#supernatural side character fic

[apocalypseornaw]

Could Have Been

Benny Lafitte x Female Reader

You never meant to cross a line with Benny. He never meant to develop feelings for you. When Dean needs him to save Sam he has no choice but to agree. Its Dean's little brother and your best friend. You never got to say goodbye.

Warnings: some cursing, mention of steamy times and some mention of injury

When Dean called you'd been surprised at first, yeah him and Sam had found you after he'd crawled out of purgatory. The guilt you'd felt for not looking for him even if Sam had stopped to pursue something with Amelia was tremendous for the simple fact that Bobby would've kicked any of your asses for giving up on the other.

Knowing the Winchesters for as long as you had you also knew Dean would never call for a favor unless it was for a good reason. Especially from his little brother's best friend. The first time you'd met Benny had been by mere coincidence, having simply been close enough to back him and Dean when he'd went after his old nest.

----------

Getting stuck between Dean and Sam after the fact? That hadn't been fun. Sam didn't trust Benny. You gave him some lead way for the simple fact that he got Dean out of purgatory.

After that day Dean had asked if it was ok to pass one of your burner numbers on to Benny. You'd agreed for the simple fact that it kept him and Sam from arguing a bit.

After what happened when Martin came after Elizabeth you nor Dean knew what would become of Benny or if one of you would be forced to pull that thread if it came to it that is until you got a call late one night.

-------

You were half asleep in your car after pulling off at a brightly lit rest area to catch a little sleep. You were too far from a motel or any of Bobby's cabins to chance driving any further with how tired you'd been after the last hunt.

When you'd answered the phone you knew you sounded angry but it was more tired than anything. The moment the accented voice hit your ears you started to sit up further in the seat "Sorry darling. Didn't mean to wake you" you ran a hand over your face and shook your head despite being on the phone "It's ok Benny. I was just catching a cat nap so I could make it on to a motel. Whats up?"

"Um Dean sent me a message and said you'd be closer. I um hell can you pick up a cooler for me? I'd do it myself but.." you cut him off "Of course. Send me the address of the pickup and where you are" "Thank you darling"

----------

Four hours later you were knocking on a cabin door in upper Texas. The door creaked open and the light from the full moon caught Benny's eyes making them shine a bright blue "I'll be damned if you wouldn't be a sight for sore eyes even without the cooler" you rolled your eyes playfully "Jesus, were you aways this flirtatious or is it a side effect from spending a year with Dean?"

-----------

He stepped back to let you inside as a laugh left him "Well if you knew how many stories I heard about you in that year's time it wouldn't be a surprise" you laughed as he shut the door then motioned to the table when you asked where to sit the cooler "I'm afraid that's a side effect of knowing Sam since we were kids. Me and Sam were always dumped at Bobby's before we were considered old enough to hunt full time"

You realized he was listening to you with a small smile on his face and got a bit self conscious "Something wrong?" He shook his head "Naw, just listening to you talk about Sam makes me want to like him despite the fact of him wanting to kill me" you flinched a bit at the reminder and felt the need to say "I'm afraid you managed to land in a heap of trust issues and old arguments between them two"

He nodded "Yeah Dean said you're pretty much the only person that's never batted an eye at their bullshit" you laughed lightly "Yeah that's putting it lightly"

----------

You ended up crashing at the cabin after Benny offering you the bedroom. You hadn't liked the idea of kicking him out his bed but he reminded you that you'd went against Sam for him and bought him a special delivery as he called it.

Benny wasn't a bad guy, vampire or not. He was just trying to find his way in a world that he wouldn't ever be accepted by humans or vampires. Not to mention he was gorgeous, a broad build mixed with those eyes and that accent? You were glad he wasn't the type of vamp you hunted. He was charismatic enough to leave a long line of victims behind him.

----------

The laugh he'd gave when you'd told him that was warm enough it wrapped around you.The next morning when you started to hit the road again you'd made him promise to call if he needed anything and he told you to call if you needed an extra hand "Not much of a hunter but I can fight"

Months passed and unless you were actively hunting, a week rarely went by without you seeing Benny. He'd kept to his word and had helped you take out a wendigo and a couple werewolves.You found yourself looking forward to seeing him.

The day you'd stumbled into his cabin, bruised all to hell and back from hunting ghouls you'd never seen a vampire actually go pale before that moment.

----------

"What happened?" He asked, easily scooping you up into his arms to carry you across the threshold and into the bedroom. He laid you across the bed and started to take your boots off despite your protests that you could do it and that you'd had worse. "Ghouls. Big pack" you mumbled, pushing his hand away when he lifted your shirt slightly to look at your side "It's just bruising. I wouldn't have put you through coming here with an open wound"

He chuckled slightly "I could give a damn less about smelling blood at the moment. You look half dead. Why the hell didn't you call me or another hunter?" You did your best to glare at him as you said "I survived it didn’t I?" but knew it fell flat when he winked at you "You know you're adorable when you try to look scary?"

---------

You grumbled something about being gorgeous if he just handed you your duffle but nevertheless you let him help you get your torn tshirt over your head and accepted one of his shirts to change into. A few ibuprofen and a glass of water later you were sound asleep.

He considered if he should call Dean but he had a feeling this wasn't just from the ghouls. Dean said you had worse of a habit then he did of burying yourself in hunting and that if you didn't have a partner at times you had a habit of pushing yourself to exhaustion. He'd keep a check on you and if any of those bruises started smelling too strong of blood he'd know you'd hurt something serious and he'd call Dean.

----------

He looked at you again and felt something inside him flutter. It'd been so long since he'd thought about another woman besides Andrea and you were probably the polar opposite of her.

She'd been an heiress. Born into the lap of luxury with a silver spoon in her mouth. Yes she'd been kind after she'd fallen for him and they'd had a good life together at one time but you? You were something else entirely.

A hunter and a damn good one if what he'd seen and heard was any indication. You'd stood against Lucifer with the Winchesters. You would fight tooth and nail for complete strangers and risk everything for those you cared about. You deserved everything good in the world yet here you were trusting him enough to not only come to him when you were hurt but to curl up in his bed asleep after letting him check your injuries and help you change.

He'd never wished to still be a man and not a monster as much as he had since he'd met you. If only he was a hunter like Dean then maybe he'd have a chance.

----------

You woke up sore but feeling a lot better. You rubbed at your eyes wondering how long you'd been asleep. Last thing you remembered was Benny helping you change into one of his shirts that was big on you.

You smiled slightly at the memory but blushed. Damn you'd not only slept in his bed post hunt with no shower but in his shirt. Fuck,with his sense of smell you probably reeked. The smell of coffee hit your nose and you decided to risk wondering into the main part of the cabin.

-------

Benny was standing at the counter when you walked in and smiled "Morning?" You asked and he shook his head "It's six pm" your eyes widened. You'd slept for about fourteen hours.

"Shit I didn't mean to come here and go comatose" he shrugged "Gave me time to go get that coffee and those croissants you like" your stomach growled embarrassingly loud and he chuckled "Hungry?" You nodded "But I need to shower" he shook his head "Eat first then you can shower. It ain't gonna bother me, fifty years in purgatory didn't exactly smell like roses darling"

You hadn't took that in consideration. You crossed the room and took the cup of coffee and paper bag from the bakery when he offered it "Mr Lafitte you're a lifesaver" he smiled "Nice to know"

----------

After you were showered and changed into your clothes you grabbed Benny's shirt and headed outside where he was sitting on the porch to offer the it back. He looked back when you walked out and smiled "You could keep it if you want" you laughed lightly "Well I have two of Dean's shirts and one of Sam's so it's gonna start looking like I'm a thief"

You sat down next to him, turning to have your back to the banister so you could face him "Cute thief" he teased and you rolled your eyes with a smile "Easy Lafitte, I'll steal all your shirts" he raised one eyebrow "If you wanna see without em its easier to just ask"

You leaned closer, letting one hand find its way to the buttons at the neck of the dark blue henley he currently had on "Well I mean you've seen me without one.." he shook his head with a laugh that sounded more like it had almost slipped out as a sigh "Easy darling, that flirtatious streak is starting to slip out of you"

You remained where you were,letting your fingers slide up to play with the short beard that graced his jawline "I don't really flirt that much" he swallowed hard and when he met your eyes it took everything you had to not get lost in his eyes. They were such a beautiful shade of blue and the depth of thought going on behind them was loud enough to make you falter.

---------

You let your hand fall "Didn't mean to cross any lines Benny" you leaned back fully against the banister and felt him watching you even when you glanced up to look at the quarter moon. "and before I forget thank you for taking care of me. I guess sometimes its hard to admit that even hunters have to give our bodies the necessities"

A silence fell between the two of you and you started to stand with intentions to head in and grab your boots so you could get ready to hit the road again but before you could move to stand his hand reached out for your wrist. Your eyes trailed up his arm all the way to his face, a smile slipped onto his face "You didn't cross any lines I'd be opposed to you crossing"

You knew he could hear how loud your heart was beating, could probably damn near taste the blood that pumped through your veins but fear was the furthest thing from your mind "What are you saying Benny?"

His tongue peeked out just enough to wet his lips, something you'd long since pegged as a nervous habit that had managed to follow him beyond his human life. "I'm saying that I've felt something for you for a while but your friendship means more to me then acting on those feelings because hunter or not you're human and I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you"

-----------

Benny sat there waiting for a response from you but had it not been for the fact that he could clearly hear your breathing and heart beat he would've guessed you for a mannequin because you'd become utterly still in that way that as far as humans went he'd only ever seen Dean exhibit. "So you're scared to kiss me because I'm a human?" You asked after a moment and looked almost dumbfounded.

"I don't want to hurt you but you are a helluva woman. You're absolutely beautiful and..." he was cut off by your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. You pulled back and smiled at him "See? Still very much alive" he chuckled and nodded "I see that, so can I kiss you properly?" You nodded so he moved to grab you by the hips, the shirt you'd had in your hand long forgotten as he pulled you into his lap and he felt your legs move to straddle him.

You laughed lightly as he pulled your lips down to his. This time he was in charge of the kiss, the moment his lips met yours he felt you relax against him, a light moan escaping you as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. When he rolled his tongue against yours the response he got was your hips grinding down against him in a way that had his grip tightening on you.

After a moment he pulled away and both of your chests were heaving a bit "Damn" you whispered leaning your head over to place feather light kisses across his jaw then down his neck.

A part of him registered that this wasn't the best idea. You were still a human, being with Andrea had taken a learning curve. Add in fifty years in purgatory and months of pent up thoughts about you... that part quieted the moment he heard you say "Take me inside Benny. I want you, please" he was standing up, bracing you in his arms before he could think of how bad of an idea it was.

The relationship between you and Benny blossomed easily. Not much changed from the routine you'd set in place over the last few months. You'd hunt, he'd work at the diner two towns over and when you would need a place to land you always ended up in his arms and in his bed.

He had fallen for you somewhere along the way. He knew chances of you feeling the same were slim, he knew hunters spent their lives with the least amount of attachments as possible but he told himself it was enough.

The way you'd touch him, the sounds you'd make when he would touch you. The way it felt when you moaned his name, clinging to his shoulders as he brought you over that edge. The little lines of blood you'd draw from his back and spend days apologizing for although they'd heal as soon as he fed. It was enough.

-----------

How the hell had it gone from you keeping an eye on Benny to help Dean out to this? You were sitting on the counter in the kitchen of his cabin wearing his shirt while he moved around the kitchen cooking you an omelet because he swore you needed to eat a home-cooked meal every now and then.

He'd stop every now and then to step between your legs and press a kiss to your lips. You weren't sure what exactly it was between the two of you but you liked it. Benny was amazing. He took care of you like no one ever had and reminded you to take care of yourself. You loved nothing more than feeling his arms wrap around you after a rough hunt.

You were broke out of your thoughts by one of his fingers tracing patterns on your bare thigh "What ya thinkin bout so hard?" You shook your head "The fact that my bed head probably looks insane" he raised an eyebrow before playfully examining your face "hmm I've seen you look wilder" your face warmed with the under lying meaning of his words and he laughed "Cmon. You gotta eat something"

When Dean Winchester called for a favor it wasn't ever a small one. Benny stood in front of Dean listening as he described the position he'd been shoved into. Sam was stuck in purgatory. He'd gone in to complete a trial and it wasn't just him but Bobby's soul at stake.

"I wouldn't ask Benny but he's my little brother" "The little brother that you and Y/N had to stop from killing me?" Dean sighed looking defeated "You're right it's too much to ask" even as Benny was wanting to say no,wanted to ask if there was another way memories flashed through his mind. You telling him stories about you and Sam when you were younger. The bond you two shared. The stories you'd told him of how Bobby had practically raised you and both Winchesters.

"I'll do it but let me make a phone call first"

"Darlin, it's me. Look if you get this message and ain't heard from me or Dean chances are things went south real quick. You know those trials you said Sam was chasing? Well they took a turn into purgatory. I know what he means to you and Dean both so I'm going after him. I may regret leaving this message if I make it back topside but there's a couple things I need to tell you. One is that there's something in the top dresser drawer at the cabin for you, you'll know it when you see it. The other thing is that I love you. Bye Y/N"

You sat in silence, the necklace you'd found in that drawer around your neck. It had a silver rose pendant. From what you could tell it'd been warded with the strongest protection charms three covens in Louisiana had at their disposal.

Dean sat on the top step next to you, looking out over the field that was next to the cabin. "You gonna stay here?" You shook your head "Not without him" he nodded "Did you love him?" You shrugged one shoulder, tears finally falling "I could have"

Tags: @123passwort

@valeks-star

Chance to Be

[beregond35]

Cat in the Trenchcoat - Story Status Complete

A big thanks to everyone for sticking with the story. I was pleasantly surprised to see so many people enjoying it. Take care and see you next time. :)

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  I'll Gitcha Fixed

Series: Supernatural B-Sides

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: Our Mr. Winchester takes it upon himself to help correct a friend's toxic thinking patterns..

Tags:  Dean Winchester, Female Reader Character, Female You, Depression, Toxic Thinking, Plus Sized Reader, Smallfat Reader, Songfic

AN:  The song is "Come to Poppa," written by Earl Randle and Willie Mitchel, performed by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band-- one of the filthiest songs ever recorded that stays within the bounds of good taste. I was in a Mood and this happened. For purposes of clarity, the You in this story is a smallfat at best-- i.e. needs to shop in the Plus section but can find clothes easily at most major retailers. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

The door opens with the sounds of Lynard Skynard music and the stench of spilled beer and old cigarette smoke, the BEER’O’CLOCK showing just past eleven on a dead slow weekday night.  You're still decked out in that stupid dress, high heels swapped out for your biker boots.  You look, and feel, utterly ridiculous.  “Whiskey, neat,” you tell the bartender.

“You got it.”

Ah, Jameson.  Cheaper than therapy and available outside business hours.

"Heya baby--" at your death glare the fog of booze smell that might've once been a guy floats away, listing all the unflattering yet true facts that mean he wasn't really interested anyway.  God willing your standards will never drop that low.

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.  "Whiskey, neat."

"Hey," you greet the Devil as he toes over a stool and parks it next to you.

"Hey," Dean Winchester greets you back, tossing the whiskey down his throat and tapping the glass for another.  "You okay?"

"Peachy," you lie through your teeth.  "What happened?  You strike out at the Honey Hive?"

A shrug of those wide shoulders.  Stood next to the physical specimen that is his younger brother, it's easy to overlook certain things about Dean.  Like those big hands, those long legs.  "Wasn't in the mood I guess."

You narrow your eyes.  "Okay who are you and what've you done with Dean?"

He glares at you.  "That's not funny."

"Of course it is."  A twinkle on Dean's hand and you shake your head.  "Dude, if you're looking to hook up maybe take off the ring."

"What, you don't like being fake-married?"

So not the problem.  "Operative word being fake."  Don't fucking tease me, you want to say, nobody with working eyesight bought that we were anything other than the geek show.  It'd gotten the job done, distracting everyone at that party long enough for Sam to sneak in, set the fire, and sneak back out.  As Hunts go it'd been a layup.  Certainly not enough to make you forget the tittering, or the blowjob jokes, or the endless She's So Fat bullshit, as you and Dean playacted the tipsy bickering couple with no discretion or volume control.

Smiling that gotcha! smile, Dean says, "Then how come you're still wearing your rings, honey?"

"For the same reason I wear a wedding ring any time I go out drinking.  Men only think pussy's unavailable if somebody else's already got his name on it."

The smile disappears.  Maybe you were a little too mean with that one.  "What're you getting pissed off at me for?"

God damn it, you're just drunk enough to feel oversensitive and weepy.  Bob Seger's voice in the background singing low and insinuating -- if you neeeeed . . . a pacifier, call anytime . . . I'll try to be your satisfier -- doesn't help.  Part of you is back in the hot garage of your childhood listening to your older brother's friends make filthy jokes about your early-blooming body.  "Never mind.  Never mind," you finish your water and go fishing for your wallet.  Stupid fancy dress making you feel simultaneously overdressed and naked, stupid tiny clutch purse, stupid ring set that’s just loose enough to keep snagging on everything . . . you’re wrapped in fucking layers of stupid.

"No wait a minute--" you slip Dean's grabbing hand as you shove a twenty under the empty glass and a five into the tip jar.

"Leave her alone pal," the bartender warns.

"It's cool, it's cool, she's my wife," Dean says.  For that, you could cheerfully shoot him.  Instead you hit the door and juke around the side of the building, cutting back across the alley and over the fence to your motel.

The light's still on in Sam and Dean's room.  Of course, Sam must've kicked Dean out for some face time with his girlfriend, Dean struck out at whatever bar he'd gone to looking for company, and decided to come poke at you for lack of anything more entertaining to do.  It’s a pleasure working with Sam and Dean.  It’s the not-working parts that give you trouble.

You're halfway out of that stupid dress when a fist hammers on your room door hard enough to knock it off the hinges.  "Let me in!  I need to talk to you!" Dean yells.

"Get lost!" you yell back.

"No!"  You hear him swear under his breath.  "You got to the count of three before I get out my lockpicks!  One . . . two . . ."

"All right, all right, all right, shit," you surrender, "gimme a second."  You yank on a pair of leggings and your lucky green Mavs jersey.  Dean all but shoulder-checks you out of the way when you open the door.  "Won't you come in?" you grouch as you shut the door and lock it.

"Don't mind if I do," Dean sarcasms right back.  He turns around and his eyes widen.  Oh right, between the leggings and the lucky green Mavs jersey you look like a chubby leprechaun.  A chubby, braless, saggy titted leprechaun.

"What do you want, Dean?  I'd like to get some sleep since getting drunk's not an option."

“Okay," he counts on fingers, "one, getting drunk is always an option.  And two, why did you just assume I struck out somewhere else?”

“Be-cause you sure as hell weren’t looking for me?” you say, speaking slowly and clearly as one does with drunks, small children, and the obviously delusional.

“I was looking for you!”

“Like hell you were.”  Because like hell he was.

“Yes.  I was.”

“What the hell for, man?”

“Oh I dunno-- I kind of liked acting fake-married and I wanted to spend some time with my fake wife?”

“As opposed to literally anyone else on Earth,” you snap.  This needs to get over with before you start sniveling.  Stress weeping, you’ve done it all your life.

Dean blinks.  He opens his mouth as if to say something, closes it.  “Okay.  Explain something to me.  Why do you think any red-blooded American male with taste would not want to spend time with you?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake--”

“Answer me.”

“You and your brother were practically raised by wolves so let me clue you into one of the unwritten rules of modern etiquette,” you say.  You want to get mad, you need to get mad, but your voice isn’t co-operating.  The joke’s on you because it always is, and you’ve never been a talented enough comedian to take control of it away from the bastards.  “It’s polite to at least wait until the fat freak is out of earshot until you start laughing at her.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Especially when you’re supposed to be aforementioned fat freak’s fucking husband, you douche.”

Closing his eyes and using your name like a parent correcting a naughty child, Dean says, “I.  Wasn’t.  Laughing.  Shit I was this close to knocking that asshole’s teeth out.  Only reason I didn’t is somebody would’ve called the cops and blown our cover.”

You snort.  “Like anybody bought that we were a couple anyway.”

With a look in those beautiful green eyes you can’t read, Dean says, “Why not?”

You point at him.  “All-American eleven.”  You point back at yourself.  “Texas three, and that’s if the lighting is generous.”

“Jesus, babe!”

“Don’t call me that!  Just get out,” you whirl to run for cover in the bathroom and pray it’s got a lock.

Next thing you know you’re smushed against Dean’s chest, wrapped up like a rat in a snake’s coils.  The motherfucker’s cuddling you, swaying a little on his feet and rubbing your back.  You lose it and start sobbing.

“Sweetheart I’m sorry,” Dean keeps saying as you weep into his shirt.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” you snap.  “You’re not the one being a fucking crybaby!”  Over what, some sniggering and the same jokes you’ve been hearing all your damn life?  Christ.  He’s pulled the claws from your anger and all that’s left is humiliation.

"I had no idea you were thinking that,” Dean says.  Something presses against your hair.  You refuse to believe it’s Dean’s lips.  “I thought . . . when we had to get that rent-a-cop’s attention, I thought we had a moment there.”

Oh yeah.  The moment.  When Dean had taken it upon himself to interrupt your fake arguing with a firm kiss that had not felt at all fake.  You’d felt like a fraud all evening, dressed up in that stupid cocktail dress intended for someone a bit taller and a lot thinner and effortlessly outshone by Dean in white tie.  Trying desperately to prune back a totally inappropriate crush is what had driven you to the nearest dingy bar with every intention of slowly drowning your sorrows, having a hardcore mope in the privacy of your room, and moving on in the morning.  Storing the memory of that kiss somewhere dark and safe, only to be pulled out on very special occasions.

You’re sitting down on the bed and Dean’s bringing you a glass of water and a cool washcloth.  With a tenderness you totally wouldn’t have expected, he cleans you up and watches you drain the glass.  “I’m sorry,” you mumble, too embarrassed to look at him.  You might never look at him again.  “I’m a weepy drunk.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Dean says, taking a seat next to you.  “Hey-- look at me a minute.”  With your chin held in the crook of his forefinger, Dean tips your head until your eyes meet.  “I get not wanting to make a habit of blowing your own horn but good God damn, the shit you’ve been saying is just cruel.”

“It’s not cruelty if it’s true Dean.”

“That’s the thing though.  It’s not.”

“Well!  Let’s go from head to toe, shall we?”  Talking over Dean’s protests, you start with your lifeless too wavy to behave and too straight to be interesting hair and end with your ski-barge flat feet and ankles that roll like marbles unless you strap them up like a ballplayer’s.  “And that’s before we get into weird hobbies, picky eating, terminal dullness, self-centered assholery.”

Dean’s gone very pale.  “If I heard anybody saying shit like that about you I’d break their fucking necks.”

“Start with the one and only drunk impaired enough to hit on me at the bar.  Something about putting a sock in my mouth and a bag over my head, and only if he could put it up my ass.  Look, I ain’t pretty, I ain’t rich, and I don’t care.  I just want to get out of the day with a little bit of my goddamned dignity.  I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“Am I allowed to speak now?” Dean asks.  Before you can say yes no or maybe so he says, “I wasn’t laughing with, at, or anywhere near you.  Sam was having trouble getting out from between those rosebushes and I needed to distract that dumbass with the cane.  The drunk wasn’t the only guy there checking you out.  I mean, does your brain just go bleep whenever anybody says anything nice about you?"

“Add stupid to the list,” you remind yourself.

“Stop it,” he orders.  “You’re not a freak, you’re not stupid, anybody staring at us was jealous, and they were jealous of me, not you,” he heads you off.  “I spent an hour after we got back to the motel pacing a hole in the carpet wondering if I should just grow a sack and come over with some dinner.  Sam finally kicked me out.”

What?

“What?”

“Swear.  Ask him.”

“He’ll lie.”

“Nope.”

If you were a computer you’d be bluescreened.  “You guys could be pranking me.  Of course you’re pranking me,” you say.  “Hah hah, very fucking funny.”

“Right, my brother and I are conspiring to play the world’s least funny joke on a chick who’s got three-tenths of a second and never goes anywhere without two knives and a Beretta nine millimeter,” Dean says dryly.  “Do I look suicidal?  Never mind,” he brushes off.  “Anything I say, you’re not gonna hear.  So let’s try this.”

You’re not ready for Dean to take your face between his hands and kiss you.  Like, really kiss you.  Not a half-angry smack of lips like earlier.  Those perfectly soft, plush lips gently tug at yours and your heart kicks straight into Overdrive.  He sighs into your mouth as you open for his tongue.  "You're so sweet," he murmurs, trailing kisses along your jaw, nibbling on your earlobe.  "I'm gonna find that stupid hoodie you always wear and burn it."

"What?" you ask.

"Are you kidding?" Dean asks you back.  His hand drops to your hip, sliding down your leggings and not finding a ridge.  "I knew it.  No panties either.  Come to the door, no bra, no panties . . ." he trails off as, careful not to pull, he takes the elastic out of your ponytail and spreads your hair in a cool curtain down your back.  "You're so mean, hiding all this from me all this time."

"What?" you can't help but ask again.  This isn't computing, your brain's blown a microchip or two.

"Fuck-- you still think I'm lying or something don't you?"  Dean sighs, closing his eyes.  It's so not fair, even his eyelashes are beautiful.

Your brain tries one last time to cut this off before something irrevocable happens.  “I’m not a pity fuck Dean.”

Dean’s eyes open and fix you with a look that dries your mouth out.  “Good.  I don’t do pity fucks.  Now where were we?  Oh yeah,” he takes one of your hands and kisses the palm, presses it to his cheek.  “This is where you kiss me.”

So you do, tasting whiskey on his breath.  Slow, giving you time, making you wait, he presses a hand up your ribs, caresses up to your tits.  Here it comes, the cringe when he feels the squish and the sag-- there's no cringe.  Why isn't Dean cringing?  God knows you do, and you have to live with the damn things. 

Dean pulls back, staring into your eyes.  He gulps.  “If you want me to stop tell me now,” he says.  When you don’t say anything, he adds, “I’m serious.  If you want me to leave I’ll leave, if you want to just hang out we can do that--”

Of course.  “If you want to go just go already!”

“I don’t-- shit.”  Dean grabs your wrist and presses your hand to his-- “I’m so hard I could break fucking boards.  I don’t want to be anywhere but where I am.  With you.”  His hand flexes, shapes your hand around his bulge.  He’s not lying.  At least not with that part of him.  “When you showed Sam that leg holster I damn near ripped the zipper out of my pants.”

“That was two months ago!”

“My point.  Why do you think I keep calling you for backup?  You’re smart, you’re tough, you’re fucking beautiful.  Jesus, I thought . . . I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t picking up the hints I was dropping.  Why do you think I volunteered to dress up and do the monkey dance?  I hate hanging around rich bastards!”

“Free finger sandwiches?”

Dean opens his mouth, closes it again and shrugs.  “The crab and cream cheese ones were pretty good.  Point is,” he says, and he’s not holding your hand any more and you can . . . that’s him, hot and hard and with no reason to lie.  “Point is I’m here because I wanna be.  So it’s your call.”

Something in you goes click and it hits you all over again just how fucking beautiful he is, all strong jaw and shining eyes and perfectly kissable fucking lips.  God damn it, you think as you feel the first high hit your brain, you do not need to be falling in love right now.  Not now, not here, not with this man.

There are, however, two very powerful factors working against your common sense.  Heterosexuality and eyesight.  “Stay?  I want you to stay.”

“Oh thank God.”  Dean pulls you close, grunting with you as he lays back on the bed.  “Climb aboard,” he laughs as the two of you make a mess of getting your legs up off the floor.

“I can’t, I’ll hurt your back--”

“No.  You won’t,” Dean tells you as he rolls you underneath him, a knee pressing between yours and opening a space for his body.  “I’m not hurting yours am I?  Pretty sure I’m bigger than you.”

“I . . . what’re you doing?”

Dean looks up from where he’s been kissing down your chest, on the fabric of your jersey.  “Kissing you.  What do they call it on your planet?”

“You’re being a tease!”

Grunting a negative, Dean says, “I’m on a mission now.  I’m gonna make you forget every minute of bad sex you’ve ever had.  And all I need from you is a little patience.  Can you do that for me honey?  Can you be patient for me?”

“Oh-- okay,” you agree.

That proves difficult.  Dean’s just . . . touching you.  His fingertips find your nipples, stroking them in itty-bitty arcs until they’ve poked up against your shirt.  All the blood and sensation in your body pounds downstairs.  Oh God, you’re soaking into your leggings, you can feel the fabric sticking to your pussy.  Protective reflexes are going by the boards; there’s no evidence Dean’s just waiting for you to take a hint and suck him off or give him your ass or something.

You gasp as he touches your damp crotch.  Christ your clit’s throbbing so hard it hurts.  Dean takes his fingers, sniffs at them.  You feel your face get hot.  No time to get a shower; you must fucking stink.

As though reading your mind Dean pushes your thighs further apart.  Hot lips fall to the wet patch between and you cry out, “Fuck!”

“Can’t resist,” Dean says without looking up.  More heat as his tongue presses to your wet tights and you writhe as Dean hums the yummy hum.  “Never understood that,” he says to himself, pressing and caressing until your entire center throbs against the hot material of your wet leggings.  “How can any man who loves pussy resist going down on one?”

“Dunno,” you manage.  Your fingers claw into the bedspread, taking up huge handfuls of cheap printed polyblend.  “Oh God, fuck,” you whine.  “Dean, please.”

“Patience,” he reminds you, sucking your honey from your leggings with an obscene sclurp.  Off he shucks his blue button-up and black T-shirt.  Oh fuck, how he manages to keep such a beautiful body on a diet of no sleep, max stress, and all the grease is a modern science mystery.  The flies on his jeans are undone too, and through his open zipper you can see his oh my poking up against his briefs.

You sit up and grab his face in a kiss.  Dean opens to you with a little surprised squeak.  Your tits drop and jiggle as he pulls your T-shirt off and throws it somewhere.  His hands feel like warm suede on your skin, all strong fingers.  You bite your lips on a moan as Dean kisses down and around and not where you need.  Holding you in place with a hand between your shoulderblades, he just keeps making you wait.  Lips and tongue and rough whisker-shadowed cheeks driving you clear out of your mind.  When Dean’s lips finally close around your painfully tight nipple you clench.  Your fingers sink into his soft hair, nails digging into his scalp.

“Ouch!”

“Shit!” you yelp, shoving Dean away.  “I’m sorry!  Are you okay?  I didn’t--"

Dean shuts you up with a kiss.  “I’m fine.  Just gotta get my boots off.”  He kisses you again.  “Don’t move.”  You don’t.  You just watch as he sits up and bends to untie his laces.  How does he do it, make every move look totally natural and artfully choreographed at the same fucking time?

“Lose the tights,” Dean orders, “or I rip them off of you.  I’m not kidding.”

He sure as fuck doesn’t look like it and you peel off your leggings.  Now it’ll come-- the little cringe when he sees the wiry hair between your legs, more twig pile than bush.  And the doughy look of your thighs.  And the stretch marks low on your belly.  And the literally everything because--

Dean shucks out of his jeans and naked, naked, he is naked now, nakedness is happening.  Something in your brain short-circuits.  Dean by-God Winchester.  Naked.  Bed is also there.  With you on it.  Also naked.  So much nakedness.

And good Lord he’s beautiful.  All the way to the wide head of his cock.  Which is hard.  Pulsing.  Leaking tiny beads of precome.  Which you can see because he’s naked with no clothes on.  Looking at you, Dean gulps.  “Fuck you’re beautiful.”

Don’t lie to me, you almost say, you don’t have to lie to me.  You can’t say it.  Not with Dean’s cock staring up at you.  Dean hisses through his teeth as you curl your hand around him.  “Hang on a sec, hold on, shit,” he says.  He fishes in his jeans pocket and slips you a condom.  “Wanna do the honors?”

“Sure.”  You can’t resist playing with that beautiful cock some more, making Dean squirm and flush.  Please Lord let this not be a one-time-only happening, you need time to enjoy this cock.  Pet it, kiss it, lavish it with affection.

When he’s finally wrapped up, Dean pulls you underneath him.  His hips fuck forward, rubbing his latex-covered cock along your soaked cunt.  “There we go,” Dean says as you reach between your bodies and fit him to you.  The air leaves you as Dean thrusts home, gliding and stretching and feeling fucking perfect.  “Fuck,” Dean whispers.  “Oh my fuck you feel good.  Knew you would,” he kisses your cheeks, your eyelids, nibbles on your neck hard enough you know you’ll be wearing marks in the morning.  He reaches up to cup your face and you moan when you feel the cool arc of the fake wedding band on his finger.

Even through the thin barrier of the condom Dean’s blazing hot inside you.  Instead of how it normally is during sex -- a vaguely pleasant rubbing that doesn’t really add up to anything -- as he moves, God it feels like he’s stroking up against every feel-good nerve in your body.  Not just with his cock, he’s pressed against your entire body, like he’s enjoying having all of you touching all of him, like he really isn’t grossed out by any of you.  For the first time in your life the sounds you’re making are totally unprompted; you’re not going for an effect, you physically cannot keep quiet with Dean making you feel this.  He’s making sounds too, dirty and sweet and they’re turning you on so fucking much.

Dean pauses.  “Don’t,” you cry, so softly.  Like this is a dream and you’ll wake yourself up to an empty bed and a tear-stained pillow.

“I’m not,” he says, kissing you and groaning when you quiver around him.  “Next time it’ll be slower.  Better.  I promise.”  Your brain’s still melting from the implications of the words slower and better when Dean shifts his weight a little and his hips start working in earnest.  He’s . . . somehow this magic fucking man’s rubbing your swollen clit and fucking you so beautifully, you’re afraid of the feelings building and building and building--

You choke back a wail as everything crashes into white sparks and you come in a full-bodied clench.  Christ it hits so hard your vision actually goes weird a second.  Dean cries out as your cunt clamps down on him.  His back arches on a final slam of a thrust and he moans his climax out loud to God and anyone else who might be listening.

“Oh man,” he heaves, collapsing on top of you in a hot press of skin and muscle, “that was awesome.”

A giggle pops out of you.  “Off.  Squishing.”  You ooze out from under Dean’s body and wobble upright on shaking legs.  Oh woah.  This is gonna hurt tomorrow.

After using the facilities you wash your hands and splash some water on your face.  You catch sight of your night-dark reflection in the mirror, lit only by the streetlight coming through the window.  Even in the gloom you can see whisker-burn on your skin and red marks on your neck because holy fuck you just had sex with Dean Winchester.

Your knees start trembling and you brace your hands on the counter.  Sex.  Sex.  Sexsexsexsex . . . your brain stutters.  Through the closed door you hear movement.  Of course.  Dean’s getting dressed and running for the hills.  Filing you away in his mental Regrets folder.  You linger there, staring down into the sink because you can’t bear to look at the marks Dean’s left on you.  I don’t do pity fucks your ass.

Quiet outside the door.   He must be dressed by now.  Maybe he’s already gone and you just didn’t hear the door.  Dean can be damned quiet when he wants.  God you’re tired.  You need sleep.  Reset the system.  Give yourself a chance to wake up from this dream.

Dean hasn’t left.  He hasn’t gotten dressed either.  He’s lying to the left, curled up a little on his side.  At the sound of your feet scuffing the carpet, his eyes open and he smiles.  “C’mere baby.  Come to Papa.”

You chuckle.  “Gotta love a man who loves the Silver Bullet Band.”

Dean’s eyelids lower and his lip curves into a come hither leer.  “If life is haaard to understand,” he sings in a low, tuneful, fucking erotic baritone, “and your life gettin outta haaaaand . . .”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you say.  Dean holds up the covers and you slip into bed.  Reflex has you perched far to the side, leaving plenty of space for Dean.  You take up more than your fair share of everything, including the bed meant for two.

Dean demonstrates his disagreement by pulling you close and tucking you next to him.  Like he a cuddler or something, like he actually doesn’t mind having your naked skin touching him.  Like he enjoys it or something.  Making a sleepy noise, Dean kisses you.  “You okay?”

Boy that’s a complicated question.  “Ask me again in the morning.”

“’Kay.”  Like a cat sinking itself into a cushion, Dean stretches and shimmies deeper into the blankets.  In the process, one of his arms goes around you, warm and heavy.  Your common sense is MIA.  Nothing’s telling you to take it easy, remember what you are, be careful with your feelings.  Your mind is quiet, peaceful.  You’re safe here.  You can lie here and be safe, for just a little while.

Just for a little while.

---

AN2: Ya know, I think this song's within Mr. Ackles's vocal range . . . um, 'scuse me, I think my ovaries just melted. 😉

[laurelwinchester]

Fic: How the Light Gets In (Dean Winchester/Laurel Lance)

I’M ALIVE, Y’ALL!

Okay, let’s get this horror story on the road.

Additional warnings for this chapter: Honestly, there are so many additional warnings for this chapter that I urge you to just read the list of warnings at the top of this chapter on AO3. There is going to be a lot going on in these next few chapters when it comes to horror and also when it comes to motherhood.

Also, if you already have a phobia of birds, things are going to get a bit dodgy from here on out.

.

Chapter Twenty Two

Milk

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''You left town to lead Edie away from us,'' he says. ''She's back now and so are you. It's a moot point.''

''Dean, you know it's not just about - ''

''Relax,'' he cuts in tersely. ''I'm not asking you to come home.''

She knows that she has no right to be upset by the dismissal, but she is. ''Oh.''

''But you're back in town, you seem to be sticking around, and Mary needs you,'' he says. ''She needs to be able to see you and hear your voice. I get that you're not ready to come home and I'm trying to respect that, but it's been over a week since you got back and if this separation is going to last however long it's going to last, we have to figure out a way to get you to her. I know you're worried about Edie and what could happen, so it's - I mean, I'll be there too. If you feel like something's about to go down, I'll get her out of there. But she needs you.'' He is steady as he says this, resolute, determined, but calm, like maybe he has practiced this speech, thought long and hard about it. But she likes to think she knows him pretty well by now and she knows how to hear what's simmering underneath. There is desperation in his voice.

Something has spooked him.

That makes two of them.

''Laurel?'' His voice is gentle, but exasperated. ''You still there?''

''I'm here,'' she says. ''I'm here. I'm just, uh, a little...'' She drops her head into her hand briefly, palm pressed against her forehead. ''What are you thinking? Like a... a supervised visitation kind of thing?'' She lifts her head and looks up at the ceiling, shaking her head, pushing away the tears.

Last month, they were in California, just the three of them, their little family, walking the beach at sunset, taking five thousand pictures of Mary in her puffy blue coat over her purple sparkly dress making sandcastles. They listened to old records and ate good food and slept peacefully. The sun shone on them. They were the calmest they had ever been.

Last April, she was happy. She had moved past her birth trauma, she thought she had moved past her postpartum depression, she was looking forward to having more children, doing it all over again, moving into a bigger house, living the life she had always wanted with everything she could have hoped for. She was sober, employed, working hard at being a good mom, a good wife, a good person. She was, in a lot of ways, peaceful. She was working on a happy ending.

Now she gets supervised visitation.

Read more on AO3

Or start from the beginning

[autismvampyre]

watching supernatural feels like homework sometimes. like i gotta watch all this shit to get to the stuff i'm gonna like in... what, two seasons???

[sunderwight]

Bingyuan fic where Bingge makes a bargain with some variant of the System in order to find his own Nice Shizun, and is then deeply confused and kind of pissed off when his supernatural Nice Shizun Tracking GPS system keeps leading him to some random twink in a noisy dimension full of glass and machines.

He's just like, I don't have time for a rare male wife plot. I'll circle back to the beguiling siren later, okay? Shaking his shizun tracker and smacking the side like it's an old-fashioned television and he's trying to get a better signal. Shen Qing Qiu, he's trying to find Shen Qing Qiu, where the heck is he?

Meanwhile Shen Yuan has no idea what's going on but he's still trying to help. After all, it's not every day your favorite fictional character shows up on your doorstep. Better let him have the guest room and teach him how the internet works!

[take-it-on-the-run]

And I Love Her

Sam Winchester x Reader

The reader and Dean are being tortured by Gordon Walker because of her relationship with Sam, and all they can do is hope he'll get there in time.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Torture, graphic depictions of being cut into, descriptions of gore and severe bodily harm, Sam Winchester is out of character depending on who you ask

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! Can I request a Dean and/or Sam Winchester (sepperate) x fem! Reader set in season two, with an established relationship, where it's like when Gordon kidnaps Dean, but instead of just Dean he also kidnaps reader. (I can imagine if it's a Dean x reader Gordon uses reader to get Dean to not try anything, and if it's a Sam x reader Sam just going even more ballistic than he originally does in the show). Thank you!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Beatles title. My first Sam fic! Honestly, it was really hard writing this one for some reason, and after five revisions I'm still not completely in love with it. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, and heed the warnings! Do not read if this will make you uncomfortable!

Sam Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Gordon stared blankly at the wall in front of him while you tugged at the ropes on your wrists. A bandana was tied tightly around your mouth that tasted like dirt and your own blood. Dean was tied up to the left of you in a similar state, and both of you were staring down Gordon like it would kill him.

Traps lined every entrance from the doors to every small crack in the wall. Sam was powerful, but you doubted he could break through solid brick. Grenades, tripwire, even a shotgun trap that looked like something straight out of a movie; Gordon wanted Sam dead at all costs.

You knew your boyfriend would come to you and Dean’s rescue, but damn was this cutting it close. Gordon had already tried his best with Dean, but when it was your turn, he took his sweet-ass time.

He punched you, kicked you, even spit on you. Now, you tried your best to not scream as he dragged a knife against the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder.

You failed.

Biting down on the bandana, a muffled scream ripped through your lungs. You tried focusing on Dean, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes which were spilling over with more tears than you thought were in your body.

You could feel your blood dripping down your back and your chest, slithering its way to the floor as Gordon wiped his blade with the rag in his back pocket. He wrenched your head to the side, forcing the fresh wound close and for more tears to streak down your face.

He repeated his process on you a few times.

Your arms.

Your hands.

Your legs.

Every time somehow hurt more than the last, the hunter pulling open your skin and snapping it back together like a rubber band. Your vision was spotty, but you held steadfast to the thought that your boyfriend would be here any minute to save the day like he always did.

Gordon took a step back, wiping sweat and blood from his face and arms. He looked down at you with a glare that you’ve held plenty of times for the less-than-human creatures in the world. You guessed that, in his eyes, you, Sam, and Dean, were held in a similar regard.

Snaps.

Taunts.

Cracks.

Screams.

All because you fell in love with someone born under a bad sign.

You didn’t regret meeting Sam. Kissing him, falling for him, even the idea of just having him in your life was enough for your mind to justify the situation you were in. It wasn’t his fault you were having your life drained out of you minute by minute, and you hoped he would be smart enough to know that.

“Sam’s going to be here any minute, you know. Gotta convince himself he’s the hero of this story, and I’m the big,” Gordon turned to you, knife in hand, “bad, evil dragon. But I’m not the one with demon blood, am I, Y/N?” He placed the edge of the blade against the bottom of your chin. You could feel the cold steel heavy against your skin, and any sudden move would surely spill even more of your blood.

Dean glared at Gordon, his face shades of purple and blue, which mirrored the pain you felt along your entire body. Gordon dug the knife into the bottom of your chin, piercing your skin ever so slightly, but not enough to fatally wound you. Your mind was trying hard to hold onto the cracks of reality that remained in your vision; the smell of the dingy house you were in, the feeling of the carpet making contact with your boots, anything that wouldn’t send your consciousness reeling over was enough of an anchor for you to hang onto.

Gordon walked away from the two of you, returning to his position of peering out one of the boarded-up windows in wait for Sam. You glanced at Dean, which granted you a glance back from him. His eyes were dry, but they held enough behind them to let you know what he was thinking. Sam was going to burst into this booby-trapped hellhole, and Dean could do nothing but blame himself.

It’s all your fault, really, a thought that smashed through what you knew was the truth said.

This isn’t any of our faults, you told it back, wanting to tell Dean the same. Sam wasn’t to blame for the two of you being taken, and neither of you was at fault for being used as bait; it all landed in the hands of the rogue hunter who deemed himself holier-than-thou.

Though you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you were starting to resemble a bloody pulp more than a human being. Dean could barely look your way for longer than a second, and deep cuts that surged whether you moved or not continued to scrape away at your consciousness.

Gordon disappeared, and as you tried to turn your head to follow him, you felt a burning pain across your chest. Highlighted by a spurt of blood splattering over your thighs, you wanted to vomit. The top of your head started to feel like it was being lifted off from the rest of your skull, and the black spots in your vision connected at the edges of your eyes.

You grunted, head going slack and opening wounds on the back of your neck. Either spit, blood, or bile dripped out of your mouth, but at that moment you didn’t care- the black at the corners of your eyes bled together, and all you could do was limply hope Sam would find you.

You blinked, slowly, noticing light creeping in from the boarded-up windows. The second thing you noticed was the searing pain in your body, coupled with grunting and what you could guess was a well-landed punch.

“Y/N!” Someone called out to you, but you could barely lift your head to meet their voice. The bandana in your mouth was pulled away and hands cupped your face, warming your skin that was ice cold after losing so much blood.

The hands left your face and moved to the ropes at your wrists, cutting them off quickly and placing your arms in your lap. You forced your eyes up high enough to see it was your hero, Sam, standing before you with tears starting to fill his eyes. If your face would’ve let your smile, you would’ve, but every movement flashed the memory of Gordon cutting into you.

Gordon.

“Where’s-” You managed to sputter out through a sore jaw and a severely dry mouth.

“Dead,” Sam answered coldly. For the first time, you noticed his knuckles were a hue of bright purple, complimented with blood splattering up his arm. Sam moved your arms around his neck and picked you up as gently as he could.

“Dean’s already in the car patching himself up. I’m going to try and lay you down in the back seat so we can get to the closest hospital. I left Gordon in the room by the first door, so keep your head to my chest if you don’t want to see him, okay?” He asked softly. The tears that were in his eyes had faded slightly, but you could see the emotions he’d no doubt try to hide later on. Regret, blame, guilt - the more he looked at you, the more you could sense that your battered state was tearing away at his consciousness. You wanted to reach out, hold his face, and tell him you’d be okay, you’d survived worse, that it wasn’t his fault, but your thoughts were halted by Sam stepping past Gordon’s body.

If you could call it a body, that is.

His nose was sunken into his face enough that his eyes were slightly popping out of their sockets. His mouth had more gums than teeth, which were scattered around the room. He was lying against a dresser, and his limbs were spread out in the wrong directions. You thought you saw a bone, but before you could look closer, Sam turned and shut the door behind you.

Sam laid you across the back seats of the Impala, trying his best to be gentle with the abhorrent number of cuts across your body. You couldn’t guess how the hospital wasn’t going to ask questions, but you hoped the brothers would figure that out. Your head laid in Sam’s lap, and he looked out the window as Dean buried Gordon.

“Sam,” you slowly moved one of your arms to his face, bringing his attention to you, “thank you. You saved us both. You had to do what you had to do.”

Sam smiled but still didn’t say a word as he dipped down and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You wanted to be able to tell him everything your racing mind was coming up with but were beaten by the overwhelming need to not move. Dean climbed into the front seat, beating the gas pedal to the floor and hitting the highway as Sam ran his fingers comfortingly through your hair.

[coffeestainedcas]

Damn I forgot how much I love Charlie’s character?? S8 Charlie was an absolute mood, and her and Dean were an absolute delight of a duo in all of her episodes wowie

[zaldritzosrose]

Sanguine Obsession (Vampire!Aemond x Human!Reader)

Before I got into my usual summary, this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and Daemon and being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it. Choosing our own characters and how to play the story.

Please find the masterlist of everyone's fics here.

All boards included are made by yours truly!

Summary: The Targaryens are well known for their supernatural existence, and you are one of many brought into the service of Prince Aemond - a vampire. When you moon's blood surprises you, the Prince acts in a way you could never have expected.

TW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, afab reader, mentions of vampiric feeding, mentions of blood, menophilia (period kink), oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, Aemond as a vampire (could be a warning in and of itself), period sex.

Words: 3088

Serving Prince Aemond Targaryen was an honour, to you and your family at least. On the outside, the Targaryens were ordinary royals, save for the dragon riding, of course.

But there was something deeper and darker within the family. Like a dark shadow that hung over the Red Keep, an apt name for the home of supernatural beings. The Targaryens had ruled through blood and immortality for centuries, and you were not the first to serve the One-Eyed Prince. Not all the dragon-blooded royals were vampiric, though each one of them was not entirely human.

The call had come just less than a month ago. A letter bearing the seal of House Targaryen arriving to your father. Though it was phrased as a question, it was clear there was only one answer to the request.

We request your eldest daughter to serve at the side of Prince Aemond, as have many that have come before her. She will be well cared for and protected whilst in the Prince’s service.

Your father had not hesitated. Informing you immediately that preparations were to be made for your travel to the capital.

Now, it was almost two full months since you had arrived at the Keep. Prince Aemond was stoic, but not unkind. In fact, you had soon found his presence an odd comfort. Sitting with him in the library as he read, fetching whichever book he needed. Watching him train under the shadow of the evening, becoming his most fervent supporter every time.

You had known what the Targaryens were before you came into the Prince’s service. Every citizen in Westeros knew, it was not a secret they kept hidden. The family mostly kept stores of blood within the Keep, preferring the convenience of it over hunting. Others, however, chose to hunt, choosing their prey and hunting ground carefully to avoid large populations.

Prince Aemond was the latter. Choosing to hunt wherever he could but there was one task he had never forced upon you. There were times when the Prince was unable to hunt, and he always seemed dissatisfied with drinking stored blood from a goblet. He never said it openly, but the prince enjoyed the chase, the feeling of bringing down his prey and feeding fresh.

In those times, you could see the war in him. When he would look at you with a hunger, or more specifically your throat. Watching the pulse of your veins when you would lean close to hand him his next cup. And eventually, you had picked up the courage to ask.

“My prince, if there is something else you need of me, please say?” you had asked softly, trying to keep your nerve.

Aemond had only hummed low, a sound you were so used to hearing, but you knew he was avoiding answering you.

You had knelt at his side, hands resting on the arm of his chair.

“Please, I feel I know what it is you need. You have not been able to hunt for weeks…”

That had been the push he had needed. From then on, when he could not hunt, he would ask to feed from you. And you agreed, every time. Finding yourself often curled in the Prince’s lap as he sank his teeth into your flesh and drank his fill. He was always gentle during these times, the way he would hold you as he fed bordering on romance. Always in his embrace, bodies pressed impossibly close.

Even the Prince would eventually admit, you were the first of his servants that had ever offered their blood to him, an act that had both shocked and enamoured him to you. But he had never admitted that this act of service had, without a doubt, furthered the desire he had felt the moment he saw you.

For the first month of your service, you had managed to avoid the Prince during your moon’s blood. Seemingly coinciding with his hunting routine. His mother and sister had helped you stay out of his presence by claiming to need you for other tasks. He had never questioned it, with his mother explaining that he knew the reason, and understood why they took such measures.

This month, however, you were unprepared. The Queen and the Princess were visiting their Hightower kin in Oldtown. There was no one around to help you with the unexpected surprise. You tried your best to complete your tasks for the Prince while spending as little time in his presence as possible. Something he noticed immediately.

Every morning you would hide spare smallclothes within your gown, knowing that at any point in the day you might need them. Taking extra rags from the Maester to make sure you did not risk leaving the blood-stained cloth on your body too long.

But what you did not know was that Aemond had noticed. In reality, he could smell it days before you bled. A small change in scent that told him what was to come. He did his best, this time, to ignore it. Knowing you had no choice but to remain at his side. He was not due to hunt for another two days. But the scent of you was becoming more and more tempting.

It all came to a head when you did not appear in the library that morning. Aemond always read during the daytime, the library drapes heavy enough to block out all the sunlight. He gave you a little time, knowing from his books that a woman’s bloods could take a toll physically and he knew better than to expect you to ignore your own health for his sake.

But when another hour passed, he felt concern gnawing at him. Closing his book, Aemond made quick work of the walk to your chambers. He had not even reached the door before he could smell it.

The coppery scent filling his nostrils and making his mouth water. He stood stock still at your door, his thirst begging him to enter and take his fill. But his concern for you demanded he find a way to fix whatever had made you late.

“My lady?” was all he could muster, his hand resting on the handle.

Inside, you froze. That morning you had woken to what could only be described as a bloodbath. The deep red liquid having stained your sheets and nightgown through the night. Cleaning up the aftermath was taking far longer than you expected.

“M-My Prince, I…Please do not come in,” Your voice was frantic as you folded the soiled sheets and stuffed them into the sack you would take down to the washroom.

Just the tone of your voice had Aemond even more concerned. The need for politeness soon lost to his concern as he pushed the door open despite your protests. When he entered, the scent near overtook him. And not just the blood. A smell akin to fear on you.”

“I…” You could not form a single word. There seemed to be no connection between your mind and your mouth.

Aemond’s jaw locked tight, doing everything he could not to inhale if he did not need to. His eye scanned the room. The scent lingered at the sack by the door, which he assumed held your sheets. But the copper tang was greatest around you, and he could see the scrubbed spots where you had tried to clean your stained skin.

“You are…bleeding.” He said, barely forming it as a question, his voice tight with restraint.

You could see the faint push of his fangs against his lip as he spoke. A sight you only saw moments before he would feed from you. In this moment, it was the first time you seemed to fear him.

“I apologise…I..I tried to clean it but…”

The words died on your lips when you saw Aemond staring only at your stained nightdress. The memory of your conversation with his mother ringing in your mind.

“One thing you must know, my dear, your moon’s blood will smell far different to the blood that flows in your veins. It will be much more intense of a scent. More enticing,” the Queen explained before continuing on with the plans they had in place to help female servants of the family during that time of the month.

Now, it all made sense. You had never seen Aemond like this, except when his teeth were pierced deep into your neck, or any other flesh he had chosen for a feed. Yet, you still felt no true fear. Nothing about the Prince had ever caused that feeling in you.

Aemond however, had no thought in his mind except your scent. The deep red that stained your skin. The points of his fangs almost piercing his teeth in preparation of drinking.

“Is this why you were late this morning?” he asked, his eye finally meeting yours, the pupil blown wide, eclipsing the ice blue of his iris. All the air left your lungs and your hesitation seemed to frustrate him.

“Answer me,” he growled, taking a purposeful step towards you.

“Yes, my prince. It was unexpected, and I could not leave behind such a mess and there was no time to clean...”

You were stopped short when Aemond closed the distance between you. You would often forget he was not human, but the speed at which he appeared in front of you abruptly reminded you of it. You held your breath as his head dipped to press his nose against your neck. You could feel the puffs of air on your neck as he seemed to fight himself for control.

“I could smell it. Every moment for the last three days…”

The curve of his nose pressed against your neck, nuzzling over the spot he had bit you so many times before. And you could not hide your shiver as he growled again.

“You smell so sweet…”

You wanted to move, to back away and put as much space between you and the Prince as you could. But your body was working against you. Instead, leaning closer into his form as he breathed you in again.

It was only when you whimpered as the sharp, cramping pain in your lower body reared itself again, that Aemond snapped out of his reverie.

“It hurts, does it not?” he asked, and you could only nod, feeling Aemond smile against the skin of your neck. His entire presence was intoxicating, and every ounce of self-preservation had long left you.

“There are ways to relieve the pain. I read about them, fascinating really,” he mused, and you opened your mouth to ask what he could possibly mean.

You had an inkling, having read some books yourself. And the implication of what he was referring to had your heart hammering in your chest.

Aemond’s arm snaked around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest. The bloodthirst inside him threatened to take over with every second he was close to you. You were almost hypnotised by him, wondering if this is how his victims felt when he hunted them down. Hazy, drawn into his embrace without any control of their actions.

Your silence made him chuckle, and he could already smell not only the blood but the slick that pooled between your thighs at his touch.

“Do you want me to help, sweet girl?” Aemond whispered, his lips now brushing against the skin of your ear.

You nodded gently but that was not enough for him.

“Words, I need your words,” His tone now a little more of a command than before.

You swallowed loud before answering, your voice barely more than a breathy sigh.

“Yes, my prince.”

That was all he needed. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he walked you back towards your bed. The sheets had been hastily changed moments before Aemond had entered your room, but that seemed to matter little.

Aemond made quick work of your nightdress, making your breath hitch when he pressed his nose into the sanguine stains. And the groan he released at the heady scent had your thighs clenching together. The dress was quickly discarded as Aemond returned his attention to you.

It was only then that you became quickly aware that you were entirely bare whilst Aemond was still fully clothed. Before you could even reach out for the clasps on his leather tunic, Aemond had the garment tugged open and on the floor, leaving him in only his light shirt and breeches. It was not the first time you had seen him dressed more casually, there were times you would enter his chamber of a morning or after he had trained to see him dressed quiet casually.

But this, without a doubt, was different.

“The books say,” Aemond began, using some of his vampiric strength to move you with ease up the bed, “that finding your release helps with the pain of a moon’s blood…”

You bit back a moan as he spread your thighs, the coolness of his skin quickly soothing the warmth in your body that was always brought on by your monthly bleed. Aemond hummed to himself as the full scent of you was revealed to him, his mouth watering as he saw the sticky trails of your bleed on the skin of your thighs and the flesh of your core.

“My prince…” you whined, not really sure anymore what you were asking for.

You wanted to hide yourself from his gaze, feeling like prey trapped in the claws of a predator, that singular blue iris staring you down as he took a deep inhale. Just his closeness was enough to distract you from the dull ache of the muscles in your hips and down. Aemond, on the other hand, was drunk on your scent alone, the sweet, metallic tang filling his nostrils and making his head spin.

You gasped at the cool touch of his fingers against your slit, tensing as he dipped an experimental finger in between your folds. Taking his time and letting your body relax into the intrusion. It went against everything he was to not devour you there and then. His mouth watering the closer he got.

His fingers pushed inside you slowly, his eye staring intently as the mix of your blood and slick pooled around his fingers with each movement. Aemond could already feel you relaxing, the muscles in your thighs already less tense on either side of his head.

But he needed more. The beast within crying out for a taste. Warring with the human need to bring you as much pleasure as he could. He had always found you beautiful and the dutiful way you served him was simply an extra boon.

“Will you allow me a taste, sweet girl? Let me bring us both satisfaction?”

His voice was so low and so smooth it had you sighing out in pleasure. Your hips already canting themselves closer to him.

“Yes, please,” you said softly, eyes already closing as Aemond’s fingers trailed small patterns either side of where you needed him most. Never close to where you needed him.

His eye found yours, and the look told you that he needed something else.

“My…my prince please, I need it...I need you…” you begged, the only thought in your head now was feeling him.

You felt him smirk against your skin as his title fell from your lips. He could get used to hearing it that way, so soft and breathy with pleasure.

You had anticipated either the return of his fingers or even the feel of his tongue. Instead, you felt the push of his face against you, burying his face as close as he could get. As if he wanted nothing more than to inhale the scent of you. But you could not hide the depraved moan that slipped from your lips when his tongue finally breached your entrance.

Aemond groaned against you. He had tasted your blood before, but nothing like this. It was like he was consuming the very essence of you. Everything tasted stronger and it took every ounce of control he had to not sink his teeth in as well. The wet sounds of his tongue between your folds should have made you blush, but you were too lost in your pleasure. His hands held your hips tight, planting you to the bed as he devoured your bleeding cunt.

“Yes, oh, my prince…oh…” Your words verged on incoherent but every time his title spilled from you, Aemond growled and renewed his movements with even more vigour.

Soon you were arching your back, pushing your hips down towards him before Aemond’s hands planted you back to the bed. His grip was strong, tugging you down and burying his tongue as deep as it would go. Lapping up everything you gave him. He could feel your blood and arousal spilling down his chin as you reach your peak, soaking into the fabric of his undershirt. But he could not get enough. Only when he could feel you desperately try to pull away did he slow himself down.

“That’s it…oh my sweet girl…” he cooed, pressing blood tinted kisses to your thighs before pulling away.

You were lost. Head hazy and heart hammering as you slowly came down from your high. And your cheeks flushed as you locked eyes with your Prince. His icy iris staring up at you, pale skin stained the deepest red with the mix of your blood and your juices.

Aemond softened when he saw your body relax. He was as satisfied as you were now. His pleasure was your pleasure. His fingers were quick to bring the wayward drips from his lips and chin to his mouth, not wasting a drop. Your taste was like nothing he had experienced, even now. He had never fed this way before, and he was already desperate to do so again.

“Do you feel better?”

The question made you sit up on your elbows and you could not help but smile down at him. The ache in your thighs and stomach was gone. Your body flushed but relaxed.

“Yes, my prince, thank you,”

Aemond crawled up your body, bringing you close and urging you to curl into him. Now, it was his turn to serve you. His loyal servant, more than deserving of the same care in return. And he internally vowed to keep you at his side, especially during your bloods. He could not deny it.

He was obsessed.

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key: angst ✵ | fluff ✿ | smut ♡  series: ongoing ✎ | hiatus ☽ | completed ✓

⇝— updated: Sept 25th, 2024 ⇝— fic archive 2016-2019 .｡.✰ ⇝— work in progress & writing schedule .｡.✰

𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✩·.¸

About Time (Time Leap!au, Soulmate!au) | Jungkook x reader x Jimin (feat. ot7) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✎ ➛ Summary | Be careful of what you wish for, because you may never know how to deal with them once it comes true.     ↪ Chapter masterlist

The Bedroom Hymns (a Bluebeard tale's twist; fairytale retelling au, fairy prince!yoongi, princess!reader, soulmate!au) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✎ ➛ Summary | Haunted by the questions about your father’s past and the dark tales that seem to follow him, the thousand mysterious doors and the secrets waiting for you to reveal, and the mysterious Prince that has been following your shadows between realms, you are off to a new adventure in the Land Far Far Away.    ↪ Chapter masterlist

Blood Moon Rising (Supernatural!au, Vampire!au, Werewolves!au) | Jimin x reader (feat. ot7) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✎ ➛ Summary | What happens when the only people you have put your trust in only repay you with betrayal?     ↪ The Shifters Series masterpost

Carousel (Arranged Marriage!au, CEO!au, Heirs!au) | Min Yoongi x reader (feat. ot7) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✓ ➛ Summary | He is the successor of his family’s business empire, and you are the female heir of yours. After the trouble his older brother had created in the past, he now must face certain requirements needed for the sake of the family's future and to save his rights of inheritance, and you become his only way out.     ↪ Chapter masterlist

In Motion (Masturbation Club!au) | Jungkook x reader | ✿ ♡ ✓ ➛ Summary | The rule is simple; you can look but you can’t touch.     ↪ Chapter masterlist

𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢-𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ✩·.¸ 

Flux (Min Yoongi x reader x Jeon Jungkook) | Polyamorous!au | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✎ ➛ Premise | A collection of short stories about the journey of finding and learning about love, life, and trust.     ↪ Chapters masterlist

Red Series (Min Yoongi) | Secrets of Pleasure | ✿ ♡ ✎ ➛ Premise | A collection of short stories between Yoongi and his lover (reader insert) which will tell a tale of their sexual adventures together.    ↪ Chapters masterlist

𝐨𝐭𝟕 & 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 ☽.·✩·.¸

Slow Dancing (M) - Jungkook x reader; Namjoon x reader | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✓ mini-series; soulmate!au, second chances!au ⇢ When fate has some tricks hidden in its sleeve      ↪ Chapter List 

28 Days (M) - Taehyung x reader; Jungkook x reader | ✵ ✿ ♡ ☽ mini-series; slice of life!au; unrequited love!au; first love!au ⇢ When you let yourself get entangled in your own little lies    ↪ chapters: (under construction)

Ravished By Two (M) - Seokjin x reader x Namjoon | ✿ ♡ one-shot; werewolves!au; polyamorous!au | 5k words ⇢ Mated to your Alphas mean that you have to submit to their every need

Threads (M) - Yoongi x reader; Namjoon x reader | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; slice of life!au; one-sided love!au; arranged relationship!au; 7k words ⇢ When life throws you a curve ball, leaving you with dark secrets to bury

The Agile Fox (M) - Yoongi x original character x Jungkook | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; supernatural!au, werewolf!jungkook, werefox!yoongi, werefox!oc | 52k words; part of Shifter Series ⇢ Sometimes the Fates can play tricks on you

Bed & Boyfriend(s) (M) - Taehyung x reader x Yoongi x Jungkook | ✿ ♡ one-shot; pwp; Polyamorous!au; 16k words ⇢ A long weekend filled with wanton pleasure with the help of his best friends

Sweet Temptations (M) - Taehyung x reader x Jungkook | ♡ one-shot; brothel!au; male escort!au; 20k words ⇢ Welcome to House Of Lust, where your escorts will be there to provide you with every need

Ever a Never After - Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader | ✿ ♡ adaptation from Enchanted movie; strangers to lovers!au; fairy tale retelling!au, Smut ⇢ Stuck between two different realms, two different lives, and a chance to write your own happily ever after, would you take it?

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐣𝐢𝐧 ☽.·✩·.¸

Cinnamon Bliss (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✓ mini-series; single father!Jin, cafe owner!reader, unrequited love!au ⇢ When you share the journey of finding the path to healing and re-finding love again     ↪ Chapter List 

Of Bears And Bonds (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✓ trilogy/mini-series; supernatural!au, werebear!Jin, witch!reader | part of Shifter Series ⇢ When you find your past, present, and future are all linked together with your fated ↪ chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 (end)

Blurred Lines (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✓ trilogy/mini-series; teacher!Jin, teacher!reader, biker!Jin ⇢ People do say that the quiet ones always keep the biggest secret ↪ chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 (end)

Mistakes and Retakes (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; christmas rom-com; enemy to lovers!au; Part of the Stranded for Christmas Collab; 18,5k words ⇢ When your archenemy becomes your saviour

𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢 ☽.·✩·.¸

Clair De Lune (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; pianist!yoongi, escort!reader; 23k words ⇢ You were ready to leave a part of your life to move on to the next, and he is willing to give you a chance to end it glamorously

Pour Some Sugar On Me (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; enemies to lovers!au; baker!au; baker!yoongi; baker!reader; 14k words ⇢ When he shows you how baking and taste testing can be delightfully messy

Little Do You Know (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; artist/music producer!yoongi; established relationship!au; 22k words ⇢ With love, comes challenge. But what do you have to do to hold on? 

Bad Things (M) | ✵ ♡one-shot; brothel!au; street fighter!yoongi; sex worker/escort!reader; past lovers!au; 14k words ⇢ He always comes to you when he needs you to douse his flame, not knowing that he is keeping yours alight with his touch

Come Undone (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; established relationship!au, BDSM; 14k words ⇢ When your little surprise to please him backfires and he turns the tide against you instead

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 ☽.·✩·.¸

✎ 𝗜𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘁𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘂𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘆 01. Intertwine (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; slice of life!au; past lovers!au, office!au; infidelity; 12k words 02. Tidal Waves (M)| ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; slice of life!au; past lovers!au, office!au; infidelity

✎ 𝗦𝗽𝗼𝘁𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘆 01. Spotless Minds (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; past lovers!au; new beginning; inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Minds; 36k words 02. Eternal Sunshine (M) | ✷ ✿ ♡ one-shot; past lovers!au; new beginning; epilogue for Spotless Minds; 39k words 03. Sunset Glow (coming soon)

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧 ☽.·✩·.¸

The Stand-In (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot & drabble series; friends to lovers!au, post divorce/failed marriage!au; expecting parents!au; 13k words ⇢ He is ready to help with your situation in more ways than one      ↪ Fic Index

Once Upon An Us (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; past lovers!au, exes to lovers!au, christmas rom-com; 47k words ⇢ When the fairy tale ending that you had been searching for had always been there the entire time

Lust Royale (M) | ✵ ♡ one-shot; royal guard!namjoon, princess!reader, unrequited love!au; 8k words ⇢ When you cannot resist falling into his temptation

The (im)Perfect Ending (M) | ✵ ♡ one-shot; past relationship!au, infidelity; 43k words ⇢ When you are given a second chance to rewrite your own happy ending

Blooming Wallflowers (M) | ✵ ♡ one-shot; strangers to lovers!au, firefighter!namjoon, older female leader, MILF!au; 20k words ⇢ When the one who spends his entire life taming fire ends up becoming the one to light up the fire in you

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧 ☽.·✩·.¸

Strip! (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✓trilogy/mini-series; stripper!jimin, bartender!reader; single parent!au; spin-off for Bad For You ⇢ Sometimes a little bit of fun brings colours to your hard life, but what if he is here to stay?      ↪ chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 (End)

All Fervent Manner (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; established Relationship!au; 19k words ⇢ When you share the same secret, and neither of you could let the other know what you need the most

✎ 𝗙𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘆 01. Never Falling (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; enemies to lovers!au; singer!jimin; non-idol!au; assistant!reader; 21k words 02. Forever Falling (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; established relationship!au; singer!Jimin; non-idol!au; 30k words 03. Free Falling (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; established relationship!au; singer!Jimin; non-idol!au; 22k words

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠 ☽.·✩·.¸

White Lies (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✓ mini-series; childhood friends to lovers!au, first love!au, painter!taehyung ⇢ When his secrets came in your way to bare threats in the future you were building together     ↪ Chapter List

The Half-Lycan (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot & drabble series; supernatural!au; werewolf!taehyung, human!reader; 42k words; part of Shifter Series ⇢ The long journey of how the fated mates finally found each other     ↪ drabbles: Fever // Rapture

The Forsaken (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; supernatural!au; siren!taehyung; mystery; horror; 22k words ⇢ When his seducing voice lures you into falling in his embrace

The Dark Room (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; sex club!au; gentlemen club!au; 19k words; Side Story for In Motion⇢ Welcome to Club La Rouge, where your sexual fantasies come to life

A Christmas Fix (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ two-shot; Secret Baby!au, Second Chance!au, Strangers to Lovers!au; 55k words; Part of the Jingle All the Way collaboration ⇢ The one-night stand that changed the course of your fate, along with your stepsister's ↪ chapters: 01 | 02 (final)

𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 ☽.·✩·.¸

Bad For You (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; stripper!jungkook; bachelorette!au; infidelity; 11k words ⇢ His whole presence emits sin and danger     ↪ Fic Index ↪ drabbles: ⇢ #1 // #2

Undressed (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; stripper!jungkook; bachelorette!au, infidelity; 20k words; Epilogue for Bad For You ⇢ He was the epitome of sin, yet he pulled you in that you just had to come back for more

Pay By Play (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; cam boy!au; Voyeurism; part of the Made With Love Project; 3k words ⇢ It is your first try to do something like this and he is making it all worth it

We Are All Dreamers [M] | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; enemies to lovers!au; soulmate!au; 16k words ⇢ When he tries to rebel against the soulmate system

Boyfriend Jungkook drabble #01 | ✿mini drabble; boyfriend!Jungkook ⇢ When he wants a taste of your ice cream

Slow & Steady [M] | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; painter!jungkook; 7k words ⇢ Can you resist temptation?

Show Me Something [M] | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; road trip!au, friends to enemies to lovers!au; first love!au; 51k words ⇢ When the extra passenger opens the pathway to your broken past

A Touch Of Fate (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ one-shot; enemies to lovers!au; soulmate!au; 9k words; Epilogue for We Are All Dreamers ⇢ When he shows you just how good you are together

Under The Blankets (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; established relationship!au, pwp smut, tattooed!Jungkook x tattooed!reader; 6k words ⇢ When neither of you can resist temptation

Mirrors: what becomes of us (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; friends with benefits to lovers!au, pwp smut; 8,5k words ⇢ Is it worth it to fall for someone who has never revealed the true content of his heart?

𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐮 ☽.·✩·.¸

Chance Encounter (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✎ series; college!au; teacher’s aid!au ⇢ What a simple DM mishap could lead to happen     ↪ Chapter List

Maps (M) | ✵ ✿ ♡ ✓ mini-series; friends to lovers!au ⇢ Naps, Christian Yu, your bed – would you ask for anything more?     ↪ Chapters:  01 | 02 | 03 (final)

Take Care Of You (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; pwp smut; established relationship; 2k words ⇢ Helping your boyfriend to relax after long nights of working

Unravel (M) | ✿ ♡ drabble; pwp smut; established relationship ⇢ He loves how easy it is to have you unravelling under his touch

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐢𝐧 ☽.·✩·.¸

Sweet Spot (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; established relationship; 6k words ⇢ When his jealousy makes him more daring than he is used to

Press Play (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; established relationship; 3k words ⇢ When he has an odd request for you to fulfil

What You Wanted (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; established relationship; 10k words ⇢ When he makes sure that your first time would be an amazing experience to share

Overdrive (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; musician/artist!B.I, manager!reader, smut; 13k words ⇢ When your carnal favours lead to something else

𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 ☽.·✩·.¸

✎ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 (𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐤)  ● Howlin’ (M) | ✵ ♡ one-shot; werewolf!au; fated mates!au; 6k words ⇢ When your responsibility to the Pack life comes between your Fated

✎ 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜 ● Simon Says (M) | ✿ ♡ one-shot; pwp smut; established relationship; 4k words ⇢ Simon wants to play

✎ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐥 ● A Night With You | ✿ ♡ (implied) mini drabble; boyfriend!Chanyeol ⇢ A glimpse of the nights you spend with him

— © Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

[sailorrhansol]

ok ok requesting a treat for all of us, honestly

sleep demon seungcheol. extra sprinkling of nasty if possible. i want you to out-zaddy you know who.

>:) ok smooch smooch have fun!!!! I LOVE HALIWEEEEEN

❀ Pairing: Incubus!Choi Seungcheol x afab reader

❀ Summary: You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t visiting promises he can help. 

❀ Word Count: 6,239

❀ Genre: Supernatural

❀ Type: Smut, PWP

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Mentions of insomnia including side effects like exhaustion, dysfunction, derealization, feeling out of it/in weird headspaces, time is not supposed to feel linear in this and it’s supposed to feel kind of liminal-space in places, reader is often confused/thoughts are a little scattered and feels out of it because of proximity to an entity, there are creepy vibes in this, Seungcheol doesn’t always appear the same/mentions of feeling like in danger or on edge around him instinctually, explicit language, sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, a lot of spit and cum, nipple play, reference to subspace or an adjacent, choking, oral (f. and m. receiving) multiple orgasms, biting and scratching, I wouldn’t categorize this as explicit dom/sub dynamics but there are power dynamics in some places, mean Seungcheol in spots, like very light humiliation if you squint in one section, overall just…. Weird ass vibes and reccouring scenes/reader not remembering things. 

❀ A/N: Hi Jolene Wolene Folene - thank you for requesting this thing that we totally didn’t talk about before I started Haliween and definitely maybe sort of giving me the outlet to write this weird little liminal space demon that I love doing so dearly. Pls enjoy spooky ooky kooky Cheol and his weird little obsession with reader :) 

❀ A/N 2: This fic is a part of my Haliween writing event that I’m hosting September - October. 

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Haliween

Nothing feels real. Your eyes burn as you stare at the computer screen, the letters and the buttons on your email becoming blurry as they swim out of focus. The dull sounds of your office feel as though they’re several rooms over, faint hums heard through walls of plaster. 

Pushing away from the desk, you head to the break room, in desperate need of coffee. You know drinking caffeine this late in the afternoon will only further exacerbate your insomnia, and yet you need it if you’re going to get through the next three hours at work.

You’ve hit the point in your endless nights of no sleep where everything feels off, like you’re experiencing things in the third person. You’re there but you don’t feel like it, navigating your day knowing that it’s you doing and saying things at work without really registering that you’re doing or saying those things. 

Coffee hisses from the machine into your cup. You stare at it, vision going unfocused again as the smell wafts up to you. Time passes. You stand and stare. 

Someone walks into the room, bringing you back to reality as you look over your shoulder and see your coworker come in to fill up their water bottle. They raise their brows at you as though to ask if you’re okay, and you grin, gesturing to the coffee like that’s some sort of answer.

Really, you’re not okay. You have ventured past the threshold of tired into something else entirely. Something that is lesser than, something base and nearly inhuman. 

Derealization. It’s a word your doctor had used when you described what it was like for you after so many nights without sleep, the disconnected feeling to the world around you. Even as you walk to your desk, it doesn’t feel real. You logically know that it is, that you exist in a specific time and space.

And yet… you remain buoyed in that space, totally untethered from everything around you. Floating. Lost. 

Back at your desk, the words on the computer screen blur again. Come into focus. You type and email. The keyboard makes sounds, but you don’t really register them. 

At some point, the day ends. 

-

A bright neon sign burns against the darkness of the alleyway. You blink rapidly, holding your hand in front of your eyes to block out some of the light. Looking around, you don’t see anyone else. The sound of the city is muted and far away, but you smell the burning of fuel and the smell of stagnant water under a dripping window air conditioning unit. 

You don’t remember walking here. You lower your hand as your eyes adjust to the burning pink above the door. Looking down at your clothes, you’re at least relieved to discover you put on jeans and a t-shirt before going out on an adventure out on the town.

Police sirens wail in the distance. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, thankful you brought it. 

“Fuck,” you swear, flashing the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning and you know immediately you’ve sleepwalked your way to this strange, unfamiliar alleyway. 

It’s a vicious circle: go days without sleep feeling like you’re a step away from death, or take just enough sleep medication to knock you out but make you sleepwalk. 

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you look back up at the neon sign, reading it for the first time. Hush. A shiver goes down your spine at the name, eyes flicking to the blue crescent moon attached to the pink cursive. 

There’s a magnetism about the sign. Your eyes dropdown to the door under it, a nondescript metal entrance to what you think is a bar. There’s nothing to indicate that it is a bar, just a gut feeling. Your gut feeling is also whispering at you to go inside, to open the door and step into the cool space of Hush. 

Licking your lips, you take one hesitant step forward. The tingling in your spine increases and you feel static in the air. Heart racing, you take another step. Then another. Before you realize it, you’re at the door with your hand on the knob, cool to the touch.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside. 

It’s even darker inside than the alleyway. Gentle piano music plays somewhere in the room and you swivel left and right, trying to gain your bearings as your eyes adjust. When they do, you see a very small room with a single piano in the corner, two booths, a bar at the back, and three stools pulled up to its counter.

A single person sits at the bar. You hesitate in the entrance, drinking in the stranger. It appears to be a man in a dark purple suit, his broad shoulders hunched over where he leans against the wooden bar top. You can’t make out much else beyond the wide shape of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist, but you can see the crimson hair that glows like flame underneath the dull, flickering light above his head.

“You gonna stand there all night?” His voice is soft, a gentle pur. He turns his head to the side, his profile shadowed. “I don’t bite.” You hear the smirk in his voice when he tacks on, “Not often, anyway.” 

Carefully, you approach the bar. There doesn’t appear to be a bartender of any sort or anyone else in the bar, for that matter. You realize that there’s piano music but no pianist, but decide not to focus on it as you enter the man’s line of focus. 

When he looks at you, the world stops. It’s like stepping into a bubble, everything else ceasing to exist. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your pulse hammer in your throat as you stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him.

He’s beautiful but it’s not that. His eyes are dark, but there is something more there. Something swimming in the depth of the darkness that you cannot place, something ancient and curious and awake. You feel pinned under his gaze, eyes darting to drink in the rest of his features: soft, pouty lips the color of berries, sharp jawline, thick, angular brows. 

Stunning. Dangerous. Alluring. 

“Hi,” he says, mouth stretching into a grin. His teeth aren’t sharp, but you have the distinct feeling that they should be. “You’re a pretty thing.” 

“Um, hi.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

“How can you tell?”

His grin spreads, wicked and cutting. “I have a feeling about those things.” His dark eyes drop to the seat next to him. “Have a seat. Maybe I can help.”

Tentatively, you sit down next to him. “You can help me sleep?” 

“What if I said I can?” 

Sitting next to him is oppressive. His presence weighs down on you, a physical entity that you can’t see. Static buzzes in your mind and your thoughts feel a little sticky, like just being close to him disrupts your frequency. 

He smells like jasmine, immediately soothing. You feel your eyes grow heavy as you blink a few times, settling on the stool as you angle yourself toward him. 

You’d misjudged his size when you walked in. He’d seemed broad when you first walked in, but you don’t think you fully understood the width of him. The weight of him. Or maybe it just feels that way when you look at him, your perception of him flickering like a bad TV signal. 

“Tell me about your sleep problems.”

You shrug. “They’re like any other sleep problems.”

“Not all sleep problems are the same, Pretty.” 

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t really know what causes them. I just… can’t fall asleep and then I start getting worried I won’t sleep, so it makes it worse. I want to sleep so bad but it’s like… wanting to sleep only makes it avoid me more.”

“Mmm. Sleep is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” 

“My doctors give me meds but the normal dose doesn’t work and the stronger dose… makes me walk around.” 

He pouts. “You poor, sweet thing.” 

Something about his sympathy makes you flush. You sulk, looking down at the countertop as you pick absently at the peeling varnish on the wood. “I know,” you murmur. “I just want to be normal.” 

“I can help. If you want it.” 

You glance at him. His eyes are dancing dangerously. Half of you screams yes while the other screams run. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re in a bar alone with a strange man who knows you’re sleep deprived. No one would help you if you screamed. You don’t know where you would run.

His dark eyes seem to read your thoughts and he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to pick up his drink from the bar. “I’m not that sort of creature.”

“How would you help me sleep?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

His question hangs in the air between the two of you. The piano music has stopped, but you don’t remember when it did. Overhead, the light still flickers. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoff-

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” His voice is kind. Warm. Soft like your blankets, cozy like your bed. “You’re always free to make your own decision.” 

“I want help,” you agree slowly. “I really do.”

His red mouth curves into a smile and again, you’re struck by the thought that his teeth should be sharp. “Good. I’ll help you, Pretty.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Seungcheol.” You give him your name and he tilts his head, drinking you in. “I know.” 

“How are you going to help me sleep?”

Seungcheol finishes his drink. You watch him swallow thickly, suddenly fascinated with the way his throat bobs as he does. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming as he leans in, stopping an inch away from you.

The static increases. You feel your blood buzz pleasantly. 

“Close your eyes for me,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking at you through silky lashes. “I promise everything will be okay.” 

For a moment, you stare at him, the air charged. He doesn’t hurry you along, content to study your face with that same uncanny darkness swimming in his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you do what Seungcheol says, and you close your eyes. 

-

Sunlight wakes you up. You roll over in your bed, squinting up at the window. Your blackout curtains are open, letting the morning beam in on where you’re tangled in your comforter and sheets. 

Sighing heavily, you close your eyes again, content to lay in the warm sun. Just as you start to drift to sleep again, you recall a pair of dark eyes and fiery hair. You jolt upright, heart hammering as you remember the exchange. 

Snatching your phone from your nightstand, you open your walking app to look at where the hell you went last night, but there’s nothing there. Frowning, you pull the sheets off your body. You’re in pajamas and fuzzy socks that you don’t remember putting on. 

Hauling yourself out of bed, you lean halfway into the laundry basket to claw through your clothing. None of the things you wore last night are there, so you go to your closet to wrench the doors open and search. 

The shirt from last night and the exact pair of jeans are hanging, completely unworn. Your frown deepens as your confusion rises. Turning away from the closet, you open your phone again and try to get any sort of sense of where you went last night, but there’s no text threads. No signs you used public transportation. Nothing in any of your tracking apps that indicate you left at all. 

“Was it a fucking dream?” you mutter to yourself, perplexed. 

Sitting down on your bed, you try to look up Hush on the internet. You can find nothing in your city that indicates a bar or establishment like the one you discovered Seungcheol in. You even try social media to look him up - Reddit, neighborhood pages, anything to try and find the stranger from last night.

It seems Hush and Seungcheol don’t exist.

And yet… you don’t remember going to sleep last night after he agreed to help you. And you feel rested today. 

Puzzled and a little freaked out, you give up your search. A dream is a dream, and you’re content that you finally feel a little less exhausted and a little more awake. You’ll take the win, getting up to start your day with a little bit of pep in your step. 

By midday, you’ve mostly forgotten about the bar and the man in it, only remembering those dark eyes and that red hair. 

-

Heat creeps up your spine. You nuzzle against the warmth behind you, the smell of jasmine coaxing you deeper into the embrace. You feel the vibration of laughter against your back, your nerves tingling as you feel feather-light fingers brush up your thighs. 

“Tired?” 

Immediately you know it’s Seungcheol’s deep voice, that same velvet purr whispered right in your ear. You shake your head no, suddenly not wanting to sleep at all. You press into him further, feeling the way his arms tighten around you as he chuckles, mouth pressing chastely against the spot under your ear. 

“Liar,” he teases. 

You pout. It might be true, but he could have the decency to pretend it’s not. You open your eyes and look up at him. His hair is like spilled blood in the dark of your room. The curtains are closed, blocking out all light from the moon and street, but your salt lamp still burns in the corner. 

Seungcheol looks like the devil in the low, orange light. He’s in a black t-shirt, which is somehow more deadly than the fine cut suit. Your stomach flutters and you squeeze your thighs shut when you realize his hands are brushing up and down your thighs, touch slow. 

“Thought you were a dream,” you mumble, words a little thick. “Thought you weren’t real.”

“Dreams can’t be real?” That makes you frown and he laughs, jostling you against his chest. His hands squeeze your thighs and you let out a breathy sound as he nudges you with his nose. “You don’t know anything about dreams, Pretty. Can I show you?” 

More than anything you want him to show you. Suddenly your desire for him outweighs any sort of sleepiness, your nerves sparking and coming to life as you nod helplessly against his chest, trying to lean as close as possible. 

“Needy,” he chides. He presses a wet kiss to your jawline and you preen, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I’ll go easy so you remember this time, alright?” 

“Cheol.” 

The nickname sounds familiar. Intimate. Like you’ve said it before - something tells you that you have said it before. You don’t remember where or when, but it’s with familiarity that you moan the nickname again as he nips at your neck, one hand drifting between your legs to pry them open. 

He murmurs praise against your ear when your legs drift apart, spreading to accommodate his seeking touch. You’re wearing shorts but it feels entirely too hot under the blankets pooled around your waist. You kick at them and whine, managing to get them down to your knees before he huffs and presses forward, temporarily bending you in half to toss them. 

When he settles back against your headboard, you follow him, turning your head to press your mouth to the corner of his. His lips twitch in a smirk, shifting to catch your mouth fully with his. 

Seungcheol kisses you like he knows how you like to be kissed - devouring, consuming, hungry. His tongue brushes against yours as he drinks you in as his hand presses between your leagues, applying pressure to your clothed cunt.

You whine into the kiss and he grins against your mouth. A line of spit connects your lips when you pull away panting, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His fingers circle your clit gently and your hips buck in his hold against the stimulation. 

“Not enough,” you whisper. You grip his wrist with one hand, the other gripping the sheets to bunch them in your fist. “Cheol, please.”

“Hush,” he scolds, biting your jaw. His free hand comes up to your neck, gripping you under your jaw to angle your mouth back to his. “Kiss me.” 

You melt in Seungcheol’s grip. His tongue tastes sweet, his grip on you making you dizzy. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist as he works you up, his touch teasing and not enough through layers of fabric. 

He knows it’s not enough, content to string you along until you’re writhing against him, back shifting against his chest as you squirm. His kisses drift from your mouth to your jaw, open-mouthed and spit-slicked as his tongue darts out to taste your skin while he goes. 

Seungheol’s grip on your chin slides down toward the base of your neck, his fingers pressed tight against your pulse. You can feel your heartbeat slamming in his grasp as he bends your head away from him, lips attaching to the softness of your throat. 

His name escapes your lips in a whisper. He hums a pleased sound, tongue dragging up your neck to your ear where he nibbles. “So good for me,” he whispers. “I’ll reward you.” 

You follow with an urgent nod, pleased when his hand slides down the waistband of your shorts and underwear. When his fingers brush against the flushed, sticky folds of your cunt, you keen loudly, unable to keep it together.

“So needy.” You can’t tell if it’s an insult or not the way he growls the word against your ear, grip on your throat tightening. “Need my help that bad, huh?” 

“Yes, god.”

“I am not god,” he grinds out, voice dark. For a second, the illusion shatters and you glance up at him. His eyes are endless, an ancient thing looking back at you. You freeze in his hold, a prey caught in a trap. Then he softens, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Tell me what you need, Pretty.” 

“Hands. Need your hands.” 

A bolt of pleasure goes through you when Seungcheol’s middle finger circles your clit. Your nails dig into his wrist, leaving little crescent moons behind. His ministrations are leisurely, giving you what you want but not as fast as you want it. 

That’s Seungcheol’s game. He’ll give you what you want, only when he feels like it. You feel a sense of deja vu, realizing that you’ve been here before. Snatches of memories flash through your mind. They pass through your grip like sand, none of them firm enough to grab onto. 

“Missed you,” you mumble. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Ah, there it is.” 

Seungcheol is pleased with your recollection. You can tell when he relents his teasing touches, fingers drifting down to press a single digit into your heat. Your stomach flips when he does, relief sweeping through you as he shallowly fucks you with a single finger.

It’s not enough but it’s better. You shiver in his hold, going a little slack in his arms, hips twitching. He’s content to have you like this, working your cunt slowly, watching your reactions as your breathing catches and restarts. 

“Feel good?” 

“So good.” You can barely get the reply out, words faint. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Pretty.” 

His kiss is soft against your cheekbone, at odds with the grip he still has on your throat. You feel his hand like a comforting weight, loving the feel of it resting against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze or choke you, content just to hold you against him. 

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, the wet squelch obscene. “Take this shit off for me,” he tells you, pulling at your shorts. 

His heavy hand rests on your collarbone as your hands shoot to your shorts. Hooking your thumbs in them, you shimmy down, lifting your hips with his help to kick them down your thighs and legs to the floor. 

Cool air hits your heat as you settle against his chest again. He nestles against your neck, fingers resuming the task of peeling you apart as he sinks his pointer and ring finger into you. You clench around him, loving the stretch and the feeling of his fingers pressing against your g-spot as he slowly strokes you, breath hot against your ear. 

Being unable to remember your previous encounter with him feels cruel. Seungcheol knows exactly how to work you toward your high. The slick sound of his fingers between your legs accompanied with his lips pressed against your neck drives you insane. 

Unable to keep still, your hips come up off the bed to meet his hand. The hand not fucking you to insanity slides under your shirt. Heat trails his touch. He traces the curve of your breast and your breath stutters, catching in your throat. His nails scrape against sensitive skin, moving higher until he drags his touch over your nipple. 

The heel of Seungcheol’s hand presses firmly into your clit. You mewl, thrashing against him, closer and closer to your peak. His strokes turn harsh, finger-fucking you at a brutal pace while his other hand tweaks your nipple, the pleasure-sting making you quake. 

“Come on,” he urges, voice deep. Sharp teeth scrape against your throat. “Come for me, Pretty.” 

Everything turns to static as you clench around his fingers. You squeeze so tight he can barely continue stroking you through your peak. There’s a high-pitched ring in your ears as you pant through it, vaguely aware that Seungcheol is muttering something against your ear that you don’t understand. 

As your orgasm fades, so do you. The world becomes soft at the edges. You feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat against your back and smell jasmine, but you slowly drift away from him, barely able to catch his growl of remember me next time before you’re gone. 

-

Cold granite countertop digs into your knees. You barely register the pain, one hand pressed flat to the counter, the other reaching behind you to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair. Your hot breath skates across the surface, the cool stone not enough to combat the heat of your skin. 

Seungcheol’s face is pressed as far as he can go into your cunt, the flat of his tongue dragging from top to bottom. You’re nearly catatonic, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as he fucks you with his tongue. 

He grunts when your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he sucks harshly at you. He’s loud as he eats you out, his hunger something more demonic and fiendish than you’re used to. You don’t care, pressing back into him as he mouths at you. 

His hands firmly pry you open, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You can feel the bruising way he holds you, uncaring as he works you toward another high, so desperate for it that you’re begging. 

Begging for what, you don’t know. None of the words that fall from your mouth really make sense. You’re a rambling disaster under the mastery of his mouth, and as you tiptoe the line of your high, it feels like you’ll never unscramble your thoughts again.

You come again, feeling the way you flood his mouth. He doesn’t care, growling low in his throat as his mouth becomes more insistent, fingers pressing into you even harder. Something takes over him in that moment, his grip on you so fierce that you think you might break.

But you don’t. You never do. 

-

“Pretty,” Seungcheol murmurs, cocking his head to the side. Your mouth aches where it’s stretched harshly around his cock, spit leaking from the side of your lips. His thumb brushes across the spilled fluid, grinning as he leisurely pops it into his mouth and sucks. “Such a pretty thing, mouth full of cock.”

You hum around him eagerly, shifting back and forth on your knees. He’s got you on the floor of your bedroom in front of your bed, hands linked obediently behind your back while he stands in front of you. His stomach ripples as he flexes his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

Your throat seizes around him again and you feel yourself gag. He pouts and pulls back, letting you gasp for breath. Your mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, wet and sore and battered. You don’t care, looking up at him with watery eyes and sticky lips.

“So important to me,” he whispers, nodding as though to assure you. Your stomach flips and you shuffle toward him eagerly, mouth open. “So perfect for me.” 

Instead of using words, you stick your tongue out, eager. Seungcheol grins and the room darkens. There is a buzz in the back of your mind that you can’t place, ignoring the feeling in favor of watching him slowly slide back in, letting your tongue scrape the bottom of his shaft.

Seungcheol sighs, tilting his head back as he sets a slow pace, using your mouth as he pleases. He’s beautiful like this, all tan skin, heaving chest, sweat sliding down his neck, red hair damp. His eyes are closed but his mouth is open, cherry lips parted sweetly to show his sharp little fangs as he pants. 

So pretty, you think. Even with teeth sharper than they should be.  

-

You’re standing in front of a bar named Hush. The pink neon burns bright against the gritty night, hurting your eyes. Turning around in a circle, you notice there’s no one else in the alleyway. There’s a certain charge to the air, a hum that you can’t place, but grows stronger when you turn to face the bar again. 

A single door sits under the sign, closed and waiting to be opened. Chewing your bottom lip, you stride toward the door, unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side. 

With a hard yank, you pull the door open and step into the darkness of the room beyond. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the single, flickering light over the bar, but once they do, you see it’s a tiny room. A single piano sits in the corner near two booths, and there’s only one bar top in the back, a few stools in front of it. 

A single man sits at the bar but he’s facing you, leaning back on his elbows as he drinks you in. He’s in a purple suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and his red hair is bright enough to light the night like a flame. 

He cocks his head to the side, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hi,” he greets. “Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?” 

“I’m familiar with these things.” 

He looks like a devil. You can’t place your finger on what exactly about his face makes you think so. His eyes are dark as the depths of the ocean and when he smiles, you swear his teeth are sharp. “Need some help?” 

You do need help sleeping. The doctors can’t help you. Therapy doesn’t help you. Something tells you maybe this stranger can help you. 

“Please.”

“It would be my pleasure, Pretty.” 

-

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, hand flying to his wrist to grip him. “Fuck, holy shit.” 

Fuck is absolutely right. His hand tightens around your throat, placed just right to make it harder for you to breathe. Your thoughts swim as he fucks into you, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as his strokes grow harsher. 

Your knees slide on the bed under the strength of his thrusts. He growls at you to keep up and you whimper, flexing your thighs to remain upright as he drives his cock into you at a pace that sends you hurtling toward your peak. 

“So fucking difficult,” he grunts in your ear. His teeth nip your ear lobe and you whine, intoxicated by the smell of jasmine and the tightening knot in your stomach. “You’re always so difficult.” 

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t think it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that from him. Your thoughts turn to liquid you come around him though, feeling the way you grip his cock like a vice, seizing in his hold.

Everything turns to nothing. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but static. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

And then you're gasping for air, lungs burning as you gulp it down. Falling forward, you crash into the sheets and into complete darkness. 

-

“Why do you come and go so often?” 

Seungcheol lifts his head from the bed to turn and look at you. He’s still naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, crimson hair clinging to his forehead. He’s on his stomach laying opposite of you, his head by your feet. 

Something sparks in his eyes at your question, his heavy brows pulling together, cherry lips downturning. “I only come as often as you let me.” 

“What do you mean?”

His face twitches in what you think might be annoyance. “You have a complicated relationship with me.” 

“We have a relationship?” 

He snorts and turns away from you, resting his chin on his arms as he settles back down, closing his eyes. He reminds you of a cat - a particularly dangerous cat, you think. “I suppose. Most people couldn’t say they have a relationship with me, and yet I keep letting you invite me back.”

“Invite you?” 

“Hush. Stop asking questions.” 

“But I don’t… understand.” 

“Good,” he quips. “Because every time you do, you send me away only to invite me back in.” 

-

“Come on,” Seungcheol teases. “You wanted it, so do the work.” 

Your thighs ache. A pitiful sound leaves you as you nod, putting your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as you lift your hips, legs shaking. You’re exhausted and burned out, but the ache you need filled as you slowly slide up his cock drives you to keep going. 

Dropping back down in his lap, you feel sparks. Your movements are slow. Seungcheol’s hands are tucked behind his head where he leans back on your pillows, fathomless eyes watching you as you ride him, a little uncoordinated and weak from the exertion he’s put you through all evening.

“Cheol, my thighs,” you protest, instead trying to grind into him. He raises a brow and you pout. “Please.”

“No. Come on, Pretty, you can do it. You can fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come. Come on.” 

“Cheol.”

“No. Do it yourself.” 

Gritting your teeth, you let your annoyance fuel you. Anger burns right alongside pleasure as you find the strength to do exactly as he tells you. Leveraging your hold on his shoulders, you continue to spear yourself on him at a steady pace and slowly, your anger is replaced with bliss.

Seungcheol feels incredible. He’s hard to take, stretching you to the max and at this position, he’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You keep going, nails biting into his skin and drawing blood but you don’t care. 

Fire burns in his eyes as he watches you. You stare right back, seething at the way he’s making you do it yourself, a little bit of humiliation stinging the edges of your pride. You can tell he thrives on this, satisfied that what you want outweighs any sort of desire to be stubborn.

Somehow, he always wins like this. Always manages to get you to do what he wants. He’s sneaky like that, knowing just what button to press to get you where he wants you. 

Sometimes you feel like you’re a puppet whose strings are connected to his fingertips. 

Either way, you manage to drive yourself to an orgasm, shuddering around him as you seat yourself fully in his lap, throbbing around him. He lets out a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as he struggles to keep his composure.

Leaning back against his knees, you catch your breath. He’s still painfully hard inside of you, and when his eyes open, you see his hunger isn’t sated. Your heart lips when he surges forward, fast as an adder. His mouth crashes into yours hungrily and you let him have you, eager at the flutter in your stomach as he shifts, altering the angle. 

“I’m not done,” he mutters, kisses turning into sharp bites. “So hush while I take what’s mine.” 

-

Something wakes you up from sleep. It’s too dark in your room to see, but your heart is hammering and your hands are quivering. Leaning toward your nightstand, you search for your phone. All you feel is cool wood, no device anywhere.

The dark is oppressive. You don’t remember your room being this dark, the blackout curtains serving as a good device to keep out the city and streetlights, but never so much that you feel swallowed whole. Lost. Devoured.

A tingle buzzes at the back of your neck. You freeze in bed, looking into the never ending darkness. Silence roars in your ears, the outside world completely removed. You can’t even hear your own pulse or breath, the quiet so heavy that panic starts to rise in your throat.

You can’t see but you know you’re not alone - can feel the solid press of something else in the room. 

Too afraid to make noise, you resume the search for your phone, fingers moving slowly across the top of your night stand. You can’t find it. 

Something presses into the mattress at the end of your bed. You feel the dip under its weight but can’t hear the creek of springs. You give up the search for your phone, snatching your hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It’s a dream, you tell yourself. It’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s- 

The thing in your room moves closer. A scream works its way up your throat where it gets stuck, lodged and unmoving. You squeeze your eyes shut harder, fireworks of color exploding behind your eyelids as you do. 

“I know you’re awake, Pretty.” The voice is so low you can barely make out the words. They scrape against you like claws. “You can’t keep doing this,” it says, almost a sigh in its voice. “You know what this is. What I am.” 

“Go away,” you whisper, voice weak. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t do this again.” 

“Go away, Seungcheol.” 

There’s a low growl that you can feel as it vibrates the air. “As you wish.”

-

The neon sign above the door says Hush. It burns bright and pink against the night sky. You look around, unsure how you got here. Sighing, you pull out your phone to check the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning, which means you’re probably a victim of your sleep walking again. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you look up at the sign again. There’s a little blue moon to accompany the pink cursive neon, and though you don’t think you’ve ever seen this bar before, there's a magnetism about it that draws you in. 

Curious, you walk up to the door and go in. The lights are dim and you have trouble seeing at first, but you can make out that there’s a piano in the corner, two booths and a small bar with some stools. A man sits at the bar, his back turned to you. 

“We’re closed,” he grumbles without turning to look at you. You frown, cocking your head as you drink him in. 

The purple suit he wears is an odd choice. His hair is the color of blood, slicked back and a surprisingly nice contrast to the bright color of his suit. A single light flickers above him, painting him in a gold hue.

“What is this place?” you ask, ignoring the fact that it’s closed. 

He doesn’t answer for a second. You think he’s going to ignore you, but finally he says, “Do you have trouble sleeping?” 

You’re surprised by the question. “Yes, actually.” 

“I can help.” 

“Really?” You step further into the bar, watching as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is painfully pretty, the kind of beauty that reminds you of old paintings of Lucifer. “How?” 

“Are you accepting my help?” 

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes.” 

His cherry red lips twitch and he shakes his head. Picking up his drink, he polishes it off before standing to turn you fully. The weight of his presence presses down on you like an invisible blanket, weighing you down.

“Of course you do.” He strides toward you and though your instincts tell you to run, something else tells you to stay. He looks down at you with a pair of eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you let them. His lashes are silky and long, a delicate balance to his heavy gaze. “You always need me, right, Pretty?” 

You nod, a word - a name - buzzing on your tongue as he looms over you. “Please,” you whisper, thoughts a little cottony, a little dizzy. “Seungcheol.”

He grins, revealing sharp teeth. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.” 

-

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[sweetpastillas]

i Love NPMD's subversion of the trope where the supernatural haunts the bullies who rightfully deserved it. you have famous horror figures in movies who hurt the characters for revenge, because those characters held some power over them or knew someone who did – think carrie white, or iterations of freddy krueger or jason voorhees, the latter's mother, etc. you have modern stuff like unfriended and subsequent films within the genre, where "the ghost did this because they were bullied by the protags" becomes the main premise. because the trope is a staple in horror, whenever it shows up we think the characters deserve these deaths for what they did to the victim anyway; we just come for the spectacle. the inciting incident itself always shows their pre-existing behavior and actions, and explains why the movie happens.

but the thing that NPMD does is give that power to the bully. max is able to continue terrorizing nerds because of what was done to him. the only reason we don't completely sympathize with him (i would love those fix it fics where he gets to change after the accident) is because we understand the nerds' point of view. they dont do it because they would get a kick out of seeing him humiliated, they do it to get him to stop hurting them. they do it to survive. thats why we know they dont deserve it.

imagine if NPMD was a super serious horror film, where the waylon house accident was a flashback only shown in the 3rd act? it would be a decently sized twist to know that our brains are used to expecting a sympathetic backstory to the ghost or an evil side to the gang when no, he was the asshole.

i also love how it subverts the other horror trope too. usually the aforementioned horror icons go after those popular kids because of a movie's intent to punish vices. people who party and fuck are meant to die. if it were any other characters like, let's say, teenage and meaner tom houston and becky barnes, they would be wiped off the board without a thought.

but the protagonists are the titular nerdy prudes. people who want to party and fuck but dont. who only could in a world without max's strict social hierarchy, when outliers to their group like steph could be able to convince them to.

i also dont know if this has been said before but man i love figuring it out now

i probably have more thoughts on this but uhh later I LOVE YOU STARKID

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Slow and Sultry Beats

Series: Supernatural B-Sides

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: Dean loses a bet. The things we do for our calling.

Tags:  Dean Winchester, Female Reader Character, Female You, Sam Winchester, Tasha Banes, Witch Reader, Goth Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence, Songfic, Surprise Character, If I Told You It Wouldn't Be A Surprise Would It?

AN:  Song is Nine Inch Nails, "Get Down Make Love" (with a seasoning of Combichrist, Poe, Michael Jackson, and anything else you might've heard at the Lizard Lounge on a Church night). Oh come on, tell me Dean wouldn’t look fucking delicious in Goth. Blame @thoughtslikeaminefield for digging it out of my head, for better or worse. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

“I hate you.”

“Heard you the first time,” you say absently as you work the pestle.  “And the second time.  And the third time.  And all of the times after that.  Give it a rest, why don’t’cha?"

Dean scowls at you.  “This isn’t fair.”

“Heard you the first time on that subject too.”  You sigh at Dean’s scowl.  “Look, I need backup and you’re it.  So suck it up Winchester.  This damn thing needs to get locked down and pronto otherwise we might lose something important.  Like Dallas.”  You turn your attention to Sam as Dean upends the plastic shopping bag and dumps the contents on the motel room bed.  “In my bag there’s a brown glass bottle--"

“Oh hell no.”  Dean’s holding up the shirt and pants you’d bought.  The shirt’s just a racerback tank top and not in the least bit risqué.  The pants-- “Leather pants?!?  Really?”

“What?” you ask.  “You’ll be decent.  It’s not like tonight’s the Fetish Ball or anything.”

“Excuse me?” Dean demands as Sam tries and fails to keep from laughing.

You sigh.  “Just . . . go in and take a quick shower.  I gotta finish putting the puzzle box together.  Sam would you do me a favor and do a perimeter of the place?  Make sure this damn thing doesn’t have minions or acolytes hanging around?”

Pouting a little because what baby brother wouldn’t want a front seat to his older brother’s embarrassment, Sam grabs the car keys and leaves.  The shower starts up.  The ground mixture in the grinding bowl goes in a small vial, along with a measure of lavender oil.  Muttering the first of the incantations, you start assembling the box.  The binding magic completes just as the shower cuts off and Dean walks out to see you hunched over and gasping, braced on the table by your elbows.  “Hey-- you okay?”

“I’m all right.  Just gotta catch my breath.”  You glance over and do a double-take.  Dean’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and your eye level is right where it needs to be to see that’s all he’s wearing.

Maybe he didn’t notice--

Dean snickers.

He noticed.

“Just get dressed, asshole,” you say.

“’Dressed,’ she says,” Dean snorts, picking up the pants.  “Don’t you mean poured?  Seriously, how am I even supposed to get these on?”

You’re a little worried about that yourself.  You’d had to guess on the size.  “Just do the best you can,” you say as you walk to the bathroom, grabbing your bag.

You walk out a few minutes later with your hair braided into twin plaits trailing down your back, dressed in a black cotton underliner and black leggings.  Dean’s got the pants on and he’s stretching to try and get the material moving with him.  They fit, just, sheathing his thigh muscles and cupping his ass with a lover’s touch.  Close enough for you to see he’s either wearing an athletic supporter or going commando.  Either thought makes you warm all through.

Enough already, you tell yourself, stepping into your stomping boots and zipping.  When you look up, Dean’s pulling on the tank top.  The racerback showcases about two yards worth of shoulders.  You lick your lips.  Dean’s a lot more toned than you’d expected.  It’s doing things to you.  Easy to see why he hardly has to work to get people to stare at him.  Including you, you think as you snap yourself out of it and stand.  Your top goes over the cotton underliner and you fasten the busk.

Dean tucks in, zips, and buckles the built-in belt.  “Shit,” he says as he paws at his back, “how the hell am I supposed to carry my pistol in this?”

“You’re not.  The bouncer won’t let us in if you're packing, and a gun won’t do shit against this thing anyway."  You turn around.  “Can you tie me?”

“Uh,” there's a mirror hung over the sink, lined with bright white light bulbs.  You chuckle at Dean's mirror image, staring at your back with a gawp of utter confusion.  "Sure.”

“Just like you tie shoelaces.”  You grab onto the bathroom door frame and brace yourself.  “Not too tight."

Dean’s tugs are surprisingly gentle.  The corset strings must look like thread between his fingers.  “This okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you tell him it’s good.  “Just tie them in a bow.”  A grope at your back confirms you can pull the laces.  You reach down your front to put your tits where they’re supposed to be and shimmy everything into place.  This one’s your favorite, deepest blue satin brocade hugging your waist and holding your tits just so.  You look good in it and you know it.

Dean’s studying you as you turn around.  “What?”

“How can you move in that thing?” he demands.

Not the first time you’ve heard that question.  “Dean people were wearing these for centuries until some schmuck invented bras.  It just takes a little practice."  You buckle on your belt of stuff, pouches full of the things you'll need for the spell.  "Now come on, have a seat.  Makeup time.”

“What-- what-- excuse me,” Dean stammers, “what?!?”

You put your hands on your hips and glare.  Sometimes perfect eloquence is mute.

“Okay,” Dean gets all up in your face, “I agreed to be your backup on this because I lost fair and square but I will not turn myself into some . . . knockoff Twilight twinkly freak show--"

“Are you finished?” you cut him off.  “Nobody is going to buy you as part of the usual crowd if you go in dressed like Roger The Redneck with that I Hate Everything look on your face.”

“I’m out of here,” Dean declares, storming for the door.

“For fuck’s sake is the thought of putting a little goop on your face really that scary?” you demand.  “Your balls are not going to drop off just because you’re wearing eyeliner!”

Dean puts his toe on the ground and does a point-perfect about face.  “I am not scared of wearing makeup,” he says.  “I am not scared of a few hours of mingling with the freaks and weirdos.  I am worried about what might happen if this deal blows up in our faces.”

Dean’s a Hunter and his mistrust is nothing to take personally.  Most Hunters have had bad experiences with magic practitioners.  Witches especially.  “I asked you and your brother -- several times -- if either of you had any better ideas.”  This thing’s not a ghost, it’s not a demon, and it’s not anything else that can be banished by a ritual or a spell.  Containing it is the best solution available.

And you’re going to be at ground zero, bait and trap all in one.  Backup is not optional.

Backup is in a snit over a little face paint and snug pants.

You park it and continue.  “Did I hear any better ideas on how to get this fucker gone before it follows anyone else home?  No I did not.  So sit down and shut up.”

“Do I really--"

“Yes,” you say.  “And hold still.”

“This never happened,” Dean says as he pulls up a chair and you fetch the bag with your makeup.

“Shut your eyes.”

Twenty minutes later, the two of you study your handiwork in the mirror.

Gulp.

Eyeliner and a touch of color turns his eyes into big green gemstones.  Gloss makes his lips into something you want to spend a night nibbling.  He’s one of the most purely attractive men you’ve ever seen, and with these little accentuations he turns into something sublime, something to turn heads and make hearts pound.

In other words, perfect.

“God I look stupid,” Dean says, examining himself in the mirror and blinking at the unfamiliar feel of pigment around his eyes.

“Knock it off, the liner’s not quite dry yet.  You’re lucky you got those thick eyelashes, you don’t need mascara.  Now move, I gotta do mine.  And put on those cuffs.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean says.

"Salute me when you say that."

As he buckles the leather arm bracers onto his wrists, Dean gives you The Finger.

You let that slide.  You asked for it.

You’re putting on the finishing touches when Sam gets back.  You can see him blinking at the two of you in the mirror as you finish putting on your lipstick.  Black liner shading to deep purple within.  Your dog tags go around your neck with a jingle.

“Laugh and I will break your arm,” Dean says as Sam opens his mouth.

---

Tomorrow’s not a work day so the place is overflowing with a waiting line outside.  Big John's on door duty and Courtney’s at the register, both greeting you cordially.  “What’re you having?” you ask Dean once you’re inside and headed for the bar.

“Whiskey.  All of the whiskey,” Dean says, looking like he’s chewing on a lemon.

“Shawn?”  The bartender cocks an eyebrow at you.  “Vodka sour and a straight Scotch.  And two cups of ice water.”  He gives you a thumbs up and moments later you hand him some cash.

Dean bolts the whiskey and frowns at the ice water.  “What am I a fish?”

“Drink it,” you tell him.  “I need you relatively sober.”

“This’d be easier drunk.  I can’t hear myself think.”

What a wimp.

As you’re thinking that, though, Dean’s head perks up.  A reluctant smile curves his mouth.  “Oh my God, are you kidding--" you almost fall out of your boots as he takes your wrist and pulls you to the main dance floor.

Laughing, Dean hops down two feet into the lowest part of the dance floor.  The club’s had a lot of purposes since it was built; the main dance floor is a stage with a shallow orchestra pit flanked by two gogo dancer platforms.  An upper floor balcony overlooks the whole thing.  The sound system is whining, gearing up for something.  The whole thing is packed with people flying their freak flags at full staff, leather and vinyl and chrome and neon and steel and bare skin.

You’re opening your mouth to cuss Dean out for forgetting himself until you recognize the song.

“It’s close to midnight,” he stalks around you as much as he can without bumping into anyone, “something evil’s lurking in the dark.”

Thriller zombie dancing in a crowd of drunk Goths isn’t how you expected to get Dean on board but you’ll take it.  The surly bastard you’ve been dragging around is gone.  Now Dean looks like he’s having the time of his life, menace-marching, wiggling his hips, howling the chorus at the top of his lungs.

It ends with Dean miming Vincent Price’s evil laugh as you wheeze with giggles.  "Always wanted to do that," he says, grinning big and bright.

---

"Hey pretty," you see a girl with her hair dressed in bright florescent ponyfalls with furry boot cozies to match touches Dean's arm as he finishes his whiskey, "don't'cha wanna take a ride with me, through my world?"  A bolt of raw red jealousy makes you grind your teeth as she turns her back and arches up against his chest.  Black-nailed fingers trace up the column of Dean's neck.

Dean's hand touches her waist.  And pushes her gently away.  The girl takes the hint and leaves, throwing a pout over her shoulder as she heads for the video bar.

Feeling stupidly happy, you climb out of the dance pit to where Dean's been standing and watching.  "Dance with me," you tell him.

“Honey I don’t dance,” Dean snorts.

“You will now,” you tell him.  “I’m bait, remember?”

Scowling, Dean follows you back down into the dance pit.  His arm goes around your back and he pulls you close.  A thigh goes in between your legs.  You bite your lip at the pressure right where you’re tender.  Your knees go weak and Dean’s arm flexes to keep you upright, grinding your bodies together.

"I feel like a moron," Dean says against your ear.

"You're doing fine," you reassure him, settling more firmly against his body.  He balances you with ease, a solid block of warm skin and muscle.  The big fans aren’t quite equal to the sheer mass of bodies in motion; it's meltingly warm in here and dark.  A place of power, the mundane and very real magic of people coming together, uniting--

"Dean," you say, realization breaking your warm daze.  "It's here."

He blinks, like he's been dazed too.  "Yeah.  Next move?"

You peel yourself out of his arms and climb out of the pit, Dean on your heels.  But as you pass the huge nest of speakers on the way to the ladies' room he grabs your arm.  "What?" you yell.

"I can't go in there!" he yells back.

"Yes you can!"  You grab his hand and pull him through the door.  Full light dazzles your eyes a moment, then you're inside.  You glance back and see Dean with his free hand out and his eyes closed.  "Oh grow up," you snort, taking him to the other side of the wall through a gathering of half a dozen people primping in the mirror or relaxing on the couch, chattering and socializing.

The ladies' room is split in two, and the lack of places to sit makes the offside quieter.  Fishing in your belt pouches you produce a bottle full of inky dark fluid and a brush.  Out of another pouch you pull a piece of paper.  You've sketched a rough outline of your upper back, with the incantation written across your shoulders.  "Copy that."

"Hold still."

You brace your hands on the counter and try not to flinch at the tickle of the brush.  You have to bite your lips to keep from telling him to hurry it up already; precision is important.  Looking up through your eyelashes you catch sight of Dean's face as he works, eyes focused on your back and his lower lip clenched in his teeth in concentration.  He's breathtaking, you think, a perfect balance of delicacy and strength.  The Gods were taking pride in their duties the day they made him.

Dean finishes, and you recite the incantation.  A brief flare of heat traces the lettering, making you hiss.  "Is it supposed to disappear?" he asks after a moment.

"Yeah."  Your inner eyes open, and witch sight overlays your vision.  Power surrounds you.  You can feel it, see it.  Energy laces the air with a faint gleaming mist, threads and rivers flowing, twisting together, splitting apart.  "The Force is with me, young Winchester."

And then some.  This building's been a gathering place for people to meet, revel, drink, dance, fuck, live for decades.  It's soaked into the bricks.  You're open to it in a way you haven't been before.  It's dazzling, disorienting.

And Dean . . . to your witch sight, he blazes.  You're a little scared to touch him.  He's been touched by power, used as an instrument of destiny.  He's marked by it, like someone exposed to radiation.

You blink, try and focus.  Dean's asking you something.  You try and shake the giddiness out of your head.  "What?"

"Now what?" Dean repeats.

Good, a question you can answer.  "Now we wait.  And we dance."

"First," Dean says, "we drink."

---

Dancing to Combichrist is a fairly zero skill activity, just moving as the music takes you.  One enormously fat dancer's doing nothing but whipping her long hair in a furious headbang, pausing to shriek with everyone else, THIS SHIT WILL FUCK YOU UP!!!  You're weaving through fine, nacreous mist.  The motion of life and fate and magic is mesmerizing.  Your hands itch to reach out and take it in hand, knit and tie it all together into something beautiful.  You keep your hands to yourself and your Craft still.  Apart from the drain on one’s strength, a true witch knows better than to try and manipulate these forces by the power of their own will.  The balance of reality is delicate, and the counteractions needed to maintain it are extremely dangerous.

Mindful of your instructions from earlier, Dean sticks close.  You're close enough to kiss when a wicked urge seizes you.  The fabric of Dean's tank is hot and sweat drenched as you take two handfuls and pull upwards.  With a surprised little yipe Dean raises his arms and the shirt leaves your lives forever as you toss it towards a corner out of the way.

Shower fresh he was beautiful.  Here, in the dim light and wreathed with the stuff of magic, he . . . . shines.  Incandescent.  Terrifying.  Light gleams over and within.  All on its own your hand moves to a bright smudge on one shoulder, a shape almost like a scar.

Dean snatches your wrist.  "What are you doing?"

"Something's had ahold of you here," is the best you can explain it.  "Something powerful."

"Long story," Dean deflects.  He doesn't give your hand back, guiding up and around his neck instead.  You comb your fingers into his hair, fine and soft.  The music's changed to something sultry, with a rhythm like a slow hard fuck and shot through with little electric zaps.  A voice is questioning and you mouth the questions along with it -- how old you when you first let a man make love to you? next who was he? next how did you feel at the time? -- the voice rises as the clinical distance fades and it breaks with the sound of pleasured moans punctuated by yes!

You stretch to match Dean's height as best you can, press into him full-length.  Trent Reznor growls at ear-shredding volume, about heat and hunger and what people charged with longing can do for one another.  Dean doesn't need instruction, you think as his body picks up the beat.  He was made for many things, and pleasure is not the least of them.

You throw a leg over his hip.  Dean's strong, he balances the two of you easily.  A big hand slips down from your back to clutch your ass, pulling your centers flush.  God, your blood feels molten.  All of you burns.  You need fire to match, and here's Dean, strong arms and big hands and jeweled eyes looking down at you with heat and hunger--

Your reasoning self shouts loud enough to make itself heard, and you blink.  A small knot of substance is hopping around the magical threads and currents, a frog one moment and a spider the next.  It's not sentient, you can see that.  It's just an awareness.  It's hungry, and it's hunting.

And here you are.  Bait.

It pauses in its stalking, and you can feel it when it sizes you up.  Open and hot and charged with power.  It pauses, like a cat wiggling into a pounce.  "Dean--" you try and warn him.

Whatever he says back gets lost.  The thing strikes.  Brilliant hot energy stabs through you.  You gasp, your muscles clamping you hard against Dean's body.  Simple desire surges into something more primal.  You turn Dean's head and take his mouth in a hard kiss.  He opens to you, hot and wet.  His mouth tastes like whiskey, with a faint suggestion of spice.  Your heart flutters in your chest, so hard you can see sparkles across your vision.

Cussing, Dean pulls you up off your feet, wrapping both your legs around his waist.  You curl yourself around him, holding on tight as he carries you out of the pit like you weigh nothing.  The power of his body, muscles working under hot skin.  You want it, you want him.  The thing that's got you in its grip, you know it now and it wants sex.  Not just sex, it wants everything physical and spiritual that goes with it.  It will drive you, feed of you, and leave you dead on the floor like it's done with four other people so far.  Bodies on slabs with blood weeping from their eyes.

"Take it easy!" Dean grunts into your ear. The leather pants aren't doing a damn thing to hide his body's interest.  You hope like hell you were right about the thing being trapped.  If it's not it'll jump into Dean and it'll be his body on a slab, blood weeping out of his beautiful eyes.

No sooner do you complete the thought than the warm feeling of lust goes hot and wrathful.  The thing pulls on you and can't get away.  The special ink Dean had painted on you has written itself into your being.  Now it's holding the thing trapped, like the wires in a snare.

It hurts.  You bite into Dean’s shoulder to keep from screaming.

"OW!  Hey," Dean says, stopping just outside the club’s front door.  "Just hang on, we're gonna go find Sam."

"Hey!"  It's Jojo, chief of security.  "What's going on?"

"Little too much to drink," Dean says.  "I'm taking her home."

"Don't think so pal, she needs a hospital."  Oh shit.  You've got maybe twenty minutes before the spell keeping the thing snared to you fails and it rips you to pieces as it fights free.  You can already feel it happening and you clench your teeth on a cry.

"Look, she just needs to get somewhere with a shower and a puke pail and have her hangover in peace," Dean wheedles.  "If she starts having trouble breathing, I promise I'll call 911."

"I don't think so," Jojo says, and you blink at him.  There's something in the aura around his head, something about the spark in his eyes--

It's the thing.  Somehow he's in its thrall.  It's using him to get you.

"Dean!  Run!"

Holding you tight to him as best he can Dean pivots and dashes.  The early spring night air is cool on your skin, making you shudder.  It's like all-over pins'n'needles plus the worst muscle cramps ever.  You can feel Dean stumble as Jojo catches him and almost yanks him off his feet.  But Sam -- wonderful, heroic, glorious Sam, wreathed in an corona of brilliance all his own -- pulls Jojo back and puts him down with a fist driven into the solar plexus.

"Come on!" Dean says, jerking his head around the side of the building.  There's a sliver of shadow where the parking lot lights don't reach; Dean carries you there.  Sinking carefully to his knees, he lays you on the ground.  You convulse, not so much breathing as gulping air.  "The box.  Gimme the box."

Sam digs it out of his knapsack and hands it to Dean.  Dean puts it on your chest and cusses when it rolls right off the front of your corset.  "Knife," he says to Sam as he turns you over.  The pressure around your ribs disappears as the corset strings pop apart.  Dean flips you over again and, swearing, yanks down your underliner to bare your chest.   Ignoring the way your bare tits flop unsupported away from your breastbone, he places the box over your heart.  Sam reads the final part of the incantation from a crumpled piece of paper.

The thing uses your throat to shriek as the box activates.  The snare holding the thing trapped breaks, and the box sucks its essence free of your body and into itself like a tiny black hole.  The mechanism whirls and the locks engage with a clack, sealing it away.

You lie there for a long moment, split down the middle between pain and relief that your body's your own again.  The witch sight fades as you stare at the sky, the beautiful madness of the moon slipping away from your vision.  The box on your chest goes cool, just a funky looking knickknack.

Sam plucks a hankie out of his pocket and uses it to pick up the box and stuff it into his knapsack.  Sensible.  He's also trying very hard not to look at your undressed self.

So is Dean.  His eyes keep darting between you and the parking lot.  "Fuck," he says, coming to a decision.  Picking you up into his arms, he tells Sam, "Grab that thing and let's get the hell out of here before that asshole bouncer calls the cops."

---

Everything hurts.

Bones, muscles, skin.  Even your hair and your nails hurt.  Not just in your body.  The thing in your blood and your soul that makes you witch hurts, overloaded with spellworks and violated by the thing you'd snared.  "Oh leave it," you snarl as Sam lays your dirty corset out flat on the motel room's table.  "It just needs cleaned and new strings."

"Y-you said to put the box over your heart," Sam stammers.

"Shut up Sammy," Dean growls as he sits you in the room's single armchair.  Very aware that you're locking the barn after the livestock's been stolen, you pull your underliner back into place and tuck your tits out of sight.  "Get me the first aid kit."

"Don't bother," you wave him off impatiently.  "Nothing's broken and drugs won't help.  I'll be all right."  Overextending your magic creates a pain that drugs won't touch.

Giving you a dirty look, Dean taps the bite mark in his shoulder.  You cringe.  That’s gotta hurt like shit.

You ache with more than just pain, you realize as you watch Dean examine your bite mark in the vanity mirror.  Magic aside, it'd been nice to live in Dean's arms for a while.  A dangerous man, a deadly Hunter, a notorious witch-killer-- you've never felt safer in a man's arms.

"Take that box,” you tell Sam, “put it in a cursebox or a warded vault, and leave it there."

"Got it," Sam says.  "What was it?  The monster?"

"I didn't get a species," you say.  "I know what it was after though."

"Sex," Dean says, patting his neck to check for blood.

"Yeah.  It lived off erotic energy.  Track down someone about to leave for a little alone time, jump her, ride her home, and," you don't blush normally but the profoundly awkward look Sam's giving you is making you cringe with reflected mortification, "feed on the energy that comes off some really good sex and don't you dare make a come and go joke Winchester," you growl at Dean.

"Wasn't gonna," he says absently, hissing as he uses a piece of gauze soaked in rubbing alcohol to clean out the teeth marks.

 "Are you okay?" you ask.  "The thing didn't touch you did it?"

"I don't think so," he says.  He blinks and shakes his head, like he's clearing cobwebs.  "Just a headache."  Dean spies the box, sitting on the motel room table.  He shudders.  "Get that thing outta here Sam.  Dad's drop stash in--"

"Wait!" you snap your hand up.  "Do not tell me.  Ever.  In fact, don't put it there.  Put it somewhere else I've never heard of."  You take a deep breath.  Even that hurts.  "Whatever this thing is, it had the bouncer in thrall.  It might have others."  You look Dean square in the eye as you say, "I can't spill what I don't know."

He nods.  "Yeah, ten-four.  Sam, do we got a backup place?"

Sam thinks a second and nods.  "Yeah.  Keys?"  Dean grabs the keys off the nightstand and tosses; Sam plucks them out of the air and stuffs them in his pocket.  He mutters to himself, looking around the room, then lets out a little ah-HA and shucks the pillowcase off one of the pillows.

Now why didn't you think of that?

Never mind, you're just relieved the damn thing's going away.

You're shivering.

Just a little tremble in your middle, so slight you hope it'll go away.  Instead it deepens, intensifies, spreads.  Your whole body clenches and convulses, making you curl over yourself in your chair.  Dean consults with his brother by the door and Sam leaves with the box swinging inside the bleached white pillowcase.  The door closes and Dean locks it and sets the chain.  He turns to look at you, shirtless and beautiful with the touches of color around his eyes.  "Hey, you okay?"

"Shock," you manage between chattering teeth.

Dean's worried frown deepens.  "Do I need to call an ambulance?"

You shake your head.  "It'll pass."  And it will, you tell yourself.  The only things that fix spell shock are time, warmth, and rest.  All a hospital would do is pump you full of drugs and insist on putting you in an ICU.  And it's not like you could explain what happened anyway.  'I turned my body into a trap for an incorporeal concentration of erotic energy,' will get you tossed into a locked ward.

"Here," Dean takes one of your hands and starts chafing it between his.  "Shit, your fingers are freezing."

"It'll pass," you repeat.  The shock will.  The feeling of filth won't, not for a while.  Something evil's been inside you, touched you where your soul is.  That will take longer to go away.  It might never, not completely.  You'd known that when you'd suggested the plan.  You'd volunteered, you remind yourself as you shiver.  That should make it bearable.  It will, given time.  It will.

You hope.

"Easy," he says after a particularly fierce quake.  "Easy.  It's okay.  It's over.  It's over," he repeats as you shake your head.  "It's gone."

With a shaking hand, you touch Dean's shoulder.  That bright blot of energy there, like a scar on his spirit.  "Did whatever do that go away?"

You don't expect an answer, but Dean speaks after a long pause.  "Yes.  And no.  It's complicated."

Moving's not going to be easy.  "Help me up."

"I got you," Dean says.  He grips you behind each elbow and helps you to your feet.  "What a night," he groans.

"Tell me about it," you groan back.  You try and take a step and Dean catches you as your legs buckle.  "Just help me to the bathroom.  I can manage from there."  You'd better.  You gotta piss like nobody's business.

"Yeah yeah, I gotcha," Dean grunts, giving you an arm to brace yourself and helping you walk the ten feet to the bathroom.  "Uh . . . do you need--"

You chuckle.  "I can piss unassisted, promise."  You reach for your belt buckle.  Dean brushes your shaking fingers aside and undoes the fastening, taking the heavy pouches away.  "Thank you."

With the wall to lean on, you make it to the toity and take care of that.  Shower's out until your legs are steadier.  Washing your hands in the vanity sink, you get a look at yourself in the mirror.  My God you’re a fright, loose hairs sticking out of your braids, makeup smeared everywhere . . . and just over your shoulder there's Mister Sunshine sitting on the bed, untying his boots and green eyes bright with suppressed hilarity.  "Shut up."

"Didn't say a word," he defends himself, holding up his empty hands.

You'd retort but you're too busy trying to get your face wash out of your makeup bag.  A violent tremble loosens your fingers.  The bottle drops from your hand and bounces off the edge of the counter, hitting the floor with a clatter.  "God dammit!"

"Here."  Standing in his sock feet, Dean picks the bottle up off the floor.  "Seriously, are you okay?"

Looking up into his concerned face, you say, "Would it further damage your man-cred if you helped me take my makeup off?"

"I'm wearing leather pants and eyeliner," Dean reminds you with a snort.

"Those aren't damaging your man-cred, at all," you tell him quietly.

Dean blinks down at you, looking into your eyes like he's reading secret messages written across your irises.  "Here," he says, setting your face wash aside and clearing a space on the counter.  Putting his hands on your waist, he says, "Up," and boosts you to sit next to the sink.

A cotton pad soaked with a little olive oil and your eye makeup wipes away, and a gentle scrub takes care of the rest.  Warm water and Dean's gentle touch, you can feel your wounded spirit starting to pull itself back together.  Sitting up on the counter puts the two of you at eye level, and the harsh white lights lining the vanity mirror don't detract from Dean's comeliness at all, you think as he works.

"How does this work?" he asks, holding the eyedropper bottle of oil.  "I want to get this crap off my face."

"Here," you say, taking the bottle away from him and soaking another cotton pad.  "Shut your eyes."  When you get done wiping away the liner, you give his face a wash.  The barest whisper of whiskers make the washcloth rasp over his skin.  Dean keeps his eyes closed against the bright lights, his breath warm on your cheek through parted lips.  Softly, you brush the pad of your thumb across them, watch them move with the pressure.  They're lips that know a lot about kissing.  Your own lips burn with the memory.

Dean grabs your hand.  "What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, dropping your gaze to rest on the tattoo under his collarbone.  "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"It's not that, I just-- are you okay?  I mean, to be getting up to anything?"

You switch grip so you're holding his hand, and bring it to your lips.  Dean pulls in a quiet breath as you give his fingertips a soft suckling kiss, tasting a hint of soap under his nails.  "No demands," you tell him, quietly, not looking up from his fingers.  "I know you don't like witches.  I just--"

Dean takes his hand back and uses the crook of his finger to lift your face.  "Just what?"

Your lip wobbles.  "I feel dirty," you admit, feeling tears threaten.  There's no judgement in his face, no mockery.  If anything, he looks understanding.  "I just want to feel like a person again.  You know?"

"Yeah.  I do," Dean says, and he presses his lips to yours.

In the club, his kisses had been hot and hard, fiery with the heat of the moment.  This is different, slow and careful.  He stands between your spread knees and pulls you close, the thin material of your underliner the only barrier between you.  You put your arms around his neck, feeling the shaking under your skin ease a little as his heat seeps into you.

"You need me to make it better?" Dean asks, as his kiss becomes many small kisses, all over your face.

"Yes," you tell him quietly.  It's disgusting, how childish you feel . . .  but that's what you want, exactly.  "Please.  Please.  Make it better."

Nodding, Dean kisses you again, deep and warm.  It's like back in the club; Dean locks his arms around your back and pulls you off the counter, walking with you clamped to his body.  He sits on the edge of the bed.  For a long moment he just holds you, rubbing a hand down your back like he's soothing some trembling animal.  From anyone else it would feel condescending.  From him, it's caring.

You're laying back on the bed, braided together and making out nice and slow.  It feels wonderful, delicious tension coiling in your center and slow heat melting the ice in your blood.  Dean's not just a great kisser, you think as your brain dissolves into goo-- he's a fucking black belt in making out.

The heat in your core feels nice.  You want more.  Pushing Dean back a little, you take the bottom of your underliner and peel it up and off your body.  Dean stares down at your bare tits like they're a revelation, not something he's seen already.  His next kiss is hotter.  You tip your head back and he slides his mouth down your neck.  A gentle bite over the pulse point makes you whine.

"Relax," Dean whispers against your skin.  His hands slide down your body, petting your skin and making it warm.  He cups a breast in his big hand, the nipple clamped gently between two fingers.  The sensation goes straight to your pussy, making you throb.  Wet heat's gathering there, you can feel it soaking into your underwear.  "It's okay, I got you.  Lie back."

When you're stretched out, he unzips you out of your boots and peels off your leggings, baring all of you.  You shiver with more than shock at the heat in his eyes, as he takes you all in.

You part your knees to give him space, but instead of opening his pants and lowering himself over you, he pushes your thighs further apart.  Chuckling, he runs his fingers through the thick heart-shaped patch of curls above where your pussy lips split.  "This is cute.  I like it."  Cool air rushes over your sensitive parts as he uses his thumbs to open you up.  "Points me right where I need to go."

"Oh," you whine as he lowers his head.  Rough and wet strokes across the very tip of your clit, a faint promise of a touch.  "What are you doing?"

Sliding down to lay on his belly, your legs hooked over his arms and his hands crossed below your bellybutton, Dean says, "Making it better."  He licks and you gasp.  "Is this okay?"  Chuckling low and wicked at your shaky nod, Dean lowers his head.

How someone kisses doesn't necessarily mean they're any good applying their mouths anywhere else, you think to yourself in a haze.  In his case-- Dean's using those soft lips and that broad tongue in ways you're sure aren't legal in this area.  Using the first two fingers of one hand, he holds your cunt lips apart and uses his tongue on every little bit, inner petals and outer folds, bottom to top and back down, closed lips caressing and pointed tongue probing, the nubbly flat rubbing softly across your clit.  Shaking from the spell shock's giving way to an entirely different sort of trembling.  The heat building in your blood chasing away the cold chills.

"How do you want to come?" Dean asks in that low voice.  "Fingers?"  He dips two fingers inside, just to the first knuckle.  Your hips sway, seeking more, but Dean withdraws, making you clench on empty.  "Tongue?"  You cry out as he plunges his tongue into your pussy, so deep you can feel his nose and teeth snug against you.  "Or do you want to wait for my cock?"  He licks a quick puppy lap, making your hips jump.  God you're close.  You're all sex and heat and need.  "If I'm allowed a vote?" he says, spacing his words with more licks, little shocks of pleasure keeping you right on the edge.  "I want my cock in you."

"Yes," you whine.  "Cock, please.  Want it.  Want you inside me.  All the way."

Dean crawls up your body and kisses you, his lips wet with your nectar.  He gets to his feet, and you sit up with him, working open his belt.  You were right, he's buck beneath.  His dick's getting fat as you watch.  Dean grunts as you grace it with a soft lick, as you peel the leather pants slowly down his legs.  He stinks of sweat and leather and sex, alive and human.

Leaning down and giving you a kiss, Dean says, "Play with your titties for me."

Your nipples are hard and tight between your fingers.  Manipulating them feels delicious, delightful sparks snapping down between your legs.  You reach down between your legs, try and relieve a little of the ache.  "Ow!" you cry as Dean slaps the back of your hand.

"You said cock so that's what you're getting.  No cheating," he scolds.

You blow out an exasperated breath.  "Thought you wanted to make it better," you whine.

"I will, just cool your jets."  Dean's rooting in his bag.  "Ah-hah!  Knew I had spares," he says, holding up a little foil slip.  You pout.  Of course.  You hadn't given protection a thought.

Dean takes care of himself and kneels between your legs.  "You sure about this?" he asks, framing your face with a hand.  "I can get you off--" Dean's eyes roll back and his eyelids flutter as you reach down and cup his sac, run your hand up and gently squeeze.  He’s hot, hard, fits perfectly there in your hand.

You notch him in place and Dean lets his weight sink.  Oh wow, he's thicker than he looks.  You bite your lip against the stretch.  It's been a while, and he feels so good.  Warm and alive, pressing you into the bed.  You arch into him, feeling him reaching deeper.  Dean just holds still, living inside you for a long moment and looking you deep in the eyes.  The feeling of filth, of defilement, they're fading at the heat and concern there.  There's nothing dirty about this.

With a soft kiss, Dean asks, "You okay baby?"  You nod, reaching around his back and capping his shoulders with your palms.  Settling against you, Dean moves long and slow.  So slow and so good.  Tension knits his brow and pulls his body taught.  He's going at exactly the right pace to build you high and hot.

Your eyes are closed when the world spins and Dean's under you.  "Get your knees-- there," he pants, balancing you as you put your knees on either side of his hips.  "Grab onto the headboard."  You lean forward and grab on, painted veneer smooth under your hands.  Lips and tongue wrap around your nipple and latch, sucking hard and making you cry out.  "Perfect," Dean pants with his mouth full of your tits.  "Get down," he murmurs around your nipple, adding a mild sting of teeth.  "Get down, get down make love."

The shakes are gone, the sense of violation gone.  Your whole being is alive and hot.  You look down into Dean's face, and see the same thing there-- life and heat.  You pull your pussy tight around him.  He sucks in a moan as you move your hips in quick, hard pulls.

Your orgasm hits like a cleansing fire, burning across your skin and lighting your nerves like fuses.  Dean grabs you tight and rolls you over, driving into you hard and making the fire spark again, burn hotter.  You shriek his name as Dean's body seizes up tight and he collapses on top of you.

---

Sam's waiting outside as you and Dean finish dressing. "You wanna hang onto these?" you tease, holding up the leather pants.

"Hell no," Dean says.  "Hay-ell no."

You grin.  "Just asking.  They made your ass look amazing."

He stands hipshot and looks over his shoulder at you.  "Don't think I need any help in that department," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Laughing, you step around him and stretch up to give him a kiss.  You feel wonderful.  Whole and energized, glad to be alive.  "Thank you," you say.  "Watch yourselves.  Things are scary out there right now."

Dean hugs you close.  "You too."  Another soft kiss, and he's gone.

---

A long time later . . .

“Why didn’t you tell me?!?”

“I tried.  At first you were underground.  Then I heard you were dead.”  When you’d learned otherwise, the news you’d gotten of him had all been bad.  Falling off the radar over and over, only to resurface when something terrible was happening.  The vibe was clear; stay away from that one, he’s dangerous.

“How-- how did it happen?”

“I don’t know.  God’s honest, I don’t know.  I wasn’t trying to make anything happen.”

Not consciously.  But the basic fact of the matter is, you’d been open and vulnerable and Dean had been there with a healer’s touch on your wounded spirit.  A life-affirming act of caring, performed as the calendar changed to May Day.  Beltane-- the flowering of the earth, the promise of abundance . . . a night of fertility.

“So why now?”

“You’ve met the Banes twins?  At Asa Fox’s funeral?  Asa never knew.  Tasha never told him.”  Deep breath.  “Asa never got to choose whether or not to have a relationship with them.  I don’t think it was right for her to take that decision away from him.”

So here you are.  At the park, in an empty field like combatants facing off for a duel.  You even have seconds-- Sam standing by Dean’s big Chevy on one side, Tasha Banes leaned up against your Jeep on the other.

He’s aged since you saw him last.  More lines around the eyes, more shadows within them.  He’s still one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen, everything about him fashioned to draw the eye and break the heart.

Right now though, he’s ignoring you completely.  Every bit of his focus is down towards where your hands rest on his daughter's shoulders.

“Hi,” Diana breaks the ice.

“Hi,” Dean manages.

Diana shifts in your arms, craning her neck to look into Dean's face.  "Why are you crying?"

Dean chuckles, tears falling from his eyes and the biggest grin you've ever seen beaming from his face.  "I'm just happy, honey.  Big happy."

You let go and Diana steps forward, green eyes looking square and brave into her father’s green eyes.  “Is it okay if I give you a hug?”  She lifts her arms.  “Mommy said I should always ask first.”

“God yes,” Dean sighs and falls to his knees.  Diana throws her little arms around his neck.  Dean wraps his arms around her, tight, careful not to crush.  “I’ll always have hugs for you sweetheart,” he whispers.  He cups a hand around her head, kisses her cheek.  Diana says something you don't catch and a sob breaks through Dean's throat.  "You can call me anything you want to," he says, and tears fall from your eyes when you remember Diana asking can I call him Daddy?

"Hey," Dean says, pulling back a little.  "Hey, don't do that," he says softly, using his thumb to wipe tears from Diana's cheeks.  He shifts to the side and points to where his brother's watching.  "See that big guy by the awesome car?"

"Uh-huh," Diana says.

"That's your Uncle Sammy.  You wanna go meet him?"

"Yes please," your courteous baby girl says.  She makes a little surprised squeak when Dean locks an arm around her rear end and stands.

"Is this okay?" Dean asks.  She nods, a big up-down.

"I'll be right over here with Tasha," you say.  "Later we'll go and get some lunch."

Tasha's waiting with a handkerchief and a flask.  You take a knock of whiskey and blow your nose.  "Everything okay?"

You look over to where Dean and Sam are playing Pass The Baby, hear Diana laughing when Dean says something funny.  "Yeah."  Sam's grinning too.  He gently winds one of Diana's pigtails around his finger.  Dean says something snarky and Diana sticks her tongue out at him, making all three of them crack up.  "Yeah, I think so."

---

AN2: Don't ask me where that ending came from. I have no idea. The Lizard Lounge is a damn tragic casualty of the epidemic. These days, The Church howls from the It'll Do Club. Check this out if you're curious about the soundscape.

[changbunnies]

Scent Of You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Bang Chan x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader x Wolf Hybrid!Changbin

♡ Genre: dubcon, little red riding hood au, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, vague allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.8k (oops)

♡ Summary: In which a sweet, naive bunny hybrid nicknamed 'little red' becomes lost in the forest at night, and finds herself face to face with the big, bad wolves her grandmother always warned her about.

♡ Warnings: uses the little red riding hood fairytale as a base for inspiration before it devolves into smut, words like "alpha" and other omegaverse terms aren't used but the vibes are There lol

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): dubcon, pet names (though mostly as a title- such as bunny, little red, and sweetheart), the word slut is used a few times, gendered language such as "dirty girl", scent stuff lol, dom/sub dynamics (dom!chan, sub!reader, allusions to switch!bin), a lot of kissing, size difference, size kink (i'm sorry if you're tall just pretend ur small and they're huge because ur a rabbit and they're a wolf fsdgsdf), oral (m + f rec), spitroasting, some manhandling, some banter and mild rivalry between bin and chan, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms and multiple creampies

♡ Notes: so i intended to take a small break from writing after finishing crave but inspo struck me as i was trying to fall asleep and i NEEDED to write it so i literally shot up and wrote all of this in one sitting in a cold sweat fsdgdsf so here we are, one last surprise upload before my break <3 it's easily the most self indulgent fic i've written to date dfdgh bunny is my fave petname and this is basically just my excuse to be called bunny in a wolf binchan sandwich lmao this is not as proofread as my other stuff given how quickly i wrote it, and it's my first time writing a threesome, but i hope you enjoy! edit: there is now a sequel you can read here !

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

"Please, take care sweetheart. Don't stay out too long," your grandmother warns with a tender kiss to your forehead as you prepare to head out for the day, pulling the hood of your long, red cape up over your head, tucking in your hair and covering your lopped ears.

"I know, grandmother, I know! I'll be back before you know it, I promise," you assure her with a smile, hooking your twine basket into your arm, empty and ready to be filled with treats of the forest.

Your grandmother heaves a soft sigh, as she falls back against the bed, and you give her hand a reassuring squeeze and a soft goodbye before you make your way out of your quaint cottage, a long line of intimidating, tall standing trees before you. Grandmother always worries for your safety, as the woods aren't entirely safe for a rabbit like yourself, but so long as the sun hangs bright in the sky, you'd be perfectly fine.

Really, it's only at night that the woods near your home become truly dangerous, as all manner of nocturnal predators leave their dens in search of their next meal. For a rabbit such as yourself, lingering in the woods at night is assuredly a death sentence; your diminutive stature and weak limbs would cause you to easily fall victim to the beasts that stalk through the forest with the moon's aid. 

The only thing on your side would be your speed, but even then it's no guarantee of safety once a predator has you in their sights. And so your grandmother always instilled a proper fear of the dark within you, in the hope that you'd never find yourself in a situation in which you'd have to flee in the first place.

Entering the forest brings with it countless anxieties for your species, but it's not like you can simply not go. The gifts of nature are what sustains you, and you have to enter the woods, even live near them, if you want to have food in your tummy and herbal medicines on your shelves. 

As such, you are always very conscious of the amount of time you spend in the forest, only ever entering when the sun is brightly illuminating your surroundings, always careful and alert as you gather what you need. You observe the sun's position in the sky, use it to determine how much time you have left before it begins to set, always heading back well before it starts to sink behind the trees.

And you'd never stay longer than necessary, especially not when you have grandmother waiting at home praying for your safe return! But well.. grandmother is quite ill these days, and you spent more time than you usually would gathering the berries and leaves you’ll need to make her sweet, healing brews of tea.

Soon enough, winter's chill would cause all the greenery to frost and wither, and you wanted to stock up now to ensure you had enough to last 'til the end of the season. It was for grandmother's health! Surely she'd understand and forgive you if you stayed out just a little longer than usual. 

But as dusk started to settle over the trees, and you realized how precious few moments of sunlight you had left to make it home with, panic began to accumulate in the pit of your stomach. You tried your best to take deep breaths, to not allow your heart to race– as long as you remained calm, you could get back before dark, you were sure of it. 

The more the sun sank however, the more you lost your clarity; you found yourself stumbling in circles, the encroaching dark causing the forest to become unrecognizable, leading you blindly in circles. You'd long since lost sight of the path you always followed home, and the moon and stars, which were normally such a beautiful sight, now came with a sense of foreboding.

It was dark, you were lost, and grandmother was now all alone, probably worrying herself half to death wondering where you could be and if you're even still alive. You continue blindly weaving your way through the trees, just praying that you're moving in the direction of home; you can't afford to hide away and wait until morning, not when a beast could be around any corner.

Using your speed to your advantage, you dart past a near endless sea of trees, praying, praying, and praying the clearing will come into view and you’ll see your cottage in the middle, with orange light from the fire peeking through the windows and smoke billowing from the chimney. 

Suddenly you stop, entire body freezing as your hair stands on end, nose twitching as an unfamiliar scent fills your nostrils; someone is near– someone that you should avoid at all costs. It’s so heavy, overwhelming beyond comprehension– the scent of the forest itself is still identifiable, but mixed now with something akin to leather, black coffee, and hot iron.

The scent is actually quite pleasant, so that's not what causes you to freeze; it’s the unfamiliarity that is the true root of the problem, evoking a deep rooted, innate fear response. You know all the “safe” smells– that of other prey animals such as yourself, for instance, are recognizable, comforting, and bring about a sense of calm.

To be met with the unfamiliar is to be met with danger; it means that whatever is near is something you’ve never encountered during your safe treks through the forest, it means that a predator likely has you in their sights. And as grandmother has told you, if you smell them it’s already too late– they’ve found you. 

“Now, now, what do we have here?” A deep voice calls, hidden from your sight. Your heart erupts in an erratic rhythm, a chill running down your spine as your eyes desperately search the darkness for the source of the voice. And there, you finally see it– or rather, him. A man, standing much, much taller and bulkier than you, sharp fangs exposed with his smile, fangs that you are sure will be used to rip you apart. 

You see pointed ears and dusky blue-silver fur, a long tail that swishes with intrigue and delight, a fur coat with the arms cut off, an exposed chest laden with scars both fresh and faded. He’s a wolf, you realize with dread, the thing you were taught to fear most of all.

You unconsciously take a step back as he approaches, the moonlight illuminating him in a way that evokes both fear and reverence; as beautiful as he is dangerous. “What’s a little thing like you doing in the forest at night, hmm? Don’t you know it isn’t safe, little red?” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile, referencing the caped hood you’re wearing, a gift from your grandmother meant to keep you safe from men like him.  

You clutch your basket tighter as your legs begin to tremble, lowering your head and pulling your hood down further, trying your best to ensure your ears and other features are completely covered. He probably knows by smell alone you’re a prey animal, but you vainly hope he’ll let you go if he doesn’t realize you’re a rabbit– a stupid hope, but it’s the only one you have.

“Poor thing, don’t be scared. You got lost, didn’t you, little red?” With each step towards you he takes, you take another step back, until your back meets that of a thick tree, the erratic rhythm of your heart building to a speed you thought otherwise impossible. 

“Tell me– where did you come from?” The wolf asks with an intimidating smile full of fang, “I recognize you from somewhere. Where was it I’ve smelled you before..?”

With nowhere to go, caged against the tree as the wolf closes in, all you can do is tremble as you watch him sniff the air, licking his lips as if tasting your scent. Most prey animals are generally the same, but there’s only one place he’s gotten the scent of sugar and cream from.. 

“Ah, I know,” he says suddenly, smile growing wider as he speaks, “That little cottage in the clearing– that’s it, isn’t it? That’s your home?” You swallow as you timidly nod, your nerves much too frayed to attempt to lie– you’ve never been a good liar anyways, your grandmother having raised you to be honest and good.

“You’re quite far from home, little red. But I can help you,” he offers, but you know better than to trust a wolf– they’re liars, all of them. “N-No, I.. I can get there by myself,” you say, finally finding your voice (shaky and timid though it may be.)

The man hums, seemingly amused by your brave display; he knows how scared you are, can quite literally taste it, but he has to commend you for trying, at least. “I’m not sure that’s true. Do you know which way home is?” 

“W-Well, uhm, I.. I– I, I don’t–” you stutter and fumble, and he chuckles, a smug look of “thought-so” clear on his face as he grins at you. His hand finds your cheek, and you look up at him with glassy, teary eyes, heart thumping out of control as he strokes your skin with his thumb.

He smiles sweetly, almost boyishly– a look that would be endearing if he wasn’t a wolf, and you weren’t afraid for your life. His clawed hand travels from your cheek to the top of your hood, and you quickly reach your hands up to clutch the fabric, keeping it fully tugged down in a vain attempt to continue to hide your identity.

The wolf laughs, clearly amused at your reaction. “Come now, little red, show me what sort of ears you’re hiding under there,” he coos and you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut and knuckles turning white as you desperately cling to your hood. 

At this point it probably no longer matters what you are exactly– no matter the answer, it’s clear the wolf before your eyes has plans for you that won’t go unfulfilled. But still, your survival instincts are in overdrive, and you can’t help but try your best to protect yourself, even if the endeavor proves to be worthless.

He tugs at your hood, not yet trying to fully pull it off, but rather playing with you– he could easily pull it off in one quick swipe, his claws could tear the fabric to ribbons, but he chooses to instead have his fun, watch you panic and struggle with the hood in your tiny hands. 

You look at him, unfallen tears blurring your vision; you don’t know what else to do. Grandmother always said if you found yourself cornered by wolves, your only option would be to run and pray for the best, but is that really the best you can do? And while you’re fast, wolves are faster– you’re sure the man would be able to catch up with you easily, especially given that the moon is his ally and he is likely extremely familiar with the deep woods.

Further still, he clearly stated he knows your home; even if you escape, he knows exactly where to go to find you. It fills you with dread, knowing that even if you do make it home, your grandmother would be there too; and you’d never forgive yourself if something bad happened to her because of you.

It’s an impossible choice you are being dealt– surrender to your fate now, or try your best to flee and risk dragging your precious grandmother down with you. But as he finally tugs down your hood, your white, snow-like lopped ears are fully exposed, and the wolf’s fangs shine as he gleefully smiles, you find yourself unconsciously making a choice– you run, as fast as your legs will carry you.

The cape gets caught and snags on stray branches from the myriad trees, tearing as you continue to run, adrenaline coursing through your veins, chest aching from the erratic, forcefully thumping of your heart, breath coming out quick and harsh. 

You barely make it 10 feet ahead through the trees before you’re crashing into something, the sudden impact causing you to let out an involuntary shout as you stumble back and fall ungracefully on your backside. Looking up, tears fall from your eyes when you realize it’s another wolf– shorter than the one who’d cornered you previously, but bulkier, with fur as dark as obsidian and a scent that matches it.

You suspect that he was there the entire time, and you just didn’t notice due to the panicked focus you held on getting away from the blue-silver wolf. “Where do you think you're going, little red?” the new wolf speaks, affirming your fears; he was there for the entire exchange, witness to the moniker you’d been given and now using it for himself.

“Oh Changbin, you caught her,” you hear the previous wolf say from somewhere behind you, leaves and twigs snapping beneath his feet as he approaches your spot on the ground. “Course,” the dark wolf evidently named Changbin speaks, kneeling down to look directly in your teary eyes, “I’d never let such a sweet little thing get away from us.” 

He reaches to the side of your body, where your twine basket has fallen from your arms and spilled its contents, all the berries and leaves you gathered now decorating the dirt. “Hmm, most of these are herbal. What a sweet girl you are, gathering until late into the night! Your grandmother must be proud of you, hmm?” Changbin smiles, looking up to the previous wolf once he stands again, your basket in his hands, “Don’t you think so, Chan-hyung?” 

The blue-silver wolf that the dark wolf calls Chan hums in agreement, once again calling you a “sweet thing.” Chan offers you a hand to help you stand, and you hesitate, swallowing as your eyes dart nervously between them. Their eyes on you make you nervous beyond just the predator-prey relationship you share; they’re both so impossibly ethereal in the light of the moon, and it makes you wonder if all wolves are such divine creatures. 

Maybe that’s why the rest of the forest view them reverently; beautiful, powerful, utterly intimidating in all aspects– they offer no choice from a rabbit such as yourself but submission simply from presence alone. “What’s your name, little red?” is Chan’s next question, and again, you find yourself unable to lie; against your own sense of self-preservation, you tell him your name.

He hums, repeating your name as if testing the way it falls from his tongue before diverting back to his nickname for you. “Let’s make a deal, little red,” the wolf says, still holding out his hand, waiting for you to take it. You finally do so cautiously, letting Chan help you to your feet, your legs still trembling but not yet buckling in the face of fear.

“W-What kind of deal?” you ask hesitantly, looking between the two wolves who smile and lick their lips, tongues ghosting over their fangs as they do. Beautiful, powerful, intimidating, your mind repeats.

“We want to play with you,” Chan says smoothly, the answer coming natural to him, “play with us for a little while, and then we’ll take you home. We promise.” You look at the other, younger wolf who nods, backing the sentiment of his superior.

Here you are, confronted in the deepest reaches of the forest by two wolves, and instead of devouring you they just want to “play”..? What does playing entail with them? You’re not sure how much you truly want to know, but the promise of home dangling in front of you makes you consider their offer despite how foolish it may be.

“You’re not.. tricking me, are you?” you ask, voice small, full of naivety and hope. “Of course not, sweetheart, we would never,” Changbin affirms, even going so far as to pick up the spilled contents of your basket and nestle them carefully back inside– a promise that by the time you’re done “playing”, you’ll be reunited with your sickly grandmother and able to care for her again.

“You just smell so sweet,” Chan says, his clawed fingers once again tracing over your cheek, “and we’ve always wanted to play with a sweet little bunny like you.” You nervously exhale the breath you unconsciously held when his hand traced your skin, searching his eyes for any sort of deceit.

If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely confident in your ability to tell if the wolves are lying to you– they’re masters of manipulation, after all; lying is second nature to them. Still, you want to trust them– trust that after you play with them for a little while, they’ll keep their promise of taking you home with your basket in your arms and everything you need to get through the winter.

“If you really promise, then.. I’ll play with you,” you answer, and the wolves both smile eagerly, with the elder wolf taking you in his arms, swiftly lifting you up off your feet. You squeak in surprise, instinctively clutching tightly to his fur coat, scared of being dropped. 

“Let’s go have some fun then,” Chan grins at you, making sure his hold on you is secure before he starts to move, “but not here. The floor here’s too dirty for you, isn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question in which he expects no answer; instead he starts winding through the trees quickly, a destination clearly in mind.

You vaguely see the other wolf trailing behind before you squeeze your eyes shut, the blur of trees and wind whipping through your hair and past your ears making you dizzy as you’re carried further and further into the forest, likely towards its center. It takes you a few moments to open your eyes once you’ve realized you’re no longer moving at high speeds; Chan, who still has you in his arms, is now walking at a leisurely place through what you assume is his den.

The smell of other wolves is distinct but distant– evidently, the three of you are the only ones home for the night. It makes you breathe a small sigh of relief to know the rest of his pack is absent, attending to their own matters. It makes you feel safer, somehow; as if you’re not literally inside a wolf's den, at the mercy of whatever it is the two before you want with you. 

Eventually you are carried into a bedroom– one that smells more of Chan than the other wolf, which leads you to believe this is his room specifically. Changbin doesn’t seem to mind that the “playing” will take place here, a smile still clear on his face as he shuts the door behind himself, locking the door behind him as Chan sets you on his rather large bed. 

Your ears lie flat against your head, your nerves eating away at you as you fiddle with your hands. You watch them both carefully, taking note of where Changbin sets down your basket before he meets you and Chan at the bed.

The two of them standing over you makes you feel impossibly small, affirms how much better they are than you in every evolutionary aspect; speed, strength, size– they have it all. And you, one measly little rabbit with no significant qualities in comparison to them, who has no choice but to put her life in their hands if she wants to survive. How unfair. 

“Tell me, little red,” Chan starts as he sits next to you on his bed, one large hand enough to cup your entire face and direct your complete attention towards him, “are bunnies as slutty as they say?” Your eyes widen as you gulp in shock, having not expected such a forward, explicit question.

“Yeah, I’m curious,” Changbin follows up, sitting firmly on your other side, caging you in between the both of them, “they don’t say ‘fucking like rabbits’ for no reason, right? So what are you? A slut?” 

“I-I’m not!” you sputter out; it’s true that rabbits have a reputation for promiscuity but you live a rather sheltered life with your grandmother– you hardly even know other rabbits your age, much less male rabbits. That being said, you have been a little.. intense during your heats– but you rode those out with toys, not with the help of men.

And you don’t think there’s any shame in promiscuity, but that’s simply not the life you lead; you live modestly, simply taking care of your grandmother to the best of your ability. You barely even have time to masturbate these days– fucking is entirely out of the realm of possibility, as busy as you are. 

“But you’ve taken cock before?” Changbin asks from behind you rather shamelessly, and Chan looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer with a cocked brow. “W-Well, yes, but–” you start and Chan is smiling again, another happy hum leaving his lips. ..Does your virginity status really matter here..?

Your eyes widen again when the reality of what you’ve agreed to clicks, and Chan chuckles at your delayed reaction. “You’re not very smart, are you, bunny? But that’s okay– you don’t need to be smart to have fun, isn’t that right?”

Changbin is the next to speak, his hot breath coming out against one of your lopped ears, his hands tracing your hips, “Mhm, sweet, dumb bunnies are cute, don’t you think? I bet they have lots of fun,”

It’s vaguely condescending, how they speak of you– sweet and dumb, as if your intelligence pales next to theirs, as if you are an object designed for their pleasure and no other. And somehow, it adds to the tremble in your legs, your breath hitching when Chan squeezes your cheeks between his fingers and thumb, forcing your mouth to open. 

You overtly whine, the wolf’s obscenely long tongue sliding into your mouth, exploring with another eager hum, his fangs catching on your lip with each kiss. As he kisses you, his fingers tug at the knot of your caped hood, leaving the task of discarding it to the other wolf once the knot is undone.

Goosebumps once again rise on your skin, with Changbin kissing and licking your neck after your cape has been tossed aside, deeply inhaling your scent as Chan continues to abuse your lips with his tongue and teeth. “Chan-hyung wasn’t kidding when he said you smell so sweet,” he whispers against your skin as he continues to trail his kisses down towards your shoulder, “it’s intoxicating.”

It’s shameless and almost embarrassing, the way arousal pools in your underwear despite all preconceived notions of how a rabbit should behave in the face of a predatory animal; but the more they kiss and lick, the more fear ebbs away, and becomes replaced by pleasure and yearning.

It’s been so long since you last felt the touch of someone else, having been stricken to solitary heats since becoming your grandmother’s carer. It almost humiliates you to admit how good their touch feels on your burning skin. 

They can quite literally feel your body release its tension, Changbin’s strong arms being the ones to hold you up as you melt into their touch, and the smell of your leaking arousal obviously doesn’t go undetected by either of their noses. Chan pulls away from your lips, a smirk visible on his features when you open your eyes to look at him. “What a dirty girl you are, excited already,” he says, another whine escaping you not only from his words, but from the feeling of Changbin’s teeth grazing your neck.

Chan, who could quite easily rip your dress from your body, instead opts to tug the fabric away much more carefully than you’d have anticipated– perhaps they really mean to return you home after this? Changbin, whose torso was substantially more covered than his elder’s, removes his top, leaving you to feel his bare, muscular chest against your now exposed back.

He wastes no time in latching back to your neck, licking, sucking, teeth grazing the skin, but not biting down– whether to spare you the shame of returning home with the clear mark of a predator, or because he doesn’t have permission from lead of the pack however, is unclear.

Your breasts, which you’ve always considered quite full despite your diminutive frame, easily fit within Chan’s large palms. Their ability to not only make you feel, but look small leaves you dizzy. You should be afraid of how they eclipse your frame with their size, but instead you find it exciting, your brain unraveling everything you’ve been taught about self-preservation in favor of experiencing utmost pleasure from two hulking wolves. 

Shame, it seems, has entirely left you, as slick leaks from you easily, drenching your underwear with each touch from their rough hands. Chan’s fingers play with your sensitive nipples, pulling and tugging until you’re writhing against Changbin’s body, who has his own hands tracing your hips and thighs, pressing lingering kisses to any patch of skin he can reach.

Chan lowers himself to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling around it as his hand continues to play with the other. Meanwhile, Changbin’s hand slinks around, brushing over your stomach before his hand dips between your legs, rubbing your heat over your soaked underwear. 

“Fuck, this messy for us already? You have to feel her, hyung, touch her pussy,” Changbin speaking such filthy words right next to your ear makes you shudder, a whimper leaving from deep in your throat when Chan obliges, his hand quick to replace the younger wolf’s.

Instead of touching you over your clothes however, he opts to completely tear them from your body, in stark contrast to how he treated your dress– you suppose the underwear is less important to remain intact, or maybe he just can’t help it after having gotten this far? 

“Oh, look at that Binnie, you’re right,” Chan grins as his fingers rub along your folds, spreading the slick around to create even more of a mess between your legs, “You’re such a dirty bunny underneath, hmm?”

Your face burns red, another whine escaping as shame finally returns to you, your hands reaching to cover your face. The pair of them coo, finding the display cute, whilst simultaneously making their cocks throb– what a treat, to have found a bunny that is both incredibly sweet and effortlessly sexy all at once. 

Chan pushes Changbin’s hands away from your body, and quickly turns you around. Your back is now against Chan, and he hooks your legs over his knees, spreading you open for the younger wolf to see. “Let’s give Binnie a look at your dripping pussy, don’t you think he deserves it after being so sweet to you?” More slick dribbles its way out of you, soaking the mattress beneath, a treat for Changbin’s eager eyes. 

Peeking between your fingers, you see his dark tail swishing behind him in delight, very clearly excited by the sight he’s met with. “Can I taste her, hyung? I want to so bad,” he asks, licking his lips, his eager, sparkling eyes not leaving you for even a second. “Mm, what do you think, little red? Should we let him have a taste?” Chan asks, and though you can’t see him anymore, you can practically hear the smile in his voice– playful and fun. 

You nod quickly, though Chan doesn’t seem content with that response– he tsks, once again grabbing your face and making you twist your neck to look at him. “You gotta use your words, sweetheart, you understand?” You start to simply nod again, but then quickly follow up with a small “yes”, to which the wolf smiles. He diverts your gaze back to Changbin, forcing you to hold the darker wolf’s gaze. “Good bunny, go ahead and tell him, then. Tell him you want him to eat you.” 

He can feel your face burn beneath his fingers, and though you can’t see it you’re sure there’s a smug smile gracing his perfect face as he waits for you to properly address Changbin. “I-I.. I want you to eat me, please,” you force yourself to mumble out, not missing the way Changbin’s cock throbs in his torn shorts. With one last lick of his lips, he’s diving between your thighs, looking up at you with a grin, “I’ll devour you, sweetheart.” 

You gasp when his tongue licks between your folds, a loud moan unintentionally falling from your lips as he eagerly laps away at you. You can’t help but squirm in Chan’s hold, his legs continuing to hold yours open and preventing them from closing around Changbin’s head.

Changbin moans as he licks and sucks on your clit, as if the act is more pleasurable for him than you; and eventually he alternates between giving his undivided attention to your clit, to sliding his tongue as deep into your hole as it’ll go, letting his nose bump your clit instead. 

Chan’s erection digs into your back, sometimes groaning when your squirming and twitching causes friction; but he’s not content to just sit behind you and watch– he wants to add to the fun. So his hands come up to the soft base of your ears, expecting it to be as erogenous of a zone for you as it is for them– and by your reaction, he can tell it is.

Your head falls back against him, and he can just catch a glimpse of your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, mouth hanging open as more moans and desperate whimpers leave you. “You getting close, sweet bunny? You wanna cum?” Chan asks, grinning when you once again quickly nod your head, a near endless stream of whimpery moans leaving you as your high approaches.

“Answer properly,” he reminds you, though his tone isn’t as strict as before– it’s almost playful, amused; he’s having fun. “W-Wanna cum, please, please let– hah– please let me cum,” you beg between harsh breaths, your entire body feeling like a wire on the verge of snapping.

“You heard her Bin, make her cum,” you hear Chan say as he becomes harsher with your ears, his calloused fingers now rubbing in rough circles. Your entire body jolts and convulses as the wire finally snaps, cry after cry of white pleasure spilling from your lips as you release on Changbin’s waiting tongue. He hums as he licks up all you offer him, not separating himself from his spot between your legs until he’s sure he’s got it all and you’re shuddering from the overstimulation. 

Changbin takes your face in his hands, pulling you just slightly away from Chan as he drags you into a kiss, his tongue shoving its way into your mouth. Your taste is all over his tongue, his mouth stealing away all the breath you’ve just barely managed to breathe into your lungs after the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes are hazy when he pulls away, fogged over by lust and needs for the wolves you are sandwiched between. 

You just barely register Changbin looking past you to Chan, as if asking what to do next; though the exchange is silent, it seems like Changbin knows exactly where to go from here after receiving a certain look– have they done this before, you wonder?

Changbin scoots back just a bit before grabbing your legs, unhooking them from Chan’s knees before he’s pulling you down, closer to him. You gasp, your head falling straight onto Chan’s lap– well, more accurately to one of his thighs, before he’s closing his legs to act as a pillow for you. 

His cock, though still obscured by the fabric of his shorts, is right next to your face and impressive in its size, just as Changbin’s is. The two of them, in almost practiced unison, pull down their shorts, though the task is harder for Chan, who has your head resting on his lap. He still manages well enough, and you’re met with the sight of his hard, leaking cock right in front of your eyes, almost close enough to touch your cheek. 

You look up at Chan, who looks down to meet your gaze with a grin. “Hope you’re ready, bunny,” is all the warning you get before you’re flipped around to your front, another squeak of surprise as you’re manhandled to your knees, bent to where Changbin wants you, with your face still squarely in Chan’s lap.

One of Chan’s hands holds his cock at the base while the other reaches under your chin, lifting your face up to look directly at him. “Show me what you can do while you’re taking cock,” he instructs, your body trembling as you feel Changbin’s cock rub between your folds, slicking himself up. 

You whine when his cock presses against your hole, Changbin’s hands holding your hips up while Chan’s guide you to take his leaking cock into your mouth. You never imagined you’d be in a scenario where you’re taking in the cocks of two wolves at once, but you welcome the challenge.

Changbin enters you first, the stretch the most intense you’ve ever taken– you can’t help but gasp, the sting pricking up every inch of your body. Chan, thankfully, doesn’t force you to take him entirely into your mouth in this state– he lets you instead kiss and lick the tip, recognizing your need to adjust to a size you’re entirely unused to taking. 

They both praise you, though Changbin’s voice is significantly more strained and breathy as he continues his slow push inside your tight heat. Your nails dig into Chan’s thighs for support, and he doesn’t scold you for taking pauses in giving him attention, instead just watching as you squeeze your eyes shut and do your best to control your heavy breathing.

“Big stretch, isn’t it bun?” Chan ends up asking, which causes you to nod with teary eyes. “‘s so big,” you exhale, and Changbin whines from behind you– you wonder if he likes hearing how big he is? You can also hear the loud swishing of his tail, almost like a whip with how quick it snaps from side to side; it’s an undeniable truth that Changbin has been very, very excited to play with you the entire night.

Changbin hisses once he’s fully aside, while Chan takes this time to rub your back in a soothing gesture you wouldn’t typically expect from a wolf. You look up at him, eyes full of equal parts gratitude and lust, and he simply smiles, hunching his back down to meet your lips in a kiss. 

“Not fair, I wanna kiss her too–” Changbin protests from behind you and Chan scoffs when he pulls away from your lips. “Your dick is literally inside her Bin, shut the fuck up,” he says and to your surprise, you giggle– Changbin is kind of cute, isn’t he? At least, in a weird, wolfy sort of way.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asks, and you can almost hear the playful sort of pout in his voice. “S-Sorry, didn’t mean to,” you mumble, hoping you didn’t offend him. You take a cautious peek at him from over your shoulder, relieved to find that he’s actually smiling once he stops his dramatic pouting. Cute, you think again, but he doesn’t let you feel that way for long.

He pulls out to the tip and presses back inside in one, swift motion, causing a moan to erupt from you as your nails once again dig into Chan’s skin. “Won’t be laughing by the time I’m done with you, bunny,” Changbin says as he repeats the motion, and it takes everything in you to not utterly collapse onto Chan’s lap. 

He hits your spot every time, and you swear you can feel it all the way in your stomach– but Chan doesn’t let you stay idle in your pleasure for very long. “C’mon, sweet bunny, you know what to do,” he says, his hand under your chin directing you back to his own neglected length.

Unable to control yourself much after Changbin starts picking up his pace, you simply open your mouth and stick out your tongue, allowing Chan to enter your mouth however much he wishes to, completely handing your control to him. Changbin’s thrusts cause you to take more of Chan into your mouth than you’d initially take all at once, and it causes Chan to curse, his cock hitting the back of your throat within seconds of entering your mouth.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to well with tears, and then for those tears to cascade down your cheeks, trying your best not to choke and gag as Changbin, voluntarily or otherwise, forces you to take more and more of Chan’s cock down your throat. You can hardly even breathe between the pleasure of Changbin drilling you from behind and Chan’s cock obstructing your primary airway, but it makes you dizzy in the best way possible.

You feel floaty, every cell in your body knowing nothing but intense pleasure. Chan strokes your head, sometimes petting your ears for that extra burst of pleasure that makes you clench tighter and causes Changbin to curse from behind you each and every time. 

Changbin, who is observing the way his cock looks sliding in and out of your tiny hole, gets a flash of inspiration when he looks at your cute, fluffy cottontail. Experimentally, he takes it into his hands, rubbing your tail between his fingers, and you keen, a shiver traveling throughout your entire body.

“Oh, you like that?” he asks, a bit smug as he continues to rub and gently tug at your tail, a loud whine escaping you that is muffled only by the cock lodged in your mouth. Chan can see your eyes rolling back, and decides to double the pleasure, not letting his hands leave your ears for even a second.

Your noises tumble freely now, quick and constant, rising in volume despite how muffled they are. It’s overwhelming being played with like this, but it feels so fucking good you’d never think to complain– you may become addicted to this sensation when it’s all said and done.

You’re so wet and warm, and now squeezing impossibly tight– Changbin isn’t going to last, and you can feel him throbbing and twitching as his pace begins to stutter. “Shit- fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he whines, letting go of your hip with his other hand to reach under you and find your clit with his fingers. “Cum with me, pretty bunny, c’mon, I know you’re close too,” he says, quickly rubbing your clit between two of his fingers. 

Chan guides your head off of him, letting you suck in the breath you desperately need before he’s lifting you up just enough to meet his lips, capturing your moans with his mouth. You cum again with a succession of loud whimpers, your hands squeezing at Chan’s body desperately. “Oh my god, yes, ‘m cumming, c-cumming–” Changbin gasps, his cum shooting inside you in quick spurts, his bottom lip tucked between his sharp teeth as he groans. 

Chan lets you fall back to his lap, breathless and almost entirely spent, with Changbin breathing heavily behind you. He pulls out when he finally starts to soften, and you glance behind you the best you can to see him pouting at his elder again.

“You did that to make me jealous!” he accuses Chan in reference to kissing you, and the other wolf simply shrugs with a smirk. “I can kiss you too, Binnie,” you mumble, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. 

He whines again, and you realize it’s the first time you’re actually using one of their names. “You should’ve said my name while cumming, bunny,” he grunts as he scoops you up, pulling you back to his chest. “I don’t think she could’ve–” Chan starts to interject, laughing when Changbin glares at him, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss. 

They’re not actually fighting over you, but you find the dynamic fun– maybe that’s why they like to share; and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this desired before. Changbin’s tail is swishing again as he kisses you, and you giggle when you hear it– he’s like a puppy, you think; eager, and easily excitable, with a hint of jealousy that makes him fun to tease.

When he pulls away, he looks at Chan and then back at you, “Can you handle one more, sweetheart? Channie-hyung still needs a turn with you.” 

“I can take it, I’m a good bunny,” you affirm and they both grin, Chan reaching out to you and pulling you away from Changbin’s arms, into his own. “Such a good girl,” he hums as he lays you down on the mattress, taking his place between your legs while Changbin lays down next to you, rubbing his hand over your soft tummy.

Changbin’s cum is leaking steadily out of you, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind the mess it’s making on his mattress– you've made your own mess of his bed too, after all. He instead uses his fingers to gather up what has leaked and spread it over his own length, using it as lubrication for his own push inside of you.

Changbin presses kisses to your heated cheeks, licking away the tears that fall as Chan starts to push his cock inside you. Chan, who has been entirely composed up to this point, finally breaks just a bit– enough for his breath to start coming out harsher as you feel him twitch and throb inside you. 

His tail doesn’t swish as fast and erratically as Changbin’s but it is nonetheless moving happily side to side, a clear indicator that you’re actually affecting him, and he’s not all confidence and smug charisma. “Can I play with you while Channie-hyung fucks you, bunny?” Changbin asks, his hand creeping up to your chest, smiling when you quickly nod at him. 

Chan should scold you for not answering properly, but he’s focusing on his own pleasure now– taking your legs into his hands and holding them open while he fucks in and out of you. Changbin plays with your nipples, his hand taking turns between them while the other is used to keep himself propped up to watch.

“You’re making him feel good, can you tell?” he asks, and you look at Chan, who has sweat trailing down his brow and his plump bottom lip sucked between his teeth, face scrunched in pleasure. It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you turn back to Changbin, a small pout on your lips.

“I-I wish I–” a deep breathy moan interrupts your dialogue as Chan hits your spot, but you continue, “I wish I could’ve s-seen you too.” You bet he looked absolutely divine, just as Chan does. Changbin groans, your sentiment evidently having an affect on him. 

“God, you’re the fucking sweetest, bunny,” he tells you, leaning forward to kiss you some more, his tongue once again shoving it’s way into your mouth. You tangle your fingers in Changbin’s curly hair as he kisses you, and he whines when you unintentionally tug during a particularly harsh thrust from Chan. 

Changbin simply watches your face in awe for a moment when you pull away to breathe and let yourself fall back against the mattress, finding you incredibly cute, beautiful even, even with your hair a mess and drenched in sweat. “B-Binnie, Channie, think ‘m gonna cum again–” you whine, eyes rolling back once more when it causes Chan’s thrusts to become harsher.

“Yeah? Gonna cum again, slutty bunny?” Changbin smiles, egging you on with his voice. You nod quickly, pleas starting to fall from your lips effortlessly, “I-I can, right? Been a good girl, a good bunny? Good bunnies can cum?”

They both smile, endless encouragement leaving them such as “yes pretty, go ahead and cum for us,” and “good bunny, good girl, cum sweetheat.” Changbin pulls you back to his lips as you cum, wanting to kiss you as you cum since he missed the chance earlier, and he eagerly swallows your noises, his fingers finding your clit once more to drag out your orgasm. 

Chan as well starts to become louder, his grunts becoming more successive with each thrust, not losing speed even as his hips start to lose their rhythm. He grabs your face and tears you away from Changbin, kissing you in a display that is either meant to make Changbin jealous again, or is simply for his own pleasure.

Or maybe it serves both purposes at once, because as Changbin whines in protest, you can feel Chan smirk against your lips before he’s losing himself again. His groans are muffled against you as his hips stutter once, twice more before he’s spilling inside you, ropes and ropes of cum filling you to the brim. 

You reach out to Changbin’s hand, squeezing it in a gesture that is meant to stop his jealousy, and he smiles at you, calling you a “sweet little thing” once more, giving you a peck to your forehead. Your eyes close, not opening even as Chan softens and slips out of you, exhaustion having clearly seeped into every molecule of your body.

“Poor thing’s tired,” you vaguely hear Changbin say as he wipes the sweat off your brow. Chan responds, though it’s hard to make out what he says as you unconsciously slip into sleep, unable to prevent it with how heavy your entire body has become, rest quickly claiming you. 

The sound of birds loudly chirping wakes you, and you blink slowly awake, eyes straining as you realize you’re in the sunlight. You sit up quickly, looking down at yourself and then your surroundings; you’re out of the forest proper, in the clearing where your home sits quaintly in the middle. You're dressed back in your prior clothing and with your hood over your ears– barring the underwear you lost. 

You’d think last night was a dream if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel yourself bare underneath your dress; so they really upheld their promise and brought you back home..? You see your basket, sitting neatly in arm’s reach, a small note resting atop the berries and leaves you gathered yesterday that simply reads, “Last night was fun, wasn’t it, little red? Come play with us again sometime,” with a cutely drawn heart at the end, signed ‘Binnie and Channie.’

[totalswag]

Hello lovely I love ur writing abt Drew & Reader actresse sweetheart it's so good <3 I have a little request to make to you if you don't mind, Drew react to the Reader acting in the horror film masterpiece (like the movies Suspiria and Climax vibes) of which she's a part of the main cast

I'm just curious if he would be terrified or blown away by this kind of role that she plays like this one or not ;) thank u !!!

unbelievable performance — DREW STARKEY

authors note aw thank you lovie! that means so much to me. by the time you are reading this, my second fic with drew x actress!reader is out (the first date). i have never seen either movies that you listed in your request but i did look them up to get a gist.

summary drew was impressed by your performance in your latest horror film.

warnings mentions of kissing, horror films

masterlist

Tonight marks the premiere of your new horror film, in which you star with some amazing actors. After many hours of continuous filming, sequences are officially wrapped. You're extremely proud of yourself and your casemates. 

You were the staring lead in the movie. Getting the part after auditioning was a blessing in disguise. This being your very first staring lead role in any movie you’ve been in, you were so proud of yourself.

Everyone is seated in the theater. Drew, your boyfriend, also came with you. The entire cast stood in front of the stage as your director discussed the film a bit.

You shifted your focus to Drew, who was already looking at you in admiration, which made you smile and making you blush.

When you stepped up to your seat, he leaned down to your ear and whispered, "I want you to know that I'm so proud of you, and I know you did an amazing job on this movie," before kissing the top of your head.

“I love you baby, so much” you answer with your voice already starting to crack before tears wanted to burst out.

“Me more.”

Drew was so excited to watch his beautiful girlfriend on the big screen. Non-stop talking about the movie with you and his predictions on what will happen.

Everyone in the theater began to applaud as soon as the lights went out. Drew's hand moved easily down your thigh and gave it a little squeeze. Your skin began to tingle from his touch.

The movie begins with a hauntingly beautiful dance routine in which the camera swirls around the dancers in a way that is both captivating and unnerving. Drew is instantly captivated. As the story progresses, he observes your character navigating a world fraught with psychological pain and supernatural fear.

Half way through the movie, it’s been jaw dropping and incredible.

He is always on the edge of his seat in every situation you are in. You capture the dread and lunacy of the film's twisted narrative with an unvarnished and honest performance.

He's afraid and enthralled with the story at the same time, amazed at your ability to portray such raw emotion. Never once did he take his eyes off the screen.

The way the movie came out was unbelievable. The editors did wonders on this movie and made it into something viewers will want to keep watching.

Once you two arrived home after eating dinner at the after party, Drew and you took a shower together in your shared bathroom, changed into pajamas, then went into bed with the tv playing.

Later that night, back at home, Drew can't stop talking about the movie.

"You know, watching you in that role allowed me to see a completely other side of you. You were fierce, vulnerable, and incredibly compelling. "It was like watching an acting masterclass."

You laugh quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. "It means a lot hearing you say that. I was concerned about how you would react."

"Are you kidding?" I loved it. "I'm just glad I wasn't watching it alone in the dark," he jokes.

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[surelysilly]

SuperPhantom Week 2024, go!

What: A week to celebrate the bestest crossover — Danny Phantom / Supernatural (TV 2005)! Fanfic, fanart, playlists/music, other multimedia or crafts, whatever you want, are all welcome! There are themed prompts for each day, so try to include it and more or as little as you want!

When: September 7th, 2024 - September 13th, 2024

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic) Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade Day 7: Sept. 13th - Free

*I will catch up on what I've missed in the following week to the best of my ability, but can't guarantee any swiftness. Submissions may show up the day after their prompt as I queue them up.

Sentence prompt for the week:

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

How: Post your works on Tumblr with the tags #superphantomweek2024 and #superphantom. I’ll reblog them here! Submissions to the week can also be added to this Ao3 Collection!

Just want everyone to have fun with this old little crossover here, so be free and be merry!!! <3

Below are extra details and information for each day.

Honorable mentions for extra brownie points:

Focus on side characters from either show! Last (few) season(s) nonsense Where do ghosts fit in the war between heaven and hell?

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety

Do you think God lives in Heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He's created Here on Earth? - Spy Kids 2

Divine: Angelic Presence, Angels, Grace, Holy, God(s), Wings, Pie, Fudge, Resurrection, Prophets

Impiety: Deals, Crossroads, Demon, Betrayal, Curse, Desecration, King of Hell, Abomination, Half-human (Nephilim, Cambion), Halfas (Half Angel & Half Ghost)

Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange

There's something wrong with those boys... Something off about that house...

Too Many Eyes, Charade, Fleeting Glimpses, Veil, Death Defying, Midwestern Gothic, Limbo/Purgatory, Horror, Biblically Accurate, Ghosts, Weird Age Club

Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider

This is about the blood of the covenant and the water of the womb, or neither or.

Family: Children, Childhood, Siblings, Old Friend, Blood, Fluff, Teamwork, Bonds

Outsider: Accidental Meeting, Secret, Outside POV, Found Footage, Ghost Facers, Wrongfully Accused, Strange Bedfellows, Incorrect Assumptions

Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic)

We've got a long road ahead of us... can't just sit in silence! Or can we...?

Mixtape, CD burn, Radio, Voice, Enochian, Ghost Speak, Silence, Lullaby

Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left

The usual canon divergence, even canon compliance... or something even further removed!

Right: Time Travel, Pre-canon, The End AU, It's a Terrible Life AU

Left: Roleswap, Fantasy AU, Sci-fi, Multi-Crossover

Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade

These vary by profession. What are yours?

Overshadowing, Shot gun, Blade, Salt Circle, Trap, Ghost Portal, Ectoplasm, Impala, Feton AV, Cold Iron, Disguise, Fire, Possession, Wail, Monster of the Week, Summoning

Day 7: Sept. 13th - (Team) Free (Will)

New beginnings. Final endings. Let's do it all over again, it's only just getting started. Or is it?

Friday the 13th, Unlucky, Carry On My Wayward Son, Thrill, whatever you want!

*Take what you like, leave what you don't; these are all just extra suggestions for each day to help get the brain wrinkling up! Send any questions my way~