#ensure everything dean

[horchatakoo]

The More You Struggle, The Tighter I Hold

Synopsis: Jungkook has given you everything, so he doesn’t quite appreciate it when you choose a broke college boy over him.  Themes: chaebol yandere jungkook, rich brat reader, mind conditioning, manipulation, age gap, older jk, nsfw, smut, dubcon, crempie, pregnancy kink

Jungkook has spoiled you rotten for as long as he can remember—lavishing you with expensive gifts, funding your every whim, covering your wishlist without hesitation. Free trips abroad for you and your friends, extravagant dinner dates, even pulling strings to get you into your dream university when your grades didn’t quite meet the requirements. A simple call to the dean, a casual mention of your "relation," and suddenly, doors that should have remained closed swung wide open for you.

He has always been there, protecting you, guiding you, offering advice like a good older brother would. And for years, that’s exactly how you saw him—a doting, dependable presence, someone you could always rely on.

But Jungkook never wanted to be just seen as an older brother.

He wanted more.

Maybe it started the first time he met you, when your father brought you to one of his meetings with Jungkook’s grandfather. You were just ten years old then, a shy, quiet child clinging to the edges of the conversation while he, at sixteen, regarded you as the little sister he never had. Someone fragile, someone to protect.

At least, that’s what he thought his feelings were.

Until you turned seventeen.

That was when everything shifted. Your body began to change—your hips, your chest, the graceful curve of your waist.

Your innocence took on an unintentional allure, oblivious to how you moved, how your body would be pressed into him when you came running to hug him, how you smiled, or how your presence began to unearth something dark and possessive inside him.

That was when Jungkook stopped seeing you as his little sister. And started seeing you as something else entirely.

He saw you as a woman, a woman that should belong to him, rather than that of a younger sister, but you are oblivious to that fact. 

Jungkook’s help isn’t limited to just you—it extends to your entire family, ensuring their unwavering favor, shaping their perception of him as a saint, a savior, a blessing from heaven that they could never repay.

When his grandfather retired as chairman of the Jeon Conglomerate, Jungkook stepped into his rightful position, making sure that your family reaped the greatest benefits from his power.

But those benefits didn’t come without cost…

He had orchestrated everything. Pulled the right strings, made the right moves, and watched as your family’s company crumbled under carefully placed pressure—only for him to appear at just the right time with an outstretched hand and an offer too generous to refuse.

A lifeline. A godsend.

Your father and brother were given prestigious positions within his empire—roles they were woefully unqualified for, yet perfect for keeping them satisfied.

Jungkook knew your father had been embezzling funds from the Jeons for years, a rat biting the very hand that fed him. But Jungkook never stopped him. He never exposed him. Instead, he tolerated it, even allowed it, letting your father gorge himself on wealth that Jungkook could make back in mere minutes.

Because money has never been an issue to him,

It’s not what Jungkook wanted the most…

You are. 

Your family had been consumed by greed long ago, blind to the noose tightening around them as they dug their own graves.

And Jungkook?

He only watched in quiet amusement.

He had always known their sins would serve him one day. That when the time came, their insatiable hunger for wealth and status would tip the scales in his favor.

After all, they were nothing more than beggars dressed in wealth—always grasping for more, always willing to sell whatever was necessary for a place at the Jeon table.

Even you.

And why wouldn’t they? Everything they had—every luxury, every privilege—existed only because of him.

If not for Jungkook, your family would have sunk into bankruptcy long ago.

You were almost just like them—you couldn’t live without gold under your feet. The only difference was that you never took advantage of anyone, never used people for your own gain. 

You weren’t capable of something like that. 

In Jungkook's mind, a kind and innocent thing like you isn’t capable of such sin.

You were just... spoiled. If that was the right word for it. Born into wealth, raised in luxury, never knowing what it was like to beg for anything.

And Jungkook was fine with that.

More than fine.

Because once you became his, he planned on spoiling you even more.

For a long time, everything unfolded just as Jungkook had planned—until he received the most offensive news from you.

“Kookie, meet Hoseok. We’re in the same college department… he’s, um, my boyfriend.”

You introduced him shyly, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend’s slender frame.

Jungkook sat there, his glass of wine in hand, gaze locked onto the two of you. He looked at Hoseok from head to toe, trying to process what you had just said—as if hearing it aloud would somehow make it more real.

Here you are, standing beside a guy who looked like he had thrown himself together in five minutes—jeans, Converse, and a wrinkled T-shirt that was probably the first thing he grabbed from his small closet.

An attire that's entirely not suited to a luxurious dinner place like this

His nervous smile only made the contrast more jarring.

And then there’s Jungkook, in a perfectly tailored suit, polished shoes, a Patek Philippe watch on his wrist—an image of wealth and power that felt completely at odds with this moment.

“You never told me anything about this… guy, baby,” Jungkook finally spoke, his voice cold as he set his wineglass down.

Of course, you're twenty now. It's only natural that you’d have a boyfriend. But he never imagined it would be this soon, especially since he’d never seen you show any real interest in relationships.

He always thought your attention was his alone—that no unworthy man could ever steal it.

But it seems he was wrong.

In his mind, maybe he should’ve arranged your marriage with him sooner.

Hoseok stiffened at the way Jungkook called you baby, but he quickly shook off the thought. You’d told him before that Jungkook was like an older brother—maybe this was just how he spoke.

“Well, I always forget,” you said casually, taking a seat and gesturing for Hoseok to join you as you skimmed through the menu.

Jungkook only hummed in response, swirling the wine in his glass.

“U-uh, hi, sir,” Hoseok finally spoke up, his voice tentative, trying to break the tense silence.

You had warned him before coming in that Jungkook might come off as strong and intimidating, but that he was actually sweet underneath it all.

But nothing about Jungkook’s aura felt sweet to Hoseok.

Well—at least to you, Jungkook was sweet.

Jungkook certainly heard Hoseok’s attempt at a greeting. He even glanced at him briefly. But he didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, his attention remained fixed on you.

“Baby, do your parents already know about this?” His voice was calm, but there was something heavier beneath it, something unreadable.

You tensed for a second but quickly recovered. “Kookieeee, please don’t tell them. You know how they can be sometimes. I only told you because I knew you’d be happy for me,” you said with a sweet smile.

You were definitely wrong about that.

None of this made Jungkook happy. Not even a little.

But he chuckled softly, watching how you tried to act cute in front of him, hoping to convince him to keep your little secret.

"Fine,”

Hoseok sat there, feeling increasingly uncomfortable—the way Jungkook’s presence seemed to dominate the space, the way the dynamic between the two of you didn’t quite sit right with him.

This wasn’t how normal childhood friends act, even if you say that you're very close with Jungkook.

Still, he chose to remain silent. He wasn’t about to speak out of turn in front of a man who looked like he could crush him for even the smallest mistake.

Jungkook drained the last of his wine, then glanced at his wristwatch before rising from his seat.

“Well, you two have fun,” he said smoothly, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Order whatever you want.” He said as he handed you his black card.

“But Kook! I thought you had cleared your plans for tonight?” Confusion flickered across your face.

“Yeah, I know, baby. But you know how it is. I’m a busy man.”

That was a lie.

He had indeed cleared his schedule. This night was supposed to be just for the two of you. But Hoseok’s presence had ruined his appetite.

My driver will pick you up at eight,” he continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You know how your mom doesn’t like you coming home late.”

“Uhh, sir… I actually intend to bring her home myself—”

“Alright, baby?” Jungkook cut him off, his voice gentle but firm, like a parent dismissing a child.

The conversation was already over.

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Okay…” you murmured, the slight sadness in your voice betraying the unspoken truth:

Jungkook didn’t like Hoseok for you.

And he never would.

And just like that, the night ended with you being picked up by one of Jungkook’s driver after you and hoseok finished eating dinner that jungkook had paid for.

Hoseok might not say it aloud, but he hated it…

Hated how Jungkook had effortlessly covered the bill when he could’ve just taken you somewhere he could afford.

It felt like a reminder—like a quiet way of putting him in his place.

And it didn’t help that you wouldn’t stop babbling about how good the food was.

“God, that steak was delicious! It tasted almost the same as the ones we had on our Europe trip…”

Hoseok only hummed in response, already annoyed, his fists clenching at his sides as the two of you stepped out of the restaurant. And there it was—a sleek black Mercedes waiting in front of the restaurant, Jungkook’s driver standing there to greet you.

“Good evening, Miss Y/N.”

You barely noticed Hoseok’s stiff posture beside you. “My driver’s here. Bye, Hoseok!” you chirped, flashing him a small smile before slipping inside the car without a second thought.

Hoseok stood there for a moment, watching as the car pulled away, his jaw tightening.

If that’s how Jungkook reacted, then what more if your parents found out you were dating him?

And though you had always been so kind to Hoseok, he couldn’t help but feel like he was beneath you—like he wasn’t someone worthy of standing by your side.

A week had passed since that dinner. The one where you introduced Hoseok to Jungkook like it was nothing, like it wouldn’t shift the earth beneath your feet.

You honestly thought things were going fine.

But Hoseok had been… gone.

Not in the literal sense—no, he was still enrolled, still somewhere in the city—but he hadn’t attended any of your shared classes, hadn’t shown up at the student publication office where the two of you spent almost every afternoon.

His name no longer popped up in your notifications, no missed calls, no good morning texts.

Just... silence.

A gaping void where he used to be.

You reached out to people, trying not to sound desperate.

But the responses were all the same:

"I don’t know." "Ask someone else." "We’re not getting involved in your drama."

Drama?

What drama?

Everything was going fine. Wasn’t it?

Something in you says that he's avoiding you, but you refuse to accept that, because everything was just fine. Instead, you convince yourself to believe that maybe something has just happened that doesn't concern you, perhaps a family emergency that he has to take care of.

But why is he not messaging you if that's the case? The longer the silence dragged on, the more it chipped away at your patience.

Until finally, you decided you’d had enough.

If he wasn’t going to face you at uni, then you’d confront him at his apartment. You need to get your answers to the questions that have been bugging your mind.

You didn’t bother texting. You didn’t even knock.

The spare key he’d given you months ago still worked.

The lights were off when you stepped inside. Your first impression was that he might not be home—you were halfway through calling his name, just to make sure he really wasn’t there, when you heard something from the bedroom—faint, but unmistakable.

A moan.

You stopped cold.

Your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.

No.

No, no, no.

You moved before you could think better of it, storming down the short hall toward his bedroom. The door was cracked open just enough.

You pushed it.

And instantly wished you hadn’t.

There he was.

Hoseok.

On top of someone, some girl you barely recognized from one of the campus orgs. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back, both of them breathless, gasping, fucking like they had no care in the world until they felt your presence that caught them off guard.

You felt stupid—after all those days of searching for him, calling and worrying, wondering what could've happened to him, only to find him enjoying himself between some other girl's legs.

A strangled noise left your throat as you stumbled back a step. Your vision blurred for a second, and the ringing in your ears drowned out whatever garbled excuse the girl tried to throw on as she scrambled for a sheet.

Hoseok didn’t even flinch.

Didn’t even look guilty.

He didn’t bother covering up. Didn’t even look surprised anymore. Just annoyed.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pulling away from the girl beneath him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You were frozen, the image of him and that girl still burned behind your eyelids.

“You stalking me now?” he scoffed, reaching for his jeans without shame. “God, I should’ve known you wouldn’t take the hint.”

“The hint?” your voice cracked. “You disappeared on me, Hoseok. You ignored my calls, ditched class—what the fuck was I supposed to think?”

He rolled his eyes, zipping his pants. “That it’s over. That’s what you should’ve thought.”

Your stomach dropped.

“But… you didn’t even—”

“Didn’t even what? Text you some sappy breakup message?” he sneered.

“Why would I waste my time on that? It’s not like we were anything serious.”

Your breath hitched, refusing to believe what he just said, though it was crystal clear.

"You told me you loved me!"

“Yeah, well,” he said, grabbing a shirt and carelessly pulling it over his head, “I say a lot of shit. Doesn’t mean I meant it.”

The girl behind him giggled under the covers, which only infuriated you further, and Hoseok didn’t even glance at her. His eyes were on you, and they weren’t kind like how it was before.

“Look,” he said, “That Jungkook guy? He opened my eyes, alright? You’re nothing but trouble. Ever since I got with you, my grades lowered, fuck, my scholarship's even hanging by a thread. My future is on the line. You dragged me into your chaos and I’m finally fucking done.”

You blinked back the sting in your eyes, confusion tightening in your chest. How was Jungkook even involved in this?

“No… Jungkook wouldn’t do that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Hoseok barked a bitter laugh, eyes blazing. “Well, he fucking did.”

“Go cry to your sugar daddy or whatever the hell he is to you. I’m done.”

You were speechless.

As much as you hated Hoseok for cheating on you, there was one person you blamed even more—Jeon Jungkook. The tears came before you could even begin to process it all, a sob breaking in your throat as the pain swallowed you whole. Hoseok didn’t spare you a second glance; he shoved you out of his dorm like you were nothing, slamming the door shut in your face.

You felt betrayed...

not just by Hoseok, but by Jungkook.

How could he sabotage the one relationship that meant the world to you? How could he be so cruel and manipulative, as if destroying what you had would somehow bring him any satisfaction?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Jungkook had always been your angel, your protector. The thought of him being the one pulling the strings, the one who ruined you, didn’t make sense.

You wanted so badly to believe that Hoseok was just lashing out, making excuses for his betrayal. But no matter how tightly you clung to that hope, his words rang with a cruel kind of truth that you couldn’t ignore.

You didn’t even know how you got here.

After all the drama, the shouting, the betrayal—after all the tears you’d shed in Hoseok’s hallway just this afternoon—you should’ve been curled up in your bed, buried under blankets, trying to sleep the pain away.

But here you were.

At Jungkook’s building.

At his penthouse.

Driven by rage, betrayal, confusion, everything tightening in your chest until your body moved on its own.

You barely remembered how you got through the lobby. The security guard looked up from his desk and blinked in surprise, but when he saw your face, something in his demeanor softened.

“Miss,” he said gently, “You can go right up. He said you’re always welcome.”

Of course he did.

You hated how familiar this was—how the elevator doors opened to his private floor like the building itself was trained to welcome you. You hated that your trembling fingers still remembered the code. The moment the door swung open, his scent was already wrapping around you like a trap.

And you hated, most of all, that he looked happy to see you.

He was standing in the middle of his massive living room, wine glass in hand, dressed in a soft brown sweater and slacks, like the world hadn’t just been shattered around you.

His smile bloomed the moment your figure came into view.

“There you are,” Jungkook said, voice warm and slow, eyes twinkling as he opened his arms for you.

“Come here, angel. I was just thinking about y—”

Instead of a tight hug, all he got from you was a slap in his cheek.

The slap rang louder than you expected.

His cheek snapped to the side, skin blooming red where your palm struck him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Just stood there with his face turned, lips slightly parted, as if you’d short-circuited something in him.

Silence.

Then slowly, his eyes returned to yours as his calm demeanor didn't change.

A slow smile curled at the corner of his mouth—too knowing, too soft, too smug.

“Ah,” Jungkook murmured, the hint of a chuckle in his voice. “So you found out.”

And that was the only confirmation you needed. It was all his doing. A part of you had already known it was him, but you needed to hear it from him, and he delivered.

Your throat tightened, but no tears came this time. You were all cried out.

“So you really did it,” you whispered. “You ruined us.”

Jungkook tilted his head as he eyed you intensely. “Ruined?” he echoed, like it was a foreign word.

He let out a breathy laugh, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“No, baby. I didn’t ruin anything,” he said softly. “I just reminded him of what he already knew.”

You stared at him in disbelief

His eyes dropped to your swollen, puffy face—red-rimmed eyes and cracked lips. He stepped closer, not to console, but to admire.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle against your cheek.

You slapped his hand away.

He didn’t flinch.

“You had no right,” you snapped, voice trembling with restrained fury. “Hoseok and I—what we had, it was real. He loved me. We were—”

“He was weak,” Jungkook cut in smoothly, “and undeserving.”

“You don’t get to decide that!" You shouted at him as your face flushed red from anger.

“I do,” he said calmly, like he was explaining something to a child.

"Don’t you get it, Y/N? You belong to me. After everything I’ve done for you, for your family, and you still dared to choose him? I was being generous, patient, so fucking kind with you. But let me make one thing clear."

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he grips your chin a little too tightly, leaning in until his lips nearly graze your ear.

"I don’t share. No one touches what’s mine."

Your breath hitched, skin prickling where his words lingered against your ear. It all started to make sense—every sweet gesture, every moment he showed up exactly when you needed someone, the silent ways he looked at you like you were already his. His care had never been brotherly. Not even close. You had been so foolish, blind to the possessiveness hiding behind his soft smiles, mistaking his obsession for affection.

And now that the truth was out, there was no going back.

Your legs felt unsteady as you took a step back, but Jungkook didn’t let you get far. His hand slid from your chin to the side of your neck, gentle yet firm, anchoring you in place.

“You manipulated Hoseok,” you whispered, the realization choking out of you. “You wanted to ruin us.”

He didn’t even flinch. His thumb caressed the curve of your jaw, voice steady and low.

“No. I had to ruin him. Because he was in the way.” His smile curved, slow, and sinful. “He was holding onto something that never belonged to him in the first place.”

Jungkook, you used to know, the boy who used to laugh with you, protect you, was gone. In his place stood a man whose obsession clung to you like a vice, dark and suffocating.

He looks like he could kill in this moment, as you keep on throwing hurtful words at him

“You’re fucking insane! I don’t ever want to see you again! I swear to God, I’ll leave the country if that’s what it takes to get away from you!” you screamed, ripping his hand off your neck with every ounce of strength you had. He was too strong. It took force, and it hurt.

You see, Jungkook had always been patient. Painfully patient. If he hadn’t been, he would’ve taken you years ago.

But now? Now the thread had snapped. And the moment those words left your mouth, something inside him broke.

Leave?

You were going to leave him?

After everything he gave you? After everything he destroyed for you?

“No, baby. You’re not fucking leaving,” he said lowly, eyes dark as he stalked toward you like a predator. He gripped your arm hard, making you stumble back, his breath hot against your face.

“Let go! I’ll tell my father everything!”

He smirked. “Oh yeah? Want me to dial him for you?”

You tried to fight him, lashing out like a wild animal. The vase by the table shattered as your arm knocked into it, and you didn’t even think—you just grabbed a jagged shard and held it up, hand trembling, eyes wild.

“Stay the fuck away from me, you psycho!”

He stared at you with that maddening calm, like you were amusing. Like, your resistance was cute. And then he stepped forward with lethal grace.

He knew his flowering words and soft tone wouldn't work with you in this situation, you left him with no choice but to use a little bit of force in order to tame you.

“You really think I’d let you hurt yourself over something this stupid?”

In one swift movement, he twisted the shard from your fingers, faster than you could react. Before you could scream, his hand was in your hair, the other on your waist, and your head slammed into the wall with brutal force.

The last thing you heard was your name on his lips before everything faded to black

Your head throbbed painfully as consciousness slowly crept in. The ceiling above you was initially unfamiliar—until the soft fabric brushing against your skin, the scent of expensive cologne, and the dim glow of the city lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows reminded you exactly where you were.

You're still in his penthouse... in his bed.

You shifted, realizing you were wearing one of your pajama dresses. One you hadn’t worn in ages. One you hadn’t brought here.

A soft voice broke through the fog in your head.

“You’re awake,” Jungkook murmured beside you, his fingers gently stroking your hair, eyes filled with something unsettlingly tender. “You hit your head, baby. I had to take care of you.”

For a fleeting second, you saw him—the version of Jungkook you used to know. The kind smile. The boy who was always there. But you forced yourself to push that illusion away. That version of him is just an illusion, a facade to his true, dark intentions.

You scrambled off the bed in a panic, nearly tripping over yourself as you ran to the door. Locked. Every other exit—locked. No keypad, no handle you could pry open. You darted from one end of the penthouse to another, only to find nothing but dead ends.

“It’s no use,” Jungkook said calmly, standing from the bed, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watched you look for an exit.

“You’re staying here now. I’m not letting you run away from me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” you snapped, voice cracking with disbelief.

Then you saw it—all your designer clothes, your bags, your makeup, your shoes, tucked neatly in his walk-in closet like they belonged there.

Like you belonged here.

You spun to face him, breath short and broken.

“You moved my things…”

“I’ve been preparing this for a while,” he simply said as he slowly walked toward you.

“This is insane,” you whispered, eyes wide with disbelief, your voice trembling before it exploded into a scream. “My parents—they’ll come for me! You’re gonna pay for what you’re fucking doing!”

Jungkook chuckled low, dark, and slow, like he found your defiance amusing. He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with possessive fire as he tilted his head. “Come for you?” he echoed, voice almost mocking. “You mean your greedy parents who work for me now?”

He leaned in, voice dipping into a growl against your ear as he added, “Sweetheart, they’re the ones who sent all your things here. They were more than happy to hand you over to me."

And that’s when it hits you—you’re alone in here, with no one to run to. Even your parents betrayed you, their only daughter, all because they were too blinded by the money Jungkook has.

"No! This is impossible. My parents wouldn’t do that—Jungkook, please," you begged, falling to your knees as you wrapped your arms around his legs. At this point, you didn’t even know why you were begging him. Desperation? Hope? A final plea for the version of him you once knew?

But empathy was the last thing on his mind.

Instead, the sight of you, broken, pleading, lips trembling as you whispered his name, only turned him on.

There was something so intoxicating about having you like this, so helpless and pretty on your knees, as your plump lips were wet with your tears.

Sooner or later, he'd have you crying for something else.

"Shh, sweetheart," he cooed as he crouched down to meet your level, brushing your hair back with a gentleness that contradicted the madness in his gaze. "Stop crying. You’re going to learn to love it here. This is your home now."

Indeed, you had no choice but to stay in his penthouse for these past few weeks, trapped in his world with no way out. Your days blurred into one another, a monotonous loop of routines: a cold, solitary bath, forced meals, and endless hours spent staring at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You waited for Jungkook’s return, your mind spiraling as the isolation ate away at your sanity.

The silence was maddening. The lack of human contact drove you to the edge, and desperation took hold.

You missed the life that you once had, partying and going out with friends, attending classes, and so on, so you tried to escape, of course.

The first time, you managed to hurt one of his security guards as you scrambled your way out, though it was of no use as there were too many of them.

The second time, you threatened to harm yourself with a kitchen knife if they didn’t let you out.

That was when Jungkook decided that enough was enough. He began working from home, his eyes always on you, keeping you under his watchful gaze, with every sharp tool that he thought you could use to hurt yourself are now hidden or moved away.

"Ahhh... please stop!" you pleaded as a harsh slap landed on your bum. You were bent over, turned around with your tummy pressed against his knees as he spanked you (if that makes sense).

"Fucking stubborn woman! What did I tell you about lying, huh?!" he growled, landing another slap to your ass. The dress you were wearing had ridden up, exposing your bare core—he hadn’t allowed you to wear any undergarments.

You didn’t know why, but your body had been so needy and hot these past few days. You’d been getting wet out of nowhere, so turned on that you ended up touching yourself in the bathroom whenever he wasn’t around—too embarrassed to let him see you like that.

And just like now, you were already soaked from the way his rough palms met your skin, each slap sending a sting of heat through your core, making you tremble with want.

It was humiliating… and unbearable.

But of course, Jungkook knew everything.

He’d been slipping aphrodisiacs into your meals every time he forced you to sit on his lap and eat like a baby. And yes—he knew how you secretly touched yourself, thanks to the hidden cameras planted all over the house. He got off on watching you fall apart when you thought he wasn’t looking, addicted to how lewd you’d become under his control.

“Dirty whore,” he sneered, fingers suddenly sliding down back and forth to your slick folds. “You’re even getting wet from this, huh?”

You shuddered instantly, a sharp moan ripping from your throat as his fingertips grazed your sensitive pussy lips before spreading it with his fingers, exposing just how soaked and desperate you truly were.

“Look at you,” Jungkook muttered, almost amused as he ran his fingers along your soaked slit, spreading the slickness just to watch you twitch. “Dripping all over my lap like a fucking slut. Getting off on being punished?”

You whimpered, face flushed with heat, your fingers curling into the fabric beneath you as his touch sent sparks down your spine. His voice was low and mocking, but it lit you up in the worst way.

“You act like you hate it,” he said, dipping one long finger inside you without warning, “but your cunt tells me the truth.”

A breathy moan escaped you, hips jerking as the digit curled deep inside. He moved slowly at first, dragging it out just to watch your body react. Then he added a second, scissoring them apart, stretching you as you gasped.

“Such a filthy little thing. Bet you’ve been dreaming of this, huh? My fingers inside you while you grind your pathetic pussy on the bathroom sink,” he hissed into your ear, his fingers now pumping with more force. “You like being watched, baby? Knew I’d see you eventually?”

You couldn’t even form words anymore—just broken moans and whines as your walls clenched around him.

Then came the third finger.

You cried out, your legs trembling as he stuffed you full, knuckles deep now, fucking you rough and slow, like he wanted to feel every desperate flutter inside you. The stretch burned and thrilled you at once, leaving you clawing at his thigh, right on the edge.

So close. You were right there. Vision hazy, thighs slick and shaking, pleasure curling so tight it hurt.

But then he stopped.

Just like that—everything halted. He pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing.

You gasped, back arching as if trying to chase the feeling, your body trembling with frustration.

“N-no—please!” you cried, writhing against him, your once stubborn self now long gone, like a passing rain as you begged “Please, Jungkook… don’t stop, please—I need it, I need you—anything!”

He held his slick fingers up to your lips, eyes dark with twisted satisfaction. “Anything?” he smirked. “Then beg like the needy little cumslut you are.”

Without hesitation, you nodded, eyes glassy, lips parting as you leaned in—desperation burning in your gut.

“Yes—please, Jungkook. I’ll be good. I swear. Just—please—”

But he didn’t wait for you to finish.

He pressed his fingers against your lips, the same ones slick with your arousal, and you moaned as you eagerly opened your mouth, sucking them in like they were his cock. Tongue swirling, lips sealing tight around each one, you cleaned them with such obedience it made his cock twitch beneath you.

His jaw clenched as he watched you, his breath shallow, eyes dark and gleaming.

Fuck.

The drug worked.

He knew it would, but seeing the result was another thing entirely.

There you were—his once defiant little brat—on your knees, brain fogged, drooling around his fingers like they were candy. Completely unaware. Completely his.

So sweetly fucked up that you didn’t even care anymore that you were locked in here. That he owned your body, your mind, your every breath.

And now, after all your pathetic little protests, you were begging him to touch you? To fuck you?

Thought you hated me, sweetheart. Thought you wanted to escape.

His cock throbbed at the thought—how far gone you were. How easy it had become to twist your desire into obedience.

And he wasn’t even close to done.

Jungkook slowly pulled his soaked fingers from your mouth, watching your tongue chase after them like you couldn’t stand to be without the taste.

“Good girl,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “You want to be fucked that badly, huh? You want to be ruined?”

You nodded, whimpering as you pressed your thighs together, slick leaking down the insides of your legs. “Yes—please, please—kookie"

That was all it took.

He gripped your hips with bruising force and dragged you down off his lap, flipping you over like a ragdoll onto the plush carpet. You barely had time to gasp before he was yanking his sweats down, cock already thick and hard, veins throbbing with anticipation.

“Then take it,” he growled, grabbing your thighs and spreading you open. “Take all of it, slut.”

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

Your back arched, a choked scream bursting from your lips as he buried himself to the hilt—stretching you so deep, so full, it knocked the air from your lungs. There was no time to adjust. He didn’t give you that luxury. His hips were already snapping into yours, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls as he fucked you raw.

“God, listen to you,” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. “Crying on my cock like you were made for this. And maybe you were, huh? Just a filthy little hole to fill up and break down.”

Your mind was gone—drugged, drunk off him, off the stretch and the heat and the possessive grip he had on your body. Your moans turned to sobs, pleasure slamming into you over and over, your nails clawing at the floor as he pounded into you without mercy.

“Gonna come?” he mocked, voice ragged, hips grinding against you with devastating precision. “You’re already close, aren’t you? Fucking pathetic. All it took was a few slaps, a little drug in your food, and now you’re creaming all over my cock like a whore.”

You could only moan his name in response—broken, needy, soaking him with every thrust. The coil in your gut tightened so violently you couldn’t breathe, your body ready to shatter.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, his voice like poison and silk.

“Then come for me,” he whispered. “Let me feel this ruined cunt squeeze around me.”

And just like that—you snapped.

Your orgasm hit like lightning, legs trembling, walls clenching around him so tight it dragged a feral groan from his throat. He didn’t stop—riding you through it, fucking you harder, chasing his own high.

“Take it,” he grunted. “Take every fucking drop. Gonna put a baby in you, gonna make you round and full"

With one final thrust, he slammed deep, spilling inside you with a guttural moan, cock pulsing as he filled you full. Your body jerked, overstimulated and wrecked, tears sliding down your cheeks as you lay there trembling under him.

Breathless and used

And Jungkook—still buried deep inside you—grinned.

The room still smelled like sex.

Your body was limp in his arms, skin marked with his touch—red, bruised.

Jungkook hadn't let you move much after he’d fucked you into the floor. He'd simply gathered you into his lap, his cock still wet with your slick, and held you there, stroking your hair like you were the most precious thing he ever ruined.

“I think it’s time,” he murmured against your temple, voice soft. “You’ve been good lately.”

Your lashes fluttered as you looked up at him, dazed and exhausted. “Time… for what?”

“To go see your family.”

Your breath caught.

He chuckled. “Under my watch, of course. couldn't let you be naughty"

Jungkook knew he couldn’t keep you locked up forever. That would only risk bringing back your stubborn streak. No—rewarding you with a bit of freedom was the smarter move. After all, you were already too blind to see that any of this was wrong.

You should’ve felt uneasy or angry, like the first time he brought you here. But you didn’t.

Not anymore.

Now, you understood.

Jungkook was right. He did know what was best for you. You were wrong to think the man you once loved was gone. He wasn’t. He never left. He just needed to tame you—to show you who you truly belonged to.

“Thank you, Kookie,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him, clinging to the only person who ever really saw you.

clearly pleased—finally seeing you with the man they had always wanted for you. It wasn’t just approval in their eyes anymore… it was pride. As if they, too, had finally earned their seat at the Jeon table.

You sat quietly beside Jungkook, his presence towering even in his silence. His hand rested on your thigh beneath the table, firm and possessive. Every so often, he’d squeeze—his palm sliding just a little higher, fingers teasing slow circles into your skin, right where it made you press your legs together.

And then he walked in.

Hoseok.

He wore an apron now, working as a server at the restaurant your parents had chosen. His eyes widened when he spotted you, tray in hand—probably shocked to see you after the messy breakup you had with him.

You should have felt mad that he was there—should’ve remembered how deeply you once loved Hoseok, loved him enough to choose him over Jungkook, again and again.

But you didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

Because now you knew. You remembered what Jungkook told you—what he made you see.

Hoseok had never loved you. Not really. He’d cheated on you. Lied. Gaslit you into thinking it was your fault.

Only… he hadn’t done it on his own. Jungkook had orchestrated it all—manipulated things behind the scenes to tear you away from him.

And you weren’t even mad about it anymore.

Because he’d been right all along.

You didn’t belong to Hoseok. You never did.

Jungkook squeezed your thigh again and leaned in close, his voice low but unmistakably proud.

“We’ve been trying for a baby,” he said loud enough for Hoseok to hear, tilting his head just so. “Finally setting a date for the wedding too.”

You blushed on cue, eyes falling to your lap, but you didn’t pull away when he kissed your cheek—didn’t protest when his arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you closer.

Hoseok’s mouth twitched like he wanted to say something, but then he nodded stiffly and focused on serving your family before he turned back to the kitchen, defeated.

Good.

Jungkook’s fingers traced idle circles on your hip, slow and smug.

“That’s right, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re mine. Always were”

[wvyik]

nsfw alphabet. d.w. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: my take on the infamous NSFW alphabet where each letter represents a different aspect of dean’s passionate, playful, and sometimes possessive side!

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, mature themes, adult language, graphic sexual content, explicit descriptions of intimacy, kinky stuff, possessiveness, lowkey fluffy, sub! dean at times, but mostly dom! dean.

⤿ notes: here’s the template i used!! (slightly tweaked it) tbh i love writing headcanons sm im thinking of posting them more often. let me know if you liked this format!! at SOME points i lost the plot and wrote a whole ass fic.. but hey. this is my first time.

A = AFTERCARE..

After a night of passion, Dean’s first instinct is always to make sure you’re okay. He’s gentle, tender, almost like he’s still in awe of you. He’ll pull you close, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, running his fingers through your hair as he mutters soft words of reassurance. Even in the aftermath of something intense, he needs you to know you’re safe, that you’re everything to him. He’s not about that “wham-bam” stuff. He’ll get you a glass of water, make sure you’re comfortable, and maybe even wrap you in a blanket while he quietly watches over you, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as you both catch your breath.

He’s the type to make it feel like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, and even though he’s usually tough and rugged, with you, he’s all heart. It’s about comfort, care, and making sure you feel cherished. It’s his way of showing that the connection doesn’t end after the heat of the moment; it only deepens.

B = BODY PART..

Dean’s hands— they’re his favorite body part, and not just because they’re strong or capable. No, it’s the way they feel when they’re touching you, when they’re pulling you closer, slipping under the fabric of your clothes, and tracing the softest parts of your skin. When it’s just the two of you, alone in that quiet space, his hands will roam over your body with purpose. He’s all about the slow burn, his fingertips brushing across your neck, making your breath hitch as he dips lower to the curve of your waist. He’ll take his time, working you up, feeling every inch of you as if he’s memorizing you, ensuring you’re completely in his control.

As for his favorite part of you? Dean can’t stop thinking about your thighs. When you’re alone, he’ll have you straddling him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he slowly moves against you, feeling the heat building between you two. Your thighs are soft, but firm, the perfect balance of strength and vulnerability, and when you press them together, it’s like a promise of something hotter. His hands will travel down, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer until he can feel every inch of you moving against him. He’s obsessed with the way your body reacts to him; your thighs pressing tightly against his sides as you rock against him, your breath shaky, your skin heated under his touch. He’s rough when he wants to be, but in those moments, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll make sure everything is slow, deliberate. Each kiss, each touch, each movement a way of savoring you.

C = CUM..

His favorite spot to cum is definitely inside of you.. Not just for the convenience of making less of a mess— it just feels way more personal. When Dean finally hits that point, it’s like everything just snaps. His hands are gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you down on him. He’s moving deep, hard, every thrust bringing him closer to the edge. He can feel himself losing control as his body trembles, and when he finally releases, it’s rough and intense. You can feel it, that pulse deep inside you, as he’s coming undone, his grip tightening, his body jerking with each wave.

He’s not shy about it either.. he’ll tell you how good it feels, how he can’t stop because you’re just too good to let go of. And when he’s done, there’s no shame, he’s all over you, holding you close, whispering how amazing you are, not wanting to let you go even for a second. Dean’s the type to make sure you’re completely satisfied, whether that’s with kisses, gentle touches, or reminding you how much you mean to him, even after that intense release.

He’ll want to stay inside you for just a little longer, feeling that connection, letting everything settle between the two of you. But it’s not just about the act; it’s about the way he’s completely consumed by you, how every touch and every moan is for you, how your body makes him lose control in the best way.

Dean’s not just about taking; he’s all about giving too. When he’s got you underneath him, lips brushing along your neck, his hands guiding you as he kisses down your body, he knows exactly what he’s doing. His eyes are on you the whole time— he loves watching the way your body reacts to his touch, how your breath hitches as he moves lower.

When he finally gets to your thighs, he’ll take his time, teasing with his tongue, pressing soft kisses against your skin, before finally kissing that sensitive spot. He’ll take his time with you, making you feel like you’re the most important thing in the world. His tongue moves with purpose, driving you crazy, circling and flicking just the right way, making sure you’re feeling every bit of pleasure.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he’ll growl, barely able to hold back as he keeps moving, pushing you closer to the edge. He won’t stop until you’re breathless, trembling underneath him. He’ll make sure you hit that release, his lips and tongue working together, guiding you to that explosive moment. And when you’re finally lost, when your body spasms from that climax, he’s right there, feeling it with you, never stopping, never pulling away.

When Dean’s on the receiving end, you better believe he’s not quiet about it. He’s all about that slow, intense pleasure, and when you start to make your way down his body, his breath catches in his chest, a low groan escaping him. His eyes are on you, heat in his gaze, as his hands rest in your hair, but he’s not pulling you— he’s letting you take your time. He loves the anticipation, the slow build-up as you tease him, running your hands along his thighs, giving him just enough to drive him wild.

“C’mon, baby, don’t make me wait,” he’ll tell you, voice hoarse, his patience wearing thin as you hover just above him. But he loves the feeling of you taking control, how your mouth makes him lose himself in you. When you finally take him into your mouth, he’s lost. His head falls back, a moan slipping from his lips as he tries to hold it together. You know how to move, how to make him feel like he’s in heaven, your tongue working its magic as you make him see stars.

Dean’s not the kind to just lay back, though. His hips start to move with the rhythm, not in a desperate way, but in sync with your movements. His hands will grip your hair, gently guiding you, wanting to feel all of it. When you take him deep, he can’t help but let out a low curse under his breath, his body shuddering with pleasure. “Fuck, that feels so good,” he’ll mutter, completely lost in the sensation of you giving him everything.

When he’s close, he’ll tell you, voice rough and strained, “I’m gonna—shit—I’m close.” But he won’t rush it. He wants to savor it. He wants to make sure you’re giving him your full attention until he’s at his breaking point. And when he finally reaches that edge, when he’s spilling into your mouth, it’s pure bliss for him. The way you take it all, the way you look up at him with those hungry eyes; it’s too much for him to handle, and he can’t stop the way his body trembles with the release.

D = DIRTY SECRET..

Dean’s dirty secret? It’s not something he just tells you about. It’s something he keeps tucked away, buried deep beneath the tough guy act. But you start to realize it when you’re alone, when it’s just the two of you in the quiet of a motel room, the world outside forgotten.

Dean’s secret is that he loves when you take control, when you push him to his limits and make him beg for it. Most people would never guess it. Hell, Dean barely acknowledges it himself, but you see the way he looks at you sometimes, like he’s waiting for you to take the reins. It’s the way his voice goes low and rough when he whispers your name, the way his body stiffens in anticipation when you shift on top of him, taking charge. It’s the way he fights it, but you know— he’s completely fucking powerless when you take control.

He’s not used to it. Dean’s the one who’s always in charge, the one with the power in every situation. But with you? He’s different. He loves being dominated by you, in that subtle, almost teasing way. He loves it when you pin him down, when you whisper dirty things in his ear that make his heart race. He loves when you don’t let him speak, when you kiss him so hard he can barely breathe, all while you keep him trapped beneath you.

But the thing is, he doesn’t want to admit it, not to you, and especially not to anyone else. It’s his dirty little secret, the thing that’s so out of character for him. He’s too proud to openly admit that sometimes, he craves to be the one controlled, the one who’s helpless to your touch. But deep down, he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and it drives him wild that he can’t stop wanting it.

E = EXPERIENCE..

Dean’s very experienced. This man’s been around the block a few times. He’s been in all kinds of situations, with all types of people, and let’s just say, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But here’s the thing— his experience isn’t just about the physical stuff; it’s about reading people, knowing how to make them feel wanted and understood. He’s learned what works, what doesn’t, and how to please a partner in ways that make them melt.

He knows how to take his time, how to build that tension, and when to slow things down. He’s got that natural rhythm that’s just right, making sure you’re comfortable, but also giving you exactly what you need when it comes to your desires. And when it comes to giving or receiving, he’s all about the details; the gentle touches, the teasing, the deep, intense moments. There’s no awkwardness with him. He knows when to press, when to pull back, and when to take things to the next level.

But don’t get it twisted, he’s not cocky about it. His experience comes from years of both hunting and dealing with personal stuff, and there’s something about his confidence that makes him so good at pleasing. He’s been around enough to know how to handle things, but with you, it’s not just about getting off. He wants to make sure you’re satisfied— emotionally and physically. He’s all in when it comes to giving you a good time, even if he keeps it cool on the outside.

Of course, there’s a soft spot when it comes to you. Because with the way Dean feels for you, he’d want to make sure everything is perfect. All that experience? It’s used in service of you, babe, making you feel like you’re the only person who matters. And trust me, when he’s focused on you, he’s a damn expert at making you feel amazing.

In a nutshell: Yes, Dean knows what he’s doing. He’s got the experience to back it up, and he uses it to keep you hooked, wanting more every single time.

F = FAVORITE POSITION..

It’s definitely the one where he’s in full control, making sure you’re completely at his mercy, but let’s be real, he likes mixing it up depending on how the night’s going. His go-to? Probably doggy style, hands down.

When he’s got you in that position, he gets to see everything.. every little movement you make, every expression that crosses your face. It drives him wild knowing he’s the one causing it. He’ll grip your hips, pulling you back into him as he takes his time, slow and deep. The way your body reacts under him? It’s like pure music to his ears, and that view? It drives him insane. He loves feeling you clench around him, knowing that every thrust makes you feel it even more.

But that’s not all; Dean’s also big on missionary when he’s feeling extra connected. He likes to look you in the eye, making sure you’re completely focused on him, feeling every inch of the connection. That intimate, slow, and powerful rhythm where he can feel your heart racing beneath his, his hands tracing your curves as he moves inside you— that’s when things get real intense.

And when he wants to switch it up, he doesn’t mind getting a little rough with you, flipping you over, having you straddle him or him taking you from behind while you’re bent over a surface— whatever drives the mood. The chemistry between you two? It makes him want to explore every possible position, and he’s down to try new things, especially when it means making sure you’re both satisfied.

At the end of the day, Dean’s favorite position is the one that makes you feel like you’re his, but it’s not about being possessive. It’s about that perfect connection. It’s about that sweet balance of passion and control. And trust me, he’s got plenty of ways to show it.

G = GOOFY..

Dean can definitely get a little goofy in the moment, especially when he feels comfortable with you. It’s like he knows he can let his guard down and just be himself. While he’s definitely the type to take charge and keep things intense, he’s got that playful side that comes out in the heat of the moment.

Sometimes, when things get heated and you’re both in the middle of it, he’ll throw in a cheeky comment just to make you laugh. He might tease you with a quick “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” or a smug little smirk while you’re on top of him, making sure he’s enjoying every second. His confidence lets him crack those playful jokes because he knows he’s got you hooked; and he loves seeing you blush when he gets a little too cheeky.

But it’s not all about jokes. Dean can also get a little goofy in the way he teases you physically. Light, playful taps on your ass, or that sexy growl he uses when he’s trying to rile you up. He’s got that natural, smooth way of mixing humor and passion that keeps you on your toes. He might even act like he’s serious at first, but then that mischievous grin pops out, showing you he’s not taking things too seriously.

It’s in the little moments— the way he’ll whisper something ridiculously sweet in your ear, only to follow it up with something teasing, like “Who’s the lucky one now?” He can switch between being intense and ridiculously charming in a second, making you laugh one moment, then melt the next.

But when it’s time to get serious, Dean knows how to flip the switch. If things get more intimate or passionate, that goofy side fades into the background, and he’s all about the connection. But even then, you’ll catch those little glimpses of humor, the way he looks at you with that playful glint in his eye, showing he’s not completely lost in the moment, he’s just enjoying it with you.

So, yeah, while he’s definitely got that serious, dominant energy, Dean’s no stranger to being goofy when the mood strikes. And honestly? It’s part of the fun. It keeps the vibe light, playful, and even more intimate. That mix of humor and intensity? It makes the connection between you two even hotter.

H = HAIR..

Okay.. Let’s start with Dean’s head. His hair? As we know; always on point. He’s got that signature messy, just-out-of-bed look that somehow always looks perfect. He keeps it clean, but a little rugged— like he doesn’t care, but deep down, you know he’s putting in just enough effort to keep it looking good. That shaggy, chocolate brown mess of hair frames his face in the best way, and he’s definitely not afraid to run his fingers through it when he’s frustrated; or when he’s trying to look extra good for you.

Now, when it comes to down there, oh yeah, Dean keeps himself trimmed. He’s not the type to go completely bald, but he definitely takes care of business. He keeps things neat, a little shorter, so everything’s clean and ready to go when it’s time for action. It’s just the right amount of scruff, leaving enough to tease, but nothing over the top. Dean’s all about being practical, but he’s also aware of how much it adds to the vibe. He knows exactly what works for him and what makes his partner want more.

Well, we already know Dean’s got that signature rugged, manly look, and it shows down there too. He keeps the hair trimmed but not overly maintained, just enough to keep it real— natural, just like him. The way he takes care of himself shows that he’s confident in his own skin, but he’s not obsessing over perfection. So.. the carpet may not match the drapes exactly, but damn, it’s a close call— because Dean doesn’t do anything halfway. It’s got that perfect balance of masculine and a bit of a secret that only you get to see, something that makes you want to dive deeper, take your time, and just worship every inch of him.

As for you, being completely honest— He wants to feel the texture when his lips press against your skin, that slight pull of hair beneath his lips as he moves lower. The perfect amount; not too much, not too little. When he feels the light trim and the soft brush of it against his fingers or mouth, it drives him wild. He might tease you about it when he’s between your legs, maybe give a little chuckle before running his fingers through the soft, trimmed hair, and whispering “God, you know this is exactly how I like it” as he looks up at you, hungry eyes burning with desire.

If you’re the type who prefers to keep things smooth, that’s good too. Because when Dean’s down there, he’s all about pleasure, and he’ll take his time, loving every inch of you. But give him just a hint of natural with a little softness, and that’s his weakness. He’ll get lost in the feeling of your skin, fingers grazing over every curve, savoring the way the hair feels when it’s just enough to give him that little extra something. It drives him crazy when you arch your back, a slight gasp escaping your lips, all because he’s finding that sweet spot— the perfect mix of rough and smooth, like he’s savoring the experience of you more than just the action itself.

Dean’s preference isn’t about rules, it’s about what turns him on— and you’re turning him on anyway. Whether you like a clean, smooth look or a little natural fuzz, he’s just as obsessed with how you feel about it. But if you’re asking him, that little hint of trim? It’s just the right level of perfection to make him lose control.

I = INTIMACY..

Dean might have that tough, gruff exterior, but when it comes to intimacy? He’s got a side to him that will absolutely melt you. It’s not just about the physical, rough and wild moments (though those definitely exist)— it’s about how he makes you feel in those quiet, tender moments between. When you two are wrapped up in each other, it’s like the world disappears.

He’s the type who can’t help but stare at you with that softness in his eyes when he’s touching you; gently running his hands up your arms, tracing your jaw, just taking you in like he can’t believe you’re actually there with him. There’s this feeling he gives off, like he’s not just having sex, but connecting with you on a level that means so much more than just the physical release. He’s completely present.

When he’s inside you, it’s like he’s not in a rush, savoring every inch of the moment. There’s no slamming or pushing for a fast release. Dean’s all about drawing out the sensations, making sure you’re feeling every single second of him. Whether it’s kissing you deeply, whispering sweet things in your ear, or taking the time to gently stroke your body while he’s inside you, it’s all about showing you just how much you mean to him in that moment.

Dean doesn’t need to say a word to make you feel loved. His hands, the way he looks at you, the way he moves; it all speaks louder than anything he could say. His kisses are deep, passionate, but with that soft, tender edge that shows he cares. He’s not just trying to get off; he’s trying to make you feel everything in that moment. Every caress is deliberate, every movement intentional.

When he pulls you close after, he’ll hold you in his arms like you’re his world, his heartbeat steady against yours, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin. He’s always checking in with you, making sure you’re okay, both physically and emotionally. It’s that soft, romantic side of him that you rarely get to see, but when it’s just you and him? That’s when he shows you all the affection and love he’s been hiding under his tough exterior.

Intimacy with Dean is a beautiful mix of gentle passion and heart-stopping moments. He’ll bring you closer, make you feel desired in ways you didn’t even know you needed, and leave you breathless with every second of it. But it’s never just about the sex— it’s about him connecting with you, body and soul, and making you feel like you’re the most important thing in his world.

J = JACK OFF..

Dean’s a man of many talents, and when he’s alone? He’s not shy about taking care of his own needs. Let’s be real: the man’s got a lot of built-up tension, and he knows how to relieve it.

Dean’s not a guy who needs to jerk off all the time, but if he’s been going through a stretch where he’s missing you or hasn’t been able to see you in a while, he’s definitely going to be indulging a little more frequently. If he’s on the road, and he’s away from you for a few days, you can bet that he’s getting in at least a few sessions, or when things have been tense between the two of you— he’s not going to forget about how much he wants you.

But it’s not just about quick relief.. it’s about thinking of you. It’s those moments when he’s missing you, or when he’s worked up after seeing you earlier, maybe after a steamy, flirtatious interaction.

When he’s in the mood, Dean doesn’t rush it. He’s got that slow, deliberate rhythm as he strokes himself, thinking about you. He’s imagining your body beneath his, your moans in his ear, your hands gripping his back as he takes you deeper. He’ll bite his lip, letting his thoughts of you fuel the fire, and if he’s really worked up, he might even mumble your name, like it’s a prayer that makes him hit that spot just right.

Dean knows exactly how to handle himself. His hand moves with just the right pressure, and his breaths get quicker, heavier, as his thoughts go straight to you; how you feel, how you look when you’re under him. He might even get a little rougher with himself when he’s thinking of you taking control or teasing him.

But when he’s about to come? It’s like his mind flashes to those intimate moments with you— the way your body shudders beneath his touch, how you look when you’re lost in pleasure. He’ll let out a groan, quick and low, as he finally releases, knowing exactly how much he wants you, how needy he’s gotten for you. And afterward? You can bet he’s not ashamed. He’s used to getting his hands dirty, but he’ll always clean up and shake it off like it’s just part of the job.

So yeah, Dean gets off on his own, but it’s always with you in mind, a little fantasy to keep the fire burning when you’re not around.

K = KINK..

Dean’s a man who’s lived through a lot, and he’s had his fair share of experiences, both good and bad. So, when it comes to his kinks, he’s definitely someone who knows what he likes, and he’s open to a bit of variety. His kinks are rooted in power dynamics, control, and a deep desire to connect, but with that edge of raw, primal energy. Here’s a taste of what gets him going:

Power Play: Dean’s a man who likes to be in control, especially when things get heated. He loves the way you melt under his touch, how your body responds to him taking charge. Whether it’s gently pushing you down on the bed or pinning you against the wall, Dean gets a thrill out of seeing you submit to him. But don’t think he’s all about dominating the moment— it’s about mutual control. He’ll let you take the reins when it suits, but only when he’s good and ready for it.

Biting: Dean is into the idea of claiming you. He’s not afraid to bite, nip, or mark you with hickeys. It’s about showing everyone that you’re his. He wants to leave his mark on your body, something that says, ‘Yeah, you belong to me’, but it’s also a sign that you’re his desire. When he bites your neck, pulls you closer, or marks your inner thighs, it’s all about showing you that you belong to him in more ways than one.

Roleplay: Honestly? I think Dean’s got a thing for slipping into different characters. Sometimes it’s a hunter, sometimes it’s someone a little more dangerous. He loves the idea of playing a different version of himself, or making you act out a scenario where he’s your protector, your savior, your everything. The idea of pretending you’re strangers or something forbidden really gets him going, and he’ll do whatever it takes to bring that fantasy to life.

Spanking & Impact Play: Oh, he loves a little spanking. It’s not about punishing you; no, it’s about showing you just how much he can make you feel with a single slap. He’ll get rough, but in a way that keeps the pleasure high. He might not do it every time, but when he does, he knows exactly where to land his hand, just enough to make you gasp in surprise, followed by a whimper of need.

Tease & Denial: Dean’s great at this. He loves making you wait, teasing you with a kiss, a touch, and just enough attention to leave you desperate. He’ll get you so close to the edge, but then he pulls back, just to make you ache for more. It’s a power play, sure, but it’s also about making you feel like you’re at his mercy.

Dirty Talk: Dean’s mouth might be full of jokes and sarcasm, but when it’s just you two, his dirty talk can be downright filthy. He’ll whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, telling you exactly what he wants to do to you, making sure you know how much he needs you. It’s not just about what he says— it’s the way he says it. That low growl of his? The way his breath shudders in your ear? Yeah, you’re done for.

Bondage: Dean’s not afraid of a little bondage. He’s into tying you up in the heat of the moment, making you submit completely to him. Whether it’s just a simple tie or something more elaborate, he loves the visual and the control it gives him. The way you can’t move, the way he gets to explore every inch of you while you’re completely at his mercy; it’s a massive turn-on for him. Dean will tie you up just enough to keep you restrained, but not so tight you’re uncomfortable, making sure you’re both safe and, well, fully into it.

Morning Sex: Dean loves the feeling of waking up next to you. There’s something about the vulnerability of early mornings that makes him want to make love to you before the world even has a chance to wake up. He’s gentle at first, but it doesn’t take long before things heat up, and he’s got you pressed against him, his hands roaming over your body. There’s something so intimate and raw about the way he makes you feel in the morning, like you’re his whole world, and he can’t wait any longer to be inside you.

Praise kink: While Dean loves being the dominant force, he also enjoys giving you praise in the heat of the moment. There’s something about watching you lose control that fuels him. He’ll whisper sweet, dirty things in your ear, making you feel desired, telling you how good you’re being for him, how you’re his. It might be a little submissive kink on your end, but Dean’s all about making you feel like you’re pleasing him; especially when you’re desperate for his approval. And, let’s not forget. That man has been through some stuff— he loves when you give him little nods of appreciation in bed.

Public/Risky Sex: There’s a bit of a thrill in doing it in places where you shouldn’t. Whether it’s a quickie in the back of the Impala when you’re on the road, or sneaking around while Sam’s off doing his own thing, Dean loves the danger of possibly getting caught. The risk makes everything hotter. The adrenaline rush of having to keep quiet, of needing to be fast, but also wanting to drag it out as long as possible? It makes his blood pump harder, and he knows it’s just as much a turn-on for you as it is for him.

Dean’s kinks are all about power dynamics, teasing, and intense connection. He enjoys the balance between pleasure and pain, control and surrender. But no matter how much he pushes your limits, he’s always going to be there, making sure you’re feeling safe and cared for in the aftermath. Dean might be rough around the edges, but when he’s in the moment, he’s all about you.

L = LOCATION..

Let’s be honest— Dean’s not picky, but he definitely has his favorites. This man is always on the road, always moving, so he’s got to get creative when it comes to where he gets down to business:

The Impala: This one’s a classic. The backseat, the hood, hell—even the front seat if things get desperate. The Impala is Dean’s home, and there’s something about having you in his space that makes it all the more intimate. The windows fogging up, the leather creaking under your bodies, the absolute risk of getting caught—he lives for it. Plus, he loves having you ride him in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel behind your back, knowing damn well he’ll never be able to sit there again without thinking of you.

Motel Rooms: Dean’s been in hundreds of cheap, crappy motels, but when you’re there? They don’t feel so bad. The shitty wallpaper, the questionable beds— none of it matters when you’re beneath him, moaning his name. The fact that you two don’t stay in one place for too long? It makes every night feel urgent, needy, like he has to take full advantage of every second before you’re off hunting again. And let’s be real; he loves when you get loud, and in a motel, there’s no one to stop you.

Against the Wall: Not necessarily a location, but Dean loves pinning you against a wall. Whether it’s a motel wall, the side of the Impala, or even in the bunker when Sam’s not around (or when he is, if you’re being reckless), there’s something about having you trapped between his body and the hard surface that drives him insane. He loves the way you cling to him, the way you have to hold on, and the power he feels when he has you right where he wants you.

Showers: Dean’s a sucker for shower sex. He loves the intimacy of it; hot water, steam filling the air, the way your bodies slide against each other. He’ll stand behind you, hands roaming everywhere, whispering filthy things in your ear as he helps you brace yourself against the tile. It’s slow, deep, unrelenting—and after? He gets to wash you off, take his time kissing every inch of you, and maybe go for another round while you’re still warm and slippery.

Hood of Baby: Dean is a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t admit it. There’s something about pulling off on a deserted road in the middle of the night, laying you out on the hood of the Impala, and having his way with you under the stars. It’s not just about the sex; it’s more about the feeling of freedom, of being untouchable, of knowing that in that moment, it’s just you and him against the world. Plus, he loves the way the cool metal feels against your skin, the contrast between the chill of the night air and the heat of your bodies moving together.

Literally anywhere risky: Dean’s got a thing for danger. Maybe it’s after a hunt, when the adrenaline’s still pumping, and he needs to feel alive. Maybe it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be— an abandoned house, the back of an alley, somewhere public where the risk of getting caught makes it all the more thrilling. He’s careful, but he also loves the idea of you trying to keep quiet, of knowing that someone might hear, but being too lost in the moment to care.

M = MOTIVATION..

Dean might act all cool and in control, but the second you push the right buttons? He’s done for. Here’s what gets him going the most:

Confidence (or Shyness—Either Works on Him): There’s nothing sexier to Dean than watching you take charge. If you walk up to him, grab his collar, and whisper something dirty in his ear? Immediate problem in his jeans. He loves knowing you want him just as much as he wants you. If you tease him, pulling back from a kiss too soon, giving him that look that says ‘come and get me’.. he’s going to get you.

But on the flip side? If you’re a little shy, a little hesitant, biting your lip like you’re unsure if you should make the first move? Yeah. That also destroys him. He loves pulling that shyness out of you, making you let go of your inhibitions until you’re gasping his name. The idea of turning you into a whimpering mess under him? That’s all the motivation he needs.

Your Body, Specifically the Parts You Don’t Think About: Dean lives for the little things; the curve of your hips when you walk past him, the soft skin of your thighs when he rests his hand on them, the way your neck tilts when you throw your head back laughing. It’s never just the obvious things that get him going, it’s the casual, effortless sexiness you don’t even realize you have. And if you’re wearing something that hugs your figure just right? He’s barely holding himself together.

Your Voice— Especially When You’re Whimpering for Him: Dean’s a sucker for sounds. The way your breath hitches when he gets too close, that soft gasp when he drags his fingers down your spine, the way you moan when he finally gives you what you want. If you let out the smallest whimper? He’s done for. It strokes his ego and sets him on fire at the same time.

And if you talk dirty to him? Ohhh, babe, he loses it. Whisper something in his ear, tell him what you need from him, what you want him to do to you? He’s throwing you on the bed before you can finish your sentence.

Seeing You Get a Little Frustrated: Dean loves a good challenge. If you’re trying to stay in control but he keeps pushing you right to the edge, and you start getting desperate for him? That’s it— that’s the moment he snaps. He loves teasing you, making you beg, watching you squirm under his touch. The more you fight it, the harder it is for him to hold back.

The Way You Look After a Hunt or Workout: Dean is an absolute animal for the way you look after any kind of physical activity— your hair a little messy, your skin flushed, your body all warm from exertion? It just makes him think about what you’d look like beneath him, all breathless and needy. And if you’re wearing something a little tight, maybe some sweat dripping down your chest? He’s gripping the steering wheel way too tight trying to keep it together.

Final thoughts? You are his motivation. It doesn’t take much; one look, one touch, one word, and he’s already aching for you. And when he finally gets his hands on you? He’s making sure you feel every ounce of that tension he’s been holding back.

N = NO..

Dean might be down for a lot, but there are definitely things that cross the line for him. For one, he’s not into anything that makes you uncomfortable— if you so much as hesitate or seem unsure, it’s over. He’s always paying attention, making sure you’re into it just as much as he is, and if he ever got the feeling you weren’t? He’d pull back immediately, no questions asked.

Pain that goes beyond a little roughness is a hell no for him. He’s all about grip marks on your hips, the occasional love bite, maybe even pinning your wrists if you’re feeling particularly desperate; but hurting you? That’s not even on the table. He might love making you squirm, teasing you until you’re begging, but it’s never about making you feel bad. He needs to know you’re enjoying every second of it, even when he’s driving you crazy.

Another hard no? Anything that makes things impersonal. Dean might be rough, dirty, and insatiable, but at the end of the day, there’s always feeling behind it. He’s not the type to treat sex like some casual transaction, when he’s with you, he’s with you. So anything that makes it feel detached— things like calling you degrading names in a way that isn’t playful, acting like you’re just some random hookup, or taking the emotion out of it— completely kills the mood for him. He needs that connection, that fire, that undeniable feeling that you’re his, and he’s yours.

And lastly? Anything that risks losing control too much. Dean can be dominant, sure, but he’s never going to push things to a point where it feels like he’s not himself. He’s got his demons (literally and figuratively) and he never wants to cross a line that makes either of you feel unsafe. The moment things stop being good for you, they stop being good for him, too. Because at the end of the day? He’s not just in it for the thrill— he’s in it for you.

O = ORAL..

Teased you guys a bit already in C, anyways! Dean lives for oral; giving, receiving, all of it. He’s ridiculously good at it, too, because let’s be real, the man is competitive in everything he does. If he’s going down on you, it’s not just to get you off— it’s to wreck you, to leave you so overstimulated and shaking that you can barely remember your own name.

When Dean’s between your thighs, he’s dedicated. He takes his time, really enjoying it, like it’s his favorite meal. He’s got this cocky little smirk when he first gets down there, like he already knows he’s about to ruin you, and he loves hearing how fast he can pull those desperate little sounds out of you. He doesn’t just focus on one thing— he’s teasing, using his fingers, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate movements, only to switch things up when you least expect it. And the eye contact? Devastating. He’ll look up at you with those green eyes, pupils blown wide, and if you’re gripping his hair, pulling him closer, moaning his name? That’s it. He thrives on that, moaning into you just to watch you fall apart. And he will not stop until he’s got you trembling, gasping, completely lost in it.

As for receiving? Dean loves it, obviously, but what really gets him isn’t just the feeling, it’s the way you do it. If you’re teasing him, dragging your nails down his stomach, taking your time just to watch him get frustrated? Immediate weakness. He’s a sucker for eye contact, for feeling your lips around him while you look up at him with that innocent little gaze that he knows is anything but. And if you go slow at first, making him beg, gripping his thighs or holding his hips down when he tries to thrust? He’s losing it. He loves when you make him work for it, when you edge him just a little, force him to ask for more. But the second you actually give in and let him have it? He’s loud, moaning your name, throwing his head back, gripping the sheets or your hair because it just feels too good. And when he finally can’t take it anymore? He’s dragging you up to kiss you, growling something filthy about how good you are for him, and immediately flipping you over to return the favor.

Dean loves oral in every way possible. But most of all? He loves making sure neither of you walk away unscathed.

P = PACE..

Dean’s pace is everything— fast and rough when he’s desperate for you, slow and deep when he wants to savor it, but always intense no matter what. When he’s needy, when he’s been thinking about you all damn day and finally has you underneath him? There’s no patience left. He’s pushing you up against the wall, knocking the breath out of you, gripping your hips hard as he pounds into you like he’s got something to prove. He loves hearing the way you gasp, the way your nails dig into his back, how you whimper his name like you can’t take it— but he knows you can. He wants to ruin you, wants you to feel him in every inch of your body the next morning, to know that no one—no one—could ever touch you the way he does. His thrusts are deep, relentless, his fingers gripping the back of your neck as he growls in your ear, “This what you wanted, sweetheart?”

But when he wants to take his time? That’s a whole different kind of torture. He starts slow, just to watch you squirm, rolling his hips into you deliberately, dragging out every stroke, making you feel every inch of him. His hands are everywhere; on your waist, your thighs, gripping your wrists above your head just to keep you from pulling him in faster. He knows exactly what he’s doing, watching your face, drinking in every little gasp and moan, smirking when you whine for him to move faster. But he won’t— not yet. He’ll tease you, whisper filthy promises in your ear, telling you exactly what he’s gonna do to you once you’re begging for it. And the moment you finally do? The moment you can’t take it anymore? That’s when he snaps. That slow, controlled rhythm disappears, and suddenly he’s pounding into you like he’s been holding back for hours, because he has.

It doesn’t matter if it’s fast or slow, rough or deep— when Dean’s inside you, it’s always toe-curling, mind-numbing, earth-shattering. He’s not just fucking you; he’s taking you, owning every single sound you make, making damn sure you know who you belong to. And when he finally pulls you close, hips slamming against yours, whispering your name like it’s the only thing he knows? You don’t stand a chance.

Q = QUICKIE..

Dean is all about quickies; he thrives on the thrill of them, the urgency, the way you barely have time to think before he’s got you pressed up against the nearest surface, unbuckling his belt with that cocky little smirk. He loves that rushed, desperate feeling, where there’s no time for slow teasing, no time to strip completely, just pure, raw need.

He’s the type to pull you into a supply closet at a dive bar, shove you up against the Impala, or drag you into the motel bathroom while Sam’s in the other room, covering your mouth with his hand as he growls, “Gotta keep quiet, sweetheart.” And even though it’s rushed, even though it’s all about getting off as fast as possible? He never half-asses it. His pace is still devastating, his hands still gripping you tight, making sure you feel every second of it. He gets off on the idea that you can’t wait— that you need him now, just as badly as he needs you.

Quickies happen a lot with him.. before hunts, after hunts, during hunts when the tension gets too high and he just has to do something about it. And he doesn’t care where— against the Impala with the doors barely shielding you from the outside world, in a bar bathroom, even in the backseat if you tease him too much on a long drive. Hell, if you so much as look at him the right way, he’ll pull you into the nearest empty space and take care of it right there.

But the best part? The way he acts completely normal afterward, like he wasn’t just wrecking you two minutes ago. He’ll walk out of the room, running a hand through his hair, giving you that smirk while he adjusts his belt, acting like he didn’t just ruin you in record time. And if Sam or anyone else notices you looking thoroughly wrecked? Dean just chuckles, winks at you, and mutters, “What? Can’t help it when my girl looks that good.”

R = RISK..

Dean is definitely down to take risks— he thrives on a little danger, and when it comes to you, he’s got a filthy, adventurous side that’s always looking for new ways to keep things interesting. He loves the thrill of getting caught, of doing something he shouldn’t be doing, of knowing that you’re both toeing the line of what’s acceptable and what’s downright reckless. He’s not gonna do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but if you’re game? He’s all in.

Like i mentioned— Public stuff? Big yes. He’s got a thing for taking you somewhere risky; against the Impala with nothing but the darkness to hide you, in a bar bathroom with music thumping outside, in the backseat while Sam’s off getting food. He lives for those moments where he has to slap a hand over your mouth, whispering in your ear, “Be good for me, sweetheart. Don’t wanna get caught, do we?” But you both know he’d get off on the idea of someone almost hearing.

As for trying new things? Dean is curious, and if you suggest something? He’ll at least consider it. Bondage? He’s into the idea of pinning your wrists, maybe tying them up if he’s feeling particularly possessive. He loves control, but the idea of you having the upper hand sometimes? That’s dangerous in a way that excites him. Teasing him, making him work for it, putting him in a position where he has to beg? He’d never admit how much he likes it— but the second you try it, he’s hooked.

But at the end of the day? The biggest risk for him is losing control. He likes things intense, rough, even reckless. But there’s a limit. He never wants to take things too far, never wants to cross a line where it stops being about both of you. So yeah, he’ll push boundaries, he’ll test limits, he’ll get filthy, but he’ll always pull back if you need him to. Because for all the risks he’s willing to take, the one thing he’ll never gamble with? You.

S = STAMINA..

Dean has insane stamina. Like, we’re talking borderline superhero levels of staying power. He’s not the type to just rush through it and call it a night; when he’s into you, he’s in it for the long haul. You’ll see him go for multiple rounds, no problem. He’s the kind of guy who’ll keep going until you’re absolutely spent, and even then, he might give you a second wind— because Dean? Dean knows how to make it last.

After the first round, he’s not slowing down. In fact, he might get even more fired up, his confidence only growing as he sees you fall apart for him. And the thing is, he doesn’t just go fast and hard and get off quick; he’s got control, so he can pace himself while still making sure you’re writhing under him. He’ll adjust his rhythm, slow things down when you need it, build you back up, only to throw you back into the fire with his relentless pace.

If it’s been a long day, a stressful hunt, or just a case of too much tension between you two, he can go for hours. He’ll go until you’re on the brink of exhaustion, making you beg for him to stop or giving you exactly what you want. But even after you’ve had your fill, he’ll still pull you in for more, teasing you about how perfect you are, how you look so fucked out beneath him. The way he looks at you, all sweaty and breathless, tells you he’s not done, not even close.

He loves the challenge, loves showing you just how much he can handle, and every round is another chance to make you shatter for him. He’s not the kind of guy who taps out early, he’s in it for as long as it takes to make sure you’re both satisfied. So yeah, stamina? He’s got it in spades.

T = TOYS..

Dean’s not opposed to using toys, but it’s not something he needs all the time. If he’s in the mood to experiment, he’s down, and he might surprise you by pulling something out of his bag. He doesn’t have a collection or anything flashy, but he’s got a few items stashed away for when the moment feels right. Maybe it’s a vibrating toy, something to use on you while he’s taking his time with your body, or maybe it’s a blindfold or a set of handcuffs; something to tease, to heighten the sensation, and get you begging for more.

When it comes to using them on you, Dean loves to take control. He’ll slip a toy inside you while he’s kissing you, watching your face as the pleasure builds and he takes his time with you. He might tell you to keep quiet, to stay still, while he moves the toy slowly, getting you worked up while he strokes your skin. He’s into it, watching how you react, getting off on the way you squirm, the way you beg him for more. It’s not about the toy itself, it’s about how it adds to the power he has over you.

If Dean’s ever using a toy on himself? It’s probably just a quick solo thing when he’s away for a long stretch of time, maybe after a particularly stressful hunt. But honestly? He much prefers the real thing. Toys are fun for when he’s feeling a little extra, but nothing compares to the way you feel wrapped around him. So, yeah, toys are in the picture occasionally, but they’re more of a spicy bonus rather than a regular go-to.

U = UNFAIR..

Dean is a master of teasing. It’s practically in his DNA. He loves to get you worked up, make you beg for him, and he absolutely thrives on the power he has over your body and your reactions. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing you squirm, the way your breath catches when he drags his fingers over your skin just a little too slowly, the way your eyes roll back when he whispers something filthy in your ear. He’s got a wicked sense of humor, and teasing you? It’s his favorite game.

He knows exactly what drives you wild, what makes you ache for him— and he will absolutely milk that. He’s the type to pull away right when you’re getting close, watching you whimper and squirm in frustration, before he grins and says, “Not yet, baby.” He’s totally aware of how badly you want him, how desperate you are for that release, and he loves keeping you on the edge, giving you just enough to keep you hooked but never quite enough to make you snap. He knows it drives you crazy, and that’s exactly why he does it.

Sometimes, when he’s in the mood to be a little extra sadistic, he’ll barely touch you, just enough to make you itch for more, but never enough to actually give you what you need. He’ll tease you with his hands, with his lips, maybe even with his words; telling you how good you look, how he can’t wait to ruin you, only to pull back again, leaving you desperate for him.

It’s not that Dean is being mean.. he’s just having fun, enjoying how you fall apart in his hands. And the best part? The moment you finally get that release, it’s worth every second of the teasing. When he finally lets you have it, when he finally gives in— it’s explosive, mind-blowing. And he’s got no problem doing it all over again, because teasing? That’s just part of the fun for him.

V = VOLUME..

Dean is definitely loud in the heat of the moment. He’s not the type to stay quiet, especially when things are getting heated. His moans, grunts, and low growls fill the room, getting deeper the more intense things get. He’s not shy about expressing how much he’s enjoying himself, and the sounds he makes are like fuel to the fire, only making you want him more. His voice gets rougher as he gets closer, the way he groans your name sounding almost desperate, like he can’t get enough of you.

He’ll growl when you move just the right way, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper when he’s trying to keep himself under control but failing miserably. When he’s on top of you, he’ll grunt in time with his thrusts, his hands gripping the sheets or your skin, as if he needs something to ground him. When he’s kissing you, he can’t help but moan into your mouth, the sounds deep and needy, telling you just how much he wants you.

And when you really hit the right spot? You’ll hear him— loud and clear. He’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels, and it’s a total turn-on to hear those ragged breaths, the way his voice cracks when he says, “God, babe… you’re so tight.” He might even get more vocal as things go on, grumbling something filthy in your ear like, “You’re making me lose control.”

In the heat of it all, Dean’s volume is as much a part of the experience as everything else. His sounds only add to the intensity, making everything feel real, making every movement feel like it matters. And when it’s over? He’ll probably be panting, chuckling, or murmuring how perfect you are, still trying to catch his breath from all the noise he made.

W = WILD CARD..

Dean loves watching you. When it comes to it, Dean is absolutely mesmerized by every little thing you do. It starts off slow— he’ll catch you in moments when you’re unaware, when you’re just going about your day, and he can’t help but let his gaze linger. Maybe you’re getting dressed, stretching after a nap, or adjusting yourself on the couch, and he’ll just stare, his eyes locked on you like he’s memorizing every curve, every movement. There’s something about seeing you unaware, just being your natural, beautiful self, that drives him absolutely wild. He might not say anything, just look at you with this low, dark expression that makes you feel hot under his gaze.

But it’s not just the little moments— he loves watching you when you’re aware, when you know exactly what he’s doing, and the tension between you two gets electric. He might make you stand in front of him, just so he can admire you, his eyes moving over your body, drinking you in. When he’s getting you undressed, he’ll slow things down, taking his time to look at you, making sure you feel exposed and desired. Every inch of your body is a masterpiece to him, and he’s all about seeing it, touching it, taking it in.

When you’re in bed together, he’ll love when you’re on top, especially when you’re riding him or grinding down on him— because he can watch every movement you make, the way your body reacts to him. He’ll watch the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the way your eyes flutter shut when he’s hitting the right spot. He’ll groan under his breath, watching you move, maybe even whispering things like, “That’s it, baby, just like that,” or “God, you look so fucking good like this.”

But it goes beyond just the act; he loves watching you get worked up when you’re teasing him too. If he’s in the middle of it with you, like a slow, sensual buildup, he’ll make you strip for him or slowly touch yourself in front of him, just to see how desperate you’ll get for him. Watching you get lost in your own pleasure, seeing the way you react to his touches, his words, is like a drug for him. The more you get lost in him, the more he gets turned on, and he’ll keep pushing you, keeping that slow burn going until you can’t take it anymore.

For Dean, the act of watching is an extension of the control he has— he loves to see you fall apart under his gaze, to see you lose yourself in the moment. It’s a form of foreplay in itself, a way for him to build tension, to draw things out before he finally gives you the release you crave. The more he watches, the more addicted he gets to the sight of you, and it becomes this unspoken dance, a game where he’s always a step ahead, enjoying how you react, how you need him.

X = X-RAY..

Dean’s confidence in this department is off the charts, and he knows he’s got something to be proud of. He’s not the type to brag, but when you catch a glimpse, you definitely don’t miss it. He’s got a solid, nice size that makes you ache to touch him, with just the right amount of thickness and length to hit every right spot. He can make you shiver with anticipation just by pulling down his jeans, letting you see it all before he lets you touch, before he lets you do anything.

He’s big enough to make you take a deep breath, to make you want to prepare yourself, but he knows how to use it, how to give you just the right amount of pressure, just the right angle. And the best part? He’s more than willing to build you up, letting you take your time with him, watching you as you slowly trace your fingers down his length, his breath catching every time you get too close.

And alright, babe, let’s be real. Dean’s got a size that’s definitely above average. We’re talking about around 7 to 8 inches. He’s thick too, enough to stretch you just right and make you feel every inch of him, pushing all the right buttons. He’s got that perfect length and girth that makes every thrust feel deep, filling, and intense. When he’s inside you, you can feel it, and you can’t help but gasp when he hits that spot that drives you wild.

But it’s not just about size— he knows how to work with what he’s got. He’s slow, deliberate, using every inch of himself to maximize the pleasure, to make you beg for more. He’s got that perfect balance of everything, and when you feel him, when you take him in, there’s no mistaking that he knows exactly what to do with it.

Y = YEARNING..

Dean’s sex drive is through the roof. This man is always hungry for you; whether he’s been working on a case all day or just had some time to himself, his need for you is almost constant. He’s got that deep, insatiable yearning, like he can’t get enough of you. It’s not just physical— there’s something emotional tied to it too. He’s always looking for that connection, that intimacy, and he craves the release you give him. He doesn’t shy away from taking things to the next level whenever the moment feels right.

He’s the type to get touchy and needy, even in public. A lingering hand on your waist, a kiss on the back of your neck when no one’s looking. Dean will always find a way to sneak in his desire. But when it comes to the bedroom (or wherever you happen to be), he’s like a man possessed, eager to claim you and make sure you know just how much he wants you. He’ll go for round after round if you’re both up for it, each time a little more intense than the last.

If you’ve been apart for any amount of time, the moment you’re alone? It’s like a switch flips, and he’s all over you. He’ll get you worked up in seconds, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in forever, his hands roaming all over, eager to feel you again. You won’t have to wait long before he’s all in, fully driven by that yearning to have you, to feel you, to make you feel as good as he does when he’s with you.

Z = ZZZ..

After everything’s said and done, Dean’s not the type to just crash immediately— but it doesn’t take long. If you’ve had an intense round of sex, he’ll be exhausted, and it’s not uncommon for him to be a little out of breath, still feeling the high of it all. He might pull you close, his arm wrapped around you as you both try to catch your breath, and once the adrenaline fades, he’s pretty much out. Dean’s a heavy sleeper, so after he’s satisfied, he’ll be out like a light, snuggling you in his arms with a content, relaxed sigh.

He’s got a calming way about him after sex; almost like it’s his way of grounding himself. You can feel his body relax next to you, and it’s like he just melts into the bed, not really caring about the world outside. If you’re still awake, though, he’ll lazily pull you into him, wanting to keep you close, maybe whispering something sweet or teasing you about how perfect you were, before his eyes start to flutter. It’s that perfect balance between pleasure and peace— and soon enough, you’ll feel his breath even out as he drifts off into a deep sleep, his body completely satisfied and at rest.

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tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

[anassemblageofpassions]

The thing abt john winchester is that he is too complex for the majority of the spn fandom and for a good portion of the writers on the show too.

Because at his core john is about love over everything else. When he looks up at his sons (yes, up, the fact that they’re both taller than him>>>>>), there is love seeping achingly from every single pore of his being even as he abuses them, as he destroys their souls beyond belief. He does it all entirely out of love. And he is so, so wrong for it. A part of him knows it. But he wants to keep dean alive, and he wants to keep Sam pure. And he loves them so much. And he damages them so horribly. John Winchester is the foundation upon which they are both built, they only become more of what he made them as the series goes on. Sam stops fighting it, Dean continues to mold into his image no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

Hell puts them both on steroids, but their individual trauma responses that influence this are the foundations that John built into them. No wonder azazel wanted sam to win so badly. John Winchester crafted his sons into alastair and Lucifer’s ideal victims, respectively, and dean was a better (worse) john than John ever was. John held out in hell. Dean acquiesced to his abuser despite all of his efforts to fight him, and he’s never been the same since.

Sam fought like hell, and he fought destiny, but at his core, he did what John always wanted him to by doing what dean wanted him to do, and then he stops fighting at all, loses the fire he showed john in adolescence that john immediately notices when he returns in s14.

And the sad thing is. They filled their roles so well that John is saddened by what they’ve become. He didn’t want dean to break. He didn’t want Sam to be dimmed. He’s sad to see what Sam is like in s14. In the process of recovering his wife, he ensured he would mold his sons into what he wanted them to be, and when he got what he wanted, he was devastated.

John Winchester is so driven by love and grief and he’s so filled to the brim with both that it’s painful to watch him on screen because he destroyed his family because of it. And he wanted this all along but he didn’t realize what he’d have to give up to get it.

[motelsnleatherseats]

John's not bothered by how close his boys are, in fact, he thinks this is the perfect way to keep them looking out for each other. He knows with the way that they town hop that they can't afford to make any long-lasting connections with people, friends or otherwise. So when Sam is starting to get uppity and is reeling from frustration about not being able to make friends or even consider dating, John is pleased to see that Dean is willing to step in and fill that void for his little brother.

He sees them in the backseat through the rearview mirror, practically glued side by side to each other and he can swear it looks like Sam's hand is in Dean's lap and Dean looks hot in the cheeks, but he says nothing, he just focuses on driving with a little smirk at his lips.

He'd usually give both the boys the beds, but this time he purposefully took one and faced the motel room door with his eyes closed. He hears Dean offer to sleep on the couch but Sam protests quietly, says there's enough room for the both of them and Dean shouldn't have to sleep uncomfortably. He can hear indistinctive soft whispers before it goes quiet, the A/C kicking on and off a few times is the only hum he can hear before he picks up the obvious sounds of lips smacking wet. A mewl. A soft whimper. A soft utterance of 'Sammy' followed by a quiet shush.

He decides to pick up a case the next day, lets the boys know he'll be gone for a couple of days, and leaves them to their own devices, confident that this is all for the best. They need to be each other's everything. It ensured their survival.

[hidden-poet]

Poison: part 2

Summary: Coriolanus always hated Sejanus Plinth. He had everything that Coriolanus should of had; money, influence, and you.

Warnings: Coryo being de-lu-lu, unrequited love, Reader insert, dark!Coriolanus snow, unedited, dead dove to not eat

Word count: 15,053

Part 1 here

Part 2

Part 3 here

Coriolaus wakes early the next morning and races to the Citadel to drop off Dr Gauls homework. 

He carried his anxiety about Dr Gauls potential comments along with him to his session with Lucy-Grey. 

He struggled to sit still, twirling his pen around and around in his hand. It was not how he wanted to present himself to Lucy-gray. 

What he wanted was her trust, her loyalty, her obedience. Things that would be hard to gain if he gave off a school-boy impression. 

Instead he forced his nails into the palm of his hand under the table, and tried to focus on Lucy-Gray as she spoke. 

“I am sorry about your friend”, she offered. 

“Thank you”, he returned. 

“That other girl. Was she okay? The guards whisked you away so fast. I couldn’t see-”. 

Something about her asking about you made Coriolanus irritated. 

He supposed it was just the image it brought back. The sheer shock upon your face, the fear that he wouldn’t get to you in time. 

“She’s fine”, he interrupted. His pen began twirling in his hand again. 

He wished he could have seen you this morning to check on you. You most likely woke up in the arms of Sejanus. He wouldn’t check on you like he should. His first words would have been complaints about the games. 

He shouldn’t be here really. Who choses mentoring a boy sure to die rather than taking care of you at home. Coriolanus bet he made no protest when you got ready for school. 

If it had been Coriolanus, as it should be, he would have ensured you stayed home in bed. He wouldn’t have left your side after yesterday. He wouldn’t have even let you be there yesterday. 

First Sejanus causes the wound, and then he isn’t man enough to take care of you properly. How sweet it will be, the day you finally belong to Coriolanus Snow. 

“I need you to sing in these interviews. It’s your last chance to win people over. I can’t send you gifts in the area without their money”, he states. 

“Maybe a guitar could persuade me. Maybe”, Lucy-gray offers. 

“Snow. Dovecote” Dean highbottom calls. 

Coriolanus whips around to see Peacekeepers waiting for them by the door. 

He could piece the clues together to come to the conclusion that Dr Gaul had called them. 

Clemmie on the other hand waited until they were climbing the Citadel steps to ask her obvious question. 

“She can’t actually have expected us to write that report. Could she? I was crying for hours last night”. 

Corionaus sighs. If Clemmie had kept her mouth shut he would have been next to you. You’d be nervous and in need of comfort, no matter how tough you talked.

“We did write it. I handed it in this morning”, he states. 

This time Clemmie sighed, “Great, give me the highlights”. 

Coriolanus obliged her if only to keep his mind focused. His bullet points took him up the entry stairs and through the doorway to Dr Gauls lab.

The lab exceeded coriolanus horrific expectations. 

It was cold and the large space only housed a long corridor of strange creatures in glass cabinets. 

Coriolanus taps the casing of a fish-type creature only to see if it moves. 

Its eyes shoot open only for a second before falling back into a drugged sleepy state. 

What exactly was Dr Gaul doing? What were these things? For what purpose could they be used for? 

“Mr Snow. Ms Dovecote. Come and see my new babies”. Dr Gaul's voice boomed in the empty space.

Coriolaus left the fish, following Clemmie as Dr Gaul led them to a new section and over to a large tank of colorful serpents. 

The rainbow moved within the glass in perfect sync. It was hard to tell where one snake started and another ended. 

“Is there a point to the color?”Clemmie asked. 

Dr Gaul scoffs at her as she ascends the stairs to the top of the glass cage.

“There’s a point to everything, Ms Dovecote, or nothing at all”, Dr Gauls answers. 

She spins to face the children, and rests against the side of the enclosure. 

“I must say I was expecting Miss y/n, in your place Ms Dovecott”. 

“As I said, Dr Gaul, Coriolanus and I do all our assignments together”, Clemmie defended. 

“Which is exactly why I was expecting the other one”. Dr Gauls eyes flick to Coriolanus, “exactly, which part did you write Miss Dovecott?”. 

Coriolanus tries to pull Clemmie out of the hole she was in but Clemmie talks over top of him.

“There was-”.

“I was inspired by Coriolanus, of course. But the sponsorships, and the gifts in the arena. They were all mine”, she cut him off. 

“Clemmie”, he warns. Dr Gaul already knew she played no part. Lying to her would only aggravate her sadistic tenancies. 

Dr Gual takes the bait. Crossing her hands in an almost gleeful manner she addresses Clemmie. 

“So it’s your sweaty handwriting on that page? Very impressive, Miss Dovecote”, Dr Gauls fawns. 

Coriolanus knew it was a tease. He anticipated the come down and the potential consequences of her lie. 

“Unfortunately’, Dr Gaul continues, “My assistant mistook it for trash and lined the shelf of this very terrarium with it”. 

Dr Gaul slides back the hatch to show the students the paper that was trapped between the snakes. 

“Retrieve it for us, won't you? So we might all consider your inspired ideas”, Dr Gaul smiles. 

Coriolanus hand twitched. He imagines you in Clemmies place now. How close he would have pulled you. How his own hands would latch themselves over yours and shield them against your chest. 

He wondered if he should do the same for Clemmie. She was an old friend, and her grades helped him to the top. 

Still he only stood back and watched. Half-Curious as to what would happen. 

The snakes couldn't be poisonous. Dr Gaul wouldn’t play with a students life. Especially a student from a high status family like Clemmie’s. 

Maybe. Coriolanus thinks back to the weird, mutated animals that lined the hallway. There was really no telling what Dr Gaul was capable of. 

“Don’t worry. My little predators are perfectly docile with those they can trust. So if they’re used to your scent, if you’ve handled their food, for example, or if they have inhaled the sweat of your palm on a page..they’ll leave you alone. If not, You’d be on your own, little girl”. 

Coriolanus knew from her words that Dr Gaul words were a threat. Those Snakes would harm Clemmie. 

Yet she reached her hand into the enclosure. 

“Clemmie!” Coriolanus grits. 

He is ignored to her own peril. 

As soon as her hand brushes against the edge of the page, a Snake lashes out and strikes the flesh that proposes to retrieve the paper. 

Clemmie screams upon impact. Trying desperately to shake the snake from her hand, she loses balance and topples off the stand. 

“Clemmie! No, no!” Coriolanus attempts to catch her as she falls, but Dr Gaul hinders him by pulling him back by his arm. 

She lands with a heavy thud on her back. Gasps fill the air as she tires to regain her breath. 

Already she looked pale. The skin on her hand turned a pale green color, and her eyes refused to blink or look anywhere else but directly in front of her. 

“You asked about the colors, Ms Dovecott.  I want my enemies to see a rainbow of destruction engulfing the world. I am not above using spectacle to create a little terror. A strategy your classmate here articulated very well in his proposal”. 

Coriolanus watches as two peacekeepers and assistant come running over. The assistant administered a large needle which helped Clemmie regain her breath but not her composition. 

The Peacekeepers then, without care, began to drag Clemmie across the floor and out a near door. 

Coriolanus was left alone with Dr Gaul who turned her attention to him. 

“I wonder if y/n would have chosen the same decision?”, she questioned. 

“Will she die?” Coriolanus asked in a hard tone. More than Dr Gaul mentioning you, he hated the image of you lying in Clemmies place. 

Dr Gaul shrugs her shoulders as if it didn’t really matter. 

“The pleasure of breaking ground in one’s research is one gets to find out”, she dismissed. 

She smirks as she turns back to the enclosure. Her hand reaches in and she begins to play with her pet snakes. 

“You don’t like me talking about her do you?”, Dr Gaul picks up a loose piece of paper and thrusts it at Coriolanus, “for a boy who came up with these proposals, you sure do wear your heart on your sleeve”. 

The paper crumbles in Coriolanus' grip. He looks at it to avoid eye contact with Dr Gaul. 

“What would Miss y/n think if she saw them? They’re good, these proposals. I am planning to implement as many as possible”. 

This causes Coriolanus to look up at Dr Gaul. If you knew, you were sure to never forgive him. 

“Don’t worry” Dr Gaul said, as if she could read his mind, “I’ll take credit for this one. Miss y/n is yet to realize her place in this world”. 

Dr Gaul closes the hatch to the snakes enclosure, turning her body towards Coriolanus. 

“And who is to be beside her, wouldn’t you say?”, she taunts. 

Coriolanus straightens up, dropping the ruined paper to the ground. 

“Y/n isn’t part of this conversation”, Coriolanus snaps.

Dr Gaul grins at him in response, stepping closer so she could talk quieter but still be heard. 

“We both want a new world, Mr Snow. My only question is how far are you willing to go to get it?’

She doesn’t let him answer. Seemingly, now bored of the conversation. 

“Now run along, you have an arena to promote and it’s time for my milk and crackers”, she dismisses. 

He takes the chance to leave. Storming down the steps and back along the hallway as fast as he could. 

Coriolanus tries to keep himself from running out of the Citadel. He nearly stumbles over his feet trying to get out as quick as he can. 

Turning behind him every so often to make sure no one was following him. 

The whole scene plays in his mind again and again. 

He was glad it wasn’t you in the end. You were already so traumatized after yesterday, it was a relief to not have to put you through that ordeal. 

The walk through of the arena was not for another hour. He had time to check on you. 

He was sure you were at school. Your parents wouldn’t let Sejanus into the house, and you wouldn’t have left Sejanus after yesterday. There was little chance you would have stayed at the Plinths. A smaller chance of Sejanus forcing you to as he should have. 

Suddenly, Sejanus’ lack of care turned out to be a good thing. 

Sejanus would be with his mentor getting ready for the tour. Which meant Coriolanus could see you without company. 

He knew your class schedule well. He liked the knowledge while he was in one class, he knew which one you were in. 

So he knew where to go and wait until the bell rang. 

A group of people rushed out of the classroom before you. You were the only one walking alone so you were easy to spot. 

You almost walk past him but he grabs your wrist and pulls you out of the line of people to a quiet staircase. 

“Coriolanus?” you question. 

You don’t fight him as he pulls you against the wall and stands in front of you like a shield. 

The people who walk past eye the scene but make nothing of it. 

“Coriolanus, are you okay?” you question. 

He couldn’t tell you about Clemmie and Dr Gaul but he was also so desperate for comfort. 

“Is it Arachne?” you ask. He nods his head ‘yes’ although his mind was far from it. 

You put your hand that was free from the weight of your books on his shoulder. 

“It’s not your fault’’, you console. 

“I just wish I could have done more”, he lied. 

He had thought little about Arachne since last night. But she was once again bringing you closer to him.

You shake your head, a sad expression pulls across your face and he instantly regrets his lie. Yesterday was traumatic to you, he shouldn't have played it up just for some sympathy. 

“No” you repeat, “what happened was no one's fault but her own”.

He wanted to make the argument that perhaps the fault lies with no one else but the tribute, but it would open a conversation he did not want to have. 

Instead he reaches up and places his hand on your elbow that had reached out to him.  

“Are you okay?” he asks. It should have been his first question.

“I am fine” you say. 

Your hand drops from his shoulder and he is forced to put his hand on the brick wall next to your hip. 

The position wedged you in a corner. With his tall frame towering over you and now his arm blocking you in. It felt as if you were trapped. 

“You should talk to someone. Arachne was your friend”, you state.

You shuffle slightly forward to hint to him that he was too close but he remains stagnant in his place. 

“Arachne was not my friend”, he deflects. 

You never liked her which meant Coriolanus never liked her. 

“You're my friend. Arachne was just someone I grew up with. I hardly knew her”, Coriolanus tried a softer tone as his previous speech came off harder than intended. 

He offered a kind smile that you did not return. 

“I’ve been worried about you all day” he breathes. 

His hand moves to your hip, and you are quick to push it off. 

“Coriolanus you are acting strange, perhaps you should go see the school doctor. No one would blame you if you chose to drop out of mentoring after yesterday”. 

Strange you called it. Not a man desperately in love. But a mad man that needs to be taken away. 

This causes him to take a step back away from you. His eyes go down to the ground but shoot back up at you. Mentoring. In a haste he checks his watch. 

He was supposed to be at the Arena in fifteen minutes but he is twenty minutes away. 

He groans, cursing the length of the Citadel from here, and cursing your late class.

 “I have to leave”, he says, “i just came to make sure you were okay”. 

“I am”, you acknowledge. 

He steps forward again, placing his hands on your shoulder blades and pulling you forward into his chest. 

You stumble into him, timidly raising your hands to pat his lower back. 

“Forget your last class, you should go home”, he begs. 

He feels you push back against him so he lets you go and takes a step back. 

“You should worry more about yourself. You look so pale”. 

When you reach out to touch his forehead, he leans into your touch. Loving the way your little warm hand felt. 

He knew it didn’t mean anything. You were kind. He could have been anyone and you would have done the same thing. 

Still he allows himself a second of pretend that it meant more. 

“I have to go”, he says again, “Just promise me that you’ll go home”.

“Sure, Coriolanus”, you amuse. 

It was enough to hear it. He didn’t need to believe it. 

With a final smile, he reaches up to touch your elbow once more and leaves you in the dark corner. 

His run to the arena would have been easier for him if he had any fuel to burn.

His breakfast of a single potato did not provide enough energy to make the distance, yet he pushed himself further than his body wanted him to. 

It paid off when he reached the arena just in time for walk-in. 

He filed in next to Lucy-Grey seconds before the doors opened. 

“I didn’t think you were going to make it”, lucy-Grey admits. 

“We’re going to win this” Coriolanus vows, “Together”. 

The arena is dark. An ominous red glow from the ticket vendor invites them in. 

The camera crew are already there, pointing their large frames in the faces of the tributes. 

Lucy-Grey smiles at it, before it pans to a Solomon looking Sejanus walking behind his tribute.

When the shutters open, the streaming light startles Lucy-Grey who pulls back against Coriolanus. 

He steadies her, looking around for possible strategies. 

“Please” Lucy-Grey grabs his arm to turn him towards her, “Please, Coriolanus, don’t let me die in here tomorrow”.

Before he can answer he is knocked off his feet by a large explosion. He feels heavy gusts of wind from three other directions meaning there was no safe direction he could turn too. 

Lucy-Grey lands beside him, and he scrambles to help her to her feet. 

The dust is heavy and clouds them. He could feel lucy-gray in his grasp but could only faintly see her.  The screams and commotion make it impossible to hear what she is trying to say. 

Another loud explosion tore the roof down over them. 

He releases Lucy-gray so they could both run for cover. 

Days of the war spring to his memory. The rebels were back to finish him off. 

The force of the explosion knocked him off balance and onto the floor. 

He could see peoples feet as they scramble past but none stop to help him. 

A louder, cracking noise spoke of his bigger issue and he turns to see a large pailing coming down towards him. 

Knowing he wouldn't have enough time to get to his feet, he began to crawl as fast as he could. 

It wasn’t fast enough. The hot metal pailing pins his shoulder to the ground. He could smell his own flesh burning as he lay trapped. 

Was this how it ended? He regrets not kissing you today. He had always been reserved. Afraid of your rejection. But he should have just took. Now he’ll die without ever getting to taste you. 

Through the smoke he could see Lucy-Grays boots come into view. 

“Help me” he begs. He still had so much to do. 

She looks to be bending down to assist when she is interrupted by Marcus flying across towards the open door. 

“Leave him” he demands, “He wouldn’t save you”. 

Marcus doesn’t stick around for her decision. Running to his freedom just across the room. 

It was true, if it come down to it Coriolanus would save himself. But Lucy-Gray needed him to survive. She would only get caught in the Capitol and then thrown in the area without a mentor. 

She must have realized that too because she bent back down to lift the burning metal off Coriolanus. She didn’t have to lift it far for Coriolanus to roll out from under it.

He is panting heavily he realizes, and is unable to move his shoulder.When Peacekeeper came to take lucy-gray away. Coriolanus couldn’t even rise from the floor to stop them. 

He throws out his good hand in an attempt to do something. But the searing pain in his shoulder and his cloudy head hindered him from being able to help. 

The last image he could see was her looking down at her burnt hands before it all went black. 

His pounding headache woke him to the sight of you by his bed. 

He didn’t believe it. He had to be dead. 

His hand lashes out to take a hold of your wrist. You felt real. 

Your reaction seemed real. A startled look of surprise and discomfort. 

“Woah, Corio, take it slow”, the voice of Tigres calls to him. 

He looks away from your face to see Tigres sitting in the chair next to you. 

“What?” Coriolanus questioned, “What happened?”. 

He lets go of your wrist only so he could rise from the bed. The ache in his shoulder becoming more apparent as he moved. 

“It was a rebel bombing. They must have been planning it for months. Four tributes were killed”. 

Coriolanus almost scowls hearing his voice. 

Sejanus sat in a chair positioned on the other side of the bed. You hadn’t come to him in his hour of need. You were merely tagging along with your boyfriend. 

“Everyone is terrified, Corio” Tigres explains, “Fliex Ravenstill is on life support”. 

“The rebels released a message. They said they want to tear down the symbol of the Hunger Games. Marcus got out. He’s the only one. Peacekeepers are hunting him in the streets but at least he has a better chance out there than he would tomorrow”, Sejanus gravely mutters. 

“Tomorrow?” Coriolanus expounds, “They’re not still going ahead with the Games?”

“We can’t look weak in front of the enemy,” you spat, “Everything is going ahead as scheduled. I don’t even know if Lucy-Gray will be able to play tonight”.

“The interviews”, Coriolanus guessed, still hazy. 

He pulls himself up out of bed, holding out his arm for you to help his rise. 

You do, automatically, hooking his good arm over your shoulder and wrapping your arm across his waist to keep him up. 

‘‘You shouldn’t get out of bed”, you criticize him. 

Normally he wouldn’t ignore you, but the interviews started fifty minutes ago. 

Sejanus rises to in order to assist Coriolanus as he shuffles forward, but Coriolanus barks another order at him. 

“Sejanus, turn the Tv to the interviews”. 

Like a good dog, he obeys. Leaving another man hanging onto his girlfriend. 

“Careful, Corio” Tigres directs. 

Coriolanus takes tigres arm as he couldn’t lift his shoulder so all his weight wasn’t passed on to you. 

The Tv turns just in time to watch Lucy-gray come out with a guitar, and a big smile. 

Sejanus makes his way over to you, offering to take your place as Coriolanus’ anchor. 

He is quick to speak for you. Stating that the change would topple him to the floor. 

Sejanus relents and takes his place beside you. You made no complaints so Coriolanus’ weight couldn’t have been hurting you. 

Coriolanus had missed the opening introduction due to Sejanus, but was now focused enough as Lucy-Gray went into her song. 

“Where did she get the guitar?” Coriolanus asks. He had been too busy to organize her one before the bombing. 

“I brought it for her”, you answer, “i went to see if she was okay after the bombing and she said she needed a guitar for her interview. Said she’ll feel naked without it”. 

“Thank you. That was very kind”, Coriolanus commended softly. 

Coriolanus always knew someday that you and him would make a great team.

Your eyes are trained on Lucy-gray, and Coriolanus followed suit. 

She sang about a boy back home and a betrayal. Was that what she was referring to when she said it was complicated back home. Will she fight with everything she had in her or does she secretly hope that she will die just to spite her past lover. 

It was additional stress Coriolanus could have lived without. 

“The poor girl” you mutter with tears rolling down your face. 

Coriolanus squeezes your shoulders in comfort. 

‘She’ll be okay” he promises. He would ensure it for his own survival and your personal satisfaction now that you and his tribute were friendly. 

“Thank you for being here”, he says looking down at you, before turning his sights to Tigres, “All of you”. 

“It’s what friends do”, Sejanus answers. The only person Coriolanus was not speaking to. 

“I don’t think you should be standing”, you say, trying to turn Coriolanus back to bed. 

He allows you to lead him there where you tuck him back into bed. 

You ruin the moment by going straight back into Sejanus’ arms once Coriolanus has settled. 

“We’ll leave you to rest” Sejanus states. 

He looked too unhappy for a man who held you in his arms. 

“Goodnight” he bids, ‘and y/n, thank you for helping Lucy-Gray tonight”.

Her performance wouldn't have been half as moving with the soft, sad melody accompanying it. 

“Good luck, Coriolanus. I hope she wins”, you remark. 

With the Plinth prize and the love of his life on the line; lucy-gray was going to be the 10th annual winner of the Hunger Games. 

Coriolanus just had to figure out how to give her a competitive edge. 

He visited the zoo later that night after scouting out the new arena. With four tributes already dead and the new tunnels revealed, the bombing may have been the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

“Lucy-gray!” he calls softly, “Lucy-gray!”

He can hear the pounding of her footsteps as they come closer. He checks for Guards and woken tributes as she made unnecessary noise. None were aroused so he remained in his spot. 

“You’re alive!” She exclaims as she nears the fence. 

“Those bombs have changed everything”, he wastes no time to explain his purpose here, “They blew the walls out. So that means you can escape up into the stands. Theres a hole down in the floor, it leads down to some tunnels. You can escape there, I tried it.So the moment you hear that bell ring, you run as fast as you can for that hole and find a palace to hide down below alone”. 

‘Alone? No, jessups my friend”, she argues. 

He shakes his head ‘no’. 

“The moment that bell rings, you can’t trust anyone. Not even jessup. Just lay low down there until its safe to come out”, he demands. 

Couldn't she see that she was risking not only her own life, but his, with her undying loyalty. 

“Thank you. You and y/n have been so nice to me. I don’t know what I would have done without you both”, Lucy-Grey declares, “I don’t know how i’ll ever pay you back for your kindness”. 

“You can win”, Coriolanus orders, “you winning will be life changing for y/n and I. We can finally live the life we want to live. When you win, you’ll win for all of us”. 

‘I’ll try, but-” she begins but never finishes as Coriolanus cuts her off. 

“Theres no ‘buts’. Theres no other option”, he asserts. 

Lucy-Gray begins to cry from the pressure of it all. 

“Hey”, he whispers in sympathy. 

“I am sorry. I am more hopeful in the day light but when it gets to night”, she whimpers. 

“It’s okay” he consoles, reaching for his handkerchief in his pocket. The same one he used to wipe your tears, he now used to wipe the tears of Lucy-gray. 

“We are going to win, Lucy-Gray. I promise.”.

“Y/n, real lucky to have a friend like you” Lucy-gray comments. 

He knew that. Who else would be willing to risk everything for your happiness. It didn’t even bother him that Lucy-gray referred to him as your friend. 

All that matters is that someone else realizes the depth of his love. 

“I am very lucky to have her”. He breaths. He was cautious to say too much.

“Look, that song, I need to know that you are serious about winning”, he demands. 

“That song? That was just pay back, that’s all”, she defenders, “my old boyfriend Billy taupe was cheating on me with the mayor's daughter. She got crazy jealous, had her pa read my name out on stage, and now everyone will know what they did to me”.

The look upon her face told him that she was serious, so he reached into his breast pocket to pull out his most prized possession. 

“Here” he shoves the compact into Lucy’s-Grays hand.

“I can’t” she resists, “It’s too fine”

He clasps his hands over hers to stop her passing it back. 

“It’s not a gift. It’s a loan. His large hands wrap entirely around Lucy-Gray’s little fingers. 

“Whats in here, don’t touch it. Don’t even breathe it in because small amounts can be deadly”. 

He could faintly see Lucy-gray staring back at him in the dark. Her big brown eyes caught the lighting of the Zoo and shined back at him. 

“I have seen what war does to people, okay?”, he lectures, “I’ve seen it, and there will come a time when you need this, when you need to act. We all do things we’re not proud of to survive.”

Unexpectedly she brings her head forward to bars in an attempt to kiss him. He lowers his head slightly to dissuade her. 

The last thing he needed was word getting back to you through a Tribute pretending to be asleep, or just his poor luck to have a Capitol citizen decide to visit the Zoo at the exact moment of weakness. 

“I am sorry”, she gasps, “you said it was complicated with y/n, and y/n said she was with Sejanus so I”. 

She doesn’t finish her sentence, too embarrassed. 

Coriolanus shakes it off like it was nothing, in an attempt to ease her. 

“It’s fine. I just”, Coriolanus wasn’t sure what to say. 

You were with Sejanus. There was no real reason why he couldn’t kiss lucy-gray. 

It was mis-guided loyalty to a woman who kissed another man. Sometimes right in front of Coriolanus. 

Still it didn’t feel right. He wanted you to be the only person he kissed. 

“It’s”, Coriolanus begins. 

“Complicated”, Lucy-Gray finishes. 

Coriolanus moves closer, bringing his head as far as he could to the bars.

“We’re gonna win this Lucy-Gray. We’re gonna win this together. I’m going to get you home, back to the Covery, okay? I promise”. 

Coriolanus looks at his victor. His dog in the race. He’s bet it all on her, and he’ll be damned if she was going to let him down.

The morning of the Games, Coriolanus couldn’t even eat his cabbage soup that Tigres had worked so hard to prepare. 

He kisses Grandma’am and Tigress goodbye before beginning his long journey to school. 

There would be cameras and crowds of people. He had to look composed, but inside he felt the most scared he had ever been. 

The feeling eased seeing you across the auditorium. 

Your hair was down, and your uniform looked freshly pressed. Sejanus held you by the waist as you spoke to him, and you rested your hands on top of his. 

It didn’t matter you were here for Coriolanus just as much as you were for Sejanus. His tribute wasn’t even participating. If anything you had come to support Coriolanus and Lucy-Gray. 

“Coryo!” Sejanus called for him as he approached the mentors chairs. 

Sejanus lets go of you, which is something Coriolanus would never do, to place a hand on Coriolanus shoulder. 

“Hey” Coriolanus greets. His eyes remain on you and how you smile at him. 

“How you doing?  You alright?” Sejanus asks. 

“Better”, Coriolanus dismisses. 

He sees a photographer approaching from the corner of his eye, and takes the opportunity to take a step back to invite you between Sejanus and himself. 

With a hand on your lower back, he propels you forward. The hand remains as you shuffle next to him. 

“Over here please!”, the man with the large camera calls. 

Coriolanus smiles at the camera, and he hoped you were too. The flash blinds him, and your smiles fades too fast to be certain it ever was really there. 

“How are you this morning?”, Coriolanus asks softly. 

“Not about to be forced to fight to the death”, you snap.

You don’t look at him as you speak as you often choose not to do. 

“Here we go. Here we go, everyone, come on”, Lucky flickerman diverts people back to their seats, before Coriolanus has the opportunity to comfort you.

Sejanus' large hand goes to the back of your neck, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. 

“Wait for me over there?” he asks, flicking his head to the nearest bleacher to his seat. 

It was the furthest from Coriolanus’ seat, but you nod in agreement and move to his direction. 

Coriolanus is ushered into his own seat. He has to crane his neck to look at you sitting on the end of the bleacher all by yourself. He hates to see you as a social out-cast. 

“Five, four, three, two”, the music signals the start of Lucky Flickerman's introduction. 

Coriolanus ignores him mostly. Turning in his chair to watch you engrossed in the large television in front of you. 

Your hands grip the seat underneath you. He would give anything to be able to comfort you. 

He wanted to tell you that it was all going to be okay. If he sat you where he wanted, he would have been able to hold your hand, but Sejanus had put distance between you and him, so he would have to watch from afar. 

Suddenly you gasp, bring your hand up to your mouth with a frightened expression. 

Coriolanus turns back to the screens to see what could have caused such a reaction. 

They had found Marcus and left him strung up and half-alive in the arena. It was cruel even for Coriolanus. 

You shouldn’t have had to see that. Coriolanus wished he could have protected you from it. A district boy taught a lesson, at the expense of your poor, soft heart. 

You’ll be crying about it for weeks with only Sejanus for consolation. 

Coriolanus wasn’t sure who would be comforting who with the way Sejanus jumped from his chair. 

As soon as he is out of it, the chair was flying across the room. Only stopping when it hits the force of the wall. 

“You’re monsters! All of you!” He screams to the audience. 

He storms past Lucky flickerman who begins the countdown to the Games as if Sejanus had never existed at all. 

Coriolanus gets up, rushing over to you as you rise to follow Sejanus. 

He manages to catch your arm just as you make it to the exit way. 

The scene was out of the line of camera-shot. Past the first three rows of seats, and hidden by the depth of the stands. 

Coriolanus felt hidden enough to not let go of your arm, despite you struggling against him. 

You turn back to see how had stopped you with an angry expression, but it doesn’t soften when you see it’s him. 

“Don’t”, he begs. He wanted you to stay and support him. 

It didn’t matter if you knew it or not, but you were his biggest comfort, and that’s what he needed as he watched Lucy-Gray fight for his life. 

You don’t listen to him, tugging your arm out of his grip and chasing after Sejanus without looking back.��

Coriolanus watches as you go with a heavy breath.

‘And they’re off!” Lucky announces. 

Coriolanus turns to watch Lucy-Gray run from her mark.

“Run”, he demands softly. He takes a few steps forward but is halted when Lucy-Gray remains in the same spot, looking around. 

“What are you doing? Run” he groans. 

He staggers back to his seat, gripping the plastic back tightly in his hand. 

His eyes shut when Lucy-Gray narrowly avoids a strike from Reaper.  

Why won’t anyone ever listen to him, he wondered. 

A district 2 kid gets slaughtered which gains the Cameras full attention. When it pans back to a field shot, Lucy-Gray was crossing the broken fragments with Coral hot on her heels. 

Coriolanus felt the need to take a seat as he watched. A few of his eliminated classmates wished him well as they left, but Coriolanus remained slumped against his hand. 

It wasn’t until she had gathered Jessup and began racing for the hole in the ground that Coriolanus lifted his head again. 

“Go, go, go”, he muttered. The pack was closing in. Hell bent on taking out Lucy-gray. 

They almost manage to, but Lucy-Gray slips through the broken door, and a squabble prohibits the hunters coming in. 

He sighs. At least she was safe for now. He would worry about Jessup when it came time for it. Whats the point of worrying now? It was still anybody's game. He could very well die within the next hour from a surprise attack. 

Coriolanus squirms in his seat watching as another child is hacked apart by dull weapons. 

He pushes it from his mind as soon as the camera shifts. Lucy-Gray was safe, thats all that mattered. She still has a shot at winning. 

Nothing more happened. All the tributes found shelter in one corner or another. Only Reaper paced the opened space, willing someone to come attack him. 

Coriolanus wonders if you will be back. He hoped you would come check on him. 

Coriolanus rises his head to the screen once more as Lamina makes her way up the broken fragments to where Marcus hung. Reaper gave her space, seemingly knowing what she was doing. 

A small conversation between the two preceded Lamina swinging her axe down. 

Coriolanus shudders hearing the impact. He hoped you didn’t see that. 

He could only imagine the sobbing it would cause. 

Lamina cuts marcus down and he falls like a bag of bricks. 

She gazes down at him. Coriolanus couldn’t tell if it was in remorse, or in quiet pride of giving him a merciful death.

The sound of the drone coming near broke her concentration. The water attached swung in the air as it flew too fast towards her. She rose, reaching out to catch it. 

Coriolanus almost laughed when it drove straight past her and smashed into the rocks. 

The night dragged on, but Coriolanus remained. Eyes glued to the screen in hope of a glance of Lucy-Gray. 

The camera stayed mainly above ground where the action was, but sometimes he got a dash at what Lucy-Gray was doing. 

She was still alive. Or at least was, ten minutes ago. 

The other mentors, and most of the audience had left as the night bled. 

Nothing had really happened for hours. A squabble or a chase here and there but most of the fight had left the tributes. 

“If only you could trap y/n as easily as you have trapped that poor girl”, Dean Highbottoms voice surprised Coriolanus.

“I’ve trapped her?”Coriolanus fought, “I didn’t create the Games”.

He saw Dean Highbottom flinch ever so slightly. If he hadn't been looking so intensely, he would have missed it. 

“No”, Highbottom concedes, “but you’ve fueled its continuance. You’ve turned dying children into spectacles , Mr Snow. Congratulations”.

Coriolanus ignores him, turning back to the screens. 

“Are you honestly hoping that winning the plinth prize will win you the girl?”, Dean Highbottom mocks. 

“I am hoping my hard work will pay off”, Coriolanus bites. 

“I saw you before with miss y/n, trying to stop her from leaving”. 

“I was trying to stop her from making a fool out of herself”.

“What do you want from that poor girl?”. 

Coriolanus knew there was no point in lying. Dean Highbottom had already figured out Coriolanus’ intentions. 

“Only whats best”, he answers. 

“Hm and you think winning the Plinth prize will help you decide what is best for her?”, Hightbom begins to laugh, his voice taking on a sing-songy tone, “Wake up mr Snow. Who do you think decides? Even if your songbird wins, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you don’t see a single dime of that prize money’. 

Coriolanus turns back to Highbottom with his anger logged in his throat.

The older man smiles back. Coriolanus knew the man was trying to get him to slip up. But his aggravation won’t lose him the prize. If Highbottom wanted it, he would have to rip it from Coriolanus’s hands. 

Instead he turns back to the screen. Lucy-gray was still underground, feeding Jessup water. 

He could hear Dean Highbottom walking away which left him with a small victory. 

Coriolanus takes a deep breath, and sits straightener in his chair. 

It wasn’t over. Dean Highbottom wasn’t the only authority. When Coriolanus won, surely Dr Gaul would fight for him. The other teachers too. The star pupil robbed of the victory? Coriolanus would see to an up roar. 

At some point Coriolanus began to doze off. The late night and the slow turn of events left him the last one in the auditorium. The quietness of it all had his eyes shutting.

“Coriolanus?”. He heard your voice call. 

He ignores it ,sure it was a dream. But you tap his arm, and his eyes shoot open to see you standing in front of him. 

You were still in your school uniform, your hair slightly more messy than a couple of hours prior and you looked on the verge of tears. 

It panicked him greatly to see you in such a state. 

He reaches out, quickly taking your wrist in his hold. 

“Huh, what happened? Are you okay?”, he asks. 

“Has Sejanus been here?”, you quake. 

Coriolanus shakes his head ‘no’. 

He could have rolled his eyes. Of course, Sejanus was behind your tears once more. Coriolanus had never made you cry. 

“Why would he be here?”, Coriolanus asks. It seemed an unlikely place to visit while his old friend lay dead on several different screens.

Tears begin to roll down your cheeks causing Coriolanus to spring up, attempting to bring you in his arms. You push him away, keeping an arms length distance between you both. 

“I thought maybe he would come see you. We were sleeping and I woke up, and he was gone”, you explain with a shaky breath, “I don’t know where he could have went, Coriolanus. He’s not in a good place. I am worried-”

“Not in a good place, indeed” Dr Gauls voice booms through the open space. 

This time when Coriolanus touched you, he was given permission. He pulls you next to him to face Dr Gaul together. 

Dr Gaul was disinterested in the couple, taking the master remote and turning all the channels  to the same camera. 

“Sejanus!”, you gasp upon seeing your boyfriend knelt down next to his old friend in the arena. 

Your hand takes a hold of Coriolanus' arm in a tight grip. Your painted nails dig into his uniform jacket. 

“Breadcrumbs” Dr Gaul annotates while the room watches Sejanus spread the food over his friend, “I believe substance for a fallen comrade in his final journey. A district 2 superstition”. 

“How did he get in there?” you question, never once tearing your eyes from the screen. 

“I’ll work on finding the peacekeeper he bribed to let him in, and remove his tongue”, Dr Gual snarls, “in the meantime I need you to get him out right now”. 

Dr Gaul looked directly at you which spiked Coriolanus heart rate, 

“You should send Peacekeepers in”, he demanded. There was no way you were joining Sejanus in the arena. 

“Only to have him bolt and hide like a rabbit?”, Dr Gaul retorts. “Fleix Ravenstill is fighting for his life in a hospital bed, Mr Snow. I will not have these rebels make a further mockery of my games. Anyone sees us lose control of this arena, it might as well be sounding a horn to the districts to revolt!”. 

Dr Gaul takes a breath, trying to regain the composure lost. She turns her sight back on you, who had dropped Coriolanus' arm during her speech. 

You stood brave, staring straight back at her with discontempt. 

“You choose to be lovers with the radical. Don’t you want him out?”, Dr Gaul gages you. 

Coriolanus steps forward trying to take Dr Gauls attention away from you. 

‘‘Sending her into the arena will get her killed. It’ll look a lot worse if the tributes kill two Capitol students”, Coriolanus justifies. 

“A volunteer then?”,Dr Gual pushes.

“I’ll go”, You say too quickly, “I can get him out”.

“I’ll go”, Coriolanus declares. 

The mere thought of you in the arena left a sick feeling in his stomach. He wouldn’t watch helplessly on the other side of the screen while you risked your life for Sejanus. 

He couldn’t believe Sejanus had put you in this position. Coriolanus’s every move was calculated with you in mind. 

It was pure luck that you had chosen to seek Coriolanus out. If you hadn’t he would have woken the next morning to see you dead in the arena next to Sejanus. 

He would go into the arena to save Sejanus if it meant saving you. 

“No!” you protested, once again grabbing hold of Coriolanus arm to pull him back. 

He turns to you with a look of irritation on his face. 

“What chance do you think you stand if one of the tributes decide to attack? I am stronger, faster”, Coriolanus explained. He hated being irritated at you, but you wouldn’t see sense, “I’ll get him out, y/n. I promise”. 

“Unless you are both secretly hoping he’ll die in that arena, we need to move fast”, Dr Gaul utters.

Her expression had changed from one of anger to quiet amusement, but she had not forgotten the task at hand. 

She turns, expecting the children to follow her as she talks. Coriolanus follows suit, leading you as you wrap yourself around his arm. 

He would have shaken you off. You had no place being even near the arena, let alone outside of its gates, but he loved the way you clung to him. 

Your tight hold told him you would fight if he tried to leave you. Really it was the way you should be holding him. Not just now, in a state of emergency. 

“I’ll freeze the feed for one hour”, Dr Gaul says as she moves out of the school, “I expect thats all the time we have until someone notices”. 

A Peacekeeper van is waiting down the steps of the school. Dr Gaul jumps in, leaving the back of the van open for the children. 

Coriolanus helps you up into the back of the van before lifting himself up behind you. The doors are closed shut as he enters, and the van takes off before he is fully sat next to you.

You are unusually quiet. Coriolanus could tell you were scared from the way you sat. Arms crossed across your chest, looking straight ahead of you with a glazed look. 

Coriolanus places a hand on your knee in comfort but you don’t seem to register it. 

He tries not to mind Dr Gauls' searing stare from the other bench. He focuses on you and your state of worry. 

You begin to chew your lip absentmindedly. He wanted to pull it from between your teeth to get you to stop, but the van lurched forward as it stopped. 

The drive wasn’t long, but the peacekeeper sped to it anyway. 

As the doors are pulled open, Coriolanus takes a deep breath. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't be beaten to death by a tribute trying to save a man he loathed. 

Grandma’am and Tigres wouldn’t survive without him, but if he died, he would at least make sure Sejanus died along with him. 

If he couldn't have you, Sejanus definitely couldn’t. 

“Lets go, Mr Snow”, Dr Gual urges. 

She jumps out first. Coriolanus could hear her directing the Peacekeepers on what was about to happen. 

You rise with Coriolanus. But He doesn’t allow you to get to the door as he does. 

He jumps down and spins, placing his hand on the doors and bringing them closer together. 

"Stay in the van”, he orders. 

Surely, even on the off chance that a tribute managed to get through the gates, you would be safe in a locked van. 

You nod your head in understanding, trying to ease his worry. 

It doesn’t work but he appreciates it anyway. 

He smiles up at you, taking the time to have a good look at you in case it was his last time. 

With the doors shut on you, he could focus more clearly. He wasn’t going to die in that arena. He wasn’t going to die by a district hand. 

He was going to get out alive. You were going to wake up to yourself and realise that you had been hopelessly in love with Coriolanus this whole time. 

The gates are unlocked and he feels his confidence waver. Nevertheless, he persits with his mission and with a careful step he enters the arena. 

It’s dark and quiet. The moonlight does little to help. A tribute could jump out at any time and Coriolanus would never see them coming. 

He was cautious to make any sounds,  stepping softly on the fragmented rocks. 

The gate makes it stupid welcome message as he passes through it under the belief the game makers would have been smart enough to disable it. 

His breath gets caught in his throat while waiting to see who it attracts. He doesn’t move. 

He feels the blood rush to his ears, and his body ready itself to fight. No one comes. 

Coriolanus’s eyes scan the room for whatever movement he could pick up on. It seemed there was none. 

With a shaky breath he attempts to continue on, when his heightened ears pick up on a scuffle behind him. 

He spins quickly, ready to dodge an attack. He wished it had been a tribute, and not you trying to climb over the turn stalls. 

On its own accord, his face scrunches in anger. His footsteps are louder than he liked as he stormed over to you. 

He takes your hips into what he was sure was a painful hold, and looks past you to see they had already locked the gate. You were now trapped in here with angry Tributes with nothing to lose. 

Previously, he had never thought it possible to be angry with you. Now he wanted to scream in your face until you cried. 

He helps you down, softly to the ground, and catches your hand harshly in his. 

“You’re an idiot”, he whispers, “Stay close”. 

He squeezes your fingers into the palm of his hand, but you make no complaint as you follow him into the arena. 

Coriolanus felt his anxiety and senses heightened. He could faintly see Sejanus in the moonlight still knelt on the ground next to Marcus. 

He felt you pull against his hold as you near Sejanus, but he refuses to let you go an inch. 

If there was a tribute lurking he wanted to know where you were. 

“Sejanus”, you whisper when you are within earshot. 

He spins straight away upon hearing you. The panic he should have had all along, comes crashing all at once. He looked like a man who had seen a ghost as he rose from the floor. 

‘What are you doing here?”, he questions in a strained, soft voice. 

Sejanus takes your arms in his hands. Coriolanus wanted to yank you out of his hold, but a squabble would cause unnecessary attention. 

“Get her out of here, Coryo”, Sejanus demands.

“I would like to. Believe me”, Coriolanus scolds. His eyes darted around the room, ensuring that all was still unnoticed. 

“I am not leaving without you”, with your free hand you reach out to take a fist full of Sejanus shirt. 

“I have to do this” Sejanus justifies, “I have to go where the cameras are”. 

“You think anyone is watching this?” Coriolanus spat, taking a step closer to the couple, “Gaul cut the feed. Tributes kill you in here, she’s just going to say you died from the flu”. 

“They won’t kill me”, Sejanus vows. 

“Yes they will!” you reproach. 

Maybe there was hope for you, Coriolanus thinks, Maybe Sejanus hadn’t brainwashed you fully. 

The moonlight as it bounces off Lamina’s axe catches Coriolanus’s eye, and the safety net had now disappeared. She wouldn’t attack, but she could draw attention at any time. 

“You need to decide right now”, Coriolanus demands, he breaks Sejanus' hold on you in case you need to run, and focuses Sejanus attention on himself, “do you want to fight these tributes or fight for them? Because if you want to make real change, you need to stay alive”. 

“How can I make any change from out there?”, Sejanus discredits his power. 

He was not worthy of his power if he had no brains on how to use it. 

“You’re rich, smart. You care. You stood up to Gaul in that class, didn’t you? Spend your fathers money, do some real good”, a clash of the metal resounds in the arena. More would wake from the noise, and the group wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“We’re dead. Y/n’s dead if we don’t leave right now”, Coriolanus reprimand, “Come with us, or just be another body in Gaul’s war”. 

He knew he would have to fight to get you to leave Sejanus. But he was only allowing a few more seconds before he raced you to the exit. 

Worried that you would get yourself killed in the struggle to save Sejanus, Coriolanus turns to begging as a last resort. 

Placing a hand on Sejanus' shoulder, he brings the delusional boy closer. 

“Please, Sejanus. We’re friends. Trust me”, Coriolanus pleaded. 

You tug on Sejanus' shirt to move, “Come” you implore. 

His large, dirty palm goes over your hand, “Alright”, he whispers. 

The attack came at the perfect time. Coriolanus heard the shuffling of the boys shoes giving him time to pull you back towards the exit, before the war cry resounded through the arena. 

“Go, Run!” he demands, pushing you ahead of him. 

You sprint as fast as you can across the broken floor. Coriolanus caught up easily, pushing you forward urging you to move faster.  

Sejanus lagged behind, choosing to look at the fast approaching tribute. 

“Go! Go!” Coriolanus yells at you when you turn around to see where Sejanus was. 

You don’t look back again, until you reach the turn stalls. 

Coriolanus jumps over with ease, turning back to help you over. You stumble as your foot gets stuck on the rusty metal turn, and Coriolanus drags you over it as fast as he could. 

His hand takes a hold of yours once more as Sejanus approaches the stand with the tribute hot on his heels. 

He runs forward with you, eager to get you to safety beyond the gates. 

Sejanus screams as he stumbles over the hard metal and you halt your quick pace to safety. 

You call for him, trying to tug your hand out of Coriolanus’s. He resists, trying to get you to leave Sejanus.

Coriolanus promises to go back for him once you were beyond the gates but you wouldn’t have it. 

He drops your hand, rathering his own life to be in danger for Sejanus than yours. 

Coriolanus reaches Sejanus quicker than you do, and yanks him off the ground. 

‘Come on, get up!”Sejanus tries to regain his feet but his knee refuses to take any weight, “y/n, get to the gate!”, Coriolanus commands. 

You don’t turn, running towards Sejanus instead of away. You take his other arm over your shoulder, trying to assist Coriolanus. 

The screaming of the tribute came closer, and before Coriolanus could move, the sharp edge of a blade hacked into his shoulder. It was a far swing from the tribute but with enough force to split skin. 

He drops Sejanus to dodge the next attack. You fall into the wall, unable to support Sejanus by yourself.

The tribute now closer, stalks over to you with his sword held high. Sejanus tries a feeble attempt to shield you, but Coriolanus takes hold of a metal ruin that was stuck between cement, determined that not one hair on your head would be touched. 

He scrambles off the ground and swings the cement at the tribute with a loud scream. 

The young boy stumbles off balance, but readies himself again. He swung back with the blade which Coriolanus narrowly missed before bringing the cement down across the boy's head. 

It lands him on the ground, but Coriolanus doesn’t stop there, bringing it down once more on the boy who threatened his girl 

“Coriolanus!” you call to him. More tributes were coming out of the shadows. 

He drops his weapon, going back over to you to help lift the weight of Sejanus. 

Sejanus pushes through the pain to quicken the pace of the shuffle, but comotion had inlived  the most dangerous pack. Corals groups hooped and hollered as they approached.  

“Y/n, open the gate!”, Coriolanus demands, wanting you to be first out. 

Sejanus drops his arm from your shoulder, and you take the permission to take off ahead and bang on the gate until it opens. 

Coriolanus could hear the tributes as they run. They weren’t far off. He wasn’t sure they would even make it to the gate in time, but you would and that’s what matters. 

You push yourself out with the gate as it opens, turning back to look at the boys with wide, fearful eyes. 

Coriolanus pushes himself to be faster, taking nearly all of Sejanus' weight onto him. 

They make it just in time, and fall to a heap on the floor next to Peacekeepers boots. 

Corioanus pushes Sejanus off him. His hand reaches for his shoulder that now weeped blood. 

He groans as he feels the ache of the gash, next to his still searing burn mark.

He is distracted momentarily when Coral reaches the gate, and throws her spear into it. 

“Keep your eyes on the screen, gorgeous”, she taunts Coriolaus, throwing her head in the direction of you, “ I may have missed her tonight, but your songbirds next on my list”. 

The Peacekeepers demand that her group get back and the tributes disappear back into the dark tunnel.

He had followed Corals gaze to you on the floor. Your tears run down your cheeks now that the adrenaline is gone. 

Coriolanus moves to get you off the floor and into his arms, but you move as he does, and crawl across the floor to where Sejanus lay. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and sob into him. 

“I am okay”, he promises. His large hand rubs soothing circles on your back. 

You pull back in anger and begin hitting his chest as you speak. 

“How could you?”, you reprimand, “how could you do that?”.

“I am sorry, I had to do something”. Sejanus winces as he tries to sit up. His knee no doubt, completely ruined. 

“You could have been killed”, you cry with a push against his attempted hold. 

Was this the end of the bleeding heart couple? Coriolanus felt a spark of joy, watching as you fought. 

“Coriolanus could have died!”, as if you had forgotten about him you now turn to him, ‘Oh, Coriolanus”, you cry, “Are you okay?”. 

Coriolanus hand went back to his shoulder, feeling the wet patch of blood soak through his school jacket. He had no other uniform, even Tigres wouldn't be able to fix it. 

“Coryo, I am so sorry”, Sejanus apologies. It meant nothing to Coriolanus who ignored him. 

A car screeches to a stop and two car doors slam. 

The car is sleek and expensive with its own full time driver waiting with the lights on. 

Next to it stood Ma and Mr Plinth, who were well dressed as always. 

Ma was crying, but Mr Plinth stood stoic and angry. 

He gave Coriolanus a thankful nod but remained far away expecting his son to come to him. 

Ma runs over to her baby, wrapping herself around her sons head. 

Coriolanus takes the opportunity to move closer to you. You stand upon seeing him approach. 

“Are you alright?’, he questioned. 

You reach up, taking his neck and bringing him down into a hug. He gratefully goes, never expecting a hug before the relationship began. 

“Thank you, Coriolanus. I would have died in there”, you muttered. 

The hug is too short, before he is ready you are pulling away to look at his shoulder. 

“Coriolanus needs help!’, you announce, “Somebody needs to take him to the hospital!”. 

“Come with me”, he begs you.

“Don’t worry, Miss y/n. I’ll take care of our hero here”, Dr Gaul inserts herself where she is not wanted once more. She looked amused at Coriolanus’s physical and emotional pain. 

“Y/n, baby”, Sejanus calls to you. The driver had left the car to assist Sejanus while his father looks on. 

Coriolanus reluctantly lets go as you move to the sound of your name. 

“You’ll look after him?”, you question Dr Gaul. Coriolanus wanted to beg you not to believe her. 

“He’ll be good as new. You have my word”, Dr Gaul promises. 

He shutters as you move further back. 

Mr Plinth does not cross for his son, but he crosses to come collect you. 

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to lead you to the car. 

You look back at Coriolanus as you are led. Taking one final glance before entering the car with Sejanus. 

Coriolanus watches as the car takes off. He wondered if you had your arms wrapped around Sejanus in the back. 

He decides it is best not to submit his body to further stress and pushes it out of his mind. The walk home would help him clear his head, and focus only on the positives of the night. You relied on him tonight. Even acknowledged that he had saved your life. That was a step in the right direction. 

“And where do you think you are going, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul calls out after him. 

“Home”, he announces over his good shoulder. 

‘And make a liar out of me?” she walks in the opposite direction towards the Peacekeeper van, “Come”. 

The ride back is silent. The same hurry to get there was not offered on the way back. Coriolanus shoulder ached, the blood would not stop pouring, sticking his shirt to his back and irritating his wound. 

Dr gaul doesn’t speak again until they are back in her lab. 

He couldn’t believe she had taken him back to her experimental freak show instead of a hospital. But he was in pain and in need of medical care so he didn’t verbalize his complaints.

“How did it feel?” she asks as she readies her station for him, “when you killed the boy to save y/n?”. 

He should have known she was watching. 

‘I didn’t have a choice”, he spat as he unbuttoned his shirt and took a seat in front of her. 

She laughs at him as she begins her first stitch. 

“All your fine manners, education, background, stripped away in a blink of an eye. Fueled with the terror of becoming prey, how fast we become predators".

Coriolanus lets out a shaky breath as the adrenaline dies down and the needle stitches him together. 

“Who would have thought that one day Crassus Snow’s boy would be fighting for his life in the area over a girl?”, he feels her stop stitching while she waits for the answer to her next question, “That's why you did it no? It wasn’t until news of her involvement that you volunteered. Or did you still wish to proceed with the guise of friendship?”

“Sejanus is not my friend”, Coriolanus declares. 

Her needle work began again, pleased with his answer. 

“You want to protect y/n, Mr Snow? Then it’s essential that you accept what human beings are, and what it takes to control them”. 

He feels her knot the thread into his skin

“So I’ll ask you again, when you beat that boy to death with a club, how did it feel?”. 

“It felt”, Coriolanus breathed, wondering if he should give the honest answer. Deciding he had nothing to lose from it, he answers. 

“It felt powerful”.

“Answer this next one honestly and you won’t have to walk home”, Dr Gaul teases, “Were you hoping that Sejanus died tonight?”

“Yes”, Coriolanus croaks. His own tears welling in his eyes. He refuses to let any more than two fall, which are wiped away harshly. 

“How did it feel to have her life in your hands tonight?”, Dr Gaul pushes. 

Coriolanus nods, unable to form words. 

A hand is placed on his good shoulder. She squeezes to let him know the sincerity of her words. 

“People will do anything to survive, Mr Snow. It doesn’t matter how miserable of an existence it is”. 

Coriolanus thinks to his bare apartment, and cinder block bed. It was true, and he was living proof. 

Survival meant hope. 

He closes his eyes, feeling more tears forming and remembers how malleable you were tonight. You trusted him wholly with your survival, and with that came power over you. 

Lucy-Gray was the same. Tonight you showed him the same loyalty, and respect that you had denied him previously. 

Lucy-Gray had tried to kiss him, and you melded your body to him when you could. He was sure if you were alone, you would have kissed him for saving your life. 

If only he could trap you as easily as Lucy-gray. Keep you in a state of panic that rendered you totally dependent on him. 

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, remembering Dean Highbottoms words. 

Maybe the old man could see more than Coriolanus would like. 

Despite the pain in his shoulder and his little sleep, Coriolanus arrived back at the auditorium bright and early.

Lucy-Gray was still alive. He could see her sleeping against a pole next to Jessup. 

The dead tribute was noticed, but soon forgotten. Only Lysistrata pushed to know more, but she too dropped the subject as the tributes began to wake and fight. 

There were ten tributes left. Not an impossible task for Lucy-Gray to outlive them all. 

He kept careful watch of the screens.  While the rest of the mentors took lunch, and socialized, Coriolanus sat with his head in his hand, hoping for a split second of screen time that told him Lucy-Gray was okay. 

“Coriolanus!”. Your voice shocked him as it appeared. 

He stood to greet you. It was a welcomed but unexpected visit. The games were announced a public holiday, you had no obligation to be at school. 

He would have thought after last night that you would be glued to Sejanus’s side. Was this the beginning of the end? 

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”, he questioned. 

In the daylight he could see a bruise on your temple from when toppled into the wall, under Sejanus. He reaches out to run his finger across the black spot, and you hit his hand away. 

“What are you doing here?”, you push back with a hard tone “I went to your house to check on you, but Tigres said you were here?”. 

Coriolanus felt his body twitch at your words. You went to his run down apartment? How much did you see? Surely, Tigres shielded his shame. Your eyes didn’t carry pity, maybe you didn’t know. 

“Don’t you ever go to my apartment without my permission again”, he scolded. 

That was close. Too close. He was days from getting the plinth prize. Days from burying his decade long shame. 

You seemed drawn back at his harsh tone. He had never spoken to you unkindly before. 

In an effort to ease the mood once more, before you left, he threw his hands up as if it wasn’t a big deal. 

“My Grandmother has severe social anxiety. We can’t have unexpected visitors”, he lies with a soft and airy tone. 

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know”, you offer. 

Coriolanus tuts, bringing his hand up once more to brush the hair off your bruise. 

“You shouldn’t have been in there”, he complains. 

The bruise looked painful. He was sure it would cause you a headache. You should be resting with ice upon it, not here talking to him. 

“No one should be in there”, you return. 

His hand is pushed away again, but he attributes it being too soft to touch, rather than disdain for him touching you. 

"Thank you for checking on me”, he says. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Coriolanus. Not after last night”. 

“Lucy-Gray needs me”, he observes.

Your eyes flick to the screen behind him, before back to Coriolanus’s eyes and nod in agreement.

“Sejanus is in the hospital. They have him on morphline. His knee will never work fully, but he is alive and that's because of you”, you proclaim, “Lucy-Gray is fortunate to have you looking out for her. We all are”. 

His heart flutters. ‘We all are’, yes! Yes! You were lucky to have him looking out for you. Have you finally come to appreciate all he does for you?

He smiles down at you. If his shoulder didn’t ache, he would have reached out for you. 

“If there’s anything I can do”, you offer.

“There is!” He responds too quickly. 

He clears his throat, trying to conceal his eagerness. 

“There is”, repeats more even toned, “You could stay. I could use the support”. 

You looked unsure of the request, but he had saved your life just hours prior, so you felt an obligation to do as he asked. 

“Sure, Coriolanus”, you finally say, although you still looked unsure, “I can stay for a little bit”. 

He could barely breathe. The “great” he manages to get out is hardly above a whisper. 

He leads you to the front bench just in front of the first row of mentor chairs.

You sit obediently and he takes his new seat in front of you.

The tributes have become more lively. Coral was on the hunt for Lucy-Gray trying to convince one of her group members to go down and flush her out. 

None would so they go back to making traps to catch Reaper. 

Coriolanus reaches his hand back to you, trying to see how far his luck would take him. 

You do take his hand into your own, but only for the time it took to give him three encouraging pats to the back of his hand. 

It was close enough. Leaving Coriolanus with a feeling of satisfaction. 

The feeling stayed for less than a second. His good mood disappeared when the camera flew back to Lucy-Gray underground. 

Jessup was getting agitated. Yelling at Lucy-Gray and twitching uncontrollably. 

“What’s he doing?”Coriolanus jumps out of his chair and moves closer to the screens. 

“They’re friends. He wouldn’t hurt her”, you comment, coming up beside him. 

“Somethings wrong”, Lysistrata agrees, “He wouldn’t turn on her like this”.

Lucy-Gray makes a mad dash away which only further angers Jessup, determined that he had done something. 

Coriolanus watches in panic. Lucy-gray couldn't defend herself. She would never hurt Jessup, even in his mad state. 

“Go to the stands, go to the stands!”, he directs. 

Lucy-gray does go to the stands, climbing up as fast as she could but Jessup was determined to catch her. 

Coriolanus couldn’t watch. He turns and paces, trying to figure out a way to save Lucy-Gray. 

It couldn’t be over. You had only just come around, he needed more time.

The camera zooms in on Jessup allowing full view of the white form dripping down his lips. 

‘Wait, look”, he tells you. 

Your hand balls at your mouth. He hated to see you so frightened yet again. 

As soon as this was all over, he would ensure nothing would ever worry you again. 

“I think it rabies," he announces. 

He could have danced. There was a way out of this mess. The game wasn’t over yet. 

“That bite from the train”, Lysistrata deducts. 

“Send him water”. He demands of Lysistrata. 

“What? No”, she denines. 

He leans across her desk so she is forced to look at him. He was half tempted to just take control of her computer himself. 

“You remember the posters from the war. Rabies. It makes you scared of water. Send him a drone”, he demanded. 

“That’ll scare him”. 

He knew Livy had come to care for Jessup

“Yes” Coriolanus agrees in a hard tone, “away from her”. 

Lysistrata still looked in denial. There was no other option, both their tributes didn’t have to die. 

“Jessup is done”, he says with haste, “Livy, you’re the only one that can get it right to him”. 

Coming to grips with reality, Livy does as she is told, sending a water drone in the direction of Jessup. 

“Thank you”, Coriolanus feels better watching the drone fly in. 

“Nothing to be proud of”, Livy mutters. 

As planned, the drone smashes into him just as he reaches Lucy-gray. 

He hears you gasp as Jessup falls to his death and hits the bottom with a heavy thud. 

He turns to see you still with your hand pressed tightly against your mouth, and eyes squeezed shut. 

The sight makes him feel horrible that he had asked you to stay. 

You were on the side of his sore shoulder so he had to reach across with his good hand to touch you. 

“Coryo”, Livy called as Carol’s group came out of hiding. 

The hand on you balls watching as Corals group surrounds Lucy-gray. 

“Oh no”, he complains. 

He needed to make a distraction, so she could run and hide. He couldn’t just stand and watch. But the only thing he could do was send food and water in on badly operated drones. 

The same badly operated drones that just took Jessup out. 

He reaches for his communipad, and selects as many bottles of water as it would let him. 

He didn’t need to kill the group. Only give Lucy-Gray a chance to get away

The drones go flying in. He hoped Lucy-Gray wouldn’t give the surprise away, but she managed to keep her cool until it was time to duck. 

“Hey! You can’t attack the tributes” a fellow mentor complained. 

“I am just sending water”, Coriolanus jeered. 

He could hear your chuckle of approval behind him. You reach out to his good shoulder and murmur in his ear. 

“Good work”, you encouraged. 

He wished he could have stayed in the moment but it wasn’t over yet. Lucy-gray disappears into the dust, taking with her a bottle of water. 

She hides in the shelter of the ruin and he can faintly see her take something from her dress pocket. 

No there, he wanted to say. What if someone saw her poison the water and he was disquailified. 

He looks around the room to check no one else is noticing. All eyes seemed to be on the group turning against Lamina. 

Lucy-Gray ducks back out with the water, placing it back on the ground before emptying the others collected. It wasn’t a bad idea. 

Lamina's death stopped the clock and the attention was once more turned back to Lucy-gray. 

“Go” you mutter, flicking your hands out as if she could see. 

Lucy-Gray takes off with Coral and her group chasing her back up the stands. She finds an air duct and dives to close it in time. 

Coral catches it before it fully closes and it begins a tug of war against the two. 

“No, No”, you complain. 

He wanted to shield your eyes from the screen. With every inch Coral got, Lucy-Gray found the strength to tug it back. 

When it finally closes, sealing Lucy-gray in safety, Coriolanus lets out  a sigh of relief. 

“She’s Okay” he says to you. 

Coral takes out another tribute over a squabble over the water, and Dill drinks the poisoned water. 

So that was three dead tributes in less than 20 minutes. With this pace Coriolanus would be announced winner before the night ended. 

He sat you back down on your seat, and retook his in front of you. Your fingers cling to the bench underneath you, and your posture is tight and unnatural. 

He expects you to leave him, but you remain watching as Reaper collects the fallen tributes into a neat line and draps the Panam flag over him. 

“Are you going to punish me now?” reaper yells to the cameras. 

He begins to scream again but his words are cut off by a broadcast from Dr Gaul. 

“Capitol Citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our games to announce a tragic loss. Fleix Ravienstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.Out there, in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boys death. I will not allow my games to give our enemies such a victory. I swear to you here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these games”. 

The broadcast ends, and the tributes go back on screen. 

“What?” you spit, “What does she mean no victor? That's not fair. She can't do that”. 

You rise from your outrage, ranting to Coriolanus. Your anxiety has been taken over by your anger. Coriolanus agreed it was not fair. All his hard work gone down the drain because of the death of Felix,  who was never going to amount to anything anyway. 

A rainbow of destruction. The snakes. There was no way he could protect lucy-Gray from them. 

He would need something with her scent. Could he get the string of her guitar that she played in the interviews? He didn’t even know where it was. By the time he found it, the Games were sure to be over. 

Maybe, he could go to the zoo. Toss as many things as he could into the snake pit and hope one of them was hers? It might mean the survival of everyone but her too. 

The zoo, he remembers. He digs into his breast pocket to pull out the handkerchief he used to wipe her tears away. If the sweat of his palm can keep him safe against the snakes, then surely her fresh tears dried on the handkerchief could. 

He had to get it to the lab before it was too late.

He grabs your forearms and turns you away from the screen to him so he had your full attention. 

“Stay here, okay. I’ll be right back”. He commands. 

“Where are you going?”, you ask astounded that he could be leaving after such news. 

“Just stay here. Don’t move”, he reiterated. 

You nod sensing his urgency and he dashes out of the auditorium into the empty hallway. 

He knew he couldn’t walk into Dr Guals lab without a reason, and begging for Lucy-Grays life wasn’t a good one. 

As he jogs down the steps, he claws at the stitches in his back, reopening the wound. 

He groans from the pain but ensures all eight stitches have torn open. 

His body is weak as he sprints to Dr gauls lab. It barely gets him through the front door, where he demands to see Dr gaul. 

As if she was expecting him, the Peacekeeper lets him directly through. 

“Come to beg for her life?” Dr gaul asks uninterested. 

“No” Coriolanus puffs, “No, my stitches. They came loose. I didn’t want the doctors asking questions”.

She looks at him suspiciously but relents, going to her work table. 

“Come, pull down your shirt”, she directs. 

He walks past a row of black birds locked in cages. Her newest toys. 

“The news must have shocked you Mr Snow. With no tributes, no victor, with no victor, no girl”. 

Coriolanus faces the birds as Dr Gaul stitches the needle into his shoulder. He eyes the large snake tank in the corner and the people who ready it for transport. 

“Y/n’s actually at the auditorium. She came to support me. She’s the one who noticed the stitches”, Coriolanus lies. 

“Support you and not her boyfriend in hospital? Things are looking promising”, she says. 

"Looking promising, looking promising” her voice echoes across the room. Seemingly from the mouth of the birds. 

She sighs and stops stitching to click a receiver. 

“Jabberjays”, she explained, “We sent them out during the war to pick up rebel conversations. A failed experiment. They only pick up useless phrases unless manually operated. I am collecting them to see what better purpose they serve”. 

Coriolanus remains quiet trying to figure out how he could reach the cage before it was too late. 

The needle knots in his back, a feeling Coriolanus had come to know to mean that the stitching was done. 

“I’ll see you and your girl back in the auditorium for the finale, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul dismisses, “you should be proud of yourself. Your songbird put on a wonderful show, and you didn’t need money to steal the girl after all”. 

Coriolanus quickly buttons up his shirt, watching as the cage was wheeled out. 

“Thank you, Dr Gaul”, he says. 

He races to catch up to the assistants wheeling the cage, pretending to be following them out. 

They don’t see him as a threat so pay him no mind. He falls back as they take a hallway just off the exit, and watches as they leave the cage out for an airlift. 

He stays hidden behind a pole until it was time. Leaving his jacket to keep the door wedged open. With their back turned, he dashes out to cage. The snakes are upset when he slams into the large cage, beginning to move and fight with each other. 

He finds an air hole large enough and stuffs the handkerchief in. it moves along the bodies of the snakes until Coriolanus could no longer see the white in between the rainbow. 

When the harness is lowered, Coriolanus makes a run back to the door, taking his jacket and making his own exit from the Citadel. 

He pays for the taxi this time. Sure that his body couldn’t take anymore strain. 

It cost him his fathers watch, but he arrived back in the auditorium before the entrance of the snakes. 

“What happened?” he quizzes you, taking a hold of your arm, “Lucy-gray is she okay?”. 

You point to the screen where Coral and Treech poke and prod a vent. 

“She’s in there”, you address with horror in your voice. 

Treech points up and Coral takes his palace directly under the vent. 

Blocking the camera, Treech begins to sway of balance and nose begins leek small amounts of blood. 

“Wait, what's wrong with Treech?” his mentor asks. 

Corilanious was worried about his own tribute, who was three lucky strikes away from being impaled. 

Coral hits the metal too many times and the vent collapses on top of her. 

Coriolanus' hand latches out to yours, which you accept with the same nervous tension in your fingers. 

“Run, run” Coriolanus begs. 

She runs back into the arena. Not the safest place with reaper still sitting by the dead tributes. 

Coral chases after her, too slow to catch up. 

The whole arena stops when the chopper lowers in the cage. 

“Please work”, Coriolanus whispers. 

“What is that?” you ask. 

“Wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?” Lucy Flickerman answers you. 

Coriolanus feels your hand tense in his, then open in surprise when the glass cage cracks and the snakes fly out. 

“Not candy!” Lucky Flickerman announces as three tributes are overtaken in rainbow. 

The Snakes chase the last two tribute who head to the stands for higher ground. 

“Lucy-Gray, please” Coral begs. The snakes lash at her heels as she tries to drag herself up the stands, “Please it couldn’t have all be for nothing”.

It was. More snakes latch on and Coral dies with two loud screams. 

“Now all colors lead to Gray” Lucy Flickerman narrates. 

The snakes slither up and around Lucy-Gray but none bite her. 

Coriolanus lets out an unbelievable scoff. 

‘She’s..She’s won” he says watching as the snakes continue to follow Lucy-Gray. He had won. The 10th annual victor. She was last standing, even Dean Highbottom couldn’t contest his win.

“It’a over. She won”, he says in a louder voice. Why was no one doing anything to stop the snakes, “Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, mr Snow”, Lucky insists. 

He turns to the audience. Dr Gaul had come to see the final show. She sat high up in the breeches and must of come in when Coriolanus was distracted. 

He drops your hand so he could turn and face her. She stared back with the same hateful and curious gaze. She knew what he had done. 

But if she squealed on him, he would return the favor. 

Your hands fly up to your face once more when Lucy-gray begins to sing. Tears pour from your eyes watching the young girl sing her last song. 

Looking to get away from the camera that played on your pain, you pushed your way to the back.  

“Dr gaul. She’s won”, Coriolanus yells, “It’s over let her out”. 

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus asks. 

Dr Gual raises her eyebrows at him in a mocking fashion. 

“It must be the signing. It’s calming them”, he deceives. 

“She can’t sing forever”, Festus comments bitterly. 

She just needs to sing long enough for Coriolanus to figure out a way to get her out. 

“Dr Gaul, please”, Coriolanus tries, “Get her out”. 

He could see the audience engrossed in the scene. He just needed to figure out how to turn it against Dr Gaul. 

“Get her out!”, you yell across the room, following Coriolanus stare to Dr gaul. 

Her eyes flick to you and you scream at her once more to release Lucy-gray. 

Others join, chanting in protest. 

“Who will watch the games if there is no victor?” he threatens. 

Dr Gaul raises her hand to silence the audience, before turning to her assistant. 

“Get her out”, she says loud enough for everyone to hear. 

A cheer erupts the auditorium and Dr gaul wades herself through it to the silence of the hallway. 

“She’s won! Lucy-Gray! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the tenth annual Hunger games!” Lucky announces. 

People rush from the stands to swarm him. Offering him congratulations and applause. 

It all felt real now. He had done it. The plinth prize, you, were all his now. 

He pushes to the crowd to get to where you stood in front of the bleaches. 

You were smiling and clapping. He wasn’t sure if it was entirely for him, or if you were just glad Lucy-gray would live. 

You looked beautiful and for once Sejanus was nowhere by your side. In this moment, you were entirely his. 

You treated you as such, taking your face between his hands and stilling you for a kiss. 

His lips smashed against you, his teeth nipped at the skin of your bottom lip asking you to part them for him. 

You don’t pull away at first, but his lips are on you for less than ten seconds before you are shoving against his sore shoulder. 

He is forced to drop his hand upon the impact. His shoulder ached from pain of being moved, and on reflux he lowered his arm to ease it. 

Coriolanus could tell by the look on your face, you did not enjoy the kiss. Did he come on too strong? Did he accidently hit your bruise when he kissed you?

He opened his mouth to apologize for the above, but you took off before he could catch you. 

It was impossible to follow you through the crowd of people. People would not part to let him through. 

Some jeered at him for being pushed away but most still rode his victory wave. 

Had he made a mistake? Where you not ready to leave Sejanus for him yet?

You had no right to reject him. He had won. Saved your life. Risked his own. 

Coriolanus took a seat while the crowd surrounded him, and then disappeared. He stayed there until he was summoned by a peacekeeper much later. 

He figured he was to see his victor before they sent her back home. The Peacekeeper led him to a chamber, but Lucy-Gray was nowhere to be seen. 

“Lucy-Gray?” he called, “Lucy-Gray?”. 

He sees a table in the middle of the room with his fathers handkerchief and his mother compact. 

“To think, Mr Snow, you almost had it all” Dean Highbottom's voice taunts him. 

“Where’s Lucy-Gray?”Coriolanus demanded. Had they hurt her for Coriolanus’s mistake?

“I would be more worried about yourself” Highbottom answered, stalking towards him. 

“First y/n rejects you and now the prize money slips through your fingers”, Highbottom torments, “it’s fitting that both your parents could be here for your big moment”. 

He gestures to the items on the table in front of Coriolanus. 

“That compact, how many times did I see your mother use it? Come now, we both know that child from eleven didn’t die of disease. And that old handkerchief, we found it in the snake tank, condemning you with your fathers own initials”. 

Highbottom rounds Coriolanus completely before standing in front of Coriolanus across the table. 

“President Ravenstill has left your form of punishment up to me, and I’ve decided banishment to the districts where you’ll serve your Capitol in exile for the next twenty years as an anonymous, peacekeeping grunt”. 

Dean Highbottom grins at Coriolanus who felt too frozen to do anything. 

“You’ll never get your hands on y/n. She’s too good for you Mr Snow. By the time you get back I imagine her and Sejanus will be married with three or four children”. 

It was true. Coriolanus wouldn’t be able to block the ongoing turn of events that was sure to happen with Sejanus. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He had worked so hard to have you, only to be taken away as soon as he got on equal footing with Sejanus. 

“You hear that boy? That’s the sound of snow failing”, Highbottom proclaims. 

He’ll be left with nothing more than a memory of you, while you will forget completely of the man who loved you so. 

[colorlessjay]

A Little Elbow Grease

“You have a name to uphold”

That’s what Castiel’s father told him when he was old enough to understand and comprehend words. He was the third youngest of 9 kids, who were known to be on top of everything.

Doctors, Scientists, Business Owners, Lawyers. The Shurley's have a legacy of intelligence, dedication, and greatness, with the stray rebel here and there who eventually succumb to the family name and fall in line

All except little Castiel, the unplanned angel of Thursday who, despite his hard work, constant note-taking, and obsession with studying, has never gotten higher than a C- in his entire life. And that was because his teacher took pity (And maybe because they feared the Shurley name)

His family was generally understanding, if not a little condescending. His older sister Naomi had called him 'special'. Anna tries to be more encouraging about it, saying Castiel has a spirit like no other. Balthazar had tried to get Castiel to do more recreational hobbies, but none of it ever stuck. None of it he was ever good at or remotely interested in.

They never saw any evidence of Castiel straying from his studies, in fact, even his brother Gabriel voiced his (mocking) concern for Castiel's lack of social life. Michael tells him not to read so much in the dark, or else his eyes get worse. Raphael merely chastises him when he catches the young boy in the kitchen in the dead of night, nose-deep in notes and textbooks.

But no matter what Castiel does, he always ends up last in his class, just above the delinquents who barely go to class in the first place.

Ironic given how early Castiel gets to school every day

So Castiel takes drastic measures - asking for Lucifer's help. Despite being the black sheep of the family, Lucifer has achieved great things as a lawyer (Regardless of how... questionable his morals may be)

Lucifer's idea was... classist to put it lightly, but Castiel was desperate to ensure his last year of senior high saw him at the top of his class.

It took a bit of convincing (Lucifer was a very good lawyer) but by the start of spring, Castiel found himself enrolled in a no-name public school whose reputation was good enough to make sure Castiel wouldn't get kidnapped on the first day

What Castiel didn't account for, were the students that riddled the place. Demons of pure teen angst and rebellion

He definitely didn't expect to chase after the most stubborn, hard headed, but incredibly intelligent boy in the entire school, trying to convince him to be his study partner.

Castiel will not give up now. He's failed and fallen far enough.

Dean Winchester will be his wings

—--------------

“Get your GED and get out”

That’s what Dean's dad told him when he was old enough to pick up a wrench. After that? Nothing else really mattered anymore. His dad had a point, John couldn’t put both Sam and Dean through college, especially after they had lost everything to that damn fire. And Sam has so much more potential as a lawyer than Dean could as an engineer. The choice between who gets the college treatment was a no-brainer

John was too stubborn to ask for help beyond having Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen watch his kids while he ‘busted his ass for extra bucks’. Dean is beyond asking what his dad actually did when he goes off for weeks at a time to who knows where. He’s learned the hard way that you don’t ask a man where he gets his money.

The day after his 16th birthday, Dean practically begged Bobby to let him work part-time at his garage. He refused any gift, saying all he wanted for his birthday was steady pay and a warm bed for Sam. And like his dad, Dean was a stubborn bull. And besides, Bobby would rather Dean work somewhere he can keep an eye on the boy

During summers, Dean takes extra shifts at the garage and the Roadhouse Diner, often trying to charm his way for extra tips here and there. After school (the days Bobby forces him to go to ‘watch over Sam’), Dean would go straight back to work, even begging both Bobby and Ellen to give him a shift. And when that didn’t work, he would go around town offering to mow lawns, tend gardens, walk dogs, just about anything for an extra buck.

And all that money always went to Sammy’s college fund. Stanford ain’t cheap, and Dean was determined to give his baby brother the best opportunity he could

Rumors went around that he was an addict of some kind, willing to do anything for cash for some kind of fix. Someone even tried to offer him money to do their bidding, do their homework, be their boyfriend, and some more unsavory offers.

One suspension, two bloody fists, and three trips to the nurse’s office later, Dean made it very clear he wasn’t that type of gal.

Dean wasn’t desperate. He was hard-working. He had pride and dignity as much as anyone else who grew up with enough money to put food on their plate. Unlike any of them, Dean saw school as nothing more than an easy roadblock he had to get over to get a steadier job.

Like his dad said. Get his GED and get out

Too bad the new kid seemed to wanna put a wrench in his plans

With impossibly blue eyes, a gaze of steel, and a voice too deep and monotone for his age, Dean thinks the guy was a prototype for RoboCop.

Castiel Shurley just won’t leave him the fuck alone

-----------

I had this idea for a while

idk what to do about it but ya'll can have it

[lacydollette]

RECKLESS ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: bf!sam x fem!reader

warnings: angst, established relationship, sam being overprotective, fighting, lots of blaming each other, mentions of dean being in hell, some fluff, wc: 1.9k

You slipped out of the motel room as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake Sam. You had been driving for days, hunting a wendigo near the outskirts of Iowa. But the hunt wasn’t even the hardest part—it was the weight of everything else. Ever since Dean's deal, since he was dragged into Hell, Sam had been on edge, more protective than ever. And you could feel it creeping into every part of your lives.

You glanced at Sam one more time as he lay sprawled on the bed, finally catching up on some sleep. He deserved that. Still, you knew you needed more supplies. You were running low on salt, and in the need of a few essentials plus, you figured a little food wouldn't hurt.

The grocery store was only ten minutes away, so you grabbed the keys and your bag, telling yourself you’d be quick. On your way inside the store, you checked for your phone—"dang it", you cursed, you must've left it at the motel.

So you quickly breezed through the aisles, grabbing salt, herbs, and a few sandwiches and snacks for Sam. You loaded everything into the car and started heading back, happy to know you’d have Sam’s favorite food waiting for him.

But while you were on your way home, Sam was already panicking, pacing around the motel room. He’d woken up to find you gone, no note, no message, just your phone lying there. His mind raced through every worst-case scenario. Every minute you were gone, his worry grew until it twisted into anger. Losing so many people did that to a person, and Sam had lost more than enough.

He couldn’t loose you too.

When you finally walked in, expecting Sam to be asleep, you were met by the intense sight of him, eyes locked on you the second you opened the door, and tension radiating off him.

"Where the hell were you?" Sam's voice was filled with frustration and disappointment. "I... I went to grab some salt from the market. We were almost out," you answered, confused by his reaction. "Why? What's the matter?"

Sam rubbed over his face in frustration, walking toward you. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, as if ensuring you were in one piece. Even though you were back now, his heart was still racing. "Heck y/n, I woke up and you were just gone. Do you know what that feels like after everything? I thought something bad had happened to you." His voice was shaking with distress.

"I was literally gone for half an hour! I thought you'd be asleep. I didn't want to wake you," you explained, fumbling with your words. "I wanted to be quick in case we needed the salt. It took me longer because there was this huge crash on the highway—"

"Wow, that's a perfect excuse." He cut in. "And you didn't think of a way to call me? Let me know you'd be gone longer? No, no... the only thing on your mind was getting some damn salt." His words stung, more than you expected. "You need to calm down." you replied, trying to pull yourself together. Was he really so distrustful? "I know I should've told you before leaving, but look at me—I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. "Goddamn it, I don't care if you're fine right now. It's the principle, y/n. You do shit without thinking, and I can't stand it." He took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. "There are so many things that could've happened to you out there. How can you be so careless?"

That hit a nerve, and your frustration bubbled over. "Oh, so you think I can't protect myself? After everything we've been through—after all the times I've saved you and Dean—you think I can't handle something as simple as a grocery run?"

Sam's face darkened. "This isn't about your skills. I know you're a good hunter. But you're reckless, y/n. You don't understand what it's like to see someone you love get torn away from you because of one mistake, one slip-up. And then to wake up and think it's happening again..." His voice broke, some vulnerability showing.

You softened slightly, realizing how deep Sam's fear went. But you weren't going to let him accuse you of being reckless. "I do understand, Sam. I know how much losing Dean broke you. But I'm not him. I'm not going to disappear, but you also can't suffocate me because of it."

"I'm not trying to suffocate you. Fuck, you really don't get it, do you?" Sam's voice rang in your ears, and for a second, he just looked at you with disappointment in his eyes. "Just forget it y/n."

The sudden intensity of his words, the way he yelled, startled you. Sam wasn't the type to lose his temper like this—not with you. Sure, you two had your disagreements, but this was different. He was on edge, and you could tell that this wasn't just about the salt. It was about everything that had been weighing on him since losing Dean.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, seeing his fists clench like that scared you, so the only thing you could do right now was walk away. Your voice was quieter now, the fight draining you. "I'll take a walk, clear my head."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you turned to leave the room. The last thing you wanted was to fight with Sam, especially not like this. But before you could reach the door, you felt his hand gently grasp your arm, pulling you back.

"Wait." His voice was softer now, the anger replaced by guilt. Sam pulled you close, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if letting go would somehow mean losing you again. You relaxed into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The warmth of his arms and the sound of his breathing helped calm you both down.

For a while, neither of you spoke. It was as if both of you needed that quiet, the space to breathe and let the tension resolve. And after a few moments, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were softer now, and you could see he felt bad for snapping.

"You know," you said quietly, "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to worry about losing me every time I step out the door. But you also have to let me breathe, Sam."

Sam let out a long sigh, his hand moving to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know," he murmured, though his voice still carried the weight of doubt. "I just... after Dean, I've been going nuts. Every hunt, every day, I'm constantly thinking about what could go wrong, what I could lose next. It's like I can't shut it off."

You reached up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing gently along the stubble on his jaw. "Sam, I understand. I really do. But you can't live like this—constantly on high alert, constantly afraid. It's not fair to you. And it's not fair to us."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, savoring the comfort of your hands on his skin. "I don't know how to stop," he admitted quietly.

"I think it's always going to be there," you said softly. "The fear. But you don't have to let it control you." You paused, searching his face for a moment before continuing. "I'm strong, Sam. I know how to handle myself. And I promise you, if I ever feel like I'm all up in my head, you'll be the first person I call. But you have to trust me. Can you do that?"

Sam opened his eyes, looking down at you, and for the first time that night, you saw a flicker of relief in his expression. He nodded, though you could tell it wasn't easy for him. "I can try," he said, his voice a little stronger now. "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking," you whispered, giving him a small, reassuring smile. You stayed there in his arms, the tension easing itself. Finally, Sam spoke again, his tone lighter but still a hint of guilt in it. "I guess I owe you for getting the salt." You chuckled softly, leaning your head back against his chest. "Yeah, you do. I went through a lot of trouble for that salt."

"Next time, maybe wake me up before you leave," he said, a small smile on his lips, “Or at least don't forget your phone."

"Deal," you agreed with a playful grin. "No more disappearing acts. But you have to promise me something, too." His brows furrowed slightly, "What's that?" he asked. "You have to promise to stop worrying so much. At least a little. You're going to give yourself a heart attack at this rate."

Sam chuckled, the sound low and warm in his chest. "I'll do my best," he promised, “but no guarantees.” You smiled, reaching up to kiss him gently. "I'll take it." Sam kissed you back, slow and soft. When he pulled away, there was a warmth in his eyes, a quiet appreciation for the way you understood him, even when he didn't always know how to explain himself.

"Come on," you said, tugging him toward the table. "I got your favorite sandwiches, you need to eat." Sam hesitated for a moment, glancing at the filled grocery bags. But then he let out a sigh and nodded, he definitely needed these sandwiches now.

"Thank you, baby." He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before grabbing the plastic bags and putting everything away. The room still felt heavy with the weight of what you were both going through, but at least you were in it together. You were safe. He was safe. And for now, everything was okay.

kinda need to fight with Sam just for him to be all soft and cutesy with me after and make up..

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated !!

tags: @gibson-g1rl @nuemanfilms @beausling @angelicjackles @sammyluvr @samwinchesterswifu @sampilled @seasons-of-death @starkeysprincess @rubyvhs @deansenvy @ribbonprincess @mxltifxnd0m

[nogoodmox]

i still have lots of catching up to do re: mox’s current characterization so i might be way off base, but ever since swerve called mox out for carrying his title around in a briefcase last week i haven’t been able to stop thinking abt it

it reminded me of an old mox promo, the one he cut after winning the ipw championship in 2009. in it, he says that this belt he just fought like hell for on the most important night of his career actually doesn’t mean shit to him, because ultimately, it’s just a possession, and “possessions make you a target"

his past self tossed the ipw belt aside like it was worthless, claiming that he himself, jon moxley’s very essence, would become the iwp championship. that way, it wouldn't be a mere possession that could be stolen from him anymore, but a part of him. to me, mox’s character has always been heavily centered around not just being a wrestler, but a fighter. a survivor who pushes through no matter what hardships or impossible odds he’s faced with. nothing in life was ever handed to him, he had to struggle for it & challenge authoritative figures that did everything in their power to keep him from succeeding bc he didn’t fit their idea of what a champion should be. now over a decade later in aew, with mox having been champion 4 times, one of the biggest stars on the roster, and even a corrupt authority figure in his own right with the death riders, it’s like he’s become a warped version of his old self. all the same attitude without the same struggle

he still retains the mindset that was beaten into him all his life; that the odds are stacked against him by a world that sees him as unworthy, that he’s a wrench in a corporate machine that tries to crush authenticity like his. but he’s not the underdog he once was and, in some ways, he’s become similar to the kind of people he used to rebel against. he’s no longer a hunter fighting for scraps to stay alive, but a king who's grown complacent in his position of power

yet the belief from all those years ago that possessions make him a target still weighs on his mind, so he hides the belt from sight. and just like how he vowed to embody the championship with or without the physical belt back in 2009, mox claims that no one needs to see the aew world championship because he is it. no one else deserves to see it unless they struggle for it like he did. but this feels less like the earnest promise to embody a champion that it once was and more like a cowardly excuse, now. he clings to the title, locking it in a briefcase where no one can steal it from him, and he has the death riders to ensure that no one can pose a real threat to his power. it’s his own messed up way of protecting his reign & his status, all the while deluding himself into thinking he’s still the same mox as before

besides it being a callback to what dean said to cena in 2016, i think this may be what swerve meant last week when he said mox was “playing jon moxley on tv.” without the raw authenticity mox harbored before, it’s all become nothing more than a television act

[choerypetal]

The Curse / Sam and Dean Winchester

summary: Sam and Dean had always harbored feelings for you, but their age gap and fear of losing you kept them from expressing it. It wasn't until a lust curse was cast as payback that their true emotions came to light. (reader is in her mid-twenties and the boys 30)

P.S. I apologize for any grammar errors as English isn't my first language, and this is my first smut. I hope you enjoy it!

xo'

Residing in the Bunker had its own challenges, but sharing the space with two strikingly attractive men, while grappling with an uncontrollable curse, took it to a whole new level. The memory was vivid: against the stern advice of the Winchester brothers, you clandestinely hitched a ride in the Impala's trunk on that fateful hunt, only to find yourself prey to a witch's curse upon stepping out. In an instant, you were ensnared by the curse, your eyes ablaze with desire, cheeks flushed, consumed by a newfound craving you hadn't even known existed—starvation for touch.  

“Oh sweet mother,” Dean’s voice echoed as he saw you. Your eyes always seemed to search for something—or someone, to be precise. The headmistress's witch, with her all-too-familiar wicked laugh, had cast her final spell, a curse she ensured would take effect as soon as she died in Dean’s arms. The monster was indeed dead, but when Dean met Sam’s gaze, he knew the hunt was far from over. 

Your mind, however, was focused elsewhere. The symptoms hadn't appeared yet, but the Winchesters made it clear that back at the bunker, any spell books or the help of Rowena would be useful. “I just hope it’s not,” Dean said, a look on his face prompting Sam to bring him back to reality. Flirtations were not part of the ordeal, especially given how vulnerable you had become. “It’s not contagious, although I wouldn’t mind,” Dean said cockily. Sam rolled his eyes with a ‘really?’ kind of look. Dean shrugged, seemingly oblivious to Sam's attraction to you. But unlike his older brother, Sam had some boundaries, especially right now. 

“We need all the help we can get,” Sam said, trying his best to remain composed. Despite his reluctance, he knew his brother was right. The love curse, though unintended, might have been advantageous for the hunt. You had stubbornly insisted on joining them from the start, and now the little payback didn't seem so bad, did it? Sam thought to himself, watching your eyes glimmer with fascination at everything your eyes gazed upon. He couldn’t help but chuckle, finding it adorable as your soft voice finally caught the attention of both boys. “Um… Guys?” Dean was the first to focus on you, raising an eyebrow. That’s when they both realized: your pouty lips, signaling the symptoms were starting to show. Regardless, the brothers knew they would eventually have to escort you out. 

“Bunker, now.” 

The orders were clear, the drive however. Another story. 

Dean couldn’t help but wonder how you were feeling in that moment. A multitude of questions raced through his mind as he tried not to compare it to anything else. Amidst the tension, Sam ensured you remained still. Despite this, your hips pressed against another, and your hands yearned for touch. When you noticed the rope tied around your wrists, Sam gave you a pitying look. He felt bad, but it was the only solution they could think of. “We are close, love,” he reassured you.

Love. 

"Love? Really?" Dean mouthed to Sam, hoping you neither heard nor noticed. Sam shrugged, genuinely trying his best, though he couldn't deny feeling a bit turned on by the rope. If it weren't for the damn curse. “And you said, ‘no flirting,’” Dean said, almost offended. But his attention quickly shifted when you asked them a question.

“Is something wrong with me?” 

Your voice was soft and innocent as you spoke. “No, sweetheart, we just need to gather some information back at the bunker and get you cleaned up,” Dean replied. It was payback time. Sam’s glare was obvious, while Dean smirked, deliberately emphasizing the word "sweetheart." You of course, had simply nodded in respond. The mood shifted as soon as the Impala parked in front of the bunker.

The three of you entered the bunker, and little did you know, Dean had prayed during the drive for Rowena’s presence. She wore an expression that made both brothers uneasy, knowing they’d have to deal with your current state. “Why don’t you go to your room, Y/N?” Sam suggested with a smile, gently squeezing your shoulder. “Adult talk.” His gesture stirred feelings you hadn’t experienced in a while, making you gulp nervously. Trying to hide your flushed cheeks, you nodded and quickly left for your room. 

"So," Rowena's voice chimed in Dean's ear, a sound he was never fond of, especially when he suspected she had some scheme in mind. Whether her intentions were good or bad, the sound of her smirking lips was unsettling, even without her holding any cards. "Why the urgency, boys?" she asked, leaning against the bunker's table. Her eyes scanned the two men, observing as Sam nervously rubbed the back of his neck and Dean swallowed hard before he could speak. "It's Y/N." 

Rowena gave an 'oh?' kind of look, as if she wasn’t already aware of Dean’s confessional prayer a few hours earlier. She relished the moment, knowing full well that nothing could actually cure your curse. "I am afraid," she teased, her tone making it clear that any attempts—whether spells or exorcisms—would be futile. Dean’s brows furrowed in frustration. "And how do you think she’ll let us? Won’t it, you know, ruin the relationship between the three of us?" 

Sam glare at his brother. “Really?” he almost looked offended. As if his brother was pretending not to overlook, while being clear with the attraction the two Winchesters had toward you. And you being more the secretive type, it wasn’t clear if you were in the same page either. 

Little did the brothers know, you couldn't help but be overwhelmed by your own sexual thoughts. The symptoms were beginning to show, and by the time you reached your bed, you felt butterflies in your stomach. You wanted to feel your fingers traveling over your body, down between your thighs. Fortunately, with the brothers a few rooms away, you managed to steal Sam’s laptop and sneak into your room. 

The urgency was palpable as you slid under your covers, removing your shorts and leaving yourself in just a shirt and underwear. You knew you had to be quiet. After typing your favorite porn video into the keyboard, quickly grabbing some headphones. As you watched the video intently, you couldn't help but imagine yourself as the girl and the two men as Dean and Sam. 

Sam and Dean knew that once Rowena was finished, they’d have to take action. This led Sam to wonder about the whereabouts of his laptop. "Did you stole my laptop again?" he asked irritably, prompting Dean to retort, "You know me better than that, Sammy. If I’d stolen your laptop, I would have left it there." This was true, given the number of times they had lived together and Sam had found his laptop the next morning with a few porn sites left open. 

"Perhaps I left it in my room," Sam said with a resigned sigh. Little did he know that his laptop was actually in your hands. Hearing faint moans from the opposite room, he couldn’t resist sneaking in. There, he found his laptop next to you, serving as a monitor. Your eyes were closed, your top and covers off, your breasts exposed. "Sam... Dean..." you murmured, making Sam's jaw clench. Dean had been right. 

Dean noticed it was taking longer than expected and, irritated, went to check on his brother. "Sam—" he began, but was immediately cut off. "Shhh... she's..." Sam's whisper was enough to make Dean furrow his brow. As he moved closer to his brother, his eyes darkened. The way you moaned their names was irresistible. The two men exchanged glances, unable to help but ponder the situation, both of them aware of the bulges now evident through their pants. 

As your eyes opened slightly, you felt your cheeks flush at the sight of their silhouettes lingering just beyond the bedroom's threshold. Meeting their gaze, your eyes then glanced down between their legs, silently pleading for something more. With your hand now free, you reached out, beckoning them to enter. "I want more…" The curse had taken its toll, the symptoms ready to manifest, and both brothers instantly agreed. 

Dean was the first to enter, swiftly taking Sam’s laptop and closing it as you knelt down, the palm of your hand gently caressing the obvious bulge in his pants. A smirk played on your lips as you gently unzipped his jeans, while Sam preferred to watch from the corner of your bed. His eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding before him, unable to resist grasping his own dick. Your gaze, filled with lust, shifted between them both, and as Dean's cock revealed itself under his boxers, you couldn’t help but look at it in awe. “Can, I?” 

"It's all yours, princess," Dean's voice was hoarse, his fingers gently caressing your cheek as he lifted your chin slightly to admire your face once more. "Enjoy it," he said, and you nodded with pleasure, leaning in to press a few kisses on the top of the rim. You heard him groan as his hips moved slightly, feeling your tongue around his cock, swirling as you managed to gulp it all the way down. Before releasing it, your fingers gently jerked it off, while your other hand massaged his balls.

Dean's head leaned back, the tension in the room palpably sexual. Before he could reach climax himself, his fingers cupped your face. Your pouty lips drew his attention, and he said, "Need to leave some for Sammy," now seated in the corner of your bed, allowing Sam to shift between the two with innocent eyes, which made you giggle at his reaction. "Come here," you said, now fully focused on Sam.

And there you were, the three of you entangled on the bed. Sam's hips thrusting inside you, the tip of his cock teasing your clit with each motion. His breath was heavy as your eyes locked, leaning in to kiss your lips hungrily. You felt his tongue wrap around yours before he bit your bottom lip. Your eyes rolled back as you realized how big Sam's cock was compared to Dean's. "That's it, baby girl. Gotta take it all before my brother finishes you up," he murmured, urging you on. 

Dean, on the other hand, made sure you were just as occupied and focused. His cock filled your mouth as you managed to stifle your moans from Sam's thrusts. "There, there," he groaned, moving his hips to mirror Sam's movements. Eventually, Sam withdrew from the soreness of your pussy, now so pink. He couldn't bear to leave without planting a few kisses on your clit before leaving Dean to finish you off.

"It's my turn," the older brother declared, giving Sam a playful push, eliciting a chuckle from him as he admired how sore you had become. First, Dean licked his bottom lip, then leaned between your legs, eagerly eating you out. You felt his tongue tracing circles around your clit, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's so small," he teased with a smirk, "just like our baby girl." Sam joined in, barely giving you time to exhale a moan before his dick was in your mouth. "When we say we're not finished, we mean it," he added firmly. 

Dean's cock felt different from Sam's, but despite the soreness in your pussy, the pressure was intensely present. It was thick, reaching deep inside you, almost to your stomach. Your back arched from the constant pleasure, and the brothers made sure your body would be covered with hickeys from head to toe. Sam withdrew from your mouth, leaving you to jerk him off as you said innocently, "I'm about to cum." This was enough for the brothers; Dean also withdrew, teasingly brushing the tip of his cock against your clit, making your legs shake from the orgasm. Their cum landed on your stomach. What the three of you didn’t know was that as soon as you came, the symptoms began to fade away. The curse was gone.

"You okay?" Dean asked with concern, noticing you had returned to reality and chuckling softly at your current state, which made the two brothers more worried. Was the curse really gone? Sam looked at his brother, and Dean could only shrug, waiting for your response. "Yes..." you said softly. "And it took a curse to finally..." 

"Finally?" Sam's brow arched as he looked between his brother and you. Before he could say more, you chuckled again. "For us to finally express it." Despite the unusual circumstances, the two brothers couldn't help but smile, chuckling as they both leaned against your bed, scooping you in between them. "So you knew?" Dean asked, almost offended by the efforts he'd made to keep his feelings hidden, fearing it would ruin the friendship. "Told you," Sam said teasingly. "You owe me 50 bucks."

You glared at Sam and smacked his chest before he wrapped his arms around you, sneaking kisses into the crook of your neck. It was his obvious way of making you forget the ordeal. As you rolled your eyes, you said, "I guess curses at least have some benefits." The two brothers rolled their eyes. "Even if I don't like it, I prefer you this way," Dean confessed. Although you appreciated the sentiment, you couldn't help but tease in response.

“Say mister flirt,” 

Dean, almost offended, attacked you with kisses, making you laugh. "Ours," he said with a proud smirk. You returned his smile and kissed his cheek.

"All yours," you replied warmly.

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `scar tissue, dean winchester ༘♡

summary: you're a midwestern girl whom dean can't seem to stay away from. word count: 1244 pairing: dean x countryfem!reader now playing;｡･:*♫♪ scar tissue - red hot chilli peppers

i guess i have a knack for fixing emotionally (and physically) unavailable men </3 if you recognise the farmhouse pic .. ur goated

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

Your hometown is scarily small.

So small, in fact, that everybody knows everybody. Everybody knows you.

Everybody knows Dean.

That motherfucker, the one that left you kicking and screaming the whole fucking house down. The one that promised you everything and more, just to leave you like you meant nothing. Like you were nothing.

It’s not like it was on purpose, because he needed to ensure that you were safe. That nothing would get to you if he wasn’t there. That you had the life you deserved without him. You didn’t care, though, because anything with him was something. He meant a lot to you, more than he’d ever know.

It’s way past midnight, the soft rustle of the trees sound through your slightly ajar windows, owls cooing and the farm animals shuffling and making subdued noises. There’s something that’s telling you to not sleep, something that’s eating away at your brain, picking away, but you can’t seem to figure it out.

Your home is fully fenced off with electric barbed wire, a gate with a lock and high enough that no one can climb over. You know you’re safe, but something is nearby, you can just feel it.

There’s an uneasiness, a pit that falls inside of your stomach as you gaze out of your window, as a knock raps on your door.

You freeze, palms sweating, and a coldness runs down your spine. Your breath halters as you silently make your way to the front door, reaching into your basket full of blankets, pulling out a semi-auto pistol, clicking the safety on. You lean next to the door, hoping you can hear some sort of noise from the window behind you. It’s a stupid idea to face away from the window, knowing something could just reach out and grab you, much faster than knocking the door down. They knock on the door again, this time it felt urgent. “C’mon…” you hear a rough, desperate voice plea from the other side of the door. They sound eerily familiar, but not enough to welcome them in.

“Y/N? Are you awake?” He calls out, his silhouette through your stained glass paces back and forth on the balls of his feet. A huge, leather jacket basically consumes him and he runs a hand through his gelled back hair.

Motherfucker.

Luckily, your porch light gleams just enough so you can make out his face, and sure enough, it’s Dean. He’s slightly hunched over, holding his left side of his ribs with his right hand. Part of you wishes you could tell him to fuck off and to never come back, maybe set one of the dogs on him, but you don’t.

Each time he comes back, you wish that he’d tell you he’s going to stay. And each time is the same.

You unlock the door leaving one chain left on the hook. Turning the door handle, you open the door so the chain recoils with force. Dean huffs, a weak smile on his face. “Hey.” He greets, and you roll your eyes. “You only visit when it’s convenient for you, huh? Y’ever think about me for once in your life?” You spit, shutting the door on him to unlock the chain. You reopen, inviting him in. He scoffs. “I think about you quite often, actually. You know I’m doing this to keep you safe.” He replies, straining each word as he shuffles over to your kitchen island, propping himself onto a bar stool.

He shuffles his jacket off, laying it across the bar stool behind him. Blood seeps through his shirt, a slice so clean that no knife could’ve done. You bite your lip gingerly as you sift through your first aid drawer. It takes a lot of effort to keep your mouth shut. To keep the peace. Your mother always told you that ‘silence is golden, but sometimes it’s just gilded surrender.’

“Then why in the living hell have you come back?” You question him, completely disregarding keeping the peace. He’s quiet, pursing his lips as he peels his shirt up toward his chest, revealing the gnarly cut across his torso. You tut, examining how easy, or how difficult, it will be to patch him up. You rummage through the materials, gathering the right ones to fix it. He watches you, assuming you’re not looking. You can feel the tension build between you both, his eyes glazing over you. “Y’know how easy it would be for me to tell you to git gone? To stay away from me?” You practically lie through your teeth, knowing full well that every single time he comes back, you let him stay. You let him walk all over you like a damn door mat.

He looks up at you, a certain shine in his eyes that only you can see. A shine that means something. “Y’look like you wanna tell me somethin’.” You sigh, preparing him for stitching. He groans, whether it’s from the alcohol wipe or if it’s from your prying, nonetheless, he’s whining again.

“I need to stitch you up, okay?” You tell him, and he nods. “Yeah. Fine.” His tone is low and tired. Dean takes deep breaths to counteract the sharp, shooting pains travelling through his abdomen. “Ready?” You murmur, and he nods. You use the needle to pierce his skin, causing him to flinch in shock. The suture threading through his skin repeatedly. You’ve gotten pretty rapid at this, each time becoming easier than the last. It’s not often when you do it, though, but it’s a very useful skill.

Dean’s eyes follow you. They chase you, like you’re something he wants but can’t have. You put the items away and throw the needle in the bin, walking over to the sink and you scrub your hands thoroughly.

“You wanna know why I’ve come back?” He huffs as you wipe your hands on the kitchen towel.

“Why?” You don’t even hesitate, you keep your back turned to him, hunching over the counter. Dean stands up and walks over to you, hovering behind you.

“Because I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes widen as you hear those 3 words you’ve been dying to hear for years. You press your lips together, scanning every thought in your brain, every emotion this man has ever made you feel. But there’s nothing that compares to this feeling.

You inhale, then exhale out of your nose, slowly and gently. Taking in the moment. You turn around, your eyes travelling from his torso up to his eyes. “I’m staying away from you because I need you to stay alive. You don’t understand how badly I want to be with you. If I stay put too long, you’re dead. No one except for Sammy gets it. I just need you to get it. Please.”

“You love me?” You coo, placing your hands behind your back, intertwining your fingers. A slender smirk appears on Dean’s face as he steps closer. “I do.” His smile grows larger by the second, reality finally setting in for him.

You reach up and kiss him gingerly, your lips barely touching, as he lets out a small sigh. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he places a hand in your hair, moving it down to the nape of your neck. “To tell you I love you.” He kisses you, and this time, he means it.

He really means it.

[mostlymarvelgirl]

More Than Just Love

PAIRING: Dean Winchester X Reader

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Warnings ⚠️ : None.

More than his baby, Dean Winchester loved you. Sure, Baby had held a lot of love for him and meaning to his loving memories. But you were something he wanted to just drown into. He watched you as he leaned against the worn wooden counter of the kitchen, his eyes fixed on you as you sat across from him, sipping a cup of coffee. The fluorescent lights above hummed softly, casting a warm glow over the quiet atmosphere of the bunker.

You were different when it was just the two of you. No filters, no pretenses. You were raw, unguarded, and utterly captivating. Dean's heart swelled with that hot, raw and blazing burn as he watched you, his gaze drinking in every detail. It was the only time you were yourself completely. He felt special and so completely fazed into you. He loved that he was the one that you didn't put up any walls or barriers. How you opened your heart and soul to him.

He loved your hair was free, your eyes, bright and sparkling, shone with a warmth that made Dean's chest ache. He was terribly and soo deeply in love with you that he knew love was just not enough. He adored every little thing about you whether you knew it was something that barely mattered. Your smile creasing the corners of your mouth when he woke up on those sunny, peaceful mornings.

Dean's eyes roamed over your face, taking in the small scrunches across your nose, the gentle curve of your lips when you laughing at something. He felt his heart stumble, his breath catching in his throat. He was so deeply, irrevocably in love with you.

He wanted to just absorb you into his heart. He would do anything for you. You were his haven, his sanctuary. When the world outside grew dark and chaotic, you were the one who brought light and order to his life.

As the morning wore on, Dean found himself lost in the depths of your eyes, drowning in the sea of emotions that swirled within them. He felt seen, heard, and understood in a way that he never had with anyone else. And in that moment, Dean knew that he would do anything to keep you safe, to protect you from the dangers that lurked in the shadows. He would fight to the death to ensure that you remained by his side, where you belonged. Dean felt his love for you swell, a tidal wave of emotion that threatened to consume him whole. He knew that he would never let you go, that he would fight to the end of time to keep you by his side.

You were his everything, his reason for being. Dean knew that, till the end, he would love you, unfiltered and unconditionally, for all eternity.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[queer-dancing-fandom-nerd]

Behind These Plastered Walls Created for @infinitecakes

Artist: @onowey Author: @queer-dancing-fandom-nerd (BunheadKitKat19 on AO3) Rating: Mature Parings: Castiel/Dean Winchester Length: 34,291

Tags: Autistic Castiel, Writer Castiel, Injured Dean Winchester, Modern Setting, neurodivergence, Flirting, mild miscommunication, first impressions, Healing, past traumas, Mutual Pining, internalized ableism, Slow Burn (more like they UHaul but it takes 30k), Vulnerability, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sexual Tension, Getting Together, First Kiss, First Time, Non-Graphic Smut, content warning for past events in chapter A/N, Undiagnosed Autism Summary: Author Castiel Novak’s comfortable routine gets completely disrupted when he spots that his neighbor has fallen off his roof. His neighbor with gorgeous green eyes and a smile that always stirs a flutter in his chest. His neighbor of three years, who he always became inexplicably tongue-tied around that he never got a chance to even trade names with. His neighbor, probably the only other person on their street that lives alone and so rarely has guests over, and seemingly none who are from around. Worried that the man Castiel’s been pining over has no one else to take care of him, Castiel follows him to the hospital and is ready to put everything in his admittedly less than eventful life on hold to ensure the man’s safety. But Dean Winchester isn’t what Castiel expects, and Castiel can’t tell if this disruption will put his career at jeopardy if he fails to meet the upcoming deadline for his next book, or if it’s somehow exactly what he needs.

Link to Fic | Link to Art

[ienjoybeingahater]

Dean Winchester is the open wound in the body that is Supernatural. He is an infection that spreads until it poisons everything around him, no matter if It's a person or a plotline.

At first, he was just annoying and borderline abusive, something that could be explained by his upbringing, that could’ve been explored. There was potential for him to grow, to evolve beyond the toxic traits he inherited from John, to show that people can get better, that your upbringing didn't define you and for a bit, it seemed like he might. But as soon as he showed signs of becoming better, he ripped off the scab of progress and let the wound fester instead. Season after season, rather than improving, he got worse, getting more selfish, hypocritical, and abusive. Instead of healing, he became the rot at the show’s core.

The infection spread beyond just his character however, it consumed the entire narrative. Everything began to revolve around what Dean wanted, how Dean felt, and what Dean needed. The other characters stopped being people with their own agency and instead became tools, existing to serve and cater to his every whim. The story bent itself around him, sacrificing logic, depth, and complexity in favor of ensuring that Dean never had to face real consequences. It ruined the show’s potential. Instead of telling a story about how a bond like Sam and Dean’s (or even Dean’s relationships with Cas, Charlie, etc.) could help someone grow into a better person, they doubled down on Dean’s worst tendencies. Instead of evolving, he dragged everyone else down with him.

One example of how Dean’s toxicity didn’t just warp the narrative but completely destroyed a character is Castiel. Castiel represented something meaningful at the start: the idea that humanity, despite all its flaws, was still worth fighting for and that people can change and form their own opinions even though they've been controlled and manipulated before. He was proof that even among corruption and destruction, there was goodness that made it all worthwhile, that people can forge their own path if they believe in something and act upon said belief.

But, once the writers started throwing rotting breadcrumbs at the Destiel shippers, they stripped Castiel of his character and made everything about Dean. Instead of being a character with his own beliefs, struggles, and development, he was reduced to nothing more than an extension of Dean, an accessory whose only purpose was to suffer for him. And what did Dean do in return? Nothing good. He never treated Castiel as an equal. He constantly belittled and ridiculed him, acting as though Castiel’s sacrifices were either expected or irrelevant.

Castiel went from breaking free of heaven’s control, from questioning blind obedience and learning to think for himself, to willingly throwing himself into another toxic, one-sided dynamic where his needs and wants didn’t matter. He lost everything, his family, his power, his home, his life, and for what? Are we supposed to find it meaningful that Castiel’s entire existence was reduced to a last-minute, half-baked confession that Dean didn’t even acknowledge? That his death scene was brushed aside with no real grief, no impact, no weight? He deserved better than that but the writers decided it would be a good idea to have Castiel’s story amount to nothing. In the end, he was nothing but a footnote in Dean’s narrative, something that mattered for a few minutes before it lost its relevance.

But if Castiel was collateral damage in Dean’s story, Sam was the biggest victim.

From the very beginning, Sam had potential, potential for something beyond hunting, beyond the endless cycle of death and violence that consumed their lives. He had dreams, ambitions, and a future that should have been his. And every step of the way, Dean was there to tear him down. Long before the show even started, Dean was already keeping Sam small, making sure he never realized that he deserved more than a life of blood and misery. Dean wanted Sam trapped in hunting, dependent on him, tied to him forever and that pattern never changed.

He is obsessive and possessive, acting less like a brother and more like an overbearing owner who refuses to let Sam have any independence. The second Sam does anything without telling him, whether it's texting someone, making his own choices, or simply not answering a call, Dean immediately acts like Sam just opened Pandora's Box. He treats Sam’s autonomy as a threat, as if the moment he isn't constantly under surveillance, the world will fall apart.

But he's not just abusive he's also incapable of accepting his mistakes considering that Dean becomes aggressive and defensive as soon as they get brought up. Examples include breaking the first seal which was 'understandable because he got tortured', tricking Sam into getting possessed which was 'something he needed to do because he didn't want Sam to die' (no matter how much Sam wanted to), and locking Sam in the panic room to die because he'd "at least die human". Still, he never hesitates to throw Sam’s mistakes back in his face. Sam is never allowed to forget drinking demon blood, never allowed to forget trusting Ruby, even though she preyed on his vulnerability and caused his addiction to manipulate him. Dean also holds him responsible for being Lucifer’s vessel, even though that was quite literally decided by God. And yet, when Dean makes mistakes suddenly it’s not his fault, and everyone just needs to move on because they all made mistakes (especially Sam, apparently).

But Dean’s hypocrisy doesn’t stop there, oh no. Because when Sam was blamed for "freeing Lucifer," by mistake he alone was expected to fix it, but when Castiel knowingly freed Lucifer suddenly all of them needed to take care of it. The double standard is obvious and tells us the following: Dean plays favorites when it suits him, and when it doesn’t, he shifts the blame onto whoever is most convenient which more often than not, means Sam is getting blamed.

And yet, despite treating Sam like a scapegoat, he also treats him like a trophy, a possession, something he has complete control over. He needs to know where Sam is, who he's talking to, and what he's doing or he'll pretend like the world is ending.

But he doesn’t just control Sam, he's not just hypocritical and abusive, he also sabotages his storylines at every turn. I'm saying that because every time Sam had an interesting plotline, something that could have made the show richer and more compelling, something that could've made Sam stronger, Dean was there to ruin it.

Sam's demon blood arc? Reduced to a mistake Dean never let him forget about, rather than the complex story about addiction and manipulation that it could have been. Not to mention the fact that even before Ruby used Sam's grief to get him addicted Dean judged Sam for having the blood inside him in the first place; as if it was his fault Mary made that deal, as if Sam could have stopped yellow eyes as an infant.

Sam as the Boy King of Hell? Dropped without explanation and never picked up again (until years later for one minute that is). I personally think they dropped that particular arc because Dean would have been insufferable towards Sam during it which they couldn't do considering 'Dean is such a cool guy'. It was the same with Sam being psychic: Dean would never accept the fact his brother wasn't what he wanted him to be so the plotline was scrapped.

Sam's hell trauma? No need to explore it or show the lasting effects because Dean would be sad if Sam wasn't perfectly fine after his mangled soul got forced back into his body (by Dean, mind you).

Sam being suicidal? Why explore that if you can do other, more interesting things with Dean instead?

Even Sam’s relationship with Jack was downplayed. The parallels between Sam and Jack alone make it obvious that the relationship between the two of them should have been the focus of Jack’s introductory season. Sam, who spent his life struggling under the weight of what he was supposed to be, who was told time and time again that he was dangerous, that his powers made him evil, was the perfect person to guide Jack through the same struggles. But that wasn’t explored. The fact that Sam was raising the child of the man who abused and controlled him, the child of the being that essentially destroyed Sam's life and psyche even though he was probably scared to death every time he saw Jack wasn't explored either.

Jack’s entire story should have revolved around his relationship with Sam, the person who treated him with kindness, and who tried to help him even though his father was, like I said, the being who abused him for centuries. Their relationship should have been so much more but it wasn’t and why?

Because they needed to shove Dean into Jack’s story instead. Even though Sam was the one who treated him with kindness, who defended him, and who saw him as more than just a weapon, the writers made sure to include forced bonding scenes between Dean and Jack so that they could pretend Dean had always been the father figure. I'm sure they did that so Destihellers and the writers could pretend Cas and Dean were Jack's parents even though everyone who watched the show should know that isn't true no matter how much certain people might want it to be.

Alone the fact that Dean threatened to kill Jack should make that obvious.

The sad thing about all of this is that Sam was supposed to be the main character but when fans decided Dean was cooler, the writers catered to them instead of telling a story about the person that's objectively more interesting.

So in conclusion, Dean Winchester wasn’t just a toxic character; he was an infection that spread through the entire show, warping the story, ruining the characters, and dragging Supernatural down with him. Every plotline, every relationship, every moment of potential was sacrificed so that he could remain the center of attention. The show could have been so much more, but instead, it chose to revolve around the worst thing in it: Dean.

(I will make separate posts about Sam and Castiel as well)

Side note: I wrote this at 3 a.m. because I couldn't sleep and saw people waxing poetry about Dean on Twitter.

[artbyblastweave]

Frederick Sinclair is a really interesting foil to Mr. House. I mean you start digging into this and it's just parallel after parallel after parallel. Start at the high level. House sinks inordinate amounts of resources into saving the city of Las Vegas - not the people, but the city- from nuclear destruction; as long as the stage endures, he can get anyone to wear the costumes. Sinclair sets up an entirely new "community" totally off-the-grid for the sake of protecting one woman, plasters that place with her likeness. House is a visionary with a 200-year action plan to rebuild society in his image, bootstrap space exploration, and construct an interplanetary empire; Sinclair sank everything he had into building the most secure facility possible for a woman who he knew was terminally ill anyway, just to ensure that her last few years lived in the aftermath of the nuclear apocalypse would be as comfortable as possible- there's a fundamental pessimism baked into what he was doing. Both House and Sinclair relied heavily on automated defensive systems and cutting-edge, esoteric technologies to accomplish their ends, but House built his power base on proprietary robotics and computing technology, much of which he personally designed- an outgrowth of his policy of never widening his circle any more than he absolutely has to. Sinclair, in his naive techno-optimism, outsourced his utopia, grabbing flashy third-party technologies like a kid in a candy store- opening a backdoor for the Think Tank to poison his city and ultimately getting everyone at the Gala Event killed when the holograms malfunctioned and went berserk.

Their management styles are inverse. House allows countless abuses to occur under his aegis because he subscribes to a libertarian-when-convenient philosophy where he doesn't much care what the little people do as long as he gets his cut and they don't rock the boat too much- a hands-off approach that fosters resentment amongst his subordinates, lets the White Gloves and Omertas get up to untold levels of fuckery while Freeside languishes and Benny conspires against him. Sinclair, by contrast, had a sincerely-held utopian-straight-edge safety-first micromanagement approach built into the very bones of the casino, he appeared to genuinely give a shit about the safety of the construction crew on the villa, and he was well-liked by nearly everyone who had any direct contact with him- and yet untold horrors also went down under his aegis, because his myopic focus on building the vault for Vera let Dean Domino and the Think Tank run circles around him, good intentions be damned. Their respective interpersonal dispassion and obsession are on display in how they react to betrayal. House's tone never rises above exasperation when it comes time to clean house of Benny, the Omerta Leadership and the White gloves; he treats them as problems to be solved, gears that are slightly out of alignment; By contrast, when Sinclair learns that Dean and Vera have been playing him, he channels the monomaniacal energy he previously directed towards protecting Vera towards the goal of building the perfect poetic-ironic death trap for her and Dean.

There are some other parallels in their personal lives. For one thing they both trusted a pastiche of a 40s lounge singer a lot more than they should have. They both tried to digitize, immortalize their girlfriends- and the discrepancy in how they went about it is telling. House's recreation of Jane isn't terribly robust, and in terms of House's overall project she's an afterthought. She's more a sock-puppet than a person, a sanded-down copy of a woman who died forever-and-a-half ago, forever agreeable, never saying no. Convenient. Only the most superficial visual elements preserved- an illustration of her face on a robotic chassis. Sinclair was obsessive in recreating Vera, preserving her likeness. It's all over the villa, her hologram is everywhere, her voice is everywhere. The terminal in the lightwave lab in Old World Blues reveals that he was still obsessed with getting her hologram right even after the love curdled into hate. All of it a monument to the real woman, and yet in all of it the real woman is still lost, buried under the mythologized projection. He didn't respect the real person enough to let her know that she was dying. A total failure of preservation from the opposite direction. (Except in the suites, where you can hear her very authentic dying pleas.)

You find both of them in their basements. House only looks a little better than Sinclair, but he's got much more of a voice in the narrative. He took steps to make sure he'd be around to tell you what he thinks about everything, fine-tuned the voice with which he speaks to the world, the face he presents. It matters to him that he gets to tell his own story. We find out a lot about House, from House; but for the kind of figure that he is, a shocking amount of what we learn about Sinclair comes from other people, people who knew him or wrote about him. The only image of him you can find is a downplayed element of a larger mosaic. The two documents you find that're written from his perspective have been buried for 200 years, and they're yards from his corpse. And the more recent of the two is an apology. I mean admittedly at the point where he wrote that apology Sinclair was personally turbofucked regardless. If the cloud didn't get him the holograms would have, or the radiation, or, or, or. You can read some level of ego into what he did in the face of that. But however futile it was, he died in the specific way that he did because he recognized that he'd done something awful, and he was trying everything he could think of to correct it. Somehow I find it very hard to imagine House doing either of those things- admitting fault or putting skin of his own in the game to make it right.

[marginofthought]

Dean making Sam cockwarm him after cumming inside

Dean making Sam keep his hips up and ass clenched with the clear order not let a drop of cum out

Dean pushing a plug inside Sam to keep his cum inside

Dean doing everything to ensure Sam is well and truly bred

[shanastoryteller]

I don't know if you do that but I am gonna shoot anyway 😅 Do you have any fic recs that are Dean centric? I am sure he will be suffering in all of them but I'd also love it if he were getting comforted not gonna lie 🥹 But if you don't do recs it's also fine, have a nice day!

answering this publicly if other people have recs because probably not lol

i guess it depends on what you mean by dean centric? like does back count, it's his pov and mostly about his hell trauma, but through the lens of him hashing out all the s4 bullshit with sam. or dumb luck or good ghost is his pov, him losing his mind while in deep denial, and sam isn't even it for the first 2/3, but also does it really count as dean centric if his every waking thought is about sam? then again, if his every waking thought isn't about sam, that's ooc as hell

i am smushing dean like play doh, i am poking him with a stick, i am sitting in my backyard and adding him to my plastic bucket to make potion, but i am at heart a sam girl. these are all simply sam girl activities

in no particular order here are some fics i like that i think are dean heavy to dean focused, but whether they're dean centric probably depends on your specific kind of brainworms

It's the Blueprint of Your Life by queenklu  Sam jerks awake in the middle of the night and everything goes to hell. Well, not literally, though Dean is staring down the barrel of less than a year before his deal comes due. In the midst of dealing (or not dealing) with his impending death, a killer ghost ship, and Bela showing up out of the blue, Dean also has to figure out what’s going on in Sam’s head to make him so twitchy, why he’s suddenly breezing through this case while writing endless notes in a notebook he won’t let Dean see. Damn it, Dean thinks, This is gonna take a lot of chickflick moments. comments: one of my absolute favorite spn fics, so it's possible i'm just biased. dean trying to figure out what the hell is going on with sam and then what the hell he feels for sam. also a really great exploration of dean's self worth issues and him confronting that, which is really what i think justifies adding it to this list

A Lifetime or Two by nigeltde Dean's been living too long on the surface. comments: late seasons when mary's still around but before the BOL has blown up in their faces. great exploration of his relationships with sam and mary and how they intersect. the sequel is also required reading

Credit for a Kill by TheMarvelousTolkienJob Dean had figured he knew how his day was going to go. Do some research, hunt a little, maybe even go out for drinks afterward. He hadn't counted on taking part in someone else's quest for revenge nor on Sam being held hostage to ensure that he would complete said revenge. comments: dean being a badass and saving sam plus bonus bobby to the rescue!

Desiderata by Dyed_Red Dean is hit with a curse. It shouldn’t take that much to resolve, could be a gift under other circumstances, but life’s not that simple for the Winchesters. comments: incomplete, but close enough to the end that you see where they're going and how they get there. dean torturing himself, which we all know i love, and some really scorchingly hot and fucked up sex scenes

mother is pretending by hathfrozen Dean blurts, "So, you're saying I'm like, Mommy, or something?" He's never had a joke land so completely flat. It sounds strangled and weird coming out of his own mouth, like it was never supposed to be a joke in the first place. "Um," Sam starts, and his voice fucking cracks. "Dean." Immediately, Dean says, "I didn't say that. Sam, I never said that." (Sam and Dean get reckless about how they're handling the pain of season 2, and whoops! slowly develop a Mommy kink along the way.) comments: the author is like i am taking your hand and we are going on a journey and at the end of it you are going to believe these two get into mommy kink with dean as the mommy. and by jove, they did it

it started with the kinks by deadlybride Zachariah gave them their memories back, but he didn't erase what had happened in the time they were other people. Dean Smith made a mistake, and Dean Winchester--well. He's still living with it. comments: 4 part series exploring dean's character and his relationship with sam through panty kink

Flying Weight by flesh Sam wakes after being soulless for three years to discover that Dean and his relationship with him have undergone some serious changes. Through traveling and hunting with Dean, Sam struggles to put his life back together after events he has only limited memory of. A season six wincest AU comments: thank you fleshflutter we love you. a classic for a reason. painful, intense, interesting look at dean. you ache for everyone the whole time but it's all okay

Filthy Mind by rivkat Dean acquires unwelcome nightly visitors. Set post-Hell, without details as to how that happens. summary: take the warnings seriously. really good look at sam and dean's (and society's, especially 20 years ago) different views of assault, consent, and masculinity. sequel is required reading and soothes the teeth gnashing hurt of this one

All Shall Fade by theMarvelousTolkienJob The plan was simple. Sam would watch security cameras while Dean did interviews. Nothing bad was supposed to happen and certainly not...this. Anything but this. Set in Season 14. comments: great look of dean pushed to the edge and also explores his skills as a torturer, which is something i don't see often in fics even though it's such a defining and character shaping change for him

Behind Me by K Hanna Korossy She wasn't sure what he meant, just that he needed someone else besides her. Outsider POV. comments: dean stripped down to his bare essentials

Find and Seek by K Hanna Korossy Dean, trapped in a small, dark place, with bodies and rats. Sam needs to hurry. comments: dean having the absolute worst time and losing it inches at a time, which is great especially because practically speaking he's not in any danger - it's just psychological hell

Unforsaken by K Hanna Korossy No matter what Dean believed, his family and friends hadn't abandoned him. comments: the second half and how dean processes it is both realistic and heart breaking. it's short even within the confines of the fic, but you're rooting for him

In Reverse by sodakey After Faith, a job has the boys looking for missing hikers in Wyoming. While Sam worries it’s connected to what happened to Dean ten years ago, Dean wonders if Sam would be better off back in the world of normal. comments: another one that's a classic for a reason. hits dean exactly right

And Fools Shine On, If Belief Was Enough, and Woven by gekizetsu Dean's been souljacked. And nothing in their arsenal is going to save Sam from his brother. summary: the first part is more about sam than dean, but the second and third are really killer. dean is unraveling, literally, and it's up to sam to weave him back together again, even at the risk he'll see parts of dean that he'd rather show no one. there are parts reading this where you say to yourself am i the one going insane here, and an interesting birds eye view on how much you can own a soul not your own. really strongly recommend