#this ask went off the rails I AM SORRY

[bugeyedfreaks]

Hi! Uhm...I wonder....About the lovely interests of Mojo Jojo and HIM. I mean...I know Mojo was in love with Mono Joko and it seems HIM loves Professor Utonium...but is that true? And they personally take this point clear to us, please?

I’ll answer your question about Him in particular but I’ll also use your ask as an opportunity for me to do a bit of a deep dive into Mojo and Him’s love lives, because……. why not? 😆

So we’ve definitely seen Mojo in love before/knows how he acts when he loves someone. He’s a romantic goofball and absolutely dotes on whoever he likes (which is freakin’ ADORABLE). And he absolutely only had eyes for Moko. You could make some sort of argument that it was for the bit and it was to parallel how the Beatles broke up IRL, but there’s also a whole comic written before that episode where we see Mojo sending in tapes to a dating agency ~for the ladies~. He then gets so desperate because the ladies are afraid of him that he ends up Frankensteining his own bride. So… take all that as you will when it comes to Mojo’s romantic preferences. 😆

Meanwhile, yes, Him definitely has shown, um, interest towards the Professor, which I think is hilarious and great. I think the biggest example of that is the big ol’ wet lick he drags across poor Professor’s cheek in Tough Love. However, did he do it just to antagonize the girls? Is it because he really does think the Prof is a hottie (like any sane person should)? We just don’t know. I feel like with Him being Him, you can see him going aaaaany which way romantically, but how he acts towards the Professor is, like, the only indication in the series of where his romantic interests may lie.

I know I mentioned my dislike of Mojo/Him earlier today, and I feel like I can’t not touch on it while on this subject, so I guess I’ll tack this on because I don’t think I ever explained why I don’t like it. As far as the whole ship between these two… I mean, I get why people ship them. Because, you know, ~they hugged~ that one time. 🙄 They’re both also evil, and people want those evil couple goals. So I get it. But to me, it feels uninspired and just… too obvious, I guess? No real thought behind it aside from surface level stuff like with PPG/RRB. CMC likes to claim Mojo has high respect for Him, and… yeah, Mojo called him “sir” for, uh, ONE EPISODE. Otherwise they’re rivals, often seen sniping at one another, calling each other stupid, maybe occasionally band together to try to defeat the PPGs, and in my perspective? I wouldn’t respect or even love anyone who was lazy enough to just outright steal my evil creations and recolor them (i.e. with the RRB).

That said, I feel like I have to always have a disclaimer whenever I talk about stuff like this, because there’s almost always one person who flips out and screams at me about how, “I can ship what I want!” Yes. I know. You absolutely can. Personally, per my reasoning above, I just don’t vibe with it. But, as evidenced by many things, fandom is an unstoppable force, and I’m not out to stop anything anyway. I just do not dig the thing.

…so, yeah, sorry I went off on a bit of a tangent, but I hope this answered your question! 🤣

[riddikuluslupin]

remione [accidentally called your number while drunk asking for a ride and you actually came au] pt 2

She stood on the pavement’s edge, precariously too close to traffic for Remus’s liking, not that there were many cars on the road at such an hour. Why had her friend not been ready to swoop in and get her home safely? Why did she even have to call? What magic conjured up his number in her phone with him living only two blocks away?

The woman — Hermione, he reminded himself — gave a small wave. Her legs wobbled, and she grabbed the nearby lamppost for support. Drizzle fell softly, the droplets frizzing her hair and casting a fuzzy halo around her head. Remus felt visited upon by some supernatural creature as she glowed in contrast to the dark pub front. Gods, he needed to stop reading those fantasy books so late at night, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Insomnia meant he’d been awake to take her call.

When he pulled up, she steadied herself on the slick car door and mimed rolling down the window. He did so. She peered in blearily at him. Remus wondered if he matched whatever expectation she had after talking with him on the phone. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he looked rough after not sleeping well last night and now tonight. The days leading up to a full moon wrecked him. 

“Are you—?” they said at the same time. She laughed, and he couldn’t help but offer a small smile.

“Hermione, is it?” he tried again. “Do you still want that ride?”

“Oh, yes. Remus?” He nodded in reply. “If you’re going my way.” Her eyebrows raised conspiratorially as if relaying an inside joke.

Remus clicked the doors unlocked and then leaned over to unlatch the passenger side door. “There’s nowhere else this taxi service is going tonight. Get in before you’re soaked. The rain’ll be picking up.”

She jostled the door open and gracelessly plopped into the seat. Now, in the heat of the car, she unbuttoned her grey coat, revealing a cranberry red dress. She smelled strongly of orange liqueur with the faintest hint of…what was it…something warm and familiar. He turned down the heat when she began fanning herself with her hands. 

“I’ve never done anything like this before.” She turned to him as she buckled her seat belt. “Gotten into a car with a stranger.” A tremor of worry crossed her face as Remus assumed the implications of her situation washed over her. She replaced that doubt with a hesitant smile. “Please tell me you’re not an axe murderer.” 

Remus resisted the urge to say “not yet” and turned up the windshield wipers against the growing storm. Instead, he took everything out of his pockets — his phone and wallet — and pressed them into her hands. “I know it’s not the same, but you’re trusting me, so I’d like to trust you with those. No axe murdering as long you don’t chuck those out the window.”

“I think I can manage that,” she replied. “Do you carry anything interesting with you?”

He shrugged, looking at the address she showed him on her phone so he could type it into his GPS. It wasn’t too far but also wasn’t close. Sleeping tonight looked more and more questionable. “I doubt there’s anything of particular note. Not much worth stealing.” He raised his eyebrows as she immediately plucked a wayward receipt that had been sticking out from his wallet.

“You’ve been to Flourish and Blotts?” she said in an excited rush. The warm amber glow of the streetlamps blinked past outside the windows, briefly casting her face in bronze light before winking back into darkness. No other cars were on this side street.

“I have to restrain myself from going more often. Or else I’d forget to buy groceries and only have books to eat.”

“Not very tasty. Have you seen that they’ve gotten in some new history books about…” 

Despite the lack of traffic, Remus kept his gaze on the road, even though he wanted to watch this woman be so enraptured by books that she soliloquized about what she wanted to purchase next, what she’d already bought, what she was currently reading, and what he should definitely not waste his time on. She brightly asked for his thoughts on books and, after her long, detailed discussion about the more obscure (and potentially occult) subjects she read (really, what was arithmancy? ancient runes?), he felt embarrassed to admit that only myth retellings currently held his attention. 

“No wonder you agreed to pick me,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Two mythological creatures passing in the night.”

He tensed at her words and then noticed a smear of red extending down her lip. She can’t suspect, he thought. Deftly, he reached over to pop open the glove box to retrieve a tissue. “And since when is ‘Hermione’ a creature, rather than a human girl?” 

She took the tissue and blotted where he indicated on her face, avoiding his gaze as she blushed into the visor mirror. After shoving the tissue in her purse that Remus noted held two books with multi-colored tabs, she rolled down her window to stick out her hand and then pressed the rain along her flushed neck. Remus turned the heat off and couldn’t help but glance from the road to the hand that lingered on her collarbone. 

“Sidecars always make me hot. I should have stuck with the wine.” She sighed and then said so softly that Remus almost didn’t hear it, “I should have stayed home. So stupid.” 

Since she’d whispered the last part, Remus pretended not to notice; with his sharp hearing, he sometimes had to do so to keep people from looking askance at him and his “strange prying.” He didn’t know what to say, so the silence stretched out between them.

“What are we but creatures?” she replied in a fake lofty tone. “Creatures seeking comfort in all the wrong places.”

The street continued to unwind before them in a blurry line as the wind whipped rain across the windshield. Only one car passed them. Remus chanced another look at her. She stared down into the depths of her hands. He gently cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She fiddled with his wallet, opening it to slide her thumb along the credit cards nestled inside. “It’s nothing particularly special or interesting. A tale as old as time, being stood up, waiting around for him for hours until you decide to get royally knackered.” She plucked out his library card, then his grocer rewards card, until all the cards were freed so that she could sort them by color.

“What a prick,” he said. Gods, no wonder she sounded close to tears on the phone when she mentioned how alone she was standing outside. “Do you want to find his house and teach him a lesson?”

“I had plenty of time to consider what kind of lesson I’ll teach him should he ever dare darken my doorstep,” she said and smiled weakly at his attempt to cheer her up. “Plus, I thought you weren’t an axe murder. Will you be coming along for moral support then?”

He considered this as she applied a lip balm over her faded lipstick. There was the smell from earlier—a mix of vanilla and cinnamon. She caught him glancing at her mouth. Remus reached to turn down the heat again only to realize he’d shut it off earlier. His brain felt fuzzy from lack of sleep, the hard pull of the moon, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

“Have you ever stood up a date before?” she asked, her body angled towards him, her elbow propped up on the center console and hand cradling her head. Her hair brushed his argyle sweater.

Feigning insult at such a question, he said, “I would never.” He contemplated revealing that he could barely even remember the last date he’d gone on, that he remained an unattractive prospect because of his finances, his job, his condi- He swiftly cut this short as he noticed her staring up at him, her brow furrowed as if trying to puzzle out his thoughts.

“Where did you take your last date? And, please don’t say a pub.”

Remus rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. How many months ago was it when he went for coffee with his co-worker Dora? She’d made calf-eyes at him, twirling whichever colorful extension she’d clipped into her hair that day (pink, purple, or blue), until he’d agreed to a date. “It was quite a while ago. We went to that little coffee shop attached to Dogweed and Deathcap.”

“Oh, the plant shop?” She brightened and sat up straighter. Searching through her purse, she pulled out a catalog with the shop’s logo on the front and leaned in closer to him. She’d shucked off her coat, and her bare shoulder bumped his arm as the car hit a pothole. She pointed to a dark purple flower. “They just put in my order for these.” 

Remus deftly glanced at it before looking back at the road, unable to identify it. “Which are those?”

“Aconitum,” she said. “I’ll have enough for several planters.”

Only a couple streets from her place, Remus managed to keep his car on the road when she said the flower’s name. “Why do you need so much wolfsbane?”

“You know it?” she said in surprise, then she was off again, chatting away as she had when discussing books. “Do you have some? I understand it’s highly toxic, and the shop waffled about allowing me to order that many plants. But they caved because I’m such a regular, although don’t tell them one reason for that is I killed off all my petunias and mandragoras. Overwatered them.” She ran her finger through her hair, causing it to frizz even further. “That won’t happen this time because I’ll be using them for a, erm, chemistry project.” 

“Nothing related to cooking?” 

“You’ll be pleased to know I’m also not a murderer.” She paused dramatically before following up with, “Yet.”

The GPS dinged as the car pulled in front of her small, dark-windowed house. Hermione scowled. “Ginny couldn’t even leave the porch light on? That boy better have been worth the lay.” 

Again, Remus reached over, barely avoiding brushing her knees that she didn't seem to notice were in his path, to open the glove box and fish out a torch. “I’ve got to have a talk with this Ginny about her priorities. If you don’t mind my company a little longer, I’ll walk you to the door.”

He tapped the torch against his thigh until the light flared to life. The rain had tapered back to a drizzle, and Remus jogged over to her side and had the door open before she’d managed to unbuckle the seat belt. She took his offered hand and wobbled a little less as she stepped onto the sidewalk in her sensible heels. With her coat back on but unbuttoned, she shivered as the wind blew in from the north. Its icy fingers threaded through Remus’s sweater. A bone-deep tired dragged at him, and his eyes flickered shut.

“Are you all right?” She hadn’t released his hand and squeezed it until he reopened his eyes to look down at her worried face. Outside, underneath the thin moonlight pushing through the clouds, the watery mascara smudges on her cheeks stood out clearly. What sodding prick stood up a pretty woman who read esoteric books and grew poisonous plants for fun. 

“Are you a witch?” Remus side-stepped her question with one that had been brewing in his mind since she rattled off the books she read or would soon read. If she was, then maybe— maybe— she’d understand about him and his condition. 

She looked stunned. The torch’s puddle of light illuminated their shoes; he was glad he at least wore a matching pair, although they were worn to hell like the rest of his oxfords. “Is your next line going to chat me up with some variation of asking if I’ve ‘put a spell on you’? 

His tired, tired brain cursed him. Once again, he’d messed it up before anything had even begun. What did he think would even begin in the first place? He was a stranger who conveniently lived near a pub she’d been stranded at and gave her a ride home. “Gods, no, I shouldn’t have pried. Ignore that. I don’t even have chat up lines. I don’t chat people up. I barely talk to anyone. ” He felt himself spiraling into a ramble. “Let’s get you inside. It’s late.”

At the door, he shone the light on the lock. As she twisted the knob, he turned to leave. Her hand tugged at his elbow, stopping him to turn back around. With the door ajar, her voice dropped low and she leaned in to whisper, “Can I give you something?” 

His heart fluttered strangely. What would she want to give him? He nodded, and she held up a finger for him to wait. She slipped through the dark doorway. A light flicked on in a back room. She soon returned with her hair in a messy bun and a small bag in tow. She pressed it into his hand and closed his chilled fingers around it. 

“It’s a sleep tisane with chamomile, mint, and lavender. Plus a couple secret ingredients. None of which are toxic or charmed, I solemnly swear.” She released his hand and tucked the stray hairs escaping from her bun behind her ears. “If you’re worried about that, you could always invite me over, and I’ll take a drink first.”

Was she asking him out for tea? Was he being asked out on a date? She must have misread the shock on his face because she began to walk back her offer: “Or you can chuck it in the bin. I thought it might help, and Ginny has told me I can offer help when people aren’t looking for it. I have been known to be bossy. Or you could put it in your bath?” She blushed. “Either way, I wanted to thank you for driving me out all this way.”

Remus finally found his voice. “I would love tea, but I can’t the next couple of days.” The moon pressed down on the paper thin clouds. “How about after that?”

She peered up, studying him with almost x-ray vision. He grew worried she was examining the lattice of scars on his face and down his neck. Explanations dried up his throat. “Text me after the full moon,” she said simply. “I went ahead and saved my number in your phone.” 

Later, when Remus opened his contacts, he found “the brightest witch” listed in his contacts, and his handwritten TBR list for when he went to Flourish & Blotts had vanished from his wallet. Tasting the tea, he knew at least two of the secret ingredients were vanilla and cinnamon, neither of which poisoned him. He did choke on his tea when Hermione sent her first text to him that read: “In my phone, I didn’t name you ‘axe murderer.’ You’re ‘the trusted wolf.’ Should I bring chocolate for our tea? And if you give me a fake address or anything of the sort, I will curse you. :)”

pt. 1

[hollisofficial]

49 and 50 for the OC ask game 😎

THANK YOU DAME!!!!!!!!!!! YIPPEE

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes

100% cena, whos entire existence is based around a meme from jr high. hes since became an actual oc with his own serious story, but his roots still remain and i continue to only make fun of him and redraw him over memes. his seriousness can continue to live in only my head.

alternatively: geb, who, if they knew what memes were, would fucking love them.

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want

UNFORTUNATE FOR YOU im going to talk abt ttt. forever.

for background: ttt and a decent chunk of other characters only fit into my (human oc) stories via a character named jeanie who can see ghosts. i know. marry sue but i am free<3

ok!! so, ttt is a ghost and hes the second oldest ghost in the story (time on earth wise). my story is set in the way future of (maybe) this world, and ttt is introduced around the time that theres a giant nuclear war and subsequent fallout. while he was alive he was a doomsday prepper which was (for the time) rightfully so. he spends about 5 years living down in a bunker eating a shit ton of shelf stable doomsday prepper stuff. as you can imagine living alone in a concrete hole for years didnt treat him very well mentally, but thats besides the point for now. it will all be erased once he becomes a ghost (and replaced with more trauma). at any rate, he ends up running out of food/water earlier than planned and has to wander out into the wasteland to try to find supplies. he doesnt last too long out there (havent decided on a time but probably a little less than a year). he gets stabbed in the remains of a walmart over a can of beans. and ends up dying.

ttt becomes a ghost! in this universe when people become ghosts its usually for a reason (think unfinished business, need to atone, or have some grander purpose type stuff) but for whatever reason t just got fucked over and wasnt actually supposed to become a ghost. his ghost-ness coincides with a time period where a lot of fucked up things are happening with the deities that are in charge of the solar system and at the time the deities that controlled things like death + fate were MIA. so all in all ttt becoming a ghost was genuinely just a glitch in the system type thing.

because of this ttt is. interesting as a ghost. unlike all other ghosts he doesnt really have an appearance. instead hes just vaguely brown/gray humanoid (ignore the ttt sign on him for now, thats not part of his appearance and i'll get to that later). additionally, t cant remember a single thing about his time as a human nor what his name is, hence the name ttt. i know what his human name is but thats secret information not in the story. most importantly to t's story is that he cant be seen by 99.9% of other ghosts.

the reason behind this fact has to do with the weird mechanics of being a ghost. it kind of works like channels or levels on a tv. when you become a ghost youre randomly given a handfull of 'channels' you can access and this ties into certain powers that ghosts can have. for example: being able to touch a ouija board or mess with radio-frequencies would require you to have access to those two channels- not all ghosts can do so. almost everything runs on channels, even just simple things like 'have an appearance' and 'being seen by others' and 'see others'. theres also an insane number of duplicate channels, so for example one ghost could have quite a large number of 'being seen by others' channels which allows them to be seen by a large number of ghosts that share those channels. conversely, (in ttts case) he only has a few 'being seen by others' channels and quite a few 'see others' so basically he can see other ghosts, but they cant see or interact with him. sorry that was longwinded but i love my ghost mechanics. theres more to the mechanics via a ranking tier system but for the sake of brevity i WILL NOT BE GETTIN INTO THAT.

at any rate. because of weird ghost mechanics and because t was fucked up and wasnt supposed to be a ghost, he cant be seen by almost anybody, but he can still see them. as you can imagine this is horrible. ttt spends centuries wandering through the post-nuked world as a ghost trying to find other ghosts to interact with. as the centuries go on he just slowly loses hope more and more and bitterly resigns himself to the fact that he'll never be able to interact with people in the way that he wants. (small sidenote: despite ttt not having baseline/low level channels like being seen, he does have some fairly high level channels that let him interact with the physical world (think like typical poltergeist stuff like throwing small objects ect). this ofc is not a very good substitute for being able to interact with people).

so anyway, ttt spends centuries being functionally alone again. kinda meant to mirror his time in the bunker. resigning to not being able to mess with anything, ttt just tends to pass the time people watching and trying to entertain himself other ways. one day hes people watching and happens upon a literal murder (theres more to this bc its someone elses story but i wont get too detailed bc its edgy emo). this ofc isnt the first time t's seen something like this and (being a touch bitter abt his unable-to-interact-with-anybody situation), t basically just watches and once the murdered guy's ghost drags himself outta the river t just starts roasting the new ghost for being stupid and getting murdered, thinking he cant be seen or heard.

unfortunately this is the first ghost that can actually see and hear ttt.

the new ghost (whos name is perry) is basically just like. (status: doesnt know hes dead or whats happening) HUH?? WH?? WHO ARE YOU?? ttt proceeds to freak the fuck out bc HOLY SHIT THE FIRST PERSON WHO CAN SEE AND HEAR ME?!? WHAT?!? hes completely elated and brain short circuiting at the same time, so hes falling over his words and trying to explain things and say sorry for being a dick to him (thats the least thing perrys worried about). amongst the confusion perry somehow gets it into his head that ttt is his guardian angel because hes some like shapeless entity that appeared after perry (apparently??) died (perry voice: wh huh what do you mean i got shot???).

they speedrun getting to know each other bc ttts just railroading the conversation bc hes so excited and perrys still on like “my name… its perry right..?” brain . perry sticks with t for a while (still assuming hes his guardian or smth) but it literally only takes like half a night for perry to realize like . ok maybe im wrong . (ttt hotwires a car and drives the two of them around before crashing it [another pastime] and thats when perry kinda decides like . no i dont think this guy is an angel.) (during the carride perry also keeps phasing thru the seat + out of the car bc he cant do ghost stuff yet) (also ttts able to hotwire + drive the car bc touching irl stuff to an extent is one of his aforementioned powers).

oh also, the name ttt came from perry and t's first interaction. perry asked what t's name was and t (who didnt know his name) just made something up on the spot and ttt it was.

after that the two of them just end up constantly being together (bc perry really hasnt met anyone else yet so he doesnt exactly like, know theres others out there . and t is ofc not leaving perrys side). it is very evident that ttt is basically attached at perrys hip and VERY afraid to lose him. i mean, perrys the first person who hes been able to talk to for literal centuries and now that ttt has that lifeline hes clutching to it for dear life.

the more they get to know each other t opens up and lets perry know that like . yea youre the first person thats been able to see me and ive KIIIINDA been alone and unable to interact with anyone for a few thousand years . no big deal or anything (<-guy whos brain was becoming mush from lack of interaction). perry starts to understand just everything t must have been through + why he acts so.. like that. he assures t that theres no way he would leave t behind.

i dont have very much for what the two of them did between their meeting and the current timeline in the story, but basically the two of them fuck around for 400 years or so. sometime during that time perry finds a super old (prewar) magazine ad for fiji and the two of them decide they wanna go. so now their thing is perry constantly is trying to teleport (one of his powers) them to fiji but he cant bc fiji doesnt exist anymore and he keeps (unknowingly) teleporting them to the remnants of old fiji water bottles. theyre on like a mission to find fiji.

eventually, one of such teleporting incidents lead them to meeting the character jeanie by chance, who, by the power of I Say So (and a whole nother plot i wont get into), can see ghosts. perry and t end up staying with jeanie as well as a couple of other ghosts that hang with jeanie (their names ade hummingbird and ekr). the five of them become very found family. the rest of their story becomes the group getting wrapped up in/uncovering weird deity politics and subsequently trying to change jeanie and his friend pattersons fate and keep them from dying.

oh yeah, and the ttt thing on ttt's head is a floating apparition of a stickynote that perry controls so the other two ghosts can tell where ttt is.

more doodles:

[theoriginalcrossjumper]

okay look so i said this as a semi joke and then went to go brush my teeth but i made the mistake of Continuing To Think About It and so yknow what? let's take this for a lil spin away from your original concept (apologies) and Actually little shop of horrors this shit.

(little (mystery) shack of horrors this shit? yeah sure that pun works.)

dipper as audrey ii (alcor ii?). the spirit of tau would give mabel seymour's position (trying to keep her brother alive/visible, trying to keep audrey ii alive/visible) but the spirit of the original post gives it to grunkle stan so we're going to stick with that.

it's just after the transcendence and everything went WeirdTM. your great-nephew is alive, somehow, but he's vaguely transparent and ghostlike - he looks like himself but a ghost, like he's barely hanging onto this world by a thread. your great-niece is beside herself with stress and worry and dipper is acting a little Odd but who wouldn't be after nearly getting eaten by that freakin' triangle demon, amirite? heck knows everyone else in town was traumatized by it too. you move on and do what you can to recover with your brother, your niblings, the town, and everyone else.

and then dipper says he's hungry.

hungry? you say. hungry, he confirms. great. a ghost, hungry, isn't really a good sign. but sure - you'll try to figure out something for him to eat. except you can't. burning offerings doesn't work, "killing" the food (like mashing an egg to pieces, anything that renders it beyond repair that mabel can think of) doesn't work, a variety of science-y experiments your science-y brother ran don't work. there's really nothing you can think of that might solve the problem, and dipper just keeps complaining he's getting hungry, and getting visibly weaker and more transparent as the days pass.

and then one day while making breakfast, you slice your finger open on a knife. damn! or, uh, dang, oops--it's fine, none of the kids heard you, though, you think, except as you turn around you jump because dipper is right there. floating at your eye level, eyes fixed unerringly on your bleeding finger.

uh. kid, you good? you ask, somewhere between alarmed and more alarmed.

can i have some? your nephew asks, still staring. looking a little like a cat that's just spotted a whole field of mice.

you look between him and your bleeding finger and him and your bleeding finger, but this is the most animated you've seen him in weeks, so you cautiously drip a few drops onto a spare spoon and offer it to him. dipper goes to grab the spoon but his hand swipes through; he shoves his face down instead, and licks the blood clean off the spoon.

huh, you say, staring at your nephew's ghost, who almost instantly is starting to perk up. you can touch that.

can i have some more? he pleads immediately, looking up at you; his eyes reflect a little oddly, but his whole body reflects a little oddly in your vision, so you dismiss it despite the shiver that runs down your spine.

for you kid? anything, you say, and hope he never has to find out just how far that anything will go.

so you give him more blood. squeeze some drops out of your finger, every couple days or so. after mabel comments on the number of bandages around your fingers and hands, you swipe one of the (clean, because you might be an idiot but you're not a complete one) syringes from ford's lab, and use that to pull small vials at a time. dipper laps them up eagerly. almost too eagerly, but if it's the only thing he can really touch right now, then it's understandable he'd be a little desperate to get something to sate his hunger.

...except instead of sating it, his hunger only seems to grow. you go from a few drops of blood every few days to a whole vial of blood every day, and dipper making not-quite-direct requests for more yet. you're hesitant, with the look in his eyes, but - mabel has cried in relief more than once at how much more animated he's been acting, he's the most solid and non-translucent you've seen since this whole thing happened, and you really would do anything, anything, for these kids.

so while they're out one day you go and borrow the syringe and some tubing and you hash together a blood-draw type of station. for some reason it's just your blood dipper seems to want, as he's never really fixated on anyone else's injuries in the house, so this is a job for just you. you make sure you eat well beforehand, you know how much this sucks if you're not well nourished, but you've done this (or similar) before. you know how it goes. and by the time dipper gets back that night and comes sneaking into your room for his nightly 'snack', you have a whole pint bag of blood waiting for him. he takes one look and salivates, barely waits for your go-ahead, and pounces. the look on his face, when he's done sucking it down like some horror-movie juice pouch, is blissful enough that you don't regret it. even with the way mabel shrieks the next morning when she sees dipper's eyes have turned from white-and-brown to black-and-gold.

this holds him for three days. afterwards, you go back to doing small vials and finger-pulls, wary of getting caught again. but eventually the small amounts, rationed, can't catch up, and you have to do it again - another day of adventure out, another full pint extracted. you tell yourself this is the most you'll give at once, because you need to tell yourself something, no matter how much you don't actually believe that this is where it'll stop. when has anything in your life ever settled into something steady that wasn't a steady decline?

(the good news is, you never make a mess doing this; you're careful with your equipment not to spill anything while extracting, and dipper is too careful to not spill anything he could eat, instead.

...the bad news is how careful he is to lick up every last drop of blood you offer to him.)

but for several weeks, it seems to be fine; still unnerving, but fine. stable. enough you get used to it, almost - like how you all get used to dipper's gold-on-black eyes, and his pointed ears, and how thick his claws have gotten.

and then an Adventure happens, as it does; the kids go haring off to solve the supernatural problem, as they do; and while your brother goes off to make sure they don't actually get themselves killed (again) this time, you're left dealing with the very human consequences of the problem - and violently, because that's what your life has come to. it didn't set out to be like that, but when your niblings go shrieking about a local cryptid who's just trying to get a college degree and then the cryptid hunters show up with too many knives and too much of a willingness to use them on innocent civilians, human or otherwise... you have family to protect. you have a town to protect. and most importantly, you have no witnesses. so when the man comes at you with a knife at the cash register, howling about breaking demonic influences, you react appropriately, and you shoot him. (...you don't remember picking up the gun, though you do remember hiding it there.) it takes you a moment of staring at the body to actually register what you've done, and then you panic.

it's been decades since you've actually had to get rid of a body, but you still remember the broad strokes - acid to dissolve it, teeth and fingerprints unrecognizable, bury it under roadkill to deter any sniffing dogs. you have the chemicals you need to do it, but the first major issue (beyond the fact it'd happened at all) comes with the total lack of privacy in the shack to actually leave a body dissolving for a while. you still lock it in there and clean up any blood outside before the others get back - can't let them get hit by the consequences of your stupid actions - and you can deter entrance to that bathroom for a while without suspicion. it gets you through the evening and the wrap-up to the Adventure, and then after everyone else goes to bed you can sneak back into the bathroom and stare at the body (sitting on ice, surrounded by near every air freshener in the gift shop) and wonder what in the fuck you're supposed to do with it.

at which point dipper sticks his head through the wall and says hey grunkle stan, i'm....hun....gry....

oh, crap. you stammer out an excuse that makes even less sense than usual, but....dipper isn't staring at you with betrayal, or confusion, or fear. he's staring at the body, with hunger.

....this can't go well. you know this can't go well, and it's just going to cause more problems in the long run.

...but you're morbidly curious, and you don't have any better ideas. so you say, go ahead, kid. might as well.

dipper doesn't wait for you to tell him twice.

it's gruesome and awful, and you have to leave the room before long when the sounds of snapping tendons and wet tearing get too much, but before the sun even rises (and the rest of the household notices), there is no longer a body in the bathtub to deal with. dipper is curled up in its place, in a ball like a cat, hovering midair above the tub. you do a double-take at the sight of the small bat-like wings popping out of his lower back, but - it's not the highest priority right now, so you shuffle around him and grab a brush and start scrubbing away the last of the stains that dipper didn't apparently lick off the tub. at least if eating an entire human body won't hurt him, licking questionably clean bathtubs shouldn't either, right?

dipper sleeps for thirty-six hours and then wakes up the entire household by yowling like a feral cat when he tries to fly through the bathroom wall and hits it instead. mabel is shrieking for joy, bouncing up and down and whirling her brother in circles until he wobbles dizzily in the air. ford is rattling off ideas, examining dipper with more fascination and hope than fear. you're smiling at all the right times and cheering along, but the sinking feeling in your gut won't go away. you have a bad feeling it's just going to continue to get worse.

and it does.

not right away, of course - dipper doesn't need anything to eat for a full two weeks, after that - and sustaining him on vials and pints again after that isn't too hard. the one upside to the whole debacle had been that you got a chance to get your blood levels back to normal and heal all the syringe marks and cuts, which rapidly reappear afterwards. and it's fine, for a while, until it isn't.

this time, there's not a convenient Adventure to bring actual dangerous human enemies into the area. this time it's a natural disaster, an actual non-Weird one for once, as part of the cliffs behind the town break away and cause a landslide. all of the gravity falls inhabitants are fine, behind a barrier made jointly by ford's concoctions and "Alcor II"'s newly discovered magical capabilities (Alcor being the name dipper had picked as an alias, in case he'd needed one to pretend he wasn't himself, and II because mabel had promptly announced that there already was an alcor (the star) and that dipper had to be the second one after that). but a handful of the tourists who'd made the stupid decisions to hike during off-season with a big storm coming in go missing, and search parties from town go out to try and find them. you go out with everyone else, even though the sinking in your gut has yet to go away.

dipper, newly visible to the rest of town, comes with you. and when you find one of the tourists, barely conscious with a huge bleeding wound on their forehead, at least three limbs broken, and with an alarming dent in their torso, dipper looks up at you pleadingly - and demandingly.

(feed me. feed me, grunkle stan!)

you have to steel yourself for this one. it's harder - not defensive reflex, but technically cold-blooded murder, even though the poor sod is clearly not going to survive regardless. you convince yourself it counts as a mercy killing as you back away, only for that thought to fly out of your head as dipper (as alcor ii) pounces on the body.

you don't get to evacuate far from this one. you're stuck here until it's cleaned up, to protect your nephew, and try to dissuade suspicion. the sounds are not any better. they are, in fact, worse.

but the body gets cleaned up. dipper doesn't fall asleep, but does drift alongside you at your word with a dopey, distant sort of smile on his face. you try not to liken it to the contentment large predators like lions have after eating a big meal and lazing around. you fail. but you return to town regardless, and three of the hikers' bodies are never found, and nobody once looks at you or your nephew as the cause.

you won't be able to keep this up forever. you know that as well as you know your discount policy. a breaking point will be reached; someone will find out what you and alcor ii have been doing, or alcor ii will continue to look less and less human as he gets more and more physical and will become Something Else, or you'll be caught in the act of murder or....what you hope is (but fear is not) still cannibalism. or, heavens forbid, he'll take advantage of his new physical presence and attack someone else, if you can't figure out how to get him enough food at regular enough intervals - that thought's kept you up at night more than once.

but for now, it's all okay. your nephew is a semi-cannibalistic semi-demon, and you're a murderer and accomplice twice more over than before, and there's no guarantee your demon-ish nephew won't snap and kill everyone at the drop of a hat. but for now, for right now, it's all okay. you're all safe; you're all alive (or present, in dipper's case); and you're all together.

and for now, that's enough.

I can’t sleep so imagine a sub-au where Dipper is just starting to feel the urge to eat flesh, but he refuses to kill anyone—so he’s getting hungrier by the second. Grunkle Stan is like “Yeah, not on my watch” and starts murdering people to feed him. I want Dipper to wait impatiently by Grunkle Stan’s legs while he prepares the food. I want gore, I want bloodshed, I want mama lion Stan. A gal can dream 🌸

[tyunniez]

converse high... bttm male reader

!!.. this has to be my worst work yet,, uhh rough sex, creampie, kinda vanilla ngl, not proofread idfk also bts ref borahae 💜

you jumped around in excitement to see one of your favorite group is finally going on tour! and they're coming to your city!

you immediately rushed to check the tickets, choosing the vip standing seat. " wait, how much money do I have left? " you stopped yourself before making a bad decision.

you looked at your bank account and almost passed out. you're broke as hell.

" why the hell am I so broke? " you questioned yourself, trying to find a genuine reason.

you scanned throughout your room till your eyes landed on your closet. " ah. that's why. "

multiple articles of clothing brimmed your closet causing it to overfill, making you slightly grimace at how your clothing rail was holding on for its dear life.

you recently went on another shopping haul after seeing your favorite idol adorning a new collection that was released by your favorite fashion brand.

you just had to get it.

yeah, maybe you had a bit of a spending problem..

your parents have spoiled you since birth because you're their one and only child. no, you weren't wealthy. you had to take on jobs multiple times, but hey hard work pays off!

you were currently on your break, and you intended to spend it going shopping till you went broke but unfortunately, due to you blowing your money to buy another vip standing ticket, that money mysteriously vanished.

" hmm.. is there any job I can do right now? " you rolled around in bed while scrolling through your phone, trying to find any quick gag you could do to earn some cash.

you ended up throwing your phone to the wall, groaning aloud when you could find none.

" i'm so lazy! not to mention my piles of assignments... " you sighed to yourself, opting to go downstairs instead to eat your sorrows away.

you were greeted by both of your parents downstairs, your mom already getting started on making lunch. " oh dear, what's wrong? you look stressed. "

you go to stand beside her, washing your hands in the process to help her cook. " I'm looking for a job to buy a ticket for a concert. my fav group is coming here you know! " you complained to your mom.

you grab the onion and began slicing it, shedding a few tears meanwhile. your mom thinks to herself, turning to you with an idea.

" you know our neighbor is actually looking for someone to babysit her kid. the pay is quite good since her kid is quite.. naughty. " you stared at the soup you were stirring and hummed.

" i can send you the details if you're interested, dear. " you nodded and decided to see how much would the pay be, who knows it might be enough.

a bonus is the kid has a total hottie as her brother!

you took one look at the pay and were sold immediately. you did the math and doing this for the amount of time needed will be more than enough.

i mean, babysitting can't be that hard, right?

⊹₊⋆

you sighed nervously as you finally approached the front door, your tote bag on your shoulder with everything you needed inside. you knocked on the door, anxiously waiting for the mom to greet you.

instead, you were greeted by someone else. " you the new babysitter? "

you stuttered, brain short-circuiting. instead of answering, you stared at the man in front of you.

the red-haired cocked his head to the side, waiting for you to answer with a raised brow. " hello? you there? " he asked in an annoyed tone.

" oh, oh yeah sorry. y-yeah, i'm the new babysitter. " you gripped the strap of your tote bag, trying your best to maintain eye contact with the man in front of you.

he hummed and opened the door wider for you to come in. you excused yourself and stepped into the house.

you walked up to ms. moore to greet her but before you could say anything she rushed towards you, her bag already in her hand.

" oh yn dear! i was just about to leave! thank god you're here. so there's money on the counter in case maya wants anything to eat. you can ask my son for any help. i'll be back before one so i hope you can withstand.. "

before you could ask any questions, she already rushed her way out towards the door. " jason, you better help the babysitter this time! thank you again and i'll see you when i get back, dear! "

with a slam of the door, she was gone.

you stood there, trying to process the information she just dumped on you. in your shocked state, jason gave you a pat on the shoulder. " she always does that. good luck dealing with that devil. ", was all he said before leaving you alone.

" maya, go easy on him! " he shouted upstairs.

you turned to the kid staring at you from the couch, a little concerned about what he just said. you've dealt with kids before, this will be easy.

⊹₊⋆

god, you regretted even thinking that.

there was a reason why babysitters kept dropping out like flies. this kid might as well come straight from hell!

you let out a long sigh as you crashed onto the sofa. you finally managed to put maya to sleep. though you couldn't really relax, still scared she might pull something with you thinking she was asleep.

" don't worry she's asleep. " you looked to the side to see jason slipping next to you on the couch, remote in his hand as he scrolled through various movies.

you let out another sigh, leaning your head back against the headrest and closing your eyes. you crossed your legs over one another, inspecting your slightly dirty converse high.

you peered over next to you, silently admiring jason.

you observed how his grown-out wolf cut, his red-haired that was now washed out is slightly messy, making it look like he just rolled out of bed.

your eyes were especially glued to his piercings. from his industrial to his snake bite, god he has so much.

you were more so drawn to his lips, that you could see his tongue-piercing. he purposely toyed with it, flicking his tongue out to tease you.

he licked his lips ever so slowly, his pink tongue grazing over his lower lip, not forgetting to graze over his snake bite. you gulped and looked away to try to get your mind on something else.

you didn't want to pop a boner in someone else's house!

" had enough already? " his sultry voice suddenly asked. you whipped your neck to look at him, eyes wide like a deer caught in a headlight, did he catch me staring..?

you cleared your throat and grabbed a nearby pillow to try to cover your growing hard-on.

" w-what're you talking about? " you glued your eyes towards the tv, trying to seem as unbothered as you can, thou the stuttering clearly gave it away..

jason rolled his eyes and discarded the pillow you were clinging onto, " oh come on, don't play dumb now. "

he pinned you down on the couch, caging you in leaving you no choice but to look at him.

" don't tell me you didn't notice at all.. "

you tried your best to look at him in the eyes, trying to figure out what he was talking about. well, he was really touchy.. his hands always found their way to touch you no matter.

he always knows just where and when to linger his touches to make you slightly flustered, the way he held your waist earlier still not leaving your eyes.

he also never took his eyes off of you ever since you stepped into his house. his eyes always trailing over to wherever you are, observing whatever the hell you are doing.

your cheeks got redder as you turned your head to the side, trying to hide from his gaze. " see i know you were a smart boy, now how far are you willing to go, bunny? "

you clasped your hand over your mouth, eyes rolling back to the back of your head. this is all too lewd!

you peeked down to look at him and the view below you was breathtaking.

jason's messy hair was now slicked back with his sweat, his big hands holding your legs open as his tongue worked its way on your dick. you could feel his tongue piercing along it, the added sensation making your thigh quiver.

you slowly released your hold on your own mouth, breath shaky. " jason, i-i'm close.. " your meal voice was shaky from the amount of pleasure you were experiencing.

he hummed and just continued to suck you, his hand now fondling your balls, massaging them as if to coax you to release.

you gripped the bedsheet below you, the warmth of his mouth mixed with the occasional cold feeling of his piercing was driving you over the edge. with a loud moan, you finally released in his mouth, eyes closing in bliss.

jason swallowed it all, making sure not to leave any drop behind. you didn't know whether to feel grossed out by it or not.

" ready to move on now bunny? " jason asked you while grabbing a bottle of lube, squirting a glob of it on his fingers. you silently nodded and watched as he squirted another glob on your hole.

" cold.. " you whined at him, feeling the chilliness of the lube. " don't worry, i'll warm you right up bunny. " he smiled.

he first inserted one finger into you slowly, letting you get used to the feeling. he began slowly moving it, occasionally grazing over that spot that made you see stars.

he then inserted another and another, steadily picking up his pace and getting more rougher as time went on. your eyes shoot back open as you kept your lips as tight as you could.

you were close and jason seemed to know this too.

before you could reach your climax, he swiftly pulled his fingers out. you looked up at him in confusion, dumbfounded as to why he stopped. " w-why'd you stopped? "

he took off his boxer, tossing it somewhere else. " don't tell me you were gonna cum just from that. the real fun begins now, bunny "

you watched as jason stroked his own dick, pouring lube on it. he was big. maybe too big for you. " are you sure it'll fit.. " you asked him while your eyes still trained on it.

" don't worry.. " he aligned himself with your hole, " i'll make it fit. "

with that, he shoved himself into you, the student action made you let out a loud moan. your eyes instantly teared up from the sudden stretch. you bit your lips to make sure no other noise escaped from you.

he was so big and you felt so.. full. his tip perfectly kissed your prostate, almost as if you were molded just for him.

" look at you taking it so well.. i knew i should've stuffed you full the moment i saw you. "

you stifled another incoming moan. your hands both covered your face, trying to hide your flushed face. two hands suddenly held onto your wrist, effectively prying your hands off of your face.

" don't hide this gorgeous face from me now. "

his own fingers intertwined with your own as he pounded into you roughly, going fast and aggressive from the start. a string of moans left your lips, your voice shaky due to how fast he was.

soon, one of his hands sneaked its way onto your thigh, hoisting it up. you almost screamed from how much deeper he was inside you. you didn't think it was even possible.

" jasonn, i'm near.. " you whined. your own dick bounced and twitched begging for release. " i'm close too, bunny.. cum with me, yeah? "

you nodded while jason held onto your ankles, his fingers digging into the fabric of your converse high. he somehow began speeding up, chasing his own climax.

you closed your mouth with your own hand, knowing damn well your moans were echoing throughout the house already.

with no warning whatsoever, you felt the warm liquid soon filling your inside, dropplings of it escaping from your hole. the feeling of being filled with jason's thick cock mixed with his own cum running down your ass caused you to also release.

you shut your eyes as your release painted your stomach white, some of it landing on jason's.

after a few moments of silence, he then let go of your ankles, slowly pulling out. you winced at the feeling of emptiness. you rolled to the side, jason also crawling next to you.

you soon almost lull yourself to sleep before remembering that tomorrow you have to babysit maya. oh god maya. you prayed she was sleeping like a baby and didn't hear anything.

" shit.. i honestly can't feel my legs and i still have to babysit maya tomorrow... " you groaned out loud next to him, trying to brainstorm an idea on how to babysit that devil in your current state.

jason only laughed next to you. talking about how he'll figure out a way to deal with her tomorrow. you hope he will since you can't miss the pay...

[daryltwdixon]

Can you do Daryl with an intelligent girl who maybe came from the same trailer park but went to nursing school or something

Summary: Daryl never could accept the fact that you were leaving him. He knew you were meant for more than the trailer park, that you were making something of yourself, chasing the kind of life he never thought he could touch. But that didn’t make it hurt any less when you got accepted into nursing school. So he did what he always did—lashed out with sharp, thoughtless words he didn’t mean, and let you walk away before he could ask you to stay.

|| angst, hurt with delayed comfort, tp!daryl, farm!daryl, kind of established relationship with no label, the man has a lotta feelings and has no clue how to handle them || notes: I'm so sorry this is probs NOT what you were expecting but god I love angsty Daryl. This is like what the ruins of us could’ve been if they’d just accepted their feelings.

The porch creaked when you stepped out, half-empty beer in one hand, the other bracing against the chipped doorframe. The air smelled like hot asphalt and cheap cigarettes—someone in the next lot over still had their music playing, something low and twangy.

Daryl was leaning against the railing, a nearly empty bottle dangling from his fingers. But he wasn’t where you left him—not lounged into the second rocking chair, hidden in the corner of the porch out of the baking sun like usual. He was standing now, stiff-backed and still, staring down at the paper in his hands.

“You weren’t even gonna tell me,” he muttered without looking at you, and he held up the paper.

Your opened acceptance letter.

You blinked. “I was. I am.”

His jaw tightened, like he didn’t believe you. Or maybe he didn’t want to. He dropped the letter onto the small cigarette littered table by the door. “So that’s it, then? You’re just leavin’.”

You stepped down from the doorframe to stand beside him, the wood warm from the sun even this late. “I told you I was applying. Daryl, they gave me a full ride scholarship. That’s not just—”

“Yeah, I know what it is,” he snapped. His arms folded across his chest like armor. “Ain’t gotta talk to me like I’m stupid.”

Your mouth opened, then shut. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence stretched out between you, thick and restless. The cicadas screamed in the trees. Down the road, a truck rumbled past with its headlights off.

“I thought you’d be happy for me,” you said after a long beat. Voice quieter now, uncertain.

Daryl let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Well, guess I ain’t real good at pretendin’.”

You stared at him, trying to find the softness underneath all that bark, the boy who used to hand you bottle rockets and steal peaches from old man Gentry’s tree. The man who held you close at night, who kissed you in the bed of his truck on summer evening at the drive in.

“Why are you bein’ like this?”

He finally turned to look at you, and you wished he hadn’t. His eyes were sharp and wild and wounded.

“’Cause you’re actin’ like this place never meant nothin’ to you. Like I never meant nothin’.”

That landed hard. Your chest pinched around it.

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” His voice rose just a little. “You get to run off, play nurse, start some new life, and what? I just stay here? Fix Merle’s shit, watch Pop drink himself to death?”

“I never asked you to stay here.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t ask me to come with you, neither.”

That stopped you cold. Because you hadn’t. You hadn’t even thought to.

“Daryl…”

He looked away again, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Angry. Embarrassed. Small.

“You’ve always thought you were better than this place,” he muttered. “Better than me.”

You stood up then, heart pounding, beer forgotten. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. I’ve fought for everything. I worked my ass off to get outta here.”

He nodded, jaw working. “Yeah. And now you get to go patch up college boys and drink your little lattes and forget all about the rest of us.”

“You think I’m gonna forget you?”

“Ain’t that what you do?” he shot back, standing up, crowding your space. “Climb high enough, leave the rest of us in the mud.”

It hurt. God, it hurt more than you thought it would. More than it should’ve.

“I loved you,” you said, voice shaking. “I love you, Daryl. But I can’t stay here and rot just to prove it.”

Daryl’s mouth opened. Closed. He didn’t know what to do with that. With love. Especially not yours.

So he did what he always did. He lashed out.

“Go play nurse for all them rich boys,” he said, tone flat. “Bet they’ll eat that shit up.”

You flinched like he’d hit you. Over and over like each word he spewed as a hit to your gut.

The porch lights buzzed above you. Inside, the old box fan in the window rattled against the frame. You suddenly hated this place. Hated how it was in your lungs, in your clothes, how it would never let him go.

“I’ll call,” you said, softer now.

Daryl shook his head, not looking at you as he stepped off the porch into the Georgia night.

“Don’t bother.”

Daryl

Fourth day out.

The sun was high, thick in the trees. The air pressed down on Daryl like it had weight, clinging to the sweat on his back, his neck, the inside of his shirt. His legs ached, but it didn’t slow him. Nothing would. Not yet. Not until he found Sophia or dropped dead trying.

He hadn’t slept right in days. Couple hours here and there. Rested up in trees like he used to, one eye open. Rick kept saying they had to keep faith. Carol was hanging on by threads. And the others...hell, most of them didn’t believe she was alive anymore.

But Daryl did. Because she had to be.

The heat made his vision blur around the edges.

He’d been walking since sunrise, following signs—scrapes on bark, half a shoe print in the mud that might not’ve even been hers. But it was something.

His body was on autopilot now. Step, scan, step. Branches slapped at his arms. Sweat stung his eyes. He barely felt it.

He dragged the back of his dirty hand across his forehead, took another few steps up the ridge, eyes scanning the trail ahead. The air felt different here. Cooler. Stiller.

He paused.

Listened.

Something moved through the trees—soft, fast. Too light for a walker, too smooth for a deer. The trees were quiet. That kind of quiet that made his skin crawl, like the whole world was holding its breath.

Daryl raised his crossbow without thinking. “Sophia?” he called, voice rough from hours of silence.

No answer. Just another rustle. Closer. He moved toward it, careful.

And then... You stepped into view.

And the world stopped.

You looked like a ghost. Not clean, not untouched—no one was anymore. He couldn't tell if he was hallucinating or not. Standing there in jeans stained at the knees, a pack slung over your shoulder, sun catching in your hair like it always had.

His lungs quit working.

Then you said his name.

And Daryl Dixon, who had gutted walkers, walked through fire, faced death over and over, had flinched.

He knew your voice. Knew it better than anything. Could’ve picked it out blindfolded in a storm, could’ve followed it straight into hell. And here it was, soft and real and saying his name like he hadn’t shattered everything the last time you stood in front of him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His brain went blank and loud all at once—static and screaming, every memory shoving itself forward like it had claws.

The memory of the last time he saw you, a memory he only saw in dreams now because he would shove it away every time it surfaced in the days afterward, was fresh behind his eyes. The things he said—sharp, stupid things—just to make you feel as bad as he did. You’d looked at him like he’d broken something between you, something that couldn’t be put back.

Now you were here.

And you didn’t hesitate. You ran.

Boots hitting the earth fast and sure, arms open, crashing into him like you were sure he’d catch you—and he did, though his feet stumbled back a step and his breath seized like he’d taken a hit to the ribs. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Couldn’t. He still wasn't entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating. That maybe he was dying on the ground from heat stroke and you were some angel come to take him to hell.

But your arms were real. Solid around his shoulders. Your body warm against his. And then his own arms, slow and unsure, wrapped around you like they were remembering something they hadn’t felt in years. They settled there—tight, desperate, almost trembling—and then he buried his face into the curve of your neck, because there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be.

You still smelled the same, now with the undeniable scent of dirt and sweat from months of survival on your own. But you still had that faint, warm sweetness that had haunted him on nights he couldn’t sleep. His fingers clenched at the fabric of your shirt, bringing you closer to him like he was scared you’d disappear again. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself breathe. Let himself feel.

You held him like no time had passed. Like the years hadn’t hollowed both of you out. Like he hadn’t said the one thing he regretted more than anything in the whole damn world.

And that… forgiveness? That grace? That mercy cracked something open in his chest. Because maybe you remembered every word. Maybe you hadn’t forgotten a thing. But you were still here. Still choosing him.

He’d expected a reckoning if he ever saw you again. Silence. Distance. Maybe a slap. But instead, he got this. You pressed against him. Breathing him in. Holding him like coming back was never a question.

And he was surprised when it didn’t feel like punishment.

Because it felt like hope.

And when he finally opened his mouth, the words barely made it out.

“I’m sorry,” he shuddered into you.

“I know,” you breathed.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still warm where they rested on his shoulders. Your eyes searched his face, like you were trying to find all the pieces he’d buried and put them back together.

And then you did the thing he’d tried hardest to forget. The thing that twisted in his gut whenever it surfaced in the dark. The thing that lived somewhere just behind his ribs, where no one else could reach.

You kissed him.

And Daryl didn’t stop you.

Couldn’t.

He kissed you back, rough and aching, like something in him had come loose. Like all the time between then and now had built up behind his ribs, waiting to crack open the second your mouth touched his. There was no thought, no hesitation. Just instinct. Just you. His hand found your waist, pulled you in, desperate to feel all of you—solid, breathing, here.

The first kiss was quick. Too quick. Like he was afraid to take too much. But then you leaned into him, your hands curling into the back of his sleeveless shirt, and whatever hold he thought he had on himself snapped like dry twigs.

He kissed you harder. Messier. His mouth pressed to yours with a kind of hunger he didn’t know he still had in him. You were warm under his hands, grounding. Familiar and different all at once. And God, the way you held onto him—like you wanted this. Like you still wanted him—it nearly dropped him to his knees.

He didn’t even realize he was shaking until you slid your hands up to his shoulders, steadying him. He pressed his forehead to yours between kisses, trying to breathe, trying to think, but nothing made sense except your mouth and your hands and the way your breath caught when he kissed the corner of your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, breathless, eyes squeezing shut like it hurt to say it. They were the only words he knew right then. Everything else was too big, too messy. But those—those three words—were the truth. They scraped up from somewhere deep, somewhere buried, and left him raw. “I’m sorry.”

He felt you nod, felt your hands curl tighter in his shirt, grounding him.

“It’s okay, Daryl,” you breathed, the words quiet but certain. He barely had time to register the sound of them before your fingers slid into his hair, fisting the short, sweaty strands around your knuckles. “It’s okay.”

He let out a ragged breath. His eyes stayed shut, like if he looked at you too long, it might break the spell. No one said things like that to him. Not like they meant it. Not without an edge, not without a catch. But you did. You always had.

The woods were quiet around you, all dappled light and heat rising from the earth. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs brushing your skin just beneath the hem of your shirt. Not thinking about it, not trying to start anything—just needing that contact. That proof.

He finally opened his eyes, just a crack.

You were already looking at him.

Not with pity. Not with anger. Just that same steady gaze you’d always had when he was trying to hold himself together and failing miserably. Like you saw straight through all the armor and decided to stay anyway.

He swallowed hard. His throat was tight.

“You’re really here,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling just a little. “I am.”

He let out a quiet laugh—barely a breath. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever find you.”

And that hit something deep. He dipped his head, pressed his forehead to yours. Just stayed there. Breathing the same air, feeling the same weight settle between you.

It didn’t feel like a dream anymore.

It felt like a second chance.

And slowly—like you both knew there was nowhere else to go—you leaned in at the same time.

This kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t about need.

It was about recognition.

About two people who had been carrying the same ache for too long finally setting it down.

[g1rld1ary]

lonely dancers - remus lupin x fem!reader

wc: 2374 summary: you and remus, both miserable at a party and in your love lives, find solace in each other cw: toxic!cheating bf!sirius, cheating!reader, drinking, kissing, grinding, dirty talk me: got this idea in the car home from uni and furiously wrote it. inspired by lonely dancers by conan gray! obvs i do not condone cheating or similar behaviour but this idea just would not leave my head remus is so hot

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Someone’s stereo was blasting music through the first floor of the house party you were stuck in. You’d come with your boyfriend, Sirius, but you hadn’t seen him in at least an hour.

So you were shoved in the corner, stranded at a party where you hardly knew anyone, and were friends with even less, with no way to get home without Sirius. It wasn’t so bad, whoever was choosing the music had good taste, and there was an abundance of free booze, but you couldn’t help your thoughts drifting back to your nice warm bed and how much you’d like to be there.

A few metres away, leaning casually against the wall, was Remus Lupin. He had a glass bottle of beer in his hand, occasionally swishing it around as if it would make it disappear any faster. You’d thought he’d looked rather down all night, but you rarely got to really speak to him.

Even though you hung around Sirius’ friends all the time, even having just had pres with them before this party, you never really got to talk to them. Sirius was very possessive of you, something you didn’t particularly mind, but it meant that you never got past basic small talk with his friends. Nevertheless, all that meant that you didn’t know if Remus was sad, why that could be, or if maybe he just had a terrible resting bitch face.

You pushed yourself off the wall, weaving slowly through the crowd to make your way over to him. Might as well be miserable with Remus instead of alone.

“Hi,” You said awkwardly, trying to determine an appropriate distance to stand from him.

“Oh, hey,” Remus replied, hardly looking up from where his eyes were distractedly trained on the ground.

“I know we’re not really close or anything, but is everything alright? You look kind of sad. No offence.”

“It’s alright, I’m sure I do look pretty fucking miserable,” Remus laughed pathetically, “I got broken up with this morning.” Your mouth dropped open, instantly regretting probing him for details.

“Shit, I am so sorry Remus! That’s awful.” You stepped marginally closer, resting a hand gently on his bicep. He looked up at you properly for the first time, eyes softening as they locked with yours.

“It’s okay,” He said, shaking his head slightly, “Nothing you can do about it.”

“Still, if you wanna talk about it…” Remus looked at you, seemingly seeing you in a new light. To be fair, it was probably the longest conversation you’d had alone, and the only one that had gone past basic niceties.

“Fancy a smoke?” You nodded, grasping his hand so he could lead you through the crowded house, out to the back porch where a few other stragglers were hanging around smoking.

You and Remus claimed your spot against the porch railing, a few centimetres between you. Remus supplied the darts while you fished a lighter out of your purse, averting your eyes with an embarrassed smile as Remus raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous hot pink apparatus.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked carefully, studying Remus’ face for any indication that he wanted you to move off of it.

“Not much to say,” Remus sighed, gazing out into the dark garden. “He said he couldn’t stand me anymore, fell out of love with me.”

“Christ,” You muttered, “What a dick. I hope this isn’t weird, coz, well, I barely know you, but he doesn’t deserve you. He was always kinda mean to me when we went out as a group — you can do so much better than him.”

“Thanks,” He huffed a laugh, looking over at you again. You looked back, sharing a small smile. He looked so pretty, only partially lit by the warm glow from the kitchen, catching on the amber of his eyes. “And what about you? Where’s your boyfriend?” It was your turn to look away, taking a long drag of the cigarette.

“Who knows? I saw him about an hour ago with some pretty petite blonde heading up the stairs, so I’d say he’s onto the next conquest right now — oh look, there he is now.” You turned just in time to see Sirius enter the kitchen, followed by a frankly very attractive young man.

You and Remus watched as the guy laughed at something Sirius had said, then pushed him up against a set of cabinets to kiss him hard. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sirius didn’t just reciprocate it, but pressed his hips up against him with vigour, threading his fingers through the guy’s hair.

You turned back around quickly, not wanting to watch it any more than you had to. Remus followed suit, watching you white knuckle the porch rail. He silently, hesitantly, slid his fingers over to interlock your pinkies — a silent display of support.

“Guess we’re both having a shitty night alone then,” He said, exhaling a puff of silver smoke.

“Yeah,” You replied, desperately willing yourself not to cry.

“Why do you put up with this? You don’t deserve it.”

“He’s trying!” You protested, maybe more for yourself than Remus, “You know Sirius. He’s never been in a proper relationship before; he’s not used to not doing whatever he wants. And it’s only when he’s drunk! But I like him, Remus, and I know he does like me too, so I can deal with it.”

“That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m friends with Sirius,” Remus gave a hollow laugh, and you forced out a weak smile. “You know, most people have the decency to at least not cheat on their partners at a party where they came together.”

You nodded, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying, but a stray tear rolled down your cheek anyway.

“Hey, hey,” Remus cooed, turning you towards him and running a gentle hand under your cheek to wipe it away, “Don’t cry. Come on, we’ll go take some shots and then have a great fucking dance. Okay?” You nodded through a hiccup, hurriedly shaking away the rest of your tears as you looped your arm through Remus’ and let him drag you back inside.

Walking back through the door, the music hit you like a wall, More Than a Feeling by Boston blasting around you as you weaved through conversations and dancers. You made a beeline towards the table of booze, watching with your arms crossed around your middle as Remus poured you three shots at once.

“I’m going to drop dead,” You snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll just get you loosened up, having fun and not thinking about your dickhead boyfriend.” You giggled, taking the first shot with a grimace.

“You don’t have to shit talk him, Remus. I know he’s your best friend.” You took the second shot, your chest heating up as the liquid made its way through your system.

“Look, I love Sirius. I really do. But he’s being a really fuckin’ shit boyfriend to you. And I’m not gonna lie just to convince you that that’s normal.”

“You’re the only one.” You took the final shot, bouncing on your heels to help it go down better. “I know they just love him, but even Lily and James keep telling me to give him another chance. I love him, but I don’t know how much more I can take before my heart starts to break.”

Remus took your hand, interlocking your fingers and leading you out to where the bulk of the party was dancing and chatting, spinning you around to get you in the mood. Despite your sour mood, you started to smile, getting into it as Remus pulled out dorky dad moves, clearly to make you laugh. It was working, though, and thoughts of Sirius started to fade in favour of being present with Remus.

It felt like you were the only two in the room, pulling out the lamest disco moves you could imagine until neither of you were thinking about shitty partners or exes, stuck in the bubble around the two of you.

You were in blissful peace until your eye caught on Sirius on the other side of the room, grinding against the same guy as before, his hands running up and down the boy’s body in a way that was not platonic. You really tried to ignore it and focus on the fun you were having with Remus until his face dropped, too. Morbidly curious, you followed his eyeline, zeroing in on his recent ex walking in with a pretty brunette girl on his arm.

“D’you wanna go get some space?” He leant down so his mouth brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded emphatically, Remus pushing you towards the stairs.

“Fuck, the bedrooms are all taken,” You mumbled, straining to think of somewhere you could go for some privacy.

“In here.” Remus pulled you into the tiny bathroom, locking the door behind the two of you. Safely alone, he cursed loudly, pounding a fist against the wall to blow off some steam. When you looked back at him, Remus was crying, sliding down the door to collapse on the floor. Seeing his utter defeat, you began to cry softly too, propping yourself up against the wall perpendicular to him.

You put your hand on his bent knees, rubbing it softly to comfort him.

“Sorry,” He said once the fit had died down, “That was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Remus. You got dumped today, it’s shit.”

“Didn’t even wanna come to this fucking party, James made me to stop me from being depressed,” He mumbled, surely more to himself than you.

“I’m glad you came,” You said earnestly, looking at him in the dim light of the room, noticing the way his hair turned golden from the lamplight. “You’ve been so nice to me tonight, looking after me when you didn’t have to.”

“I’m glad I came too, if only for you,” He relented after a moment. “Why haven’t we talked more after all this time you’ve been coming around to our things?”

“Sirius,” You answered, “He doesn’t like me talking to you guys that much, I don’t know why.”

“He knows you’re too fucking good for him, doesn’t want us to start telling you that.” You laughed airily, shaking your head as if to wave him off, but Remus sat up straighter, more serious than you expected, “I’m fuckin’ serious. You’re a really nice girl, love.”

“You think so?” Your voice lifted at the end, your eyes hopeful and bright despite the low light.

“I’ll just say if you were my girl, I wouldn’t fucking look at another soul as long as I was coming home to you.”

The energy in the room shifted noticeably, the muffled music from outside making it seem like you were far further removed from the rest of the world than you really were. You looked at Remus to find he was already studying you intently, the tension between you palpable.

Slowly, like neither of you could believe what you were doing, you leant towards each other with lidded eyes, completely focused on the other’s lips. At first, it was so light you weren’t even sure you’d made contact, your lips brushing each other so slightly you might as well have missed.

With confidence you didn’t know you possessed, you finally closed the gap between you, letting out an involuntary moan. That seemed to send Remus into overdrive, his huge hands cupping both cheeks and pulling you into him with vigour. You followed his lead, clambering into his lap to straddle him on the tile floor, deepening the kiss and letting Remus’ tongue explore your mouth.

Your fingers threaded through his hair as Remus’ trailed down to your hips, moving them against him erratically, the two of you completely lost in each other. You were utterly absorbed in Remus, his taste, his smell, the feel of his rough fingers brushing the skin of your waist under your shirt.

It was only when he released your lips to press open-mouth kisses down the column of your throat that you came to your senses, pushing Remus away in a panic. Neither of you said anything for a moment, both panting in time as you made heavy-lidded eye contact.

“Remus — we can’t — I have a boyfriend,” You stumbled but made no move to get off of him, and Remus’ hands didn’t move from their place on your hips, long fingers sitting just on the edge of your arse.

“Dump him,” He begged pathetically, “Please. Dump him, give me a chance. I swear to God, if you give me a chance I’ll fucking worship you. Your body, your mind, your soul. I’ll never fucking look at another person as long as I live, I’ll never break your heart, Dove. Please.” He was babbling, words spilling out a mile a minute as he grasped at you, trying to convince you to keep kissing him.

You knew it was wrong on so many levels. Remus had just been dumped, you were cheating on your boyfriend, for God’s sake! But then Remus bucked his hips into yours, his aching hard-on brushing against your pulsing core. You moaned, high-pitched and breathy as all thoughts of right and wrong left your head in favour of the desire burning in your lower belly, compelling you to tighten your grip on Remus’ curls, a sign for him to continue nipping and sucking at your pulse point.

“Fuck! I’ll, uh,” You moaned, “I’ll break up with him tonight. Promise.”

“Good,” Remus grunted, dragging your hips against him aggressively, “He doesn’t fucking deserve you. I’ll fuck you till you can’t remember that bastard’s name.”

[fatecantstopme]

Hello! How are you today? I hope you are doing well today! I have read your stories well mostly of Dean and I fall in love with them! Your stories are just French kisses!! I was wondering if you are okay the the idea or available in Season 10 ep 1-3 Dean is the knight of hell but instead of Sam who found him, it has his wife or fiance reader? He doesn't harm her at all but all he wants to do is trap her and rail her all long day and night he willingly goes with her to the bunker. Something like that, I'm very sorry if it's accurate could it but smut and fluff if it's okay with you? If not that okie! Don't worry! I love your stories and Keep up on doing what you do best! Thank you and have a wonderful day!!

OMG STAHHHP. You're so sweet. I'm glad you like my writing--I love doing it! AND I LOVE THIS ASK SO FREAKING MUCH. I love you for giving me the opportunity to write Dean in the most dominating, degrading, aggressive way possible without feeling bad for making him like that. I love my soft!dom Dean...but I am so freaking into this...HOPE YOU LOVE IT!

Fiend

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x wife!reader

Summary: I mean...just read the lovely anon's request. So gooooood.

Warnings: An unnecessary amount of SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), choking, slight degradation, rough sex, oral (M & F receiving), face sitting, orgasm denial, Dean is very dominant. Cursing, canon violence, Mark of Cain bloodlust, use of pet names, slight domestic violence.

A/N: I 100% went overboard on this one and I have no regrets. Fair warning, it's insanely long. It doesn't follow the season 10 storyline perfectly, but we've got the core elements.

"Are you sure about this?" you asked softly.

Sam stared at you, a familiar dark expression on his face. "Do you want to find him or not?"

You closed your eyes and sighed quietly. Of course you did, but you didn't want to lose who you were along the way. "You know I do, but torture's not exactly my thing."

"It's a demon."

"Wearing an innocent woman."

"Fine. You stay out here, then."

You watched Sam enter the dungeon, clearly prepared to do whatever it took to find his brother. The first scream echoed through the hallway and straight into your chest like a knife. You couldn't stay there--didn't wanna hear what happened next.

You went as far away as you could, walking past the bedroom you hadn't entered since the night he'd died. Sam had been the one to discover he was gone--Sam had been the one who found his note. You'd cried yourself to sleep on the couch in the library, heart too broken to even move.

The next morning, you woke to Sam's shouts of your name, but nothing would prepare you for what happened next. Sam's frightened eyes met yours and all he said was "He's gone," before handing you a note.

It was Dean's handwriting. You were sure of it. All it said was "(Y/N), Sammy, let me go."

That was six weeks ago.

Simple as the request was, it wasn't something either you or Sam could do, nor could Castiel. The three of you loved that man too much to just let him go.

At this point, all you knew was Dean was gone and Crowley was with him. Dean's handwriting on the note was the only indicator he wasn't dead...but you'd watched him die. You'd held him in your arms. The only possible answer was that Crowley had gotten a demon to possess Dean's body and rode off into the sunset with him. What you didn't know was why.

**********

Torturing the demon hadn't exactly proven fruitful, but Sam did manage to find a case he thought was connected to Dean. He was convinced the death of a man named Drew Neely was related to demons--and possibly to the missing Winchester.

While it seemed like quite a stretch to you, you were willing to go with him to Wisconsin and find out what happened.

As per usual, you and Sam pretended to be FBI to get inside information on the investigation. Much to your surprise, when the local PD showed you and Sam security footage from the gas station where Drew Neely was murdered, you saw a very familiar face.

You'd know him anywhere--Dean Winchester, seemingly alive and well, being attacked by Drew Neely. You watched as Dean pulled the First Blade from inside his jacket and stabbed Neely repeatedly. As the other man died violently, you watched in horror as Dean's normally beautiful green eyes turned black as night.

You looked up at Sam, whose expression matched your own. It looked like Sam's suspicions were correct--Dean was in fact possessed by a demon. Your only thought was saving him, even though you knew you'd really only be saving his body. You'd be damned if you let some demon scum ride around in Dean's body forever.

When you left the station, Sam turned to you, eyes full of a mixture of sorrow and anger. "Wanna go to the gas station? See if there's anything there?"

You nodded, still a little too upset to do much talking. Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. He knew full-well how difficult this whole thing was for you. This wasn't Sam's first experience with his brother's death, but it was a first for you. He could tell the loss was killing you slowly, especially with Dean's body being defiled by some demon asshole.

When you arrived at the gas station, you were both surprised when the clerk handed you Neely's phone. You wondered why he hadn't given it over to the police, but at the moment, you couldn't be bothered to care. You wanted answers and this phone might be the key.

"There's a text from a number not saved in the contacts," Sam said as he scrolled through the phone's contents.

You leaned forward to look at the screen. "An Abbadon loyalist," you mumbled. "Lovely. But who the hell told Neely Dean was even here?"

Sam shrugged as he pressed the call button, dialing the number on the screen. "Only one way to find out."

When the voice on the other end of the phone answered, the rage that had been simmering inside of you for 6 weeks finally overflowed. "Crowley, you son of a bitch!" you yelled.

The chuckle on the other end did nothing to ease your anger. "Well hello (Y/N). I was wondering when I'd hear from you. Can I assume your avenging Moose is there too?"

You were about to tear into Crowley, but Sam placed a firm hand on your shoulder and shook his head. You clamped your mouth shut so tightly your jaw began to ache.

"Where the hell is my brother, you son of a bitch?"

"Maybe if you were nicer to me, I'd help you."

"Why don't you just start by telling us why you sent an Abbadon loyalist after Dean in the first place?" you growled.

"How else was I supposed to keep the bloodlust at bay? The Mark wants what the Mark wants."

You inhaled sharply, the ache in your chest intensifying at his words. Even in death, the damn Mark of Cain was still torturing Dean.

"Where are you?" Sam tried again.

"Oh please, Samuel, as if I'm going to tell you. Your brother and I are having a grand ol' time together. I quite like this version of him. I'm sure you and (Y/N) are jealous over our new relationship, but I simply can't be bothered to care."

"If Dean wasn't possessed, there's no way he'd be with you," you seethed.

Crowley's laughter echoed through the phone, sending cold shivers down your back. "You think he's possessed? That's not how the Mark works, sweetheart."

The condescension in his tone made you want to crawl through the phone and rip his throat out, but you managed to bite your tongue.

"The Mark twists the soul--darkening it with each kill--until all that remains is darkness," Crowley gloated. "So you see, Dean isn't possessed by a demon, he is one. Not just any demon either—a knight of hell."

You took a step back, suddenly feeling incredibly nauseous. Out of all the scenarios that had run through your mind when Dean went missing, this wasn't one of them. There was no worse way to dishonor his memory--his legacy--than this.

You vaguely heard Sam yelling into the phone, but your mind was spinning too quickly for you to comprehend a single word. Your entire world had just been tipped on its head and you weren't sure how to find solid ground again.

You doubled over, breath coming out in painful heaves. Bile rose in the back of your throat and you found yourself hurling the limited amount of food you'd eaten all over the sidewalk.

You felt Sam's strong, comforting hand on your back as he tried to calm you. After several more dry heaves, you managed to stand back up, eyes bloodshot from the exertion.

Sam's gaze was gentle, but you could see the pain in his eyes. As much as you loved Dean, you knew Sam loved him just as much. You couldn't afford to break down now--not when the two people you loved most in this world needed you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"No need to apologize, (Y/N/N). This is a lot to take in."

You simply nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

"I think I know how to find them."

Your head snapped up, meeting Sam's gaze with hope for the first time in weeks. "How?"

"I think I can track Crowley's phone."

You shot Sam a weak grin. "Thank god you're a genius. Let's go."

Before heading to Crowley's last known location, you and Sam discussed your findings thus far. You now knew Dean wasn't technically dead--which meant there was a slight chance you could use the ritual you'd tried on Crowley over a year ago.

There was a chance you could make Dean human again--and it was a risk you were more than willing to make. Knowing Dean was still in there--still alive--made you more reckless than you'd ever been. You were determined to bring him home, no matter the cost.

**********

You and Sam decided to split up, determining you had more of a shot at bringing Dean home that way. Sam went one route and you went the other, stealing a car to make your journey.

You didn’t realize it, but this decision would result in a cascade of events that would put you right in the crosshairs of the demon your husband had become—alone.

As you sped along the dark highway towards the Black Spur, you were left with nothing to do but listen to the thoughts swirling around your mind. Without Sam there to keep you occupied, your inner turmoil had begun to rear its ugly head.

Out of all the things you’d expected to happen when Dean died, becoming a demon had not been among them. Being possessed was one thing—being a demon was another thing entirely.

You knew exactly how Dean would feel about it, if he’d actually had the ability to feel, and it broke your heart. He was the strongest man you’d ever known, but this would break him. Even worse, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what you would feel when you found him.

You loved Dean Winchester with every part of your soul. He was your best friend, your lover, your partner, your husband. He was the man who never failed to make you laugh or bring a smile to your face. He held you when you cried, took care of you when you were hurt, and made love to you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth. But you knew that man was gone—all that remained was the beautiful body that once held the most incredible soul you’d ever known.

You felt the tears well up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t fix things and you’d done more than enough of that in the last month. Instead, you focused on what you were going to do when you found Dean.

You had no idea how you were going to convince him to come back to the bunker with you. You weren’t even sure he wouldn’t kill you if you tried to force him. You’d come prepared, but you would die before killing him. End of the day, he was Dean—somewhere inside him was the man you loved.

Part of you hoped Sammy would get there first—that he’d be the one to find Dean. Then he’d be faced with the decision of what to do next, sparing you the pain. You knew that wasn’t fair, but if you were being honest, you didn’t trust yourself to do this alone. One single look at his face could very well be your undoing.

You sighed quietly and glanced at your GPS. Only a couple hours to go before you would find out for yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam had managed to get himself kidnapped when his car broke down on the way to the Black Spur, which meant he most definitely would not be beating you there. Unfortunately for you, that meant confronting Dean would be entirely on your shoulders--a weight you certainly didn't wish to carry.

**********

A few hours later, you arrived at the Black Spur, unsurprised and maybe a bit relieved to see that Dean was no longer there. You talked to the bouncer Dean had beat the shit out of the night before, so you knew you weren't very far behind him.

What you didn't know was Crowley and Dean had a rather intense falling out due to Dean's ever-growing aggressive behavior and complete and utter lack of respect for Crowley.

After leaving the Black Spur, you decided to stop at a motel, get some sleep, and wait for Sam. You'd tried calling him to no avail and you were starting to worry, but you knew Sam could take care of himself.

You'd just managed to fall asleep when your phone rang. It was Sam.

"Everything alright?" you asked.

"Got kidnapped by some guy named Cole."

"Sorry, what?"

"Apparently Dean killed his dad when he was a teenager and now he wants revenge. He kidnapped me hoping I would tell him where Dean was. He admitted he was trying to get us both, but he hadn't expected us to split up."

"Great. Just what we need. Some random human hunting the best hunter-turned-demon in history."

Sam sighed his agreement. "Cole called Dean...and he actually answered."

"What?!"

"Told him he'd kill me if Dean didn't give himself up."

You paused for a moment, breath caught in your chest. "And?"

"He refused. Told Cole he'd given me explicit instructions to let him go--and it was my fault for not listening to him," Sam said with a huff. "Then he told Cole if he killed me, he'd hunt him down and kill him."

You chuckled dryly. "That actually sounds like Dean."

Sam chuckled softly with you. "Yeah...it does."

You could hear the sorrow in his voice and you knew it matched your own. Seeing even the slightest sliver of your Dean in this demon version was beyond painful.

"I managed to get away while he was distracted. I'm on my way to the Black Spur now," Sam said after a few moments.

"He's not here. I've looked."

You could almost hear Sam's chest deflate as the hope left him. "Any sign of where they might've gone next?"

"No," you answered softly. "And Crowley turned his damn phone off."

Sam sighed heavily. "We'll find him, (Y/N)."

You wanted to believe him--wanted to have that kind of faith, but you'd lost steam. There wasn't a trail to follow, and even if there was, you weren't sure you should follow it. Dean had left Sam to die all because he'd ignored Dean's instructions. What would he do to you if you found him?

You ignored the tightening in your chest, pushing down your emotions as deeply as you could before wrapping up your call. You told Sam what motel you were in and that you'd see him in a couple hours.

You'd just laid back down when there was a knock at your door. You grabbed your gun and slipped an angel blade into the waistband of your pants before moving towards the door. When you looked through the peephole, your eyes nearly popped out of your skull.

You ripped open the door with surprising force, angel blade pointing at the visitor's throat.

"Watch where you're pointing that thing," Crowley grumbled.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Because I know where your husband is."

Your expression softened slightly, but the blade remained pressed to his neck. "Are you going to tell me or do I need to beat it out of you."

Crowley laughed mirthlessly. "Oh please, (Y/N). We all know you aren't capable of torture."

He was right, of course, but you would never admit it. Instead, you narrowed your eyes and pressed the blade a little more firmly into his skin.

The demon winced and threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! I'll tell you. Just put that thing down."

You remained still for a moment before stepping back and allowing him entry into your room. You closed the door behind him, keeping the blade securely in your hand. "Talk."

"It's more that I know how to find him and less that I know where he is."

You clenched your jaw, feeling the simmering rage begin to boil. "This entire thing is your fault, Crowley, so if you want to stay alive, I suggest you speak plainly."

"We're not exactly on good terms at the moment."

Your eyes scanned his face and a small smirk appeared on yours. "He get tired of you?"

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "We had a disagreement over how to handle his bloodlust. Plus, he's even more arrogant than he was as a human."

Your heart clenched at the word 'bloodlust'. You'd hoped it had subsided in his death, but that damn Mark wouldn't quit until it took every last vestige of humanity left in Dean.

"Fine, so he left your ass in the dust. How do you plan to find him?"

"I have several demons watching his every move. I can't have him making too much of a mess. His type of chaos is bad for business."

"Then make a call and tell me where he is."

"Happily," Crowley paused. "On one condition."

"There it is," you grumbled.

"It's a simple request, really. All I want in return is the First Blade."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons, and I'm quite certain you don't want it in Dean's hands."

You thought about it for a few moments. "If you screw me over, I will burn your sordid kingdom to the ground around you before killing you in the most painful way possible."

Crowley almost seemed impressed. "I think you've spent a little too much time with Dean."

"Not nearly enough," you mumbled under your breath. "Do we have an understanding?"

"I tell you where to find Dean, you give me the Blade."

"You take me to Dean, I give you the Blade," you countered.

A look of fear flashed across his face. "I'd really rather not."

"I don't give a damn. You made this mess, so you're gonna help us out of it."

Crowley sighed. "Fine."

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand, but Crowley interrupted you before you could dial.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Sam."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why the hell not?"

"You will have better luck persuading Dean than Sam will. You've never once betrayed Dean--never let him down. Sam cannot say the same. As such, it's likely Dean will be more likely to have a soft spot for you, even now."

You contemplated his words for several moments, before shaking your head. "Sam's his brother. He needs to know."

Crowley snapped his fingers, sending your phone flying across the room and into the wall with shocking speed, shattering it instantly.

"You son of a bitch!"

"You want my help? We go alone. Sam can catch up."

You glared at him in annoyance, before sighing quietly. "Fine. But I'm driving."

**********

"A piano bar?" you asked in surprise as you parked across the street.

"That's what they said."

Your eyes scanned the street before landing on a familiar black Chevy Impala. Your heart skipped a beat, knowing you were about to come face to face with your worst nightmare.

Crowley's gaze followed yours and he hummed quietly. "As I said, he's here."

"Get out," you hissed. "You're coming in too."

"Pardon?"

"Do you want the Blade, Crowley? Then get out of the damn car."

He huffed, but did as you said. You gestured for him to walk ahead of you, effectively blocking you from sight from the inside of the bar.

The moment Crowley entered, Dean felt his presence. "Didn't expect you to come back," he stated as he sipped some whiskey.

Hearing his voice sent a wave of emotion through your body, having not heard it in weeks.

Dean seemed to realize Crowley wasn't alone and you heard him inhale deeply. "I'd know that scent anywhere." He finally turned around to face the two of you. "(Y/N)."

"Hello Dean," you said softly, a slight blush dusting your cheeks. The idea he could smell you from several feet away was both a reminder of who he'd become, and an uncomfortable turn-on.

Dean glared at Crowley, realizing he had given his location up. Before he could say anything to him, you stepped forward, causing Dean's gaze to snap back to you.

"I suggest you run before I rip your heart out and feed it to you," you growled under your breath, not sparing another look in Crowley’s direction.

Crowley immediately stepped back, exiting the bar as quickly as possible.

"I didn't think you'd be foolish enough to work with Crowley," Dean said lowly.

"Means to an end."

"Hmm." He took a long drink of his whiskey before placing the empty glass on the counter. "I'm surprised you're here alone."

"Glad you asked--Sam's fine. No thanks to you."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he stood up, taking a step towards you. "I gave both of you very explicit instructions to let me go. What happens to you when you disobey is not my fault."

You inhaled sharply, body reacting to his words without approval from your brain. You clenched your jaw, trying to appear calmer than you felt.

Dean had always been extremely perceptive, and his demon abilities only heightened it. He took another predatory step towards you. "I can see your turmoil, sweetheart--you want me and you hate yourself for it."

You scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself--you're not Dean."

He laughed and the sound sent chills down your spine. "That's where you're wrong--I'm 100% Dean, just the new and improved version."

You felt a pang in your chest. "I'll have to disagree on the 'improved' part."

Dean started to slowly circle you, like a predator hunting his prey. "Aren't you the least bit curious, (Y/N)?" Each ring brought him closer and closer to you, until you could feel his body heat enveloping you. "Don't you want to know about all the things I can do now? All the ways I can wreck that pretty little body of yours?"

You felt his breath on the back of your neck--and you were embarrassed when your lips parted and your own breathing sped up.

"I can hear your heart racing, sweetheart." The pet name dripped with condescension--his voice low and gruff, barely above a growl. You felt a wave of arousal rush to your core, thighs rubbing together on instinct.

The movement didn't go unnoticed by Dean, who let out a dark chuckle. His lips brushed against your ear as he inhaled deeply. "I can smell how badly you want me, (Y/N)."

His hand gripped your hip tightly, pulling you back so you were flush against his front. You felt his hard length pressing into you through his jeans, a soft needy sound escaping your lips.

Suddenly he pulled away, leaving you feeling vulnerable and embarrassed. He might be wearing your husband's face, but he was a demon for christ's sake! You should be as far from turned on as humanly possible.

He came to a stop in front of you, close enough to touch you, but far enough to allow you some clarity. "I imagine you came here to talk me into coming home?"

You didn't bother to reply, it was obvious he could read you as well as he did as a human.

"If I'd wanted to be human again, I wouldn't have left. I'm as familiar with the cure as you are, sweetheart--and it's not worth it to me. I like who I am--I like being a demon. All that baggage I carried as a human? It's gone--I've never felt more free, (Y/N), and I'm not giving that up."

Much to Dean's surprise, your expression morphed into quiet understanding, eyes softening as you watched him closely. He felt uncomfortable under your gaze, so he flashed his eyes black in an attempt to regain control of the situation.

You winced slightly, hating seeing those demon eyes obscuring the brilliant green you loved so much. Your expression, however, remained soft. "Your life wasn't easy," you murmured gently. "There was a lot of heartbreak, pain, and loss...not to mention the weight of the entire world on your shoulders for most of your adult life. I can understand why you'd prefer this...you no longer have to give a damn."

Dean wanted to be annoyed--he wanted to be angry, his need for control surging inside him. Instead, he found himself stepping closer to you again--drawn to your soft eyes and sweet expression. Somewhere deep inside, emotions began to stir.

What had once been a deep, unending love for you, had turned to a lust so powerful, it threatened to devour you both. His eyes turned back to green, but the irises were barely visible around his widened pupils. His gaze was hungry, the predatory look having returned with a vengeance.

"How 'bout we go back to my room?" he purred lowly.

You knew you should say no--you shouldn't go anywhere alone with him, but you couldn't bring yourself to deny him.

"Are you afraid of me, (Y/N)?"

"You're a knight of hell," you whispered. "I'd have to be a fool not to be."

He smirked coldly. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you, sweetheart?"

Despite the darkness within him--despite what he had become--you believed in your heart he would never hurt you.

"No," you murmured honestly.

His smirk widened, rough fingers reaching out to grip your jaw tightly. "Oh I will hurt you, baby--but only in the ways you like."

You inhaled sharply, a wave of arousal dampening your panties even further. Your lips parted slightly, eyes never leaving his.

"You're coming with me," he growled possessively, hand gripping your wrist tightly as he dragged you to the door.

He pulled you roughly out onto the sidewalk and practically dragged you to the Impala, pulling the door open and shoving you into the passenger seat.

His aggression was a turn-on, none of his actions thus far having hurt you. You were certain you'd have bruising on your wrist from where he grabbed you, but you were completely fine with it.

He drove in silence at a speed that sent little waves of terror through you. The hotel he was staying at wasn't far, but he still made it there in record time. It was a much nicer place than the ones you usually stayed in, but you weren't surprised that Dean's tastes had become a little more bougie.

He dragged you into the elevator, pulling your back flush against his chest, hands gripping your upper arms like iron vices. You squirmed slightly and he let out a low growl, grip tightening.

"You move like that again and I'm gonna fuck you in this damn elevator," he hissed.

Part of you was into it, but you also didn't want to get caught fucking your demon husband in a public elevator. So you remained as still as possible until the doors opened on his floor and he pulled you down the hall to his room.

Once inside, Dean slammed the door with force, pinning you up against it so your cheek was pressed into it. His body was molded up against yours and his hot breath fanned across your neck. You felt his teeth scrape your pulse point, earning a low moan from you.

"You have one chance to get out of this," he growled. "One chance to say no and walk away before I fucking devour you."

If you'd had any sense, you would have ran away and never looked back, but you were already too far gone. He might not be the Dean you married, but he was still Dean--just the much darker, much wilder version.

"Fuck me, Dean," you begged softly.

He groaned lowly. "Oh I'm gonna do so much more than that sweetheart."

He ground his bulge into your back and bit into the soft flesh in the crook of your neck, causing you to whimper slightly.

"Wanna know the best part about being a demon?" he purred in your ear as he tugged your head back by your hair so he could see your eyes.

You nodded your head as best you could and waited for him to continue.

"I can have multiple orgasms and I've got the stamina of a god," he murmured. "I can fuck you all night long if I want to--and damnit I want to."

He spun you around quickly, slamming you against the wall beside the door. His lips were on yours immediately, tongue invading your mouth before you could even process what was happening.

You whimpered softly as his lips left yours and he began to kiss and nip his way across your jaw, down your throat, and to your collarbone. He wasn't being gentle, but you still found yourself wanting more--needing more.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, unused to the longer locks. It gave you more to grab, giving you a firmer grip on his head--and you loved it. If the groan that left Dean's mouth was any indication, he loved it too.

You felt his hands grasping at the front of your shirt before ripping it right in half. You yelped in surprise, but he ignored you, instead grabbing the edges of your bra and tugging them down to reveal your breasts.

"Oh, I missed these," Dean murmured before leaning back down to pull your nipple into his mouth. He used both hands to massage your breasts harshly, fingertips pinching at your exposed nipple while he nipped and sucked on the other.

You were panting heavily--almost to an embarrassing degree given how little this man had actually done to you. You found yourself falling into a familiar role with him, though he was much rougher than you were accustomed to.

When he switched to suck on your other breast, he slipped one hand down your stomach to the top of your jeans. He unfastened them easily before sliding his hand into them to cup your very wet pussy.

You felt Dean's smirk against your breast a moment before he lifted his head to look at your face. "Your panties are soaked," he groaned. "How long have you been thinking about me fucking you senseless?"

Your eyes weren't entirely focused on him and you didn't respond right away, so he grabbed your chin tightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You respond when I ask you a question."

You gasped softly before whimpering out an answer, "Since I saw you in the bar."

He gave you a look clearly indicating his disbelief. "Really?" His fingers pressed more firmly against your pussy, brushing against your clit purposefully. He ignored your soft moan, but you saw the smirk in his eyes. "You didn't imagine me fucking you while you played with your pretty pussy? Don't lie to me, sweetheart, I know you can't go almost 2 months without an orgasm."

You shook your head, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your honest response.

His eyes flashed black and your heart leapt into your throat, a surge of fear sweeping through you. "Don't be a brat, (Y/N)," he growled. "You know what will happen."

Under normal circumstances, you'd play into the bratty role--it always got Dean riled up. But this wasn't a normal situation and he wasn't the normal Dean. Dean had always been a very loving and affectionate dom, but you knew demon Dean was about as far from loving and affectionate as one could be. You didn't want to see exactly how far he'd go if you pushed his buttons.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Answer my question."

"I did imagine you," you said so softly he almost didn't hear you.

He pretended to have missed your words and he leaned in closer. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

"I imagined you," you said again, slightly louder.

"I know." He simultaneously bit into your neck and rubbed his fingers against your clothed clit, eliciting a wanton moan from your lips.

"There are lots of women in this world that'll fall right into my bed with a single look from me, but not a single one has a pussy like yours. Been dreamin' of it for weeks."

His words hurt you, but you pushed those feelings aside and tried to focus on the positive of the backhanded compliment he'd just given you.

He suddenly stepped back, leaving you completely untethered and weaker than you'd expected. Had the wall not been right behind you, you'd be on the floor right now.

His eyes roamed your disheveled body hungrily, possessively. He backed up towards the bed, taking off his shirt as he went. He sat down on the edge, eyes still glued to your body. "Come here."

You did as he asked, too afraid to disobey him.

"Strip."

You started to remove your clothes quickly, but his gravelly voice stopped you. "Slower."

You very slowly removed each article of clothing until you were completely bare. While you'd been naked hundreds of times in front of Dean, this time was different. You felt self-conscious under his hard gaze, afraid he wouldn't like what he saw.

He seemed to sense your discomfort, and to your surprise he assuaged it instantly. "Becoming a demon didn't make me stop loving that body of yours, sweetheart. It's still my favorite thing in the world."

You relaxed instantly, feeling pleased that he liked your body so much. A soft voice in the back of your mind pointed out he'd said your body was his favorite, not you--but you pushed that thought aside for the sake of your heart.

He spread his legs wide and leaned back on his hands, appreciative gaze roaming your exposed flesh. "Now, show me how you like your pretty pussy to be touched."

You bit your lip, keeping your eyes locked on his face as you slid one hand to your breasts and the other to your aching pussy. Dean's eyes watched as you slipped your fingers between your folds, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

You toyed with your clit gently, little moans and whimpers filling the room. You watched as Dean removed his belt and stood up to take off his jeans and underwear. When you finally got a good view of his cock you moaned a little louder, and his eyes flicked up to your face. He smirked when he realized what had caused that noise to come out of your mouth.

He stepped towards you, gripping his large cock firmly in his dominant hand, stroking it slowly. Your own hand had slowed nearly to a stop, but Dean wouldn't have any of that. "Did I say you could stop?"

You quickly sped back up, wanting to please him with an unhealthy level of desperation.

"You're such a good girl for me. My little slut," he said lowly. "Saw the way you looked at my cock, baby--bet you want it in your mouth."

You nodded rapidly.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours. "On your knees."

You dropped to your knees instantly, ready and willing to give him want he asked for.

"Open your mouth. Now."

Your mouth opened obediently, waiting for his next move.

"You gonna let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours?"

You nodded eagerly.

"So fucking sexy like this," he murmured. "Gonna make you choke on my cock."

He gave no further warning before grabbing the back of your head and tugging you down onto his cock. You gagged as his large member slammed into the back of your throat, a burning sensation accompanying it.

His hips moved rapidly as he fucked your face harshly--it was as if you were an inanimate object, only there to give him pleasure.

This level of roughness was new for you, and you were surprised to find how much you were enjoying it. Your eyes watered, spit dribbled down your jaw, and your pussy dripped.

The ache was almost unbearable, so you slipped a hand between your legs to provide yourself some relief.

Dean's observant gaze saw the action and he grinned. "Such a dirty little slut aren't you? Getting off on sucking my cock."

You moaned around him, pulling a surprised groan from deep in his throat. He gripped your head tighter, thrusts speeding up. "Fuck--love this mouth," he ground out.

The force of his thrusts made you pause your own ministrations, attention focused solely on the intensity of his motions. You gripped his strong thighs tightly, nails digging into the soft flesh.

"Oh fuck yes--gonna cum in this sweet little mouth, baby."

You moaned in response.

"Yeah? You want that? Want me to cum down your throat?"

You moaned again and tried to nod.

"How could I deny my little slut?" His grip tightened even further on your head, pulling your hair painfully. With one final thrust, he spilled his load into your mouth, hot ropes of cum filling your throat.

You swallowed every drop he gave you, knowing he'd certainly punish you if even a single drop left your mouth.

Even Dean had to admit, he hadn't had an orgasm that good since he'd become a demon--and watching you swallow all of his cum like that had him wanting more. "Greedy, are we?"

You licked your lips as you looked up at him. "I can't help it. You just taste so good."

He was taken aback by your statement, cock twitching in response. Perks of being a demon, he thought to himself. Already ready for round two. "On the bed, feet off the end."

You got up and laid down on the bed, face up. You weren't moving quickly enough for Dean, so he grabbed your ankles and roughly pulled you towards him. Your ass was now hanging off the bed slightly and your pussy was at the perfect height for him to enjoy from his knees.

There was something incredibly thrilling about seeing Dean on his knees for you. While it wasn't the first time, you doubted demon Dean was the kind of man who'd get on his knees for anyone.

"Now I'm gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours until I get my fill, understand? If you try to stop me, you will be punished."

"Yes, Dean."

"Good girl," he mumbled. He spread your legs as wide as they would go and breathed deeply. He licked his lips subconsciously before diving into you.

As always, Dean knew exactly what to do to drive you wild--he'd learned how to read your body years ago. His tongue felt incredible, large and flat, licking from the bottom of your pussy to the top, giving your clit a gentle flick, then repeating.

You shifted your hips, trying to get him to speed up, which he ignored. Instead, he laid his arm across your lower belly, holding you in place so he could continue his work.

After several more moments of this agonizing pace, he finally relented, lips wrapping around your clit to suck it into his mouth. You cried out in pleasure, legs already beginning to shake.

His motions were rhythmic, sucking your clit and licking it intermittently, as if he couldn't decide which one he preferred. As your moans grew in intensity, he knew you were getting closer. He had plans for you this evening--and your first orgasm of the night was going to be from his mouth and nothing else.

Your fingers had tangled in his hair and you were desperately trying to grind yourself against his face, but his arm prevented you from moving. He switched to focus all of his attention on your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue at an insane rate of speed.

You cried out as you came, the orgasm breathtaking in its intensity and pleasure. Dean worked you through the high, but didn't make any signs of stopping.

You remembered his words from earlier, so you kept your mouth shut even though the sensitivity was overwhelming.

When he felt your body begin to relax and the soft moans began to leave your lips again, he slowed his pace way down. He wanted to take his time now, enjoying your taste and the sweet sounds you made for him.

He slid two of his fingers into you, pressing gently against your g-spot before sliding them back out. His tongue laved at your clit, moans of his own giving it the slightest vibrations.

When your pussy started clenching tightly around his fingers and your breathing had become more labored, he sped up. He sucked and licked at your clit, nipping ever so gently at the hood, causing you to yelp softly.

Your fingers had once again found their way to his hair and you were holding on for dear life. You felt your orgasm building--it was so close. You voiced as much to Dean, even though he was already very aware.

You were just about to reach your peak when Dean suddenly slowed down--to an agonizingly slow pace.

"No, no, no--please!" you begged.

Dean ignored your pleas, opting to focus on his activities instead. He sped up just a tiny bit, building your orgasm back up.

The louder your moans became, the faster Dean went. Your orgasm was approaching once again and you begged Dean not to stop.

You were a second away from your orgasm when Dean once again slowed his motions. You cried out in anguish as the blissful feeling faded away.

"Please, Dean," you whimpered.

He lifted his head slightly, fingers still moving very slowly against your g-spot. "I'm not done with this pussy yet. Tastes too good for me to stop."

"But I need to cum," you cried.

"You'll cum when I let you cum," he said harshly.

His mouth dropped back to your pussy, focus once again on enjoying his feast.

Dean did this two more times--denying you an orgasm mere seconds before one was to occur. By this point, you were crying and begging him to just let you cum--you couldn't stand the ache any longer.

Dean decided he had listened to your babbling pleas for long enough. He pulled away from you, leaving you whimpering shamefully.

Dean laid down on the bed beside you. "Get up here. I'm not finished yet."

You were confused, so you didn't move fast enough for him. He smacked your breast harshly and you yelped in pain.

"I said, get up here. Now."

"I don't understand," you whimpered.

Dean sighed in exasperation. "Sit on my face so I can eat you properly."

It's not like you hadn't done this with him before. It was something you'd always known Dean enjoyed, but your brain was so fuzzy with need, it hadn't even crossed your mind.

You pulled yourself up and straddled his head. He didn't wait for you to sit down, he simply grabbed your hips and tugged you down to his waiting mouth.

You moaned in pleasure instantly, the sound spurring him on. He knew you were in for an incredibly intense orgasm and he was dying to taste it--to feel you coat his mouth and face with your sweet juices.

He had you on the brink in an embarrassingly short amount of time, but you couldn't be bothered to feel any shame. You were grinding down on his face, using him for your own pleasure.

You prayed he wouldn't stop this time--the need to cum so overwhelming it was painful. You were gripping onto the headboard for support as you rode his face, moans slowly rising in pitch as you neared climax.

Dean's fingers dug into your upper thighs and hips so tightly there were sure to be bruises. He could tell you were close, so he sped up his motions, desperate for you to cum.

"Dean--I-I'm gonna--"

You finally came with a scream of his name--the sound so loud it likely woke the entire hotel. Your legs shook violently, the pleasure so blinding you nearly blacked out.

It wasn't until you felt someone lifting you and laying you on your back that you started to become aware of your surroundings again.

Dean watched you, a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. He reached out and brushed your hair from your face where it had stuck to your sweaty skin. It was an oddly affectionate gesture for a demon.

He waited patiently for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings--come back down to earth, as it were. When your pretty (y/e/c) eyes met his, you smiled, forgetting for a moment that he was anything but the man you loved.

"That was...in-incredible," you mumbled breathlessly.

He grinned. "Happy to be of service."

You smiled in return, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

Dean crawled on top of you, arms on either side of your body, ensuring you couldn't get away. "I'm no where near done with you yet."

"You give me another orgasm like that and you just might kill me."

He grinned wolfishly, eyes darkening with lust. "Oh sweetheart...you have no idea what I could do to you."

You weren't sure if it was a threat or a promise, but you were incredibly turned-on by it. Dean could see the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath him...and he knew his words had the desired effect.

He grabbed his cock and rubbed it very gently between your folds. You inhaled sharply at the sensation.

"Do you want my cock?"

You nodded rapidly.

"Come on baby, I wanna hear you say it."

"I want your cock."

"Good girl," he murmured, repeating his earlier motion. "Now beg for it."

Your eyes widened and he gave you a warning look. You knew you had to beg or else. "I want your cock so badly."

"Mhmm."

"I need it."

"Keep going."

"I...I wanna feel you inside me."

"Come on, sweetheart," he chided. "I know you can do better than that."

"I want you to fuck me, Dean. Please--I need you."

He slipped the tip of his cock into you and you whimpered softly. "Give me a little more, baby."

"I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name," you begged. "I'll be so good for you--I promise."

He plunged into you without warning, sheathing himself deep in your warm, wet heat. "That's my good girl," he moaned.

He started to move slowly, in and out, each direction painfully slow. "My god have I missed this pussy," he said as if to himself.

You whined beneath him, hoping he'd get the hint and pick up the pace.

He looked down at your needy expression and smirked. "Patience, baby. I'll make those knees weak--don't you worry."

He leaned down to kiss you roughly, one hand tangling in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he deepened the kiss. His thrusts started to speed up, matching the pace he'd set with his tongue in your mouth.

After several moments, he pulled himself up, grabbing your legs and putting one on each side of his head. The new position allowed him to hit that spot so deep inside you, you'd thought it was a myth until you met him.

He began to piston in and out of you, each thrust hard and fast. Each time he'd pull almost all the way out slowly before slamming back into you with force--cock brushing up against your cervix with each thrust.

It didn't take long before you were a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him. He loved seeing how fucked out you were--knowing that it was all because of him.

"Whose pussy is this?"

Your eyes shot open. "Yours!" you gasped.

"That's right, baby. Mine," he growled. "No one gets to touch you like this but me."

"No one," you confirmed breathlessly.

His eyes flashed black. "I'll kill anyone who even looks at you like he wants to fuck you."

You inhaled sharply. Dean had always been a very protective man--possessive even--but this was a whole new level. You had no doubt in your mind that he was completely serious. He would most certainly murder a man for daring to have so much as an unclean thought about you.

It probably shouldn't have turned you on, but it did--his possessive nature infinitely more intense now that he was a demon. Your pussy clenched down tightly around him, signaling how much you liked his words.

"That turns you on, huh? You like the thought of me owning you? Owning this pussy?"

"Yes!" you cried out as he continued to pound into you.

"Lucky for you, I'm never letting you go again," he growled. His thrusts were fast and hard, his focus on feeling you cum around his cock.

His words had an immediate effect on you, his possessiveness almost affectionate in that moment. It was exactly what you needed to fall over the edge with a low moan of his name.

"Fuck!" he groaned as he tried to maintain his speed. Your pussy was squeezing him so tightly he could barely move. "Jesus, baby--gotta stop squeezing me like that."

"Sorry," you whimpered, trying to relax your body.

Dean's hips began to move again and he leaned forward to kiss your jawline. "Don't apologize--not your fault this pussy feels so fuckin' good--made for me."

You gasped softly, skin flushing at his praise.

He pulled out of you without warning and roughly flipped you onto your stomach. His palm landed on your ass with a firm smack, causing you to jump slightly.

"Lift your hips," he ordered.

You did as he asked and he slid into you, immediately setting a brutal pace. He alternated between smacking your ass, pulling your hair, and gripping your hips so you couldn't move.

Your pussy pulsed and fluttered around his cock, the pleasure becoming unbearable. "Dean--s-so close," you moaned.

"I know--you're squeezing me so tight," he replied through gritted teeth. "But don't you dare cum until I give you permission."

"But, I--"

He grabbed you by the hair, tugging you up so your back was pressed against his chest. He nipped at your ear and pressed his hand firmly against your neck--not enough to hurt you, but enough for you to know he could.

His voice was low and demanding when he spoke again, "Be a good girl for me, (Y/N), and I won't have to hurt you. But if you disobey me, I will take everything I want and give you nothing, do you understand?"

"Yes," you whispered breathily.

"Good." He released you suddenly, letting your body fall back onto the bed as he renewed his painful thrusts.

You used all of your concentration to focus on not cumming until he allowed you to, but the more time passed, the more painful it was not to orgasm.

"Dean, please--I-I can't t-take it," you cried.

"Yes you can, baby. You're already taking my cock so well."

"Ne-need to cum," you begged.

Dean thought about it for a moment and made a decision. His hips slowed and he leaned forward to speak close to your ear. "You can cum after I do."

You whimpered, head nodding your agreement.

Dean's hands gripped onto your hips, holding them in place as he pistoned in and out of you, chasing his own high. He heard your desperate whimpers and felt your pussy spasming around him, but all he cared about was his release.

His hips began to falter as pleasure licked up his spine moments before he came with a guttural groan, spilling his seed deep inside you.

The moment you felt his cum begin to fill you up, your own orgasm crashed into you, making you cry out in pleasure.

Dean worked you through your high before pulling out of you and letting you collapse on the bed. His large body hovered over yours as he pressed kisses into your heated skin.

His cock was still throbbing with need, despite having just had an incredible orgasm. He knew you were exhausted, but he hadn't had his fill of you yet.

He rolled you back over and slid inside of you, slowly bottoming out with a breathless moan. You whimpered at the sensation, pussy too sensitive and overstimulated for another round.

"No--no more, Dean, please."

"I warned you, sweetheart...told you I wanted to fuck you all night."

"It--it's too much."

He slowly slid out of you and slowly slid back in. "I know you can take it."

You shook your head. "I can't--"

Dean grabbed your wrists and pulled them over your head, holding them tightly in place with one hand. The motion forced him lower, making his body weight press firmly against you.

His lips brushed against yours and his voice was almost pained when he whispered, "I'll be gentle."

You saw the need in his mossy green eyes and your resolve crumbled. You supposed you could allow him at least one more orgasm. "Alright," you murmured.

He smiled at you before kissing you deeply, thoroughly enjoying the taste and feel of you. His thrusts were slow and measured, much more gentle than they'd been before.

To your surprise, the friction wasn't as painful as you'd expected. In fact, you found yourself enjoying the slow feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the thick vein on the underside throbbing inside you.

He let go of your wrists to hold himself up a little, allowing him more room to move. His eyes traced your face as he fucked you, the action incredibly intimate despite the situation.

After several minutes of gentle thrusts, Dean pulled himself up into a sitting position and pulled you along with him. You weren't strong enough to hold yourself up properly, but he was more than capable of keeping your body where he wanted it.

He leaned back, lying flat against the bed, with you now straddling him. You put your hands on his chest for leverage as you began to ride him.

Dean let out a soft moan, which you echoed when he pulled your hips down flush against his so you couldn't move. He pressed his hand firmly against your lower belly and you gasped in pleasure.

"You feel that, baby? Feel my cock so deep inside you? Feels so fuckin' good."

You nodded rapidly, not trusting your voice to actually speak.

Dean released your hips so you could move again, but his eyes didn't leave your body. "You look so fuckin' sexy riding me. Could stare at ya all night."

You blushed deeply, gaze pulling away from his bashfully.

He reached up and touched your cheek, pulling your face back towards him. "I like looking at you."

You bit your lip, but didn't turn away. Having demon Dean compliment you felt so incredibly different than what you were used to. It almost felt wrong to appreciate his words and his gaze--as if you were cheating on your husband. You knew you weren't really, but it still felt wrong.

After several more moments, Dean tired of the slowness of the pace. He grabbed you and pulled you down to him, wrapping his arms around you to hold you tightly. He planted his feet and began to piston up into you, sending shock waves of pain and pleasure through your body.

He loved the wrecked sounds coming from your mouth as he fucked up into you. He knew his current angle would hit your sweet spot with each thrust--and he knew you wouldn't be able to avoid another orgasm.

He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to feel you cum all over his cock again--the sensation was almost as incredible as his own orgasm. He found himself craving it with a desperation he didn't want to dive too deeply into.

"I know you're close, sweetheart," he murmured. "I can feel it--know you wanna cum around my cock."

Your moans and whimpers were all the confirmation he needed.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?"

"Please," was all you could manage to say.

"Cum for me."

His command sent you over the edge with shocking ease. You weren't certain you even had it in you to cum again, and the intensity of the orgasm surprised you.

Dean held on tightly as your body shook, your pussy clenching and unclenching around him as you squirted all over his lower body.

"Holy fuck, you're sexy," he groaned, an intense feeling of pride surging through his veins. He'd made you squirt before, but every single time felt like a gold fucking medal to him.

His thrusts became more sloppy as his own orgasm neared. He was so close he could practically taste it, but it was your aftershocks that finally had him exploding inside of you. He stopped moving, holding you tight to him as he emptied deep in your pussy.

He carefully rolled you over onto your back before sliding out of you. You whimpered at the feeling of emptiness, which made his chest swell with pride.

"Spread those pretty legs for me, baby--spread 'em nice and wide," he murmured, large hand gently rubbing your thighs. "Spread yourself open--wanna watch my cum leaking out of you."

You did as he asked, surprised to find yourself so turned-on by his request. You watched him stare at the apex of your thighs, your mixed spends dripping from your abused hole.

He licked his lips, gaze flickering back up to yours. "You're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

You inhaled sharply, pleased by his praise. "Come here," you whispered, reaching for him.

You were surprised when he actually complied, crawling up your body and placing a soft kiss on to your lips, allowing you to run your hands through his hair affectionately.

After a few moments, Dean pulled away. "Why don't you get a little rest? You'll need your strength."

You looked at him in shock. "Strength for what?"

"You didn't think we were done, did you?"

"Dean, you can't possibly be serious!"

His eyes flashed black, reminding you exactly who and what you were dealing with. "I'm deadly serious."

You exhaled shakily as it finally dawned on you that you had no control over your current situation. Dean could do anything he wanted to you and there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do about it.

But that wasn't the concerning part. The concerning part was how little fear you felt. The idea of him being completely in control felt like a good thing...and that was what really scared you.

**********

You awoke several hours later to the feeling of Dean's rough hands on your soft skin. You were lying on your side, with him directly behind you. It had been a comfortable position to fall asleep in, but it seemed Dean now had a different idea.

You felt his cock tease your pussy and you whimpered softly.

"Need you just one more time," Dean murmured in your ear as he slid into you. He held you tightly against him, still spooning you as he began his gentle thrusts.

"Focus on how my cock feels in that tight little pussy of yours," he instructed. "I know you're sore, baby, but I'm gonna make you feel so good."

You'd lost count of the number of orgasms you'd had somewhere after the 7th one. You hadn't even known it was possible for the human body to have that many. Dean was right--you were sore, too sore to move, in fact.

"I've got you," he murmured, pressing his lips into your shoulder.

The intimacy of the moment surprised you and you weren't sure why Dean was being so soft. You leaned back into him, feeling the taunt muscles of his abdomen flex against you.

He took the movement as permission to continue what he was doing. He slid his hand farther down your body, slipping it between your legs to rub light circles on your swollen clit.

You gasped softly, nails digging into the flesh of his arm.

Dean shushed you gently. "Let me make you feel good--just relax."

You tried to do as he said, willing your overstimulated body to stop tensing.

As Dean continued his gentle thrusts and soft touches, you began to feel the familiar tightening deep in your abdomen. You focused on the feeling, on the need for a release as it rose within you.

"You're doing so good for me," Dean praised. "So sexy--with this fucking perfect pussy. Could stay here forever."

His murmured words of praise went straight to your core, causing it to tighten around him. He moaned softly, continuing his movements.

"Dean," you whispered. "I'm close."

He pressed his lips into your shoulder. "Let go for me, baby. I've got you."

For a moment--just a moment--you felt like you were making love to your Dean. The feeling was fleeting, but it gave you hope, even as it ripped your heart to pieces.

He knew exactly what to do to send your body into overdrive--he'd always known. He had you falling apart in minutes, soft cries of pleasure slipping past your tired lips.

"That's it, baby," Dean groaned. "Gonna fill you up."

Dean came for a final time, deep inside you. You'd lost track of his orgasms long before you'd lost track of your own.

He whispered your name softly, lips brushing against your skin sweetly.

He didn't pull out, but his cock finally began to soften--having reached the limit even for a demon.

After several minutes, he allowed you to pull away from him. You rolled over and quickly fell asleep, too exhausted to even exist for a moment longer.

**********

When you finally woke up, you weren't sure how much time had passed. Your entire body was sore, a dull ache from your head to your toes.

You pulled yourself up into a sitting position, glancing beside you to the empty bed. Your eyes flitted around the room, seeking any sign of Dean. His clothes were still strewn all over the floor, along with yours, but he could very well have put on fresh clothes.

You weakly pulled yourself out of the bed and slowly made your way to the bathroom, bladder pulsating painfully. After using the bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to revive yourself even a little.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror, taking in the various marks and bruises littering your skin. You would typically wear such marks like a badge of honor, but in this moment, you only felt shame.

You'd had explosive sex with a demon--not just any demon, a demon that used to be your husband. Your heart clenched as images flashing through your mind. You'd loved it in the moment, but now you felt incredibly guilty.

You couldn't help but wonder what Dean would think of you if you were able to make him human again. You were scared he'd be upset with you--ashamed even.

The sound of the hotel room door opening shook you from your thoughts. You grabbed the robe hanging on a hook in the bathroom and threw it on quickly, barely covering yourself before Dean came into view.

"Hey sweetheart," he said with a smile. "I brought food."

Surprise lit up your face as you stared at him. You hadn't been certain he'd come back, let alone bring you food. "Oh, umm...thank you."

He nodded and placed the bags on the small table. "You wanna take a shower first or eat first?"

You were still in shock from his behavior, but you managed to mumble, "Shower." You closed the door slowly and started the shower, but you didn't get in.

You took a moment to try and collect yourself, but you found it nearly impossible to relax. You sighed and dropped the robe from your body before stepping under the hot spray.

The calming feeling of the water washing over you brought you some relief--as if it was washing away your sins. It also gave you some clarity.

At the end of the day, he was still Dean--and you desperately wanted him back. If this was the only way to do it, then you just had to suck it up and do what needed to be done. If necessary, you'd beg for forgiveness later.

When you got out of the shower Dean was waiting for you at the table. You'd thrown the robe back on, having no other clothes with you.

You offered him a smile before going towards where your undergarments lay near the bed. You also picked up your jeans, but your shirt was completely ruined.

Dean's keen eyes followed you around the room, watching in silence. When you made it to the door where the remnants of your shirt lay, Dean chuckled lightly. "Why don't you wear one of mine, sweetheart?"

You held up the ripped fabric. "I don't think I have much of a choice."

He smiled and stood up, grabbing a clean flannel out of the duffle on the floor. He handed it to you and waited--as if he expected you to say something.

You looked down at the flannel in your hand and inhaled sharply. It was your favorite flannel of his--green and black in color, and incredibly soft from all the washes it had endured.

He saw the moment you recognized the shirt and he suddenly felt oddly nervous--he wanted you to be happy, as silly as that might be for a demon.

"I'll just go throw these on," you whispered.

Dean just nodded as you walked past him to the bathroom. You came out a few minutes later, fully clothed.

He let out a soft sound you could only describe as a low growl. "I love it when you wear my clothes."

You blushed. "You always did find it sexy."

He grinned darkly and took a step towards you, but you shook your head gently.

"My entire body is sore, Dean."

He pouted. "A kiss at least?"

You sighed. "Fine."

He leaned down to kiss you with shocking gentleness. It warmed you from the inside out.

"See? I can be gentle," Dean said with a smirk.

"Interesting for a demon," you mumbled, sitting down at the table.

You missed the look of hurt that crossed Dean's face at your words. He sat at the table across from you, expression impassive.

You started to eat, quickly discovering how hungry you really were. Dean watched you quietly, not particularly hungry himself. He noticed some marks on your exposed collarbone and throat and he felt an odd feeling in his chest. It made him extremely uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite place the feeling.

"Dean?" you asked softly.

His eyes refocused on your face. "Hmm?"

"I know what you're going to say, but will you please come back with me? Just--Just come home, Dean--please." You were more than ready to beg, but you found you didn't need to.

"Alright."

You'd opened your mouth for a rebuttal, but his voice stopped you--"What?"

"I'll come back with you."

Your face was a mixture of surprise and confusion. "I, uhh--I was expecting to have to beg you."

"No need," he commented. "After last night, I have no desire to be anywhere else."

"Anywhere else?"

"Perhaps I should have said with anyone else."

"Ahh. I see." Your heart fluttered slightly, even though the words came from a demon.

"So yes, I'll go back home with you...on one condition."

Your heart began to beat faster as you waited for him to continue.

"Under no circumstances will you ever force me to become human."

Your chest ached at his words, your eyes fluttered closed, and your breath exhaled slowly. Dean knew what he was asking of you--knew it was a lot deeper than a simple promise. "Don't make me promise that," you whispered.

Dean's eyes flicked to black and his expression hardened. "Promise me or leave. The choice is yours."

It felt as though time slowed around you. You had never once broken a promise to Dean--never. He knew you prided yourself on that--he knew you would never break one. You couldn't find it in yourself to betray him, even now.

"I have one condition of my own."

Dean raised a single eyebrow.

"I will make you that promise, if you give me the First Blade."

It was Dean's turn to be surprised. "Why?"

"You know why."

His eyes flicked back to green, but he looked annoyed. "And if I don't give it up?"

"Then I leave."

Dean weighed his options in silence. After a few moments, he got up and crossed the room towards the door where his jacket hung. He reached into the inside pocket and pulled out the First Blade.

You inhaled sharply, a ripple of fear surging through you.

He crossed the short distance back to you, placing the Blade on the table in front of you. You reached out for it, but his hand snapped forward and grabbed your arm.

"Do we have a deal?"

You exhaled heavily. "We have a deal."

"Say it."

"I promise I will never force you to become human again," you whispered.

He released your arm and smirked. He was obviously pleased with himself, even as you quite clearly ached from making such a promise.

You pulled the Blade towards you, keeping it as close to you as you could. You needed to call Crowley to come get the damn thing as soon as possible--you wanted it as far away from Dean as possible.

“Maybe we can leave when I’m done eating?”

Dean just nodded. “Better not tell Sam until we get there.”

You couldn't have told him even if you'd wanted to, given that Crowley had broken your phone, so you simply nodded your agreement.

Dean watched you in silence while you finished eating, his face completely unreadable. You were worried about what Dean was planning, but you were more worried about Sam's reaction to all of this.

**********

The drive back to the bunker was uneventful. Dean drove straight through the night, no need for sleep. You were still tired from your antics the day before, so you slept for a large portion of the drive.

Dean woke you 10 minutes before arrival. "How pissed you think Sammy's gonna be?" he asked.

"You left him to die, Dean--he's probably not gonna be excited to see you."

Dean shrugged. "I mean, he didn't die though."

You shot him a glare and he laughed. "It's not funny, Winchester."

"It's not, not funny."

You sighed. "Just let me do the talking, okay? He's not pissed at me."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "He's gonna be."

"Either way," you mumbled. "Just let me handle it."

"Fine."

Dean pulled in to the underground garage and you both got out of the car. You weren't sure if Sam would even be there--you hadn't spoken to him in a couple days. For all you knew, he could have been kidnapped a second time--or maybe he thought you were the one missing.

As you entered into the bunker properly, you found it very quiet and very empty.

"Looks like nobody's home," Dean commented.

"Sam's probably worried about me--god only knows where he is," you muttered. You turned to Dean. "Let me borrow your phone."

He eyed you warily. "What happened to yours?"

"Crowley broke it."

Dean's eyes narrowed, flashing black aggressively. "He what?"

"Easy there killer--he broke my phone, not me."

"I'll kill him."

"Get in line," you mumbled as you stuck out your hand. "Phone, please."

He handed you his phone and you immediately dialed the familiar number. Sam answered on the second ring, hope and surprise in his voice, "Dean?"

"No, it's me."

You heard relief in his voice when he spoke again. "Where the hell are you? Are you okay? I was seriously worried--" he paused, seemingly remembering whose phone you were using. "Are you with Dean?"

Dean leaned in over your shoulder to speak into the phone. "Hiya, Sammy."

You elbowed Dean lightly. "I'm fine, Sam, and yes, I'm with Dean."

"How--?"

"Crowley."

"Why the hell didn't you call me?"

"Also, Crowley. He busted my phone--hence why I'm using Dean's."

"Are you--are you safe?"

You looked over at Dean and sighed. "Yeah, I'm safe."

Sam sighed in relief. "Where are you--I'll come get you."

"We're, uhh--we're actually back home."

"What?"

"We're at the bunker."

"How the hell did you convince him to come back with you?"

"We can talk about that when you get here. Just come home."

"I'm on my way."

You hung up the phone and handed it back to Dean, who gave you a hungry look.

"So...what should we do while we're waiting?"

"I know you're a demon, but I'm not," you said lightly. "I'm still sore."

"Aww c'mon, sweetheart," Dean pouted slightly. "I'll be gentle."

You shook your head with a small smile. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I was gentle yesterday morning, wasn't I?"

"After several orgasms and some very rough sex."

"I thought you enjoyed that," he said lowly, stepping closer to you.

You blushed, taking a step back. "I--I did."

He grinned predatorily. "I can make it very good for you, baby."

You felt a rush of arousal flood your body as he took another step towards you, backing you up against the large table behind you.

He breathed deeply and his eyes flashed black. "I can smell your desire."

You exhaled shakily.

Dean leaned forward, pinning you against the table. He placed one arm on the table and the other very lightly against your throat. "How 'bout I take you right here?"

You weren't opposed to the idea, but you weren't sure exactly how far away Sam was. "What if Sam comes back?"

Dean shrugged. "Then we'll give him a show."

You smacked his chest affectionately. "We will not."

"Then I guess you better hope he doesn't come back while I'm fucking you senseless."

You gasped and Dean leaned down, pressing his lips hungrily against yours. You kissed him back with the same amount of passion, fingers digging into his back to pull him closer to you.

You felt Dean's fingers brush against your chest and you pulled back immediately. "Wait!"

Surprise lit up his face and he released you instantly. "What's wrong?"

"This is my favorite flannel--you are not going to rip it."

Dean laughed heartily. "My apologies, sweetheart. You can take it off yourself then."

You quickly unbuttoned it and slid it off your shoulders, tossing it to the floor nearby. You looked back up at him, a sultry smile on your face. "You may continue."

"Oh, I will." Dean gripped the front of your bra and tore it directly down the center, revealing your heaving breasts to him.

You gasped at the action, but it quickly turned to a moan as his hands began to massage your breasts and pinch your nipples harshly.

Your hips instinctively jutted forward, seeking his body for some relief. Dean immediately noticed, pressing his body firmly against yours, knee sliding between your legs to apply pressure against your core.

You ground yourself down on his knee and groaned softly. You repeated the action, the friction giving you pleasure.

"That's it, pretty girl," Dean growled lowly. "Get yourself off my thigh."

You continued your motions, but it just wasn't enough to get you to your peak. You whimpered softly and Dean chuckled darkly.

"Not enough for you, baby? Need me to help you?"

"Please," you begged.

He made quick work of removing your jeans, but instead of removing your underwear, he simply ripped them right off, practically shredding the lace.

Dean slipped two of his fingers between your legs and plunged them into your core. You gasped and clenched tightly around him.

"Fuck, sweetheart--you're fuckin' soaked," Dean groaned into your neck, fingers thrusting in and out of you hastily. "So damn tight too."

You whined softly as he pulled his fingers out and slipped them into his mouth, sucking them clean. He gripped your hips tightly and lifted you to place you on the table properly.

You wrapped your legs tightly around him and pulled him in closely, desperately wanting to feel him against your skin. You tugged at his shirt, which he quickly removed.

Your fingers grasped at his belt, but he smacked your hand away. He said nothing as he dropped to his knees and tugged your hips forward.

"Spread those legs for me."

You did as he asked, spreading your legs as wide as you could. You waited for him to touch you, but he made no moves to do so. "Dean?" you asked softly, slight desperation in your voice.

His eyes raised up to meet yours, a dark expression on his face. "Touch yourself."

"What?" you asked in quiet confusion.

"You want some relief? Touch yourself."

You supported yourself on one arm while you moved the other between your legs. You were mortified by the wetness dripping down your folds, but you collected some before sliding your fingers between your labia.

Dean watched with dark, hungry eyes as you played with your clit, soft whimpers of enjoyment slipping from your lips.

"Spread yourself open so I can see," he demanded.

You did as he asked, using your other hand to spread yourself, giving him a proper view of your aching pussy.

"Fuck," he muttered beneath his breath. "Keep going."

Your fingers immediately went back to rubbing your clit, desperate to feel that tightening in your core--knowing the pleasure it would bring.

Dean's large hands splayed on your thighs, massaging them gently as he watched, eyes glued to your movements.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he leaned forward and licked into your pussy, making you shiver with anticipation. You moved your hand away and he slapped your pussy harshly, causing you to yelp.

"Did I fucking say you could stop?" he growled, eyes flashing black.

You inhaled sharply and shook your head, fingers immediately returning to your core. You wouldn't admit it to him, but you liked this dark side of him--he would never have let it come out like this if he were human. He was too afraid to hurt you--too protective to even consider it. You hadn't known how much you'd enjoy it until now...and you just had to hope Dean wouldn't notice.

Dean's tongue lapped lazily between your folds as you continued to massage your clit. Every time you felt the pressure begin to build in your gut, your fingers would instinctively speed up. Each time they sped up, Dean would pull your hand away, keeping your orgasm just out of reach.

After several minutes of this, Dean's control had begun to wane. When your fingers sped up, he once again removed your hand, only this time he replaced it with his mouth. You felt his tongue dance across your clit in the most pleasurable way, fingers entwining themselves in his hair.

Your hips bucked up towards his mouth, but he didn't relent. Even as you screamed his name and your juices began to gush, he kept his mouth on you, drinking up everything you gave him. It wasn't until you'd collapsed back onto the table that he finally pulled away and stood back up, licking his lips in satisfaction.

Your breathing was ragged and your vision was slightly blurred as you looked at him, waiting for him to make his next move. He quickly shed his jeans and boxers, tossing them out of the way before taking his cock into his hand.

He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly as he stroked himself, appreciating how fucked out you already looked. "I need you to sit up, sweetheart." His words sounded soft, but his voice was demanding.

You managed to slowly pull yourself into a sitting position, grabbing onto his muscular arms for support. He teased your entrance with his cock and you whimpered softly.

"Lean back on your hands," he murmured lowly.

You did as he asked, the angle allowing him better access to your pussy. He slipped the head of his cock between your folds and slowly began to push forward until he was completely sheathed inside you.

The feeling of fullness had you gasping softly, head tilted back as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean tugged you even closer by your hips so he could get even deeper. You cried out in pain as his first thrust hit your cervix, but Dean didn't seem to notice. His hips snapped forward repeatedly, each thrust threatening to send you flying across the table if not for his death grip on your hips.

The pain soon gave way to pleasure, the room filling with the sounds of your mixed moans, the slapping of skin, and the sounds of your slickness as he fucked you.

He snaked one hand around your back to pull you even closer to him, practically holding you as he kept his pace. Your legs had begun to shake and your arms were weakening--but you knew your orgasm was near.

"Harder," you whimpered, surprising him.

He growled. "You like it when I fuck you like a little slut, don't you?"

"Yes!" you cried out.

His hips moved impossibly faster, the thrusts harder than before.

"Don't stop!" you pleaded.

"I wouldn't dare." He kept the pace as steady as he could, even as he felt his own orgasm rising.

"Please, please, please," you rambled. "S-so close!"

Dean's hand wrapped around your throat, pressing lightly against it. "Cum for me, pretty girl," he growled.

"More!"

He tightened his grip on your throat, but not enough to hurt you. It was all you needed to push you over the edge and into bliss. You cried out as you came, the intensity of your orgasm sparking his own.

He shouted your name in surprise as hot spurts of cum filled you. His thrusts began to slow, but his grip on your body didn't lessen. He held on tightly as you both came down from your highs.

He roughly tugged you forward and off the table. You weren't stable enough to stand, but that didn't matter to him. He spun you around and forced your upper body down onto the table, spreading your legs with one of his.

His cock was already hard again and he plunged into you without warning, earning a cry from your lips.

"Fuck, this pussy is so good for me," he groaned. "I just wanna fuck you until you can't move."

"Dean!" you whimpered, body overly sensitive already.

Once again, his grip on your hips was bruising and his thrusts were almost painful in their depth and intensity. The only thing keeping you upright was the table beneath you, your legs no better than wet noodles.

"You look so fuckin' sexy like this--spread for me, pussy leaking my cum, fuckin' moaning so pretty...fuck." His thrusts sped up, making you cry out.

"Need--shit--need you to cum again, baby."

"I-I c-can't!"

"Yes you can--you've been so good for me. Just give me one more."

Tears welled in your eyes--your body ached horribly, but you wanted to please him so badly. Your hips and thighs hurt from his grip and the force of his thrusts pressing you into the table, but you tried to block all of that from your mind. You focused on the pleasurable feeling of his cock, desperate to give him what he wanted.

"I-I need more," you whimpered.

His hand immediately slipped around to your front and began to rub tight circles to your clit. The sensation nearly pushed you over the edge with how sensitive you were.

"Come on, sweetheart, I can tell you're close."

You moaned in response, focus entirely on reaching your high.

His finger moved faster, the friction sending you into overdrive. You screamed and your nails scratched against the wood as you desperately searched for something to cling to--something to ground you.

"Fuck, yes--that's it. Cum for me, baby."

You screamed again as you came--the pleasure so blinding you passed out for a few moments. When you came to, he was chasing his own high--thrusts becoming more sloppy by the second.

"G-gonna fill you u-up," he ground out, hands tightening on your hips painfully.

Two more thrusts and he was spilling inside of you, hips stuttering as he emptied his seed deep within you. He leaned forward, pressing you even farther into the table, his lips gently caressing your back.

Once he'd regained his breath--and his strength--he pulled out of you and stood up. You nearly slid off the table and onto the floor, but he caught you.

"Woah there--I've got you."

He scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom the two of you shared. He laid you down on the bed with surprising gentleness before climbing onto the bed with you.

"No--no more--please," you begged.

"Easy, sweetheart," he purred softly. "I know you're tired--I just wanna be inside of you."

He laid you on your side and he slid up into you, forcing some of his cum back into your pussy. You whimpered at the feeling of fullness, but even you had to admit you enjoyed the feeling.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you and pulled you close. "Go to sleep, baby. I've got you."

His tone was almost loving--if you didn't know better, you would have thought it was. You were too weak and tired to dwell on it, instead drifting off to sleep with unsurprising ease.

**********

Sam rushed into the bunker like a bat outta hell. He wanted to trust that his brother would never hurt you, but he worried for your safety. Dean was a knight of hell after all.

When he properly entered the war room, he froze. His eyes went to the clothing strewn about the space--a mixture of your's and Dean's. Out of all the things he'd expected, this had not been on the list. He couldn't believe you would be that foolish.

"(Y/N)? Dean?" he called as he walked farther into the bunker.

There was no response, so he made his way to where your bedroom was. The door was shut, so he knocked loudly.

You jolted awake at the loud banging, the movement making Dean moan softly. Somehow he was still hard and buried inside of you--where he'd been for however long you'd been asleep.

"(Y/N)? You in there?" Sam's voice called from the other side of the door.

Dean groaned in annoyance, but you answered anyway. "Yeah--just, uh...give us a minute."

"You coulda told him to go away," Dean mumbled into your shoulder.

"We'd just be delaying the inevitable."

He sighed and slowly removed himself from you, causing a soft whimper to escape your lips. He grinned and leaned down over you, kissing you softly. "Don't worry, we can do it again later."

You kissed him back, before giving him a light push against his chest. "I need clothes."

You dragged yourself out of bed and moved around the room, throwing various items of clothing on to make yourself decent. You wanted a shower, but that would have to wait until after you'd talked to Sam.

Dean watched you from his place in the bed, not making a move to get dressed himself.

"You coming?" you asked.

"I'll give you a head start," he answered. "You can talk to Sam alone."

You nodded. "Alright."

You exited the bedroom, closing the door behind you. Sam was standing at the end of the hall near the entrance to the library. The look he gave you told you exactly what kind of mood he was in. He disappeared into the library and you followed shortly after.

"Sam, I can explain--"

"Explain? Really? You wanna explain why you're sleeping with demon Dean?"

"Oh like you can talk," you shot back. "You slept with a demon several times--and she tried to destroy the world."

Sam's eyes narrowed, but he knew you were right.

"Besides, he's still Dean...just a demon," you mumbled.

"Fine," Sam said with a sigh. "Is that how you convinced him to come back with you?"

You averted your gaze and bit your lip lightly. "Not exactly."

"(Y/N)...what did you do?"

"What I had to do."

"(Y/N)."

"I, uh--I made him a promise."

Sam's face paled slightly. "What did you promise him?"

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly. "I told him I wouldn't force him to become human again."

"You what?" Sam yelled. "You can't possibly keep that promise."

"I have to, Sam. I've never betrayed Dean before and I sure as hell won't start now."

"Are you kidding me? He's a demon, (Y/N)! A monster! The kind of thing he's loathed for his entire life--you really think he wants this?"

"Of course I don't!" you yelled back. "Do you really think I want my husband to be a demon forever? This was the only way to get him to agree to come back here with me. I don't regret making this promise and I would do it again if I had to!"

"So you'll break it?" Sam asked again, voice still raised.

"No," you answered firmly. "I can't."

"How could you be so stupid, (Y/N)?" Sam yelled harshly. "This is the dumbest goddamn thing you've ever done!"

Dean appeared seemingly out of nowhere, wedging himself between you and Sam. He pushed Sam back aggressively, eyes flashing to black. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "Don't you ever speak to her like that again, or you won't make it to see another sunrise."

"Dean!" you cried, stepping forward to place a calming hand on his arm. "It's alright--I'm fine."

Dean ignored you, black eyes still trained on his brother's face. "Do you understand me?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Apologize."

"Dean, that's not necessary," you tried.

He held up his hand to silence you. "Apologize."

Sam swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I shouldn't have said that."

"It's alright, Sam."

"Don't do it again," Dean seethed.

"Dean," you murmured softly. "We're good--I'm good."

He finally relaxed his shoulders and took a step back. His eyes flicked back to green and he turned to look at you. He seemed to scan you, checking to make sure you really were okay.

"I'm fine," you mouthed.

He nodded, finally believing you. He turned back to his brother. "Now you gonna play nice and adhere to (Y/N/N)'s promise?"

"I don't like it," Sam responded. "But fine."

Dean grinned. "Excellent. Otherwise we'd have quite a problem on our hands."

You exchanged glances between the two men and worried they would have some sort of fight sooner than later. You knew you needed to get the First Blade to Crowley before something terrible happened.

"Sam, can I borrow your phone for a moment?" you asked suddenly.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you. Dean eyed you warily, wondering what you were up to.

"Just gonna make a quick call...outside," you mumbled.

You practically ran towards the steps, taking two at a time to get out of there before someone asked too many questions. You called Crowley as soon as the bunker door closed behind you.

"Mrs. Squirrel," Crowley answered by way of greeting.

You rolled your eyes, opting not to comment on the annoying nickname. "I have the Blade."

"Where?"

"The Bunker."

He appeared a few feet away from you and you hung up your phone. You gestured for him to follow you down towards the garage.

"Stay here," you insisted, before entering the garage as quietly as possible.

You went straight for Baby, popping the trunk to retrieve the First Blade from the demon-proof box you'd placed it in. You made your way back outside quickly, not wanting to alert Dean to your movements.

"Take it," you demanded, holding it out to Crowley. "And for the love of god, hide it--put it somewhere Dean will never find it."

"I can assure you, it will be hidden well."

"Good. Now get the hell outta here before I change my mind about killing you."

Crowley smirked mirthlessly. "With pleasure."

He disappeared, taking the First Blade with him. Relief flooded your body and you turned to make your way back into the bunker, hoping to find both men in one piece.

**********

It had been a week since you and Dean had returned to the bunker. As the week went on, Dean's anger and aggression became more and more noticeable.

He hadn't said anything to you, but you knew Dean was jonesing for a kill. You could tell by the way he'd react to things--even the slightest of annoyances would have him reacting violently.

The other indicator came out in Dean's sexual desires. He wanted you almost constantly, regardless of where you were, who else was around, or what was going on. While that alone wasn't problematic, what was concerning was his increasing aggression during sex--and if he didn't get what he wanted immediately.

There wasn't a single inch of your skin he hadn't marked in some way, and you were beyond exhausted. The one time you'd dared to say no to him, resulted in him punching a dent into a metal wall--an action that frightened you. You still didn't think he would hurt you, but you weren't willing to risk it.

Sam had begun to notice as well, especially as it pertained to the marks on your skin. Dean no longer cared about hiding them and makeup wasn't cutting it anymore.

Sam's gaze was on you as you entered the library one morning, limping slightly.

"You know, I'm really starting to worry about you," Sam said quietly.

"I'm alright," you lied as you lowered yourself into a chair, wincing in discomfort.

"Right," Sam muttered sarcastically. "You can't even sit without being in pain."

"If it keeps him from killing someone, then it's worth it," you snapped back.

Sam fell silent, knowing you were right. He wanted to bring up breaking your promise again, but he knew you wouldn't budge. He worried about how Dean would feel about all of this if he became human again...he knew his brother well enough to know it would kill him to know he'd hurt you like this.

Another week went by in much the same manner, but Dean's urge to kill had only worsened. He still hadn't hurt you outside of sex, but you'd begun to fear him--really fear him.

You'd decided to address the issue with him while Sam was out on a store run. You thought he might take it better if Sam wasn't hovering around.

Dean was sitting in the kitchen, drinking his coffee, when you walked in.

"Hey, D," you said softly. "Can we talk?"

He grunted and gestured for you to continue.

"It's about your behavior the last couple weeks. I-I know the bloodlust is getting bad and to be honest, your temper is starting to really scare me."

He looked up at you with black eyes. "Maybe if you'd let me go out and do some hunting I wouldn't be so volatile."

"You know we can't do that, Dean."

"We," he scoffed. "Since when did you and Sam become 'we'?"

You closed your eyes and sighed, ignoring his question. "You're too unpredictable. You know that better than anyone."

He stood up and took a menacing step towards you. "Give me the Blade and let me go out for a while...one or two kills and I'll be right as rain."

"I can't do that."

"I think you mean won't."

You shook your head. "I can't. I don't have the Blade."

He froze. "What the hell do you mean you don't have it?"

"I-I couldn't risk you getting ahold of it...so I made sure it was safe."

His gaze narrowed, eyes still black as ink. He took several steps towards you, but you backed away until you hit the wall behind you.

He was inches from your face when he growled lowly, "Where is it?"

"I don't know," you whispered.

"What?"

"I don't know," you repeated.

"Where did you put it?"

You were deeply regretting telling him anything at all, but you still blurted out, "I gave it to someone!"

"Who?!"

"I needed to make sure it was hidden where you would never be able to find it," you said desperately.

"Who did you give it to?" he roared.

"Crowley," you whimpered in fear.

Dean punched the wall directly beside your head and you yelped in surprise and fear.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

You didn't answer--too afraid to push his buttons further. You could feel the rage rolling off him in waves and you felt the cold terror seize your heart.

"Call him and get it back," he ordered.

"No," you whispered. You wouldn't risk Dean getting ahold of the Blade...not for anything.

He pinned you against the wall by your throat, slamming your head back against the wall with enough force to break the skin.

His grip on your throat was painfully tight and you tried desperately to get away. "Dean--" you gasped.

For a moment, you were certain he was going to kill you--you would be the next victim of the Mark's bloodlust and there was nothing you could do about it. Even with his eyes filled with darkness, you could see the boiling rage in them. He wasn't seeing you, he was seeing his next victim.

You struggled against his hold on your throat, trying to loosen his grip enough for you to speak. You smacked your hands against his chest, trying anything to get him to release you.

You suddenly remembered your failsafe--you'd starting carrying it everywhere when Dean became more volatile. You managed to pull the item from your pocket, breaking the lid off as you brought it up and splashed the liquid into Dean's face.

He screamed and released you as the holy water burned his skin. You dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, head throbbing painfully. As you coughed and sputtered, you reached a hand to the back of your head, touching the wound softly. When you brought your hand back down, you saw blood staining your fingers.

At first, all Dean could feel was rage--you'd dared to splash holy water in his face? He'd kill you for it. But then his gaze landed on you as you crouched on the floor, blood soaking your fingers, trying to catch your breath. He looked up and saw the blood on the wall where he'd slammed your head against it and he immediately felt sick.

He stepped away from you, eyes flicking back to green as tears filled them. He hadn't meant to hurt you--even as a demon, he'd never wanted to hurt you. He'd let the Mark's rage get the best of him and he'd nearly killed you.

He backed away to the other side of the room and sank to the floor, dropping his head into his hands. He was ashamed of what he had done and for the first time since he'd become a demon, he felt like a monster.

A few minutes later, Sam came into the kitchen, arms laden with bags. His eyes landed on you first and he dropped the bags as he rushed to your side.

"(Y/N)! What happened? Are you okay?"

Without waiting for your response, Dean spoke up. "I happened."

Sam turned to look at Dean on the other side of the room. He felt angry when he heard Dean's words, but the anger dissipated when he saw the agony etched into his brother's face.

"I-I was so angry..." Dean whispered. "I didn't mean to."

"I'm okay," you rasped, voice hoarse from the trauma to your throat.

The sound of your voice nearly broke Dean's heart in half. "Give me the cure," he said to Sam.

"What?" Sam gasped in surprised.

"Make me human again. Please." The desperation in Dean's voice shocked both of you, as did his request.

"Are-are you sure?" you asked.

Dean looked at you in a mixture of sadness and pain. "I would rather risk death than ever hurt you again."

His words washed over you, warming the ache in your chest. You didn't say anything further--you couldn't find the words.

"Let's go then," Sam said firmly.

Dean stood up and followed Sam down to the dungeon. Sam came back a few minutes later to help clean your wounds. As he cleaned your head wound, he told you he'd secured Dean in the dungeon and he'd called for Castiel.

"We might need some backup for this," he muttered.

You nodded, the simple action making your head throb painfully.

"Try not to move too much," Sam said gently.

"I'm alright."

"What happened?" Castiel spoke from the doorway.

"Dean did," Sam said with a sigh.

"You need to be healed."

"No," you insisted as you held up your hand. "Don't waste what little grace you have left on me."

Cas looked down sadly, but he didn't come towards you. "Where is Dean?"

"Dungeon," you mumbled.

Cas walked away, apparently on his way to see Dean.

Sam finished cleaning your head wound and stood up. "I don't think you need stitches."

"Great," you groaned, standing up slowly.

"Woah--take it easy."

"I'm fine, Sam. We need to do this before he changes his mind."

"Cas and I can handle it."

You shook your head. "I'm not leaving him."

Sam sighed and gave you his arm to hold onto while walking down to the dungeon. When you opened the door, you saw Dean strapped to a chair in the center of the room. Cas stood off to the side, waiting.

"Let's get started," you said softly.

You left the dirty work to Sam--you couldn't bring yourself to hurt Dean, even after everything that had happened.

Listening to Dean's screams and pleas was almost too much for you to bear, but you knew it had to be done. Dean had asked to become human again...and there was nothing you wanted more.

Despite the agony he was experiencing, Dean insisted Sam continue the injections. As much as he would have rather stayed a demon, he was too afraid of what he would do to you if left unchecked.

You closed your eyes as Dean once again screamed in pain. You weren't sure how much more of this you could take, let alone Dean.

Dean noticed your demeanor--could tell your resolve was weakening. "It's okay, baby," he told you breathlessly. "I'm okay."

You opened your eyes and looked at him, unshed tears blurring your vision. He gave you a small, weak smile, which you tried to return. It ended up looking more like a wince than anything else.

"I wanted this, remember? I want this," he insisted.

You nodded tearfully. "I know. I just don't like seeing you in pain."

"We've only got one injection left," Sam cut in gently.

You watched in silence as Sam injected him with the final dose. Dean once again cried out, before falling completely silent, head drooping forward.

"Dean?" you whispered in fear.

When he didn't respond, you worried you had all gone too far...that Dean was dead.

As the three of you stared at the man in the chair, you heard a soft groan escape his lips and he slowly lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the beautiful green orbs you loved so much.

"You guys look worried," Dean said softly.

Sam splashed some holy water on his brother, but the liquid had no effect.

You let out a choked sob, beyond relieved to have your husband back.

You thought you heard Sam say, "welcome back Dean," but you were too focused on Dean's face to be sure. His own gaze was locked on yours, tears filing his eyes as he slowly took in the marks littering your skin--especially the bruising around your throat in the shape of his hand.

"(Y/N/N)," he whispered, his voice more broken than you'd ever heard it.

"Uncuff him," you said to Sam, who immediately did as you asked.

Dean stood up, clearly weak from the ordeal he'd just gone through, but nothing would have stopped him from getting to you.

He was a foot or two away from you when you gave in to your own desires, closing the gap between you. You wrapped your arms around him tightly and sobbed into his chest--letting out all the pain you'd kept inside for the last couple months.

Dean's arms held you close, lips pressed firmly into your hair, his own tears streaming down his face. Neither of you spoke--there was no need, not yet anyway.

After several minutes, you finally stepped back, wiping the tears from your face. You smiled up at him and whispered, "I love you."

You saw something flash across his face, but it was gone before you could place it. "I love you too," he murmured.

You stood to the side as Sam hugged Dean, followed by Cas. Everyone was glad to have him back, but you could see Dean was struggling--he clearly remembered every moment of being a demon...and you had no idea what kind of impact that would have on him.

"Alright guys, I think he needs some rest. He's been through a lot today," you interrupted softly.

Dean looked at you gratefully and both Sam and Cas nodded their agreement.

"Come on," you murmured, reaching out for Dean's hand.

He grabbed it and followed you to your shared bedroom. To your surprise, he stopped just outside the door. "I think I'd rather sleep in one of the other rooms."

You looked at him in confusion, but he wouldn't quite meet your gaze. "Okay," you whispered. "Whatever you'd prefer."

You followed him to a room down the hall, waiting quietly as he took off his boots before climbing into the bed.

"Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm alright."

You knew he was most definitely not alright, but now wasn't the time to address it.

"Okay. I'll be down the hall if you need me."

He nodded, but said nothing further. He once again couldn't look at you as you left the room. Sadness laced its icy tendrils around your heart, despite the joy you felt at Dean's return to humanity.

You went to join Sam and Cas in the library, not quite wanting to be alone. You didn't want to talk either, but just being around people you loved made you feel a little bit better.

You knew Dean's road to recovery would be long, as would your own. You weren't sure what trials lay ahead of you, but you knew the two of you would make it through--you always did.

If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was how much Dean loved you--if the last few weeks taught you anything, it was that. Your own love for Dean was equally endless--there was nothing you wouldn't do for him. As cliche as it was, love really could conquer all.

[cryptidghostgirl]

omg omg omg totally new silly idea- human! alastor x human! reader where they meet at a party and go outside for a walk near the pier and the moon is beautiful and… they pull out weapons on each other (specifically Alastor a knife and reader a gun) and thats when they decide to form a partner in crime partnership

And in other to keep appearances they are forced to “fake date”

Mimzy: youve been spending some time with that new girl havent you, is she your gf or smth?” chuckle

Naize 20 yr old smth Alastor trying to think of a response thats not that:...

Mimzy: OMG IS SHE?

Alastor: sureeeeee

And they aren't actually into each other until a lot later into their partnership when they’re chasing some guy and reader gets to them first and just starts going at it “hey man i think hes had enough” “YOU WANT WHAT HES HAVING???” thpe shit

and Alastor has to catch his breath and he lowkey thinks hes dying because his heart starts beating a lot, And he goes again to mimzy for advice cuz i dont think he has anu friends and shes like “oh sweetie…”

And because its quite impossible to not get attached at one point theyre in another chase and reader starts laughing hysterically like “did you see him trying to run away??? lmao” and he goes “I couldnt take my eyes off you” and then just grabs her face and SMOOCH >:)

I think its a good trope- fake dating to actual dating even if its. about. murderers- :3

A/N YOU GUYS COME UP WITH THE BEST REQUESTS JESUS CHRIST!!! Also I promise I will get to the rest of the requests this weekend, I had two exams today so this is the only thing I am gonna post. Sorry.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: uh, murder. Mild gore. Violence. Weapons.

Word Count: 4,460 (I went a little overboard with this one)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

"I'll walk her home, don't worry Mimzy." Alastor was saying as Y/n pulled her coat over her shoulders.

The noises of the party still raging on filtered into the grand entryway of the house, muffled through the walls. Mimzy shot her two friends a suspicious look.

"It's nothing like that, Mimz." Y/n sighed, straightening the collar of her fur coat, "I just asked cause of all those murders in the news. Kinda freaky, don't you think? I don't really wanna be out alone at night and Al here was kind enough to offer."

Mimzy crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.

"Sure." she teased.

"Mimzy." Alastor sighed in response and she put her hands up in false surrender.

"Sorry! Sorry." she hummed playfully, "I know you two free birds would never."

Alastor rolled his eyes and, turning to Y/n, held out his arm. She took it daintily, a grateful smile on her face. The pair had just met a few hours earlier but had quickly fallen into a casual camaraderie. He lead her from the house, Mimzy calling her goodnights and wishes for their safety after their retreating forms.

It was a mostly quiet walk through the desolate midnight streets of New Orleans. Y/n hummed softly, kicking a can along with the toes of her healed shoes.

"You'll ruin them that way, wont you?" Alastor asked, feigning concern.

Y/n just shrugged.

"They're shoes. Yeah, they're nice but I wont let that stop me from living. Let's stop by the water, it's so pretty tonight."

Alastor turned slightly, looking out at the Mississippi with it's slightly turbid waters reflecting the light of the stars. He tried not to smile, it was like she wanted him to carry out his intended work. She was making it so easy for him.

"Sure."

They turned towards the rail and Y/n let go of his arm, leaning her elbows against it. She let out a sigh of longing as her eyes tracked the ripples in the surface.

Alastor watched her for a moment, the moon illuminating her features. She was a handsome woman, there was no doubt about it. It had been proved to him tenfold by the amount of prospective partners she had turned down dances with at the party in favor of drinking with him at the bar. That was not what Alastor was interested in, however. Once he was sure she was distracted, once he was sure she had no intent to take her eyes from the glowing river, he looked down. Moving his coat slightly to the side, his hand quickly found its way to the hilt of the knife he had stashed in his waistband for just such an occasion.

He pulled it out, the weight familiar, almost comforting in a sense, in his hand. There was a click. He looked up, the blade pointed to its intended target.

Y/n was facing him now, a wry smile on her face. One foot in front of the other, she took a step forward. The muzzle of the gun, the cocking of which had been the source of the noise which had drawn his attention, just a few centimeters from his chest. The tip of his knife hovered indefinitely by the open center of her coat. He chuckled in amusement, eyebrows raised.

"I thought there were a few more bodies in the news than there should have been. A gun? Really?"

Y/n shrugged.

"I'm little. I don't have the privilege of being able to overpower my victims like you."

Alastor hummed softly. A slight breeze picked up, playing with the edges of their hair.

"What a shame."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"I don't think so. It works well enough."

"Those machines are inelegant, they are detached."

"And you prefer a sense of intimacy to be involved in all your escapades?"

Alastor removed the knife, holding it up to his eyes. He turned the blade over in his hand, examining it closely. Following suit, Y/n let her hand fall to her side, the gun still cocked should an occasion arise to use it.

"I have an idea." he suddenly announced.

"Oh?" Y/n asked.

She took a step back, returning to the water's edge. Alastor followed, leaning over the railing beside her. They watched one another closely, weapons still clutched loosely in their hands.

"Yep."

"You gonna tell me what it is or am I gonna have to guess?" Y/n teased after a moment, breaking the oddly comfortable silence that had fallen after Alastor's last words.

"There have been a few times, of late, where I've come a bit... uncomfortably close to being seen."

"Getting lazy." Y/n hummed, "Or maybe just cocky."

"It seems like you could use a hand, someone with brute strength in case anything goes wrong."

She scoffed, smiling just the slightest bit.

"Are you proposing we work together?"

"You're the one who said it, not me."

Y/n shook her head slightly, amused.

"How would I know you wouldn't just turn on me? End up killing me or decide not to step in if I needed help?"

"And how would I know that you wouldn't rat me out? Alert someone to where I was and what I was doing rather than telling me someone was coming? It's called trust, Y/n."

Y/n thought it over, fiddling with the gun in her grip as she did so. Alastor watched, seeing the gears turning in her mind through the light of her eyes.

"Fine." she said at last, un-cocking the gun and holding a hand out to him, "You've got yourself a deal."

Alastor smiled, slipping the knife back into his belt before grasping her hand in his. It was chilled by the air of the January night enveloping them.

"Deal."

Y/n quickly learned Alastor's preferred demographic. He had a penchant for angry men, drunks. Y/n had been a one off, a spur of the moment opportunity he had thought to take hold of. Alastor had not been like that for her. Y/n's preferred victims were also men. Anyone that showed any pressing interest in her, anyone who tried to take her home for the night, always ended up six feet under. For both, murder was a way of processing their personal experiences and traumas.

As a result of their deal, Y/n and Alastor began to spend more time together. They had to learn one another's intricacies, their ways of thinking, their nature of being. It was a necessity if anything was actually going to work. They both had rather busy work schedules, Alastor as a radio broadcaster with his very own show and Y/n as a seamstress at a local dress shop. Because of this, more often than not, the only time they had to get to know one another was through shared meals. Both of them had to eat, needed a lunch break or dinner. It was just what worked. Because of their slightly shared demographic of victim, they ended up in bars together quite frequently as well.

It was in one of these meet ups that they ran into their first difficulty. Y/n was sitting across a table from him outside a cafe, lazily sipping on a coffee as she perused the missing persons list in a newspaper. The newspaper was old, they were exchanging information about who was responsible for what. Working together didn't just mean knowing one another as they were now, but their histories as well.

They should have known not to sit in such a public place. Both had many connections in the city due to their jobs, though few friends. It just so happened on that day that the one true friend they did have in common was walking down the very street they sat on.

"Alastor?" Mimzy exclaimed, catching sight of his familiar face and moving towards their table.

Y/n folded the newspaper, placing it on the table as she turned towards the sound. Mimzy came to a stop, her brow furrowing in mild confusion as she saw her friend was not in fact alone.

"And Y/n, fancy meeting you two here."

"Pull up a chair, Mimz." Y/n smiled and Mimzy obeyed.

Swinging a spare chair from a nearby table, she quickly joined them.

"I haven't seen you two since the party! How have you been."

"Fine, fine." Alastor hummed and Y/n nodded her assent.

"And whats this with you two getting coffee?" Mimzy asked, a teasing smile slipping onto her face as Alastor took a sip of his own drink, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all Mimz." Y/n shook her head, a slight smile on her face, "It's always a pleasure to see you."

"You sure this isn't a date or something? I mean, with the way you two left and everything... having coffee alone..."

Alastor nearly choked on his drink. Y/n and Mimzy turned to him as he put a hand to his chest, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me." he said and Mimzy's grin widened.

"Oh this is totally a date."

"No!" Alastor exclaimed, exchanging a fervent glance with Y/n across the table.

She raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. Without words, she told him to handle it. Alastor sighed.

"Are you sure?" Mimzy asked, a suggestive tone to her voice.

"I... uh..." Alastor stuttered, his brain working in overdrive to think of anything else. It came up empty, "Fine. Yes. We're... we're on a date."

"You caught us." Y/n chimed in and Mimzy turned to her.

"Oh my stars! You two.... I shoulda guessed you'd get on like a house on fire. Shame I can't invite you to any more of my singles parties though Y/n, you are a riot."

Singles parties. A hunting ground. Y/n smiled.

"No, no, Mimz. We're not exclusive or anything."

Mimzy's eyes widened slightly at the revelation as Alastor shot Y/n a look across the table. Dating was going to be hard for them to sell but swingers too? What was she thinking.

"Really? How exotic." Mimzy hummed in thought.

"We're all going to hell anyways so, why not." Y/n shrugged.

"Oh you." Mimzy laughed, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder as she got to her feet, "Well, I won't keep you love birds any longer. I'll see you next week for the next party then?"

"We'll see." Alastor hummed placidly.

Once Mimzy had gone, he rounded on Y/n.

"Swingers?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Really?"

"Hey, you're the one who started the whole 'we're dating' thing." Y/n sighed, picking the newspaper back up and resuming the task at hand, "I just made it easier for us."

"It will utterly destroy my reputation if this gets out you know."

Y/n shot him a look over the top of the paper.

"Al, you got a lot more to worry about than pretending to be a swinger in terms of your reputation. Now, Marcus Alcost? Six four, buff, scar on his left forearm? Brown hair?"

"Blue eyes?"

"Umm... yeah."

"Yep, that was me."

"Nice. Musta been a tough one to take down."

Alastor would track men, following them out as they left the establishments in the small hours of the morning with the intent of returning to their families. He would stalk them, corner them, lead them in. Y/n would stand watch, alerting him at the first sign of trouble.

The moment she heard footsteps, chatter, Y/n would duck in. Grabbing Alastor by the arm, she would whisk him off in some random direction, having consistently used the time she was on lookout to scout for escape routes.

They had had a few close calls, one or two times he had had to press her up against a wall and pretend to kiss her to avoid prying eyes. They always had a good laugh after something like that. Mostly, things worked out well. They each had survived on their own for years at this point. They knew what they were doing, adding another person into the mix just made it a tad easier.

Y/n, on the other hand, didn't need to track her victims down, they did that work for her. She would dress up all pretty and the moment someone asked to take her home or something of the like, would agree. Then she'd pull them into some ally or another under the guise of not wanting to wait a second longer and attack. Alastor would stand behind her, arms crossed menacingly as she carried out her work. He threatened so she could perform and she never had any trouble thanks to him.

That was, until one night about a year into their little partnership. As the time had passed, their relationship had grown. They still held the ruse of dating up before anyone who asked why it was they each spent so much time with the other but, a real friendship had begun to blossom between them as well. As it turns out, they had a lot more in common than just a tendency to commit brutal murders. Y/n knew Alastor well by now, better than anyone else most likely, and he knew her as well. That was how he could tell something was wrong.

Y/n had given Alastor the usual signal from across the bar and he had settled his tab. As he followed the pair, Y/n and the tall man whose hand she held, Alastor had noticed something was off. Normally by this point Y/n was stumbling around, pretending to be drunk and ditzy. She was doing this very thing now but in a more halted and jagged way. The man she was with seemed more believably drunk than she was, swaying this way and that. Her movements were uncharacteristically harsh as she pulled the man into the ally about a block ahead of him.

Alastor picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. He reached the ally and turned down it, expecting to see Y/n flirting with the man or with her gun out already. Instead, he was met with something entirely different.

At the back of the ally lay the huddled mass of the man. On top of him was Y/n. The thuds of her knuckles against his face was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. She hit him, again and again. Alastor stood there, stunned.

"Dear, whatever is the matter?" he asked at last, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Y/n."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see the splatters of blood now, on the ground around them and the wall behind. The thuds included the occasional squelch, the crack of a bone.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"You'll ruin your hands for work tomorrow if you keep at this."

Still, she ignored him. There was a sickening crunch. Sighing, he approached.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see it now, the man's mutilated face. Part of his skull looked like it had caved in. He had stopped moving long ago.

"Y/n, dear," Alastor tentatively reached out a hand towards her shoulder as he spoke, "don't you think he has had enough?"

Y/n whipped around to him, her eyes wild and her bloody raw knuckles raised. He froze, his hand hovering above her shoulder. There was blood everywhere. It soaked the sleeves of her collard shirt, it dripped from her fingers, it decorated her face and her bared teeth.

"What, you fucking want some too?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribcage, begging for escape. It wasn't fear, it couldn't be. He could take this girl down in ten seconds flat, blood hungry as she was.

Y/n's eyes, sharp with violence, softened slightly as she saw his reaction. She let her hands fall, resting them on the man's chest.

"He tried to drug me." she revealed, turning her eyes back to her mess, her masterpiece.

"He what?"

"Yeah." she sighed, using the back of her hand to push her hair from her eyes, leaving a residue of blood in the wake of the movement, "I caught him, switched the drinks."

Alastor shifted his gaze to the man before falling on Y/n once again. Her face was blank now, all the rage gone.

"He tried to drug me." she said again, her voice hollow.

At last, his hand found its home on her shoulder and she turned to face him once again. Alastor extended his free hand to Y/n. She examined it for a moment before daintily placing one of her own in his and allowing him to help her to her feet. Both her hands now rested in his as they looked back at the remains of the man.

"Well, he's definitely dead."

Alastor let go of Y/n's hands. Now free, he used one of them to turn her face to his. Blood spattered, wide eyed, lips slightly parted -- his heart fought for freedom from his chest once again.

"He deserved it."

Alastor let go of Y/n's chin and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe some of the blood from her face.

"Can you walk me home?"

Normally if she had asked something like that, Alastor would have teased her to no end. Why be scared of the monsters in the dark when she herself was one of them? But her voice had been small, timid. She had avoided his eyes and his fingers tingled at the prospect of her viewing him as protector.

"Of course, my dear."

They did not have another planned meeting until two weeks from that day. Y/n had a big project at work and wouldn't have any spare time because of it. Alastor, normally restless at the idea of having to wait so long to satisfy his bloodlust either by killing or seeing the show of death, was grateful for the respite. He was confused, overwhelmed even, because his strange reactions, the change in his patterns of thought towards the girl, hadn't ended at Y/n's front door.

No, she was haunting him. Like a vengeful ghost, he saw her in his mind. She took up every waking moment, he didn't know what to do. Alastor waited a day and still, it persisted. The skip of his heart, the odd slightly sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of their reunion. He waited three days and it didn't stop. By the time the end of the week rolled around and Alastor still found himself smiling at the prospect of only having to wait another week not to kill but to see Y/n again, he did the unthinkable. It was the only option he could come up with. Besides Y/n, she was the only other person in the world he even half trusted. Alastor called Mimzy.

"Alastor, darling!" she excitedly exclaimed into the phone, "What a surprise! What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, hey Mimzy. Um..." he struggled to find the words, fiddling with the phone cord as he walked to the window, looking down at the street below, "I just... I need your advice about something."

"What is it, hun?" she immediately replied, "Seems its got you in a tizzy, not a lot can do that."

"I... It's about Y/n."

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"

"No. Maybe?" he turned from the window, collapsing in his desk chair, "I don't know."

"Spill."

"Well, we... I just.... Mimz, I can't stop thinking about her."

"Well I would hope not, you've been together for almost a year now."

"Yeah well, about that. It may have been a... stretching of the truth? Shall we say?"

"Al." Mimzy warned after a moment's silence, "If you are playing with this gi-"

"No!" he exclaimed, cutting her off and quickly crafting an excuse, "No. It was just to get our parents off our backs. We had a deal. They were both pestering us about when we were gonna get married, you know how it is."

"I thought your dad was dead?"

"My ma though, she really wants to see me settled down."

"I guess that explains the swingers thing." Mimzy sighed, "It didn't really seem in character for either of you. So, whats the matter?"

"I told you, I can't stop thinking about her. It's like... it's like... look, we're not dating, but we're friends, you know? And we were out at a bar together a few nights ago and she just... she did something and when I looked at her, it was like I died."

"That little minx." Mimzy laughed in glee, "What the heck did she do?"

"Just something, okay?"

"I have got to quiz her about this."

"No! Please, no. She'd... probably be embarrassed."

"Mmm... okay...." came Mimzy's doubtful reply, "So what was it you needed help with?"

"Well, that. It was like the breath had left my body entirely. I felt... sick, my chest hurt. It was so strange. I thought it would go away once I got some sleep but it didn't. Every time I think about her, it feels like there is a vice around my heart and I can't stop thinking about her."

"Al, seriously? This is what you're asking me about?"

"Yeah?" he uncertainly replied after a moment.

"What are you, twelve?"

"Mimzy, are you going to help or not?"

She sighed.

"Alastor, you have a crush on her."

A beat.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. Maybe even more."

"I..." his brow furrowed, his breath left his body.

This was bad. This could be dangerous, detrimental even.

"Are you sure?"

"Butterflies in your stomach? Pains in your chest? Can't get her out of your mind? You're even breathless for christ's sake Al. It's textbook first pangs of love."

"Fuck."

Mimzy laughed.

"You're already pretend dating, what harm would asking her to do the real thing with you do? My bet is, she's probably been feeling the same thing about you. That tends to happen in cases like yours, I've seen it before. The whole 'fake love turns real' trope. It's overdone if you ask me."

"Mimzy, this isn't one of your trashy romance novels. This is my life."

"So live it radio man! Go get that girl."

Alastor was nervous, trembling even as he sat at the bar. His glass of whiskey had gone warm on the table as he watched Y/n dancing and having fun in the crowd. This was how it usually went when it was his turn to hunt, she'd have fun and he'd find a target. Once the target left, he'd grab her and they'd move out.

Tonight he was distracted and it showed. The man had nearly given them the slip. With Alastor's knife still sticking out of his shoulder, he had ducked away and started running. Of course that meant Alastor and Y/n had to give chase. They ran after him through the streets of New Orleans as he screamed bloody murder and Y/n's heels clicked definitively on the ground. He was thankful that the hour was late and no one was out and about, thankful the man was so drunk his words came out closer to garbled singing than pleas for help, thankful he was slowed by his consumption.

When they at last caught up with him, Alastor grabbed his second knife from his belt and, taking the man's hurt shoulder in his free hand, buried it deep in the man's back. He fell to the floor, sputtering, coughing up blood. In a few moments he was still. Alastor turned to Y/n, panting.

Her pretty eyes traced a path between murderer and victim a handful of times before a smile broke out onto her face. Before he could really register what was happening, she was doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach.

Alastor watched Y/n, eyebrows raised as they both caught their breath. After about a minute, she straightened up and turned to him, wiping a tear from her eye.

"What?" Alastor asked with a wry smile, "What is so funny about a dead man."

"He..." she broke out into laughter again, "He... the way he ran! And we almost lost him?! Oh my god, Al, that coulda been so bad."

"The way... he ran?"

"He... didn't you see it? Oh my god, it was so funny. Like he was running in a three legged race with an invisible partner." she wheezed.

Alastor felt the heat pooling in his cheeks. Mimzy was right, it was time for him to live his life. A normal existence could coexist with his hobby, Y/n had already proved that to him.

"Didn't you see?" she asked again.

"No." he shook his head, "I was... I was watching you."

"You were... Al, theres no way you were." Y/n scoffed, "No way. If you were watching me, he would have gotten away. If you were watching me, it would meant that you were unconcerned by your oh-so-precious reputation being ruined. If you were watching me, it would mean..."

She trailed off as he took a step closer to her, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. Y/n's cheeks flushed pink.

"Alastor."

Her voice was a dying prayer. Reaching a trembling hand up, he laid it on the back of her head, his fingers tangling with her hair as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Alastor closed the gap.

He had been so scared. Scared she would push him away, that she wouldn't kiss back. Even a little bit scared he'd just become the next name on her list of degenerate men she'd killed.

There was a moment, a split second, where his fears were realized. Then, she washed them all away. Hands buried in the lapel of his jacket, she pulled him closer, Y/n leaned in.

They broke apart after a moment, their cheeks flushed and utterly breathless.

"I-"

"Would you like to go on a date with me, Y/n?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Are you going to try to kill me again?"

"Oh please, I thought we'd moved past that darling."

Y/n smiled, still holding him close. Alastor let his hands fall onto her waist as they swayed slightly under the light of the moon.

"Yes Alastor. I will let you take me on a date."

"We will not be swingers."

Y/n laughed.

"Just had to make that clear."

"No, Alastor. If I am going to get you, I want you all to myself. Now, what are we going to do about that body?"

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 2

[gold-onthe-inside]

with love, from reid

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: after a case ruins spencer's carefully planned valentine's date, he does his best to make up for it. but all you needed was him. and all the gifts in the world are nothing compared to yours. word count: 3.3k based on: Valentine’s Day Request - Spencer and his partner are separated for Valentines Day (maybe he went to go visit his mom or he was on a special assignment like in Minimal Loss and a storm grounded flights) but he uses every method possible to give his partner the most amazing Valentines Day ever. a/n: i'm so sorry for sitting on this request forever, but inspiration struck today i guess. hope you like it anon.

Spencer’s not like other guys. It’s the mantra you have to keep using to keep your head on straight. But being cheated on by someone you had been about to marry changes your whole perspective on things. Makes it harder to trust, even the most angelic man you’ve ever met. You have to take a deep breath every time he gets a call from JJ or Penelope, have to remind yourself that there’s a valid reason for every missed date, every morning you wake up without him. Because it’s scary how much you like him, how often you think about him.

The scarce amount of time you both get makes the little moments more important, and he knows it. In his head, he’s been building it up, down to the cardigan he would wear on the 14th. He’s calculated the exact amount of time it takes to get from Quantico to your hospital, chosen a restaurant within walking distance — something right up your alley with exotic food and a quiet atmosphere. He knows how many footsteps it’ll take to get there, how many topics you can cover, all of it, down to miniscule details. The flower arrangements that would wait for you both. The menu he had memorised in his head, knowing exactly what you would order. The average time it would take for you both to finish eating while talking. The train back to his apartment, where your favourite movie would be waiting.

If only he could control this unsub the same way. But they were no closer to finding the unsub on the 13th as they were two days ago. He’d been putting off the call all day, staring at his phone until Alex had pointed it out, unravelling the first stitch of his sealed lips. The seam split and he told her everything — the date he’d planned, the flowers he’d bought in advance, the reservation that was waiting for you. He receives the pat on the knee he’d been expecting from Alex, the promise that you’d be understanding (who would know better than her, really?), and her stern voice telling him to call you.

You can hear the regret in his voice when he calls, the tired fatigue that makes you smile sympathetically. “Did you get home okay?” he asked, scuffing the back of his sneakers against the floor, standing right outside the precinct, stars glittering above him, much brighter in Tennessee than in DC. It’s a whole nother date on his bucket list — going star-gazing with you.

“Yeah, just now,” you replied, and he can see you in his mind’s eye, taking off your boots and neatly arranging them in your rack, keys in a clay dish that an 8 year old had made for you, the crick in your neck that he wants to massage for you. “How about you? Any closer to finding your strangler?”

“No,” he huffs, leaning against the railing. There’s a slight chill in the air, but he can’t feel it, not right now. He just wants to hear your voice. “But that’s not important — I just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.”

You huffed a small laugh, and he can hear you bustling around over the call, maybe changing into your pyjamas, or hunting for ingredients to make a quick dinner for one, and a frustrated ache builds behind his eyes. He wants to be there, with you, listening to old jazz music and making dinner and small talk. “I think I’m in less danger than the FBI agent hunting down a serial killer, honey.”

“You’re always in less danger than I am,” he grumbles, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lip. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back and picturing the dimly lit kitchen in your apartment, the scent of spices and the warmth of old vinyl records. “I miss you,” he confesses in a soft, almost broken tone.

He hears you pause, a palpable beat passing before you murmured, “I miss you too.”

“I wish I could be there,” he says. He wants to run a hand down your back, trace his knuckles over your cheek to feel the softness of your skin. “I had a whole night planned for us tonight.”

"I know, lovely," you murmured, leaning on the kitchen counter, phone pressed to your ear. "There'll be other nights."

He sighs. He hates having to cancel on you, especially now, when they’re already so rare. “Not like this one,” he mutters, and he knows you can probably tell by his tone that he’s pouting like a child.

“Why, because tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day?” you asked, talking while making a quick pasta.

He’s quiet for a second. Then — “Yes,” he admits in a near-whine. “It was going to be a special night.”

"Spence... Every day is Valentine's Day with you," you said, knowing exactly how cheesy you sound and running with it anyway.

Spencer’s just grateful you can’t see his face right now, because he knows he’s blushing a little, that he has an adorably smitten smile on his lips and he’s sure it would only embarrass him if you could see. “Sap,” he accuses lovingly.

"Said the man who collects ticket stubs of every movie we see," you retorted, grinning into the phone.

He sputters. “That’s — that’s — you’re not supposed to know about those,” he complained. “I keep those for myself, they’re a private collection for a reason.“

“Wow, what happened to what’s yours is mine?” you teased him, watching the pasta boil, and Christ, you felt like a lovestruck teenager right now, like those sickly sweet couples in Hallmark movies.

“That’s — there’s exceptions to that rule,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t you dare touch those. I’ve sorted them in chronological order, by the way — if one is out of place, I’ll know it was you messing around, looking over my things.”

You laughed into the phone, bright even with how tired you felt, because he brought it out of you, a glowing feeling in your chest that made the ache in your feet hurt a little less. It’s a sound that never fails to make his heart skip — the softest, most wonderful noise he’s ever heard. “I wish I was there,” he says again, his voice suddenly quiet and heavy with want.

"I know," you said quietly, watching the water grow cloudy as your pasta cooks. "But those women need you more than I do right now, Spence."

“Stop using logic on me,” he says, only half-joking, his expression serious even though you can’t see it. “I want to be selfish with you tonight.”

"Sweetheart, you don't have a selfish bone in your body," you replied affectionately.

“It’s not fair,” he complains, still playing the part of the pouting child in his mind, just whining and grumpy because he wants to be with you. “I was going to give you flowers, and take you out to dinner, and I was going to drive you home and kiss you so much—”

"We can still do that," you said, cutting him off before he could fill your head with ideas and then you could say goodbye to sleeping peacefully tonight.

“Not tomorrow,” he says. He’s almost definitely pouting right now, staring down at the pavement, his eyes dark under his lashes. “And it’s only Valentine’s once a year, I wanted it to be perfect.”

You fretted as you turned the gas off, putting off straining the pasta as you turned into the phone. “Why’s this so important to you, angel?” you asked softly.

It’s one of the things he loves about you — the gentleness with which you handle him, the way you ooze with care and curiosity instead of coddling concern. “This is our first Valentine’s,” he replies, slightly petulant. “And I wanted it to be good. Something you could look back on. I had it all planned out.”

Christ, you could cry with how much Spencer cared about you. You couldn’t remember anyone, boyfriend or not, who loved you this much. “You know it would’ve been perfect, regardless, right?” you asked gently. “You and me, that’s all I need. Even if it’s over a phone line.”

He’s quiet for a moment, just listening to you speak. “You deserve the best,” he says eventually. “You deserve flowers. And an elegant restaurant. And a movie. And a home cooked meal.” And me, he wants to add, but he doesn’t. “Not a phone call and the knowledge that your boyfriend is across the country.”

"Sweetheart, I get all of that from you even when it isn't Valentine's," you said, in that same gentle tone. "Besides, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were here when you could be catching a killer."

“Why do you have to be reasonable?” Spencer groaned, rubbing a hand over his face again because you’re being entirely too logical for him to fight with right now. “That’s not fair.”

You chuckled, crossing your arms and leaning on the counter. "We'll have a make-up date, I promise," you said. "Just how you planned it."

That seems to pacify him a little bit, because he lets out a soft sigh. “Okay,” he agrees, slightly begrudgingly. “But I’m in charge of planning. You don’t get a say in the matter.”

You fake a tsk, as if planning mattered at all to you. "Fine. Whatever you decide."

That makes a soft, contented sound form in his throat — one bordering on possessive. “That’s what I thought,” he says, and you can all but envision the smirk on his lips.

"Go find your killer," you chided him, grinning stupidly, but there's no bite in it.

He lets out an amused huff. “Yes ma’am,” he teases, before his tone softens again. “I miss you. I’ll try to come home as soon as I can, okay?”

"Okay," you replied. "Stay safe, please."

“I will,” he promises, because he knows how much the thought of him getting hurt scares you. “Don’t worry about me.”

You snorted quietly, like it was possibly to not worry about him on cases. "Bye."

“Bye,” he responds quietly, and he wishes he could kiss you goodbye, trace the line of your lips with his fingers and feel the pulse in your neck against his fingers. “Sweet dreams.”

"You too," you whispered before hanging up. Spencer stands there for another moment after the call ends, his phone still in his hand and his heart heavy, and he wonders if it’s possible for someone to actually ache from missing someone this much.

And then Morgan’s calling him inside with his newly minted nickname since dating you — ‘lover boy’ — to adjust the geographic profile and he’s unwillingly dragged back into the vortex that is his job. And he has to shove any thoughts of you to the back of his mind for the time being, the lingering ache at the edge of his chest a constant, nagging thing that he has to continuously push past to focus on the case.

The whole team is working hard to try and solve this, but progress is slow. Somewhere between analysing blood spatter patterns and doing his own research to figure out their unsub’s deal, he does his best to plan your make-up date, paranoid that someone would see him looking for places to take you and make his day worse. Eventually, tired of having to look over his shoulder, he bites the bullet and calls Garcia for help, even if it would no doubt get back to Morgan and the rest of the team.

And then he has to deal with Garcia’s excited squealing, her incessant questions about you both, her comments about how cute he is and how she needs to meet you. He keeps his head down and grits his teeth, because he knows she means no harm, and it’s a small price to suffer through just to have this night be perfect.

The first thing to arrive was a bouquet of tulips with your morning paper waiting outside your door, a pretty arrangement of red and pink that matched the outfit you were going to wear to work — the whole department had agreed to come in red, white, and pink colours — and you can’t stop smiling as you go to put in a vase with water.

He gets the picture texted to him in the middle of a briefing with Hotch and the team, barely able to restrain his smile as he checked his phone under the table.

You: They’re beautiful, thank you.

He’s oblivious to Morgan giving him an odd look as he texted you back:

Spencer: Only the best for the most beautiful girl in the world.

Spencer tucks his phone back into his pocket when the meeting ends, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Morgan. He knows he’s going to get bombarded with questions he doesn’t feel like answering, and for once he’s glad they have a case to work on so he can use that as an excuse not to interact with him.

The second arrival was a package sent to your office, because of course he had your shift schedule memorised, and you signed for it, grasping the brown paper package that was obviously a book back to your desk. There’s no reason for you to hide it, not in the sanctity of your own office, but it’s as if you’re back in school, your crush sending you a note that you unfurl under your desk, finding a hardbound copy of Persuasion, arguably your favourite Austen novel.

You do your best not to blush, picking up your phone to text him, chewing on your lip before flipping to the right chapter and sending him a direct quote.

You: There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison.

Spencer’s in the middle of examining a body when you sent him the text. But as soon as he feels his phone vibrate, he pulls it out without a second thought, uncaring of the fact that Morgan and Rossi are looking his way. He has to hold back a smile because no, he won’t give Morgan any ammunition.

Spencer: You have my whole heart.

“You two are sickening, I hope you know that,” Morgan told him, a smirk on his lips.

Spencer’s head snaps up in alarm at the sound of his voice, and he quickly drops his phone in his pocket, face flushing. He’s silent for a minute, trying to regain his composure and come up with something to defend himself. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he replied weakly.

"Uh-huh," Rossi replied, masking a smile. "Can we look at the body now, or does your girlfriend have more input?" He wouldn’t be surprised if you did, to be honest, but he’d rather keep you out of this part of his world. He just shook his head, stepping closer to the slab.

Your last gift came in just as Valentine’s Day was about to come to an end, Spencer silently tracking into your apartment, 5 minutes away from midnight, cringing as he opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible. You’re asleep, your breathing soft and deep, the soft, soothing sound filling the room. He kneels by your side of the bed for a moment, just looking at you: all loose-limbed and relaxed, your face soft and sweet against the pillow. He can’t help the little smile that tugs the corner of his mouth up, and he wonders how he got so lucky. Softly, he reaches out, fingertips gentle as he brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You flinched, startled awake, until you recognise Spencer's eyes blinking back at you. "Jesus Christ, you scared me," you breathed out. "You should have told me you were coming."

“I was trying to be quiet,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so only you would hear. His hand brushed the curve of your jaw, a soft, almost reverent motion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You sink back into your pillows, shifting inside so he can sit on the edge. "I would have waited up for you if you'd called first," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hip right against your knee, his fingers still trailing along your face, then resting on your thigh over the covers. “I tried to get home earlier,” he said, and he sounded exhausted, the stress of the case weighing on him. “But the team was debating something. And then paperwork...”

"You don't have to explain," you said softly, shaking your head, making a mess of your hair.

He watches you, his gaze lingering on the mussed locks on your head, the sleepy bleariness to your eyes, the pinkness to your cheeks, and he feels a surge of longing so strong it borders on painful for a moment. He loves you like this — soft and sweet and rumpled with sleep, and he wants nothing more than to curl up next to you right here and now. “I hate being away from you for so long,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you so much.”

"Should've caught your guy faster then," you said, shifting up to meet his lips with yours. "Happy Valentine's."

He returned your kiss, his fingers trailing up to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Happy Valentine’s,” he murmured against your lips, before he was kissing you again, harder this time, and you could tell he was tired by the urgency with which he held onto you.

"I realised something when you were away, you know," you murmured against his lips.

He pulled back slightly so he could look at you, his fingers still trailing along the back of your neck. “Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and studying your face with those sharp, intelligent eyes of his.

You nodded, looking at him with your own fond gaze. "I love you," you said softly. Plain and uncomplicated.

He had heard those words plenty of times in his life, but he’d never tire of hearing them from your lips. He felt his heart stutter in his chest, and he moved his hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Say it again?” he whispered.

"I love you," you repeated, your smile glowing in the dark, streetlights dancing over your ceiling.

He felt something in his chest settle at the words, at the reassurance that you really were here, and you were his. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your nose, the. corner of your mouth, then the underside of your jaw. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin. “God, I love you so much.”

Your arms winded around him, his face burying itself in your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, his arms wrapped around your waist. His hands slipped up under your sleep shirt, his touch warm and soft against your back, and he practically sunk into you, needing the closeness, needing to be surrounded by you.

"I know the day didn't go to plan," you murmured, "but this is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had."

His arms wrapped around you a little tighter, like he couldn’t get enough of having you pressed against him, and he pulled his head back from your neck so he could look at you properly. “Me too,” he said, then reconsidered. “Well, the whole day was hell, but this… this is perfect.”

"Yeah?" you asked, pecking his lips.

He chased your mouth, kissing you again, lingering on your lips for longer. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “Being with you is all I need.”

[dokries]

sunshine

pairing: yoon jeonghan x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of bruising (reader gets hurt), passing mention of alcohol (no one drinks), a kiss on the forehead, jeonghan gets called a loser lovingly, pet names (babe/baby, sunshine)

author note: this was requested by an anon! thank you so much for requesting once again, and i’m sorry that my work isn’t exactly what you asked for. i still hope you enjoy this though <3 lots of love!!

masterlist

you probably should’ve taken up jeonghan’s offer when he texted you earlier, asking if you wanted to be dropped off before he went to a group dinner with his friends.

of course, you had said no, assuming that it would be the normal amount of traffic when leaving work. to your luck, it turned out the elevators stopped working right before it was time for you to go home and you risked going down the stairwell with everyone else—no one wanted to be stuck in the plain office building any longer, that’s for sure.

however, that also meant that there were some people rushing and elbowing others aside, despite it being…you know, a somewhat steep stairwell that was already crammed with others walking down it. sadly, you were one of the victims of a particularly brutal shover and pushed towards the railing and the cold metal had dug into your body multiple times, which is exactly why your legs ache as you sit down onto the couch slowly.

you take a peek at the back of your forearm and sigh seeing the small red marks leading up to the hem of your shirt sleeve.

you contemplate changing into a shirt with longer sleeves so you don’t worry your boyfriend but decide against it, knowing that he won’t be back for a while; when it’s the whole group of thirteen, they usually stop around one am at the earliest.

you grab an ice pack from the kitchen before stumbling back to the comfortable couch once more with a sigh, turning on the tv to a random channel as you wince at the feeling of the pack touching your tender skin. you keep treating your new bruises gently, with most of your attention on the screen in front of you—it turns out you put on a random reality show and there is drama that’s way too interesting to not watch.

it’s a little after eleven pm when the door unlocks and jeonghan lets himself in, carding a finger through his long hair before he places his motorcycle helmet and keys down, his lip ring glinting in the dimly lit room—he didn’t get to drink anyway since some of the guys had to cancel, and went bowling instead with mingyu and seokmin.

he hums the song that kept playing at the bowling alley as he looks up at you with a mischievous grin. “hey, babe.”

“hey, jeonghan!” you chirp, your voice unusually high as you hurriedly hide the ice pack behind you.

he raises an eyebrow at your cheerfulness this late at night but doesn’t press it, not yet noticing your bruises—that are on full display, even though they are starting to look better—as he goes to hang his leather jacket on the hanger specially designated for it.

your boyfriend turns and walks over to where you’re sitting, placing a small kiss on your forehead as he slumps down on the couch beside you, dangerously close to the biggest bruise you have.

jeonghan smirks at the way the two women on the screen argue with each other. “wow, over a man? he doesn’t even seem to be all that.”

you nod and he smiles, leaning his head against your shoulder as the guy cuts in, taking one woman’s side.

as jeonghan nuzzles his face into your arm, getting bored of what’s on the tv, his lip ring digs into one of the red spots you had gotten earlier and he can feel the way you tense. he frowns at your furrowed brows before looking down at your arm and sighing, his face freezing. “what’s this?”

when you don’t answer, he sighs. “what happened.” he phrases it like a statement instead of a question and you roll your eyes, already knowing he would be like this.

“hannie, nothing happened, i promise,” you say and jeonghan stares at you until you begrudgingly continue. “fine, fine. the elevators stopped working so i went down the stairs when work ended and people kept pushing me off to the side ‘cause they were in a rush. that’s all.”

your boyfriend scoffs, looking out at the window before back at you, his eyes hard. “are you serious? that’s not nothing at all.”

he grabs your hands gently, making sure he doesn’t touch any sore spots and speaks softly. “i’m sorry you had to go through that, baby. next time, i’ll make sure to just pick you up and not ask in case there are jerks like that again. in fact, i’ll be dropping you off and picking you up until the stupid elevators get fixed. i’m not about to take any risks when it comes to you.”

“this really isn’t helping your ‘bad boy’ agenda, you know that, right?” you smile teasingly, squeezing your boyfriend’s hand.

jeonghan looks at you in confusion. “what do you mean by that?”

you smirk. “come on, hannie. you have the whole package: a motorcycle, your leather jackets—even your lip ring!” you pause, sighing. “all my coworkers talk about how you seem so brooding and like a lone wolf. it’s like they think you’re the coolest person ever when really, you’re just a loser.”

“hey, i’m not a loser!” jeonghan scoffs before reaching for the ice pack behind you and putting it to the bruises he can see.

“what?” he says when you raise an eyebrow and look down at the pack in his hands. “oh, this? i knew it was behind your back since earlier. you’re not very good at hiding things.”

you roll your eyes before leaning on his shoulder. “see what i mean? loser.”

jeonghan’s eyes soften as he looks at your big grin next to his face and places a kiss on your knuckle. “there’s my sunshine.”

“hey, that’s part of the ‘bad boy’ agenda too!” you chuckle, moving away from him slightly to hit his arm lightly. “besides, i told you not to call me that, it’s so cringey!”

“what, sunshine? i’ll never stop calling you that because it’s true.” your boyfriend sticks his tongue out at you before smirking when you roll your eyes again.

jeonghan then pauses before winking, his head making its way onto your shoulder once more with a content sigh. “either way, i need to make sure i keep up my reputation with your coworkers, am i right?”

[obaex]

four - hockey player!ex!rafe cameron (pt. 1)

summary: rafe knows he's screwed up, but when he offers you a way to make amends, you can't resist. the catch? he'll have to do the impossible.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: rafe is slightly toxic in this ngl! i am in love with this. hockey romance is very near and dear to me (this is v loosely based on a real life experience). *mwah*

You saw your phone light up out of the corner of your eye and lowered your mascara wand as you leaned over to glance at the screen and let out a shaky sigh.

A part of you knew the right thing to do by now was to block his number. You hadn't responded to a single message he'd sent for over two weeks. And the messages had been relentless.

I'm thinking about you in the afternoons.

Hi beautiful in the mornings.

I'm sorry.

You're still my girl.

And on and on, escalating to paragraphs at night, as he typed out things he'd never once said out loud to you before; about how he felt the first time he met you, the things his teammates said, about how Wheezie was asking about you and Sarah spent an hour on the phone lecturing him, about how he'd do anything to get you back.

Reading his messages was like drinking a honied poison that went down sweet, warming every inch of you, only to make you sick in the end. But you couldn't stop. You couldn't block him. And even though you'd made him think you were ignoring him, you craved every message, every word he said something you had ached to hear when he had the chance.

Now it was two hours before the biggest game of the season, arguably one of the biggest of his career. He should be focusing on his pregame routine, on his way to the rink, if he wasn't there already and instead here he was texting you. You were the one on his mind and you drank that poison down, allowing yourself to feel special, even if the text had made no sense to you.

How many?

How many what?

His last message before that was from a couple of hours ago, before his pregame nap, the one you often took together as he had reminded you, in excruciating detail.

Your fingers twitched with the urge to reply. You knew he was baiting you into responding, but you swallowed down the urge and took a deep breath to still your beating heart and went back to applying your makeup, dragging up the same memory you did every time you were tempted by him.

It was just after 2AM, and you were sitting in your car that you had driven to his apartment, unable to sleep, desperate to talk to him. He lounged in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead at the windshield, tracking the rain that was falling steadily.

"Can you please talk to me?" you whispered, trying so hard not to come across as needy or desperate.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, shrugging, avoiding your eye contact.

"I don't know, just tell me what's going on with you? You barely talk to me anymore, you won't even look at me. Did I do something?"

He shrugged again and you felt physically sick. Maybe it was because you couldn't remember the last thing you'd eaten, the last time you'd slept more than a few fitful hours, all consumed with the feeling that your five-year relationship was running off the rails. Rumors were flying that there was another girl... or girls... And when you had asked him about it, he brushed it off, not strongly enough to give you even an ounce of comfort. You were falling apart. And he was letting it happen. He was forcing you to end this, too cowardly to do it himself.

"Do you even want to be with me anymore?" you whispered, barely audible over the pounding rain, like maybe if he didn't hear you, he couldn't answer.

He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed loudly, frustrated, like you were just so annoying to him, and you wished you could suck your words back into your mouth.

"I have practice in like four hours, I can't be doing this with you right now" he said, aptly avoiding the conversation again.

Your chin was wobbling and you bit back everything you wanted to say, not wanting to be needy, or nagging, hoping if you were on your very best behavior he would have a change of heart, change his mind.

You pursed your lips and nodded, averting your gaze to look out at the rain and gathering the strength you needed to say the words that felt like nails in your mouth.

"I can't do this anymore" you whimpered, as tears fell that matched the droplets on your windshield. "I can't keep giving 100% and getting nothing in return. I'm sitting here spilling my heart out to you and you won't even look at me. After everything we've been through... You won't even deny that you hooked up with her."

Silence.

You could see him grimace, the tic in his jaw as he pushed his tongue into his cheek. You wanted to grab the front of his sweatshirt, shake him and scream 'SAY SOMETHING!'. But you didn't. And his silence persisted a moment longer.

"So that's it then?" he said finally, like you had any other choice.

You wiped futilely at the tears that were now pouring down your face, even as you tried to hold them back, sniffling with a shaky breath to avoid outright sobbing in front of him.

He opened the car door, got out, slamming it forcefully behind him without so much as a glance your way and you broke down. You didn't make it one block before you had to pull over. You couldn't see, you couldn't breath, and you couldn't hold your hands steady on the wheel you were shaking so badly. You threw your car in park, lay your head on the steering wheel and cried.

Two days passed before the first text came in.

"I'm sorry" is all it said.

You could see the bubbles at the bottom of the screen, indicating that he was still typing before more messages appeared.

At this point you were grasping your phone with both hands, like a lifeline, eyes glued to the screen, heart hammering so hard in your chest you felt nauseous and your hands were shaking. There was a chance, a glimmer, a hope and you were clinging to it.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, ready to forgive him, to forget, to run right back to the way things had been, to have him looking for you at the end of every game, for stolen kisses in the parking lot at the arena, to whispered I love yous as you fell asleep in his arms. And then more messages came flooding in.

More messages were coming now but you couldn't read any further. Your heart was battering around your ribcage like a pinball machine with the whiplash of information: your boyfriend of five years had been actively texting another girl... because she was easygoing, and fun to talk to and didn't stress him out… like you did.

Your tears were back like no time had passed from the night you broke up, heavy sobs coming from your mouth at how stupid you felt, at all the rumors being true. And did you really believe that nothing more had happened between them? He was Rafe fucking Cameron of the Carolina Eagles.

Your eyes skimmed over the second half of his message, about how you were it for him, about how much he loved you, how he wanted to marry you and for you to have his babies?? The ache of wanting that so desperately to be true and knowing it couldn't be was too much for you as you turned and cried into your pillow.

You recalled all of those messages now as a new one came in. You shoved your finger into the bruise on your heart, forcing yourself to feel that pain again, to imagine him laying in bed, in the bed you had slept in with him, while he texted another girl, maybe even texted both of you at the same time, and you refocused on your makeup.

You had faithfully followed the Eagles for five years, his teammates were some of your best friends, like brothers to you. Despite everything that had happened with Rafe, you weren't going to miss their game tonight. Rafe's best friend and linemate Nick had texted you earlier in the week to let you know he had a ticket for you.

Fine. It was hard to say no to that. Everyone you knew would be there anyway and you didn't need Rafe thinking he had power over you if you weren't there. So, you were going. And you decided if you were going to go you were going to look stunning, and as you put the finishing touches on your makeup, there was no doubt in your mind that you were.

You had spent more time on your hair and makeup than potentially every other game that season combined. You may have gotten a little comfy towards the end, wearing Rafe's team-issued sweatshirt with his name and number on it and a pair of leggings. He claimed that he loved you in that, but that wouldn't cut it tonight. You wore skintight jeans that accentuated every perfect curve of your body, heeled booties and a tight-fitting long sleeve shirt. Your hair was immaculate and your makeup was admittedly a little extra for an AHL game, but effortless nonetheless as it amplified your natural beauty. The pain in your heart had been ebbing its way into anger: you were going to make him regret every single thing he'd done, the thought nagging at you as your phone lit up again.

You huffed. You had been strong for weeks, and now he was throwing that at you?

Your perfectly manicured fingers hovered over your phone as you nibbled your glossed bottom lip, and finally relented.

What the hell? you thought, confused.

Feeling pretty good about your level of engagement, you sent another question mark before his response came in.

You scoffed before laughing out loud. He was truly unbelievable. You weren't on some sort of barter system here. This wasn't a deal you had ever discussed nor agreed to. This isn't how the world worked, this isn't how relationships worked. It was stupid. So so stupid. And Rafe wasn't the team's lead goal scorer anyway. Sure he was good for a flashy goal every few games, maybe two, but this was the semi-finals of the league championship, everything was on the line here, it was not the time to be playing games...

...But damn if you didn't love the semblance of power he'd given you over the situation, and you desperately wanted to fuck with him.

Four goals in one game. Essentially impossible. A joke. Sidney Crosby, arguably the best player in the NHL at the moment hadn't even achieved that. But not a second passed before his reply came through, simple, straightforward, no arguing or complaining:

"Done"

And then:

"I love you!"

"I'll be looking for you 😍"

You rolled your eyes, throwing your phone down on your bed, annoyed at yourself for even answering him.

And yet you couldn't fight the smallest bit of excitement you felt.

It was impossible. It was never going to happen, but Rafe Cameron was going to try to win you back.

(part two)

taglist: @gillybear17, @palmwinemami, @moremaybank, @one-sweet-gubler, @m-indkiller, @ihe4rttwd, @diary-of-jj, @crlsummer, @jjsbank444

[sunsetchicane]

i love you, i'm sorry [QH43]

quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: two years after breaking things off with Quinn, you find yourself going to Game 1 of Round 2 of the Playoffs, completely unprepared to see the man you still harbour feelings for.

based off of: this is loosely based off of I Love You, I'm Sorry by Gracie Abrams

warnings: aggressive amounts of pining (like, probably annoying), two swear words, a few kisses, mentions of a breakup (so like, kinda angst? idk man), copious amounts of cheesiness, probably extremely inaccurate descriptions of the game, not great writing lol. let me know if i missed anything!

author's note: okay, i haven't written anything on here yet due to a horrendous case of writer's block and many hours of working. so, this is definitely not my best work, but it was a fun way to try move past my writing slump. i really do hope that anyone who reads this does enjoy! love, addi <3

Vancouver’s streets preserve memories well. You found that out when, even two years after things had fallen to pieces, you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the two of you holding hands, sharing quiet laughs, and stealing kisses. You’d thought that after two years you would’ve been able to shake those memories off when they plagued your mind; but it was hard when he was plastered across banners and fans sported his jersey for half the year. 

He was making his name known throughout the NHL, and you couldn’t ignore the buzz around Quinn Hughes when the Canucks made it to the Stanley Cup Playoffs. 

After you and Quinn had broken things off, you had to find separate friend groups to belong in. The two of you had shared too many mutual friends. The group of ladies you did manage to find yourself among knew nothing about your past relationship with the captain of the Canucks. When the city was gearing up for the first round of the playoffs, even your friends couldn’t stop talking about the sport. 

You were standing outside, leaning against the railing on a BC ferry, returning from visiting family on the Island, when you received a call from your friend Lydia. You picked up without hesitation. 

“Hey, what’s up?” you asked. 

She immediately giggled, which honestly had you a little scared. “I have a surprise,” she said excitedly, the last word dragged out. 

You snorted. “Am I allowed to ask what it is?” 

“It’s a really big surprise, and you have to promise not to scream when I tell you,” she laughed, acting like a teenage girl again. It was one of the things you really did love about her – her ability to bring childlike joy with her wherever she went. 

“I promise not to scream, Lyd,” you assured her, hoping she was satisfied. 

She paused for dramatic effect, and you let her. You knew she was having fun with it. 

“We’re going to the first game of round 2 of the playoffs!” she squealed. 

Your phone nearly slipped through your fingers, almost lost to the sea. You stepped away from the railing, suddenly very glad there was no one on the deck with you. Your heart clenched in your chest. The last time you had been to a game was when you and Quinn had still been together. He wouldn’t even know you were in the crowd, but you would be painfully aware of him in the centre of the arena. 

“Okay, you’re even quieter than I thought you’d be,” Lydia commented, reminding you that there was someone on the other end of the line. 

You debated for a moment what to say. Would it best to just blurt out that you had dated Quinn Hughes and you were not exactly ready to go watch him play again? Definitely not. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m just surprised!” That wasn’t a lie. “How’d you get the tickets?” 

“My dad,” she said simply. “When I told him I wanted to go see the Canucks, he was suddenly the proudest parent in the world. You know how he is – once he gets an idea in his head, whether it’s planted there by me or not, he has to do it.” 

“Wow, that��s–that’s crazy!” you said stiffly, still unsure of how to act. 

“Yeah, and it gets better! We’re sitting right behind the Canucks’ bench!” 

You nearly choked on nothing. “What?” 

“I know, right? I don’t know how my dad managed it, but he did,” she told you, completely unaware of your stuttering heart. “Who knows, maybe we’ll catch some players’ eyes,” she joked, and you tried to force a laugh out with her. 

“Yeah, maybe.” What you didn’t add out loud was your brain screaming please no. 

After a few more minutes of chatting and you pretending to be completely sound of mind, Lydia said goodbye, telling you she would send the details soon. 

You pocketed your phone and leaned against the railing once more. You watched as the sun brushed the horizon, casting a beautiful pink against the clouds. Vancouver was getting close, and for obvious reasons, you were suddenly dreading it. You wanted to sit on the ferry until it returned to Vancouver Island. 

You sighed and rested your chin on your folded arms. You heard a faint buzzing sound above you, and lifted your eyes to the sky. A plane was coming to land at the Vancouver Airport. As it approached, you let yourself imagine it was Quinn flying back from Nashville, and you felt your heart tighten in your chest once more, because you were terrified to see him again, but also because you still missed him. Maybe you were scared to see him because you missed him. 

You dropped your forehead to your arms once more and groaned loudly, the ocean and the brightening city lights your only listening companions. 

When the morning of May 8th arrived, you found yourself unable to shake the anxiety that had made a home in your chest over the last few days. There was a tenseness in your shoulders that never left, and a squeezing at your heart that seemed relentless. 

The group chat you shared with your friends had been buzzing incessantly, the girls incredibly excited. Every now and then you made your fingers put a message out there that hopefully hid your anxieties from them. 

After much procrastination, you eventually made your way to your closet. After tugging on a simple pair of blue jeans, you reached towards the back of your closet. Your fingers closed around the unmistakable, thick material of the jersey. Taking a deep breath, you pulled it out. Your only Canucks jersey of course, had to be Quinn’s home jersey from two seasons ago. No one would know it was the jersey that he had pulled over his head before every home game. However, you knew. There was no C on the left side of the chest, and your mind was pulled back to the relationship you had shared.  

You often questioned why you and Quinn had even ended things. You missed him so much still, and you were plagued by the way you knew it had been the wrong choice. You had been growing apart as he was dealing with growing attention and expectations within his career, and a promotion at your own job had stolen your energy and attention. You had both been tired and short with one another, and eventually the tension built and had blown up in a terrible way. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force both the guilt and continued yearning out of your busy mind. 

When Lydia texted that she and the girls were on the way to your apartment, you reluctantly pulled the jersey over your head. The sleeves covered most of your hands, and the fabric fell past your hips and part way down your thighs. You pulled on a pair of shoes and left the safe space that was your apartment, locking the door behind you. 

Rogers Arena was packed and the energy in the building made you feel like you could start vibrating. You and your friends held hands so as not to get separated. You were glad when your friends made no comment on how tightly you squeezed their hands, or how sweaty your palms might have been. 

You were made significantly more nervous when you realised that Lydia had not been exaggerating about your seats. You were sitting right behind the bench. 

The arena was filling up steadily, and you sat there in between your friends, not speaking a single word. It had been a couple years since you had been here, and while you were very nervous, the familiarity came rushing back to you and it helped to slow your fast beating heart. 

If you closed your eyes, you could imagine Quinn smiling at you from the other side of the glass, and laughing when you blew him a kiss. 

You wrapped your arms gently around yourself, the once very stiff material of the jersey now very easily shifted and manipulated. You knew it didn’t smell like him anymore, but when you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his old jersey, it was like he was right there. You were wrapped in him still, and you doubted it would ever go away. 

You were shocked out of your own thoughts when your friends, along with the rest of the fans around you, started cheering. The Canucks and the Oilers were on the ice, starting to warm up. Your eyes searched the ice quickly, and gliding easily across the ice on the opposite side of rink, was the captain, the number 43 embroidered on his jersey, just like the one you adorned. 

Your own cheeks heated up when it really hit you that you were wearing his old jersey. You weren’t together anymore; what were you thinking? He could see you– what would he think when he saw you right behind his bench, wearing the jersey he had gifted you?

You suddenly wanted to throw up more than ever. He exchanged a few words with Elias, and laughed at something his buddy had said. Your heart ached in longing once more. You had missed his laugh so much. 

Quinn now had facial hair, something he hadn’t had when he was with you. His hair was longer, peeking out from beneath his helmet. He already seemed much more grown up. He looked like a captain, something who had become used to leading his team. Quinn had always been somewhat confident in his abilities as a hockey player, but it was easy to tell that he had really gotten used to his role on the team and had come into his own over the past two years. 

The girls grabbed your hands and walked into the aisle, just to get right up to the glass. Your face burned and you tried to hide behind some of your friends. You kept your heads down and your arms folded. 

Your friends held up hats and other paraphernalia that they desperately wanted signed by players. 

“Y/N!” One of your friends practically shouted. You suddenly noticed that they had all stopped cheering. You looked up to see them parted in front of you. 

Quinn was on the other side of the glass, looking right at you. 

Your friends shoved you up the glass, giggling and squealing. You nearly ran into the glass from the force of their shoves. Quinn laughed at you, his smile exactly how you remembered it. 

He pointed at the white Canucks towel in your hands and shouted, “toss it over!” The arena was so loud you were glad he had mouthed it clearly. You hesitated but threw the towel over. With one glove off and in the other hand, he caught it. He gestured to one of your friends to throw over the Sharpie she was holding. She did gladly, happy to be included. He caught it easily and started to write quickly on the white fabric. Your heart did flips while watching him, and your hands shook with nothing to hold onto. 

He finally capped the pen and threw both the towel and marker over the glass. You struggled to catch it, but thankfully, you managed to hold onto it. You held it flat before you. 

Meet me by my car after. Usual spot. Your breath stopped slightly when you saw a rushed heart drawn next to the words. You looked back up to see him putting his glove back on. He gave you a warm smile that set you on a fire from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You took a deep breath and nodded to him. His smile widened slightly. Before he turned to skate away, you saw him mouth the words, “nice jersey.” You stuttered for a second, and he simply winked and turned. 

Your friends all screamed and crowded you, looking at the towel. 

“Usual spot? What the fuck is going on?” Lydia yelled over the noise, cackling. 

You just blushed and shook your head, returning to your seat with the towel gripped tightly in your hands. 

As the teams continued to warm up, you explained as quickly as you could that you and Quinn had once been together. Your friends, of course, were shocked but also very excited for you at the prospect of reuniting with him. You simply waved your hands in protest. 

“I don’t even know if he wants to get back together with me! He might just want to catch up or something… we’re cool now and I don’t want to mess anything up.” 

“Girl, please!” one of your friends shouted. “He drew a motherfucking heart and winked at you! Of course he wants you back.”

You all laughed and you embraced the next blush that warmed your cheeks. 

The players left the ice, and minutes later, the lights went dark. The deafening sound of nearly 19,000 people screaming almost broke your eardrums. Blue light filled the room, and you looked up to see what was playing on the large screens above you. 

You watched the intro video and let a nostalgic, giddy feeling overtake you. You couldn’t help but smile. 

The arena fell back into nearly full darkness. You heard the beginning of a familiar sound of twinkly guitar that dragged you right back to 2011. Goosebumps rose up along your skin all over your body. That was the last time the Canucks had made it to the Playoff finals, and you hoped dearly that they could get there again. The playing of Where The Streets Have No Name from their intro from 2011 made hope take hold of you.

You couldn’t help but raise your particularly special white rally towel in the air to wave alongside all of the other Canucks fans in the building. 

It had been surprisingly easy to get into the players’ parking garage. Despite it being two years since you had been in the building, you were recognized by several people, who let you walk wherever you wanted. 

Your friends had practically shoved you to go after the game, screaming after you to call them later. You had laughed and walked away, your steps lighter than they had been in a long while. 

You later found yourself standing by Quinn’s car. It was the same one he’d had when you had been together. Your hand brushed the shining hood of the car, and you could see yourself in the passenger seat, laughing at something he’d said as the two of you drove around downtown Vancouver. 

“Thank God you actually showed up.” 

You whipped around, seeing a freshly showered Quinn in sweatpants and a hoodie making his way towards you. 

You tugged on the hem of the jersey, your heart beating quicker and quicker with every step he took. 

He stopped in front of you, and when you looked up, you both spoke. 

“I love you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. “You-what?” 

He bit his bottom lip before repeating himself. “I love you. I know it’s been two years, but-” 

“I love you, too,” you said quickly, blood roaring in your ears. “And I am so, so sorry. I never should’ve-” 

It was his turn to cut you off. “Don’t apologise, please. It’s not your fault.”

“Can you… can you please accept my apology, at least?” 

He smiled softly. “I forgive you. I’m sorry, too.” 

“I forgive you, too,” you whispered softly, your heart swelling with affection as you looked at him. You felt an intense relief flood your body. Your shoulders finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. He reached out and wrapped you in a warm hug. You melted into it, returning the gesture. 

“I missed you. So much,” you mumbled into his hoodie. 

One of hands gently scratched the back of your neck like he used to do. “I missed you, too.” He pulled away just enough to lean down and kiss your lips softly. Nothing had ever felt so natural. His playoff beard scratched your face and you laughed at the sensation, pulling away. 

“Not used to the beard,” you admitted, smiling widely. 

He smiled, too. “Yeah, what do you think? Should I keep it around?” 

You shrugged, leaning back into him. “Well, you’re very handsome either way.” 

“You think?” 

“Mhm. Your hair also looks very good. I like it longer like this,” you told him, ruffling his brown hair. He swatted your hand away and kissed your cheek. 

“Noted.” He looked down at me again. “Should probably get you a new jersey.” 

“Hm, you think I need the big ole C on here, Captain?” 

He shook his head, blushing. “Don’t call me that.” 

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him, bringing his head down for you to kiss. “Couldn’t help myself.” You grabbed his hands. “Congratulations on the big win, by the way.” 

“I can’t believe you came. I thought I was hallucinating or something when I saw you,” he told you honestly. 

“Well, I’m glad I came,” you admitted, running a hand through his hair. 

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he said, smiling wider than you had seen all night. 

You laughed, feeling pure joy in your heart. “I think I might have an idea.” 

[radawaycunt]

Putting in a request for a Hannigram x fem reader??? I was thinking along the lines of already established relationships, and while out together, some man/women hits on the reader, and then we get jealous Hannigram 🥰🫠

I mean jealous Hannibal is a given. He dosent like people touching what's his, but he keeps his composure. But Will... oh, Will I think would ne not subtle at allll. Defo some angst but also some hints of smut and fluff

Suddenly meats on the menu that night 💀

~ 🔮

------------

A hot and cold sensation jolted through you as you were startled by your heel suddenly breaking. You stumbled, but an arm caught and steadied you.

"Woah there, that was close," the man who had caught you said. "Are you okay?"

You looked up at him, his kind, nondescript face greeting you with a smile. You smiled back sheepishly, feeling your face heat. It was mortifying enough that your heel had given out, leaving you limping for the rest of the night, but it would've been worse to fall flat on your face in public.

"Thank you so much," you said, relieved even as your heart still raced with adrenaline. "I'm sorry for almost slamming into you."

"Nonsense, I'm glad I caught you," he said, his eyes wandering a little to further take you in. "Can I help you to your seat?"

"Um, if it's not too much trouble, I wouldn't want to impose..."

He chuckled, offering you his arm. "It would be my pleasure to help a beautiful woman such as yourself."

You waved this off and smiled demurely, both accepting the compliment and remaining politely reserved. You didn't want to encourage him, but it was a kindness that you were grateful for.

Your free hand took hold of the railing as you went up the steps toward the balcony seats of the opera house. You led him down the hall, murmuring the seat numbers as you searched for yours.

"Did you come here by yourself?" He asked.

"Oh no, I'm with company. I just needed to use the restroom and insisted they go ahead." you made sure your ring was visible then, so there would be no confusion. "It's in here."

The two of you pivoted, walking into the balcony. Will glanced over his shoulder as he heard you, and he immediately stood up. The sudden movement made Hannibal look back as well, but he remained composed.

"My shoe's broken," you explained, bashfully showing the heel you were holding. You turned to the man who had helped you, inclining your head gratefully. "Thank you so much again. You spared me the humiliation."

He smiled once again, though it was more strained as he was all too aware of the two men nearby. "My pleasure. Impossible to ignore a lovely lady in distress, am I right?"

The question had been directed at Will, who was staring him down, every muscle in his body tense. You noticed his fingers twitching.

"Yes, that's right," he said through gritted teeth. "We've got it from here, though. Thanks."

The man bid you all good night and quickly left, wanting to escape the tense atmosphere. Will reached out a hand for you to help you to your seat.

"See? I told you, I should have stayed and waited for you," he said as you sat down. "I don't like strangers touching you."

"It's not like we knew that would happen. He was just being nice," you said with a shrug, trying to get him with you.

Will grunted and stayed put, still not happy. "By the look on his face when he saw us, I'm not convinced his intentions were totally pure."

You raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Hannibal. "A little help?"

"I'm afraid I have to agree with him on this one," he said, adjusting in his seat so his body faced you.

You glanced at both of them in turn. A part of you was thrilled at their jealousy -- your body knew well what the consequences of this could be -- but at the same time, you just wanted to have a nice night out with them.

"But I'm here now, in one piece, and I'm all yours," you reassured, taking Hannibal's hand and extending your free one towards Will once again. "The show's gonna start soon, come on Will, please sit."

He bowed down to kiss your knuckles, looking at you through his lashes. There was a dark promise in his eyes that made heat pool in your belly. "I will in time, my love, but first, covetous hands must be dealt with."

----------

[wintfleur]

stop i need stella moments with her brothers in videos about them like “going home” 🙏🏼🙏🏼

౨ৎ going home (featuring Stella Hughes!)

﹕─┈ pairings ( Estella Hughes oc! X siblings! Hughes brothers )

°. — details ( g; fluff. w; none really? wc; 1.k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I am sooo sorry for how long this has taken for me to get out !!! It got lost in my inbox lovely, but thank you sm for sending in a request! I loved writing it, so sorry that it’s short !!! Hope you guys enjoy !!! )

°. — this is based off this video.

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

﹕─┈ All of Stella’s moments during ‘Going Home | Quinn Hughes’

“Lukey was the best pool player in the family I would say, or in the house” Quinn answered Kate's question, as he motioned his head towards Luke who was leaning over the pool table with his stick. Stella’s lips twitched up into a smile, already knowing where her older brother was leading the conversation too. Quinn continued to speak with a small smile “He had like the best win percentage, and then he bought a pool stick.” 

“For like 200 bucks” Luke was quick to interrupt Quinn, an annoyed frown on his lips as he looked back on the bad money decision, he should have listened to stella. Quinn let out a small chuckle and glanced back at Stella before continuing to tease Luke “Yeah, and he just his game went down the down the rails like. He was like one in ten.” 

“What about you stella?” Kate sent the youngest Hughes a warm smile, looking at Stella who was sitting Criss crossed on the couch watching Luke.  Stella perked up at the mention of her name and sent Kate a happy smile, but before she could answer, Luke was quick to jump in and answer for her with a laugh “Stella’s the worst!” 

Everyone in the room laughs at the dramatic gasp that Stella let out. Jack, who was leaning against the wall, laughing louder than the rest at the offended look Stella sends him. Quinn just shrugs, he was not going to get in between Stella and Luke today. The Producer chuckles himself before asking Quinn another answer “are you the cook in the house?” 

Stella zones out as Quinn answers the question, her eyes dropping down to her lap where her phone rested when she felt it vibrate, a shy smile coming across her face when she sees who texted her. She bit her bottom lip to hide her smile, not wanting to give her suddenly happy mood away. 

lovey 🩵: do you think i'd survive sneaking through your window tonight? 

pretty girl 🩷: are you brave enough to try? (i give you a 40% survival rate) 

lovey 🩵: Bet! (i’d die happy though) 

“Isn't that right stella?” Quinn asked Stella, wanting her to agree with how he's a much better cook. Stella looks up from her phone where she was lost in her own world and sees everyone looking at her for an answer, but the only answer they got was a confused frown and a small “Huh.” 

Quinn and Jack chuckle while Luke narrows his eyes on her phone, Stella quickly shutting it off when she sees Luke's stare. Quinn chuckles and gives the camera a cheeky smile “I'm gonna take that as a yes.” 

Stella sat in the corner of the boat, a blanket over her lap and her hands stuffed into the front pocket of Luke's hoodie that she stole. She wanted to go sit up on the front of the boat, curled up next to her mom but they wanted her to sit with Luke and Jack, the fans wanted to see the siblings together more apparently. 

“Get your toes away from me” Stella quietly hissed at jack when he rested them up on the seat next to her, Luke who was laying on his stomach behind her stifled his laugh at the groan of annoyance stella lets out when jack teasingly moves his toes closer to her. Ellen leans forward and looks back at her children, she sends a warning look to her middle son and leans back, knowing that's all she'd have to do for him to stop bugging his sister.

Jack rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed huff when Stella sends him a triumphant smirk, Stella leans back against the seat and looks out at the water as she listens to Quinn answer all the questions and talk about the lake. Luke absentmindedly played with a few strands of Stella's hair as he also zoned out looking out at the water. 

Stella brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arm around her knees, resting her chin on top of them. She bounces in her seats at the waves quinn goes over, a laugh leaving her lips when her mother starts to shout at quinn and stand up “I’m kidding it's going to be fine” Quinn laughed as he watched his mom stand up, wanting to get away from the splashes of water. 

A surprised gasp leaves Stella's lips and her body stills when she feels a cold chill run through her body, as she feels water come up and splash her in the face and neck. Everyone laughs on the boat as she hurriedly wipes off the water from her face, a loud laugh coming from quinn’s lips when stella whines “Quinnnn” Jack smiles and takes his hat off and drops it on Stella's head, protecting her face from the water. 

Quinn gives the camera a big grin before shrugging his shoulders “oops.” 

“What's the five for?” Kate asks Quinn as she motions towards the garage wall where four numbers in blue spray paint were written. 43,86,43 and 5. Quinn, Kate and the rest of the crew where in the garage, filming quinn as he shot some pucks, showing off the ‘shooting room.’ 

Quinn paused to catch his breath and turned to look back at the wall, memories flooding through his mind of him and his siblings all putting their number on the wall after the ‘shooting room’ was done. A great memory. Quinn smiled fondly as he looked at kate “Oh that's stella number when she used to play.” 

“And I'm guessing those are hers too” Kate laughed as she pointed at the light pink skates that had a bunch of different stickers on them, the laces pink as well. Quinn chuckles and nods as he looks back at the skate's jack had gotten her a year ago, while Luke got her a new pack of stickers “yeah those are stella’s, she likes coming down and shooting with us.” 

“Is she any good?” the producer asks, even though he already knew the answer. All the brothers have mentioned Stella's hockey skills before.  Quinn leans down to take off his skates, ready to show them the next thing on the schedule. Quinn smirks at the camera “She's my sister, of course she is.” 

At the end of the video the camera is filming all the guys playing a friendly skirmish, and you can see Stella sitting on the bench cheering for Cole who was on a breakaway! 

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I bet you all can guess who she was texting !!! I just know the fans would eat the content up !!! I know it’s short but I didn’t really want to put a lot of Stella in this video, just a perfect amount where the fans would want more of her !!! )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @cixrosie @toasttt11 @lxvelyzoe @bunbunbl0gs @lovings4turn x )

[loveesiren]

Your blog is amazing 😘

Middle Pic Second Row pretty pls !!

JJ Maybank x fem - Smut 😍

Thank you babes!!! Enjoy :)

Photo Prompt from ⇨ 600 Celebration! (open)

a/n: Photo from S3E2 of Skins. Story inspired by this scene. I haven't written smut for a while so sorry if this sucks 😭

warnings: smut, language, smoking, mention of drugs and alcohol, under the influence sex, cum

wc: 1.4k+

You could tell JJ Maybank was the type to always find a reason to celebrate. You'd only known him a couple of months but the constant drinks and drugs every chance he got prepared you for what to expect when you all went out to celebrate his birthday.

John B and Pope were obviously getting annoyed with him, having to clean up his messes all night, pulling him out of not one, not two, but THREE bar fights. The boy thought he was invincible and today the world revolved around him.

You never minded though. In fact, you were excited to find someone who could keep up with you. Sarah, Kie, and Cleo were the best friends you could ever ask for but they didn't know how to party. So you spent the night throwing back shots and railing mysterious lines of drugs with JJ.

By 2 am, you were all running from the last bar JJ had been thrown out of. You had a smile plastered on your face as you held JJ's hand and felt the cool early morning air on your skin. The drugs were strong and the feeling of euphoria was prominent.

"So where to next?!" JJ finally asked as you stopped in the old tunnel.

"Well,s I was thinking home," Pope began.

"Yeah, I have to agree with Pope. I'm sick of taking care of you JJ!" John B chimed in. "Plus, we need to make sure they get home safe." He said as he gestured to Sarah and Cleo who were definitely off in their own little world after partying all day. You giggled as they took in their surroundings with awe.

"Awh, come on! I haven't even gotten laid yet!" JJ boasted as he lit up a cigarette. "Any takers?!" He asked the girls.

"No thanks, J. I love you, but you're repulsive." Sarah laughed as she stumbled towards John B. Kie rolled her eyes and walked off, she was never much for fun.

You laughed looked up at the flickering lights of the dark tunnel and laughed as the others began to gather their things to head home, the other boys placing their arms gently around your wasted girlfriends.

"What about you, sweetheart?" JJ smiled, taking a long drag off his cigarette before leaning closer to you. He had you backed up against the wall now, eyes staring down at you with want. Need.

You bit your lip as you smiled. JJ had quickly become one of your best friends and you couldn't deny the feelings you had towards him. You ran away to the Outer Banks to escape and JJ had always helped you do that. He was like your own personal form of heroin with the way he made you feel so much better. And what better way to take heroin than to...

You leaned up and smashed your lips against his, deciding you needed more of him immediately. JJ was quick to drop his cigarette and move his hand to grab a fistful of your hair as his other hand made his way to your hip.

"Well that's classy." John B said. You could hear snickering and swearing as the rest of your group walked off towards their respective homes.

JJ groaned as he placed wet kisses down your neck and hiked your dress up over your ass. His hands were rough and calloused against your skin and you could feel him move his finger to your panties.

"Damn, soaked already," He sneered as he palmed your clothed pussy. He moved your panties to the side and slid one finger into your dripping cunt. You threw your head back and yelped at the sensation. "I'm gonna get some words out of you tonight, Princess!" JJ said before biting into your neck and pushing two fingers inside you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan but it just came out as muffled whining.

You were a woman of few words and JJ knew that. All the pogues did. Getting you to say anything would be the highlight of JJ's birthday. "Tell me what you want." He demanded. You just smiled and clenched around his fingers, only aggravating him further. He was going to get words out of you one way or another.

He pulled his fingers out of you and ripped your black lace panties off your body before shoving them in his back pocket. "I'm going to fuck you now," He said as he fiddled with the zipper on his jeans. "And I'm not letting you cum until you use your words and beg me."

You smiled and raised an eyebrow at him, taking that as a challenge. JJ was quick to drop his pants and grab your hips roughly, digging his nails into your skin as he lifted you up and lined himself up at your entrance. He pushed you back against the wall as he used one hand to guide his tip through your wet folds before sliding you down on his cock. You whimpered as you tried to welcome the stretch. He was bigger than you'd had before and it took him a moment to bottom out.

"Fuck, you're virgin tight..." He panted. You could feel his dick twitch inside you and you clenched harder. He groaned in frustration and pulled out of you before slamming back into you again, forcing a loud cry to escape from your throat. "Be a good girl. Don't tease me." He whispered as he lifted your face to look at him. He held you firmly against the wall and slowly shoved two fingers into your mouth as he began moving in and out of you.

His movements were slow at first, coating himself in your slick. But he was quick to speed up, keeping his eyes locked on yours, your tough exterior faltered when he shoved his fingers deeper down your throat as he bucked his hips up into you.

Your eyes began to water as reached the back of your throat. You whined, gagging every so often as he bottomed out with each thrust. "You make such pretty sounds, Y/n..." He said. You dug your nails deeper into his shoulders as you could feel yourself reaching your high. JJ slowed down, not allowing you to cum yet. "Let me hear that pretty little mouth say my name."

He pulled his fingers from your throat as you gagged, strings of saliva coating his digits. "Oh fuck, JJ, please!" You cried out.

"Please what?" He gave a sinister smile, examining his fingers before bringing them down to massage circles on your sensitive clit.

"Please. Please let me cum..." You begged pathetically, knowing JJ would hold this against you the rest of your life. But you were too cock drunk to care. "Please fuck me harder!"

"Well since you asked so nicely," He smiled before grabbing both your hips and thrusting into you faster. He leaned his forehead against yours, panting hungrily as you both worked on reaching that euphoria you so desperately craved. Your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist as he fucked you relentlessly. You felt the knot building up in your court and before you knew it you were coming undone. The drugs making your orgasm 10 times more intense. Your walls fluttered around his throbbing cock and you watched JJ's eyes roll back in his head as you enjoyed the sensation of his warm load fill you up.

Your body went limp as JJ used your soaking cunt to milk himself dry. When he was finished, he rested his head on your shoulder as he twitched inside you. Your skin stuck together as you both fought to catch your breath.

JJ slowly pulled you off him and set you gently on the ground. You could feel your mixed juices running down your thigh and you quickly pulled your dress down. JJ fixed his jeans and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one up before finally looking at you again. He smiled and leaned into you once again. He kept his hand on the wall as he looked down at you, examining your big eyes and sun kissed skin.

"You know, your voice really gets me going..."

You smiled up at him as you reached down between your legs and used two fingers to scoop the cum dripping out of your sore hole. You brought it to your lips and licked it off before putting one finger to your lips in a shushing motion and walking off.

JJ bit his lip at your slutty gesture, feeling himself grow hard once again. You glanced back over your shoulder and smiled at him and he quickly followed you off into the night.

Tags: @torturedtypewritersdept @bigenergy777 @outerbankspov @purplerose291 @shayofandoms @mirellef2001 @seojunandsoju @niktwazny303