding.

“I had to die,” he said softly. “The man I was… he would’ve always been hunted. I didn’t want that for you. So I disappeared. I made them think I was gone. And now—”

He exhaled, eyes full of everything he could never say.

“Now I’m not Mark-the-con. I’m just a man who wants to build a life with you. I’ll fix this house. I’ll love you the way you deserve. If you still want me.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed, tears still fresh. Her voice broke as she whispered, “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes."

He kissed her again, deep and aching, in the middle of the wild grass and the wind. And the ghosts didn’t follow them this time.

Only love did.

---

taglist: Jensen: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn @deanswifeyy @lmg14

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generalgalaxyfury · 18 days ago

Note

hey! can I request sam winchester x demon!reader where their love is forbidden, but he just can stay away from her and realizes he's fallen and hard for her 🥺

pairing: sam winchester x demon/morally gray!reader

warnings: mentions of torture/going to hell, you are a morally gray individual (read: demon)

words: 1.3k

a/n: okay I am in love with this request, and this is what came out. there WILL be a part 2 where it actually gets more into the relationship between you and sam, but I wanted to set up the backstory to start off. please let me know what you think, and I really hope you enjoy! (also, I am SO sorry it's taken me so long to post this story)

oOoOo

Our story starts, as so many do, with once upon a time. Though, as a warning, there is no princess in this story who gets rescued by a knight in shining armor from the evil dragon that locked her away in the highest tower. There is no happily ever after as the two ride off together into the sunset.

No, this story starts with you - just a normal girl who took a wrong turn and fell in love with the wrong man. What felt like love at first sight to you was lust at first sight for him. But despite the warnings and the whispers around town, you ignored the naysayers and dedicated your life to this one man.

So much so that you would have done anything to keep him from harm's way. (Though the same could not be said about his loyalties.) And when danger came knocking on your door in the middle of the night, looking to collect their dues, you knew you had to step in.

It took endless nights of searching, but you finally found an answer that would solve all your problems. When you told him what you found, he didn't plead for you to keep yourself safe, instead he scoffed in your face and went out to lose himself in the drink - again.

More determined than ever, you found your crossroads and nearly screamed when you saw the flash of red eyes standing before you.

"Well, well. What is a pretty thing like you doing out here? It seems you may be out of your element." the demon taunted as he looked you up and down.

"I-I want to make a deal." you stuttered out. "My boyfriend, he needs help. His debts need to be repaid."

The demon merely smirked. "And why isn't he the one here begging for my help?"

"This is what you do for the people you love. Now, can you help me or not?"

"I can." he smirked. "But it's going to cost something pretty big - your soul. And in ten years I'll come to collect." he explained, no trace of humor on his features.

"Deal."

Stepping closer towards you, the demon chuckled. "Well then, let's seal this deal, sweetheart." he said and suddenly pressed his lips against yours. You could feel heat inside your chest, like your soul had been branded. "See you soon." he spoke, disappearing and leaving you alone.

The next day, everything the demon promised came to fruition. Your boyfriend's debts had been paid, and you felt it was going to be a new leaf for the two of you. But instead of eternal love and gratitude, he repaid you with sleeping through half the town and leaving you high and dry only three weeks later.

When ten years passed and you started hallucinating, you wished you could give anything to go back in time and change your fate. However, fate was not that kind, and so, you were dragged down to hell in shreds, kicking, screaming, and cursing his name the whole way down.

The decades you spent on the rack were literal torture. Just when you thought there was no other ways you could be taken apart and put back together, they managed to find a new one. Every day you were told the hell could end if you just gave in. At first, you tried to hold onto the tiny shred of humanity you had left.

But after so many decades, it just was so much easier to give in.

And, so, when you whispered a timid "yes" when asked for the nth time, it all changed for you. Whereas you used to be the one tied up and torn apart, now you got to be on the other end. Each cut and slice into a soul was like a weight off your shoulders.

You thought of the man you had given it all up for. The man who abandoned you after you sold your soul for him. The man who you were going to pay a visit to as soon as you got strong enough to get topside. After a few more decades you finally broke the surface, cracking your neck, smiling devilishly.

It didn't take long for you to find him, drunk and stumbling out of the local bar. Hiding in the shadows, you leant against the cool, rough bricks of the building, biding your time. While he fumbled with the keys to his car, you slowly stalked behind him, hovering over his shoulder until he noticed your reflection in the window.

"What the fuck?" he shouted, dropping his keys and furiously scrubbing at his face. "How much did I drink to start seeing fucking ghosts?"

"Not quite a ghost, but also not quite human." you said, flashing him your deep, black eyes.

He let out another scream and dropped to the ground, pieces of gravel sticking into his skin. As he tried to scramble away, you rolled your eyes and hauled him up by his jacket, scoffing at this pitiful excuse for a man.

"What? Didn't think you'd have to come face to face with the woman you cheated on and left high and dry after I sold my soul for you?"

"No, no. You died, got mauled by an animal or some shit."

A humorless laugh left your lips. "Is that what they called it? That's putting being dragged to hell and tortured for decades mildly." you growled. "But don't worry I pulled myself out just to see you and thank you after all this time."

Your words were punctuated with a fist to his jaw, relishing the resounding crunch that echoed into the night air. Fist after fist was thrown in his direction using every ounce of anger you ever felt towards him boiled over the surface. When you grew weary of throwing punches, you flicked your knife out, cutting into his skin regardless of his please to stop.

It wasn't long before you knelt over his crumpled body, a satisfied smirk curled on your lips. This was the moment you had long since pined over, waiting to end his miserable life, hoping his time in hell would be even worse than yours.

But something in the back of your mind wouldn't let you finish the deed. The knife in your hand clattered to the ground, unable to plunge itself deep into his chest. He laid there, a whimpering mess, as you pushed yourself out of the gravel, and smeared the blood that coated your hands across your clothing.

You thought of this moment for so long. Assumed it would bring you a sense of closure. Of vengeance. Instead, you only felt empty, confused, purposeless. Without looking back, you left him there to pull himself together - a small act of mercy.

As you roamed the empty streets, you kept thinking of what brought you to this moment in the first place. Why didn't it feel right? You knew there was no going back, this is what you were now. But maybe, just maybe you could stop what happened to you from happening to anyone else. A way to use this curse for good.

And from that moment on, you roamed the state, looking for players, cheaters, and guys who liked to manipulate those around them. You'd get wind of their deeds, pretend to fall for their charms, and then go in for the kill, offering them the same pain they caused others. You knew most people probably saw you as a criminal, but you saw yourself as a vigilante.

In fact, your little routine worked quite well for the next few months. It seemed to bring you the senses of purpose and justice you were looking for. That was, at least, until you heard through the pipeline that the Winchesters were on your trail. Shit!

oOoOo

Dun, dun duhh!! To be continued in part two, I hope you enjoyed!

81 notes · View notes

generalgalaxyfury · 19 days ago

Text

I love this series so much ❤️

Soulbound

Castiel x Fem! Reader

Lazarus Rising Part 1

Soulbound Masterlist

3rd Person POV:

Dean Winchester wakes up in a dark place after being in Hell for four months, or forty years in Hell time. His voice is hoarse as he slams his hands against the top of his coffin, dirt raining down on his face.

"Help! Help! Help!" He screams, the wood starting to give way, allowing him to start digging to the surface. His hand reaches the fresh air above him as he breaks through, crawling his way up to the top of the dirt.

Dean gasps and pants as he lays there for a few minutes, the sun too bright for someone who's been in darkness for four months. The hunter walks his way down the empty road in search of civilization before he finds an abandoned gas station.

"Hello?" He calls out to nobody as he pounds on the door. Dean takes off his outer shirt and rolls it around his hand, breaking the glass. After he gets inside, he gets a water bottle and starts chugging it, gasping. Dean finds a newspaper, reading September 18th.

"September..." he says in disbelief. In the gas station bathroom, Dean washes his face in the dirty sink. He lifts his black t-shirt, exposing his chest, now free of scarring or any damage he received in his career as a hunger, as well as the claw marks from the hellhounds.

Dean frowns and turns his left shoulder to the dingy mirror. He lifts the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a raw, branded handprint on his shoulder.

He leaves the bathroom, grabbing snacks and drinks, shoving them in a grocery bag. A smirk creeps on his face as he walks up to the magazine stand, thumbing through a 'Busty Asian Beauties' magazine. Dean then goes to the cash register, getting it open and looting the cash. As he is doing so, the tv turns on, showing only static.

He furrows his eyebrows and shuts it off, only to have the radio turn on to white noise. Dean quickly goes down an aisle, getting salt and pouring it methodically on the windowsills and in front of the door.

A loud, high-pitched sound reverberates through the gas station, making Dean clutch his left ear as he continues to pour salt. The sound persists, Dean dropping the salt and crouching on the floor, groaning in pain. The window above him shatters, raining glass on the floor.

~~~~~~~

After the sound stops, Dean dials his brother's phone number at a phone booth, only to get an alert tone and an automated voice that says the number has been disconnected. He hangs up, putting in another coin and dialing Bobby Singer's number.

It only rings once before Bobby picks up, "yeah?"

"Bobby?" Dean asks, hope in his tone.

"Yeah?" The older man says again.

"Its me."

"Who's 'me'?"

"Dean..." As soon as Bobby hears that he hangs up, only making Dean redial his number. "Who is this?" Bobby asks, getting more irritated by the second.

"Bobby, listen to me..." Dean begins, only for Bobby to cut him off.

"This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya." Bobby grumbles.

Dean sighs and hangs the phone back on the receiver, turning around and seeing an old, beat up white car. His eyes light up as he hotwires it, driving in the direction of Bobby's house.

~~~~~~~

Your POV:

"Who was that, Bobby?" I turn the corner from the kitchen, I had been staying there since Sam went off on his own.

"No one, just a solicitor..." Bobby gave me a small, reassuring smile. I return the grin, returning to the kitchen to finish lunch for us. It was the only way to make him eat since Dean died, he felt bad if he didn't eat what I made for him.

A few hours later, Bobby was back to researching and drinking while I tidied up his books a little, just putting away unused ones. A pounding sounds on the front door, setting off alarm bells in my head. I glance at Bobby for a moment before grabbing his shotgun while he picks up his silver knife.

I point the gun at the door, hidden from the doorway as Bobby opens it. I can't see who's at the door, but a familiar voice speaks up, "surprise."

I lower the shotgun and stand behind Bobby, "D-Dean?" My voice comes out breathless, my tone full of disbelief.

Bobby stutters and looks at Dean, surprised, "I-I dont..."

Dean walks in the door, turning towards both of us, "yeah me neither, but here I am."

Bobby grunts and lunges at Dean with the knife, making me go to try and break them up, the shotgun clattering to the floor. "Bobby stop!" I yelled as Dean twists Bobby's arm, trying to make him drop the knife. An elbow is swung, not sure whose, but it hits my chest, knocking the wind out of me as my back hits the wall.

Bobby backhands Dean across the face, making Dean yell out that it's really him. "My ass!" Bobby shouts back, advancing on Dean once more. I stand back up straight again, a hand on my chest as Dean pulls a chair out, putting it between him and Bobby.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Dean pants softly, "your name is Robert Steven Singer! You became a hunter after your wife got possessed and...you're about the closest thing I have to a father. And that's (Y/n) (M/n) Singer! Your surrogate kid, you found her on a demon hunt! Bobby. It's me."

Bobby and I both step towards Dean, my eyes slightly watery. Bobby puts his hand on Dean's shoulder before lunging at him again. I gasp and grab Bobby's arm, struggling to get the knife from him. "Bobby stop! He's not a shapeshifter!"

"Then he's a Revenant!" Bobby yells back before I disarm him, holding the knife out of his reach.

"Alright, if I were either, could I do this- with a silver knife?" Dean takes the knife gently from my hand and rolls up his sleeve, wincing as he cuts his arm, showing no burning.

Realization and disbelief crosses Bobby's face, "Dean?"

I smile softly at them, as Dean comes up and hugs us both. "That's what I've been trying to tell you." Dean mumbles into my shoulder.

As Dean pulls away from us, Bobby looks at him, "it's...it's good to see you, boy."

"Yeah, you both too." Dean gives us a weak smile, which I return.

"But...how did you bust out?" I ask, tilting my head at him and crossing my arms over my chest.

"I don't know. I just, uh, I just woke up in a pine box..." Dean looks down at his feet.

"That was Sam's-" I get cut off as Dean looks up, Bobby splashing holy water in Dean's face. Dean sighs and spits the water out onto the floor. "I'm not a demon either, ya know?"

Bobby shrugs, a small apologetic look on his face, "sorry. Can't be too careful."

We move further into the house. I hand Dean a towel and he dries his face. "But...that don't make a lick of sense..." Bobby's eyebrows furrow in thought.

"Yeah, you're preachin' to the choir," Dean sighs. I cross my arms again and shift my weight to my right leg. "Dean your chest was in ribbons. Your insides were slop. And you've been buried for four months. Even if you could slip out of Hell and back into your meat suit-" Bobby begins, Dean cutting him off.

"I know, I should look like a 'Thriller' video reject."

"What do you remember?" I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

"Not much," Dean looks down at the floor again' "I remember I was a hellhound's chew toy, and then...lights out." Bobby sits down out of the corner of my eye as Dean continues. "Sam's number isn't working. He's, uh, he's not..." He trails off, not wanting to even think that Sam is dead.

I shake my head quickly, "he's alive as far as we know."

Dean lifts his head and looks at me, "good. Wait, what do you mean, as far as you know?"

"We haven't heard from Sam in months," Bobby sighs.

"You're kidding. You just let him go off by himself?" Dean looks between Bobby and I, his gaze filled with disbelief and anger.

"He was dead set on it Dean. After your funeral, I helped him with a couple standard demon hunts, then he dropped me off here, saying he would be back. That was almost four months ago." I sigh, giving Dean an apologetic look.

Dean turns his head to look at Bobby, "Bobby, you should've been looking after him."

"Its not his fault," I interject, furrowing my eyebrows.

"I tried. These last few months haven't been easy, ya know? For him, (Y/n) or me. We had to bury you." Bobby huffs.

"Why did you bury me anyway?" Dean glances between us again.

"We wanted you salted and burned. Ya know, the usual drill," I lean off the wall, putting my hands on the table in front of me. "But, Sam wasn't havin' it. I tried to tell you that before somebody so rudely splashed you with holy water." I raise an eyebrow and look at Bobby who shrugs.

"Well Im glad he won that," Dean huffs a a laugh, making me nod and smile softly.

"He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow. That's about all he said." Bobby said.

Dean's features twist slightly, showing his suspicion, "what do you mean?"

Bobby shrugs again, "he was quiet, real quiet. And then after he dropped off (Y/n) he just took off. Wouldn't return our calls. I tried to find him, but he didn't want to be found."

"Oh dammit Sammy," Dean grumbles, rubbing his forehead.

"What is it?" I tilt my head again.

"Oh, he got me home okay. But whatever he did, it is bad mojo." Dean explains, worried that his brother made a deal.

"What makes you so sure?" I ask him.

"You should've seen the grave site. It was like a nuke went off. And then there was this...this force. This presence. I don't know but it, it blew past me at a fill up joint. And then this..." Dean stands up, taking off his over shirt and pulls his sleeve up, revealing a brand on his shoulder in the shape of a hand.

Bobby stands up as I mutter, "what the fuck?"

Dean looks up at us, "it was like a demon just yanked me out. Or rode me out."

"But why?" I ask.

"To hold up their end of the bargain," Dean grumbles, pulling his sleeve back down.

"You think Sam made a deal?" Bobby questions.

"It's what I would've done," Dean sighs.

~~~~~~~

Dean calls Sam's cell phone provider, trying to locate him as I look up any cases nearby he could be on. "Yeah, hi, I have a cell phone account with you guys, and uh, I lost my phone. I was wondering if you could turn the GPS on for me. Yeah. Name's Wedge Antilles. Social is 2-4-7-4. Thank you."

Dean hangs up the phone and walks up behind me, looking at the laptop screen over my shoulder.

"How'd you know he'd use that name?" I ask, looking up at him.

"You kiddin' me? What don't I know about that kid?" Dean chuckles, "can you type in Arc Mobile?"

I nod and search the phone company as Dean looks around the room. Dean picks up one of Bobby's empty bottles that I hadn't tossed out yet. "Hey, Bobby? What's the deal with the liquor store? What, are your parents out of town or something?"

"Like I said. Last few months ain't been all that easy." Bobby sighs, "(Y/n)'s been trying to clean them up, but I replace them faster than she can tidy."

Dean holds his gaze on Bobby for a moment, "Right." The laptop beeps and shows a blue arrow, pointing at a star on a city map.

Phone Location:

263 Adams Road

Pontiac, Illinois.

"Sam's in Pontiac, Illinois." Dean leans back, standing to his full height.

"Right near where you were planted." I point out.

"Right where I popped up. Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?" Dean asks, his voice full of suspicion.

~~~~~~~

I follow Dean and Bobby down the hall of the Astoria Motel, supposedly where Sam is staying. We stop at a door that says 207 inside a red heart, knocking on the door. A pretty woman opens the door and looks at the three of us expectantly.

"So where is it?" She asks, confusedly glancing between us

Dean looks at Bobby and I with an eyebrow raised, "Where's what?"

"The pizza... that takes three people to deliver?" She questions, the tone in her voice says 'you should know that'.

"I think we got the wrong room." I give her a nervous smile and try to apologize when Sam steps into the light. He looks down at her then up at us. "Hey, is..." he trails off and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Dean. He swallows, shocked, his eyes flicking between Dean, Bobby and I.

Dean tears up a little, his voice full of emotion, "Heya, Sammy."

I could see Sam looking in disbelief as Dean walks into his brother's room, followed by Bobby and me. We ignore the woman as she steps aside to let us in. As Dean walks up to his brother, Sam pulls a knife and lunges at Dean, giving me deja vu from Bobby's house. The woman screams as Bobby holds Sam back, I stand between the brothers, my hands out in front of me towards Sam, my back to Dean.

Sam struggles against Bobby, screaming, "who are you!?"

"Like you didn't do this!?" Dean yells back, making me yell at him to shut up for a second.

The younger Winchester looks confused for a second, "do what?!"

"It's him. It's him. (Y/n) and I already went through this, its really him," Bobby reassures Sam, who slowly stops struggling. I move to the side, out of the way of the brothers. "What..." Sam starts.

Dean cautiously approaches his brother, "I know, I look fantastic, huh?"

Bobby let's go of Sam, who has tears in his hazel eyes as he walks up to Dean, hugging him desperately. I smile softly as I watch the exchange, happy for them both, my own tears spilling over. Bobby also watches tearfully, but his don't fall.

The woman raises an eyebrow at the Winchesters, "so are you two like...together?"

I fight off a gag and turn to look at her in slight disgust, "ew what the fuck!? They're brothers!"

Sam looks at the woman like he just remembered she was there as she gathers her things, "uh...got it. I-I guess. Look, I should probably go."

"Yeah. Yeah that's probably a good idea. Sorry." Sam gives her a slightly apologetic look.

Her and Sam change their clothes, Sam now in a white button up, and her in a blue plaid shirt. Sam opens the door for her to let her out. "So, call me." The woman says with a sly smile.

"Yeah, sure thing Kathy," Sam gives her a gentle smile.

A look of offense and hurt crosses her face, "Kristy." She corrects him.

Sam continues his polite smile, "Right." The woman leaves and Sam shuts the door.

Sam goes and sits down, Dean and Bobby crossing their arms and standing over him, suspicion all over their face. I lean back against the wall, glancing between the men, literally feeling the overwhelming testosterone.

Dean speaks first, "So tell me, what'd it cost?"

Sam smiles at his brother, "The girl? I don't pay, Dean."

The older Winchester scoffs, "That's not funny, Sam. To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?"

"You think I made a deal?" Sam looks at Dean like he just grew a second head.

"That's exactly what we think." I interject, crossing my arms over my chest as well.

"Well, I didn't." Sam retorts with his signature sass.

"Don't lie to me." Dean grumbles.

"I'm not lying." Sam says truthfully.

Dean advances towards his brother, "So what now, I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this."

Sam stands up furiously, "Look, Dean, I wish I had done it, all right?"

"There's no other way that this could have gone down. Now tell the truth!" Dean yells, grabbing Sam by the front of his shirt.

"Dean!" I scold, walking up to the brothers before things escalate. God, I feel like their mother.

Sam's voice breaks, full of emotion as he tears up again, "I tried everything. That's the truth. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, all right? You were rotting in Hell for months. For months, and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right? Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean let's go of Sam's shirt, so I back up a step or two, "It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize, we believe you." I say softly.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm gladdened that Sam's soul remains intact, but it does raise a sticky question." Bobby says matter-of-factly.

"If he didn't pull me out, then what did?" Dean sighs. Well it looks like we have some research to do.

~~~~~~~

Dean and Bobby sit on the couch while I sit on the edge of the bed. Sam hands us each a bottle of beer and sits next to me. I open my beer and take a sip as Dean speaks, "so what were you doing around here if you weren't digging me out of my grave?"

Sam sighs, "well, once I figured out I couldn't save you, I started hunting down Lilith, trying to get some payback."

Bobby's eyebrows crinkle together, his tone accusing, "all by yourself? Who do you think you are, your old man?"

"Seriously Sam? I could've helped you?" I give him an angry look, feeling dejected.

Dean frowns as he sees something, crossing the room to see what it is. "Uh yeah, I'm sorry Bobby. I should've called, I was pretty messed up. And (Y/n), I couldn't have you getting hurt either. After Dean, I couldn't do it. Plus your dad would have my head on a pike." Sam defends himself, chuckling a little at the end.

I roll my eyes but crack a small smile, he only spoke the truth, "well I'm gonna have your head on a pike if you pull that shit again." Dean picks up a pink, flower patterned bra and holds it up, making me raise my eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, I really feel your pain," Dean teases.

"Anyways, uh, I was checking these demons out of Tennessee, and out of nowhere they took a hard left, booked up here." Sam shrugs, tapping his finger on his beer bottle.

"When?" I ask.

"Yesterday morning." Sam takes a sip of his beer.

"When I busted out." Dean mumbles.

"You think these demons are here 'cause of you?" Bobby glances at Dean, his eyebrow raised.

"But why?" Sam asks.

"Well, I don't know - some badass demon drags me out and now this? It's gotta be connected somehow." Dean shrugs.

"How you feelin', anyway?" I ask Dean, sipping my beer.

"I'm a little hungry." He chuckles.

"No, I mean, do you feel like yourself? Anything strange, or different?" I narrow my eyes slightly at the older Winchester.

Dean scoffs, "Or demonic? (Y/n), how many times do I have to prove I'm me?"

"Yeah. Well, listen. No demon's letting you loose out of the goodness of their hearts. They've gotta have something nasty planned." Bobby says.

"Well, I feel fine." Dean states and sips his beer.

"Okay, look, we don't know what they're planning. We got a pile of questions and no shovel. We need help." Sam huffs.

"I know a psychic. A few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking." Bobby shrugs and takes a long swig of his beer.

"Hell yeah, it's worth a shot. You talkin' about Pamela?" I perk up, Pamela is always nice to me, she's a good lady.

Bobby nods and pulls out his cell phone, "I'll be right back."

Bobby leaves the room and Dean stands up, intending to leave as well. I also stand up, followed by Sam. "Hey, wait. You probably want this back." Sam reaches into his collar and pulls out a cord, Dean's amulet. He places it in Dean's hand. Dean smiles at his brother and puts it back on. "Thanks."

"Yeah, don't mention it. Hey Dean, what was it like?" Sam asks with a small head tilt.

"What, Hell? I don't know, I, I must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing." Dean raises an eyebrow, I could tell he was lying through his teeth, but he was sparing his brother of the details.

Sam nods, mostly believing Dean, "Well, thank God for that."

Dean gives him a weak smile, "yeah."

~~~~~~~

Bobby leads us outside and down the stairs. We walk up to the Impala and Bobby's car. "She's about four hours down the interstate. Try to keep up." Bobby gets in his car.

"I'm assuming you'll want to drive," Sam says, digging the keys to the Impala out of his pocket and tossing them to Dean, who catches them.

Dean chuckles and runs his hand over the car lovingly, "hey sweetheart, did you miss me?"

I roll my eyes and giggle, "damn Dean, are you gonna drive it or get it pregnant?" Sam laughs next to me. Dean gives me a bitch face and gets in the car, Sam getting in the passenger seat and I get in the backseat. "Goodbye passenger seat, I'll miss you." I mumble, settling in behind the brothers.

Dean looks at the iPod Sam plugged into the stereo, glaring at Sam and the device. "What the hell is that?"

"That's an iPod jack." Sam says with a grin.

"You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up," Dean sneers.

"Dean, I thought it was my car," Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean huffs and starts the car, 'Vision' by Jason Manns playing over the speakers, making Dean glare at Sam harder. "Really?" Sam just gives him an innocent shrug. Dean rips the iPod out and tosses it next to me in the seat, making me chuckle.

~~~~~~~

"There's still one thing that's bothering me." Dean says, breaking the silence as we drive to Pamela's house.

"Yeah?" Sam asks as I hum in acknowledgement.

"Yeah, the night that I bit it. Or... got bit."

Dean chuckles at his own joke. "How'd you make it out? I thought Lilith was going to kill you both."

"Well, she tried. She couldn't." Sam explains.

"What do you mean, she couldn't?" Dean presses for answers.

"She fired this, like, burning light at me, and... didn't leave a scratch. Like I was immune or something." Sam says, genuinely unsure of why.

"Immune?" Dean asks.

"Same here. I mean, I'm not the psychic one, I have no idea why I was spared." I shrug, leaning my head on the door to my right.

"Yeah. I don't know who was more surprised, her or us. She left pretty fast after that." Sam continues.

"Huh. What about Ruby, where is she?" Dean questions warily.

"Dead. For now." I answer him, crossing my arms over my chest.

Dean hesitates before asking Sam, "So you've been using your, uh, freaky ESP stuff?"

"No." Sam answers quickly, a little too quickly.

Dean looks skeptical, "sure about that? Well, I mean, now that you've got... immunity, whatever the hell that is... just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you've got going on."

"Nothing, Dean. Look, you didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish." Sam says, "and (Y/n) was immune, and she's not like me."

"Yeah, well, let's keep it that way." Dean grumbles.

~~~~~~~

We knock on the door to Pamela's house, the brunette opening the door with a smile, "Bobby! (Y/n)!" She hugs Bobby tightly before turning to me and hugging me with the same strength.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," I smile at her as she pulls away from me. Pamela backs up a little and eyes Sam and Dean, and I could see Dean is eyeing her as well.

"So these the boys?" She asks Bobby and he nods.

"Sam, Dean, this is Pamela Barnes. Best damn psychic in the state."

Dean greets her flirtatiously while Sam says hi awkwardly. I nudge Sam's arm, "she's not gonna bite, you'll be fine."

"Not unless he wants me to," Pamela winks and smirks at Sam, before turning to Dean, humming. "Dean Winchester, out of the fire and back into the frying pan huh? Makes you a rare individual."

"If you say so," Dean grins at her and Pamela lets us inside.

~~~~~~~

"So you hear anything?" Bobby asks Pamela as I glance around, the house not changing much since the last time I was here.

Pamela shakes her head, "well, I Ouija'd my way through a dozen spirits. No one seems to know who broke your boy out, or why."

"So what's next?" I ask while tilting my head a little.

"A séance I think. See if we can see who did the deed," Pamela explains and I nod.

Bobby furrows his eyebrows, "you're not gonna summon the damn thing here?"

Pamela shakes her head with a small smile, "No. I just want to get a sneak peek at it. Like a crystal ball without the crystal."

We all agree and Pamela starts setting up her stuff to get this séance started. She spreads a black tablecloth out and crouches down to grab a couple things from a cabinet. I look at Dean as he reads her tattoo, seeing 'Jesse Forever'. "Who's Jesse?" Dean asks her, making me roll my eyes.

"Well it wasn't forever," Pamela laughs.

Dean shrugs and smirks, "his loss."

Pamela stands up, holding several candles in her hands as she stops in front of Dean with a grin, "might be your gain."

She walks over to the table as Dean turns towards Sam and I, "dude I am so in."

Sam scoffs, his hands in his jacket pockets, "yeah, she's gonna eat you alive."

Dean holds out his arms slightly, "well, I just got out of jail, bring it." I groan and rub my face as Pamela walks by again, addressing Sam with a wink, "you're invited too grumpy."

"You are NOT invited," Dean points at Sam and grins.

~~~~~~~

Later, we sit around the table, the candles lit. I sit between Bobby and Sam as Pamela instructs us to hold hands. Once our hands are joined, Pamela teases Dean again, "now I need something our mystery monster touched." She reaches down and squeezes Dean's thigh, making him jump.

Dean lets out a nervous chuckle, "whoa. Well he didnt touch me there."

I chuckle as Pamela says, "my mistake." We close our eyes as Pamela begins to chant, "I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.

I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.

I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle."

I hear the television turn on, making me jump slightly, Sam squeezing my hand reassuringly. I take a breath and I hear a name. "Castiel..." I hear almost like a whisper, my eyebrows crinkling.

Pamela continues her chanting, "I invoke, conjure, and command...Castiel? No, sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy." My confusion grows, wondering if Sam, Dean and Bobby can hear the whispering too.

"Castiel?" I hear Dean question.

"Its name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back." Pamela explains as the white noise and static continues, the table shaking. "I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face."

I hear more whispers, the same voice warning her to stop, that its dangerous, my anxiety building up more and more. The white noise picks up more, getting louder. "Maybe we should stop." Bobby says, his voice nervous.

"I almost got it.I command you, show me your face! Show me your face now!" Suddenly the candles flare up several feet in the air and Pamela begins to scream. Her eyes fly open and are filled with a white-hot flame. She collapses; the rattling, white noise, and flames die out.

Bobby and I catch Pamela, lowering her to the floor as she screams. Bobby yells out, "Call 9-1-1."

Sam rushes into the next room to a phone as Dean kneels next to Pamela with Bobby and I. She's conscious, but bleeding and burned. Her eyelids open, revealing empty, burned eyesockets. She sobs, "I can't see! I can't see! Oh God!" I can hear Sam on the phone with the 9-1-1 operator in the next room.

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