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astragreenwoode · 8 months

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The Spitfire Curse - Chapter Five

Previous: Chapter Four • Next: Chapter Six • Masterlist • AO3 Version

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC (Only Mentioned)

Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Horror, Slow-Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, Fluff, Slice of Life, Slight Canon-Divergence, Fix-it fic

As always, thank you @take-everything-you-can for your beta reading and all your feedback!

Chapter Five: A New Found Feeling I Did Not Understand

Word Count: 11,151

Chapter Warnings: Disembodied Voices, Anxiety, Self-Deprecating & Violent Thoughts, References to Murder and other Criminal Activities, Drug Use, Mentions of Substance Abuse, Mental Illness, Hypersexuality

Chapter Summary: Maeven remembers the first time her mother and sister caught her doing drugs, as well as the reason she started in the first place. After her meeting with the Chief of Hawkins, her mom drags her and Max to the general store for some last-minute shopping. While there, she meets a single mother who offers her a gig that could help her find her place in her new home. Maybe she had more friends in Hawkins than she initially thought.

Relationships: Maeven and Joyce Byers • Maeven, Max and Susan Mayfield • Maeven and Billy(Mentioned) • Susan and Neil

February 1984

It had been two weeks since I shot up from my bed in a cold sweat after dreaming about the brutality that followed Melody Chandler’s New Year’s Eve party. Two weeks since I frantically ran to my mom’s craft room to swipe her sewing shears before running out the back door to the fire pit on the grass. Two weeks since the voice in my head convinced me to cut off all my hair to keep what happened to me from happening again.

“You don’t need it anymore. It’s only going to hold you back and get you hurt,” it told me. “Cut it off! Burn it! You need to get away from it!”

After being homebound on doctor’s orders after my release from the hospital, I was finally going back to classes at Newport High following my last weekend as an in-home patient. My injuries and fragile state of mind kept me home for six weeks. It was still painful to walk or think too hard. I wasn’t looking forward to returning. Perhaps it was my subconscious reacting to my return that made me do it.

My hair was no longer an extension of my soul. Feeling it against my neck and back now made me shiver. It was going to tangle around my body and strangle me to death if I didn’t do something. I had to cut it off. They made me do it.

In my hysterical haste to cut it away from me, my mom’s sewing shears nicked my cheeks, ears, and the back of my neck. I ran to the shed to get the matches and lighter fluid and set the pile of my sheared locks on the fire pit to set it aflame. I couldn’t wait any longer to watch it burn. I didn’t need it anymore, like an animal shedding its fur for the new season. Just like that, it was as if all my troubles and burdens disappeared the moment the match ignited the flames.

During the entire process, I was sobbing my eyes out. It was surprising how neither Mom nor Max came out to check on me. Mom told her it was sometimes best to just let me cry it out, like a baby who didn’t know any better. But they didn’t think I would ever go this far. And only when I watched it all burn in the fire pit did I feel a strange sense of relief, and my sobbing turned into hysterical laughter. It was only then that Mom and Max came outside to put out the fire of my own making. Mom barely looked at me afterward.

She barely acknowledged me when she came to pick me up from the principal’s office after getting in yet more fights or talking back and losing my shit at the staff. If she knew about me lying and sneaking out to go to parties and drown myself in sex and drugs, she never said anything about it. She rarely even noticed when I walked in a room, anymore.

It was bad enough that everyone at school apart from my closest friends avoided me like the plague. Mom hardly baring to look at me was the icing on the cake. Even when she did, she looked heartbroken, like I wasn’t even her daughter, anymore. Looking me in the eye for too long was too painful for her.

But even when she finally did pay attention to me, it wasn’t pleasant.

One night, I woke up from yet another nightmare that I was an animal being ripped apart and turned into taxidermy. Max was asleep and Mom was out on a date night with Neil. I thought about calling my Dad, but I didn’t want to be a burden and wake him up. He had been working so hard, lately. Earlier in the evening, Billy fucked me in his Camaro until nothing hurt in my heart or head, anymore. I couldn’t wake him up after demanding orgasm after orgasm from him before.

I opened the window of my bedroom next to my bed to get some fresh air before reaching for the little door handle of my side table. I pulled out this beautifully psychedelic bong Madison made me at her cousin’s glass studio as a get-well gift. Nutmeg trotted into my room and sat next to me on the edge of my bed as I lit up the bowl and inhaled. I leaned against the window and breathed out, keeping the smoke away from her as I exhaled all the pain and fear. The tips of my fingers and toes tingled as all the tenseness left my limbs and I regained control.

Instinctively, I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged myself as Nutmeg attempted to squeeze herself into my lap. Her fur tickled my face as I fell back on my bed and pulled her up to my chest. She looked at me with her wide blue eyes before letting out a tiny squeak and pressing her face against mine. I let out a soft laugh as she sat on my tummy and started to scratch behind her ear with her hind leg.

“Need help with that, Nuts?” I playfully asked, reaching my hands up to scratch behind her ears. Her eyes widened before closing again as she nuzzled her face into my palm and let out one of her long and comforting purs that never ceased to warm my soul. When she opened her eyes and softly mewed again, I found myself wondering what was going on inside her head behind those big blue orbs. My fingers traced her face and the outline of her skull, feeling all the dents and dips in her bone.

“It would be so easy to just crush her body in your hands right now, wouldn’t it?” The voice barked at me, making my muscles tense as my heart threatened to stop out of fear. “Then maybe you could take a real look and figure out what’s going on inside her. She’d probably let you do it, too. She trusts you. Go on. Do it.”

“No! Get away!” I begged aloud, slapping myself across the face as if I could scare away whatever devious thing lived inside my head. Nutmeg yowled as she scattered off my lap and onto the other side of my bed. I frantically sat up as my breathing became more erratic. The voice was gone. . .for now. But they would come back. They always did.

I’ve been hearing this voice inside me ever since I was a little girl. It wasn’t always so malicious and violent. They could tell me to do good or fun things. They told me to be cautious and calm down. It brought me this newfound feeling I did not understand, which grew and manifested in my soul; I wished I wasn’t fully human, anymore.

I wished I could turn into a beast of some kind and wreak havoc upon the world and the people who wished me harm. That’s probably what happened on New Year’s Eve; I was too tired of being hurt and so angry that I unleashed all my rage upon those boys. And though that instinct saved my life, it also scared the ever-loving shit out of me. Hidden beneath that little girl who loved rainbows and all things wild, was I secretly a bad person? I didn’t want to have hate in my heart. It made me feel ugly.

Nutmeg’s sudden meows as she rubbed up against my arm brought me out of my anxiety-induced trance and helped my heartbeat slow down to a calmer rate. I pulled her into my lap and hugged her in my arms like a baby as I inhaled her familiar, homely scent.

“I’m sorry, Meg. I’m so sorry,” I told her. I didn’t know why, but I felt like she could sense my innermost thoughts and feelings. And that meant she could see the dark thoughts that invaded my head. “I’d never hurt you, baby. I promise,” I whispered as I kissed her cheek.

Setting her back down on the bed, she curled up into a fluffy ginger circle on top of my pillow. As I leaned against the window and lit up the bowl of my bong again, I inhaled again.

“Margaret Maeven Mayfield! What do you think you’re doing!?”

My heart stopped as my eyes widened, and I started choking on the smoke of my bong as I turned around, mentally preparing for another one of Susan Mayfield’s world-famous lectures. She stood in the doorway to my room with her hands on her hips and a wide stance in her high heels. It looked like she was trying to stand like a wonder-woman action figure, and I couldn’t help but laugh in my high state.

“I think that’s pretty obvious, Susan. You’d have to be blind not to figure this out. Are you blind?” I laughed again.

“This stops right now!” She heavily stomped her way over to me and reached for my bong on my lap. I held it away from her in my arms like I was teasing her on the playground. As I leaned back on my bed to get further away from her, Nutmeg jumped into my lap and hissed at my Mom, causing her to stand back in shock as my little fluffy guardian upsettingly trilled.

“What the hell is going on?” Max mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she stood in the doorway.

“Max, go back to your room!” Mom all but shouted to her. Max’s eyes widened, now fully awake, and darted to the bong in my hands.

“What is that?”

“Nothing,” I said, sitting up to wrap my arms around it in a pathetic attempt to hide it. I may have been a shitty daughter, but I’ll be damned if I expose my baby sister to drugs the same way our parents did to us, even if it was just weed.

“Something that is absolutely not allowed in this house!” Mom shouted at me, trying to wrestle the bong out of my arms again. I leaned back and kept her at bay with my feet on her stomach. Nutmeg swiping her paw at her finally made her give up. She put her face in both hands and frustratingly groaned into them as she shook her head.

“Mae-Mae, what were you thinking!? What is wrong with you!?” It was a question I had been asked so many times in my life, by teachers, other kids, and strangers. I could handle it. I was used to it, by now. But it always hurts the most when it comes from her.

“Everything, apparently. No matter what I do, nothing changes,” I answered. Her face dropped and her tone changed. Despite her constant nagging and annoying talks, she had been more gentle with me these last couple of months while I recovered. But seeing her switch between moods wasn’t anything new.

“I have been pretty forgiving of what you’ve been doing lately after. . .what happened. But that does not mean you can just get high in the middle of the night while your sister and I are just down the hall.”

“When else would I do it?” I asked, rolling my eyes. At least I had the decency to hide it. When she was going through her rough patch, she never tried to conceal her addiction from us. She flaunted it around us like some kind of medal.

“Maeven, you are seventeen years old. You cannot be doing this at all,” she lectured me, using her hands to emphasize and annunciate like always

“Why? Why does it matter so fucking much to you, Mom? It shouldn’t. It doesn’t. Nothing does,” I sneered back at her. It’s not like she was never seventeen, herself.

“So, what? Nothing matters? Is that what you’re saying?” Her stern and annoyed tone had returned. This time, Max answered before I had the chance.

“Not really. Even if we so much as breathe in your general direction, you get mad at us,” she sleepily groaned, leaning against my door frame.

“Max. Stay out of this. This doesn’t concern you,”

“Like Hell, it doesn't!” my sister suddenly fumed.

“Language!” Mom boomed. I held in a laugh and almost choked on it before it could escape my mouth. As far as cursing goes, that was the mildest word. And here my mom was reacting like Max just called her the ‘C word.’

“She’s my sister, Mom! I’m a part of this family, too, y’know!” The way she phrased it, laced with so much pain, threatened to break my heart. I could tell it had already broken Mom.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. Max rolled her eyes. For someone who was once smart enough to be a nurse, she was still clueless.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about! You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. And even if you aren’t taking care of Maevey or out with Neil, all you do is yell at me!”

“I do not always yell at you!”

“Yeah. You’re not really making the best case for yourself there, Susan,” I interrupted. Something that had been present all my life, but I was just starting to notice, was how the women in this family had the tendency to rapidly switch between moods. I’m not sure if was something Mom passed down to us, or something we picked up over the years of witnessing it in her. Either way, we seemed to bring out both the best and worst of each other.

She turned to me, her finger pointing inches away from my face.

“Don’t call me that! I am your mother, and you will address me as such!” she demanded. I flinched for a moment, rubbing my hand across my face to wipe off her spit.

“Still proving her point, Mom,” I pointed out to her.

At this point, Mom was physically shaking and visibly seething, like a volcano threatening to erupt. Not wanting to prove us right, she didn’t say a word for about thirty seconds in order to regain her composure. I pictured her as the Yellowstone Caldera boiling and then suddenly simmering.

“Girls, listen. I don’t want to be mad at either of you, okay? I really don’t, but. . .you’re both making it really hard not to. You need to help me out here. Can you just try to do the right thing and stay out of trouble!?”

Max got in trouble sometimes for saying a swear word in class, or maybe even a misunderstanding with another kid. Every once in a while, she would hit someone who completely deserved it. I was worse, for obvious reasons, and it had only gotten worse, lately. Mom was embarrassed; she was ashamed of us. We were her daughters; a reflection of her as a parent and a person, whether we liked it or not. And while she did indeed try her best to raise us to be good, we also had her biggest flaws.

“That doesn’t mean you can just ignore her! I’m just smoking weed! It’s natural and besides, It’s not like you’ve never done it before!”

“What? What’re you talking about?” Mom’s eyes darted from side to side, avoiding eye contact with me as she continued to play dumb.

“I’ve seen your secret stash of cigarettes in the laundry room. I’ve known about it for three years, now,” I reminded her.

One day when I was fourteen, it was my turn to do the laundry that week. It was also where Nutmeg’s scratching post and Bullet and Lucy’s beds were. Nutmeg decided to climb up on the top storage shelf above the washer and dryer and meow at me to come and bring her down. When I climbed up to reach her, she kicked a small keepsake box from the corner.

When it fell on the linoleum, it was filled with Marlboro Red 100s and a couple of lighters, and Mom’s old driver’s license. She looked so different in it than I was used to; happier, less haunted. It crossed my mind more than once that Nutmeg knew it was there and wanted me to see it. I knew it was ridiculous. I put everything back in its place and never spoke about it. But I never looked at my Mom the same way, again.

“Are you really judging me right now? You?” she laughed at me, seizing her opportunity to finally snatch the bong from my hands and swipe my lighter from my table. But I didn’t fight her this time. As she stomped toward my door, Max moved out of her way to sit on the edge of my bed.“You’re going to get addicted and when you do, you’ll be sorry! I should know. I’ve been there, and I don’t want you to go down that path,”

I rolled my eyes and put my head in my hands. Did she really think me smoking weed for my anxiety was comparable to the drinking problem she had been struggling with on-and-off her entire life?

Max stood up and walked closer to Mom.

“That’s not the same thing and you know it. You had to stop drinking ‘cause you were a danger to us and to Dad,” she grunted. I quickly stood up in front of her and put my arm in front of her. Even if she was right, this was my fight with Mom. She shouldn’t have to stand up for me against our mother. That was my job; I was the big sister.

“While you’re poisoning your lungs with nicotine, I’m smoking a fucking plant, Mom! We’re not the same!”

“Well, y’know what, girls!?” Mom thundered, laughter, pain, and anger weaved through her voice. “You’re right. I do smoke cigarettes! I do drink, and I’m not ashamed of it. You wanna know why? Because I’m an adult. I do what I want.” “So you just get to do whatever the fuck you want?”

“Yes, Max. I do,” she said, quiet this time as she took my lighter and lit up the bowl of the bong. Was she really about to do what I think?

“And when you two grow up, . .” she continued, inhaling the smoke before coughing out her last words straight into my face. “. . .you can do whatever you want, too.”

For the first time in my life, I was speechless as she looked at me with tears filling up in her now-red eyes. I was surprised she even knew how to use it. I wondered if I possibly looked like her when I smoked weed. I hoped not. She looked pathetic trying to be tough and prove her point.

“Yeah. Nice one, Mom. You’re really earning that ‘mother of the year’ trophy,” I to her. She narrowed her eyes at me. I should’ve known she wasn’t done.

“But until then, you are kids. You’re my children. And if I were you two, I’d hold onto it for as long as I can, okay? Because once you grow up, I’m not gonna always be around to protect and guide you girls. Once you grow up, you’re both going to have to go through and deal with some pretty shitty stuff.”

I knew our Mom didn’t have the easiest life growing up. Her older brother died when she was fourteen; she never said how. Her mother disappeared for a while, which she never talked about either. She jumped through so many hoops to put herself through medical school and be taken seriously as a Medical Professional, not just a woman. She lost her baby brother to HIV just a few years ago. I’m not denying that her life was hard, but how dare she try to turn pain and suffering into a competition after everything that we’ve been through? What Max has been through with her family falling apart? What I’ve been through in just these last few months? How dare she?

“Like we haven’t already?”

As soon as I said that, her demeanor suddenly changed as she reached out for me; as if she hadn’t just said all those cruel things to me, to my sister. She got what she wanted; she won the argument. Wasn’t that all that mattered to her, after all?

“Oh, Mae-Mae, I didn’t mean-”

“Goodnight, Mom,” I plainly said, crawling into bed as if she wasn’t even there. Nutmeg curled up at my feet. It was quiet for a while, and even if I couldn’t see it, I knew Max was staring daggers into Mom, just as pissed as I was.

“Max, I-”

“Don’t. Just don’t,” she said, closing the door without another word before climbing into bed with me. In the now pitch blackness, I rolled over to face her as we rested our arms across each other. Nutmeg moved up from my feet to fit snuggly in the gap between us. We both gave her soft pets before returning our hands back to their original snuggling position. I left her with one last word of wisdom before we shut our eyes to sleep.

“Max, I know I’m not the best role model, but if I ever catch you with weed before you’re eighteen, I’ll kill you.”

She only let out a soft laugh.

. . .

Maeven’s left arm leaned out the window of the family station wagon as she let the cold, autumn wind blow against her hand and between her fingers. The other held her backpack securely in her lap as she squished against the bottom to squeeze Woodsy Owl. She let the cool air brush against her face as she closed her eyes.

The Hawkins air would take some getting used to. It was absent from factory fuels, cigarette smoke, and car exhaust the family was used to in crowded California. The atmosphere in rural Indiana was fresher than that of the big cities to the west, enriched by the lush forests surrounding the small town. Of course, the scent of manure from the local farms was a little intense. But it reminded Maeven of when they lived in Oregon when she and Max were little, or when they would travel to Colorado to visit Aunt Maggie on her farm.

“So, how’d the meeting with the Chief go?” Neil spoke up from behind the wheel, bringing Maeven’s attention back to the present. She brought her arm back in and threaded her fingers together beneath her backpack.

“Okay, I guess,” she shrugged. “We didn’t really talk that much, but he wasn’t scary like Daly.”

“Daly wasn’t scary, Margaret,” Neil scoffed as he turned the car into downtown Hawkins. “He was just doing his job. You’re too old to be scared of people like that, anyways. It’s pathetic.” He locked eyes with his stepdaughter through the rear-view mirror, to which Maeven darted her eyes downward to her lap to keep the tears from falling.

“He’s right, you know. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic, Maeven,” the voice taunted as her heart raced, silencing at the sensation of another hand grasping hers. Maeven looked at Max, who gave her a reassuring squeeze. Susan’s eyes went sad at the sight, prompting her to place a gentle hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“Neil. . .” she pleaded, approaching him with a soft voice she would use on her daughters when they were upset. He shrugged her off.

“What? It is,” he stood his ground.

Susan flinched at his sudden and unnecessarily aggressive shrug, but didn’t push the topic to her husband any further; not that surprising to Maeven or Max. It became more common between them the longer he’d been around and made himself comfortable in the Mayfields’ lives. Just another thing to add to the list of things Maeven would have to tell her school counselor about. . .if she decided to share anything at all, that is. It was too early to tell how she felt about it.

“It’s good to hear that, Maevey. It sounds like you felt good about it?” Susan tilted her head toward the back seat. Maeven nodded.

“I do, yeah. He was actually really nice to me. He didn’t really seem like a cop,” she explained, still gobsmacked that their earlier meeting didn’t end up with her crying. It was refreshing to not be pushed for once.

“I’m not convinced.” Neil scoffed and shook his head. “Lotsa folks I talked to today said Chief Hopper’s got quite the bad reputation around here. Doesn’t do his job right or some shit.”

Maeven stopped breathing for a few seconds as the gears in her head turned.

“See? He’s not even qualified to look after you,” the voice whispered into her head, her arm instinctively twitching in an attempt to shake the gross feeling away. Of course, Hopper was too good to be true. She should’ve known better. This is how it always goes.

“Well. . .the important thing is he seems nice. And it looks like he’s taking Maevey’s case seriously,” Susan followed up. It was really one of her better qualities; the ability to turn almost any bad situation into an opportunity with her optimism. But of course, there were some situations that didn’t have that easy of a solution. Maeven was living proof of that, thanks to her recent string of bad luck.

“Yeah. He better. The last thing we need is another one of her problems,” Neil commented as he looked for a good spot to slow down so the ladies could get out. He always had to have the last word. He often made sure that his opinion was made known; Maeven was a problem instead of a person to him, and she had a long way to go before his view changed. But she wasn’t sure if she should care about that.

When Neil brought the car to a full stop, the girls all unbuckled their seatbelts and climbed out. They recognized it as the place they were in front of when Max fell off her board a few feet from where they were now parked. Maeven tripped as she tried to stop herself so suddenly. A nice woman, the store clerk, came outside to see if they were okay. She seemed like the kind of person who would invite you in for tea and cookies if you fell right in front of her house. That’s probably what would’ve happened if Billy hadn’t magically shown up to drag them back home, almost as if on cue.

As Maeven and Max stood next to each other on the sidewalk in front of Melvald’s General, Susan went from the passenger seat around the front to lean down to talk to her husband. It was always a weird sight to witness, as the sisters often joked that she looked like a hooker trying to entice a deal with a potential client. Despite her knowing what her daughter’s felt about that position, she did it anyway.

“I’ll circle back around in thirty minutes. Just be ready by then,” Neil told her, placing his rough, calloused hand over hers.

“We will, Sweetie. Do you need anything while we’re here?” she offered.

“Wouldn’t mind a couple of six-packs, Suze,” he replied, leaning in for his usual goodbye kiss. It was almost pathetic.

“You got it. We’ll see you in a bit. Love you,” she laughed softly as she returned to the sidewalk.

“You, too, Susie.”

. . .

It was a huge culture shock to the Mayfield women suddenly going from having a store for every little thing on every little block in California to having only a small handful of choices Hawkins had to offer. Sure, they had been to stores like this in passing while on road trips or visiting their rural relatives. Having to live like that was a whole other thing. Something else they’d need to get used to.

It was nice, though. At least, Maeven thought so. So what if the place had that strange lingering smell? It was part of the charm.

“Hi, there. Welcome to Melvald’s! Can I help you guys find anything today?” The clerk the sisters met the previous day walked right up to them. Her nametag read ‘Joyce;’ something they didn’t notice yesterday. It suited her, though. They could tell.

“Are we that obvious?” Max groaned, leaning her head on her big sister’s shoulder. Maeven wrapped her arm around her as she grabbed a shopping basket from the entrance.

“Oh, no, honey,” Joyce laughed with a wave of her hand. “I greet everyone like that. Force of habit. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, have I?” she asked.

Susan confidently gripped her purse and secured it over her shoulder. “No. Well, maybe my girls. They were goofing off around here yesterday. We just moved here.”

Joyce’s eyes widened as they turned to the girls, causing them to purse their lips and shake their heads. She figured their mom probably didn’t know about their little tumble yesterday, so she said nothing; much to the girls' relief, it looked like.

It made sense that they were new. She hadn’t seen hair that fiery since poor Barbra Holloway.

“Really? You liking Hawkins so far?”

“It’s okay,” Max yawned, causing her sister to do the same. Even though Susan told them the previous night that they had to wake up early this morning, the girls’ bodies were still adjusting to their new schedule and timezone. She expected them to go to bed early when they arrived back home, even if she and Neil were planning on a date that night.

Susan took the shopping list in her left hand and folded it in half before tearing it and handing the lower half to her oldest daughter.

“Girls, here. Why don’t you go divide and conquer?” she asked. This was a usual Mayfield family routine, in which Norman and Susan would send their daughters off on a scavenger hunt for groceries. It made the important-yet-boring tasks of everyday life a little more fun. Norman was good at that; turning everything into a game for his girls.

At her suggestion, the sisters' drowsy demeanors basically disappeared as they both perked up.

“‘Kay, Mom,” Maeven smiled before running off elsewhere in the store with Max by her side.

“It’s Joyce, by the way. Joyce Byers,” the clerk introduced herself, holding out her hand. Susan gladly returned the gesture. For a backwater town, the people in Hawkins sure were nice.

“Susan May-. . . Hargrove. Susan Hargrove,” she corrected herself. Susan still had trouble with the sudden name change after proudly wearing her ex-husband’s name like a badge for over a decade. But she was getting better at it. At least she didn’t make that mistake around Neil, anymore. She knew better, now.

“Nice to meet you, Susan. I have two sons, around your girls' ages. Maybe they’ll meet in school?” Joyce suggested, getting that typically hopeful spark in her eye that every mother seemed to have when talking about their children. Susan missed that feeling.

“Sure. That might be nice,” she agreed. She’d have to think about it. Max was certainly ready for new friends. But was Maeven ready, too? That seemed to be the question Susan asked herself every day for the last nine months.

“Where’d you guys move from?” Joyce wondered.

“We’re from California. San Diego. My husband got a promotion that took us here,” she said. That was what she and Neil agreed they’d tell people. It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Really? Is it nice down there? I’ve only ever been in Hawkins my whole life.”

“It is yes. My husband wanted us to have a fresh start here. My ki-. . .my girls and stepson are starting school tomorrow,” Susan corrected herself again. Even if Billy wasn’t around her right now, she could clearly hear him annoyingly scoff at her; “I’m not your kid, Susan. You’re not my mom. You never will be. Stop acting like it.”

“I need some supplies,” she told Joyce

“Oh, great! Well, school supplies are over there,” she replied, pointing the mother in the direction of the stationary. Maeven was probably loitering around there. “We still have a lot of leftover stock from our ‘back-to-school’ sale. I’ll just be around if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Joy. I appreciate it.”

. . .

Maeven had to contain her excitement at the sight of the small, yet charming selection of books at Melvald’s General. She knew if she let it out, her mom would come running over before crushing her in a hug and proceeding to scold her for being “too much.” Of course, Susan would want to make sure her daughter was okay after coming so close to losing her not even a year ago. For more selfish reasons, she also didn’t want her family to be stared at like they were a traveling freak show. She didn’t think Maeven would notice this, but she did.

The humble collection of books of all genres stood amongst the stationery and office supplies; her favorite part of any department or superstore. She decided she would look at all the arts and crafts supplies another day. Her mom always took care of the school supply shopping, anyways.

Maeven loved reading. She remembers getting bored of all the books in her own room as a toddler and sneaking out at night to browse her parents’ little private library. Libraries quickly became her place of refuge from an early age, as if the sheer number of books could somehow keep her safe from everything bad. There were always answers for life and the high amount of unfairness it contained if you knew where to look.

Books were also a place to look for an escape when she needed it. Despite loving all the books she had read about animals and ecosystems around the world, there was nothing quite like reading a fantastical fairytale. Maeven was first and foremost a woman of science, but also had an insatiable appetite for magic.

Once she spied an old copy of The Hobbit, she instantly pulled it out from amongst the other books. She flipped through it and inhaled the smell of vintage printing. Despite having her own copy, she loved seeing other editions of it out in the wild. As a kid, she wanted nothing more than to go on an epic quest in search of a dragon.

Her best memories of the book were when her dad read a chapter each night to her and Max when they were little. Her favorite was Rhadagast the Brown and his rabbit-pulled sled. They spent at least an hour or two on every chapter since Maeven kept stopping her dad’s narration to ask questions that he always answered and never yelled at her for. He didn’t want to disregard his daughter’s curious nature or undermine her intelligence.

The highlight of their journey together through that book, in Maeven’s opinion, was how she managed to convince her little sister that Tolkien's full name was ‘Jolkien Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien.’ It was a classic Mayfield family moment that their family loved mentioning no matter how much it embarrassed the sisters each time.

“That’s one of my boys’ favorites. Are you a fan?”

Maeven flinched in surprise at Joyce’s sudden entrance into her bubble, instinctually putting the book back up on display. Once her brain caught up with the rest of the world and she realized she was safe, she relaxed her shoulders and breathed out.

“I am, yes. . .”

Joyce eyed the young woman as she tightly clutched the small shopping basket in her hand. She and her sister most definitely followed their mother’s instructions and completed their half of the shopping list; filled with everything from silverware to powerstrips and household tools. Joyce didn’t think she was that loud or startling. Why was this girl so nervous? So pale and seemingly fragile? It reminded her of Will and how jumpy he was for the first few weeks after his rescue.

“Sorry. I didn’t catch your name, did I?”

“Oh, no. It’s okay. I’m Maeven. My little sister’s Max,” she told her, waving her hand in multiple directions, gesturing to wherever her sister was.

“Maeven? That’s pretty interesting. Where’s it from?” Joyce wondered. This girl had a hippie vibe to her, despite the dark clothing and evident sadness that surrounded her. Susan seemed too uppity. What about her dad’s story?

“Well. . .it means ‘sage’ in Gaelic. I’m Irish on my Dad’s side,” Maeven explained. She could’ve gone into more detail but then remembered what her therapist back in California about oversharing. There was no need to bother a total stranger with her life story. Strangers weren’t interested in her. She knew better now.

“Really?” Joyce cocked her head to the side. “That's pretty neat that your family is so connected to their roots. I have zero clue about mine. All I really know is my Dad’s was Norwegian and my Mom’s was English.”

Maeven said nothing but gave Joyce a soft smile before her eyes returned to the books and stationery. When she pulled the strap of her backpack to be more secure, Joyce’s eyes widened as she let out a small gasp at the sight of the keychain on the zipper.

“Is that a dragon?” she immediately asked.

Maeven almost jumped again, surprised that this woman continued with the small talk. She hadn’t had a conversation so pleasant with someone outside her family in a while.

“Oh. . .yeah. It is. My friend made it for me,” she replied, looking down at the little accessory. At this point, it was a good luck charm. Dylan made it for her as a present for her birthday this year, but turned it into a goodbye present; a red dragon with yellow eyes atop their hoard of gold and gems. He told her that he based it off of her; her fiery spirit and determination.

“They made that? That’s impressive,” Joyce stared at the little figurine in awe, repressing her urge to reach out and touch it. This girl clearly already had issues with boundaries and being close amongst strangers. She didn’t want to worsen it. It looked like one of Will’s drawings came to life.

“Yeah. He sculpts and paints DND miniatures all the time. It’s kind of his thing,” Maeven added. At that moment, a light switch flipped on inside Joyce’s head.

“‘DND?’ Are you talking about Dungeons and Dragons?”

Maeven turned back to the woman in shock. This lady was definitely the last person she’d expect to play DND, much less just be aware that the game exists, but was glad she did. Hawkings just seemed to keep on surprising her.

“Yes! Oh, my God! You know about it?” her face lit up in excitement.

“Well, through my son, Will. He and his friends play it all the time,” Joyce replied. “They hold a campaign together once a week, at least. He’s a wizard.” She wondered what class Maeven would fit into. She seemed like a sorceress or druid. Maybe even a ranger?

‘Of course, her kid played it,’ Maeven figured. Just from that fact alone, Maeven could tell she was a good mom. Good parents show interest in what their children are interested in. Susan used to be that way. Now? Not so much. She feels a little envious of Joyce’s children, now. Having a mother who didn’t brush off their interests like they were a burden must’ve been nice.

“That’s not a very nice way to think about your mom, Maeven. You should be ashamed, wanting to just trade her like that. One day, she’ll be gone, and you’ll have nothing but regret.” the voice whispered in her head, trying to make her stray off-track and retreat into herself like usual. But she found herself not wanting this conversation to end.

“How old is he?”

“He’s thirteen, like your sister,” Joyce said, tilting her head to the side and briefly gesturing to Max, who was now in view with their mother by the chips and candy. As if on cue, Susan’s head turned to Joyce and Maeven before grabbing her youngest daughter by her arm and dragging her along.

“Maeven! What have I told you about bothering others with your. . .interests?” she asked, trying to sound as stern, yet as calm and gentle as possible. She failed.

“Speak of the Devil. You just had to jinx it, didn’t you?”

Thankfully, Joyce immediately jumped to the girl’s defense.

“Oh, no! She wasn’t bothering me at all, Mrs. Hargrove,” she explained. “If anything, I’m the one bothering her. I’ll let you get back to shopping now.”

As Joyce returned to the front of the store, she left the Mayfield women in an awkward silence. Maeven was now shaking in her boots in humiliation and anger as she crossed her arms to hug herself. Why did her mom have to do this? What benefit could she gain from embarrassing her already fragile daughter in public?

Susan’s instincts told her to comfort the now-shaking Maeven, as she was obviously distressed by the whole situation. Never once did she consider herself to be the cause of that distress. She walked towards her daughter, taking the shopping basket from her arms before wrapping her in a tight hug and placing a kiss atop her head.

“Did you find everything on the list or did you lollygag around the books again?”

Maeven rolled her eyes and groaned before wriggling out of her mother’s grasp and turning away from her and towards Max.

“I have everything, Mom. It’s fine. I’m not an invalid,” she grumbled, standing next to her sister as she leaned against the beer cooler. The cold feeling of the frost against her neck and back calmed her down just a bit. But, of course, her mom had to open her mouth again.

“I never said you were, honey. . .” Susan said, gently reaching out to cup her daughters’ cheek, to which she wriggled away again with a pout. She took her hand back in shock, standing still with a blank face. Maeven had been doing that each time she was angry with her mother, but it had become more frequent within the last nineteen months. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to that. “. . .and don’t take that tone with me,”

“What tone? This is how I talk, Mom,” she whined, her head rolling along with her eyes this time, as she shoved the handbasket into her mother’s hands. turning to walk toward the front as they now had everything on their list.

“No, it’s not. You never used to sound so. . .so defiant.”

“Well, maybe you just don’t know me anymore, Mom. Have you ever thought of that?”

“Oh, Mae-Mae, I-”

“No, Mom. Please. For both our sakes, just. . .just stop talking.”

Maeven used to love it when her mom used pet names for her. It was another one of the tiny beautiful things that made life matter. But now? Now, it didn’t feel right. Every ‘Mae-Mae’ that came out of her mother’s mouth often sounded patronizing, condescending, and just plain. . .wrong. And when she was scolded while being addressed that way, it was as if her beloved childhood nickname had become a curse, an insult for behaving the way she did.

The nickname was a reminder of her childhood; the one that she so desperately wanted to go back to. If she did, she knew exactly what she’d do differently. She remembered the book in her dad’s collection of various encyclopedias that explained the butterfly effect. She obsessed over it when she was in treatment, trying to give meaning to the events that lead her there as if it would bring her peace. It didn’t, but she still reminds herself of each little event that could’ve changed where she ended up.

Now that it was ruined for her, Maeven had seen her mother in a whole new light. Susan was a lot of things; demanding, egotistical, pushy, and annoyingly talkative, just to name a few. But Maeven never thought the woman who carried her in her womb could reduce all that she was into a mentally fragile victim. And now, there was no way to change it back. It was tainted, ruined. . .just like her.

. . .

The three walked back to the front of the store to find Joyce at the register, marking a few lawn and garden items left over from summer with a price gun. When she looked up, she immediately put the price gun into the box of items and put it below the counter before Susan placed the hand cart on top.

“You find everything alright?” she asked with a smile, starting to scan everything before putting the objects into a brown paper bag; a routine she has mastered throughout her many years as a retail worker.

“We did, yes. Thank you, Joy,” Susan replied with a nod.

“Can she seriously not see her nametag?” The voice whispered in Maeven’s ear, one of the rare moments lately where she listened to it.

“It’s Joyce, Mom,” she corrected, crossing her arms.

Susan was about to scold her daughter for such a sudden and, quite frankly, rude outburst. But when she looked down at the nametag to see that Maeven was indeed, correct, she stopped herself. Both mother and daughter definitely shared a rash temper.

“Oh, of course. My apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joyce waved it off as she continued to scan and bag. “It’s not the first time that’s happened and it won't be the last.”

Susan smiled and nodded as she looked Joyce over, debating whether or not this would be a one-off meeting or perhaps the start of a new friendship.

“How long did you say you lived here again?” she asked, also curious to know more about Hawkins from a local.

“My whole life. Hawkins has its problems, but so does everywhere. Lots of my classmates, including my ex-husband, went off for ‘better lives’ or whatever,” she pondered for a moment. “But Hawkins is where I belong. It’s my home,” she said with pride.

“You’re separated?” Susan asked.

“Yeah. It’s all right, though. We’re better off apart,” Joyce replied. Susan let out a scoff as she rolled her eyes.

“I hear that,” she laughed before continuing. “You said before that you have kids?”

“Yep. My oldest, Jonathan is around Maeven’s age, and my youngest, Will, turned thirteen in March.”

Now that Joyce had her full attention, Susan could see the classic signs of motherhood etched into her face. She could see the circles underneath her eyes acquired from so many sleepless nights with newborns. The lines above her brow were from the seemingly countless times a mother would get frustrated with her children. The wrinkles across her cheeks were no doubt from all the worrying about their safety.

“Really? Max just turned thirteen last February. Maybe we should set up a-”

“Mom, I swear to God. . .” Max suddenly interjected, pushing her way between her mom and sister, desperate to stop Susan before it was too late. “. . .if you use the word ‘playdate,’ I’m skating home.”

The ladies, apart from Max, of course, all started laughing. Maeven pulled her sister into a tight hug accompanied by an affectionately annoying noogie. She and Max started playfighting and giggling; a classic Mayfield Sister moment.

“That everything?” Joyce asked, gesturing to their now bagged-up purchase. Susan nodded.

“Sixty Two dollars, please.”

Susan reached for her wallet in her purse but had to dig deeper when she didn’t immediately find it. As Joyce looked at the family of newcomers, she focused her attention on the eldest daughter. Seeing her relationship with Max reminded her too much of Johnathan and Will that it was uncanny. And as she thought back to her earlier interaction with the girl, a plan formed in her mind. She just hoped that it wasn’t too outlandish of a request for someone she just met.

“Actually, Johnathan’s really busy with the Photography club and works part-time down at the Theatre. And Maeven seems to have a lot in common with Will. If you’re alright with it, would you consider watching him after school?”

At the sound of this, Maeven froze, allowing Max to finally wriggle out of her grip and silently proclaim a victory with a fist pump. She didn’t know what to think. This woman had only just met her and she already decided she was trustworthy enough to look after her kid? Maeven wanted to sing from the rooftops. She wasn’t used to these kinds of offers back in California. Everyone in the community tended to steer clear of her there.

As she was about to reply, Susan interjected.

“Does he really need someone to watch him at that age?” she asked, finally producing her wallet from her purse and handing the cash to Joyce.

Maeven did her best to stop herself from erupting like a volcano. Why did her mom always do this?

“She probably thinks you’ll do something psycho if you’re left alone with a little kid like that. She thinks you’ll go full-on Carrie again,” the voice theorized. They weren’t entirely wrong, either.

Susan always had the final say these last nine months. Of course, she had the best intentions. She wanted to make sure Maeven was ready to test the waters the way she used to and make sure there wasn’t a potential for her to be triggered and re-traumatized. And God forbid if she happened to have one of her episodes. As always, she never asked her daughter about her thoughts on this. She just did it, much to Maeven’s annoyance and frustration. Susan wasn’t as easily trusting as Joyce apparently was.

“Technically? No, but. . .” Joyce paused, trying to find the right words as she calculated on the register. She couldn’t exactly tell them the whole truth. “He’s been through a lot in the last year and even if he doesn’t like to admit it. . .he’s fragile. He can’t really be alone right now,”

‘Fragile’ was a word that seemed to describe Maeven a lot, lately. Even if she tried so hard to prove the people in her life otherwise, she knew it was true. But she was seventeen when she went through what she did. Will was thirteen, possibly even twelve when he went through whatever he did, barely out of childhood.

“Sounds like you and little William might have a lot in common. You should make him your intern when you become the next Zodiac Killer,” the voice laughed. Maeven waved her hand by her ear and shook her head, washing those nasty thoughts away. . .for now, at least.

“I can’t pay you a lot, but I’ll give you what I can,” Joyce offered as the cash till popped out. She noticed some of the snacks she picked out when talking to her earlier, as well as how she longingly looked at some of the many knick-knacks on the miscellaneous shelves. Maeven seemed like she would willingly accept being paid in small gifts.

“Are you kidding me? I’d love to,” she expressed. Joyce smiled, noticing the girl had a nice gap-toothed smile when she wasn’t twitching with anxiety.

“Well, we’ll see,” Susan compromised, taking the change when Joyce offered it to her. “She needs time to get adjusted to school first. Can we get back to you on that? Maybe in a week?”

“Of course! No problem,” Joyce said, closing the drawer and swiping the receipt from the printer, taking out a pen from the cup on the counter. “Here; I’ll put my phone number on the back of the receipt. Just call me when you’ve had a chance to think about it,” she told Maeven, making eye contact with her as she wrote on the receipt before tucking it into the bag.

“Thanks, Mrs. Byers.”

“Oh, just ‘Joyce,’ dear,” she gently corrected, surprised that the girl remembered her last name from earlier.

“Okay. Thanks, Joyce,” Maeven said with a little bow of gratitude, an odd change in her demeanor, and a sudden spring in her step.

“Alright, receipts’ in the bag, and you guys are all set!” Joyce said, handing the bag to Susan.

“Thank you.”

“Bye, ladies! Welcome to Hawkins!”

For the third time that day, Maeven walked away feeling oddly hopeful about the future. Maybe luck was finally on her side. She sure hoped it was, for a change. For now, she’d just have to wait and see.

. . .

For an hour since they got home, Susan had been dolling herself up for her date with Neil. While other families went to Church on Sundays, the day was reserved for them and their marriage. They worshipped each other instead of a faceless God. No matter how bad the previous week may have been, they always seemed to find something to celebrate. It was a tradition she thought died with Norman when he came back from that trip he never talked about, and she was glad she could recreate it with Neil. Of course, she would never tell him that, lest he react negatively.

Meanwhile, Max helped her sister unpack. So far, they had put all her clothes away in both her small orange dresser and her tall, sticker-covered wardrobe. They moved boxes with all her art and school supplies around her desk where they belonged and now had moved on to her collection of books. Maeven’s favorite thing about her new space had to be the bookshelf built into the wall. She left a few spaces blank, planning on filling them with her knick-knacks and mementos, saving the middle shelf for all her animal bones and other oddities. Max had a shelf just like it in her room, connected, as they now shared a wall. They knew they’d have fun tapping in Morse code to each other at night; a trick their dad taught them from his military training.

Maeven then came across a box she knew she wasn’t ready to open, yet; filled with the pieces of her old life that still brought her pain. As she stored it underneath her bed for a rainy day she hoped would never come, a soft knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

Billy gave her a soft smile, playfully shaking Maeven’s water bottle in his hand as he leaned against the door frame.

“Here. You left it in the kitchen. I refilled it for you,” he casually mentioned, handing it back to her. She leaned up on her knees to reach from her spot on the floor, the soft brush of his fingers against hers sending a pleasant shock throughout her body as she took her bottle back.

“Thanks,” Maeven noted, biting her lip at the gesture. Maybe later she’d thank him properly for mixing in a strawberry flavor packet. Billy left the room with a sly wink, hidden away from Max(but not as well as he originally thought).

Max may not have seen Billy physically wink, but she noticed how weirdly kind he had been to her ever since they first met that day at Fort Fun back in April. And since Maeven went through treatment, she had been different, too; her demeanor changed when Billy entered a room from her new normal, nervous, but passionate self, to a visibly anxious, restless, and vulnerable version. Did she have a crush on him? Was it the other way around? Whatever it was, it was fucking weird.

Maeven climbed up her bed and leaned over to place her water bottle before crawling back down to the floor to continue unpacking. But once she saw the way Max was looking at her, all serious, she tilted her head in confusion.

“What?”

“You don’t think that's a little weird?” Max asked her, gesturing to where Billy once stood, then to where her bottle now sat. Once she connected the dots, the voice crawled back onto her shoulder.

“She knows. She knows what a big slut her big sister is,” it taunted in her ear. She decided that playing dumb was her best way out of this.

“That he’s looking out for me? Not really?”

“Not that. The fact that he’s nice to you and an asshole to me,” she whined.

“He’s an asshole to everyone, Max,” she laughed, rolling her eyes as she continued to unload and categorize her books. “You’re not special.”

“But you are?”

Maeven froze as she cringed at what the inner voice whispered next.

“Oh, you’re special, alright. You like being his special little fuck-doll, don’t you?”

She squeezed her legs together and held her head down in shame, her head invaded with sinful memories she struggled to push back for another time.

“He’s still pissed about moving, Squirt,” she said, turning her head back to her sister once she found her bearings again. “Give him a week or so to warm up to the place. If he’s still giving you shit, I’ll talk to him,” Maeven promised her. Max gave a barely noticeable nod before turning back to unpacking the rest of the box.

She felt terrible lying to Max but explaining her relationship with Billy wouldn’t be easy no matter how she could possibly start the conversation. Maeven didn’t even know where to start, as she didn’t fully understand why she was with him, either. All she really knew was that he made her feel safe, and that was what she needed the most right now. Otherwise, she feared she’d fall apart all over again. She couldn’t let that happen, again. She couldn’t do that to her family.

“What happened to your nightlight?” Max changed the subject tilting her head in perplexity. It was literally the first thing they did to her room once they got into their new house.

“I was honestly hoping you’d know,” Maeven confessed. She hated that her sister sometimes bore witness to her sleepwalking and other nighttime episodes. But it was always possible that Max knew something she didn’t, and that maybe it could help her.

They continued unpacking for ten more minutes. And when Maeven finally found her box of animal bones and natural oddities, she had to stop herself from squealing. She missed them while they were packed up in that moving truck.

The sudden ringing of the landline throughout every room in the house made them jump but went back to what they were doing as their mom picked it up in the living room.

“Girls! Your dad’s on the phone!” Susan's voice called from down the hallway.

The sisters’ heads shot up as they looked at each other before they darted like greyhounds across Maeven’s bed to pick up the phone.

“Thanks, Mom!” she yelled back.

“We’re leaving now! We’ll be back around midnight!” Susan called back as she hung up the phone in the living room. But by then, the girls had already drowned her out as they eagerly put the phone on speaker and held it in front of them.

“Dad?” Max spoke first as they awaited an answer.

“Maevey! Max! How’re my girls doing?” His voice was warm and familiar. It felt like home, even if Hawkins was technically their home now.

“Good,” Max shrugged.

“Okay,” Maeven added. Even in the girls’ indifferent mood, they were giddy just being able to talk to him for the first time in the week since they left California.

“Okay? C’mon girls, gimme more to work with here!” Norman laughed on the other end. “You had the school tour today, right? How you are guys feeling about it?”

“Fine, I guess,” Max replied. Jennifer Hayes wasn’t a good tour guide. She just talked about herself the entire time. Of course, Max tuned her out, taking in her surroundings and mapping the layout of the middle school in her head. At least she knew where all her classes were.

“I feel better having met a couple of the other students,” Maeven admitted. Her little sister scoffed.

“Yeah, except that Natalie chick looked at you like you were a ghost,” Max recalled. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Nancy was a little on edge during the tour, causing Maeven to feel the same. Her mind began spiraling again.

“She probably saw you in a newspaper. She knows what you did. She knows how fucked up you are and now she’s gonna tell everyone,” the voice told her. But this time, it didn’t matter to Maeven. Why her headshot was in the news, what happened on New Years, or just how broken she was; none of that mattered right now. All her troubles temporarily disappeared whenever she and Max were on the phone with their Dad.

“It’s Nancy, Squirt,” Maeven corrected her sister, as they both grabbed one of her pillows to rest their heads on while laying on her bed.

“Relax, Maevey. I’m sure this ‘Nancy’ was just shocked to see hair so bright,” their father reassured her on the other end of the phone.

“Or she was stoned,” Max ventured a guess. Maeven laughed at the idea. Witnessing that uppity honor student get high is something she would pay for. But Nancy looked like too much of a prude. Maeven would have to at least see her sloppy-ass drunk.

“No, she seems like too much of a goody-goody,” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Neil still giving you a hard time?” Norman asked.

“Yeah. He keeps calling us ‘Margaret and Maxine,’” Max groaned. Rolling onto her back as she let her frustrations out into her pillow. “Ugh. It’s so annoying”

“That jackass doesn’t know shit from applesauce, girls. Pay him no mind,” their Dad cackled on the other end, forcing his daughters to do the same. After regaining composure from their laughing fit,” Maeven changed the subject

“How’re the fur babies, Dad?”

“They’re doing alright!” Norman replied. “You wanna say hi to them?”

“YES!” Maeven raised her voice to almost a yell. She never felt like she had to hide her enthusiasm around him.

“Oh, my God, yes, pleeease!” Max begged with a smile. The sisters leaned forward in anticipation, their ears almost pressing flush against the phone’s speaker.

“Okay. Bullet, Lucy, speak!”

On command, Maeven and Max heard the familiar howls of the beloved family dogs. They always found it odd that Lucy was the one with the gruff, deeper growl while Bullet was the high-pitched one.

“Hi, babies!” Maeven nearly squealed.

“Is Nutmeg there, too?” Max asked, more eager than ever to hear from her best and longest friend.

“I got her right here. You wanna say ‘hi,’ Nut?”

The ginger Somali half-squeaked, half-meowed through the speaker. It was another one of those sounds that just felt like home to the Mayfield sisters.

“I’ve missed that noise so much!”

“Hi, Nutmeg! I miss you!”

The cat made another sound in reply, pulling another laugh from the two girls.

“Hate to cut this short, but I gotta pee,” Max announced, leaning into the phone.

“Alright, Max. I love you,” Norman said.

“You, too, Dad,” she replied, nearly bouncing off her sister’s bed before leaving the room.

Maeven watched the soft glow of the Indiana sunset as the warm light hit the windows of her bedroom, causing the suncatcher she put up there to make the whole space sparkle with like a rainbow disco ball. She zoned out as she pressed her face against her comforter that was now warmed up from the light.

“Maevey? You still there?”

She suddenly remembered the phone she held in her hand, and who was on the other side.

“I’m here, Dad,” she reassured him.

“You nervous?” he asked.

‘Nervous’ was an understatement. Maeven was petrified. She had been given a second chance at life; a chance to still live after going through hell and back and barely surviving. If she fucked this up, it meant she never really deserved another life to begin with. She should’ve just died bleeding out in that forest when she had the chance.

This wasn’t like when she was starting a new school after moving to California from Oregon. When she was eight years old, the most she had to worry about was who she’d play with at recess. Now she had everything to lose. Her very livelihood was on the line.

“A little. . .” she lied.

“You’re gonna be fine. Trust me,” Norman implored her. Maeven just groaned in reply, wishing she could melt into all her blankets and never come out again. However, after nearly seventeen years of having the pleasure of being her parent, Norman knew just how to bring his daughter out of this funk.

“Hey. Let’s just lay out some rules okay?”

Maeven untangled herself from her covers and phone chord, laying flat on her back as she tilted her head to the glow of the setting sun. It made her feel better that her Dad was probably looking at the same natural wonder she was. She remembered being a little kid and telling him that it looked like a campfire.

“Okay, fine,” she rolled her eyes with a smile. Her Dad laughed on the other side.

“Number one, Only raise your hand once or twice in each class. You don’t want them intimidated by you. Except for Science. Crush ‘em.”

Maeven held in a chuckle, unsure whether to be offended or flattered. A long time ago, that task would’ve seemed impossible to her. And even if it would still be hard not to be the teacher’s pet, the young girl was more than happy to not be the center of attention, for once.

“Got it,” she replied.

“Number Two: If you’re not where you are, just picture where you wanna be,” Norman continued. That one definitely wouldn’t be hard. It was practically how Maeven survived; picturing herself in the woods by a river instead of a stuffy classroom surrounded by people she didn’t like.

“Of course, always,” she confirmed, sarcastically insulted that he’d expect any less from his daughter.

“Number Three: You’re gonna feel like you’re all alone in there, Maevey. You aren’t. And I’m sure that school is gonna be a lot more interesting with you and Max around,” he concluded. Maeven could tell that he was starting to choke up. She had to pull back her own tears from falling. Even if her Dad couldn’t see her, she didn’t want him to hear her cry. He had already felt bad enough about having his daughters taken from him cross-country.

“I miss you, Dad,” she all but whispered into the phone, almost as if she was sharing a secret with him.

“I miss you, too, Maeven. Take care of your sister for me, okay? I’ll talk to you girls next week. It’s getting late.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Spitfire,” he softly spoke, before all that could be heard was the dial tone.

She was gonna be fine. . .she hoped.

. . .

A/N: Life in my neck of the woods has been super chaotic, my friends. I'm currently on a week-long break after I had to go to the hospital due to my boss overworking me. I'm using this time to catch up on some much-needed rest, organize and rearrange my house, spend time with my family, and work on projects. I'm going to definitely be looking for a better job once I finally get my license that'll hopefully allow me to build healthy habits for myself.

Thank you all so much for being patient with me and loving my story! Next chapter will mostly be smut after we learn more about how Billy and Maeven met and fell in love, initially. I hope you're all ready because I will also be making some major lore dumps. As always, please leave me likes, reblogs, and comments as they help add fuel to my creative fire and hopefully, you'll get more frequent updates!

Stay safe and wild, my dears!

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imjustasimpxd · 2 years

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Masterlist

Title: Misunderstanding

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x reader

Summary: A romance quickly sparks between Bakugo and his classmate, but with neither of them aware of each other’s feelings, how long will it take for this unseemly conflict to end so they can finally have a chance at being together?

Warnings : cursing, slight angst

Word count : around 1,800 words

Author’s notes : reblogs are appreciated!! I appreciate all feedback on my writing so that I can know what you guys liked and what you think I should improve on😊

Disclaimer : this is a work of fiction and should in no way, shape, or form, be taken seriously.

Side Note: Most of my stuff doesn’t contain cussing because I don’t like putting it in my work, however it felt out of character for Bakugo not to cuss so this series will contain cussing.

“𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚍!“

Bakugo’s words were all that filled your head. Every sentence making you wince in pain as you remembered who he was talking to in that moment.

“𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎“

Tears soon collected near the edges of your eyes, your hands shaking softly as his voice only grew louder, giving you no choice but to listen.

“𝙾𝚑 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝, 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔“

Those tears finally took control, slipping from your eyes without consent and quickly rushing down your cheek in an instant.

“Why does it have to be like this??” You cried, leaning your lips against the palm of your hand. “Why does he have to be so confusing??” With your eyes clenched shut, your fingers tightened around your mouth, attempting to cover the sound of your sobs.

You told yourself you wouldn’t let things go too far, that you wouldn’t become too attached to him. But here you were crying in the school bathroom over this same guy…

Katsuki Bakugo

Even from the first day of school you knew you felt something for him. At the time however it was only surface level feelings, mostly based off looks and things like that. But ever since that day, when the two of you got paired up for a training exercise, things quickly became a different story.

“Looks like you’re more powerful than I thought, guess you were holding out on me huh?”

That was his response after witnessing your strength up close in combat, suddenly realizing how much he had underestimated you before. After that, things seemed to only progress. He started talking to you more, asking you questions about yourself as if he was genuinely interested in hearing the answer.

He even began inviting you to hangouts with his friends, giving you the chance to get to know him a little more. After a while, the two of you started building a genuine friendship, allowing you to see who he really was under that mask. It exposed a softer side of him that he rarely showed, and you saw firsthand just how different he could be whenever it came to the people he cared about.

Everything was going so well, but then that’s when it all took a turn for the worst.

“𝚆𝚘𝚠, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚢/𝚗.“

Your eyes stopped blinking, your lungs quit expanding. His words shattered your heart like a glass window, leaving deep wounds centered around its edges.

That one sentence left you devastated, lessening what little hope you had that he might actually return any feelings for you.

Your mind was conflicted to say the least, there were moments when he’d look at you, but more than just a quick glance. His eyes would linger, catching with yours and sometimes even granting the smallest smile. There were also times when he would compliment your strength during combat, making your heart flutter the moment those words fell from his lips.

His actions always hinted that he could harbor possible feelings towards you, however that one sentence always stuck with you. That one simple sentence drilled its way inside your head with no intention of leaving.

If he really liked you then why would he say he didn’t? Was it just a cover up to hide his actual feelings? Or was it how he truly felt about you?

If only you knew the truth. If only you understood what it meant when he stared at you for long periods of time. Or why he seemed to always be around, almost as if he was looking out for you.

That couldn’t mean he liked you, could it?

Maybe…

But then again he could be so mean sometimes…

“𝙽𝚎𝚛𝚍“ “𝙳𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚢“ “𝙸𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝“

As you thought about it, it could just be him messing around, I mean he calls everyone names right? But what if these weren’t just jokes, what if he meant it? Did he actually think of you that way? Sometimes the answer seemed clear, but then he’d do something that made you question everything all over again.

It was all so frustrating. What reason was there to hope for a confession, assuming there would ever even be one.

You told yourself you should just drop it, that you shouldn’t let it upset you, but here you were still crying over him in this stupid bathroom.

“I just need to get back to class…” You sighed, wiping the back of your hand across your face before standing upright to open the stall door.

As your feet shuffled out the doorway, your eyes quickly glanced upwards to face the large mirror mounted on the wall. “Its okay… It’s not a big deal.” You exhaled sharply, trying to convince yourself of a reality where your feelings for him didn’t matter.

“Just forget about it,” you mumbled to yourself, fixing your complexion in the mirror before you made your way towards the exit.

As you opened the door, you realized how empty the hallway was. The quiet chatter from nearby classrooms being the only sound to fill the air. “Well, here goes nothing.” You took a deep breath, put on a pleasant expression, and quickly shuffled out the doorway.

Your body moved swiftly, heading back for class 1-A before Mr. Aizawa would get mad at you for being gone too long. However as you rounded the corner, your body soon met with another. The collision sent you backwards, knocking your feet off balance for a second or two.

“Hey, what the- Ohh it’s just you.”

“Hey Bakugo...“

You didn’t even have to look, you knew who it was just by his voice. Regardless, your eyes still peered up to view him, finding his arms lace across his chest as he stood before you.

“Just watch it next time, not everyone is as forgiving as I am.“ He chuckled, flashing you a cheeky grin.

You rolled your eyes playfully, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Pretty sure everyone is more forgiving than you.“

“Don’t get it twisted you idiot, I can be nice if I want to.”

Your eyebrows quickly lowered as the words escaped his lips. You figured he was just joking, however there was that word again. “Idiot,” another name he called you a lot, but what did it mean?

Your thoughts suddenly returned to the feelings you had experienced in the bathroom. The confusion, the frustration, it all came rushing back in an instant before you even had time to take control of it. You quickly restrained the tears that tried to force their way down your skin, desperate not to let him see them.

“What’s with the face?”

“Huh?” You quickly snapped out of your thoughts, finding his gaze narrowing in on you.

“Your eyes look red.” He acknowledged, tilting his head to the side as he spoke.

“Oh yeah I just um... I had an eyelash and so my eyes are still a little irritated, that’s all.” You tried your best to appear calm, praying he would believe it.

He paused for a moment, obviously seeing through your poor attempt at an excuse. His eyes quickly glanced over you, analyzing your posture and the excessive fidgeting of your fingers. He could tell something was wrong, but Bakugo didn’t have much understanding on how to comfort someone, especially in a public setting.

“Sh*t! She looks like she’s crying! What am I supposed to do now??” He thought to himself, confused at what his next movie should be. “Should I ask her if she’s alright? No, then she’ll realize I noticed and I don’t want to embarrass her. Do I just leave then? No, that’s rude to just leave. Crap what the h*ll am I even supposed to do?!” Katsuki quickly panicked, his mind flooding with questions faster than he could form any solutions.

Upon noticing your uneasy posture he suddenly cleared his throat, letting out the only logical response he could think of at the time. “Yeah well if there’s someone bothering you then let me know, I really want to see that.”

Bakugo’s eyes quickly widened, realizing the words that just came out of his mouth. “That sounded wrong, I meant “I want to see that” like I want to see if they’re bold enough to try with me there, you know?” He stuttered, trying his best to recover from his panicked response.

“Yeah I get you…” You answered, your voice retaining a quiet tone as you looked away, attempting to hide your face from him. Your eyes quickly headed for the floor, breath trembling softly as you opened your mouth to respond once more. “Well uh... I better get back to class before Mr. Aizawa gets mad at me so um.. I’ll see ya...” The words stumbled from your throat.

You weren’t usually nervous to talk to him, but when your emotions were fighting to take command, it wasn’t exactly the best time to try and keep a conversation going.

“Oh yeah.. see ya.” He responded, his hands creeping into his pockets as he lifted his legs, walking off in the other direction so you would no longer be bothered by his presence.

He never intend on leaving, he wanted to figure out what was bothering you, but he could tell you were at a breaking point and he didn’t want to force you. So after a reluctant sigh he made his way down the opposite path, looking back as you trudged down the hallway.

“D*mn it, why am I so bad at this?!” He scolded himself silently, irritated at his choice of words during your recent conversation.

Katsuki Bakugo had always been a perfect model of confidence and pride, however when it came to you, all that seemed to wither away so easily.

You held a certain power over him that no one else was capable of possessing. Even something as simple as tucking your hair behind your ears or crossing your legs in your chair made him go weak in the knees. You had a way making him stumble over his words, turning the always confident man into a nervous wreck every time he tried to talk to you.

He wished he could tell you how he felt, maybe then all this anxiety would escape from him. But doing so would expose him to the risk of rejection, and all the humiliation that came along with it.

Could he bear it, if you rejected him? Would you hold it over him, gossiping about his confession to the other girls in your class?

It frustrated him to keep his feelings inside, but was it safe for him to share them with you?

I guess the only way to answer that question was by actually confessing, however whether he would do it or not was another question entirely.

In all honesty it’s VERY LIKELY that I’ll get rid of this fic, I just haven’t yet…

Masterlist

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colibrie · 2 years

Text

Febuwhump Day Ten: “How Long Has It Been?” (Shadow And Four)

Warnings: Illness (nongraphic)

“C’mon Rainbow, this is getting out of hand,” Shadow groaned, concern replacing exasperation in his tone as he tried to push himself closer. To cross the cursed divide of shadow and light and wrap his shivering counterpart in warmth. The flicker of the torches and the glow of a small lantern gilded his idiots face, the light lovingly tracing the outline of his features as if to mock Shadows inability to do so.

He’s ours. Our to command and care for.

Yeah, and look at the shit job you’re doing. Shadow mentally shot back, glaring at the fever bright flush that suffused his Rainbows cheeks.

For his part, Link remained oblivious, his lithe form curled into a ball at one of the libraries massive wooden tables. The thin blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders was a poor defense against the drafts that wafted through the room, ideal for the preservation of books and leather, less so for feverish mortals. It was like watching something collapse in slow motion, his mirrors posture sinking from his usual proud stance to a hunched spine and bowed shoulders, seeking to maintain warmth even as one shivering finger reached out to turn the page on the enormous tome before him. Just looking at the runes encoded on the parchment made Shadows head spin, and the harsh wet cough that ripped its way out of Links chest made his own heart threaten to shatter.

“Please,” he tried again, willing his colors to hear him. “Please stop. You aren’t well and this stupid book is not worth it!”

Link didn’t move, and Shadow was caught between the vicious urge to scream or sob.

“Link?”

Zelda, or Dot as she was apparently now called, had never looked more beautiful to Shadow than she did right now. Relief threatened to choke him as the small princess hurried to his brothers’ side, one delicate hand gently caressing his brow.

“Link what in Nayru’es mercy are you doing up?” She chided, stripping off her own thick dressing gown and wrapping it around her hero’s huddled form. “Your friends have been turning the castle upside down looking for you. You are ill! You need to be in bed!”

“Can’t,” Link mumbled, his voice a raspy parody of his usual tone. “Gotta get this translated. Portal could come any day.”

“You can do it the next time you come home! It’s not going anywhere!” Dot huffed, deftly gathering the notes her friend had made into a quick pile.

“No. Shadow doesn’t deserve to be a back burner project! He’s a priority and this needs to come before anything else!” Link snapped, glaring at dot within a rare show of temper.

“Not before your health you idiot!” Dot snapped back, stomping one foot for emphasis as she glared at him. “Do you really think Shadow would want you to drive yourself into the ground just to get him back?!”

“I don’t,” Shadow chimed in, trying once again to make himself heard across the veil of realms that separated them. “Listen to her you self-sacrificing moron!”

“It’s my fault he’s gone! I need to-” Link started to shout, only to be cut short as the irritation to his throat triggered a coughing spell.

“How long has it been Link?” Dot demanded, moving forward to wrap her ailing hero in a hug as his lungs continued to hack and wheeze. “How long are you going to punish yourself for something you didn’t have a choice in? Shadow did what he thought was right and that is not on you.”

“He,” Link wheezed, the rest of his rebuttal lost to a particularly wet cough that seemed to take his entire chest.

“He loved you,” Dot said, gently pulling Link away from his enforced studies towards the exit. “He still loves you, wherever he is now. And he is counting on you to take care of yourself until he can. You’ll find the answers, but only if let yourself rest and recover.”

“Thank you!” Shadow cried, throwing up his hands as he obediently drifted along besides the pair as they exited the library, leaving the torches and lantern to burn themselves out.

#lu four #lu shadow #lu dot #Febuwhump #Angst fairy writes

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deaneverafter · 2 years

Text

In a Million Memories

By Anastasie Denholm

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Everlie (OFC)

Chapter summary: A routine hunt goes wrong, and someone has to make a difficult decision.

Warnings: angst, so much angst, injuries, this is a rewrite of the cursed scene, so 15x20, which is its own warning

Length: 1341 words

Notes: This does deal with the last episode, so please, be mindful of that, if that's going to be upsetting.

Song: Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush

Chapter One: Running Up That Hill

Three weeks ago. May 18th, 2020.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It was supposed to be their last hunt, but not like this. They were getting out. They were finally going to be safe and happy and live their lives. They weren’t even supposed to be hunting. They had decided to stop. But then they’d heard about the people getting killed, and there hadn’t been time to call any other hunters in.

And more than anything, she wouldn’t lose Dean. She couldn’t. Not again. Though her ears were ringing, she could hear him telling Sam everything he thought Sam needed to hear, and none of the things he needed to say. She mixed the ingredients, her tears blurring everything. She knew she had to stop herself from crying, because either she could keep crying or she could do something to fix this. She couldn’t understand why Sam was content to stand there and do nothing.

“Everlie,” it was Dean’s hoarse whisper that made her realize that he’d finished his goodbyes to his brother. Sam stepped aside, giving them the semblance of some space. “Please come here. You’re the last thing I want to see.”

“Dean, no. There won’t be any last seeings, I’m going to fix this,” she said, bringing the ingredients in her fist towards his wound.

“Ever, I know what you’re trying to do,” he said, a drop of blood on his mouth. So he had been watching her after all. “But you can’t, it could take too much of you, it could kill you.”

“It won’t, Dean, trust me. I can heal you.”

“My love, I-,” she cut him off as she felt her heart drop. He reserved that endearment, using it rarely, and when he did, it was something really good, or something really bad. The windy day they’d gotten married on the beach. As he’d gurgled his goodbyes through his own blood, after that fight with Metatron. When he’d rushed over to her that warm afternoon, as she’d lay bleeding to death in Bobby’s junkyard. Right after he’d knocked on the door of that middle of nowhere motel room, when he’d gotten out of purgatory. This, what was happening here, what he thought would be their last goodbye.

“Dean, please, let me do this. Let me save you. Save us,” she finally saw his eyes soften, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. He let her see how much he wanted to live, how much he wanted to have a life with her.

She pressed the ingredients to his back, and repeated the incantation. His body remained tense. She repeated it again. And again. The tears returned.

“Why isn’t it working?” she sobbed. She repeated the spell again.

“It’s okay, this isn’t your fault,” he whispered, cupping her cheek with great effort. “I love you.” And then he slumped against her.

“No!” she screamed, “No, you’re not going to die!”

“Sam, help me lie him down,” she cried. “I’m going to fix this.”

“Maybe it’s ti-“

“It is not time, Sam,” she cut him off, no more harshly than he deserved. “Help me lie him down.”

He did. She balled up her jacket and gently lowered Dean’s head on it. Sam had helped her thus far, but she could see he didn’t think she could do anything. He expected her to yell and scream and then give up. She didn’t care what he expected. Or wanted. She knelt beside Dean – or what was left of him. She tried another spell. And then another. Blood seeped into the straw beneath them. Just out of earshot, she could more feel than hear Dean standing there, telling her to stop. Telling her it wasn’t her fault. She knew it wasn’t. She was going to bring him back anyway.

“Sam,” she said finally, having run out of all the spells she could think of. Well, almost all. “Get my bag from the trunk.”

“Everlie, what are you thinking?” he tried to ask her, trying – and failing – to be there for her in that moment. She found it bizarre how okay he seemed with it all.

“Get my damned bag, Sam!” she screamed. He scurried out to the Impala and returned a moment later. He handed her the bag, still unsure what she was going to do. He didn’t know what was inside the bag. “Everlie, can we just think about this for a second? Please don’t do anything rash.”

“My husband’s body is getting colder by the minute and you want me to be rational?” she said, as she began pulling ingredients from her bag, along with a small stone bowl, more a hollowed out rock than anything else. A knife. It had taken her the few moments Sam was gone to stop sobbing and come to a decision. Now, she was calm. Eerily so.

“He’s my brother, I do-,” he cut himself short when he saw what she’d pulled out of the bag. “No. Absolutely not. You remember what happened the last time we messed with that book. You bring him back using that, he’ll never forgive you.”

“He forgave you,” she said without stopping, mixing ingredients in the bowl and pressing the glass knife into her palm.

“Everlie, stop!” Sam said again, and she ignored him. He stepped toward her, to stop her, shake her out of what she was doing, to maybe snatch the book from her. She snapped her wrist, a bit of the energy from her soul coursing through and suddenly he was across the barn, paralyzed where he was. Her soul would recharge eventually. Or, it would’ve anyway. It didn’t matter now.

For the first time since she’d felt him leave this plane, she looked up at the phantom of her husband, standing there, trying to reason with her, trying to tell her to not trade her life for his, to not get herself killed trying to bring him back. The look on her face stopped him for a minute. Because he knew her. Better than anyone else did, better than he knew anyone or anything else. And in that moment, he knew the price she was going to pay would be much worse than just her life. He started protesting again, panic tinging his every word, but if she was going to bring him back, a glance was all she had to spare for the ghost of him. She went back to work, blood from her hand gathering in the bowl. Quickly, she lit a match and threw it in the bowl. It extinguished itself after the briefest of moments, and when she opened her mouth, the words tumbling out belonged to a language so ancient, the earth beneath them shook.

It made him think of that song she liked to sing. If only I could, I’d make a deal with God, I’d get him to swap our places. Her singing was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, but he hated it when she sang that song. Because he knew how true it was. Every time she’d put herself in danger to save him despite his best efforts, he’d been scared that the next time would be the last. That the next time she saved him, it would be by swapping places with him, and usually, the place he was in was something life-threatening. Or actually death. The next time would be the one where the price would be her life. And here they were. The next time. The last time.

Dean, incorporeal as he was at the moment, lunged towards her to engulf her in a hug, instinctually, to calm her enough to try to tell her to stop, to try to get her to listen. But a white light spread out from her chest. His hand landed on her shoulder against all odds. With his cold, lifeless body beneath her hands, she looked up and mouthed three words. The last thing he saw was her shielding his head and chest with her body. The barn burned white after that.

###

All rights to the characters and Supernatural belong to the original writers, but I've worked really hard on this, and I ask that this story please not be saved and/or copied to other places or sites.

Tagging: @deanwinchesterswitch, @siospins2

#in a million memories #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester x happiness otp 💟#chapter one is up besties #moots who don't follow me for finale fix-it's please bear with me 😅#if anyone just wants the story content i will be reblogging it to my sideblog deaneverafterstories #where i will also eventually start reblogging stories from all the great writers i haven't gotten to reblog on here before!

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etherealinowrites · 2 years

Text

mellow morning | 2 | chan

pairing- female reader x chan, special feature by felix!, short felix x reader

summary- you deleted the song your boyfriend had been working on for months just a few days before he had to present it to his superiors.

or, the part where chan regrets

genre- angst, fluff

requested- yes

wc-2.6K

tw- swearing, angst, mentions of breaking up, fluffy ending, crying, a whole load of it, kissing.

taglist- @channieclair @qtieskz @dreamescapeswriting @sungmon-xx @kamepty @anikolova9

part one, masterlist, taglist,

the anger rushing through his mind came to small stops, for a few mere seconds before it picked itself up all over again and he felt rage bubble harder than before.

with a jolt he realised that you’d just walked out of the house with only your phone and wallet and little to nothing to protect you from the cold winter wind of the night. he snatched up a shawl from the sofa before rushing out after you.

unfortunately, he couldn’t find you in the streets. his realisation had come too late and your feet had been too quick.

the streetlights seemed like spotlights but he couldn’t see anything he wanted to. he couldn’t see you.

he let out a deep exhale, his breath forming mist in the air.

“it’s probably best for her and me. i wouldn’t want her near when I am not angry.”

“its her fault anyway.”

he sated his concerns for the night and headed back inside, slamming the door shut in ebbing anger.

you took long steps in the dark, wrapping your arms around your shivering figure. you were angry, angry at yourself and sorry, sorry towards chan.

you cursed yourself for not taking something to wear in the cold but luckily, the person you were going to lived awfully near to your place.

you were upset and while you felt like breaking inside, you were not crying. granted, deep breaths sometimes broke and a light gasp made it clear to you that you were not in a right state of mind.

with a huge sigh of relief, you entered the apartment building thanks to the visitor pass felix had gotten made for you.

a press on the intercom was all it took for the large oak door to open and a messy haired felix stood on the other side.

“y/n?” He tilted his head, taking in your appearance. “what’s wrong little one?’

he’d seen your name check in to the society and he’d smiled immediately, eager to meet you but when he saw you through his intercom, his heart dropped to his stomach and he punched the open door command quicker than ever.

he stepped forward hastily, pulling your shivering figure inside. “get in first.”

his warm arms captured you and he rubbed your cold arms in order to warm you up. walking over to the couch, he sat you down before giving your forehead a quick kiss and rushing inside.

as soon as his warmth left you, the shivers began again and a lump formed in your throat.

“here!” you heard felix run back with a huge hoodie and blanket in his hands. “Wear this.” he sat down beside you, pulling the hoodie over you. “SKZ WORLD TOUR : DISTRICT 9 UNLOCK” it read, in small white letters in the front.

he threw the blanket over you, pushing it up to your chin and let out a deep breath, putting his hands on your knees. “what’s wrong little one?” he asked you once more, his eyes now downcast and dull.

worry coated his features and he could not help but wonder what had shaken you up so badly.

“i-“ you took a deep breath, the argument and the disappointed anger on chan’s face flashed before you and you bit our lip. tears now welled up in your eyes and spilled out.

“fuck.” felix muttered, reaching over and putting an arm around you.

“i had a fight with chan.” you mumbled, shaking in between your sobs. “and he told me he didn’t want to see me.”

felix’s eyes softened, ah, it was just a lovers spat. his heart relaxed, knowing you and chan, you’ll probably make up before the night ended.

it was a rare sight though, for felix atleast who’d been your best friend from high school and chan’s trainee then band mate. the two of you rarely fought, and on those occasions you both made up within hours.

“oh, y/n,” he cooed, rubbing your back soothingly. “i know you both. don’t worry, chan will be here anytime now and it will all be fine.”

your red cheeks and nose, messed up liner and shivering figure, made him nothing but uneasy. “its, its not so easy this time felix.” you cried, soft sobs cracking through and the blanket fell down from your chest to your lap.

felix waved a nonchalant hand and gave a shrug. “aw come on y/n, i’ve known you both for years-“

“i deleted his new song felix.” You whispered, so incredibly low that you weren’t sure if he could hear it.

felix’s parted lips and wide eyes told you he could. “you deleted, a song he made?” he knew this was now definitely serious.

“See.” You pointed out. “He deserves to be angry at me. And I deserve the pain I am in right now.”

“Oh hush y/n.” He frowned. “So what? You deleted a song. Big deal, that’s no reason for him to kick you out on a cold night?” He sat up straighter. “Ill knock some sense into him. Let me get you some tea first.”

“No lix,” you held him by his wrist. “Don’t. I don’t want to disappoint him more. He needs space and honestly, we both do.” With pleading eyes, you looked up at him. ‘Please don’t tell him anything for now, he needs to be as faraway from me as possible, and so do I.”

Felix opened his mouth to protest, but upon seeing your expression, he closed his lips and closed your hand with his.

“Okay little one, as you say.” He smiled, bringing his hand to your cheek and caressing it softly. “At least let me get you some tea and you can stay as long as you want okay? You know which room you can take.”

You smiled softly, nodding.

Chan sat in front of his laptop with tired eyes. This would be the 8th all nighter he’d be pulling in the last ten days.

The digital screen almost seemed like it was mocking him as he repeatedly tried to restore the song he’d made.

Fucking hell.

It was gone.

For good.

So was the composition, the lyrics, the arrangement and the whole production of it.

Resisting the urge to smash his laptop into two, he decided to throw the cushion beside him. It landed with a disappointing thump to the floor.

He’d been so excited for this songs’s release. He had worked hard on it, slaving away really to make it perfect. And now, all of it was gone.

Because of a stupid mistake. His thoughts then morphed to you and as angry as he was, he couldn’t help but wonder how you were.

He checked the time, 1 am and picked up his phone before he could stop himself.

Pick up, pick up, pick up

And you didn’t. His heart filled with a horrible feeling of dread, you were safe right? You were, were warm right now right? Were you, crying now? Sad?

His heart dropped to depth he didn’t know were possible and he cursed and dialled you once more.

Met with nothing.

Radio silence on both side.

He cursed, then dialled once more. His panicked frustration grew with every beep of the tele static.

Nine tries later, you answered with a meek hello.

“What the fuck y/n? Why aren’t you answering my calls?” His worry turned to angry concern and he couldn’t control his words as they spilled out.

“I thought you wanted space-“

“Well I also wanted you to not deleted my song but look where we are.” His eyes widened as he realised what he’d blurted out in a moment of vulnerability and licked his lips. “I- uh- uh did not mean tha-“

“Save it chan.” You deadpanned, angry at both of you.

Why did he even call if he just wanted to argue further?

“I get that I made a mistake and I am sorry aren’t I?” You told him, firmer in your tone.

“Well apologising isn’t gonna bring the song back now is it?” Chan shot back, all his exhaustion and stress dripping into his words and he mistook his irritation for anger.

“Well then I am fucking sorry for apologising and trying to give you space.” You hung up after that, not wanting to trouble the two of you any further.

A deep sadness held your heart as you wiped your face with your hand, the small trembles proving just how horrible you felt.

Chan felt his heart drop as you hung up, his hands itching to throw his phone away in anger. Gripping it in his hand, he brushed away the tear that had fallen down.

The fact that you just swore proved how distressed you were. You who wouldn’t swear vocally no matter what happened, just swore as loud as you could to his ears.

He gripped his head, fingers threading in his hair.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Why did he say all that?

Sighing, he decided to sleep the frustration off. There was no point in trying to talk to you now, you both needed to calm down. Maybe he’ll also come up with an excuse for the superiors tomorrow.

Felix frowned when he woke up next morning. A tray of two cups of coffee in his hands as he knocked on your door. With a bitter expression, he walked into your room after hearing you say come in.

“How’re you today little one?” He greeted you, smiling as you tried to send one back.

He could see that you’d barely slept at night, evident by the fatigue on your face.

“Morning, Im alright, and you lix?”

“Just peachy.” He grinned, reaching over to give your forehead a peck.

“Does chan know you’re here?” He asked and the shake of your head told him no. “That idiot, he didn’t call me either. Does he not care about where you are?” Felix tsked. “He is gonna get it from me today at work.”

“I think, he doesn’t care about me.” You whispered, “not anymore.”

When Felix leaned forward, a tentative expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

You smiled sadly, breathing in the coffee scent. “I think it’s a fight for good. I think we will break up this time.”

—

The day at the company was little tense, with members noticing an obvious tension emanating from chan.

“Something wrong Felix?” Chan pulled Felix aside after the group meeting. “You seemed, uncomfortable, more so with me?”

It was true, Felix cut chan off every time he tried to speak, rolled his eyes often at his words and let out small scoffs at his suggestions.

“Well I wouldn’t know, I mean, being rude to someone else for not a huge reason is something you-“ Felix began, ready for a huge debate.

“How is she doing Felix.” Chan interrupted him and Felix blinked twice.

“What?”

“How is she Felix?’

“You, knew?”

Chan smiled sadly, looking down at his feet. “Of course I knew, I think you’re forgetting where I used to live before dating her. I still get check in messages, I know if anything happens, she goes to you.”

Felix bit his lip, Chan did care about you, and his suspicions had been wrong.

‘So, is she alright?” Chan asked once more and the concern in his eyes broke Felix’s heart.

Maybe it was evident on Felix’s face, or maybe chan knew you too well, but the shadows covering chan eyes now told Felix that chan knew and regretted.

“She thinks you both will break up.” Felix let out slowly, unable to meet chan’s eyes.

“What?” Chan yelled, unable to hide his shock. “Is she that sad?”

“Of fucking course you dick! You literally kicked her out of your home!” Felix doubled back at him.

“I was angry! I lost control of my emotions and I know I Shouldn’t have done that!” Chan ran his fingers through his hair. “She’d deleted the most important song of this comeback!”

“The song you’d written for her.” Felix added, a certain emotion in his eyes. “You made her cry, over a song meant for her.”

Chan gulped, feeling a constrictive feeling in his throat.

“Fuck I messed up, I should,”

“Go, talk. Now.” Felix patted his back, ushering him to go to his place. ‘Here are my keys. Go.”

“Hey Lix, back so soon?” You sniffed, arising out of your blanket burrito with your book.

The book slipped from your hands, dropping onto the couch as you noticed chan opening the door instead.

You immediately felt the urge to run over to him, throw your arms around him and brush his exhaustion away yet you steeled yourself, and forced yourself to remain still.

You both stood silent for a minute, unable to talk or look at each other.

“Im sorry-“ You both began at the same time, effectively shutting each other up but then a small sigh broke you both apart.

“I am so sorry y/n, baby I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, kicking you out like that-“

You shook your head, getting up and interrupting him. “I am the one at fault. I was the one who destroyed your song-“

“So what, I’ll make another, after all, it was your song, technically you deleted something that was yours.” Chan breathed, walking to you.

You blinked, letting him come closer. “What?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t angry at the fact that you deleted the song, I was angry at the fact that, you deleted a song I’d made for you, about you.” He mumbled, now closer to your standing figure.

With tentative steps, he took your hand in his and his familiar touch made your eyes tear up.

“Oh god, I am so sorry-“

Chan stopped you from speaking with his lips, caressing yours slowly as he conveyed all he couldn’t. You could feel his pain, anger, guilt and regret wash away, replacing itself with apologies and forgiveness.

“We won’t break up, not over something as insignificant as this, not ever.” Chan mumbled in between the kiss and pulled you closer. “We will fight but we will always talk it out okay? I am sorry, I promise I won’t ever lash out like that again.”

You smiled. “I can’t have you promise that, we’re humans, we all get angry, we all lash out, we all have bad days. Just, just don’t push me away the next time that happens. We’ll get over the tough times together please?”

Chan nodded, smiling in awe at you understanding and fondly gazed into your eyes.

“I am sorry Channie, I won’t use your laptop again, I’ll just tell you to check things for me instead.”

He kissed you once more. “Its okay baby, we both did wrong, but we both apologised and we are now understanding each other.”

“YOU BITCH-“ A loud slam was heard as changbin shot open the door to felix’s apartment, making you and chan jump in surprise.

“What is it changbin-“ Chan began, frowning when chnagbin threw a small black box inside a foam pouch towards him.

Chan caught it with ease. “What?”

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT THAT DISK HAS A BACKUP FOR ALL THE SONGS!” He yelled, exasperated at his leader. He laughed amusedly before turning to you. “Y/n, I suggest you leave this idiot and date me instead. I unlike someone, have half a brain to BACKUP important stuff.” He sighed to which you gave a wide eyed reaction. “When Felix told me why you ran back this early, I knew I had to knock some sense into you you prick.”

“Wow.” You slowly turned to chan, who was standing with parted lips.

“Looks like you have a lot of making up to do huh chan? Y/n’s gonna kick your ass now. I wanna see, do it y/n!”

“Actually,” You chuckled, rubbing chan’s arm affectionately. “I’d rather hear the song now. Right Channie.”

Chan smiled, cooing at you to which Changbin scoffed.

“You both are crazy for each other, I should’ve sent Felix here instead.”

a/n- unedited and written on a different device (not my usual one) so the captialisation is different than usual.

hope you enjoyed it!

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toutallyahoe · 3 years

Note

Dear, you need to stop exposing yourself. How am I supposed to friendly bully you if you keep doing it to yourself? =P

jk, love you. Anyway, cause I have actually seen a RE2 playthrough and remember like maybe 5% of it, please do give me your nsfw thoughts on Leon.

pairing(s): leon kennedy x male reader

warnings: cursing, nsfw content ahead

a/n: cn, daeling, i literally am trying but unfortunately i have half a braincell and asdagjsjdkfjdjdfafa *sobs* 😭😭😭

but anyways, i think someone asked for my hcs on leon's kinks awhile ago but imma just compile it here like i did with ethan's as well 😌😌😌

also, i still havent finished re2 yet so adsgjskdkdksldkjfksjdjf

leon is affection starve (whether he admits it or not)

and that he has a bit of an abandonment issues

but anyways—

leon is affection starve. period.

he didnt knew it at first until you came along and made him feel love and adored for the first time in his life

this leads to him wanting more physical contact while having sex

as well as him having a praise kink

call him handsome, pretty boy or your baby boy and this man will go soft

just praise him please

or have your hands roam and touch his entire body while whispering praises on his skin

but back to the physical thing

leon needs to have your hands either hold his hips in place when you pound into him

press yourself close to him and remind him that you are right beside him please

leon adores getting praises as he gets fucked

mate pressing is definitely his favorite position btw

he just wants you close

leon is also very much into biting, not from zombies or anything, but he wants to be marked by yours

mark him as yours that when he wakes up in the morning and see the hickeys and bites you left on his skin

it makes leon smile and reminded what happened with the both of you the night before

leon loves you so much and will sacrifice everything for you

which is very sweet of him really

but anyways, more nsfw!!!

welcome home sex is a must due to leon not liking on leaving you alone

especially if leon comes home from a very long job and just wants to forget everything in the world besides you and fucking him hard

you both also mostly have sex either into the living room wall or floor because neither of you couldnt even wait to go to the bedroom

welcome home sex is much more desperate and passionate sex than the usual soft ones you guys do and it mostly a bit more kinkier as well

when you do managed to get into the bedroom though, its really just the same as you fuck him to the floor but at least its soft to slam him there lmao

anyways, teasing leon is fine

he is a bit into foreplay but just dont make it too long or else he'll go power bottom on you even if he is tired af and his body is begging for him to rest

but teasing, yes

teasing and commenting on leon for probably touching himself while he was away with the thought of you fucking him isnt really anything new to you both

leon wouldnt actually masturbate on a mission but he sometimes thinks about it and really tempted since he gets hot and bothered by thinking about you being there and help him blow off some steam

unfortunately for leon, you arent so reasons why the welcome sex is a must

you gotta make up for being too damn sexy to almost make him touch himself in a life or death mission you know!

also just edge leon's pretty ass that has him begging for you to let him cum and fill him up to the brim and make him reminded that he got fucked good please

leon wants to be filled by you and fuck him good that he'll remember it until he goes back for another mission

youre his fuel basically lmao

also, choking

just choking yall

leon gets off to you choking when you both get kinky

which isnt that rare tbh since most soft vanilla you guys do almost always ends with some nice spice added in the mix

anyways, leon loves the way your hands wrapped around his neck and occasionally squeeze to let him know youre in control

he just loves being breathless by you fucking him basically makes him turn on more

he is really into that

god, please choke him while praising how much of a good boy he is

in the end really, leon is just very happy to come back every mission with you welcoming him lovingly with a smile on your lips

1K notes · View notes

moririki · 3 years

Text

⤷ MORE THAN YOU'D BARGAIN FOR

DENJI X READER -> 1.7K when it comes to a fool blinded by love, it sure hurts to have the short end of the stick

REQUEST -> ✰ CONTAINS -> angst, friends with benefits‼️, happy ending bc i'm weak like that, denji not knowing how to process emotions, very loose college!au cos i'm lazy, makima being slightly antagonised because fuck her, mentions of sex but nothing super explicit i don't think MORI'S THOUGHTS -> thinking about denji's hands. i want to learn how to animate manga panels now so i can do a csm edit. also the writing style got kinda boring im SORRY

HEARTBREAK WAS ALWAYS BOUND TO HAPPEN IN THESE SORT OF RELATIONSHIPS. anyone with a pair of eyes and ears could give a clear answer to the question "who does denji like?" and no matter how much you wanted that answer to change, it would never be you.

even when the blonde boy had been so insistent on his heart belonging to another, he still had urges. so under the influence of one too many bottles of alcohol, it was a fairly easy decision for both of you to fall into bed together. more than once. more than you'd care to admit.

being with denji was nice. he was funny, sweet at times and vulgar during the others, and you found yourself repeating a mantra of don't catch feelings for your friend during your time together. and truth be told, it was hard not to, even when you and denji had finished your business and the topic of conversation always seemed to make its way back to makima.

it left a bitter taste in your mouth when denji acted like nothing had happened between the pair of you in other settings. the bitterness turned sour when you realised that there was no reason for him to have to either, and you cursed yourself when you realised you had done the worst thing possible and gone and fallen for your friend who so clearly wouldn't like you back.

but there were times where you thought that you just might have a chance.

even though your cursed your heart for fluttering and rearing its head each time so willingly at denji's mercy, you couldn't help but take every offhand action of his as a ray of hope. with the way his hands engulfed yours to anchor himself as he thrusted into you, the way his lips left urgent kisses on your lips as you panted beneath him, the way he whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you cried out in ecstasy.

and even when you were lying next to each other in his bed, catching your breath. you would turn to look at his face sometimes, only to see him staring at you already with a look in his eyes that could only be described as wistful. but you were a fool to think that you could ever upseat makima in denji's eyes.

false hope could only get you so far.

with his breath tickling the back of your neck and his large hand rubbing patterns into your hip, this false hope really had gotten you somewhere. but all good things must come to an end. words that you dreaded to say weighed heavy on your tongue, but you dragged yourself along, lifting them just enough to feel them escape your lips before you could really stop them.

"denji, what are we?"

you felt the hand that rested on you go still, and the arm that was poised as a pillow for you went rigid. hell, the boy that was holding you so close to his chest had practically stopped breathing, and you felt your eyelids slide shut in a bitter defeat before you heard another word. it's not like you needed them to understand how he felt, anyway.

"we're friends, aren't we?" his tone was so controlled, so even and level and unlike the denji that you knew and, dare you say it, loved. it sent another shot tubneling straight through your heart, and you were glad that you were currently facing away from him. you wouldn't be able to handle seeing the look on his face as all of your tentative hopes were crushed under his heel. all you wanted to do was curl in on yourself and maybe try to cry away the numbness that was invading your body from the chest outward.

you raised a shaking hand to push denji's own off of you, and you felt the mattress underneath you creak as the boy shifted in confusion at your behaviour.

"y/n?"

your kept your back turned to him as you got out of his bed, pulling on your own clothed and scowling in frustration when you couldn't find your shirt anywhere. you were seconds away from letting the first droplets fall, and you did not want to let denji see.

you snagged some random material of a shirt off of the bedroom floor, yanking it over your head and turning to face denji with a face that you hoped wasn't too scrunched from holding back your tears.

"we're not just friends and you fucking know it."

you didn't have time to register his wounded facial expression or the pleading calls of your name that he cast towards your retreating figure, but you grabbed your shoes before leaving his dorm, shutting the door behind you a little too forcefully and storming off back to your own room.

you must look insane, padding along the halls with no shoes as angry tears streaked down your face and you tried your best not to audibly sob. by the time you had made it back to your room your eyes were streaming, and you flopped on your bed with little regard for anything else other than crying your eyes out.

truth be told, after that fateful night and the best cry of your life you felt much better. you knew where you stood, you had your feelings sorted out, and you knew that a little distance would really help you to finally move on from your friend.

now, if only denji would stop calling and texting you like nothing had happened.

you felt like you could scream when you saw a notification from him, asking if you wanted to study for the test that you had next week. you bit back the petty urge to ask him if he wanted to study with you as just friends, instead opting to turn your phone off and bury your face in your pillow once again.

matters of the heart take time, after all.

on denji's end, things weren't looking much better. he brushed off his confusion at your actions and words when you had left so abruptly the other day, only to find himself staring at his ceiling trying to decipher his feelings and what the hell you had meant.

he likes makima. and he has, for a while now. he could count on one hand the amount of times he had interacted with the girl who sat in front of him in the lecture hall, and every time had been met with this strange giddy feeling in his chest. though it was rare, he knew that feeling.

but the one he felt right now was so, so, different. when the door clicked shut behind you, it felt like a piece of him had up and left along with you. the very reason that he had accelerated things so far in your relationship was because of how right things felt with you. the slightest graze of your fingertips across his chest didn't light any fireworks in his mind, but it's like warmth perforated his skin and was injected straight into him from you.

truth be told, that feeling was the most addicting he had ever felt. and when he heard that air of finality right after the door shut behind you, it didn't take long for denji to realise just how cold everything felt without you.

but he still liked makima, right?

that giddy feeling in his chest he got from her was enough to fill the you-shaped hole, right?

you not talking to him wasn't what made his heart hurt, right?

he only realised just how wrong he had it when he talked to makima for the fourth time ever. she had turned in her seat, even smiling at him and asking for a pen, and all that came to mind was how much he missed your smile.

hell, he missed everything. the sound of your laugh, the smell of your hair. the way you fit against him and said his name. and that's when he realised this you-related feeling was.

longing.

there was a knock on your door. and another. you groaned, rolling over to check the time to see that it was three in the morning.

by the time you had cracked your door open you saw a flash of blond hair and a face all-too-familiar, you knew it was too late to slam your door shut. denji's face perked up, and you already knew that you were done for.

he lifted his hand, revealing a pretty albeit crumpled bouquet of flowers. you almost giggled to yourself, guessing that the mastermind of that romantic gesture was most likely denji's roommate aki. but it was appreciated, nonetheless.

"what do you want, denji?" you were painfully aware of just how much of a mess you looked right now- eyes still red around the rim from how many self-pitying tears you had shed over this entire situation.

denji's mouth and opened and closed, and you sighed against your barely open door which still had a chain on it.

"i'm not in the mood, denji."

"no, no, it's just that i wanted to say that i've finally figured out what we are." it appears tgat your friend finally found his voice. you looked him in the eye again, trying not to let the hope in your heart build itself too high. "we're way more than friends, y/n."

you felt any resistance crumble at those words, and the sheepish smile on your face grew.

"so, can i come in?" you smiled at denji, shutting your door to undo the latch before opening it again, wide enough to let him back in to your life. consider him a weakness of yours.

the first thing denji did when he crossed the threshold of your door was wrap his arms around you, dried tears and crumpled flowers and all, and bury his face in your hair. the only words he had to offer was a mumbled i miss you into your skin, and you felt your body melt against him like it had so many times before.

when you finally broke apart, you couldn't help but wonder.

"so, what are the flowers for denji?" the boy before you blushed, his eyes flitting off to the side. he raised a hand to the back of his neck, taking a breath to summon some courage.

"i was hoping... that i could take you out on a date. or be your boyfriend. something like that."

"what?" denji was still bright red, though his eyes were locked onto yours.

"you heard me." you smiled once again, taking a step forwards and effectively closing the distance between you two.

"i would love to."

take a look at the menu - ,, ⚖️ ·˚ ༘ ꒱

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tteokdoroki · 4 years

Text

what he lost | k.bakugou.

⇝ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

⇝ word count: 5.4K

⇝ rating: for everyone.

⇝ genre: pro hero!au, exes!au, angst.

⇝ summary: back then; he was young, dumb and a little too prideful, taking your love for granted. now, years down the line he wonders if he’ll ever stand a chance in getting you back or the one in which katsuki bakugou grew up a little too late.

⇝ warning(s): please read ! heavy angst, no happy ending, mentions of toxic relationships, emotional distress, mentions of violence ( explosions, fight scenes, knives, blood ) and cursing all around.

⇝ author’s note(s): greetings everyone!! i hope you’re all doing well, today’s one-shot is a request from @killakatsuki, i know you wanted a happy ending but i got a little ahead of myself eee !! anyways thank you all for 400+ followers, i love you all :(

⇝ masterlist | requests

“katsuki bakugou if you leave me right now, please... please don’t come back.”

bakugou had always hated that, he thought, casting his gaze elsewhere in the room. he always hated how you cried when you were angry, red hot tears stinging a pathway down the apples of your usually glowing cheeks.

he couldn’t quite place the reasoning as to why. maybe it was because you rarely ever found yourself angry or perhaps it was how pathetic you looked when your bottom lip wobbled and your harsh words were laced with watery sobs.

or maybe it was because he didn’t want to feel sorry for you, didn’t want to comfort you when he was too prideful to admit that you were right. “whatever, don’t tell me what the fuck to do.” he spits, eyes and voice full of a venom he barely ever uses against you. he watches with a scarlet gaze as you falter, as if a knife has dug deep into your heart and cut you all up but bakugou only scoffs and continues to pack his side kick costume into the duffle bag he’s got on your shared bed.

every fibre of his being is tell him to reach out for you and apologise, he knows that he’s wrong. keeping his late night shifts from you, working extra hours— of course you were going to worry but he needed you to understand that being a hero was his dream above all else. the last thing he needed was a distraction like you.

something in you changed that night, both of you. as the rain hit hard on the roof of your shared apartment, even as you took his things and threw them out into the hall and even as you gave him one last chance on the doorstep. “you can leave now and not comeback or you can stay and we’ll talk this through—“ your eyes spoke to him in a silent plead, asking him if he would really give up the life that you’d built for lies and a better job?

but you knew the answer already.

“like i said,” katsuki rolled his eyes as knowing sobs wracked your body. “i never needed you anyways.”

you slammed the door before he could walk away and forget the tears in your eyes.

six years later and katsuki is pissed.

he’d been irritable since this morning when his interns fucked up the paperwork at his agency— leaving him to clean it up and then when his assistant brought him the wrong coffee and forgot to notify him of the pro hero meeting he was currently attending right at this very minute.

of course heroes of all different calibers were present; including none other than the number two, shoto todoroki, who was in charge of directing this week’s patrol missions but something about that only grinds the explosive pro’s gears even more. although, he could see himself being even more pissed if the number one; deku had shown his face instead of being away on an overseas mission. the schedule for this week’s patrol sits heavily in bakugou’s hand and he almost wants to burn it to pieces just at the thought of working with his future partner.

‘yn ln.’

the sight of your name printed in block capitals next to his has the ash blonde reeling, glancing up to send a blazing scowl towards shoto. he feels set up, as if the half hot, half cold bastard is dangling you right in front of him— its not like todoroki doesn’t know the history that sits between bakugou and yourself, after all, he had been the friend you’d ran off to during the fight that ended your five year relationship.

it’s like todoroki had a sixth sense because by the time he’d finish announcing the pair ups, he’d tiredly caught wind of katsuki’s heated stare. “bakugou—“

“i wanna fuckin’ switch, icyhot.”

“you can’t.”

bakugou stands from his seat next to kirishima ( who only looks apologetically at his colleagues ), annoyance rippling through his veins as he approaches the taller male. “why the fuck not?” he growls, small explosions sparking in the palms of his sweaty hands ( he was undeniably nervous because of the impending patrol ) the group of heroes simultaneously sigh— having been used to the explosive pro’s usual outbursts.

todoroki sighs, running his cooler hand over his face. “because the pairs have been matched up by quirk and strength, on top of that they were done in advance so if you really have a problem with it then i suggest you take it up with the number one—“ the dual quirked hero falls silent, a triumphant smirk appearing on his lips as red riot pulls his friend away before it’s too late.

“dude, you can’t just go blowing people up!” the red head scolds beneath bakugou’s sailor mouth, wrestling him over to the couch.

katsuki feels defeated, there’s no way to get out of this situation. he’s done his best these last few years to avoid you like the plague. it was somewhat easy, considering you were lower in the ranks compared to him, so there wasn’t much time to interact anyway. but katsuki hated the fact that he had always thought you would fall below him.

nonetheless; he took to switching event time tables around, rejecting hang outs with his old high school friends... all to avoid you, and now that he had to see you face to face, he wasn’t sure how to react. would you still hate him? how did you feel about working with him?

there’s not much time to dwell on the thought for kirishima is already patting his back and guiding him out of the meeting as it ends, the promise of drinks at an ‘heroes only bar’ hanging in the air.

“you’re so handsome, ground zero ! thank you for protecting japan !”

bakugou can feel the bile rising in the back of his throat at the words from the sickly sweet fan, so he gives a nonchalant grunt in response as he finishes up his signature on her notebook before continuing his march to your hero agency. it’s been a few days since the meeting between the pro heroes and all the number three wants is to make it to your agency without being fawned over by more obsessive fans.

he gives the fan a casual wave, ignoring the look of disappointment on her face— either she was expecting his number or for him to grow bashful under her flurry of compliments but katsuki was never one for fan service.

he hated fans that expected something from him, ones who wanted more than a casual chat with their favourite pro hero but he wouldn’t let them in. they didn’t want the intimate, vulnerable sides of katsuki bakugou like you had— maybe that made the ash blonde stuck on you.

yn ln was the only girl in his life who had tried to understand the many layers of the hot headed hero, you saw past his aggressive nature and touched the deepest parts of his soul…parts that you longed to love and keep safe.

you’d loved him for who he was below the surface, not for the money and fame he had come to amass as number three in the ranks.

behind scarlet eyes are the best moments of the hero’s life, each shared with you. katsuki had took for granted the seconds you had been with him, even from the very start— he didn’t care for the way that you held him after he’d been kidnapped, clinging onto him like he’d disappear or would never return to your arms, he should have cherished the tears of worry you shed for him too but katsuki was too prideful at the time.

too full of himself even with his raging nightmares that you had managed to soothe.

you’d comforted him after he’d failed the licensing exams, promised him he’d still get to be the greatest hero of all time and still, bakugou had cared for none of this. now that he’d thought about it, he hadn’t been good to you, he didn’t know how you’d dealt with they way he undermined your quirk and doubted your ability to protect him when he should have been the one to protect you.

your love was wasted on him, and for that bakugou needed to apologise.

hands in his pockets, katsuki’s mind could have been said to be away with the fairies, haunted by the night he came home with a half hearted apology on his lips to an empty apartment and a note from you. something about staying with the icyhot bastard and not to contact you.

that is until he collided with the back of someone in the crowd. “hey!” he’s quick to growl out to the figure, a slight snarl to the words leaving his mouth. “watch where you’re going, shitty extra—“

“ah, katsuki! nice to see you haven’t changed,” your voice sends shivers down the blonde’s spine, bright red eyes focusing on you and only you. your smile is bright, dazzling under the hot japan sun and even if katsuki hadn’t changed, you certainly had— your pretty eyes he used to get lost in, he used to watch glimmer with tears now hold a different kind of light, they greyish hue that dulled you over your time with him had finally cleared.

you looked healthy, happier and bakugou realises how much your relationship must’ve wore you down.

he feels like he doesn’t deserve the grin that you give him; the one you would save just for him in the early mornings you’d spent together back when you were dating. maybe that makes his heart jumps out of his chest.

“y-yn— “

he hadn’t prepared himself for your sweet, airy giggle that fills the space between you. “ground zero getting shy on me now? don’t tell me you forgot about our shift today, did’ya?”

“n-no, ‘course not, dumbass.” fuck, katsuki’s heart thumps against his ribcage so loud that he’s afraid you might hear it with the little distance between you. since when did you make him nervous? despite the pet name, you still give him a laugh as a flicker of fondness twinges in your bright eyes.

it’s quickly replaced when you blink it away, beckoning ground zero into your hero offices. “nice to see that sailor’s mouth hasn’t changed either ,” you mumble more so to yourself than him. bakugou walks a few paces behind you while you explain to him that you have to finish assigning your sidekicks and interns a few low level missions before you can head off for the day.

the group of young heroes are excitable, seemingly loving the opportunity to work with you— their chatter is loud but it gives katsuki time to drink you in.

crimson eyes travel over your form while you talk— your hero costume has changed a lot since your U.A and sidekick days.

you’d interned under the number two at the time, hawks, thus leading you to have become one of his most trusted sidekicks. no doubt; his skill level had not only improved your abilities, how you controlled your quirk but your costume as well.

your quirk was known as lullaby, if you could sing a tune in the right pitch to certain groups of people, it allowed you control over the abilities and to put them to sleep. this obviously however meant you were poor at short distance attacks— something bakugou always teased you for, so he was excited to see how you’d improved.

your suit had a visor that allowed you to amplify your quirk, while patterns of the night sky dressed your body— paying homage to your hero name ‘nightsky’.

katsuki felt bad to imprinting the image of your skin tight, midnight blue suit into his mind but back when he had known you like you were his, your costume hadn’t been nearly as advanced as this.

snapping fingers pull him from his thoughts before they can get too hazy.

“eyes are up here, explosion boy.”

katsuki’s gaze snaps up to meet yours, an angry red to rival his gemstone eyes spreading like wildfire across his cheeks. “i wasn’t staring.” he tries his best to defend himself, but your knowing look tells him that you’ve caught him red handed.

“of course you weren’t, sidekicks left about ten minutes ago so we can head out now—unless you want to keep glaring daggers at my boobs, katsu.” you’re teasing him, voice dripping like honey off of a spoon as you waltz back out onto the streets of japan and leave a bewildered ground zero behind you.

you’ve changed so much since your relationship ended with bakugou, you’re stronger, a vixen and more confident in yourself.

and he hates knowing that he’s the one that kept you down all this time.

patrol remains uneventful even as the afternoon goes on and the stress of japan begin to fill with citizens for the oncoming rush hour.

the lack of action has lead your conversation to die within the wind and leaves katsuki alone with his thoughts for the time being— you only really speak when you catch the blonde staring you down or when he accidentally walks into something ( highly unusual for him ) but he enjoys the seconds where your teasing voice tickles the tips of his ears and you smile so wide his own lips pull into somewhat of a grin.

bakugou doesn’t know why he’s so quiet, not when the storm in his mind brews all the words he should have said to you years ago. the apologies, the grateful thanks that you deserved; none of these could fall from his tongue.

he liked to say he never had the opportunity, which was partly true you were both up and coming herores yes, but you had damn well made sure you’d never have to encounter bakugou unless the situation required it. and it seemed, that years down the line, he was still doing the same.

the thought alone cause nerves to choke him from the inside out, building up in his throat until all he can do is grunt in frustration— kicking an empty can along the road you’re currently walking down.

“that’s unlike you,” your chuckle cuts through the thick fog of katsuki’s mind, drawing deep red eyes towards your frame. you walk in front of him now, arms folded behind your head while you step backwards— the sight almost comical to anyone passing by. bakugou must look just as shocked because some how he manages to pull the cutest snort from you, even as his face morphs into a snarl and he marches forward to fall into pace with your steps. your eyes dazzle with your next words. “the great katsuki bakugou, quiet? never thought i’d see the day.”

you’ve always been able to read him like an open book, seeing right through the front he puts on. “i haven’t changed.” he grunts through his teeth.

katsuki stops walking when you do, now standing a breaths width away from you. electricity jumps between you both, static forming in the finger tips that just barely brush against bakugou’s arm.

your eyes spell it out for him, clear as day, as you finally reach out to touch him. His own close at the brief gesture, the pain from having lost you blooming across his chest.

“you did.” you breathe out, the warmth of your soft voice making katsuki’s eyes screw shut.

he could never get a lie past you.

“we both did.”

vermillion eyes open, trying to seek you out in the light of the day as bakugou wills and prays that he can say what he needs to right now, to get you back but he doesn’t have the chance as an explosion cuts through the building on your left.

bakugou manages to wrap his arms around you, shielding you from the blast before you hit the ground. the impulse sends you both rolling down the street, small grunts escaping you until you roll to a halt and end up on top of katsuki— straddling him.

dust and debris surrounds the pair of you, creating a thick smog in the air as sirens and screams sound off in the distance. the explosive hero groans in pain— no doubt with a litter of bruises forming under his suit but he has no time to register the sting properly before he’s noticing you on top of him, smirk on your face, devilish glint to your eye.

you’ve been waiting for some action all day.

you’re gone in the blink of an eye, so you must have a plan. katsuki remembers from high school that you made up for strategy where you once lacked in strength, so it’s no surprise to him that you’re already on the move. meanwhile; you manage to slide undetected through the smoke, moving fast to take out the low level criminals.

it’s only a robbery, but the explosion could have caused more casualties than you would have liked. you trust that bakugou can take care of the civilians and bring them out of harms way as you do your best o sus out the ringleader.

the grey tinted fog that sweeps over the area allows you both to work quickly; neither of you need to say anything, for one it would give away your position and secondly— there’s an underlying trust in one another that the two of you had built up when you worked together while dating.

bakugou, through his end, tackles down the small group of criminals after clearing the area and making sure no one was hurt. emergency services had been alerted and were already on their way, all there was now, was to predict your next movements and follow your lead. he’d never liked being bossed about, but the look in your eye made him believe you knew what you were doing.

you were right, you’d both changed. you might as well have been a better hero than him.

the ash blonde follows the trail of unconscious wannabe villains to your whereabouts, he only knows that they’re unconscious because of your ability to put people to sleep with your quirk— all you had to do was get close to them, which wouldn’t have been hard as katsuki knew first hand that these guys’ quirks weren’t shit.

“it’s almost funny, how you thought you could pull a stunt like this on a day when all of japan’s biggest heroes are in one place,” bakugou’s ears pick up on you teasing the criminal leader with that smooth chocolate voice and he follows it deeper into the air that’s heavy with debris— glad you were able to find him before the smoke cleared. “even with the number one out of town, tsk, you should have known better…”

the hot headed pro spots you, holding the hooded ringleader in a choke hold with only your thighs as you sit on his shoulders— eyes wide with victory.

he recognises the dip in your voice as you adjust your tone to put the guy to sleep and call it a day. you’re powerful, a great pro and bakugou watches with awe while you get ready to take this guy down once and for all.

“so cocky, nightsky— why do you think we chose attack the street you were on?” the guy spits through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to succumb to your lullaby of a voice.

brows furrowing, you decide not to dwell on the criminal’s words before leaning down to whisper. “sleep...” but katsuki’s body comes alive with fear as the villain wannabe jams a blade into your thigh, causing your grip on him to loosen enough for him to throw you to the floor and put a boot to your throat. “oh miss nightsky, you really rely too much on your quirk and not enough on your senses. hmm, i think it’s time we say goodnight, don’t you?” the guy chuckles while you squirm under his foot— the need for air burning sharply at your lungs.

bakugou, who’s remained hidden this entire time feels himself snap— a heavy explosion loading up behind his gauntlets while he launches himself right into the scene. he won’t let you struggle for your life, not on his watch. “GET YOUR FILTHY FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF OF HER!”

he reaches the criminal just before your eyes roll back into your head, an explosive right hook colliding with their cheek and sending them flying down the street.

the ash blonde reaches down to pull you up into his chest, that very same one heaving with laboured breaths; you’re shaking but it’s nothing you can’t handle even with the red lines at your throat.

“you good?”

“better, thanks to you.”

there’s a look that you wear right now, one that katsuki recognises from years of training and running into fights with you— you want to do the move. he nods at you, vermillion eyes lighting up with a bright fire while you grip onto ground zero’s wrists.

just as the villain stands, you kick your feet off the ground and in the meantime bakugou begins to twirl you in circular motions until you’ve built up enough momentum for him to throw you towards the criminal.

you collide with his back foot first, knocking him to the ground as your eyes glow a bright white. “i said, go the fuck to sleep.”

the criminal drops to sleep and you roll to the ground after taking him out. you smile to yourself at the familiar wail of sirens in the background but don’t bother to make an effort to stand up, letting the exhaustion, pain from the wound in your thigh and bruises at your neck finally flood your body.

sitting beside you, bakugou smirks and holds a fist out to you. “still got it,” he gestures between the pair of you, the same signature move you’ve been doing since high school having worked successfully once again.

“still got it.” you look up to the now clear sky, fist bumping bakugou right back.

he’s going to do it, he thinks, he’s going to apologise.

after everything you and bakugou had been through, something in his chest was relieved to know that you didn’t hate him, something in him is lead to believe that you’re going to give him another chance.

katsuki watches you now, an attendant from the paramedics that you called working on patching up the gash in your thigh while you rub a salve into your neck.

despite the pain you must be in; you’re still glowing, still smiling even when fans ask you for autographs or tell you how brave you were during the fight. you’re so genuine, such a ray of sunshine in the world and bakugou can feel himself falling for you all over again.

“Is that all mr. ground zero, sir?” an officer asks, taking down notes for the report about the incident. the hero nods, waving the kid off after giving them all of the details from today. they thank him and he finds himself marching over to you almost immediately, now that you’re all bandaged up.

“walking already, ln? are you sure it doesn’t hurt?”

you beam up at the ash blonde, hopping out of the back of the ambulance and rubbing at the tear in your hero costume where the cut is. “it’s good, stings a little but i’ve seen worse on you,” you comment to him, beginning your stride back to your agency.

“and who’s fault is that, dumbass?” a genuine laughter bubbles in bakugou’s throat, albeit raspy, its not a foreign sound to your ears and it makes you laugh along with him.

he knows you’re referencing the many times you’d kicked hiss ass when sparring from high school to your side kick days. back then you‘d have traced every scar that littered his pretty body and told him how much you loved him.

katsuki aids you while you head back to the nightsky agency, you insist that you don’t need help to walk but you’re limping and the explosive pro hero is stubborn as hell— he’s not about to let you get hurt again, even if its physically and not mentally like he had done to you before.

with the lighter mood, memories flitter between you both— you mention how katsuki used to love his food so spicy you would cry and he brings up the time you had given him and kirishima a bout of food poisoning when you’d come up with an alternative to the latter’s cooking. the stories don’t seem to end even as you lean into him more; trusting him again.

“about what i said earlier…” you begin after finally coming to a halt outside your agency building, a scarlet gaze full of fondness lands on you. you turn to face him with the softest of smiles, half chewing on your bottom lip— something he knew you did when you were nervous. “you’re different, to how…how you were back then and it’s good, katsuki you’re so good…”

there’s a breath of silence, only filled by the quiet hum of city traffic where people are travelling to and from home. “i’m glad i had time to become good,” bakugou offers, forgoing the words ‘for you’ and pausing instead. “i regret who i was back then, with you… thought it made you hate me and that you wouldn’t fuckin’ work with me today.”

you shake your head, breaking contact with bakugou to paw at the stupid tears preparing to make their way down your cheeks. “i-i did hate you for a while, after everything…but we were young and dumb and—“ you freeze as the ash blonde wipes a stray tear from your cheek, you not having realised that it’d escaped. “and i’m so thankful to have met you, to have shared a love with you, you taught me so much and that i could never hate you for.”

“yn...i—“ i love you. i’m sorry. i should have loved you better. the words are there, the ones that katsuki always told himself he would say to you if he had the chance but he finds himself frozen and unable to speak. why? why now? when the perfect chance sat right in front of him, the perfect time for him to make it up to you.

to start over.

“yes, katsuki?”

to get you back.

“yn i’m sorry—“

“—guess who?”

a sing song voice full of positivity bursts through the moment while a pair of hands clasp their way over your pretty eyes and hide them away from the world.

bakugou instantly recognises the voice as belonging to none other than his childhood rival and number one pro hero, deku. he seems to have changed— grown taller, green hair shaved at the sides for an undercut.

the ash blonde isn’t very sure what else has changed, but then again they hadn’t seen much of each other as sidekicks, working under different agencies with different missions.

it was only as they started competing for the top ranks that they started to run the same circles— but bakugou had no idea how you would’ve come to know deku since the blonde hated him and you were dating each other for most of that time.

katsuki is just about to tell the green haired idiot to ‘fuck the fuck off’ for ruining his moment when you do the unexpected.

you clasp your hands over midoriya’s, cheeky smile gracing your lips as you attempt to pull them away from your face. “let me think, could it be? izuku midoriya?” relenting to your cheery voice— deku pulls away from you, hands falling to grip your waist sweetly. possesively. horror flashes behind bakugou’s raging red eyes. you turn in his rival’s strong arms, smiling so hard that it delves deep into the apples of your cheeks. “izu ! when did you get back? i thought you wouldn’t make it in time for today…”

“flew in this morning doll, i wanted to surprise you—“ the number one beams down at you and bakugou’s world crumbles when you cut him off while pressing a chaste kiss to deku’s lips right in front of his eyes.

this couldn’t be happening...since when were you and the damn nerd a thing? why didn’t he realise? why didn’t he grow up and try and get you back sooner?

he has no choice but to sit and stare, a dark cloud now sitting over his shattered heart.

all the while, you’re giggling into deku’s lips, fumbling over his hands that pinch at your sides just to get you to gasp enough for him to kiss you more. the painful ( well, only for the explosive pro ) lip lock ends when you both come up for air and your eyes land on your ex boyfriend.

“ah, katsuki ! you remember deku right? wait that’s a dumb question you were literally childhood friends—“ you start to ramble, mind getting away from you and katsuki barely registers anything that leaves your lips. his crimson eyes lock with the emerald ones that stare right back at him and hurt swells in his chest.

to deku, he must look like a kicked puppy. a weakling. a loser.

all the things he had labelled izuku midoriya when they were kids.

when bakugou tunes back into your excited rambling, his heart cracks even more in his chest. “this green giant flew all the way in from overseas to come home for wedding planning ! can you believe it?” the answer to your question is an obvious no.

he had no idea that you had been seeing the number one, let alone being engaged to him. the hot headed hero freezes in his spot when you reach down the chest of your hero costume to pull out a silver necklace.

on the end of it, an engagement ring with a tiny emerald in it’s centre.

katsuki bakugou feels sick, bile rising up in his throat. he’d really lost you. really. “...pretty thing that is, congratulations.” he mentions blankly, eyes trained on midoriya once again. you don’t notice, but deku does and bakugou hates the sympathetic, apologetic look that the fucking nerd gives him.

“mhm ! izu put it on a necklace for me because, well you know, i’m clumsy and didn’t want to lose the thing,”

you’re so clueless that it hurts, burning katsuki from the inside out. that should be him. it should be his arms around you, his lips on yours, his engagement ring on that fucking necklace. not deku’s, not anyone’s. the green headed hero beside you seems to notice the distress ebbing away at your ex and tilts your head up to look at him. “doll, why don’t you head inside and change into something more comfy real quick? we’ve got cake tasting in an hour…”

the tail end of deku’s words are drowned out by your happily animated squeal and with a quick nod you press a kiss to his freckled cheek and bounce inside— missing the way bakugou winces at your display of affection.

it’s quiet despite the bustling sounds of the city but neither if them know what to say, even as the minutes pass.

bakugou knows that you’d be better off with deku, he would treat you right and give you the love that you deserved all along. but that didn’t make it any less painful.

“kacchan, look...“ the number one says eventually, green eyes swirling with guilt. “i’m sorry—“

the blonde shakes his head, spitting his words out through gritted teeth. “don’t...just,” fuck, it hurts to breathe. “just…take care of her for me, you got that deku?”

“yeah, of course…”

the pair of childhood rivals don’t have much time to speak after that, for you’re already bounding out of your agency wearing a comfortable mint green summer dress and pair of red sneakers to rival deku’s, despite the thick bandage to your thigh.

“ready to go?” you ask your fiancé, face as warm and as bright as it had once been when you used to look at bakugou. izuku nods, delight dancing in his eyes despite the nervous chew to his bottom lip, before letting you turn to your ex lover. “great ! well, see you around kasuki, don’t be a stranger ! we’ve got to catch up again sometime, alright?”

you link arms with izuku midoriya, your fiancé, after that—walking away and leaving ground zero in the dust.

he doesn’t know how long he stands there for, heart in his hands even while he comes to the realisation that you hadn’t gone to todoroki that night when you’d left. no, you’d only told him that so it hurt a little less when he found out midoriya had been the one to look after you. you’d lied because you’d loved him.

you lie because you love him.

and it was only now that katsuki bakugou had realised what he’d lost.

3K notes · View notes

1kook · 3 years

Text

one man, no hands

— a some way, some how jungkook drabble summary “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.” warnings established relationship, mechanic jungkook, business woman oc, cunnilingus / eatin out, jk is dirty like in the literal sense rating m (18+) wc 2.5k

notes am i confident in the title? no. am i stubborn and feel like it has to follow this pattern out of some weird self made obligation? yes, please help me. anyway here is 🔧⚙️ jk and his hot girlfriend once more <3

For the most part, you like to believe you were a pretty composed person. Sure, there are a few instances in your personal history where you exploded, sobbed, cursed the planet to hell and back. But given your chosen career track and the amount of stupidity you dealt with on a daily basis, you’re significantly more mild-mannered compared to your peers. That being said, you were by no means the dictionary definition of serene. After a long day of meeting clients around the city, a rather unsatisfying lunch, and atrocious city traffic—all while breaking in a new pair of heels—there was nothing more satisfying than pulling up to Jungkook’s empty auto shop and huffing out one long, “fuuuck.”

Jungkook doesn’t mind. “Hey, gorgeous,” he calls from over his shoulder, looming over the open hood of yet another innocent vehicle. The metal table beside him holds every tool imaginable. “How’s my sexy department manager doing today?”

“Terrible,” you confess, heels clicking against the concrete floor. You realize he’s hunched over his own car today, a rather rare sight if you’re being completely honest. Jungkook wasn’t the biggest fan of working on his own car(s) at the shop, something about pride and refusing to admit something was wrong with them in front of people who looked up to him. Men, you chuckle, finally closing in on him.

He’s terribly sweaty, the sweltering heat turning the inside of the garage into a human microwave. “How’s my sexy mechanic doing today,” you hum, throwing all reservations aside to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek. Jungkook, as always, makes sure to nuzzle into the touch.

“Pretty good,” he replies, taking advantage of your affectionate nature to set aside the tool that had been in his hand. You watch his sturdy fingers reach for the hood of the car, carefully shutting it because he knows you hate the smell of metal. The rag tucked into the pocket of his red jumpsuit is littered with stains, and the half-assed wipe of his hands against it doesn’t help.

When he turns, that same hand attempts to reach for you, the remnants of oil buried beneath the tips of his fingernails. “Hey,” you warn, intercepting him at the wrist; you’ve spent one too many nights at the local laundromat trying to remove oil from tweed.

Jungkook frowns, shakes his head to the side in that infuriatingly sexy way that not only lets you see the dark furrow of his shapely brows, but also has the tendons in his neck bulging just the slightest. “Give me a kiss,” he pouts, pretty pink lips fighting off a smile. “I missed you.”

Hands holding onto his wrists, you lean forward, your pointed heel tapping against the dirty toe of his work boots.

One of your greatest contributions to society was introducing Jungkook to strawberry flavored chapstick, a deed that the universe pays you back tenfold with each kiss he bestows upon you, lips so soft and sweet. If you look past the distinct smells of the auto shop and Jungkook’s own natural scent, you swear you can smell the strawberries.

It is as you’re trapped in this train of thought that Jungkook manages to overpower you, abruptly stepping forward enough to throw you off balance. Your gravity shifts, and while your heartbeat may spike for a moment, you know he’d never let you fall. “Easy there, beautiful,” he grins, one tatted arm wrapped around you. He’s got that stupidly cocky grin on, the one that usually proceeds some stupid or horny thought.

Lo and behold, a second later he says, “can I eat you out?”

You roll your eyes, placing two hands against his chest. Jungkook takes it as a sign of your approval and moves in for a second kiss, only for you to shove him away with a huff. “You haven’t even showered, smelly,” you chide, straightening out the front of your blazer in a rather snooty manner that has Jungkook scoffing.

“Please?” he tries again, not the slightest bit phased by the unimpressed look you throw his way. “I’ll wash my hands.”

“Jungkook,” you level, settling into one of the many rolling seats that decorate the floor of Jungkook’s garage, your cell phone placed down on the metal table nearby. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the familiar paper wrapping of the deli down the street, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you eat at Shin’s for lunch? I don’t want your onion breath on my intimates.”

Jungkook steps in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Well then,” he says calmly, and then, drops to his knees in front of you. It has you jolting in surprise. Before you can accidentally send yourself rolling across the floor, Jungkook catches your ankle in one hand, tugging you forward until your knee presses against his side. “It’s a good thing that was Jimin’s lunch and not mine.”

“Kook,” you gasp, the muscles in your legs weak against the grip he has on the back of your knees. The muscles in his forearms tense up as he slowly pries your thighs apart, leaning down to place a rather soft kiss against your knee. The tenderness of his kiss shouldn’t be surprising, but it never fails to make you inhale sharply, hands slowly coming to rest against his shoulders.

The brush of your fingers against him has his eyes flickering up to meet yours, strawberry sweet lips curling into a smile. “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.”

One shaky exhale later, you find yourself slowly nodding along, fingers burying themselves within the dark tresses of his hair. “No hands,” you remind him one final time, letting him manhandle you out of your panties. “And be gen—“

Your words are swallowed up by the surprised squeak that slips through your lips upon Jungkook’s first long lick over your slit. “I’ve got you,” he chuckles, the low and breathy kind that makes your skin tingle. “Hold on to me.”

“What the— fuck!” you exclaim, pulling at his hair in sheer fright when he whirls your chair around suddenly, pushes you the three feet until your chair is bumping against the front of his bumper, appropriately named. “Jungkook,” you scold, roughly yanking him up by his hair. “Don’t do that.”

“Shh,” he hushes, but the shock still has your heart thumping a little too quickly. You pinch his ear. Jungkook shakes you off just as quickly, throws you a childish glare. “You’ll need the support.”

The opportunity to question him never comes, because a second later Jungkook is tugging you forward in your seat, knees neatly placed over his shoulders for easy access to your pussy. You did need the support, you realize, back pressed against the curve of the hood as Jungkook begins the rather torturous process of teasing you.

As promised, his hands rest over your thighs, thick fingers digging into the soft skin as he descends upon you, one featherlight kiss pressed against your mound. The polite greeting of his lips is followed by the not-so-polite greeting of his tongue, the warm and wet muscle caressing your clit.

Your breathing hitches, a pleasant warmth settling in your core. It blossoms quickly, stamps out the remnants of fear from a few minutes ago. Jungkook’s tongue plays a key role in that change, nudging your clit back and forth carefully as he listens to the subtle alterations in your breathing.

After the day you’ve had, the delicate way Jungkook laps against you has you melting, both into his touch and against the cold metal of the hood behind you. “Oh,” you pant, eyelids fluttering at the kiss he places against your labia.

He’s relatively quiet today, just soft sighs against your cunt. Without his hands, you’re surprised by how easily he navigates his way along your lips, tongue nudging your folds apart. The round tip of his nose throws you for a loop as he kisses down your slit, the soft skin unintentionally brushing against your throbbing clit. (Or maybe intentionally— you never really knew with Jungkook.)

At your quivering entrance, he pauses, pulling back with glistening lips and dark eyes. “Good?” he murmurs, tongue peeking out at the corner to trace across his red lips. Another shake of his head, dark strands tickling his cheekbones.

“So good,” you exhale, releasing one hand from it’s trembling grip in his hair. You press it against the side of Jungkook’s face instead. Briefly, the tips of your fingers brush against his ear, an action that makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open just as your thumb presses against his lower lip. “Make me cum,” you command, as if you aren’t completely at his mercy right now.

Still, Jungkook humors you. His pearly teeth playfully bite down against your thumb, a smile making its way across his features when you pull away. “You got it, boss,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “You’re the boss here,” you mumble, shivers running down your spine when he ducks back down once more.

Lips suctioned around your clit, your thighs quiver beneath his touch. A soft whine pulls itself from your throat, hand jerking forward to grasp at the white undershirt he’s got on, stained like always. Jungkook ups the intensity, pulling away with a loud pop only to bestow a chaste kiss against your sensitive clit. “Please,” you whimper. It takes every last remaining ounce of self-control to keep yourself from accidentally clamping your legs shut around him, hips jerking forward as he licks his way down your slit once more.

His tongue dips its way between your folds, over your quivering opening, as if he’s circling where he’ll pleasure you next. A second later, you feel your entire body tense up momentarily as he slips his tongue in. It’s nowhere near as girthy as his cock, barely comes close to two of his fingers. But there’s something about Jungkook being so close, mouth against your pussy, that sends a shock of electricity straight there.

“Oh— Oh, god,” you sigh, head lolling back, tapping against the hood of Jungkook’s car.

The fingers digging into your skin tighten to the point of bruising, his hands growing anxious with every breathless moan drawn out from you. His plush lower lip is warm against your puffy skin, hot breath fanning over your wet folds as his tongue slowly works its way in and out. Slow, painstakingly slow. The speed has you growing restless, legs threatening to lock around his head, pushing him against your cunt until he can’t breathe.

It’s a good thing Jungkook is the one in control, his flattened tongue trailing one, long lick over your pussy. It starts at your entrance, glistening with arousal and his saliva, and ends at your clit. You’re almost certain you can feel your heartbeat through the bundle of nerves, releasing a loud cry at the way the tip of his tongue flicks against it once more.

The muscles in your legs, tired from walking all across the city, spasm beneath his ministrations. Your shoulders, tight from the weight of your responsibilities, relax back against the warm metal hood. Every kiss Jungkook places against you has you melting, feeling so unbelievably pampered. “Fuck, J- Jungkook— baby,” you whimper, letting go of his shoulder to bite down on your knuckles.

Jungkook breathes harshly against you, brows furrowed together as he focuses on making you feel good. The sight of his handsome face buried between your thighs makes you shiver, jolt when he pushes his tongue into your entrance once more and begins slowly thrusting it in and out. It’s so wet, mixes with your arousal and makes this lewd sound that only fans the flames of your pleasure, fingernails pressed against his shoulders and then burying themselves against his scalp.

It doesn’t take much longer, fatigue and pleasure catching up to you all at once, accumulating in a toe-curling orgasm unlike your usual ones. It’s quieter, filled with stuttered gasps instead, Jungkook’s name occasionally finding its way into the mix. By the end of it, you find yourself fretting over the state of your boyfriend’s scalp, having pulled it roughly at the height of your pleasure.

“How cute,” Jungkook hums softly, eventually releasing one of your trapped legs from over his shoulder. He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and chin, transferring a dark stain of something onto his porcelain skin. In that moment, you’re glad you banned the usage of his hands on your pussy. Without anything to hold it up, your leg slips down, the impact of your heel against the concrete sending a tingling pain up your leg.

“Ouch,” you murmur, and then find yourself demurely covering your exposed pussy, still glistening with cum and saliva. At your modesty, Jungkook snorts, releasing your other leg only to surge forward and knock his forehead against yours. “Ouch,” you repeat, the stinging pain exacerbated when Jungkook pushes himself closer.

“So, what do you say?” he asks, smiles that devilish smile that makes him look like a Calvin Klein model. His hands are at your waist, helping you tug your skirt back down. It’s nothing grand, but your rose-tinted view makes you swoon at the way he manhandles you. He’s dangerously handsome, has you mindlessly wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Say about what?” you mumble, hypnotized by the cherry hue of his lips, and the fact they probably taste like you.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, like he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he pauses just in time to say, “how was my onion breath?”

You’ve never pushed someone away fast enough, nearly impaling him with the sharpened heel of your shoe against his chest. It sends him tumbling back, a rough cough mixed with a boyish chuckle, the dorky kind as he sprawls himself over the dirty concrete floor of his auto shop. It’s as you’re glaring down at your immature boyfriend and what you’re certain is a tiny puddle of motor oil beside his head, that you realize this is your life now. Men, you think bitterly.

“I hate you,” you announce childishly. You find your discarded panties on the metal table beside a goddamn wrench. You fling it at his chest, only the slightest bit turned on when he raises it up for a sniff. “Mmm,” he purrs, letting the flimsy fabric rest over his eyes. You don’t even have it in you to scold him on how dirty that is, instead nudging his side with your shoe. “You know,” he says, catching your ankle in his hand. He guides your foot over him, surprising you when he places it directly over his chest. “I had a dream like this in high school,” he confesses, making your face heat up. “Think it was because of those 50 Shades of Grey books we found in your attic.”

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #mine #swshd

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kyovtani · 3 years

Text

𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 | 𝒌𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒖

✗ pairing: kuroo tetsurou x female reader

✗ genre: smut, like just smut, lit nothing but smut; absolute filth but still classy so it's fílth anyway; established relationship!AU

✗ word count: 4.1k+

✗ warnings: swearing, heavy dumbification and degradation, mean/hard (to soft) dom!kuroo, DD/LG (d*ddy dom / little girl), mentions of jealousy and slight possessive behavior, orgasm denial, p*ssy slapping, some spanking, praising, ch*king, impregnation, some c*m play, car s*x, (a little bit of) cute aftercare

– A/N: Happiest Birthday to my fave scorpio boy in HQ!! This is an old fic of mine which I wrote about a year ago and as I thought about it, Kuroo does fit the concept really well and since I’m a little busy writing smth new, I thought why not reuse this big boy! I hope you guys enjoy this one and please feel free to leave feedback of any kind if you did!!

x all the love, zade.

✗ summary: your boyfriend is sweet, caring and oh so soft, so you decide it’s time to make him lose his composure...

It takes a lot to make Kuroo switch from his soft, caring demeanor to his hard dom persona because after everything, he remains a patient man.

He puts your pleasure above anything else; your body a temple for him to worship and take care of with every part of his being.

However, sometimes, no matter how much you love your sweet, loving boyfriend, you find yourself growing a little bored of his constant softness; your desires going further than just being choked and called kitten.

You want Kuroo to absolutely destroy you, to put it as simple as possible. The guttural desire to have him use you for his own pleasure, claim you in the most intimate ways possible and every now and then your body craves this certain type of pleasure; the one which lays pretty close to pure pain.

Led by your body’s deep desire, you find yourself seeking methods which might not be the morally right ones but at this point you struggle to care the slightest bit about morality.

You set Kuroo losing his composure as your goal, trying your very best without even overthinking the possible consequences and if that means that you have to let a random man flirt the living hell out of you right in front of your boyfriend (who happens to have slight possessive tendencies) during your weekly grocery shopping, then so be it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kuroo watches the blood boiling scene in front of him with his brows furrowed in pure anger; annoyance flooding his usually so soft and calm features and the more time passes, the angrier he gets.

However, Kuroo’s not a dom for nothing.

He keeps his cool, even lets you take the guy's number as he causally ignores the way that stupid fucker lookes at your ass like a fucking pervert, before the two of you eventually finish the shopping without Kuroo commenting on any of it.

At this point you’re just frustrated. Anger and irritation rush through your body at such a fast pace, you feel your head spinning the closer you get to the car and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re currently in a public parking lot, you would have thrown a fit already.

Tired of Kuroo’s oblivion, you finally get yourself to gather every bit of composure you have left and turn around to just tell him about what the fuck you want when he suddenly pushes you against the car door, pressing his strong body into your back.

"What the fuck was that little scene supposed to be, hm, doll?", he hisses into your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck and just as usual you love the way his deep and almost unrecognizably raspy voice sends jolts of arousal through your whole body right into your core.

In an instant, you feel your cunt clenching in despair, drenching the fabric of your panties just like that and even though you’re very much aware of your surroundings, you can’t bring yourself to actually give a fuck.

"Good fuck dolls answer when they are being talked to", Kuroo grunts and pulls the lobe of your ear between his teeth, easily eliciting a sweet moan from you before he suddenly wraps his strong fingers around your throat. The cold metal of his rings builds the perfect contrast to the hotness of your skin and with another soft whine, you press your thighs together.

And then, as you gently throw your head back against his shoulder, Kuroo’s hand finds its way around your breast, quickly and incredibly harshly pinching your sensitive nipple between his fingertips to remind you of his – still unanswered – question.

"T-Tetsu, I just-", he doesn’t give you the opportunity to finish your sentence, casually tightening his grip around your throat and cutting off your air supply in one go.

"How the fuck dare you call me by my name right fucking now, you cockhrungy little slut?”, Kuroo’s voice is cold and distant; the anger and disappointment evident in every single one of his words and you can’t believe just how much your pussy starts spasming in response.

“You better address me correctly or last night was the last time you got to cum, did you fucking hear me?", he’s quick to add, the lack of oxygen in your body sending you even deeper into the beautiful haze of pleasure. You barely notice the way you start gasping gasping for air, your lids fluttering shut as you press your thighs even tighter together to get some kind of relief from the heavy pressure on your throbbing cunt.

"Y-Yes, Daddy", you whimper and push your forehead against the cold surface of the door, your body slowly but surely growing overwhelmed by the arousal heating you up.

And in the middle of it all, you’re still incredibly grateful for the lack of company due to the late time of the day because even though you enjoy this with every single pore in your body, you don’t want anyone else to see you like this.

Kuroo lets go of your throat, his hand wandering in between your legs and underneath the waistband of your shorts, just to suddenly cup your cunt. The feeling of his fingers pressing against the drenched fabric of your panties, his rough digits rubbing your needy clit makes you let out a loud, throaty moan.

"Fucking whore", Kuroo curses, his lips so close to your ear, you feel yourself literally melting into a puddle of despair underneath his tall figure, "I can't believe you let that bastard flirt with you right in front of my eyes", he continues and sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth, sucking harshly before he harshly pulls it in between his teeth.

You whine again, constant mewls of frustration leaving your lips as you try your best to move your hips against his big hand, yet fail miserably.

"I should have fucked you right then and there just to show him who this slutty cunt belongs to", Tetsu groans, rubbing his hard erection against your ass but refusing to to move his fingers on your clit. His words and the pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves has you moaning and without even trying to calm yourself down, you reach back to take a hold of Kuroo’s thick hair.

"You would have liked that, am I right, kitty cat? No, wait – you would have loved it. You're literally getting wetter and wetter just at the thought being fucked like a stupid whore", Kuroo scoffs, a hint of disbelief wavering in his voice and without missing a beat, you let out a sound of approval in response.

"I'm not even surprised", he hisses and suddenly, pulling his hand out of your shorts, "at the end of the day, you're nothing but a pathetic whore who thinks with her stupid cunt and nothing but her stupid cunt", and then he lets go of you.

His sudden absence leaves you tumbling against the door with a soft whimper and it's then that you notice the way your whole body is shivering from the overwhelming amount of arousal rushing through your system.

"D-Daddy, please", you whisper helplessly, using every single bit of your energy left to turn around and face him, "I need you", you add and can’t help the soft sob falling past your lips; two tears finding their way down your cheeks as you look into the beautiful face of your lover.

The strictness and distance in his features makes you gulp harshly, his usually so soft and calming eyes filled with nothing but hunger and anger and you let yourself devour this rare sight.

"Oh, look at that", Kuroo pushes his bottom lip into a fake pout with amusement sparkling in the pretty brown around his iris, "my little, cockcrazy whore thinks she has the right to even think about my cock after pulling a show like that”, he lets out a loud, empty chuckle, “how cute and oh, so pathetic, kitty.”

Kuroo takes your chin in between his fingers before he straightens his face and pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Backseat", is all he grunts, "I guess I’ve been a bit too good to you. I haven't fucked some manners into you in some time, have I, pretty kitty?”, you look at him with big, teary eyes and your lips parted before you bring yourself to nod in response to his question.

“Is that why you keep acting up like some needy, filthy little whore? Do you want Daddy to treat you like this, hm? Because you know how much I hate disobedient kittens who flirt with other men, yet choose to do it anyway. Right in front of me, too."

His words stir something deep inside of you, your pussy clenching even harder around nothing as a strong jolt of arousal finds its way right into the pit of your stomach.

You have never been more turned on by anyone or anything and at this point you’ve completely forgotten your surroundings; Kuroo and his huge cock the only thing on your mind as you pull open the door to the backseat of his car.

Kuroo watches you carefully, his eyes roaming the sight of your shaky thighs and the damp spot on the grey material of your shorts before he gets himself to tear his gaze away from you, lifting his head and checking the mostly empty parking lot to make sure nobody is watching the two of you.

He doesn’t like doing it in public; the thought of being caught or watched is definitely alluring and tempting but usually followed by the image of it actually happening and a jolt of slight disgust washing over him.

However this time Kuroo is absolutely ready to make an exception because after remaining patient with you for so long, he knows he won’t be able to keep it up for the entire drive back home.

After making sure nobody is around – his habit of parking all the way at the very end of the parking lot no matter what coming as an advantage – Kuroo also makes his way into the backseat, his gaze instantly finding your glossy eyes before he takes in the oddly satisfying sight of your tear stained cheeks and pouty lips.

You look so vulnerable, so helpless, so pathetic – the thought of completely destroying you in every way possible quickly clouding his mind and the longer he looks at you, the more he just wants to fuck you into oblivion.

But again, Kuroo isn’t a dom for nothing.

With hooded eyes, he silently motions you to turn around, the urge to press your face into the seat taking over every bit of his brain.

You don’t hesitate and obediently move onto your stomach, pulling yourself up onto your knees as your eyes nervously roam the inside of his car.

Your heart is hammering against your rib cage at an unhealthy pace, adrenaline and arousal thrumming inside your ears and clouding your mind in the best way possible.

Oh how you love the effect he has on you.

"Take off your shorts and then finger yourself", Kuroo hisses, casually pushing his sweats as well as boxers briefs down his muscular thigh, exposing his thick, rockhard cock to the cold yet tensed air in the car and letting out a soft hiss, "I want you to stretch that little cunt of yours", he adds and without even trying to hide it, you turn your head to watch the way Kuroo spits into his palm and then wraps his fingers around his cock.

You let out a loud, desperate moan at the sight of his huge length; the tip red and angry, already leaking so much precum, you feel your mouth watering at the memory of his taste coating your tongue. You gulp harshly the longer you watch him stroke his length like that, your pussy clenching in despair at the mere thought of how good he fills you up.

You hear the loud sound of skin meating skin before a harsh pain starting from your inner thigh rushes through you; a choked out whimper leaving your lips before you can literally feel your ears perking up at the sound of Kuroo’s voice.

"If I have to repeat myself one more fucking time, I swear to God, I won't let you cum for a whole month, kitty", Tetsurou growls, an almost inaudbile moan following his threat and after mumbling a soft apology, you're quick to get rid of your shorts and underwear just as you were told.

You bend your body down and spread your legs, only to feel waves of embarrassment and shame in combination with heavy, hot arousal overwhelming you.

Kuroo has the perfect view on your spasming cunt and you know he is basically devouring you with his eyes, your head spinning at the thought.

"Oh, kitty", he sighs and picks up the pace of his hand, focusing on his tip every now and then to slightly edge himself because even though he usually manages to hide it really well, this whole situation has him a lot more worked up than he had expected.

And now that he actually got to see how much his change in demeanor and choice of words have gotten to you, he is more than just struggling to keep his cool composure.

Kuroo can’t help but think of the way your slick arousal tastes and feels on his tongue, your sweet moans filling his ears as you part those pretty lips of yours in pleasure.

Kuroo watches the way you slide two of your fingers through your glistening folds, collecting your own juice before aiming for your sensitive, hardened little clit and as soon as you press the tips of your digits against the bundle of nerves, both of you let out a loud moan.

"Don't forget about that tight hole of yours, baby", Tetsurou grunts, throwing his head back as he curses himself for slipping out of his persona even if it wasn't for longer than a second.

You whimper at the sound of your favorite pet name falling past those pretty, swollen lips and choke on that exact whimper when you insert both of your fingers into the warm walls of your cunt.

"That's right, just like that, you little slut", Kuroo’s quick to comment, his other hand pushing the material of your (his) oversized shirt up to reveal the soft flesh of your ass before spanking you softly and then digging his fingers into your skin, "even though your fingers are nothing compared to my cock, we don't want you to to get hurt, right?", and again, he finds himself quickly regretting his choice of words and lack of authority.

But he can't help it. You’re his perfect, sweet faced little angel girl after all; there’s no way he can completely abandon his soft, caring side no matter how bratty you become. Not even thinking about giving you a chance to respond, he reaches out and plants another harsh spank on your slightly sore ass.

You muffle a loud whimper, burying your face in your arm as you try to keep your noises down in hopes of getting to hear the sinful moans of your Daddy; however, Kuroo is quick to notice your little plan.

"You're really trying it tonight, huh, you fucking cumslut? You better start moaning or I'm about to get really, really mad and believe me, you do not want that", Kuroo scolds you, his hand leaving your ass and wrapping around the one buried between your legs before he starts helping you thrust your fingers into your wet pussy.

Kuroo watches the way you clench around your digits with his lips parted in pleasure and arousal tingling at the bottom of his spine and if it wasn't for the punishment he has in mind, he would have fucked your pretty pussy.

Your loud moans, high pitched whimpers and desperate whines start filling the small space of his expensive car, making it even harder for him to stay collected and as he slowly observes the way your thighs slowly start shaking, he pulls your hand away from your drenched cunt with a deep grunt.

"Let's go over the rules really quick, kitty", Kuroo sighs and pulls you to stand on your knees, making sure you don't hit your head before he pushes you against the back of the passenger seat.

Your head is spinning at an inhumane space and you don’t even know if you can form proper sentences especially at the feeling of Kuroo’'s hot tip prodging at your entrance. However the slap against your sensitive pussy manages to pull you back to reality rather in an instant.

"Green means good, o-orange stands for okay, slightly uncomfortable and r-red is the signal for you to stop, Daddy", you whisper, burying your face in back of the passenger seat’s head part as Kuroo slowly starts pulling you down onto his lap, making you sick onto his big cock painfully slowly.

"Keep it going, you're not done yet, kitty. Come the fuck on, stop disappointing me like this", he groans and throws his head back, the sudden urge to feel your lips on his and your tongue in his mouth making his mind go absolutely empty.

His words ring in your head, your mind foggy and sight slightly blurry as he finally bottoms out and knocks the breath out of your lungs just like that.

You try to stay focused, knowing and very well aware of his order but the feeling of his pulsing cock inside of your tight pussy, tip right against the entrance of your womb has you going mad crazy.

"One tap, if I can't breathe, a pinch if it hurts and two if I want you to stop", you finally manage to mumble and the moan that leaves your lips when Kuroo slowly starts pulling out of you at those words – is almost animalistic.

"I'd love to praise you but you did make me wait and you actually have the pleasure to feel my cock even after all that shit, so", Kuroo’s voice is slightly strained, your tight walls gripping his huge cock like a vice and no matter how many times he got to experience this feeling, he knows he’s never going to get used to it.

You start moaning shamelessly, not even able to close your mouth as Kuroo rams himself back into you and then finally picks up a steady rhythm. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the seat, face buried in the headrest as you let him use you like a doll.

You love the way Kuroo’s grunts grow louder, his thrusts more impatient and the grip in your hips painfully tight; you love the fact that he is enjoying this as much as you were.

But then, out of nowhere, you realize how quiet he has been ever since he has started fucking you.

Dirty talk is something Kuroo has alway been really into, the lewd words falling past his lips so easily and managing to rile you up every time, that you haven’t even noticed how much you miss it.

"D-Daddy", you moan and gulp harshly, your hand reaching behind you to wrap your fingers around his, "t-talk to me, please", you ask softly and spare a quick glance at your lover; his astonishing beauty sending jolts of warmth through your chest.

Kuroo tsks, a loud scoff leaving his lips before he rolls his eyes and keeps thrusting into you. He is absolutely obsessed with the way your cunt spasmed around his cock, the sight of his huge length disappearing inside of your tight hole edging him more and more.

"P-Please, Daddy", tears flood your eyes rather quickly, the pleasure making you incredibly emotional and the tight feeling in your chest looking for relief as you softly sob into your arm, "I need you to talk to me, please; I'm sorry for acting like a whore", you cry and throw your head back, a choked out sob-moan leaving your throat and even though Kuroo does enjoy the way you are literally falling apart on his cock, he hates seeing you cry like that.

"P-Please call me your pretty girl and t-tell me how much you – fuck – love my cunt, please", you beg shameslessly, the tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving hot trails behind and despite the guilt inside your chest, you slowly start coming closer to your relief; the taste of your upcoming high coating your tongue in the sweetest way possible.

"Ssh, baby", Kuroo finally lets go of his hard mask, his chest tightening with every one of your soft cries and even though he knew he'd break at some point, he still had hoped to keep it up a little longer than usual, "it's okay pretty girl, I got you. I'm here, kitten", he whispers and as his soft voice fills your ears, a loud sob leaves you, followed by a tiny moan when his fingers start drawing circles into your neglected clit.

"Come on, angel, I want you to cum", he places a soft kiss on the back of your hand before he starts thrusting into you even harder, "show me who this sweet cunt belongs to", your lover's oddly assuring words are the last straw and without another second passing by, you let go and feel the coil in your core snap; shoving you head first into your high.

Several waves of pleasure hit you, your orgasm literally ruining you to a point where you struggle to take proper breaths.

Kuroo helps you ride out your high by slowing down the movements of his hands and hips, his breath getting stuck in his throat as he tries to handle your constant clenching.

"Cum inside of me, Daddy", you whisper, exhaustion dripping from every single one of your words yet you still let out soft little whimpers to encourage your pretty faced boyfriend, "want you to fuck your baby into my belly", you add quickly and the way literal innocence is coating your voice is what throws Kuroo over the edge.

Your cunt continues to spasm around him, making sure he cums as hard as you did and then, after his whole body halts its movements, he cums inside of you; painting your warm walls in several shades of white.

Kuroo quickly pulls out of you, the loss of contact and sudden feeling of emptiness has you whimpering slowly but you instantly go silent when he pulls you into his arms, pushing your face into the sweaty crook of his neck before he slowly starts caressing your naked thighs and massages your scalp.

A couple of minutes pass by, the exhaustion overcoming the two of you and when Kuroo notices the way your lips grow heavier by the minute, he presses his lips against yours and pulls you into a passionate kiss. A lazy clash of teeth, your tongue slowly entering his mouth and of course he is quick to swallow your spit, making you whimper into his mouth.

"Please don't ever do that again, my love", he whispers against your parted lips, his thumb grazing your cheeks and then your neck, "if you want me to be hard on you, there's no need to flirt with other guys, you just have to tell me, okay? You know I will do anything to make you happy", he mumbles and you quickly reply with a soft hum of approval.

"I love you, Daddy", you sigh, burying your face in his chest as your lips stretch into a big smile when you hear him mumble, "I love you, too, pretty girl."

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #hq!! smut #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x reader #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou smut #haikyuu scenarios #kyovtani

2K notes · View notes

0risha · 3 years

Text

catharsis

pairing :: inumaki x gn! reader

summary :: you tend to a severely injured inumaki with herb infused gauze, little to no sanity and guilt.

tags :: major jjk manga spoilers, graphic mentions of an injury, mentions of blood, slight angst, hurt to comfort, reader is a part of an unnamed clan.

note :: this is my addition to @milktyama 's aftermath of shibuya collab event, this has been in my drafts for saurrr long but I didn't have the heart to edit it but I actually really liked how it turned out. but anywaysss, I hope you likey!

Blood runs in rivulets and for what seems like the upteenth time, panic seizes you by the neck in a haughty grip. An unwanted bout of tears well up, threatening to fall on the unconscious boy in your arms.

A plethora of apologies leaves your cracked lips. He can’t hear a thing in his dormant state, but it still doesn’t stop you from murmuring words of regret.

Hands, your own, dance desperately across the plane of his arm. Well, what’s left of it. You’ve never seen an injury this serious before. You have no clue which bones are left and which bones are not, you’re in no way an expert at anatomy. You curse yourself for not paying attention to one of Shoko's rare teachings.

At first glance, the cut looks clean but mangled flesh laid limp. Your stomach twists and turns haphazardly. But somehow, there’s a plank of hope that floats idly as you watch his chest rise and fall.

Steeling your resolve, you take the patterned gauze from your mother’s lap. It smells of brewed plants and earth. You give a smile of thanks to your mother. Because of her silence, you had forgotten she was even there.

“Do you need help?” She whispers, her gaze full of worry. With the way her body hunches over your own, her worry is seemingly meant for you. You nod, not trusting your voice to be coherent.

“Is he your boyfriend?” You nod again as she raises his body, careful not to jostle him too much. You don't think you can nod anymore, your neck aches. Your whole body does.

Silence fills the room again, untill it doesn't.

“Are your friends still out there... fighting.” You stop. The gauze infused with herbs that were pulled for its healing properties now lays underneath Inumaki.

He looks so incredibly pale, what should be the color of his eyes are now painted on his lips.

If you didn’t know better, you’d take him for dead.

“Yes.” You worry at your bottom lip, the smell of blood and despair tickling at your nose. A weight of guilt chooses to make its home in your chest. But, it was either save Inumaki, return to your clan’s estate or stay and fight.

The weight disappears and you resume wrapping the gauze to his arm.

Inumaki doesn’t wake up the next night nor the one after that.

It's night four and the moon hangs high with a brightness that seemed too mocking. His silver hair catches the light, giving him a face of angel.

He awakens with a ragged cough. Upon hearing the sound, you shoot up from your place in front of the window.

With a cry of relief sitting at the edge of your tongue, you stumble to his side. “T-Toge?” You breathe out, a cloth already in your hand.

In time for your next breath, his eyes flutter open. His violet eyes roam his surroundings before settling on you. He blinks hazy and unfocused, lips parting in confusion. You wipe off the sweat on his brow.

“Yes.” You answer, reading his eyes. "This is my home."

He nods and you stay silent, not sure what to say. Instead, you opt to smooth his hair from his face, brushing it away from his dewy face. His eyes avert to his injured arm. You don’t miss the way he inhales, deep and desperate.

“I-is there anything you need? Water?” You straighten up. “Of course you’d want water. Would you like some wat–”

He turns his attention to you and with his intact arm, he pulls at your sleeve. Stay.

You clench your fist into tight balls. Your nails dig deep into the flesh of your palm, you don't really mind the pain.

The sting returns to your eyes. Sensing your state, he gives you a warm smile, the marks that graced his cheeks raising in tune.

But it only makes things worse.

Your chest heaves as broken sobs choose to escape your lips. “Toge. I’m so, so sorry.” Forehead to his chest, you ask for his forgiveness.

You’re incredibly sorry that you weren’t where he had been, for being weak, for not being able to comfort him. Because for god’s sake, he’d lost a limb. He's lost a piece of his sanity too, you both have.

A warm hand comes to your shoulders, pulling you up slightly. Your breathing hitches as you turn to him, embarrassment riddled in your features. If anything, he'd need the most comfort. But he shakes his head, already reading your mind.

"Sleep." Your eyes grow wide as your body thrums with exhaustion. It starts at your spine, crawls up then caresses every limb. Your eyes are the last to fall shut.

You fall asleep by his side, your body welcoming his command with open arms. You haven't slept in days.

The moon disappears, a bright star taking its place. And momentarily, the tattered world around you both is forgotten.

GENERAL TAGLIST | FORM

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waywardrose13 · 3 years

Text

Touch of Betrayal

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst, smut, smidge of fluff, graphic abuse, graphic depictions of injuries, fucked up coven, language, all the angst, not enough editing to satisfy me

Word Count: 20,538

Summary: As the oldest sibling, Y/n was supposed to be sacrificed for the betterment of her coven. After her escape, she meets Bobby Singer, who takes her under his wing. It is no secret Dean Winchester hates witches, but Y/n is different, and Dean begins to question his feelings. When Sam is threatened and Dean is given an ultimatum, the trust and feelings that have grown between Y/n and Dean is jeopardized. The touch of betrayal stings.

Commissioned by anonymous:)

A/N- To the lovely soul who commissioned this fic, I hope you enjoy!

Y/N

You could feel the blood from the shackles trickling down your fingers, dripping onto the backs of your bare knees. Shivering, the autumnal air bit at your skin and seeped into your bones. The cold wasn’t the only thing making you shiver, however. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the gold blade laying on the stone pedestal in front of you. Soon, that blade would slice through not only your throat, but four other eldest children of the founding families; Freya, age twenty-four; Marxicus, age twenty-two; Sera, age twenty; Gunthias, age twenty-two; and finally, you, the youngest at twenty-one.

The thin slip hanging from your body did nothing against the cold, your bare limbs exposed to the night air, droplets of blood dotting the backs of your legs. Those damn shackles had cut into your wrists for three days. You could feel how raw your skin was beneath the cool metal. However, it didn’t really matter seeing how you would be dead once the moon reached its apex.

Sera was sobbing loudly to your left. Some of the coven, maybe a handful, looked on empathetically. The majority stared with disgust at her emotional state. Your mother’s words rang in your head from the night before. “This is an honor. Do not embarrass me tomorrow.”

You scanned the gathering. Many people were drinking goblets of harvest mead, others were conversing lowly in small packs. Many people were simply watching you and the other sacrifices, taking in every inch, as if staring so intently would siphon even more power.

No one caught your eye in particular. Not until you spotted him.

His dark eyes were trained on you intently. Biting your lip to keep it from wobbling, you took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me.

As the world faded away, you and Jasper locked in a silent pining, you wondered what it would have been like if you had been able to go through with the wedding. As a female within the coven, you were obligated to have children unless you absolutely couldn’t, so maybe the two of you would have had a few kids, settled in a cabin on the outskirts of the compound. The marriage may have been arranged, but you were friends before lovers. You were lucky when it came to that. Most people were strangers up until their wedding night. You had the privilege of at least knowing Jasper, even if you weren’t friends until after the arrangement had been made. You would have been happy.

Instead, your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again, the thought of him marrying someone else and fathering someone else’s children. You weren’t sure if you loved him like that. Yes, you loved him. He was your best friend. You loved him with everything you had. However, you weren’t sure if you were in love with him. It was rare that the marriages in the coven had any love. You could see yourself falling for him, though. If given the opportunity, he would be easy to fall in love with.

Of all those secret meetings and passionate embraces, you wondered what it would have been like to be together in the public eye. Sneaking off was fun and thrilling, the secrecy and forbidden joinings exhilarating and they certainly helped you fuel the rebellion against your parents and the coven. You two weren’t supposed to be together in any way, even in a friendly manner, until after the wedding. But those meetings? After finding out about your arrangement, you two decided to get to know each other on your terms, not your parents’. Those friendly meetings had turned into so much more, and they were fun. Fun was a rarity in the coven. You and Jasper always had fun. He was a fantastic lover, much more experienced than you were, seeing as he had been your first. You two never spoke about it. It just sort of happened one night. There was no true romance, no heart skipping love. Just two friends having some fun before they were married.

Then your older brother Danny had died, and suddenly your world had crashed down around you. You were suddenly the oldest child. You were going to be sacrificed, the power transferring to you the moment Danny took his last breath. Not only had you lost your best friend, but your future had been rewritten; the arrangement made for you and Jasper had withered, and you were going to be murdered in a blood sacrifice in three years.

You and Jasper no longer were to be married, but that didn’t stop the meetings. That didn’t stop the passion. After Danny, you needed the distraction. You spent more nights with Jasper than you did alone. Not that he complained.

Your last night of freedom was different. Typically, the nights spent together were fast, primal, and more often than not, rough. Three nights ago, your final night spent free, or as free as you could get inside the coven, was spent with your family. Then after they had gone to bed, your mother excited for your honorable sacrifice, your siblings looking forward to furthering their power, and your father despondent and sullen- the thought of losing another child weighing on him- you had snuck out to meet with Jasper for the final time. And like he had been your first time, he was slow and tender. Emotion poured from him and it had frightened you. You knew he felt more for you than you did for him. You also knew you couldn’t let yourself feel that way, not knowing your fate. You couldn’t give into your own temptation, or let him taste the sweet tang of the promise of forever, not when you were being ripped from the world by a cruel hand. You two had spent the whole night together, words a rarity, speaking with your bodies, saying goodbye. He was your best friend, your confidant and solace. The person you wished you had the time to love.

He stepped closer to the circle of stones, face still shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering orange lanterns hung by iron wroughts. Ever so slowly, he lifted a hand, a deep yellow spark igniting at the tips of his fingers. They settled there for a moment, glowing bright in the dark, but no one seemed to notice. No. This was for you and you only. Jasper loved art, and that’s what his magic was. The light danced in his palm and glided around in swirls in the air above his outstretched arm.

He was distracting you. Keeping your mind elsewhere as the elders, cloaked in the charcoal gray robes of their ancestors, stepped up onto the dais. Grisha, the High Priestess of your coven, chanted in latin. If you paid more attention, you could know what she was saying. But you stayed focused on Jasper, even as his figure trembled in the light, face pinched to keep emotion from showing. Your heart ached at the sight and you so desperately longed to run your fingers through his chocolate curls one last time. Wanted to feel his strong hand in yours. Wanted to run away from here with him.

But if there was something Jasper was, it was loyal. And his family came before you. He would never leave them, never leave the compound or abandon the coven. Not even for you.

As a founding family, your father was amongst the robed figures. It was by the hand of the creator who committed the sacrifice. For generations, parents held the golden blade to their children’s throat to spill their blood upon the stones. You glanced down at your bare knees, noting the stone’s color; black and a deep gray. The stones were once as pale gray as the standing stones that formed the circle. But each sacrificial slab had held so much death, the color was no longer so.

It made you shiver.

The light flickered brighter across the circle and you raised your eyes to Jasper again. His own dark eyes were pleading with you across the grass, begging you to keep your gaze on him. Begging you to stay locked with him for as long as you could.

So you obliged.

Sera was first. The volume of her sobs increased. She screamed and pleaded with her mother, blubbering and crying until suddenly, she gurgled, and a thud echoed ominously across the circle. You shook violently and you were afraid of collapsing. Jasper brightened his tendrils of light, forming small animal shapes; rabbits hopping, birds flying, butterflies flitting. His distractions only went so far.

Marxicus was next. He had been stone still and completely silent. As his father raised the blade to his throat, all he said was, “sancti libera me.”

Saints liberate me.

The blade smoothly sliced open his throat, and he slumped to the stone heavily.

Freya cursed at her father, both in English and in Italian, snapping and snarling and fighting until the end. She didn’t die immediately. She had fought hard enough that the blade hadn’t sliced through her artery. Her father gripped a fist full of her hair and yanked her head back before pressing harder and deeper into her throat until blood sprayed across his face and her body fell.

You thought you might vomit. Or faint. Or both.

Gunthias pleaded without tears, but begged nonetheless. You saw the blade slice his throat from the corner of your eye, watching as his body fell and slipped half-way off the stone slab.

Finally, as the youngest, you were up. You were shaking so hard, you thought you might fall if it wasn’t for your father’s hand landing on your shoulder. Jasper’s light flickered slightly, dulling into small swirls of yellow dust around his palm. He was too frightened to conjure enough power. He half turned, as if he was going to run, but thought better of it. His eyes never left yours.

Yours left his, however. You scanned the crowd one last time for your family. It didn’t take you long. Your siblings were hugging each other, the twins- Margot and Matthias, both clinging onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Your mother stood over them, hands clasped beneath her chin, lips murmuring a prayer to the Gods as she watched with eyes full of elation. She smirked lightly at you as she caught your gaze, giving you a deep nod.

You looked away quickly, finding Jasper one last time. He was still there, as he said he would be. Always.

The blade was wet and sticky with blood against your throat. You trembled and murmured a prayer to your Gods, wishing for a quick death, hoping the afterlife was as glorious as promised, hoping this was fucking worth it-

The blade swiped through the air, missing you by mere inches, before it lodged itself into Grisha’s chest.

Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd as the High Priestess shrieked and keeled over, clutching at her chest as she began to spasm. You met Jasper’s eyes one more time, his face stunned and eyes impossibly wide. Your father gripped you under your arms and lifted you from the slab.

Then you two were running.

Your father raised his shields as the coven went wild. Many people cowered in fear. Your father had just killed the High Priestess. If he did that, what was stopping him from killing them?

Others were sending out powerful blasts of energy to slow you two down. But your father simply gripped your arm tighter and sprinted from the circle and into the field, the tall grass whipping at your bare legs, your feet slicing from thorns, but you didn’t care. You were escaping. You could do this.

“Faster, Y/n/n!”

You pumped your legs until they burned as the two of you ran. Shouts and battle cries erupted from behind you and you knew the two of you were being chased. Of course you would be. They couldn’t finish the sacrifice. The power would not be fully replenished.

You had to die.

But you didn’t want to. You spent your whole life confined inside the damn coven, in the damn compound. You wished to see the world, wanted to experience life outside. You wanted to live- for you and for Danny.

“Faster. Please, run faster!”

Your father pulled you along until you were nearly stumbling. He noticed and sent a quick surge of purple light, the shackles bound to your wrists bursting apart. You winced as the air hit your raw skin but you were now able to run with more balance.

Finally, you broke through the trees. The confinement within the branches helped shield you from the onslaught of power surges being sent your way. If you were caught, not only would you be killed, but your father would be too. He would be deemed a traitor to the coven, and treason was the highest offense you could commit.

“Where are we going?” You panted between breaths. Your lungs burned and you tried your best to ignore it, but you had never been one for running or for sports. Not to mention, you had been locked away in the Harvest Rite cabin for three days, shackled to a “room” that was really a cell, locked from the sunlight for three days so the harvest moon would touch your spirit better or some shit. Honestly, you had no idea, not interested in the faux explanation the coven founders had spouted centuries ago.

“Anywhere but here,” your father said breathlessly. “We need to get you somewhere safe. Then we can-”

Red light collided with your father’s back, sending him sprawling. You yelled in surprise and skidded to a halt, falling to your knees beside him. The magic seeped into his back and erupted through his chest in bloody bursts, clawing its way free.

“Daddy!”

“Go! Y/n, please! Go!”

You shook your head and sobbed, covering his chest with your hands, his blood warm against your chilled skin.

“No, no I can’t leave you!” You said. The shouting grew louder and you knew the ones chasing you were close. But how were you to leave him? Especially when he risked himself for you.

“You must. Please, Y/n/n. Please.” His eyes, ones matching yours, pleaded with you behind light lashes. He retched, blood dribbling from his lips. He gripped your hands with his. “I would die a thousand deaths before I would let them kill you. I… I can’t lose… another one.”

You knew he was talking about Danny, about that fateful day that your older brother had drowned in the lake. How the grief had radiated from your father so potently, it physically pained you. It was the worst day of your life. Now you had to watch another person you loved die.

“Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please don’t go.” You laid your forehead to his, the metallic scent of blood surrounding you.

“I… I love you… I… want you to… live… for me… and for… D-Danny… Please… run.”

“I love you, too,” you said. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and pushed yourself up, giving him one more glance, torn between running and fighting the bastards who did this.

“Go. Please. I love you. Go,” he said weakly. His body went limp and you knew that was it.

Letting a scream of outrage bubble in your chest, you vowed to personally kill every single last one of the fuckers who did this. You vowed to avenge your father. Freya. Marxicus. Gunthias. Sera.

Yourself.

Letting your shields surround you and your glamour conceal you, you turned and sprinted deep into the woods, trying to keep your anger and sorrow at bay long enough to prepare yourself to step foot into the outside world for the first time in your twenty-one years of life.

DEAN

“Screw you.”

Dean laughed and reached forward to scoop up Sam’s cards, shuffling them with the larger stack of cards in the center of the table. He had won three games in a row now, and he was pushing for a fourth.

“Admit it, Sammy,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “You just suck.”

“Shut up, jerk. Deal the damn cards.” Sam sat forward and shook out his hands. Dean snickered and dealt cards to himself and his brother.

“Quit while you can, bitch,” Dean said. “Losing four times in a row? Pathetic.”

“Will you two shut the hell up?” The brothers looked up at the doorway, Bobby trudging in from the hallway with a beer in one hand and a leather bound book in the other. “Some of us need to research.”

Dean sipped his own beer and threw a handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. “How much more research could you possibly have to do? Don’t you ever just… chill?”

Sam furrowed his brows, mouthing the word “chill?” to his brother. Since when had they known Bobby to “chill?”

Bobby grumbled something under his breath and sat down at his desk. “Maybe if you researched more, you wouldn’t have to ask me for help all the time.”

Sam spit out his beer, doubling over in laughter. Dean wasn’t as amused and he threw his next handful of peanuts at his brother.

“Children,” Bobby muttered.

The rest of the night went by in a similar manner. Dean won the fourth round, and the fifth, and then Sam finally gave up before suggesting a new game in which he promptly beat Dean’s ass. Bobby silently read and scribbled notes, answering a phone call around nine.

“You boys up for a hunt?”

Dean rubbed his hands together and lifted his brows. “When aren’t we?”

“Dean, we just finished one yesterday,” Sam said, putting the stack of cards back into the worn box. Dean shrugged and got up from his seat.

“Sounds simple, probably a vengeful spirit,” Bobby said, handing Dean his notes. Dean read over them to himself before silently handing them to Sam who did the same thing. “Should be a one and done thing.”

“Yeah, why not?” Sam sighed.

Bobby waved the brother’s off, Dean speeding from the long, dirt driveway with AC/DC blasting from the stereo. Sam chewed lightly on the tip of his pen as he made some of his own marks to Bobby’s notes.

“So what, you're gonna find another hunt right after this one again? Maybe it’ll take you twelve hours instead of a full day next time.”

Dean’s hands curled tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He liked hunting, so what? Was he throwing himself into hunts more often than not recently? Sure. But they helped. They helped with the rage that simmered beneath his hands. They helped with the itching feeling he got whenever he thought of hell.

Fucking hell.

Literally.

It hadn’t even been three months since he returned to the land of the living. Sam was still in the dark and Dean planned on keeping it that way. He wouldn’t subject his younger brother to the horrors of hell, what he experienced or what he did. He shared everything with Sam. He wanted to keep this to himself.

Hunting helped relieve some of that pent up aggression and fear that burned beneath his bones like fire. Saving people, hunting things. That was his motto, right? Saving people now when he couldn’t in hell, when he caused people pain. Hunting things and killing them to let out some of that burning rage.

If Sam suspected anything, he didn’t say so. Dean thought he might have a few times, but he would quickly change the subject or cut him off.

No chick-flick moments. Another motto he planned to live by.

So he pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, Baby revving beneath him, trees a blur outside his window. He simply let himself drive and listen to his music, thankful he even got to do this, that he could hunt and be with his brother and live.

Even if he wasn’t truly free from the confinement of his own mind, or the burdens of his guilt.

Y/N

It had been nearly a week since you escaped.

A week of hiding and traveling.

You had no money, no way of knowing where you were, no knowledge of anything besides your coven.

Luckily, it seemed you were in the middle of nowhere. You had come across a rundown building with broken windows and shutters that hung from their hinges. Taking a peek inside, you realized it must have been abandoned ages ago. Branches, leaves, and cobwebs littered the inside. You had carefully maneuvered around the broken glass and into a small room. A moth-eaten couch sat cockeyed in the old living room, drapes pooled on the floor beneath the dirt covered windows, dusty books and picture frames laid forgotten on the floor underneath wall to wall shelves.

You still shivered in your shift, but there were a pair of boots by the front door. A quick inspection found the inside to be worn but wearable. After plucking out leaves and a small spider in one of them, you slipped them onto your feet. They were a bit big on you, but they would have to do until you could figure out your next course of action.

You raided the house, finding a small backpack to take with you. You couldn’t stay in a place like this. The only furniture was that god-awful couch and a table in one of the upstairs rooms. But you found a pocket knife, a flashlight (with no batteries), and you had taken a few of the books from the floor, stuffing the items in the backpack before continuing with your journey.

For the rest of the week, you would find small places to settle for the night within the woods. Cover beneath large rocks, crannies between cliffs, in the low branches of trees. You didn’t dare risk making a fire, not with your coven on the lookout for you. Instead, you would summon a warm ball of light to keep you from freezing to death. You would nestle the light and smaller droplets of light around your body as you slept, one hand on the pocket knife, the other cradling your head as a pillow.

You thought of your father every waking hour.

You missed him so much. It seemed as if he was the only one in your family who actually cared about you. Your siblings were too young to really understand anything about the coven, and they saw you more as a prized possession than an older sister. Your mother was devoted to the coven and its members. She loved you. In her own way. But not like your siblings. You were a possession. A thing full of intense power that would eventually return that power to the coven to fuel and replenish it.

You hated it.

You hated that damn coven and its traditional ways. You heard of covens that were modernized and didn’t sacrifice, covens that lived in the modern world. You didn’t know if they were real or not.

You wished your father was with you. He loved you and cherished you as a daughter, not a weapon. You two had always been close. And it was because of you that he was dead.

A week went by, and you were walking along a dark road. The road was made of black stone, white dotted lines painted down the center. You weren’t completely ignorant of the outside world. You knew what roads were, had heard about cars and telephones.

That amongst other little things was all you knew.

Being alone was terrifying.

You allowed yourself to cry. Your mother always told you crying was a sign of weakness, but she wasn’t here. You were alone. For the first time, you were alone in a world that was foreign to you. But you were free.

A low rumbling sounded from behind you. Turning, you caught sight of a large machine barreling towards you. Wheels spun quickly and two lights flashed in your face from the front of it.

A car.

You watched in awe as it sped past you and then stopped a little distance ahead. A man in jeans and a flannel pushed open a door and slipped from the raised seat. A hat with a brim shading his eyes sat on his head, a gray beard covering the bottom of his face. He took a few steps towards you which made you step back.

“You alright, girl?”

His voice was gruff and slightly accented. It reminded you of your father’s voice. You subconsciously took a step towards him, desperate to hang on to that feeling of familiarity that had to do with your father’s memory.

“Miss?”

You stopped when you realized he was taking steps towards you. What was the worst that could happen? If the man tried to hurt you, you would be able to stop him with a single thought. You were a witch, and a damn powerful one. He doesn’t even know witches exist.

“Can I drive you anywhere?”

“No,” you answered honestly. Where could you go? You had nowhere. You left your only home behind and you didn’t have any money. Fuck, you really had nothing. Panic began to creep up your throat.

“Okay,” the man said slowly. “Do you need help?”

Yes, yes, yes. You wanted to let him help you. But what would you say? Oh yeah, my family comes from a closed off coven and my father saved me from having my throat sliced open in a traditional sacrifice, then he was killed while we ran. I have no money, no clothes, and absolutely no where to go.

“I…”

“You look freezing. Let me help you out. I’ll get you something to eat and we’ll figure it out.”

Right to business he was. You glanced down at yourself, skin prickled in gooseflesh from the cold, your slip dirty and ripped in some places. Your feet ached in those too-big boots and your stomach growled in hunger. The berries and bark you had eaten for the past week left you starving for more.

Going against your better judgement, you gave in. He helped you up into the truck. You hugged your backpack to your chest, body ready to bolt if he tried anything. He gave you one last look before the car started moving. You started, gasping a little. The man flinched.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you responded quickly. He grumbled something and the truck went faster.

It was an odd feeling, but one you became accustomed to quickly. You felt his eyes on you again, as if he was sizing you up, and it made you a bit uncomfortable. You shifted in your seat. He seemed to notice and promptly looked away.

Not too long later, he was pulling the truck onto a dirt road. Various crushed and mangled pieces of metal were scattered along the yard. It didn’t take you long to realize they seemed to be old cars, scraps of such that the man must use for something. Tools lay forgotten all around, random bits of chain flung here and there.

Water suddenly splashed over your face.

Jumping, you spun to face him with a bewildered look. He looked you up and down again before reaching into his pocket, revealing a knife.

You reached for the door handle, trying to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. This was it. You were dead.

“Calm down, girl,” he said. He reached forward to grab your arm and you whined. You didn’t want to resort to using your powers, but you would if you absolutely had to. “I’m just testing you.”

“What?” You asked. He pressed the tip of the knife into your forearm. It pinched for a moment and was gone almost instantly, a tiny droplet of blood forming where it had knicked you. “What the hell was that for?”

“Precaution,” was all he said as he clicked a button and opened his door. He walked around the truck before he opened your door and offered you a hand. You looked at it suspiciously. You needed to leave. You should leave. You were also incredibly confused. The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt ‘ya. Well, not anymore. That was more for my safety than anything.”

“How?” You asked.

“I thought you were… nevermind. Just, get out of the car, will ‘ya?”

You narrowed your eyes and let your power inch into his head. It slithered inside and easily found his thoughts. You were a telepath, rare in the witch world, and you weren’t very practiced with it, but it came in handy for situations like this, you supposed. Your mother hated that you were a telepath. Danny was a telepath, and anything that reminded her of him was strictly forbidden. And ever since he died, you were forbidden to use your telepathy, and that led to you being incredibly out of practice.

...Didn’t mean to hurt her… she could have been a shifter… I could have sworn she was something…. She looks scared… probably just a runaway… she doesn’t look very old… why is she staring at me like that...

You pulled your power back and took his hand. The thoughts were quiet and breaking up, but you could make out most of what he was thinking. A shifter? As in shapeshifter? As a witch, you knew about some of the other supernatural creatures. But how would a human know about them?

Leading you into the house, the man kept sparing you odd glances, and you hugged your backpack even tighter to your chest. The inside of the house was dark and dingy, cluttered with old books and boxes. The man gestured to a small round sitting table in the kitchen. You sat down slowly, watching as he pulled out bread and some meat from the refrigerator.

“What’s your name?” He asked. He set the plate down in front of you as well as a glass of water. You tentatively reached forward for the sandwich, made up of some meat and cheese and lettuce, the bread spongier than the homemade kind your mother made at home. You picked it up, sniffing it. “It’s just a sandwich. It won’t kill you.”

Thinking back to the knife in the truck, and the scabbed droplet of blood on your arm, you scowled, but took a bite anyway.

The man pushed over his own sandwich not a minute later, seeing how hungry you were.

“Y/n,” you said after finishing the first sandwich, picking up the second one. You wiped the crumbs with the back of your hand and drank the glass of water deeply, gulping down every last drop. The man pushed his water over as well. You drank that, too.

“Okay, Y/n,” he said. He watched you carefully. “Why were you out on the road like that, dressed in a nightgown when it’s forty degrees out, at almost ten at night?”

You paused and chewed your bite of sandwich slowly. You wouldn’t tell him everything. But he seemed to be kind. And he reminded you so much of your father…

“I ran away.”

The man sighed and nodded. “I figured. You an adult?”

“I just celebrated my twenty-first year.”

He blinked at you, mouth opening to say something, closing it only a moment after. He furrowed his brows. “Odd way of saying it, but okay.” He scratched his chin. “Why did you run away?”

You blanched. You weren’t expecting that question, although you should have. You swallowed the food in your mouth. “Um…”

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me,” he said gruffly, making you frown.

“Um… well… It’s hard to explain,” you said truthfully. How were you supposed to explain your situation to him?

The man leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temple. “I guess if you don’t want to tell me right away, you don’t have to.” He looked you over, noting the still bruised wrists from the shackles and the cuts and various other small wounds from your coven and from spending a week in the woods. He swallowed hard at the sight of them. He reached a hand out for yours, and you obliged. He gently touched the wounds on your wrist, getting up to reach for a box in a cabinet over the sink.

Restraints?... I wonder…

That was all you could get from his head. You wished you were more practiced in your telepathy. Life would be much easier for you.

As he cleaned, applied salve, and dressed your wrists, his face was pulled into a pondering pout the whole time. His silent conversation with himself prompted a quick shake of his head to clear his mind before he was patting your forearm.

“Look, I know you don’t know me. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you have gone through and you don’t have to tell me. But I won’t hurt you, and I sure as hell won’t let anyone hurt you any more. I don’t know what caused these wounds but… I have an imagination. Just… you can stay as long as you want to, or need to. I have a spare room upstairs. I won’t bother you or nothing, but it’ll give you time to heal and get your shit together.” He thought for a moment before adding, “That is- if you want to.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Without thinking, you had wrapped your arms around the man’s neck, hugging him tightly. He grunted and hesitated before patting your back stiffly.

“Okay,” was all he said. You pulled back and grinned shyly.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

“Call me Bobby.”

DEAN

“Piece of cake.”

Sam scoffed and limped after Dean, who was cradling his arm against his chest. They took out the vengeful spirit, but not without it getting the upper hand on them at one point. Nonetheless, Dean turned to his brother and grinned.

“Aw, come on, Sammy. That was fun!” Dean opened the trunk of his precious car and threw in his salt-filled shotgun. Sam shook his head and opened the passenger side door.

“Your definition of fun is startling,” was all he said as he ducked into the car, closing the door behind him. Dean laughed and slipped behind the steering wheel.

“Please. Your definition of fun is watching Harry Potter.”

Sam scoffed and turned to Dean. “Yours is watching cartoon porn.”

“It’s anime!” Dean snapped. Sam cackled in his seat and rubbed his sore knee.

“Okay, Dean. Whatever you say.”

***

By the time they got to Bobby’s, it was well past midnight, but a light was on in the windows. The air had cooled even more, the light wind nipping at their noses as they hurried to the door.

“Fucking locked-” Dean banged on it. “Bobby! Open up!”

“Dean, he could be sleeping,” Sam said.

“The light is on,” Dean pointed out. He raised his fist to bang on the door again but it swung open. Bobby knocked Dean’s hand out of the way.

“Would you quit it?” Bobby said. He moved out of the way to let the shivering brothers inside. “You’ll wake up-” Bobby snapped his mouth shut.

Dean smirked and let out a wheezing laugh. “Bobby, you sly dog!” He clapped his father figure on the shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sam said simply. Dean was still making sexual jabs. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“I’m not seeing anyone, you idjits,” he said. “I took in a runaway. I don’t know the story so don’t ask, but she was hurt. I honestly thought she was… something at first.”

“Why?” Sam asked. He cocked his head. “Did she do anything weird?”

Bobby shrugged. “Call it a hunch. She’s clean, though.”

“So what, you’re just letting her stay here?” Dean made his way to the fridge to grab a beer. “Why would you-”

A scream tore through the upstairs of the house. A bloodcurdling scream that made the hair on Dean’s neck stand up.

Bobby spun and sprinted up the stairs in the blink of an eye, the brothers close on his heels, however when they reached the door to one of the spare bedrooms, Bobby slammed it in their face.

“What the hell?”

The screams broke off suddenly, and Dean could vaguely hear Bobby speaking softly through the door. A woman's voice sounded back, one that was melodic but had a rougher edge to it.

A few minutes passed before Bobby slipped out of the room and pulled the door closed. “Nightmare.”

The brothers stared at him incredulously.

“What?” Bobby raised his shoulders.

“What the hell, Bobby?” Dean asked. “Why’re you getting involved with something like this? I mean, do you even know her?”

“We help people, it’s what we do. I don’t know her but so what? Call it… a hunch,” Bobby said again. He shrugged for a third time and shouldered past the boys to head towards the stairs. “You two need to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Dean followed him, raising a brow.

“She barely trusts me. She’s skittish, is all. I don’t want three men freaking her out, especially two of them as big as you guys.” Bobby opened the door to the house and jerked his head. “You can come back when she settles.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean deadpanned. He couldn’t believe it! All of this over some girl? Some runaway girl who Bobby had just met? “There has got to be more to the story.”

“There isn’t. Now beat it,” Bobby said.

Y/N

Bobby was kind.

The first three days were a struggle. You weren’t sure what to do or what to tell him. He seemed harmless, but you easily spotted the guns and the knives and the sigils around the house. You knew what they were and what they meant. The Devil’s trap was something you had learned to create at a young age.

“Are you a hunter?” Bobby had asked.

“A… what?” You figured he didn’t mean a hunter in the sense of killing animals.

“A hunter. You know about demons and the sigils,” Bobby trailed off when he realized you didn’t know what hunters were. “What are you then?”

“Well, I had to learn about them growing up. Where I’m from, we were taught about demons in school and their protective sigils.” You had chuckled a bit. “My mother told me many people believed we are devil worshipers but we aren’t!”

Bobby simply stared at you.

“You’re a satanist?” He asked. That had you laughing again.

“Like I said, we don’t worship the devil.”

“Who is ‘we?’”

You hesitated, but you figured you could trust him. He had been kind and understanding with you. He knew you must have grown up pretty sheltered. You hadn’t known how to use the telephone and you didn’t know how to drive a car. You had never used a television.

Yes, you could trust him.

“My coven!”

Bobby moved so fast the table shook as his knees hit it, your glass of water toppling over. “Bobby, what?-”

“Your what?”

You cocked your head at his reaction. “My… my coven?”

“You’re a witch?” He was mad. Really mad. So mad, his face turned red and he fisted his hands at his sides.

“Well… yes,” you said slowly.

“We hunt you,” Bobby growled. That had you standing up slowly, hands raised in innocence.

“I don’t understand,” you said. You swallowed thickly. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Ever?” He snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever hurt anyone?”

You froze. Hurt anyone? “Of course not! What are you talking about?”

“Witches kill and maim and bring harm to people,” Bobby hissed. “I knew you were something.”

“I’ve never done any of that! How dare you think I have?” You said. “Up until a week and a half ago, I had never left my compound. I was going to be sacrificed for fucks sake! My coven is traditionalistic. We live a simple life. We have no communication with the outside world. You were the first person I had ever met outside my coven!”

He stared at you dumbly, blinking a few times to process your words. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Yes,” you breathed. You kept your hands up but you shrugged lamely. “If it wasn’t for my father, I’d be dead.”

“Where’s your father?” He asked. Your heart sunk at the thought and suddenly your knees felt weak.

“He died,” you spoke softly. “He freed me and they… they killed him in the process.”

Bobby’s fists unclenched. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “He died trying to save me and I won’t let him die in vain. I’ll leave if you want me to but… I haven’t done anything for you to kill me. You have my word.”

He looked at you for a while, really looked at you. His eyes softened as a tear slipped down your cheek. You desperately wanted to enter his mind but you knew you shouldn’t, especially not now. Finally, he relaxed his position.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said. “But if you start… I don’t know, killing things or doing any of that evil devil shit, I’ll kill ‘ya.”

You scoffed. “What would evil devil shit entail?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, you idjit.”

In the next few weeks, Bobby had taken you under his wing. He began to teach you how to shoot, which you weren’t terrible at. He gave you books to read on lore (much of which you already knew) and even brought you out on outings with him. He was a bit of a hermit, but the few times he did go out, he’d take you with him.

Needless to say, it was… overwhelming.

There were so many people. So much technology. But it was exhilarating. You had never been shopping before, never been to a restaurant. The diner Bobby brought you to was one he said wasn’t very good, but it was fun. The waitress had looked at you like you had grown a third head as your eyes took in all of your surroundings, gazing incredulously at the picture covered walls and the jukebox- that’s what Bobby called it- against the wall.

Then there was the music. You grew up with your mother’s fiddle and that was nothing compared to what you listened to now. You had chosen so many songs from the jukebox, Bobby had to pull you away from it before you drove everyone insane.

It was amazing and you wished you could experience it all with your father. You wished he could see the new sights and hear the wonderful music. The food was a bit more artificial tasting but there was a whole new world of foods to explore. You especially liked the cheeseburgers Bobby introduced you to.

Three weeks into your stay, Bobby had taken you on a hunt with him. He told you there would be people out there who would want to kill you and wouldn’t listen like he had. You had to keep your witchcraft and religion a secret, or else hunters like him would come for you.

That didn’t help the nightmares that plagued you at night.

Your father’s death haunted you. The screams and pleads of the other oldest children haunted you. Danny’s blue lips and waterlogged skin haunted you.

You couldn’t escape it.

“Here’s some money,” Bobby said. “Go to the bar next door. Get yourself a drink, dance a little. I’ll meet you back in the room when I’m done, okay?”

He brought you along but didn’t want you hunting quite yet.

You did as he said. You drank some new drinks, danced with a man you had met, conversed with the pretty red headed bartender. You let loose and had fun, something you never would have done with the coven.

When you stumbled back into the motel room that night, Bobby had grinned at you, watching as you fell back onto your bed.

“Fun night?” He asked, helping your boots off when you struggled with the laces.

“Screw my coven,” you slurred. You smiled toothily up at him. “That was fun!” You reached into your pocket, holding out the remainder of the money he had given you.

“Keep it,” he said. You smiled and shucked off your jacket.

You were asleep by the time your head hit the pillow.

DEAN

“You think the girl is still there?”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Doubt it. It’s been almost two months.”

Sam stretched his legs as he and Dean walked up the steps to Bobby’s house. Dean knocked twice, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Autumn had faded into winter, the leaves long fallen and the flurries of snow drifting around their feet as they walked. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, making it even colder than it was.

The door opened, but instead of Bobby, a woman peered up at them. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were e/c and held a sort of wisdom in them that startled him, but a glint of innocence were beheld in them, too. Her face was framed by long stray locks of h/c hair, half of it braided, the rest loose. She was tall for a woman, but the brothers still towered over her, and her simple t-shirt and jeans showed off her curves nicely. Dean looked her up and down, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Hey there,” he drawled. He touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip before giving her a nod. “What’s your name?”

The woman looked between them both, seemingly unfazed by Dean’s advances. “Bobby! There are two guys out here!”

“Let them in,” Dean heard Bobby call. “It’s the Winchester boys I was telling you about.”

“Oh,” was all she said as she stepped out of the way. She held the screen door open for them as they ducked inside. Dean sent her a wink as he passed.

“Sam, Dean,” Bobby greeted. He gestured to the woman who had now gravitated to the corner of the room. She simply watched them, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Dean noticed faint scars around her wrists. When she caught Dean’s eyes, she held them behind her back. “This is Y/n.”

“Hi,” Sam said, giving her a friendly smile.

“Hey.” Dean grinned lazily at her.

“Hello.”

Her voice was soft and Dean’s heart leaped in his chest at the sound.

“Is this the same girl from a few months ago?” Sam asked. Bobby nodded.

“Yep, that’s her,” he said. “I’ve been showing her the ropes.”

“What- like hunting?” Dean furrowed his brows. “Bobby, since when have we brought civilians into this shit?”

“I’m not a civilian,” Y/n spoke up.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Dean said.

“I’m a witch.”

“Dammit to hell, Y/n!” Bobby threw his arms out to his sides.

“A witch?” Dean snarled. He pulled his gun without a second thought, but before he could shoot, Y/n’s eyes shined purple and the gun was flung from his hand. “Bitch!”

“Watch your mouth, boy!” Bobby hissed. “She’s a witch, but she has lived her whole life in a secluded coven. She’s never hurt anyone.”

“She will!” It was Sam’s turn to pipe up. “Bobby, how can you trust a witch?”

“If you knew her, you’d understand,” Bobby answered. He gestured to her. “She won’t hurt anyone, and you won’t hurt her. Because if you do, I’ll hurt you. Do you understand?”

“Bobby-”

“I said, do you understand?” Bobby repeated himself. The brothers looked at him, noticing how his lips were screwed into a silent growl, his body moving into a defensive position half in front of the woman. Sam swallowed hard.

“Fine.”

“Sam!” Dean protested.

“If Bobby trusts her… then I do, too,” Sam muttered. Dean scoffed.

“She’s a witch!”

“And you’re a dick!” Y/n snapped.

Dean’s eyes widened. He lifted a finger to point at her. “You shut it.”

“Make me,” Y/n mocked. She folded her arms over her chest.

Dean took a step forward. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Enough!” Bobby roared. He turned to the woman. “What did I say about Dean?”

She sighed deeply. “Not to rile him up.”

“And what are you doing?”

“... Riling him up.”

“Exactly,” Bobby said. “Stop it.”

“Sorry.”

Bobby turned to Dean next. “You quit taunting her, would you? She’s turning into a decent hunter, and an even better consultant, and she’s a kind woman. If you would get your head out of your ass, you two actually have a lot in common.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said. Which was a bit of a lie, but not really. She was attractive, and he liked her spirit, but she was a witch. How was he ever going to trust the likes of her?

“A consultant?” Sam asked.

“She grew up learning about monsters,” Bobby clarified. “Not only that, but she has the knowledge for spells and herbal magic. She’s given me a lot of great information on healing spells and on some research type stuff.”

“Oh great, she could be poisoning you, Bobby,” Dean said.

“I could poison you.” Y/n narrowed her eyes at the green eyed hunter.

“Bobby, she literally just threatened me,” Dean pointed out. Bobby just shook his head and rubbed his temple.

“Y/n?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Bobby gestured to the brothers. “If you two ever need any help, she’s your girl. Dean, you may not like her, but she’s smart and her herb mixes really do work.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said gently. He grinned at Y/n. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too, Sam,” she said, enunciating his name more prominently. Dean scowled. “I’ll see you two later.”

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked as Y/n made her way to the stairs.

“On a date!”

Bobby started and gaped at her. “A date?”

“Yeah! Remember Ben?”

Bobby thought for a moment. “The EMT from the wraith hunt?”

“Uh-huh! We went out that night afterwards and he called me yesterday for a second date.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Bobby asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I am an adult, Bobby. Besides, the only relationship I had ever been in was an arranged one. I’d like to have my own.”

Dean sputtered. “I’m sorry- arranged?”

“Her coven was a little… old school,” Bobby said.

“To say the least,” Y/n chimed in. “Anyway, I have to get ready. Bye, boys!”

She disappeared up the stairs, the soft click of her door closing echoing down from the hallway. Bobby still looked like he was going to explode.

“How did I not know about this?”

Sam chuckled. “Don’t ask us, Bobby,” he said. “But I like her.”

“She’s great,” Bobby agreed. “Dean, if you don’t lighten up, I swear to God.”

Dean rolled his eyes, putting his whole body into it. “Okay, fine, whatever. I won’t kill her.”

“How generous of you, Dean,” Sam said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Dean pushed him away, giving him a dirty look.

“Shut up.”

Y/N

Ben was sweet, and handsome, and decent in bed, but he didn’t send that spark to your core like Dean did.

By your fifth date, you decided to break it off. It had been a month since you last saw the Winchester brothers, and three months since you had met them. You occupied your time with research and exploring the outside world. Ben had been fun, and he was so nice, but by God, Dean lit a fire in you that burned so brightly, all you could think about was him.

So after Ben, there was Derek. He was a bit more rugged than the soft spoken EMT, and if Ben had been fun, Derek was a fucking rollercoaster. He wasn’t more than a month long fling as he rolled through town, but fuck was it great. You liked this new freedom. You liked experimenting and having the choice. Sure, you and Jasper had a good time, and it was the escape you needed, but you two were arranged by your parents and the elders. Ben and Derek were your choices.

You loved having the fucking choice.

And if given the chance, you’d like to choose Dean.

He was an arrogant dick, but you remembered that smirk and the dark look in his eye and that filled you with an excitement you wanted to chase. You knew you shouldn’t chase. That you couldn’t chase.

Because no matter how civil he acted with you, you also knew he wanted to kill you.

But you also thought he wanted to fuck you. He was incredibly confusing.

Your phone calls were always short, and they either ended up with insults thrown at each other, or flirtatious innuendos from the hunter that always left you questioning whether or not he actually hated you. You provided them with copious amounts of information for their hunts, and Sam always took you up on your offer for spells and herbal concoctions. You thought Dean may have been coming around, but you wouldn’t know until tonight when they came to visit Bobby.

It was clear Dean didn’t trust you, and his cocky attitude made it so much worse. But he was a damn good hunter and a great brother to Sam, and he was Bobby’s family. So you’d try to be civil.

You’d try.

***

“Goodnight. Try not to kill each other, please.”

You waved Bobby off. Sam had long gone to bed, and with Bobby leaving, you and Dean were left alone.

And fuck was that awkward.

You looked anywhere but him. You didn’t want to just get up and leave. But you also didn’t want to sit here in silence. Dean seemed to have the same idea.

“So how’s it been-”

“How do you like-”

You spoke at the same time and heat rose in your cheeks. “Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat. “How do you like it outside the coven?”

Right, Bobby had told you he told the brothers a bit about your past. Not everything, but enough to help them understand you weren’t evil like Dean thought you were.

“It’s different. A good different,” you said. “It’s… amazing, really. There are so many things I never knew existed.”

“Like what?” Dean asked. True curiosity shined in his eyes and it made you smile.

“Like music. The music is amazing. I have more freedom. There is so much to explore. Television is pretty neat. There are a lot of books, too.”

“You sound like Sam in that sense,” Dean mused. You shrugged.

“It’s just better, you know?” You thought back to your father and Danny, how you wished for the thousandth time they could see this. You wondered about Margot and Matthias, how they would like it. “I wish my family could see it.”

“I heard about your dad. I’m sorry,” he said honestly. His eyes were earnest and full of something you couldn’t understand. You desperately wanted to read his mind, itched to. But he already didn’t trust you.

“Thanks,” was all you said. You fiddled with your hands in your lap. “We were supposed to do this together, you know? He was supposed to be with me.” You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. You couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. “But then I met Bobby and… he reminds me so much of my dad. It was like the goddess gave him back to me.”

Dean’s breath hitched. “I lost my dad, too.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes when you looked up at him. “Bobby was always like a father to me. More than my own was. He’s good like that.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He is.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, but the awkwardness had faded.

“So. You were going to be sacrificed, huh?”

You burst out laughing.

Dean stared at you in bewilderment as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. You covered your mouth with your hands, not wanting to wake up Sam and Bobby, but you couldn’t help the laughs that came from deep in your chest.

“How is that funny?” He asked. He must have thought you were going crazy.

“We… we just had this… heartfelt conversation… and that’s what… what you follow up with?” You said between fits of laughter. You wiped a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking funny.”

Dean’s lip quirked. “You’re very odd.”

That made you laugh again, and this time, he joined.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.

DEAN

“You like her.”

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of Sam’s voice. He had just gotten off the phone with Y/n and he hadn’t realized he’d been smiling until Sam raised a brow with a knowing look.

“Winchester.”

“Hi, Y/n,” Dean had said. He smirked at her greeting. “How’re you doing?”

“Do you need something?” She asked. Dean’s grin widened.

“You.”

Y/n scoffed and Dean heard some shuffling. “Course you do. Without me, you’d crash and burn.”

“Real funny,” Dean said. “Do you have information on basilisks?”

“Of course I do,” Y/n said and Dean could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Is that what you’re hunting?

“We think so,” Dean replied. He waited for her to speak but the other end was silent for a few moments. “Sweetheart?”

“Oh- sorry. I forgot,” she said. Her voice sounded distant, like she had left the phone across the room. He raised a brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat amused. “Y/n.”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re sacrificing kittens or something fucked up like that.”

“Damn. You caught me.” A pause. “I’m actually trying to cook for Bobby.”

Dean’s smile faded from one of amusement to one of wonder. “Really?”

“Yeah and this cookbook is so confusing.” He heard a smack-presumably her palm hitting the book in frustration- and a groan. “I just want to do something nice for him.”

Dean’s heart warmed at her words and he closed his eyes. It was hard to hate her. Or in his case, act like it. Sometimes. To be honest, he found it difficult to see her as anything other than good, even if she was a witch. But she still was one, and he knew someday she would turn.

Why did she have to make it so difficult to hate her?

“It’s the thought that counts,” he said softly.

“Well. I’m still trying,” she said. “My mother stopped teaching me to cook once Danny died and the marriage to Jasper was called off. Why know how to cook when I’m supposed to be dead?”

Dean flinched at her words. “What, they don’t teach you how to magically create dinner at Hogwarts?”

She didn’t say anything for a while and Dean thought he had gone too far before she said, “Only how to sacrifice kittens.”

He laughed so hard, it made Sam jump.

Then he heard that bell-like laugh of hers through the phone and he found himself unable to stop smiling.

“Dude, stop flirting and get the information,” Sam said. He narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “We’re wasting time.”

Dean sighed deeply. “Alright, Mr. Stick-in-the-ass needs the basilisk information or else he might spontaneously combust. Sorry to interrupt your cooking, sweetheart, but whaddya got?”

They had met her four months ago. She had been with Bobby for six. Somehow, she had weasled her way into their lives, and at first, Dean hated it. But ever since that conversation with her, watching as the haunting memories of her past swam behind her eyes, how she laughed at something so morbid, how she tried so hard to be good, something had changed.

Dean wasn’t sure what to think anymore. The thought of her warmed his chest. He no longer twitched with annoyance when she spoke or frowned at the mention of her name. He eagerly picked up the phone to hear her voice, wanted to talk to her, to hear her theories.

She was weird but he liked it.

Dean knew she had a rough past. He also knew that she told Bobby some of it, but not all. She was private when it came to her life in the coven. But he knew some of what she had gone through. He knew she was arranged to be married, she knew her older brother had died and that she took his place for the ritualistic sacrifice, he knew her father died saving her. He knew she had to learn all about the world when she escaped.

And she was so smart. She had picked up on the world quickly and it surprised Dean. He knew if he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t do that well. Hell, when he came back to the life of the living after only four earth months, it took him ages to learn about all that had happened.

“I do not,” Dean said. He brushed off Sam’s comment. Liked her? Please…

Did he? He was incredibly attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? And sure, he liked to talk to her, liked to watch her face light up when he turned on the radio, or when Bobby brought home mac and cheese. He liked to watch her dance in the kitchen and could watch her read for hours without getting bored.

Did he like her?

He shrugged off the feeling, not wanting to get involved. She couldn’t possibly feel the same way. And even if she did, she deserved better. Her gentle heart was no match for his own hell-blackened soul.

“Right,” Sam rolled his eyes. He stood from his seat and picked up his jacket from the table. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Bring me some pie,” Dean muttered. As much as he tried to get her off his mind, he couldn’t. Sam rolled his eyes again and left Dean to his thoughts.

***

At one hour, Dean called Sam, but it went straight to voicemail.

Ten minutes later, he called again. Still voicemail.

At an hour and a half, Dean was dressed and ready to go on a man hunt when his phone rang.

Sam.

He answered it with a low growl. “Dammit, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Hello, Dean Winchester.”

Not Sam.

Dean’s face went slack and his body stiffened at the cool voice that spoke from the other end of the phone. He swallowed down his anger. This wasn’t the basilisk, it couldn’t fucking talk. And it didn’t sound like anyone he knew.

Fuck.

“Who the hell is this?”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly. “I’m Zacharias.”

“I have no clue who the fuck you are but if you have done anything to my brother, I swear-”

“Yet. I haven’t touched him yet,” Zacharias said smoothly. “Although, a Winchester? I can imagine a hundred different things I’d like to do to him.”

“You sick son of a bitch.”

“I won’t touch him, though,” Zacharias told Dean. “I will, if you don’t get me what I want.”

“Why don’t I just find you and rip out your lungs?” Dean spit. His body shook with anger. “And how do I know you’re not lying?”

“Should I put old Sammy boy on the phone?” Shuffling. Grunting. Then finally-

“Dean?”

Dean sighed with relief. “Sam? Are you okay?”

Sam groaned a bit. “Define okay.”

“I’ll kill them all,” Dean snarled.

“Don’t listen to them Dean. Don’t give her to them. These people, they’re-”

“That’s enough.”

The phone was pulled away as Zacharias interrupted Sam. The man cleared his throat.

“I’m sure you don’t know who I am. We keep to ourselves, but I know who you are, and I know you have access to something I want.”

“Which is?”

“Deliver it to me, alive, and you get Sam back in one piece, not a hair on his pretty little head touched, and we will leave you be forever. We will go back into solitude. You won’t ever have to deal with us again.”

“Who is ‘us?’” Dean was growing agitated. Why was this fucker so vague? “Just get to the fucking point!”

Zacharias laughed. “So impatient, hunter.”

“Listen, Zach- can I call you Zach?”

“No.”

“Okay, Zach. If you don’t get to the fucking point, I will-”

“What? You’ll do what?” Zach sneered. “The way I see it, I have the one thing in the world you care about most. You have something I need, and I have something you need. Besides, I thought you liked causing harm.”

Dean’s blood ran cold.

“Feel free to rough her up a bit. I won’t mind. Lord knows she won’t get it once she gets home.”

She. Home.

Who was he talking about?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” Zach’s voice lowered an octave. “I’ve heard the whispers, Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about the part you played in hell, how you were acting a little too well. Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.”

“What do you want?”

Zach’s breath hitched a bit. “I want the girl.”

Y/N

“Thank you for dinner, Y/n,” Bobby said. He patted your cheek and kissed your temple as he went to rinse his dish in the sink.

“I know it wasn’t great but-”

“I don’t get very many home cooked meals. This was fantastic,” Bobby said. Your chest swelled with pride at his words and you grinned.

“I’m glad. I just wanted to do something to say thank you. It’s not much but… I don’t know. You’ve been very kind to me,” you told him. He gave you an odd look.

“This sounds like a goodbye,” he said apprehensively. Your eyes widened.

“Oh, God no! No, this isn’t a goodbye!”

Bobby’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I’ve gotten used to another person being here. I’ve gotten used to you being here. I know I said take all the time you need, but I selfishly hope for more time.”

“Bobby, I like it here. I like it here with you. You remind me a lot of my father,” you said. You swallowed hard. “You’ve done a lot for me. You’re a good friend.”

Bobby blushed and went bashful. He shrugged and murmured some words you couldn’t hear before shuffling into the study, throwing a “thank you” over his shoulder. You didn’t take any offense. You knew he wasn’t very good at deep conversations.

You cleaned the kitchen and were about to head to bed when the phone Bobby had given you rang. You smiled smally when you saw Dean’s name flash on the screen.

“Two phone calls in one day? I must be special,” you said snarkily as you answered the phone.

“I need your help,” he said.

“What, no ‘hi, sweetheart’ this time?” You mused.

“I’m serious, Y/n,” he said. You frowned at his tone. He was usually playful with you. If he was grumpy, he was usually doing it to mess with you.

“Is everything okay?”

“No. I’ll send you the location. Get here as fast as you can.”

Your knees wobbled a bit as nerves lit a fire in your belly. “Wait, Dean, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Just get here. I’ll explain everything when you do,” he said. “Please?”

You sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. You were tired after researching all night, but you couldn’t just say no. If Dean was asking for your physical help, he must really need it.

“Okay. Fine. Send me the address.”

***

You knew something was wrong when you pulled the car Bobby loaned you into a small patch of trees down a dirt path off the highway.

Bobby had taught you how to drive not long after you started staying with him. You didn’t drive much, but it was cool when you did. The drive to the location only took a few hours, and within that time, you tried to think of the different reasons he would have called you. Surely he wouldn’t be asking for your help unless he really needed it. Sure, he was a lot more civil with you, even nice sometimes, but he still wasn’t a huge fan of yours. He hated witches and that hatred didn’t stop with you.

The thought made your heart fall in your chest, but you pushed the feeling away. You couldn’t feel those sort of things for him. It was a dangerous game to play.

He was leaning against the Impala when you parked the car. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, you approached him warily.

The first thing you noticed was Sam’s absence.

“Where’s Sam?”

Sam was always with him. You and Dean never met up alone. The few times you had met up with the brothers when they weren’t hunting, whether it be for some healing spell lessons, research sessions, or just lunch, it was always Sam and Dean. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

You looked Dean up and down, noticing the way his fists were clenched and tucked tightly into his sides. His eyes were wide and nervous, as if you were some cruel seductress here to kidnap him, but his mouth was screwed into a hard line. You watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“He’s going to uh… meet us there,” Dean stammered. He gestured to his car. “Get in?”

“Tell me what’s going on,” you demanded. “You’re acting weird.”

His chest rose and fell as he took a deep, settling breath. Energy crackled between the two of you as anger rolled from him in waves. You could sense his worry. His anger. You prodded your power at his mind, running a smooth finger down the inseam as you stepped into his thoughts.

She just needs to get in the car… fucking hell… I need to get Sam… quit acting so weird, Dean, you’ll put her off… get in the car!

That was all you could muster before a sharp pain stung your temples. Damn you needed practice. His thoughts made you more uneasy and you took a step back towards your car.

“Dean, tell me what’s going on!”

“Get in the car, Y/n,” he said darkly. You made a move to run but he lunged, gripping your wrist. You yanked free of his grip and pushed him away. “Just get in the car!”

You turned to face him, but your eyes met the barrel of a gun.

You couldn’t breathe. This was it. He was going to kill you. You had no doubts that he had witch killing bullets in that gun, and you just fucking knew he wouldn’t hesitate.

“This was your plan all along?” You whispered. You tried to keep the emotion off your face, but couldn’t keep it from your voice. “To get me to trust you, then you’d kill me? Really?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” He jerked his head towards the Impala. “I won’t say it again.”

You made a run for it.

You turned and made for the trees. This was the second time you would flee into the woods in your life and you really hoped there wouldn't be a third.

You heard Dean curse behind you and you sprinted. With his long legs, you didn’t get very far, and his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you up in the air. You swung your head back to collide with his face. He yelped as you felt his nose crunch beneath the back of your skull.

That only made him angrier.

He threw you to the ground roughly, pinning you down with one knee to the center of your back. You thrashed and raised your hand, a purple glow emanating from it, ready to strike.

He quickly latched a handcuff to your wrist and your power fizzled.

“What?”

“They’re warded,” he said simply. He cuffed your other hand and gripped a fistful of your hair. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just got into the car.”

Your body ached and your scalp screamed but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. “Would you have gotten into the car if you were in my shoes?”

“I’d never be in your shoes,” he snarled, hauling you to your feet. “I’m not a filthy fucking witch.”

Ouch.

“You’re still not over that? Really, Dean?” He dragged you to the car, all the while you kicked and thrashed, but he was much stronger than you and the wards were weakening you significantly. “I’m not evil! I thought we were friends!”

His hand gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. His fingers were rough and heavy against your skin as he dug into you, making you wince. Up close like this, you could see the beautiful green of his eyes, even in the dark, and his freckles stood out against his cheeks. You wished this was happening in a different circumstance. You wished you could have been close like this in another way.

His mouth curled into a ferocious snarl as he said, “I’m not friends with monsters.”

He shoved a gag into your mouth, opened the trunk of his car, and shoved you inside before closing you in, concealing you in a darkness that swallowed you whole and muffled your sobs.

DEAN

The compound was deep in the forest.

Dean stood by the driver's side door, waiting. Three cloaked figures walked towards him, Sam hauled behind them, dragged by a crimson energy around his wrists and ankles. His face was a bit bruised and his clothes were dirty, but he was unscathed.

That didn’t relieve the guilt he felt.

“The girl.”

Dean recognized the voice as Zach’s. He gave a long look to Sam before he walked around to the trunk.

He betrayed her. He betrayed her in the worst way possible and now she was going to die because of it. She told him she trusted him. She had learned to trust him after he wanted to kill her.

And now?

Now, he had taken that trust and destroyed it. Bobby would kill him surely. His father figure had started looking at her like a surrogate daughter. Y/n had come into his life and brightened it in the best way possible. Bobby had been so excited when he talked about how well she was doing. How the nightmares had begun to fade. How her scars were barely noticeable. How she didn’t flinch as much.

How she trusted Bobby so wholeheartedly, and how she trusted Sam and Dean.

That was ruined now, and Dean had to face it. He had to face it like he had to face what happened in hell. But he wouldn’t do that. No. He was saving Sam again.

He would always save Sam.

He opened the truck and nearly broke at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. Regardless of the tears, however, she gave him a look that was pure death. It sent shivers to his core as her eyes lit purple. A warning.

A promise.

He yanked her from the trunk and half carried her to Zach.

The new High Priest of Y/n’s coven.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Y/n. I know you know where she is.”

“Why do you want her?” Dean’s stomach curled.

“We have some… unfinished business.”

It didn’t take Dean long to realize it was her old coven, the one she had run from. The ritual wasn’t complete, and it wouldn’t be complete until Y/n was dead. So there was to be an exchange. Y/n for Sam.

“Let Sam go.”

Zach, a tall and plump man with gray hair and a bulbous nose, nodded at the two cloaked figures at his sides. They yanked Sam to Dean. Y/n writhed in Dean’s grip, desperate to escape, desperate not to return to the coven.

“The girl,” Zach said again. Dean looked down at Y/n, whose eyes were so wide with fear, he was afraid they’d pop right from her head. She looked at him then, pleading, begging for him to take her.

Instead, he took the gag off, pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth, and pushed her away.

Y/n was so surprised, she barely flinched when the cloaked figures gripped the tops of her arms.

“Dean!” She said his name with yearning as the two figures dragged her away, still chained, still terrified. “Dean, please don’t do this! You know what they’ll do! You know! Please! Sam, Dean, please!”

With an evil grin, Zach sent the brothers a wink. “Thank you, boys. We’ll take good care of her.”

Then in a blast of crimson, the four witches were gone.

Y/N

“You traitorous bitch!”

Your mother hit you again, the whip stinging across your back with the scorching pain of the sun. You keened, tears long fallen, your eyes dry and crusty from how much you’ve cried.

Dean had betrayed you. This was worse than him killing you. Worse because not only were you going to die, but your freedom had been ripped from you, stolen out from underneath you. Worse because your father’s death would mean nothing. Worse because you still loved Dean.

Shit, you loved him. You hated that you did. You hated him while you loved him.

You realized you were in love with him when you were locked in that trunk. You wondered why it hurt so much. Why although he had put you there, you wanted him to comfort you. It was fucked up and twisted, but you were in love with him.

And he had royally, utterly betrayed you.

“I’m sorry, mother,” you said for the thousandth time. The whip cracked against your back again, tearing another ribbon. It wasn’t the first time you had been whipped. It was a typical form of punishment within your coven. Your wrists were bound to the top of a pole, your shirt stolen off your body to display your previously marred back. It wasn’t bad, the scars having long faded to dull lines. But now? Now they were re-opened, new ribbons sliced into your back by your own mother’s hand.

There were some spectators still. Many had gathered around to watch the pariah be punished for committing treason. Usually, treason was instant death in the coven. But you were to die in three days under the summer solstice, the moon at its peak for the season. It wasn’t as powerful as the harvest moon, but the solstice was still great for harvesting energy, and the coven couldn’t wait until autumn to refuel their power.

So they resorted to public punishment, letting you be an example to the children of the founding families who would grow up to have kids of their own to be sacrificed. This was what would happen if you or your child tried to escape. If they did escape.

Thirty lashes later, you were slumped against the pole, your body in so much pain, you were on the brink of unconsciousness. Hands moved to untie you and you slumped to the ground once you were unbound. You cried out in agony as you hit the dirt, screaming when someone lifted you up into their arms.

“I’m sorry.”

Jasper.

You didn’t turn into his chest like you would have a year ago. But you did like the comfort his touch brought you. Your best friend.

That comfort disintegrated when he laid you on your stomach on a moth-eaten cot in one of the cells of the dungeons below the founder’s hall.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said again as he left you, someone else closing the cell door, locking you inside.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t think you could physically cry anymore.

Instead, you wallowed. You wallowed in the pain, your own self pity, your anger and sadness.

You gave up.

You were done running. You were done fighting. Nothing was going to come of it. Nothing was going to change. The man you loved had shoved you back into the cruel clutches of your coven, and you were going to die in three days time, just as you should have died under the harvest moon with the others all those months ago.

DEAN

“Dean.”

Sam and Bobby watched as Dean paced in front of them. The older Winchester brother’s shoulders were hunched, brows pinched, mouth pulled into a sour frown as he paced and thought, thought and paced.

“Dean.”

He ignored his brother again. What was the point? What was the point in talking? He had done it. He had given her up. He had traded her life for his brother’s, just like he had done his whole life.

Sam was everything to him, and although she had weaseled herself into his life, into his heart, that wouldn’t change.

The guilt ate at him. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, an itching fury burning beneath his flesh that left him twitchy. This felt… wrong. This felt more wrong than he thought. What he did was awful. But it felt different. It felt…

No. He couldn’t feel those things. He wouldn’t. If he felt those things for her, there would be no going back, and he would just be hurt again. He would be hurt beyond comparison if he felt those things for her. If his heart raced at the sight of her, if he itched to reach out and touch her whenever she was close, if his mind thought of her when he woke up in the morning and right before he slept at night.

If he felt those things, he’d be a goner. If he felt those things, this situation would be so much worse.

“Dean, goddammit!”

He stopped, turning slowly, finally letting himself look at his brother and Bobby, the former who was the epitome of worry, the latter looking like he was mourning a daughter.

Which, Dean thought, he probably was.

Dean knew how much Bobby cared for Y/n. He could see it in the way his father figure would gently touch her cheek in passing, or press a kiss to her forehead whenever she went to bed. How he went out of his way to keep her comfortable, how he helped her heal. Bobby was never like that with the boys. Sure, he loved them and Dean knew he and Sam were like Bobby’s sons, but Bobby also grew to have a daughter figure in his life, and she had been ripped away from him by Dean’s doing.

“You’re going to get her back,” Bobby said smoothly. His voice was still and unwavering. Emotionless.

“Don’t you think I want to?” Dean asked. “I can’t leave her there. I can’t… It was part of the plan to go back and get her. But what if... what if she’s already dead?”

Bobby was suddenly in Dean’s face, gripping the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the wall. His face was contorted in a rage Dean had never seen pointed towards him and it made him gulp.

“Don’t say that.” Bobby tightened his grip on Dean’s shirt. “We’re getting her back.”

“Bobby, even if she is still alive, how would we get past an entire coven?” Sam spoke from behind them. He didn’t move to pry Bobby off of Dean.

Even Sam knew Dean made a bad call.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bobby said. He finally let go of Dean and backed up a few paces. “It’s not the right time for the ritual. She’ll be alive until late tonight if I have the moon cycle right.”

“Wha- Bobby! We’re barely going to have time!” Dean said. Alive? God, he hoped so.

“We need to go. Now.” Bobby was rushing around the study like a madman, collecting guns and knives and a flask of holy water. Dean knew the holy water would do nothing, but watching as Bobby also stuffed a bag full of salt filled rounds, he knew the man was just desperate to get her back, using anything and everything to do so.

“We’ve wasted too much time,” Bobby said. He stalked towards the door and turned back to look Dean in the eye. “You better hope she’s alive, boy.”

He slipped out the front door without another word, the brothers giving each other a long look before following after him, hoping they weren’t too late.

Y/N

As night fell, the moon peeking up from behind the trees, you prayed to your gods quietly. Your mother and siblings hadn’t come to see you since the punishment in the square the day before. You were left alone, back oozing blood throughout the night and into the morning. It still leaked, but much of the blood had begun to crust and clot. You didn’t want to know what your back looked like. It had finally healed enough from the last time you were punished six years ago that you could start looking at your back in the mirror.

You supposed you didn’t have to worry about it now, seeing as you’d be dead by morning.

The cuffs from Dean had been swapped for similar cuffs as the ones your dad melted when you two made your escape the last time. They dug into your wrists painfully, chafing them raw and bloody.

A loud bang sounded from somewhere above the cellar. Your mouth went dry. This was it.

The door to the cellar opened, revealing Jasper. He looked at you solemnly and reached down to grip the tops of your arms. You cried out as your back was jarred, and he ignored it, dragging you up the stairs and into the main hall where someone else gripped your other arm. Together, they carried you outside into the warm night. The hot air hit your back painfully and it took all your strength not to cry in pain. Instead, you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood and tried to push the pain away, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing you hurt.

They carried you to the waiting cell, which was really just a shed, and pushed you inside. You landed on your side, agony ripping through you, and you groaned. They closed the door and locked you inside as everyone prepped for the ritual.

As you laid there, having flipped onto your stomach, you tried to count the minutes in your head, counting the seconds. If you let yourself think of what was coming, you would surely go insane. This was the second time you were experiencing this and thinking about it made you queasy. Thinking about Dean left you conflicted. Thinking of Bobby and your father left you dejected.

So you just counted.

And counted.

Until a thud echoed outside the shed. Shuffling. Another thud. A squelching sound.

“Keep an eye out.”

“No, I was just going to stand here with my thumb up my ass.”

“Real mature, Dean.”

“Thank you.

“Shut up.”

“Hurry up, Sam.”

“I’m trying! It’s spelled or something.”

“You know what? Move.”

Holy shit. Was that-

There was a loud bang on the door and suddenly it creaked open. It was too dark to see, but you could make out the shadowed silhouettes of two very familiar bodies.

“Shit.”

Dean dropped beside you so fast it made your head spin. How had they found you? How did they even get to you?

His hand lifted to your head and he brushed your hair from your eyes. Your cheek was pressed against the cool stone floor of the shed, violent shivers racking your body.

“God, Dean- look at her back.”

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Dean made to lift you but you snarled at him, reaching your hand out to slap him away from you.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hissed. You glanced back at Sam, relief flooding you as he looked unharmed. There was some blood spattered on him, but he looked fine. You didn’t think the blood was his.

“Y/n-”

“Shut up, dick,” you said. “Sam can carry me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know how I’m going to. It’s… it’s bad. I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said softly. He bent down beside you as well.

“I don’t think I can walk. It’s going to hurt like a fucking bitch but just do it,” you said. “How did you guys get to me?”

“A lot of fighting and a lot of bullets,” Dean said morbidly. “Bobby’s our getaway driver. He’s picking off a lot one by one.”

“He’s… what?” Your eyes widened. “Dean, there are children here!”

“He’s not killing them all, Y/n,” Dean said. “Just the ones who are fighting to kill you and trying to kill him.”

You let that sink in. They were killing your coven. They were killing the community you grew up with.

“Okay,” was all you said. Sam made a pained sound and reached for you.

Your body was lit with an excruciating fire.

Sam apologized so much, it all blurred together. You gasped and cried and whined as he carried you. Dean had laid his flannel over your bare chest, his face pained as Sam carried you out into the woods. Bodies laid scattered all around, fires licked towards the sky. The compound was devastated, but you could vaguely make out the shapes of some people fleeing into the trees across the field.

You could also see Jasper’s lifeless eyes staring at you from where his body was leaning against the shed, a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead. How you had not heard any of this, you weren’t sure. Perhaps you were too delirious with pain.

Your heart was in your throat now. Jasper. He was dead. Your best friend. Your confidant. Your lover. Dead amongst the ones who wanted to kill you.

He was going to stand by and watch you die.

You bit your lip and tried to push away the urge to vomit. Jasper was dead, you didn’t know about your mother, or Margot and Matthias. Your mother… you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about her too much. A sliver of yourself worried for her… but she didn’t care for you. Not really. The coven was the most important thing to her. Margot and Matthias however, you hoped they were alright. As long as you were alive, they couldn’t touch them.

“We’re almost there,” Sam spoke suddenly, bringing you from your thoughts. You were almost to the car, where you would be taken from this place once again.

“Hurry,” you rasped. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You were gasping for air at this point, the pain constricting even your breathing.

“Bobby, start it!”

“Holy mother of-”

“Just do it! She won’t last much longer,” Sam ordered. Bobby reluctantly turned from where he started forward towards you, getting into the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam sat you in the back seat and started to get in with you but was pulled back. He grunted as he landed on his ass, Dean taking his place.

“Not you!” You didn’t want him anywhere near you.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you again.” You laid on your stomach across the back seat, your cheek resting against his thigh as he gently laid your head down onto him. The fire across your back faded ever so slightly, but it had been reawoken when Sam touched it. You wished unconsciousness would claim you but it didn’t. Tears slipped from your cheeks.

“How could you?” You whispered. You found yourself repeating it again and again, Dean’s hand stroking your hair as he shushed you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally, as if the gods had heard your prayer, the edges of your vision began to darken, and sleep claimed you at last.

DEAN

Dean’s back was to the wall. In one hand, he held a beer, and in the other he held a small bouquet of flowers. It was a useless sentiment, he knew that, especially when it was his doing that caused this.

Another yelp of pain from the room behind him and he flinched. Bobby and Sam had been hard at work for the past two hours on Y/n’s wounds. She had kicked Dean out promptly as soon as she regained consciousness. She was furious with him and she should be.

Dean didn’t blame her.

The door opened and Sam stepped out. His shirt was covered in blood, hands stained pink. His face, ashen and pinched, turned to look at Dean.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“She needs rest. She’s… she’s going to scar pretty badly.” Sam sighed and shook his head. “How could they do that?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Is she alright?”

Sam scoffed. “No. No, she’s not alright, Dean. She was given up by someone she thought she could trust, whipped to ribbons by her own mother, and then was thrown in a cell to wait for her slaughter. So no, she’s not alright.”

Dean stiffened. “Her mother did that?”

“As punishment,” Sam seethed. “Apparently it wasn’t the first time.”

Dean thought he was going to be sick. He took a deep breath and stood up, hesitating. “I want to see her.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Sam said.

“I know. But I at least want to apologize, even if she doesn’t believe me,” Dean murmured. He glanced down at the flowers in his hand, a futile attempt of an “I’m sorry” and he knew it. “I…”

“I know,” Sam said softly when Dean couldn’t finish his thought. He couldn’t quite say the words yet. He didn’t even have half a mind to think them. Sam reached over to squeeze his brother’s shoulder gently. “I know.”

Dean gave a low nod and stepped around Sam, ducking into the study.

It had been turned into a makeshift infirmary. The desk had been cleared of items, a sheet thrown over it, a pillow supporting Y/n’s head where she laid upon it. Everything had been pushed away against the wall, making room for bags of gauze, salves, and other medical tools that Dean cringed away from. It smelled strongly of antiseptic and blood, making Dean woozy as he stepped inside.

Y/n’s eyes were half open and glazed over. She stared unfocused at a spot on the wall beside Dean, and didn’t flinch as he stepped right beside her line of sight. She just simply stared.

Bobby sat beside the desk, one hand in hers- which once again had bandages wrapped around her wrists- as he watched her closely. Her back had been heavily bandaged, blood staining the sheets below her body, tears long drying on her face, leaving streaks on her cell-dusted skin.

“How are you feeling?”

Her eyes lifted to him finally. They were cold and hard and so void of emotion it made Dean shiver.

“What do you think?”

Dean swallowed hard and placed the flowers on a nearby shelf. He wrung his hands together as he thought of what to say next.

“Bobby, would you mind-”

“Don’t even ask, boy.” Bobby didn’t even move when he said it. He just stayed in his position, gaze locked on the broken girl on the table, face pulled into a deep frown.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured. “Y/n, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“How sweet of you,” she said. “Now get out.”

“Please.” Dean said.

“I trusted you.”

Dean’s breath hitched. Her voice had turned soft and pained. So unlike her and so full of anguish.

“I trusted you and you betrayed me,” she said. “I don’t trust people easily, Dean. But I trusted you. I trusted you and Sam and Bobby. That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Ever since I met you, you have wanted to kill me. You never trusted me. I’m a witch, just another monster for you to kill. That night? I thought you were going to do it yourself. What you did was worse. You gave me back to the people who I ran from. Who killed my father. You took away my freedom again. You took away my choice again. You took it all away when you gave me back.”

She was crying now, tears silently dripping to the pillow beneath her cheek.

“I’m not the untrustworthy one, Dean Winchester. You are. You call yourself a hunter. You tell yourself you save people. Apparently the bar falls short as soon as you are something different, regardless of what kind of soul you are.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at him. Dean would never, not until the day he died, forget the look she gave him in that moment; malicious and hurt, her eyes dark and narrowed.

“Go back to hell, Dean.”

Dean thought his chest had been ripped open. He touched the skin over his heart as her words sunk in.

Go back to hell, Dean.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me-”

“I don’t need to do shit,” she snarled. Dean winced at her tone, so dark and vicious. “I need you to leave.”

“Y/n-”

“That’s your cue, boy,” Bobby said. Dean’s shoulders slumped. He gave one last longing look to her, taking note of her eyes and how they left him again, staring unfocused at that damn spot on the wall, before turning and ducking back out of the room, finishing off his beer in the hallway and making his way to the kitchen for another.

Y/N

“Please be careful.”

Bobby loaded the last of your bags into the back of the truck. He had given you the same truck he picked you up in a year ago.

Your back was finally healed enough thanks to your spells, scars now the only reminder. You didn’t look in the mirror, not anymore, knowing how it would look. You felt them whenever you accidently touched your skin as you changed or when you showered. You could feel the raised, soft flames that licked up to your shoulders, forever imprinted into your back. The ones you had before were small. But these? These were long and large in number, the spite and anger of the one who created them clear in their abundance.

It had been a week since Dean had given you back to your coven. In that time, you hadn’t seen him again, not since he tried to apologize the night they rescued you.

Of course, you wouldn’t have needed rescuing if he hadn’t given you up.

The boys were due back soon and you wanted to be long gone once they arrived. You were going to start hunting. Really hunting. You were fine, your healing salves and spells doing their job perfectly. The scars would be the only reminder.

“I will,” you promised. You were ready for this. You needed this.

Bobby hugged you tightly, mindful of the pressure on your back, before he pushed you lightly towards the truck.

“Alright, off you go, ya’ idjit.” You grinned and got up into the truck. “You sure you don’t want to see them?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “I never want to see Dean again. Not in this lifetime.”

Which was half true. He had hurt you beyond words. He had taken your trust and destroyed it. He had given you back to the people who killed your father and planned on killing you. But at the same time, you understood. Dean’s world revolved around Sam. He would put his life on the line, and has, for his brother. A part of you understood why he did what he did. You went crazy when Danny died, knowing the one person besides your father who loved you just as much as you loved them was dead. You had tried everything, even resorting to dabbling in necromancy, but your mother had caught you, and your last hope of bringing your brother back was gone.

So yes, you understood Dean to a point. You just couldn’t get over the pain it caused you.

Bobby nodded at your words and kicked a rock in the dirt. “I hope you change your mind someday. Maybe not anytime soon. But someday.”

You blinked a few times and processed his words. You were going to answer, but thought better of it, instead going with, “I’ll call you when I know where I’m going.”

Bobby sighed. “You better,” he said. He gave you a wave. “Kick some ass.”

***

Two months later

“Another?”

The bartender tapped the bar beside your empty beer.

“Please.” He nodded and turned to pour you another. You sighed and rested your chin in your hand, your other hand lazily scrolling through your laptop in search of cases. You had just finished a ghoul case that morning and were already itching for another one.

The bartender set the beer down in front of you and raised a brow. “Hard at work?”

You shrugged and sipped your beer. “Something like that.”

He cocked his head, eyes trained on you as he cleaned a glass. “Are you busy tonight?” He shifted nervously.

You looked up at him. He was very attractive, with warm brown skin, hair black as night, and a crooked smile that would make anyone weak in the knees. You had frequented this bar the last few nights and your conversations were always nice. He was sweet and handsome and if this was before your tangle with the coven, you would have taken him up on his offer.

But the scars hadn’t faded.

“Yeah, I’ll be working all night,” you said. He frowned a bit. “And if I wasn’t leaving town tomorrow, I would take you up on that.”

He grinned a bit. “Thanks. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m okay.” You drank your beer deeply and reached into your bag, pulling out more than enough money for the beers. “Keep the change, okay?”

“Thank you,” he said. You finished your beer and gathered up your things.

Many of your nights went like this. How were you supposed to explain the scars to someone? They were gnarly and would immediately spark fear and confusion and that was something you didn’t want to deal with.

Your phone rang and you grumbled to yourself. Unlocking the truck, you hauled yourself inside, setting your laptop down before you answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/n?”

“Sam?” You smiled. You and Sam had stayed in touch. Just because Dean was an ass didn’t mean you couldn’t still talk to your friend. “What’s up?”

Sam loosed a breath. Uh oh. “Look, I wouldn’t call you if this wasn’t important.”

“No.”

“Y/n, come on.”

“No, Sam.”

“Please?” Sam said. “We really need help and no one else is stepping up to bat.”

“What about Bobby?”

He paused. “He actually told us to call you.”

Damn him! You groaned. “Why do you two need help? Aren’t you like the best hunters in the world?”

Sam scoffed. “I know you and Dean have your differences-”

“-Differences!-”

“But we could really use your skill. Please?”

You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes. “You know, I can feel your puppy dog eyes through the phone.”

“Are they working?”

“... Maybe.”

“Come on. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Sam said.

You pressed your knuckles into your forehead. “Jesus- fine.”

“Thank you!” Sam said. “I’ll send you the address to our motel.”

“Whatever.”

DEAN

“Is she coming?”

Sam turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. Dean’s heart thumped heavily in his chest.

“Yes,” Sam replied. Dean grinned. “But don’t chase her away, Dean. I mean it.”

“I won’t,” Dean said quickly. “But this could be my last chance to make things right with her.”

“Dean, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I need to, Sam.” Dean looked down at his hands. “I need to make things right. It sucks not talking to her. It sucks not seeing her.”

“Because you lo-”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean snapped. Sam grinned wickedly and flopped down onto his bed.

“Well don’t you?” Sam asked. He folded his arms under his head, propping himself up to look at Dean.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning his guns. Sam had no idea what he was talking about. Dean wasn’t sure what he felt for Y/n, but he knew it was friendly. He hoped she had once felt the same way, and maybe if she knew what he felt, she could learn to forgive him.

Or this whole plan could crash and burn and chase her even further away.

Regardless, Dean was going to try.

***

Three hours later, someone knocked on the motel room door.

Sam got up to answer it but Dean shoved him back, resulting in a smack on the head, but he was able to reach the door first.

Opening it, Dean’s eyes landed on Y/n. Her eyes met his, a scowl painted on her lovely face as she zeroed in on him. She looked him up and down and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. It was ratty and worn, but Dean noticed she took it on all her trips. He wondered what its significance was.

“Well. Aren’t you going to let me in?” She asked. Dean, startled by her voice, lurched out of the way, nearly knocking over a small table.

“Nice,” Sam mouthed, rolling his eyes. He smiled at Y/n who stepped inside, brushing past Dean quickly to give Sam a hug. “Thanks again.”

“Anything for you, Sam.” She gave Dean a dirty look. “So. What are we hunting?”

Y/N

The hunt went by smoothly.

It was a vamp nest, and a large one, definitely too difficult for two people but just easy enough with three. You had worked in tandem with boys as if you did it all your life. By the end, they both turned to you impressed.

“Wow. You’ve really trained hard, haven’t you?” Sam asked, bumping his hip with yours as you walked to the car. You wiped blood from your forehead.

“I kinda have to if I want to hunt alone.”

Dean spun to face you, blocking your path. You halted and glared up at him. God, he looked like shit. You noticed it when you arrived at the motel. His face was gaunt, eyes slightly sunken with dark circles beneath them. A permanent frown seemed etched on his lips and he looked like he lost some weight. He looked as if he was being eaten away by something.

He looked as if he was being eaten away by guilt.

A part of you took pride in that, but another part, a larger part, was sad. Sad that he had gotten this way. Sad that the man you loved was in so much despair, all you wanted to do was comfort him.

Of course, that despair was caused by himself, but you pushed that thought away.

“You’re doing what?”

“Hunting? Didn’t Bobby tell you?” You stepped around him.

“I thought he meant hunting with him, not alone,” he said. He hurried after you. “You could get hurt!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought you cared, Dean,” you said. You shrugged and gave him a pointed look. “Seeing as you’ve hurt me before.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“And I said go back to hell!”

“Okay!” Sam stepped between you and Dean, lightly pushing on your chest. He glared at his brother, but turned to you with a more gentle expression. “Let’s just calm down, okay? We’ll take you back to the motel.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You lightly pushed his hand away and threw open the back door, slamming it shut. You smirked when you saw Dean start forward in anger at how you treated his car, Sam stopping him with a hand on his chest again. They spoke lowly to each other before Dean slumped and got into the car, Sam close behind him.

Yeah, you absolutely regretted agreeing to help.

***

Later that night, you were lounging in your motel room, watching trash television, when there was a knock on your door.

There was a good possibility it was Dean. You knew that. Yet you still got up to open it. To be honest, maybe you’d like to hear him apologize again. It wouldn’t hurt.

You’d do it for Bobby. Not for yourself. For Bobby.

Opening the door, unsurprisingly, Dean stood there. His head was ducked slightly, face pulled into a nervous pout.

“Hey.”

You leaned against the door frame. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?” He asked. “Please?”

You bit your lip and moved out of the way, gesturing him inside. He muttered a thank you and stepped past you. You closed the door softly and turned to lean against it. He stood in the center of the room, looking down at a spot on the ground instead of at you.

“Y/n, I know you hate me. I know that.”

You felt as if you were going to be sick. “I… I don’t, you know, hate you.”

He furrowed his brow but didn’t look up at you. “You don’t?”

“I don’t particularly like you right now.” His lip quirked slightly. “But I don’t hate you.”

He rubbed his chin and turned to sit on the edge of your bed, resting his hands on his knees. One knee bounced and he rolled his shoulders a bit. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer but didn’t look away either. He continued. “What I did… I know it wasn’t okay. I won’t excuse myself for what I did. I just knew I had to save Sam and I went about it very, very poorly.”

You continued to stare at him silently.

“I should have figured something out. I was just so afraid. I do very… stupid things… to save him. I sold my soul and went to hell for crying out loud.” He smiled without humor. “Giving you to them will forever be something I will regret. Seeing you in that cell, bloody and broken, it’s an image I will never get out of my head.” His eyes turned misty and he swallowed thickly. “I will never forgive myself and I will live the rest of my life with that image. I will live the rest of my life knowing I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

You tentatively took a step towards him, and another, until you stood directly beside him. His green eyes finally lifted to yours, lined with tears, and you slowly sunk down to sit beside him. Biting your lip, you reached forward for one of his hands, resting it palm up in yours.

“I’ve… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Y/n,” he whispers. Your heart began to rapidly thump in your chest. “More than like, I think. And it scares the hell out of me. I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. You knew about your own feelings for him. Even after what he did, they had been buried beneath anger, but not disintegrated. You traced a line on his palm.

“All I could think about when you gave me up was how much I had trusted you, and how betrayed I felt,” you began. He stilled beneath your touch. “After, I was just so angry. Angry at you for doing that to me. Angry at myself for letting myself become vulnerable.” You hesitated before continuing. “I was hurt. Really hurt. And conflicted. I wasn’t sure how I could love someone and hate them at the same time.”

Dean pulled back from you.

You hadn’t even realized you said it until his face morphed into one of shock.

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

You leaped to your feet, mouth open and closing, your brain racing to find something to say. But your thoughts were clouded with panic. “I don’t… I mean… I didn’t mean to say…”

You backed away from him but he stood and followed. His eyes were full of longing as he reached for your hands and brought them to his chest.

“Don’t turn away from me. Not after that.”

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I’m glad you did,” he told you.

“Why?”

He grinned. “Because I didn’t want to be the only one with those feelings.”

“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” you murmured. He chuckled a bit.

“I’m supposed to hate you. But look at me.”

“Look at me,” you echoed.

“A hunter and a witch, who would have thought?” He said amused. You smiled shyly.

“I… I forgive you, Dean.” He sagged in relief. “But I won’t forget.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He lifted his hand to brush his fingers down your cheek lovingly. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, letting his words sink in. Once they did, your grin widened, and you reached up on your tip-toes to plant a soft kiss to his lips.

When you pulled back after a moment, he searched your eyes, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to stop.

But you didn’t.

He leaned down to press his lips to yours, harder this time, wrapping his arms around your waist to lift you to gain better access. His lips were soft against yours, moving in fever, his body warm against you.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I can’t. Because I do.” You kissed him roughly, bringing your hands up to curl in his hair. He growled against your lips and moved you to the bed, pressing you down beneath him gently. He rolled his body over yours and you widened your legs to let him fit between them. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Dean.”

He moved to suck and kiss your pulse point, making you moan. “God, me too.”

You cupped his face and dragged his mouth back to yours. His hands lowered to the button on your jeans, popping them open before he pulled away from your mouth again. You whined at the loss and he chuckled.

“Patience, baby.”

You raised your hips as he pulled down your jeans. He kissed down your legs as he pulled off your socks and looked up at you with hooded eyes. He grinned against your skin before he kissed his way back up, landing a kiss to the top of your pelvis. He thumbed your panties.

“Are you sure?”

“God, yes.” You ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, and that was all he needed.

He pulled your panties down your legs, kissing the area above your pubic bone as he gently coaxed your legs further apart. You peered down at him, but his eyes were trained on your sex, his pupils dilated wide, lips slightly swollen from your kissing. Jesus, the man was like sex on legs.

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the hood of your clit. You groaned and jerked at his touch, keening when his tongue ran through your folds.

“Jesus, Dean!”

He ate you out slowly at first, teasingly licking and sucking, before he moved faster, feasting on you like a starved man. His tongue prodded at your entrance before he licked inside, his thumb strumming your clit it time with his ministrations. Your hips raised off the bed, pleasure jolting through you, but he splayed his free hand over your abdomen, keeping you down, making you take everything he was giving.

“Dean!”

He smirked against you, dragging his tongue up through your folds again, sending a deep shudder over you. He hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit a few times, a moan eliciting itself from your throat. He slowly pushed a finger inside you, your back arching slightly as he curled it, pumping a few times before adding another. He suddenly sucked down roughly, a cry pushing itself from your lungs to bounce off the walls, his fingers scissoring in and out at a rapid pace. Your chest was heaving as he curled his fingers again, curling so deep, pads brushing against your g-spot with every move.

You came, falling over the edge violently as he suddenly and harshly sucked your clit into his mouth again. He continued to give kitten licks to your clit as you came down from your high. As you caught your breath, you peeked an eye open to spot him grinning like a cat.

“Don’t ruin it, Winchester.”

He laughed and pushed himself up to kiss your cheek. “But that’s so much fun!”

You smirked and reached for his belt. You unbuckled it and took it off him before throwing it aside. He kicked off his shoes and you unbuttoned his jeans. He pushed himself up to stand and shimmy out of them, peeling off his socks as he went, before he pulled his shirt up and over his head. His boxers strained against his dick, and you went to reach for them, but he stopped you.

“Take off your shirt.”

You froze. If you did, he’d see the scars on your back. They were so gloriously unsexy and you knew he’d look at you in disgust if he saw them.

“No, I don’t want to.”

You were still sitting up, but Dean bent to crawl over you. Your faces were only inches apart, his breath fanning over your face. You shivered.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen your back before it was healed. Don’t hide from me. You don’t have to hide from me.”

“They’re ugly,” you whispered. He shook his head and lifted one of your hands to kiss your knuckles.

“Nothing about you is ugly, Y/n,” he said softly. “Don’t be ashamed of them. Please.”

You swallowed hard and closed your eyes for a moment. Once you gathered enough courage, you lifted your shirt up and over your head, knowing your scars were on full display for him if he just looked over your shoulder. You sighed and he lifted his hand to run over your shoulder, down your back, and to the clasp of your bra.

“Look at me,” he said. You complied, keeping your eyes on him as he unclasped your bra and gently pulled the straps down your arms. He tossed it behind him, leaving you naked beneath him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “I love every inch of you, Y/n.”

You shuddered as he kissed your neck again.

“I want you,” you whispered into his ear. You ran a hand over his back and up to scratch lightly at the nape of his neck.

He kissed you quickly and pushed his boxers down and off. His cock sprang free, and you reached down, gripping it. He groaned as you ran your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre-cum that beaded there, before stroking him a few more times.

“Do you want me?”

He cleared his throat and grunted as you squeezed him gently. “You know I do.”

You licked the shell of his ear, feeling him tremble beneath you. “Then show me.”

He snapped.

He growled low in his throat as he pushed you down gently, hovering over you, one hand gripping one of yours, the other batting your other hand away from his cock. You giggled and he gave you a pointed look before positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock running up and down your slit a few times, lathering himself in your wetness. He pressed himself gently into you, only the tip of him nestled in your warmth.

He entwined your fingers together, eyes locked on yours as he slowly eased himself into you. You felt your walls stretch to accommodate him, a slight burn following, but it quickly eased as he bottomed out.

“God, you feel good,” he said lowly into your ear. He gently pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside you before pushing back in. He moved in long, deep strokes, and hell did it feel good. You slowly began to feel yourself moving with him, trying to match his thrusts and meet him there.

“Faster,” you pleaded, the coil once again beginning to wrap around itself. He bottomed out with each thrust, and his balls slapped against your ass with each plunge. He quickened his pace, but also lifted your leg to wrap around his waist. The angle allowed him to reach depths you didn’t even know you had. He brushed against your sweet spot with each stroke of his cock, and your eyes fell shut at the intense pleasure.

“Dean, I need more,” you said breathlessly. He moved his hand down between you, his finger beginning to strum at your clit in small circles, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. “I’m going to come.”

“You can do it, baby,” Dean said. “I’m right behind you.”

He began to rub your clit faster and harder, his hips stuttering into a sloppy pace as he neared his own end. With one more thrust of his cock against your sweet spot, you were coming, body spasming and inner walls clenching around his dick. He followed only moments after, his face buried in your neck as he moaned his relief, spilling himself deep inside you.

You stayed still for a moment, his cock still enveloped inside you as the two of you simply laid together in the afterglow. He kissed your neck and pulled out once his cock had softened inside you.

He left for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He swiped it between your legs, then his own, before he tossed it back into the bathroom. He climbed back into bed with you and pulled you against his chest. You winced as your scars rubbed up against his chest, but he simply pulled you tighter against him.

This was Dean. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Not around him. Not at all.

He kissed the back of your neck. “I will never, ever, hurt you again, Y/n.”

You grabbed hold of one of his hands, tugging it up to your chest over your heart, holding it there. You sighed happily and smiled.

“I know, Dean.”

He gently lifted a finger to tilt your chin back to look him in the eye. “No. You don’t. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He kissed you softly. “I swear it.”

“I love you.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling as he looked at you. He kissed you again, gently, lovingly, and brushed a hand over the side of your face.

“I love you, too.”

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural #fanfiction #oneshot #commission #dean x reader #dean winchester #spn #waywardrose13

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