[lacethighs]

🪷

nineteen she enthusiast — hard 2 please

writer artist listener

call me mei

want to dance & party?

[lacethighs]

feel your eyes upon my body

supernatural — who you gonna call?

the walking dead — zombie killing machine

avatar — alien super star

[lacethighs]

came back just to say avatar fire and ash was all i needed to see to remember that jake sully will forever be the alien dilf. thank you and be ready for jake sully fics.

[lacethighs]

gloss & pouts

your sudden interest in lip care has sam winchesters mind working overtime to figure out why you care so much about your lips.

sam winchester is an observant person, almost annoyingly so. he catches details others miss, like how dean ties one shoe twice and the other only once. or how jo avoids eye contact with ellen whenever they argue and later make up.

so when sam starts noticing your newfound obsession with your lips, it sticks with him.

it starts small, watching you through the rearview mirror as you apply and reapply lip balm, layering it like armor. then, in the quiet of motel rooms, he catches you twisting the bottom of a comically oversized vaseline stick, the product so far down it barely peeks out.

he asks about it once, offhandedly.

“didn’t know chapped lips were this big of a crisis,” he teases, leaning against the motel dresser.

you barely glance up. “i just like taking care of myself. one of the more normal things i can do, considering our job.”

it’s a reasonable answer. logical. but it sticks in his mind anyway.

because soon, he starts noticing other things.

like how you ask dean for the impala to make quick pharmacy runs—requests that, unsurprisingly, get shot down. (“not happening,” dean scoffs. “you’d crash her into a walgreens.”) but rather than let it go, you huff and turn to sam instead, and because sam has a habit of giving in where you’re concerned, he takes you himself.

when you return, it’s with a plastic bag full of makeup.

it’s so out of character that dean calls you out on it immediately.

“whoa, since when do you blow cash on this stuff?” he plucks a tube of mascara from the bag, turning it over in his fingers like it’s a cursed object.

you snatch it back with an eye roll. “since always. it’s my money, dean. i can buy whatever i want.”

dean raises a brow, glancing between you and sam. then, because dean never knows when to shut up, he smirks. “you lookin’ for some action or somethin’?”

your scoff is immediate. “jesus, dean. can’t a girl just buy makeup without an interrogation?”

“you’re not just a girl. you’re, well… you.”

sam cuts in before you can throw hands. “leave her alone, dean. makeup or not, she’s still the same.”

it seems to settle things, but when sam looks at you, really looks at you, something flickers in your expression. he just can’t quite put his finger on it.

after that, things shift.

you start spending more time with dean. talking to him more. entertaining his terrible flirting rather than rolling your eyes.

and sam doesn’t know what unsettles him more, the fact that dean notices, or the way it makes something tight coil in his chest.

because the more he thinks about it, the more it starts to click.

the makeup. the new habits. the sudden interest in how you look.

had it been for dean this whole time?

it’s a ridiculous thought. irrational, even. but it sticks like a splinter, irritating and scratching at him. he hasn’t felt this way in a long time. not since jessica.

then one night, he catches you watching him.

you’re standing by the motel mirror, holding a lipstick in your hands. he meets your gaze through the glass for just a second before he quickly ducks his head, pretending to refocus on his laptop screen.

for someone who notices everything, he sure is oblivious. because the truth is, it was never about dean.

it was about him.

you’ve been trying so hard for him, fixing your appearance, mirroring the women you’ve seen him look at in bars, even changing how you dress. if dean noticed, surely sam would too.

but he hasn’t. or maybe he has, and he’s ignoring it.

with a sigh, you step away from the mirror and approach him, leaning over his shoulder to glance at his laptop. the screen is dark, his reflection staring back at him.

“guessing research isn’t going so hot?” you tease, voice light.

sam exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. “you could say that.”

the moment stretches between you.

you’re close. too close.

and for the first time, sam notices everything. the warmth of your breath. the subtle sheen of your lips. the way your eyes study his with something like curiosity, like hesitation.

your gaze flickers lower, to his lips, before you catch yourself, stepping back with a teasing grin. “cute eyes you got, winchester.”

his throat bobs as he swallows. “uh. thanks?”

you chuckle, reaching for your jacket. “dean’s waiting at a bar. gonna see if i can scam some guys at pool.”

the mention of dean makes sam’s stomach drop, the moment shattering.

he forces a nod, glancing back at his screen. “alright. have fun.”

but he doesn’t go back to researching. not really.

instead, he watches you leave, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the keyboard.

because now, he knows. and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

sam doesn’t sleep that night.

he lies awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment in his head; every glance, every touch, every little thing he had brushed off as nothing. but it wasn’t nothing.

and now that he knows, he can’t stop seeing it.

the next morning, you’re the same as ever—teasing dean over breakfast, nursing a cup of shitty motel coffee, talking about how some guy at the bar last night “practically paid you to leave him alone” after a round of pool.

dean laughs, clearly proud. sam, on the other hand, just watches.

because now, every time you smile, every time you absentmindedly run your tongue over your lip, every time you so much as glance in his direction, he wonders.

was that for him? was it always for him? and what the hell is he supposed to do with that?

the next few days are torture.

not because anything has changed, if anything, you seem completely unaware of the effect you’re having on him. which is worse.

it means the problem isn’t you. it’s him.

like right now.

you’re perched on the edge of the motel bed, casually applying something glossy to your lips. it should be harmless. normal.

but sam can’t focus on the research in front of him to save his life.

his eyes keep flicking back to you, to the way your bottom lip shines under the cheap motel lighting, to the way you press them together with a soft little pop.

it’s infuriating.

dean, completely oblivious, doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. he just throws on his jacket and stretches. “alright, i’m heading out. gonna grab some food.”

you barely look up. “get me a pie.”

dean snorts. “you’re turning into me. it’s terrifying.” the door shuts behind him, and just like that, it’s just you and sam.

alone.

you sigh, tossing your gloss aside and finally meeting his gaze. “what?”

sam blinks. he hadn’t realized he was staring. “nothing,” he lies, looking away too quickly.

you narrow your eyes. “you’re being weird.”

he exhales, running a hand through his hair. he is being weird. because now, all he can think about is how much effort you’ve been putting into this, into him.

and how much effort it’s taking for him to pretend he doesn’t care.

your brows furrow. “okay, seriously. what is going on with you?”

“nothing,” he repeats, but it’s weaker this time.

you don’t look convinced. then, before he can think better of it, the words are slipping out.

“the makeup. the lip balm. the…” he gestures vaguely at you, flustered. “it wasn’t for dean, was it?”

silence.

his heart pounds. your expression is unreadable, lips parting slightly as if caught off guard.

then, slowly, you straighten. “sam…”

the way you say his name makes his stomach flip.

he swallows hard. “just tell me if i’m wrong.”

a beat. then another. and then you smile. not your usual teasing grin, not the playful smirk you throw dean’s way. no, this one is softer, a little shy. a little triumphant.

“you’re not wrong.”

and just like that, sam is spiraling.

because suddenly, every feeling he’s been trying to ignore—the way his pulse picks up when you’re close, the way he finds himself looking for you in a crowded room, the way you make him feel lighter even on the worst days—comes crashing in all at once.

you were never trying to get dean’s attention. you were trying to get his. and now that he knows?

he’s not sure he can pretend anymore.

for a long moment, neither of you speak.

sam is still trying to process it—the fact that all of this, everything, had been for him. that you’d spent weeks, maybe months, trying to catch his attention, waiting for him to notice.

and now that he has?

he can’t look away.

your lips are glossy, soft-looking, like you’ve just reapplied whatever magic you’ve been obsessively using for weeks. it’s almost distracting.

no, it is distracting. because he keeps wondering what they’d feel like.

and he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, but damn it, it’s all he can think about.

you tilt your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. “you look like you’re thinking way too hard about this.”

sam huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, well… guess i’m just realizing how much of an idiot i’ve been.”

that makes you grin. “took you long enough.”

his chest tightens. you’re standing so close now, close enough that he can smell whatever faint, sweet scent lingers on your skin. close enough that if he just leaned in a little.

he stops that thought before it can go any further.

clearing his throat, he shifts awkwardly, trying to will away the heat creeping up his neck. “so, uh… all that lip balm. all the vaseline. that was all just…” he trails off, unsure how to phrase it.

you smirk. “for you? yeah.”

his brain short-circuits.

you don’t give him time to recover. instead, you step forward, so close now that your bodies nearly brush. his breath catches.

and then, with zero hesitation, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

it’s brief, teasing, just enough for him to feel the soft, slick glide of your lips against his skin before you pull back.

but it’s enough to ruin him.

because holy shit, he feels it.

the weeks of lip balm. the endless layers of gloss and moisturizer. your lips are impossibly soft, smooth, warm. it’s like every kiss he’s ever had before this has been a lie.

his thoughts must be all over his face because you laugh, eyes dancing with mischief. “well?” you murmur.

sam exhales sharply. “jesus.”

you raise a brow. “that bad?”

“not even close,” he admits, dazed.

you hum, tilting your head. “wanna see for yourself?”

his heart stutters. and then—you’re kissing him. really kissing him.

and this time, he doesn’t just feel the effects of all your lip care—he tastes them. something faintly sweet, like vanilla or honey, mixed with something that’s just you.

it’s slow at first, warm and gentle, but then your fingers slide up to his jaw, tilting his face just right, and sam’s resolve shatters.

his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss, drinking you in like he’s been starving for this.

because maybe he has.

by the time you finally pull away, his lips are tingling, and he’s left staring at you like you just flipped his entire world upside down.

which, to be fair, you kind of did. you lick your lips, clearly pleased with yourself. “so?”

sam exhales a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “you win.”

your grin is pure satisfaction. “i usually do.”

and sam doesn’t even bother arguing. because if this is what losing to you feels like?

he’ll take it every damn time.

[lacethighs]

infuriatingly infuriating

neteyam sully x metkayina! reader

synopsis the olo’eyktan’s oldest daughter finds herself falling for toruk makto’s infuriatingly charming eldest son.

warnings no use of y/n.

word count 4.4k

it has been a few months since the sully family arrived in awa’atlu, seeking uturu. they learned the ways of your people quickly, perhaps faster than you expected.

when your father tasked you and your siblings with helping them adjust, you knew it would be no small effort.

your younger brother had been less than thrilled at first, grumbling about having to teach the forest people how to survive in the water. but in time, he grew accustomed to it.

tsireya, of course, had no complaints. if anything, she was too eager to help, though it was obvious why. she had taken quite the liking to the younger sully brother.

as for you? you didn’t mind them much. you treated them with respect and did your duty, teaching them as best you could.

but neteyam, the eldest sully, was the biggest pain in your tail.

at first, he had been quiet, reserved. almost too respectful. he treated you as if you were someone of great authority, so much so that you had to remind him once that you were not his superior.

oh, great mother, how you regret that now.

it was as if those words alone had shattered whatever restraint he had. now, neteyam refused to leave you alone. he took every opportunity to tease you, to pester you about anything and everything.

he was worse than your brothers. far worse.

for someone who carried himself as a mighty warrior, he certainly didn’t act like one. if he wasn’t showing off, casually proving that he could master every skill thrown his way. he was using that demon language of his, throwing strange words at you just to see your reaction.

and eywa, did he love your reactions.

those large, crystal-blue eyes of yours would widen in pure, utter confusion every time he spoke in that strange demon language. and that was exactly what he wanted.

he would grin, sharp and full of mischief, watching the way your brows furrowed, the way your lips parted slightly as if trying to make sense of the foreign words. then, just when you thought he might take pity on you and explain himself, he would simply shake his head.

“what?” you’d snap, frustrated beyond belief. “what does that mean?”

but neteyam would only tilt his head, feigning innocence. “nga kea nari si, yawntu?”

your tail flicked sharply behind you. “neteyam.”

nothing. just that insufferable smirk.

you hated it. hated how he refused to explain himself, as if he hadn’t just spoken an entirely different language to you. as if he hadn’t just left you standing there, trying to piece together something you had no hope of understanding.

infuriating.

and yet, every time, you found yourself waiting for the next time he’d do it again.

it was infuriating.

whenever the two of you were together, whether by chance or because your father had paired you up for some task, he would do the work, yes. but not without making your life miserable in the process.

today was no different.

your mother had asked you to fetch more shells for her, a simple enough task. yet, of course, neteyam had seen you leaving and, for reasons only eywa knew, decided to follow.

“you do not need help collecting shells,” he had said, trailing behind you like an overgrown ilu.

“and yet here you are,” you muttered, sifting through the sand near the shore, determined to ignore him.

neteyam crouched beside you, hands resting on his knees as he watched you work. he was silent for a moment—too silent. that was never a good sign.

“you know,” he finally mused, “where i’m from, we don’t waste time collecting pretty things from the sand.”

you exhaled sharply through your nose, refusing to rise to the bait. “we do not waste time,” you corrected. “the shells are used for many things.”

“oh, of course,” he said easily. “necklaces. bracelets. decorations.” your ears flicked in annoyance. “and medicine, neteyam. and tools. and trade.”

he hummed as if considering your words, then leaned forward, plucking a shell from the pile you had already gathered. “this one,” he said, holding it up, “definitely just for decoration.”

you snatched it from his grasp, shooting him a glare. “why are you here?”

he grinned. “what, and miss a chance to spend time with my favorite metkayina?”

you scoffed, turning back to your task. “go bother someone else.”

“i would,” he admitted, stretching out lazily beside you, “but no one else makes such great faces when i talk.”

your hands froze for a moment before tightening into fists. infuriating. absolutely infuriating.

rolling your eyes, you ignored him, focusing instead on plucking shells from the sand. and then he did it again.

that strange, foreign tongue slipping past his lips; smooth, effortless, knowing damn well you wouldn’t understand.

“these shells are just as beautiful as you,” he said, voice teasing yet undeniably soft.

you froze, fingers curling around the shell in your hand as you turned to him, eyes narrowing.

“what did you just say?”

neteyam only smiled. that smug, infuriating smile. “nothing.”

your tail flicked sharply behind you. “no,” you pressed, shifting to face him fully. “you said something. say it again.”

he tilted his head, as if considering it. then, with a maddening slowness, he shrugged. “i don’t think so.”

you hated this game. hated that he knew how much it drove you mad.

still, you tried to piece it together, running the words over in your mind, searching for meaning. but you had no hope of understanding. it was a language that didn’t belong to you; a secret only he held.

your lips pressed into a thin line. “you could be insulting me for all i know.”

neteyam chuckled, leaning back on his hands, his golden eyes warm with amusement. “you think so little of me, sevin?”

you huffed, turning back to your task, determined not to let him win. “one of these days, i will find out what you are saying,” you muttered.

he grinned. “i look forward to it.”

and you were determined.

later, when your mother and father weren’t demanding anything from you, you set out to find the younger sully brother.

lo’ak was more open than neteyam, more willing. he didn’t hold himself with the same strict discipline as his older brother, and you knew he was always eager to prove himself. perfect.

you found him near the village edge, sharpening his knife, tail lazily flicking behind him. he looked up as you approached, ears twitching with curiosity.

“what do you want?” he asked, though there was no real bite to his words.

you crouched beside him, tilting your head. “i want to learn your demon language.”

lo’ak blinked. “you mean english?”

you scowled. “demon language,” you repeated. “the one you and your brother use.”

lo’ak snorted. “right. and why would i teach you?”

you smirked. “because you like my sister.”

lo’ak stiffened. “i—what? no, i—”

you raised a non-existent brow, waiting.

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “that’s so unfair.”

you only shrugged. “i do not make the rules.”

lo’ak huffed but gave in easily enough. “fine,” he muttered. “what do you want to know?”

you leaned forward, eager. “start with this, what does neteyam keep saying to me?”

lo’ak knew exactly what was going on.

he had seen the way neteyam looked at you, watched how his usually disciplined, ever-perfect brother turned into a teasing, insufferable menace whenever you were around. neteyam was completely, hopelessly infatuated with you.

and now, here you were, looking at him for answers.

lo’ak smirked to himself. oh, this is too good.

he had two choices: he could lie, protect his brother’s pride, and let this little game of theirs continue.

or

he could tell you the truth and sit back to watch the chaos unfold.

really, there was only one correct option.

feigning nonchalance, he leaned back on his hands, pretending to think. “well,” he started slowly, drawing it out just to watch you grow impatient. “neteyam’s been saying some… interesting things.”

your eyes narrowed. “like what?”

lo’ak bit back a grin. oh, this was going to be fun. so fun for him.

because as he went on, explaining the things he had heard neteyam say to you in english, you listened intently, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind you.

what you didn’t see was neteyam moving through the village, searching for you. he had grown used to your presence, enjoyed bothering you whenever he could, so when he hadn’t seen you for a while, he decided to track you down.

and then he spotted you, with lo’ak.

the way his brother was smirking, looking like a complete menace, was a dead giveaway. neteyam didn’t even need to hear the conversation to know exactly what was happening.

his stomach dropped.

lo’ak was telling you.

his body tensed, tail flicking in irritation. oh, that little skxawng.

you still didn’t notice him. too focused on lo’ak, your arms crossed, head tilting as you listened. and lo’ak? oh, he was relishing this.

neteyam clenched his jaw. he had two options: stop this right now before you learned too much, or let it happen and deal with the consequences.

yeah, like hell he was choosing the second one.

so, before lo’ak could dig his grave any deeper, neteyam stormed over.

by the time neteyam stormed over, the damage had already been done. lo’ak had fully dug his grave, and he was lying in it with a big, shit-eating grin.

you turned at the sound of heavy footsteps, just in time to see neteyam approaching, his expression unreadable. his jaw was tight, ears pinned back, golden eyes locked onto his younger brother with something between fury and panic.

lo’ak just sat there, far too pleased with himself. “oh, hey, brother,” he said, voice dripping with fake innocence. “we were just talking about you.”

your gaze flickered between them, realization dawning. neteyam knew. he knew exactly what had just happened.

and judging by the way his tail lashed behind him, he was not happy about it.

you turned back to lo’ak. “so,” you said, tilting your head, “you’re telling me neteyam has been calling me beautiful this whole time?”

neteyam inhaled sharply. “lo’ak—”

“oh, yeah,” lo’ak cut in, completely ignoring him. “that and, you know, pretty much everything else a man says when he’s in love with someone.”

silence.

your lips parted slightly, but no words came. neteyam looked like he was about to die on the spot.

and lo’ak? well, lo’ak just grinned and clapped a hand on neteyam’s shoulder.

“good luck, bro,” he said before slipping away, leaving you both standing there, one of you in utter shock, the other in complete, soul-crushing regret.

neteyam stared at you, tense, waiting, trying to gauge your reaction.

you didn’t look at him at first, eyes fixed on the sand, lips caught between your fangs as if deep in thought. his heart pounded in his chest, breath held as he braced himself for whatever was coming.

then, slowly, the corners of your lips curled.

the biggest, most teasing smile stretched across your face as you finally lifted your gaze to meet his.

“oh,” you said, drawing the word out, tail flicking behind you. “so that’s what you’ve been saying this whole time?”

neteyam groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “lo’ak is dead.”

you laughed, the sound light and full of way too much enjoyment. “no wonder you never translated. what was it you said earlier?” you tapped your chin, pretending to think. “oh, yes, these shells are just as beautiful as you.’”

his ears flattened. “you don’t have to—”

“but i am beautiful, aren’t i?” you interrupted, tilting your head. “since you’ve been saying it so often.”

neteyam clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose. he could not believe this was happening.

you leaned in slightly, eyes shining with mischief. “tell me, mighty warrior, what else have you been calling me?”

he groaned again, feeling his entire body heat up. this was not how he wanted you to find out.

but when he looked at you, truly looked at you, all teasing and bright-eyed, wearing that smile that made his stomach flip, he knew, deep down, that lo’ak had only sped up the inevitable.

so, with a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and met your gaze.

“do you really want to know?” he asked, voice lower now, steadier.

your teasing smirk faltered just slightly. “…yes.”

neteyam took a step closer, eyes locked onto yours.

“yawntu,” he murmured, watching as your brows furrowed. “seysonì.”

you blinked, lips parting, the teasing edge in your expression flickering with something softer.

then he leaned in, voice just above a whisper.

“my love.”

your breath hitched.

for the first time since this little game between you had started, you found yourself at a loss for words.

your eyes flickered down to his lips for just a second—quick, barely noticeable, but he noticed. of course he did. neteyam was always watching, always reading you like an open scroll.

his ears twitched, tail giving the smallest flick as he took another step closer. close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, close enough that the teasing atmosphere between you had shifted into something else. something heavier.

“you’re quiet,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “that’s new.”

you swallowed, trying to regain some sense of control. “shut up,” you muttered, but the usual bite in your words was missing.

neteyam smirked. he knew he had you now.

slowly, deliberately, he lifted a hand, fingers brushing against the shell still clutched in your grasp. his touch was light—barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“you never did tell me,” he mused, golden eyes locked onto yours. “do you think i’m beautiful too?”

your heart pounded against your ribs. that smug skxawng. he was throwing your own words back at you.

but two could play this game.

tilting your chin up, you gave him a slow, knowing smile. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

then, before he could get the last word in, you turned on your heel, leaving him standing there; stunned, frustrated, and entirely hooked.

you left him standing there, smug and victorious, but your heart was still pounding.

by the time you returned home, you needed to find your sister.

because these forsaken sully brothers had somehow woven their way into both of your hearts.

you found tsireya near the woven mats of your family’s marui, carefully threading beads onto a new piece of jewelry. she looked up as you entered, a soft smile on her lips—one that quickly turned into curiosity when she saw the look on your face.

“you look…” she tilted her head, studying you. “different.”

you scoffed, flopping down beside her. “frustrated.”

tsireya’s brows lifted. “ah. neteyam?”

you groaned, rubbing your temples. “always.”

her soft laugh rang through the marui, and for a moment, you let yourself relax. but then you narrowed your eyes, gaze flickering to the necklace she was working on.

“let me guess,” you said, nodding toward it. “for lo’ak?”

tsireya hesitated, just for a moment, before a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

you gaped at her. “oh, eywa.”

“it is not—”

“you’re making him jewelry?”

“he—he appreciates our traditions!” she defended, though the flustered look on her face betrayed her.

you stared at her for a long moment before shaking your head. “we’re doomed,” you muttered, flopping onto your back. “the sully brothers have ruined us.”

tsireya only giggled, threading another bead onto the string. “maybe.” then, she cast you a knowing look. “but you don’t seem to mind.”

you groaned, covering your face with your hands. because, deep down, you didn’t. not one bit.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep orange and violet, your village buzzed with excitement. the salty breeze carried the scent of roasting fish and sweet fruits, mingling with the rhythmic sounds of drums echoing across the shoreline.

tonight was a night of festivities; a celebration of unity, of eywa’s blessings, of all that made your people strong. and, as the daughter of the olo’eyktan, it was one of those things you had to attend.

you stood near your family’s marui, adjusting the beaded adornments woven into your hair as your mother fussed over your attire. ronal was ever the perfectionist, making sure you looked every bit the part of a leader’s daughter.

“you must be present,” she reminded you, hands steady as she adjusted the woven top covering your chest. “engage with the people. show them your strength.”

you held back a sigh. “yes, sa’nok.”

beside you, tsireya giggled under her breath. she, of course, loved these gatherings. but you? you found them tiring, always forced to play the part of the dutiful daughter: composed, graceful, responsible.

still, you knew your role. you straightened your shoulders, casting one last glance at the glowing horizon before following your family toward the center of the village.

the festival was already in full swing when you arrived, torches casting golden light over the gathering crowd. children wove between the adults, laughter ringing through the air as dancers moved to the steady beat of the drums.

your attire was more ethereal than usual; custom-made loincloths adorned with the prettiest shells and beads, catching the firelight with every movement, making you shine. the woven top your mother had chosen was delicate yet intricate, the beading cascading down your torso like water, reflecting the hues of the ocean. you looked every bit the daughter of the olo’eyktan, and though you wouldn’t admit it aloud, the way eyes followed you as you walked made you feel powerful.

you had done your duties; exchanged pleasantries, greeted those who needed to be greeted, smiled when necessary, when you suddenly felt a presence.

a familiar presence.

you didn’t have to look to know who it was. you felt his eyes on you before you even spotted him across the crowd.

neteyam.

he was standing with his family, expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze, something intentional.

your heart gave an annoyingly noticeable thump.

and you just knew, this night was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

your father had given his speech, his voice commanding as he spoke of unity, of eywa’s blessings, of the strength of the metkayina. you were just settling into your place beside tsireya when you felt it. the people cheered, the drums picked up, and just like that, the festivities truly began.

which meant you were finally free.

you exhaled, the weight of expectation lifting as you slipped through the crowd, seeking a moment to just be. the village was alive with celebration, dancers twirling near the fire, warriors boasting about their latest hunts, children giggling as they weaved through the legs of their elders. it was beautiful, vibrant, home.

you found yourself near the shoreline, where the glow of the lanterns met the shimmering tide, your toes sinking into the cool sand. the festivities carried on behind you, but for a moment, you allowed yourself to take it all in—the crashing of the waves, the salt in the air, the hum of music in the background.

and then, of course, he appeared.

“you clean up nice.”

the deep voice sent a shiver down your spine, one you quickly masked by rolling your eyes before turning to face him.

neteyam stood a few paces away, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. his own attire was different tonight—his usual warrior gear swapped for something more ceremonial, beads woven into his braids, the soft glow of bioluminescent paint marking his skin.

he looked… good.

not that you’d tell him that.

“you again?” you sighed dramatically, placing a hand on your hip. “is there nowhere i can go without you appearing like a shadow?”

neteyam chuckled, stepping closer. “if you wanted to be alone, you wouldn’t have come here.”

you scoffed, though you didn’t move away as he reached your side, standing beside you as the waves lapped at your feet.

a beat of silence passed before he tilted his head slightly, golden eyes scanning your face.

“you really do look beautiful tonight.”

it wasn’t teasing this time. no smug grin, no playful lilt to his voice. just a quiet truth, spoken into the space between you.

and for the first time tonight, you had no clever response.

back at the heart of the festivities, away from the shoreline where you and neteyam stood, two warriors, two leaders, watched.

tonowari and jake stood side by side, their conversation casual, yet their eyes keenly observant. they had been discussing the ongoing training of the young hunters, the state of the tides, and other matters of importance. but, at some point, their attention had drifted.

to you and neteyam.

because, despite whatever you and neteyam thought, you were not subtle.

jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he watched his eldest son step closer to you, the way his body naturally leaned toward yours, the way you, despite your best efforts, didn’t pull away.

“they think they’re being discreet,” jake muttered.

tonowari hummed in agreement, arms crossed over his broad chest. “they are not.”

jake sighed. “he’s got it bad.”

tonowari’s lips twitched slightly, amusement flickering in his sharp eyes. “as does she.”

jake glanced at him, smirking. “that a problem?”

tonowari was quiet for a moment, watching as you shoved neteyam’s shoulder, only for the boy to grin and lean right back into your space.

“…no,” the olo’eyktan finally said. “not yet.”

jake chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “good luck with that, brother.”

tonowari just sighed, already bracing himself for the storm that was sure to come.

back with you and neteyam, the air was thick.

the kind of thick that made your skin feel too warm, your chest too tight. the kind of thick that had your heart pounding a little faster than it should, your breath catching at the way his golden eyes burned into yours.

the tension could have been cut with a knife.

but the question was, who was going to make the first move?

neteyam was watching you closely now, that cocky smirk long gone. his lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though you could tell, that he was feeling it too. that same charged, unspoken pull that neither of you were willing to put words to.

for once, he wasn’t teasing.

for once, you were the one trying to look anywhere but at him.

“you’re quiet again,” he murmured, voice lower now, softer.

your fingers curled into your palms. “you talk enough for both of us.”

neteyam chuckled, but it was breathier than usual, as if even he wasn’t fully present in the words. his gaze flickered down for a split second, to your lips just for a moment, but it was enough.

your stomach flipped.

you swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. the way the firelight flickered over his skin. the way his braids shifted as he tilted his head. the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he was debating something.

your tail twitched. was he going to do it? was he going to be the one to break first?

neteyam shifted slightly, leaning in just a fraction—so small, so subtle, but you caught it.

and eywa help you, you didn’t move away.

maybe you should’ve. maybe you should have smirked, teased him, run before he could turn this whole thing into something real.

but you didn’t.

instead, you just stared at him, pulse racing, waiting to see if this would be the moment one of you finally gave in.

just as your lips were about to touch, just as you felt the faintest graze of them, the smallest, feather-light brush—

a loud, booming clearing of a throat shattered the moment.

you jerked away so fast you nearly lost your footing, and neteyam; mighty warrior, future olo’eyktan, practically jumped back as if you had burned him.

that was how deep the two of you had been in your own little world.

heart hammering against your ribs, you turned, already knowing what you’d find. and, sure enough—

there stood tonowari.

and beside him, looking far too amused for his own good, was jake sully.

oh, eywa.

your father’s arms were crossed, expression unreadable, but the sheer weight of his stare was enough to make you wish the ocean would just swallow you whole.

jake, on the other hand, had the audacity to smirk, glancing between you and neteyam like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all night.

neteyam straightened immediately, shoulders squared, but you knew him too well. knew that beneath that carefully composed expression, he was panicking.

“neteyam.” jake’s voice was easygoing, but the warning beneath it was clear.

“sir.” neteyam’s response was stiff, formal, and oh eywa, you had to fight the urge to laugh at how utterly caught he looked.

tonowari said nothing at first, just looked at you, then at neteyam, then back at you. and somehow, somehow, that was worse than if he’d yelled.

“i see you are both enjoying the festivities,” he finally said, voice far too calm.

you swallowed. “yes, sa’nok’itan,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice even, though you swore you saw the corner of jake’s mouth twitch.

neteyam, to his credit, didn’t flinch. but the tips of his ears were burning red. “we were just—”

“i am sure you were,” tonowari cut in smoothly.

and that? that was when you knew you were done for.

you dared a glance at neteyam, but he refused to meet your gaze, jaw clenched so tight you thought his teeth might crack.

jake clapped a firm hand on his son’s shoulder, barely containing his grin. “why don’t we let them enjoy the rest of the festivities?” he said, clearly enjoying this way too much.

tonowari exhaled through his nose, giving you one last long look before nodding. “come,” he said, turning to leave. “we will speak later.”

you felt your stomach drop.

and then, just like that, they were gone, leaving you and neteyam standing there—mortified, frustrated, and one second away from kissing.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

then…

“…so,” neteyam muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “that was—”

“do not.” you cut him off, voice tight, because if you thought about it for one more second, you were going to combust.

neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand down his face before finally, finally, meeting your gaze.

and despite everything, despite the sheer embarrassment of it all, he smirked.

“next time,” he murmured, stepping just close enough to send a shiver down your spine, “we pick a better spot.”

your jaw dropped. “neteyam!”

but he was already walking away, laughing, leaving you standing there, flustered and fuming, knowing damn well he’d just won.

[lacethighs]

undercover dancer

dean winchester x reader

synopsis while working a case with the winchester, you go undercover at a strip club to track down a siren, but things don’t go as planned.

warnings mdni, porn with plot? (pwp), oral sex (m rec.), missionary, pet names (sweetheart, baby), fem reader, breeding kink (if you squint), light d/s dynamic, no use of y/n.

word count 6.5k

working a case with the winchesters meant long nights, bad coffee, and sifting through endless lore. the three of you were holed up in a rundown motel, buried in research about sirens. three men had murdered their wives, all while insisting they were in happy, loving relationships. something wasn’t adding up.

sam had bobby on speakerphone as the older hunter explained an old piece of folklore—sirens could be killed with a bronze dagger dipped in the blood of one of their victims.

“alright, thanks, bobby. we’ll call if we need anything else,” sam said, snapping his phone shut.

you sighed, leaning back in your chair across from him. “okay, but how exactly are we supposed to get the blood of an infected victim?”

sam thought for a moment before suggesting that the doctor who performed the autopsies might still have blood samples from the victims.

as the boys geared up, putting on their usual fbi disguises, you made no move to change. noticing this, dean shot you a look. “what? you’re just gonna sit this one out?”

“no,” you replied smoothly, standing up and grabbing a duffel bag from under the bed. “while you two are handling that, i’m going to see if i can get a lead on who the siren might be.”

sam and dean exchanged confused glances but didn’t question it. they had learned to trust your methods—even if they didn’t always understand them.

as soon as they left, you dug through your bag, pulling out a dark red costume. undercover work had its perks, but being a woman in the hunting business often meant playing into certain expectations. and right now, that meant infiltrating the strip club where you suspected the siren was hiding.

after a quick shower, you grabbed a fresh razor and got to work. if you were going to sell this, you had to look the part. you remembered the club owner’s strict policy—pretty faces and smooth bodies only.

once you were done, you pulled out your small cosmetic kit and carefully applied your makeup, matching it to the deep red of your outfit. a final swipe of lip gloss and a touch of glitter later, you gave yourself a once-over in the motel’s long mirror.

damn. you looked like an expensive stripper.

the two-piece outfit was a dark red sequined swimsuit, just a size too small, leaving very little to the imagination. perfect.

packing a change of clothes and slipping a pair of heels into your duffel, you hopped into your camaro and drove to the club.

pulling into the back lot, you wrapped yourself in a long trench coat and slipped inside through the rear entrance. in the changing room, you stashed your bag, swapped your boots for heels, and took a moment to observe the other women.

they moved in and out, chatting and adjusting their outfits, but none of them immediately screamed “siren.” the only clue you had was that sirens tended to work alone.

you adjusted your stance, getting used to the ridiculous height of your heels. with one last check in the dingy mirror, you stepped out onto the club floor.

the heavy bass of electronic house music pounded in your chest, the flashing led lights momentarily disorienting. you focused, forcing yourself to move with the rhythm, blending in as you made your way toward the bar.

“well, aren’t you something,” a voice drawled behind you.

you turned, slipping effortlessly into character, flashing a sultry smile as you took in the man eyeing you. mid-forties, salt-and-pepper beard, expensive watch—if you weren’t here on a case, you might have been a little more interested.

smirking, you sauntered closer, batting your eyelashes. “what can i do for you tonight, handsome?”

“how about something special?” his voice dipped, gaze never leaving your body. “one of those private rooms in the back?”

shit.

if you left the main floor, you’d risk losing sight of your real target. you needed a way out of this—fast.

glancing around, you spotted the upstairs balcony overlooking the club. if you could get him up there, at least you’d still have a vantage point.

“i don’t have all night, sweetheart,” the man said impatiently, waving a wad of cash. “you want this or not?”

plastering on a flirtatious smile, you grabbed his hand and led him toward the stairs. he chuckled behind you. “aren’t you an eager thing?”

this was probably a bad idea.

as you reached the top, your attention flicked to a nearby table where two men in suits sat across from each other. the back of one of their heads looked disturbingly familiar. short hair, slightly spiked—no way.

then you heard it. that familiar gravelly voice, thick with a kansas drawl.

dean.

what the hell was he doing here?

panic kicked in. you needed to get past him before he saw you in this very compromising outfit. you picked up the pace, walking past as quickly as you could.

just when you thought you were in the clear—

a low whistle pierced the air.

fuck.

the whistle came from dean.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

you could’ve kept walking. you should’ve kept walking. just pretend you didn’t hear it. play dumb, keep moving, disappear into the back rooms before this whole thing spiraled into something worse.

but, of course, the man you were leading had to open his damn mouth.

“hell of a body, huh?” he slurred, clearly buzzed and feeling bold. “bet she’s worth every damn penny.”

your stomach dropped, then it got so much worse.

“hey, buddy,” the man continued, elbowing dean like they were old friends. “why don’t you come with me? we can both get a little taste.”

you clenched your jaw. this fucking guy. not only was he disgusting, but now he was trying to bring dean into this?

“hey, sweetheart!” he called, motioning for you to come back. “c’mon, don’t be shy now.”

you stayed still, facing away from the table, hoping—praying—that dean would just ignore him. maybe he hadn’t recognized you. maybe he was just reacting to the fact that you looked wildly out of place in a club like this.

maybe pigs could fly.

because you felt dean’s eyes burning into your back, and you knew—this was about to happen.

your breath hitched as you forced yourself to turn around.

and the second your gaze met dean’s, his jaw literally dropped.

eyes wide, mouth hanging open, pure shock written all over his face. like he’d just been smacked in the head with a crowbar.

you saw the exact moment realization hit. the way his gaze flickered down—taking in the too-small, blood-red sequined outfit, the heels, the sheer ridiculousness of what you were wearing—before snapping back up to your face.

his lips parted, but no words came out. just a stunned, incredulous stare, like his brain had short-circuited and he couldn’t even begin to process what he was seeing.

you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

dean winchester—your hunting partner, your friend, the guy you spent way too much time with—was seeing you like this.

and he wasn’t looking away. dean blinked. once. twice. then his jaw clenched

in dean’s mind, this was not what he expected when you said you were going to get a lead on the siren.

a lead? sure. maybe some surveillance, some questioning—hell, even some light flirting to get information if needed. but this?

his brain had completely short-circuited.

for a few crucial seconds, he forgot where he was. forgot the case, the siren, the fact that there was a real fbi agent sitting across from him. forgot that he was supposed to be an fbi agent, too.

because fbi agent dean winchester wasn’t supposed to know a stripper.

you weren’t supposed to know him.

you were just two strangers existing in the same space—passing glances, exchanging pleasantries, nothing more. that’s what this cover was supposed to be.

but instead, you were standing there, looking like that, and dean was sitting here, looking at you.

the noise of the club, the flashing lights, the pulsing music—it all blurred in the background. the only thing in sharp focus was you.

and then, of course, the drunk asshole had to make it worse.

“so, what do ya say, man?” he gestured sloppily between you and dean, slurring his words. “you in or what?”

dean blinked, jaw tightening.

this guy had no idea. no idea that the woman he was treating like an object was actually a badass hunter who could take him down in a heartbeat. no idea that dean wasn’t some random customer, but someone who knew exactly what you looked like covered in blood and sweat, tearing through monsters like it was second nature.

but more than anything, he had no idea how much dean didn’t want to share you with him.

dean finally closed his mouth, schooling his face into something more neutral. his grip tightened around the glass in his hand, but he forced out a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

“tempting,” he said, voice low, edged with something dangerous. “but i think i’ll pass.”

he saw the way your shoulders subtly relaxed, the way your fingers twitched like you were seconds from reaching for a weapon you weren’t carrying.

the guy huffed, shaking his head. “your loss.” then he turned back to you, giving you a sleazy grin. “guess it’s just you and me, sweetheart.”

dean barely restrained himself from breaking the guy’s nose.

this was a case. you were undercover. you had a job to do.

but damn if dean didn’t want to burn this whole place down just to get you out of here.

after that incredibly unfortunate turn of events, you decided to call it a night.

you led your drunk, handsy gentleman away from prying eyes, coaxing him into a quieter, less crowded hallway. the second you were sure no one was watching, you turned on your heel and decked him—one solid punch right to the jaw.

he crumpled like a sack of potatoes.

rolling your shoulders, you exhaled sharply and stepped over his unconscious body. he’d wake up with a hell of a headache and probably no memory of what happened. good. you didn’t have the patience for anything else.

when you walked back onto the main floor, you instinctively glanced toward where dean had been sitting—only to find his chair empty.

of course.

you didn’t have the energy to deal with that right now.

navigating through the club, you made your way back to the dressing room, grabbed your trench coat, and threw it over yourself. no time to change. you just wanted to get out of here and back to the motel.

enough undercover work for one night.

but as soon as you stepped outside into the cool night air and headed toward your car, you stopped dead in your tracks.

because parked right in front of your camaro, like a goddamn roadblock, was the impala.

and leaning against it, arms crossed, expression unreadable, was dean. there he stood—still in that goddamn suit, still looking good as ever.

the neon lights from the club flickered against his face, casting sharp shadows across his jaw. he was staring straight at you, and even from a distance, you could feel the weight of it.

yeah. you definitely weren’t getting out of this conversation.

you wished you could just ignore him, pretend you didn’t see him, slip into your camaro, and drive the hell away from this whole mess.

but dean obviously had different plans.

his arms were still crossed, his stance casual, but there was nothing relaxed about the way he was watching you. his sharp green eyes followed every step you took, unreadable yet intense.

you swallowed hard and kept walking, forcing yourself to act like you weren’t dying inside from sheer embarrassment. maybe if you just made it to your car door without saying anything—

“hey, sweetheart,” dean called, voice smooth but edged with something else.

you closed your eyes briefly, exhaling through your nose.

slowly, you turned to face him, plastering on your best unimpressed look. “you waiting for someone, winchester?”

dean huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh, shaking his head slightly. “yeah. you.”

of course.

you shifted your weight, gripping the edges of your coat a little tighter. “well, you found me. so what do you want?”

dean pushed off the impala, stepping closer—just enough to make your pulse spike. he tilted his head, studying you like you were some kind of puzzle he was trying to piece together.

“what the hell was that back there?” his voice was low, curious, but definitely not amused.

you lifted a brow. “i was working the case.”

dean’s jaw ticked. “that’s what we’re calling it?”

you crossed your arms. “got a problem with it?”

he scoffed, looking away for a second before his eyes flicked back to yours. “yeah, i got a problem with it. watching you prance around in that getup, having some drunk asshole treat you like—” he cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “what the hell were you thinking?”

you rolled your eyes. “i was thinking that someone had to actually get close enough to find the siren. and considering i didn’t see you shaking your ass in sequins, it had to be me.”

dean made a face, clearly not a fan of that mental image. “damn it, you know that’s not what i mean.”

you shrugged, pretending like your stomach wasn’t twisting at how tense he was. “relax, dean. i had it under control.”

dean let out a humorless laugh. “oh yeah? looked real under control when that guy was trying to buy a damn two-for-one special.”

you bristled but kept your face neutral. “i handled it.”

dean stared at you for a long moment, jaw still tight. then, finally, he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

your lips twitched. “that sounds like a you problem.”

dean exhaled, then gave you that look—the one that always made your chest tighten. a mix of exasperation, concern, and something else. something you didn’t have the guts to name.

“get in the car,” he muttered, nodding toward the impala.

you frowned. “i have my own car—”

“yeah, and it’s staying here.” dean’s voice left no room for argument. “you’re riding with me.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but the glare he shot you made you shut it just as quickly.

fine. whatever. if it got you out of this conversation faster, you’d deal with it.

sighing, you walked past him, letting him open the passenger door for you. you didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered over you again, how his fingers twitched like he wanted to do something but held himself back.

you slid into the seat, crossing your arms as dean shut the door behind you.

as he walked around to the driver’s side, one thought ran through your mind—

this was not how you expected tonight to go.

the car ride was quiet.

the tension, while still there, had stopped being suffocating, allowing you to relax a little. you leaned into the familiar comfort of the impala, the soft hum of the engine settling something in your chest.

which meant, unfortunately, you forgot what you were wearing underneath your trench coat.

as you shifted in your seat, adjusting yourself for a more comfortable position, the movement caused the coat to gape open slightly, revealing slivers of bare skin and dark red sequins.

dean only glanced over at first, probably just checking why you were moving—

but then he saw.

his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

a quick flash of your thighs, the curve of your waist, and the unmistakable shimmer of the too-small, too-revealing getup you still had on underneath.

dean immediately snapped his gaze back to the road, jaw clenching so tight it could crack a molar.

but it was too late.

because now the image was burned into his mind.

you, in that tiny outfit, all legs and soft skin, sitting right there next to him like it was no big deal. like it wasn’t driving him insane.

he exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like it would somehow shake the thought loose.

you didn’t seem to notice his sudden shift in posture, too caught up in getting comfortable. you adjusted again, crossing one leg over the other, which caused the coat to part just a little more—

dean did not look.

he was not looking.

he was absolutely not going to look.

but then the impala hit a small bump in the road, jostling you slightly—and out of sheer reflex, his eyes flicked over.

fucking hell.

he gritted his teeth, forcing his focus forward. “jesus, could you—?” he cut himself off, inhaling sharply. “do you wanna maybe, i don’t know, close that thing?” he flicked a pointed glance at your coat, then back at the road like his life depended on it.

you blinked, glancing down—and finally realized what he was talking about.

oh.

oh.

a slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “my bad,” you said innocently, making zero effort to fix it.

dean shot you a look. “not funny.”

you bit your lip, suppressing a laugh. “kinda funny.”

“not funny,” he repeated, gripping the wheel tighter. “you’re gonna give me a damn heart attack.”

you chuckled, finally tugging the coat closed—not out of modesty, but because you were pretty sure dean was about three seconds away from swerving off the road.

“relax, winchester,” you teased. “it’s not like you haven’t seen a woman in less before.”

dean made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a strangled groan. “yeah, well, i don’t usually have to drive them back to a motel after watching them hustle some drunk asshole in a damn strip club.”

you snorted. “please. like you weren’t enjoying the view.”

dean didn’t say anything.

didn’t even look at you.

and that was interesting.

your smirk widened. “oh my god,” you drawled. “you were enjoying the view.”

dean clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the road. “you done?”

you hummed, pretending to think. “not really.”

“too bad.”

you laughed, finally letting it go—for now.

dean just exhaled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe this was his life.

and for the rest of the ride, he did not look over again.

finally.

for dean, the ride was over. they made it to the motel.

he could get away from you and that damn outfit without feeling like he was losing his goddamn mind.

but you? oh, you were not letting it go.

stepping inside, you took a quick scan of the room. no sam. he was still off doing whatever research he had gotten sucked into, which meant it was just you and dean.

perfect.

you kicked off those ridiculous heels with a sigh of relief, shrinking down several inches in the process, and tossed your duffle bag onto the bed. dean did the same, loosening the tie on his suit with a grumble, ready to just shower this night off and forget it ever happened.

but then he looked up—

and oh, god.

you were shrugging off your trench coat.

right in front of him.

and you weren’t doing it quickly, like someone exhausted after a long night.

no.

you were doing it slowly.

tantalizingly.

dean didn’t know if that was just his brain making it seem like slow motion, or if you were actually torturing him on purpose.

but oh, god.

the way the coat slipped from your shoulders, revealing the smooth stretch of your skin, the way the deep red sequins shimmered against the cheap motel lighting.

dean felt like he’d been hit with something.

his mouth went dry. his brain stopped working.

all he could do was stare.

and you knew.

he could see it in the tiny smirk playing at your lips, the way you tossed your coat onto the bed like this was all totally normal. like you weren’t standing there, still in that tiny little outfit, acting like you didn’t just completely wreck him.

dean swallowed hard, forcing himself to snap out of it. he turned away quickly, scrubbing a hand down his face, trying to gather whatever frayed pieces of self-control he had left.

“you are killing me,” he muttered under his breath.

you laughed, low and amused. “something wrong, winchester?”

dean let out a humorless scoff, not daring to look at you again. “yeah. you.”

you just grinned. “aw, poor baby.”

dean clenched his jaw, staring very intently at the wall.

this was not how he expected his night to go.

especially when you were right there, looking at him like that—like you knew exactly what you were doing to him?

when his eyes couldn’t help but drink you in, no matter how hard he tried to not look?

that stupid, stupid red sequined outfit stretched over the swell of your breasts, hugging every curve, glinting under the dim motel lights like it was taunting him.

the bottoms—if they could even be considered bottoms—barely hid anything. just thin strips of fabric teasingly covering your most intimate parts, leaving long lines of bare skin on display.

dean was screwed.

his jaw was locked so tight it ached. his fingers twitched at his sides, itching to do something—grab you, touch you, tear that damn outfit off just to put an end to this torture.

but he didn’t move.

didn’t say a word.

because if he did, if he let himself react at all, there was no coming back from it.

you tilted your head slightly, watching him with amusement, curiosity, and something dangerous.

“you keep looking at me like that, dean,” you mused, voice dripping with mischief, “people might start to think you actually want me.”

dean exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his gaze to the floor, the wall—anywhere but you.

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” his voice came out rougher than he intended.

you stepped closer—too close. close enough that he could feel your body heat, smell the faint traces of perfume and sweat lingering on your skin.

“not when i’m having this much fun,” you admitted with a smirk.

dean clenched his fists.

he had two choices.

get the hell out of this room right now—

or finally give in.

of course he gave in. one second, he was standing there, fists clenched, trying so damn hard to hold himself back.

the next, his lips crashed against yours, hungry, desperate, like he’d been starving for this and just now realized how badly he needed it.

you gasped softly against his mouth, but you weren’t surprised. not really. you knew exactly what you were doing, how to push him just far enough until he snapped—and now, here he was, grabbing onto you like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t.

his hands found your waist, rough fingers gripping tight as he pulled you against him. the thin sequined fabric did little to separate the heat of his body from yours, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

you barely had a second to breathe before he was kissing you deeper, tongue sliding against yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip like he was trying to devour you.

and god, you loved it.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging slightly just to hear that low, frustrated growl rumble from his chest. his hands slid lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, and before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.

“fucking tease,” he muttered against your lips, walking you toward the bed with no hesitation.

you smirked, breathless. “took you long enough.”

dean let out a low, dark chuckle.

“oh, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick with want as he dropped you onto the mattress, climbing over you with a dangerous glint in his eyes—

“you have no idea what you just started.”

your hands roamed over dean’s suit-clad body, feeling the heat beneath the fabric, the tension coiled tight in his muscles.

you pulled him closer by his tie, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips. his weight pressed into you, his body solid and strong, like he was trying to get as close as physically possible—like even that wouldn’t be enough.

his big, calloused hands slid down your sides, rough fingers trailing fire along your bare skin until they found the thin ties of your bottoms.

with practiced ease, he tugged at the delicate knots, the flimsy fabric loosening instantly. his lips never left yours, too caught up in the way you felt, the way you gasped softly when the last knot came undone.

meanwhile, you worked fast to undo your top, the sequined fabric falling away as your fingers fumbled at the clasp.

dean pulled back just enough to look down at you, his pupils blown wide, his expression dark and unreadable.

“jesus,” he muttered, voice rough, like he couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

you smirked, reaching up to tug at his tie again. “took you long enough, winchester.”

dean’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.

“you’re gonna regret saying that,” he warned, voice dripping with promise.

and then he kissed you again—harder, deeper, like he was determined to make up for every second he’d spent holding back.

separating to catch your breath, your chest heaved as you watched dean make quick work of his clothes.

and god, was he a sight.

his toned stomach, the ridges of muscle shifting with every movement, the broad expanse of his chest—every inch of him was built for this. his strong arms flexed as he tossed his shirt aside, and for a second, you were too distracted to do anything but stare.

dean smirked, catching the way your lips parted, your eyes dark with something between hunger and awe.

“like what ya see, sweetheart?” he teased, his voice dripping with cocky amusement.

you swallowed hard, dragging your gaze up to meet his, refusing to give him the satisfaction of flustering you—even if you were absolutely drooling inside.

with a smirk of your own, you tilted your head and let your fingers trail slowly down his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the solid muscle beneath.

“i don’t know,” you mused, lips curling as you leaned up, voice dropping into something sultry, “guess i’ll have to touch to be sure.”

dean let out a low chuckle, but the way his breath hitched when your hands slid lower?

he wasn’t laughing anymore.

your hand trailed lower, teasing, until your palm pressed against the hard length straining through his unbuttoned trousers.

dean sucked in a breath, his body tensing under your touch. his head tilted back slightly, jaw clenched, as if he was trying to keep himself from completely falling apart right then and there.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice rough, gravelly, like the word had been dragged out of him.

you smirked, feeling the way he twitched under your touch, the heat of him even through the fabric.

god, you had to feel him inside your mouth.

with slow, deliberate movements, you slid off the bed, sinking to your knees before him. your fingers made quick work of his zipper, tugging his pants and boxers down just enough to free him, and fuck.

dean winchester was big.

your mouth practically watered at the sight, your fingers wrapping around his thick length, giving him an experimental stroke.

dean let out a low, wrecked groan, his hands automatically flying to your hair, his fingers curling at the roots as if he needed something to hold onto.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, looking down at you with blown pupils, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

you just smirked up at him, pressing a teasing kiss to the tip before licking a slow, deliberate stripe up his length, making sure to keep eye contact the whole time.

“fuck,” he cursed again, his grip in your hair tightening slightly. “you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

you only hummed in response, lips parting as you finally took him into your mouth and dean completely lost it.

his hands flew to your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he held on—not forcing, just holding, like he needed the anchor while you worked him over with that sinful mouth of yours.

dean’s head fell back for a moment, eyes squeezed shut as a deep, guttural groan ripped from his throat.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, looking back down at you, watching the way your lips stretched around him, the way your head bobbed up and down at a steady rhythm.

the slick, filthy sounds of you gagging on his cock filled the room, mixing with his grunts and sharp exhales.

“jesus—look at you,” he muttered, breathless, his grip tightening just a little when you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him even deeper. “taking me so fuckin’ good.”

your eyes flickered up to meet his, glossy and dazed, and that—that look on your face, the way you were so eager, so desperate to take all of him—had him teetering on the edge.

“shit,” he groaned, one of his hands trailing down to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin in contrast to how filthy this all was. “goddamn mouth of yours—feels so fuckin’ good, baby.”

you hummed at the praise, sending vibrations through his length, and that—that nearly broke him.

“oh, fuck,” he growled, hips jerking slightly despite himself. “keep that up, and i’m not gonna last, sweetheart.”

but that only made you want it more.

so you sucked harder, hollowed your cheeks even more, letting him feel every inch of your tongue, every bit of heat and wetness—

and dean absolutely wrecked.

before he could finish, dean suddenly jerked you off his cock, a slick pop sounding as he pulled free from your mouth. his chest heaved, pupils blown wide, lips parted in a mix of pleasure and frustration.

“shit,” he muttered, breathing heavy as he cupped your jaw, wiping away a bit of spit from your swollen lips with his thumb. “as much as i wanna come down that pretty throat of yours, i need to feel you first.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

dean didn’t give you time to process before he hauled you up effortlessly, his hands gripping your hips as he practically tossed you onto the bed.

you barely had time to gasp before he was on you—pressing you down into the mattress, kissing you deep, his tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to devour you.

his hands roamed your body, squeezing, exploring, before settling between your thighs. his fingers teased at your slick folds, making you whimper against his lips.

“fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned, dragging his fingers through your wetness before pressing one thick digit inside. “was sucking me off that good for you, sweetheart?”

you whined, hips bucking into his touch, gripping at his shoulders. “dean, please—”

he chuckled darkly, adding another finger, stretching you slightly as he watched you, drinking in the way you squirmed. “oh, i got you, baby,” he rasped, voice thick with promise. “gonna give you exactly what you need.”

and with that, he lined himself up, teasing the tip against your entrance—

then thrust inside, burying himself to the hilt in one slow, deep stroke.

dean was relentless.

his hips snapped against yours, the sheer force of each thrust making the bed creak beneath you. his grip on your hips was tight, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted—like he needed to keep you in place while he fucked you deep.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, jaw clenched, eyes locked onto where your bodies met. “so goddamn tight—taking me so fuckin’ good.”

the stretch was intense, overwhelming in the best way, and all you could do was moan, gripping onto his arms, his back, anything to ground yourself.

then—he shifted.

one of his hands dragged down your leg, rough fingers tracing your skin before he hooked it over his shoulder, pressing in even deeper.

“oh, fuck—” you cried out, back arching as he hit that new angle, that devastatingly perfect spot that had your vision going white.

dean felt the way you clenched around him, heard the way his name spilled from your lips in a wrecked, breathless moan—and he lost it.

“that’s it,” he growled, his pace somehow getting rougher, each thrust harder, deeper, sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. “this what you wanted, huh? needed me to fuck you like this?”

you could barely form words, too lost in the blinding pleasure.

“dean—please—!”

he grunted, leaning down, pressing his forehead against yours even as he kept up his punishing rhythm.

“i got you, baby,” he panted, voice rough, lips brushing against yours. “not stopping ‘til you come all over my cock.”

one of dean’s calloused fingers dragged down your body, rough and deliberate, until it found your achingly sensitive clit.

a sharp cry tore from your throat as he pressed down, rubbing slow, teasing circles that contrasted the relentless snap of his hips. the combination had your entire body trembling, pleasure winding tighter and tighter inside you, coiling like a spring ready to snap.

“that’s it,” dean groaned, watching your every reaction like a man possessed, his finger working you over with precision. “so fuckin’ perfect—gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

you were already there, so close you could taste it, every thrust, every roll of his fingers sending you spiraling closer to the edge.

“dean— oh my god—” you gasped, gripping onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

he growled at that, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he doubled down—hips slamming into you, fingers rubbing tighter, faster, overwhelming you with everything.

“come on, baby,” he panted, lips brushing your ear. “let me feel it—let go for me.”

and then—you snapped.

your orgasm ripped through you, body arching, legs shaking, a desperate, wrecked moan of his name spilling from your lips as waves of white-hot pleasure crashed over you.

dean groaned at the feeling, the way you clenched down so tight around him, the way your body trembled beneath him, and it sent him tumbling right after you.

“fuck— fuck,” he choked out, burying himself deep as he came, his own release spilling inside you as he gasped your name like a prayer.

dean slowly pulled out, a low groan leaving his lips as he watched the way your body trembled beneath him. his eyes darkened when he saw the mess he made—his release spilling out of your wrecked little hole, glistening against your flushed skin.

his smirk was downright wicked as he dragged two fingers through the slick mess, gathering up every drop before pressing them right back inside you, pushing deep, so slow.

“don’t want it going to waste, do we, sweetheart?” his voice was gravelly, teasing, full of satisfaction as he watched you squirm, still sensitive and wrecked from your orgasm.

a whimper slipped from your lips, your overstimulated walls fluttering around his fingers as he gently fucked them into you, as if he owned you—like he could still feel every aftershock running through your body.

“fuck, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “look so damn pretty like this. completely fucked out.”

he finally pulled his fingers free, but not before bringing them up to his lips, smirking as he licked them clean, groaning low in his throat.

“taste so fucking sweet.”

dean’s smirk softened as he took in the sight of you—your body still trembling slightly, chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. your skin was flushed, glowing in the dim motel light, and fuck, if you weren’t the prettiest damn thing he’d ever seen.

but as much as he loved seeing you like this, spent and wrecked from him, he also knew you needed him now just as much as before—just in a different way.

with a deep breath, he leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before slipping off the bed.

“be right back, sweetheart,” he murmured.

you barely had the energy to respond, only humming in acknowledgment as you stretched across the sheets, already feeling the exhaustion settle in.

dean moved around the room quietly, grabbing one of his clean shirts and a warm, damp washcloth before returning to your side.

“hey, baby,” he said softly, brushing your hair back before running the cloth between your thighs, being so careful, so gentle as he cleaned you up. “still with me?”

“mhm,” you mumbled, sighing at the warmth of his touch.

once he was sure you were all cleaned up, he tossed the cloth aside and helped you into his shirt, the fabric drowning you, but he couldn’t help but grin at the way you looked in it.

“there we go,” he murmured, pulling the blankets over you before sliding in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart was soothing, his body warm and solid against you.

“you good?” he asked, voice softer now, rough edges smoothed over with something gentler.

you nodded, nuzzling into his neck. “yeah… ‘m good.”

dean pressed a kiss to your temple, rubbing slow circles into your back.

“get some sleep, sweetheart,” he whispered. “i got you.”

just as you were getting comfortable, wrapped up in dean’s warmth, the motel door slammed open, making both of you jolt.

“what the hell—” dean started, reaching for the gun under his pillow, but then—

“where the hell have the two of you been?!”

it was sam.

standing in the doorway, pissed, arms crossed, eyes darting between the both of you—dean half-naked under the blankets, you drowning in one of his shirts, curled up against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your face burned.

“uh…” you started, scrambling for some kind of excuse, but what could you even say?

dean, ever the smooth talker, just cleared his throat and smirked, stretching an arm behind his head. “y’know, sammy… you could’ve knocked.”

sam’s expression darkened. “are you—? oh, come on!” he rubbed a hand down his face, looking genuinely distressed. “i’ve been out chasing a damn siren while you two were—” he gestured wildly. “—doing this?!”

you bit your lip, shrinking under his glare, but dean?

dean just grinned. “hey, don’t get all worked up, man. we got plenty done tonight.”

“yeah, i bet you did,” sam deadpanned.

the silence was painfully awkward.

finally, sam just let out a long, exhausted sigh and muttered, “i don’t even wanna know.” he turned on his heel, grumbling something under his breath as he walked to his bed, clearly done with both of you.

you and dean exchanged glances before cracking up, muffling your laughter into the blankets as sam shot you both a glare.

“idiots,” he muttered, flopping down onto his bed. “absolute idiots.”

still grinning, dean pulled you closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “totally worth it,” he whispered.

and honestly?

yeah. it was.

[lacethighs]

𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐑

jake sully

searching : curious of what exactly you signed up to fight against on pandora, you find yourself trying to discover the identity of a specific avatar driver.

neteyam sully

infuriatingly infuriating : the olo’eyktan’s oldest daughter finds herself falling for toruk makto’s infuriatingly charming eldest son.

[lacethighs]

𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋

sam winchester

when memories snow : sam disappeared after dean’s death—now that dean is back, he has to face the reality of who he left behind.

one-shots

gloss & pouts

dean winchester

undercover dancer : while working a case with the winchester, you go undercover at a strip club to track down a siren, but things don’t go as planned. (nsfw)

[lacethighs]

searching

jake sully x marine! reader

synopsis curious of what exactly you signed up to fight against on pandora, you find yourself trying to discover the identity of a specific avatar driver.

warnings no use of y/n.

word count 4.6k

joining the u.s. marine corps was a last resort—a final shot at a better life for yourself and the dying earth you left behind. propaganda covered every corner of the world, promising that enlisting meant being part of something greater. “save the earth, one soldier at a time.”

you did your time in boot camp, shipped off to soi, then to god knows where for your first deployment. you earned your title as corporal—still the bottom of the marine food chain. but you didn’t care. you were hungry to climb up, with little left to lose. you put in the work, busted your ass, and people noticed.

soon enough, two men in long black coats, accompanied by your general, approached you with an offer—an assignment under the resources development administration. a hefty paycheck to keep rda personnel and infrastructure safe. you barely skimmed the fine print before signing.

what they didn’t tell you—what you should’ve read—was that this mission wasn’t on earth.

it was on pandora.

a moon orbiting the gas giant polyphemus, 4.4 light-years away.

now, after six years in cryosleep, you wake to bright fluorescent lights and the hum of machines. a battery of tests follows—checking vitals, reflexes, vision. then they shuffle you into your combat uniform, slap a pack into your hands, and give you an exomask.

something about pandora’s atmosphere being toxic. something about the oxygen levels.

you tune it all out, staring at your reflection in the glass of the mask.

you don’t know what to expect from pandora. as far as you know, you’re here to serve, to fight. the enemy? a species you’ve never seen, never even heard of. the only briefing you got came from colonel quaritch, who described them as savages—long-range killers with venom-tipped arrows and bones stronger than carbon fiber.

you’re not naïve enough to take his word as gospel, but you are smart enough to keep your mouth shut.

that was a week ago. since then, you’ve settled in, gone through training, learned the new rules of engagement. but you still haven’t seen the so-called na’vi.

and it’s been eating at you.

earlier today, before being dismissed, you overheard some soldiers talking about the “science pukes” and their avatar program—something about humans remotely piloting artificially-grown na’vi bodies to integrate with the locals. you had no idea if it was bullshit or not, but if there was any way to finally get a look at what you were really up against, this was it.

so, after dark, you ditch your uniform for civvies, sneak past secops, and slip into the research labs.

the difference between here and the rest of hell’s gate is jarring.

the air smells like coffee and freshly printed paper. led lights flicker off a maze of monitors and projection screens, their glow illuminating walls lined with data on pandora’s wildlife. scientists huddle over their work, their white coats stark against the sterile lab environment.

nobody notices you at first.

until—

“you lost or what?”

you whip around, heart lurching.

trudy.

she stands there with her arms crossed, chewing a piece of gum, her expression equal parts amused and knowing.

“shit, trudy—don’t do that.” you exhale, willing your shoulders to relax.

she laughs at your pathetic attempt at playing it cool. “so, what’s a marine like you doing slumming it with the science pukes?”

you sigh, debating lying, but what’s the point? you tell her the truth—you overheard some talk about avatars, got curious, and wanted to see what the fuss was about.

“little newbie wants to size up the competition,” trudy jokes, nudging you toward a hallway. “you could’ve just asked, y’know.”

you huff, flustered, but follow her anyway. as she leads you past rows of doors, past towering equipment that hums with life. finally, she stops at a reinforced airlock.

“this,” she gestures, “is your golden ticket to seeing the avatar drivers in their natural habitat.”

you reach for an exopack by the door, but trudy just smirks.

“oh no, tiger. i got places to be. it’s 0300—my break time.”

your stomach drops. “you’re joking. i can’t go out there alone.”

trudy just adjusts your mask, pats your shoulder, and—before you can argue further—shoves you through the door.

the second it seals behind you, bright sunlight floods your vision. you squint, eyes adjusting to the shift in lighting.

then—

two massive blue humanoids sprint past, chasing a basketball.

you freeze.

they’re huge. taller than any man you’ve ever seen, muscles lean and corded, moving with an effortless grace that doesn’t match their size. and their tails.

they have tails.

you take an unconscious step forward, eyes wide. the youer alien-ness of them sends your mind spinning. you don’t belong here. and if you keep standing here like an idiot, someone is going to notice—

so you move. fast.

you duck into a more shaded path, straying from the main trails, drinking in the strange beauty of the plant life. the air is humid, thick with a scent you can’t place. it feels different from the concrete-and-steel world of the marine compound.

but then—voices.

you snap to attention, instincts kicking in. moving quickly, you press yourself behind a massive wooden beam just as two more avatars approach.

they stop nearby, talking. one is a woman, dressed in long shorts and a cropped red tank. the other is a man, wearing a hospital gown. you track his movements, watching as his tail flicks absentmindedly behind him.

your mouth moves before your brain catches up.

“they have tails.”

the man immediately turns, ears twitching, eyes narrowing.

shit. you were supposed to think that.

“sensitive hearing,” the woman reminds him, glancing around. he relaxes slightly, but not entirely.

you hold your breath, pressing back against the wooden support beam, silently begging them to move on.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, they do. they climb a nearby staircase, disappearing into what looks like an avatar barracks.

you exhale, relieved. time to get back before someone actually catches you.

but by the time you reach the entrance, your luck runs out.

the door requires an id scan. one you don’t have.

you hover nearby, lurking behind a tree, watching for an opportunity to slip in unnoticed. a group of scientists gathers near the entrance, laughing about something. if you time it right, you can probably—

a shadow looms over you. a very large shadow.

before you can react, a massive blue hand grips your shoulder and turns you around.

you nearly choke.

an avatar towers over you, arms crossed, smirking. his sharp yellow eyes flick over you, amusement tugging at his lips.

“first time seeing an avatar?” he teases.

you clamp your mouth shut before your breath fogs the glass of your mask.

he leans in slightly, using his ridiculous height to loom over you. “you know, i saw you sneaking around earlier. surprised grace didn’t clock you.”

shit.

busted.

jake catches the way your eyes dart around, the subtle shift in your stance like you’re about to bolt. he grins wider, clearly enjoying this.

“c’mon, don’t go shy on me now,” he teases, tilting his head. “you were real interested back there, sneakin’ around, peepin’ on the basketball game—thought you were about to take notes.”

you scoff, trying to keep your cool. “i wasn’t sneaking.”

jake raises a brow, the smirk never leaving his face. “uh-huh. so you just like lurkin’ in the buyous for fun?”

your jaw tightens, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. damn it. you suck at lying. even trudy called you out with ease, and now this guy—this giant blue cat-man—is sizing you up like he’s already got you figured out.

you huff, crossing your arms. “fine. i was curious, alright?”

jake leans in slightly, his massive frame making you feel even smaller. “curious about what?”

you exhale sharply, realizing there’s no wriggling out of this. “look, all i know about the na’vi is what quaritch drilled into us. ‘savages this, long-range killers that.’ but no one really explained anything. and then i hear about the whole avatar thing, see you guys running around, and—” you pause, glancing up at him. “i guess i just wanted to see for myself.”

jake blinks, then lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “man, you really are new.”

you frown. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he grins. “it means most of the jarheads around here signed up knowing exactly what they were getting into. but you? you look like someone just dropped you into a sci-fi movie without givin’ you the script.”

you open your mouth, then close it. he’s not wrong.

jake chuckles again, shaking his head. “damn, you must’ve really skimmed over that contract.”

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “i thought it was just another deployment! you know, same shit, different place. no one said anything about six years of cryo or giant blue people.”

jake whistles, clearly enjoying this way too much. “well, welcome to pandora, rookie.”

you glare at him, but it’s half-hearted. “don’t call me that.”

“what, rookie?” he grins. “nah, it suits you.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “great. my first week here and i’m already a joke.”

jake leans back, still smirking. “hey, could be worse. at least you’re askin’ questions. most of the other guys don’t give a damn why they’re fighting, just that they get to shoot somethin’.”

you glance away, biting the inside of your cheek. he’s got a point.

“…so?” jake prompts.

you blink at him. “so what?”

he gestures vaguely. “now that you’ve seen us up close, what’s the verdict? we as scary as quaritch made us out to be?”

you look him over—the long limbs, the sharp features, the tail swishing lazily behind him. he’s massive, sure, but intimidating? not exactly. not with that cocky smirk.

you tilt your head. “nah. you’re just kind of an ass.”

jake throws his head back and laughs. “oh, you’re gonna do just fine here, rookie.”

you huff again, barely resisting the urge to stomp your foot. “i mean it, stop calling me that.”

jake just smirks, clearly unbothered. you open your mouth to argue some more, but then—

the setting suns cast long shadows across the ground, and both of you realize at the same time: you need to go.

jake glances around, ears twitching. if grace caught him hanging around a marine, you’d kill him—probably lecture him first, but then definitely kill him. and you? well, you needed to get back inside before someone noticed you were missing. the last thing you wanted was quaritch breathing down your neck.

you take a deep breath and look up at jake, putting on your best wide-eyed-help-me-big-strong-avatar-man expression you can muster. your lower lip even juts out a little, just for dramatic effect.

jake blinks. then snorts.

“really?” he crosses his arms, looking thoroughly amused. “you don’t need to try that hard, rookie, you already look like a lost puppy from down there.”

you scowl. “oh, shut up. are you gonna help me or not?”

jake chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks towards the base. “yeah, yeah, alright. c’mon, before someone sees us and i get my ass handed to me.”

you sigh in relief. “thank you—”

“but,” he cuts in, grinning. “you owe me one.”

you frown. “owe you what? you’re just sneaking me back inside, not smuggling contraband.”

jake shrugs, turning toward the base. “don’t know yet. i’ll think of something.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re insufferable.”

“and you’re stuck with me now. let’s go, rookie.”

you groan but follow close behind, already regretting ever getting caught.

somehow, by youer luck (or jake’s surprisingly decent sneaking skills), the two of you manage to slip back inside without raising any alarms. the second the door seals shut behind you, you let out a heavy sigh of relief, peeling off your exopack.

jake, on the other hand, just looks entirely too smug about the whole thing.

“see?” he grins, hands on his hips. “easy.”

you roll your eyes. “yeah, yeah. whatever.”

now that you’re back inside, the nerves that had you spiraling earlier start to settle. but that curiosity? that is still eating at you.

you glance up at him, arms crossing. “so… you got a name, or am i supposed to just keep calling you big blue asshole?”

jake chuckles, rubbing his chin like he’s actually considering it. “that’s got a nice ring to it.”

you deadpan. “not what i meant.”

his smirk doesn’t waver. “what’s it to you?”

you huff. “i don’t know. just kinda weird that i got dragged into this whole ‘mystery avatar man helps dumbass marine sneak back into base’ situation and i don’t even know who you are.”

jake tilts his head, clearly entertained. “what, you planning on looking me up in the system?”

you narrow your eyes. “i could.”

his smirk only grows. “you won’t.”

you groan, throwing your hands up. “fine. don’t tell me. i’ll figure it out myself.”

jake just laughs, stepping back towards the hallway. “good luck with that, rookie.”

you glare at his retreating form. oh, he thinks he’s funny. but whatever—he’ll slip up eventually. and when he does, you’ll definitely be ready.

the next couple of days were a blur of training, drills, and quaritch drilling into your head that war was coming. there was barely time to breathe, let alone think about anything that wasn’t push-ups, target practice, or how to dismantle na’vi from a distance.

so, naturally, the whole sneaking-into-the-labs-and-getting-busted-by-a-giant-blue-man situation got puyoud to the back of your mind.

what you failed to notice, however, was a certain wheelchair-bound man lingering a little too long whenever you passed by.

jake wouldn’t call it stalking—because that’d be weird—but he was definitely… keeping an eye on you. out of curiosity. that’s all. just trying to figure out what your deal was, why you were so damn skittish about avatars when most of the other jarheads barely batted an eye. and maybe, maybe, he was a little amused by the whole thing.

trudy, however, did notice.

and she thought it was hilarious.

“jesus, sully,” she snorted one afternoon, leaning against the railing of the airstrip, watching as jake’s eyes not-so-subtly trailed after you while you loaded equipment onto a transport. “you got a thing for the newbie, or what?”

norm, who’d been adjusting his link unit, glanced up at trudy’s tone and followed her gaze.

jake immediately scoffed. “what? no. hell no.”

trudy smirked, chewing her gum. “mmm, right. so, you just happen to be in the perfect spot to watch her train every day?”

norm squinted. “isn’t you the one you caught sneaking around the other night?”

jake scowled, shifting in his chair. “i didn’t catch her—you was just there.”

“and you’ve been keeping tabs on her why?”

“i haven’t.”

trudy and norm shared a look before trudy grinned, slapping a hand on jake’s shoulder.

“yeah, okay, lover boy. whatever you say.” trudy said, chewing her gum.

jake grumbled, shifting in his chair, but didn’t deny it. how could he? there was something about the way you looked at him—wide-eyed, a little wary, a little in awe—that made him feel… alive. like he wasn’t just some broken-down marine stuck in a chair, but something more. something bigger.

and if that meant he had to put up with trudy’s knowing smirks and norm’s side-eyes, so be it.

which is probably why he didn’t even try to fight it when trudy—ever the troublemaker—started conveniently inviting you to the labs at times when jake just happened to be linked in.

it was obvious as hell, but you didn’t seem to notice. you were too busy staring—not in the way the other marines did, all calculating and clinical, but like you were genuinely trying to figure him out.

so, yeah. he had to talk to you.

“back again?” he drawled, arms crossed as he towered over you, watching as you shifted under his gaze.

you huffed, rolling your eyes. “i was invited.”

jake smirked. “sure you were.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, then, tilting your head slightly, as if trying to piece something together.

“i’m gonna figure out who you are, you know,” you said, crossing your arms. “you can be all mysterious if you want, but i will figure it out.”

jake just chuckled, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze. “good luck with that, shortstack.”

you bristled, immediately glaring. “oh, you asshole—”

trudy cackled from across the room. “oh yeah,” you said, “this is gonna be fun.”

jake liked messing with you—it was easy. you got flustered fast, all huffy and indignant, and he found it hilarious. but for all his teasing, there was one thing he wasn’t ready for: your curiosity.

you were determined to figure him out, and you weren’t exactly subtle about it.

at first, it was little things—hovering closer when he talked, eyes darting over his features like you were trying to memorize every little detail. then, you started getting bold.

one time, you straight-up grabbed his hand—well, tried to. you had been in the middle of asking something about na’vi anatomy when you reached out, and jake, on instinct, jerked his hand away like you had burned him.

you blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “what—”

“don’t—” he coughed, playing it off, flexing his fingers like it was nothing. “you don’t just go grabbing people’s hands, alright?”

your brows furrowed. “i don’t? you literally pick me up like a ragdoll every chance you get—”

“that’s different,” he shot back, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

and it didn’t stop there.

another time, you had squinted up at him for way too long, standing on your toes like you were trying to inspect every inch of his face.

“you gotta be human,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

jake, suddenly very aware of how close you were, cleared his throat. “what, the four fingers didn’t give it away?”

“yeah, but, like—your face.” your lips pursed in frustration. “you look so human but also not—”

he took a step back before you got any ideas about grabbing his chin next. “you always get in people’s space like this?”

you blinked. “only when i’m trying to solve a mystery.”

jake exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “jesus.”

meanwhile, from across the room, trudy was barely containing her laughter, and norm just shook his head.

jake sully, war hero, ex-marine, actual ten-foot-tall alien… and somehow, you had him feeling like a damn teenager.

one time it happened so fast that jake barely had time to react.

one second, you were just squinting up at him like usual, analyzing every inch of his face with that insatiable curiosity of yours. the next, your expression shifted—eyes widening, lips parting just slightly, like something clicked.

“wait,” you breathed.

jake’s stomach dropped.

you tilted your head, staring harder, and he swore he felt his heart start pounding. “i’ve seen you before.”

he scoffed, leaning back just enough to put some space between you two. “yeah? i got one of those faces.”

but you weren’t letting this go. your hand twitched at your side, like you were resisting the urge to physically grab him and make him stand still. “no, no, i have,” you insisted. “but not like this—”

you was too damn close.

jake clenched his jaw, forcing a lazy smirk. “look, sweetheart, i know i’m good-looking, but you gotta stop staring before people start talking—”

“shut up,” you muttered, eyes narrowing in frustration.

he swore his heart skipped a beat.

your gaze flitted over his features—his jaw, his nose, his mouth—before landing on his eyes. and for a split second, he thought you had him.

then, just as quickly, your brows pinched together, and you let out a sharp huff. “ugh—i’ll figure it out later.”

jake exhaled, relieved. too close. way too close.

from the other side of the lab, norm let out a low whistle. “damn, sully, you almost had you there.”

jake shot him a glare. “shut up, norm.”

it was driving her insane.

during drills, you nearly got knocked on her ass because you was too busy running through every face you’d ever seen on base. during training, quaritch had to bark at her twice to get her to focus. and during lunch? you sat there, barely touching her food, scanning the mess hall like a damn detective trying to solve a murder.

norm and trudy watched her with amused expressions, both exchanging knowing glances as you obsessively mulled over it.

“you’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” trudy finally broke, smirking over her tray.

“no,” you muttered, but the way her knee bounced under the table said otherwise.

norm snorted. “uh-huh. sure. not obsessed at all.”

you groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “it’s just bugging me. i know i’ve seen him before. i just can’t figure out where.”

trudy raised a brow. “you do realize there’s a whole database of personnel photos, right?”

her head snapped up. “what?”

norm nearly choked on his drink. “oh shit—”

trudy laughed. “oh, yeah. but that’d be cheating, wouldn’t it?”

you ignored that completely, already making plans in her head. “no, no, that’s just using my resources—”

“you are insane,” norm muttered, shaking his head.

but you didn’t care. because by the end of today? you was going to figure this shit out.

jake had never felt this kind of fear before.

sure, he’d faced down quaritch’s drills, thrown himself into the deep end of pandora, and gone headfirst into an entirely new body. but this? watching her scan every man on base like you was on a damn mission to unmask him? this was terrifying.

because what happened when you figured it out?

what happened when you saw him—the real him?

not the ten-foot-tall, sharp-toothed, confident version you were so fascinated by. not the one who could pick you up like you weighed nothing, who towered over you with that lazy smirk you always got flustered over.

no. you’d see him.

scrawny. weak. wheelchair-bound.

he felt his stomach twist when you paused in front of some poor guy who only vaguely had his jawline. your eyes narrowed in scrutiny, like you were seconds from demanding he open his mouth and prove he wasn’t the mystery man haunting your every thought.

jake almost wanted to laugh. almost.

but instead, he sat there in his chair, gripping the wheels a little too tight, watching you search for him—watching you unknowingly hunt him down.

and for the first time in a long time, jake sully wasn’t sure if he wanted to be found.

you had gone through everyone.

every guy you could find on base, every poor soul who even remotely resembled your big blue mystery man. but nothing. no one had his voice, his smirk, his way of looking at you like he already knew what you was thinking before you said it.

it was gnawing at you.

it haunted you during drills, whispered in your ear during training, even had you zoning out during lunch as you absentmindedly picked at you food, trying to piece it all together.

and then—

bam.

you walked straight into someone, stumbling back with a muttered, “shit, my bad—”

but then he spoke. a voice too familiar. a tone too teasing.

“damn, shortstack, you in a rush or somethin’?”

your stomach dropped.

slowly—so slowly—your eyes trailed down. down past the plain shirt, the lean frame, the strong arms gripping the wheels of his chair.

and then you saw him.

jake sully.

oh. my. god.

jake knew the second he looked up—he was cooked.

the way your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in realization, the sheer shock washing over your face—yeah, there was no talking his way out of this one.

jake had braced himself for it—the shift in your eyes, the way people always looked at him when they saw the chair first and the man second. he expected hesitation, maybe even pity.

but it never came.

instead, you huffed, rolling your eyes like he was just as annoying now as he was when he towered over you at nine feet tall. “you seriously had me losing sleep over this,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “i was this close to asking quaritch if he knew who you were.”

jake actually winced. “jesus, don’t do that. i’d like to keep my spine intact, thanks.”

you snorted, and just like that, nothing changed. you didn’t look at him any differently, didn’t act weird, didn’t hesitate. you treated him like you always did—like he was just jake.

“oh my god,” you whispered, more to herself than to him. “you—you asshole!”

jake blinked. “huh?”

“you let me run around like a crazy person trying to figure this out while you sat there—watching me?”

now that you put it like that… yeah, it did sound bad. but in his defense, it was hilarious.

“i mean…” he shrugged, smirking again. “yeah, kinda.”

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face in frustration before suddenly squinting at him.

“…i knew i’d seen you before.”

jake just grinned. “yeah? you like what you see?”

you eye twitched. “don’t push it, sully.”

now that the mystery was solved, you obviously had questions.

so many questions.

and since you now knew who your big blue avatar man was, you stuck to jake like glue, following him to the labs like a soldier on a mission. “so, how does it feel? like, actually—being in that body?”

jake wheeled himself forward, not even looking back at you. “tall.”

you huffed. “i know that, smartass. but, like, does it feel like you?”

he finally glanced at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “what, you writing a report on me now?”

“maybe,” you shot back, keeping pace beside him. “so, do you just—wake up in there? like, dreaming?”

“something like that.”

“and you can feel everything?”

“yep.”

“eat?”

“uh-huh.”

“do you pee in there?”

that made him snort, shaking his head. “christ, you really don’t hold back, huh?”

“i need to know,” you insisted, nudging his shoulder lightly.

jake sighed, amused but exasperated. “no. no peeing in the avatar. happy?”

you hummed, thinking. “i dunno. i feel like i need a more in-depth explanation.” he groaned, pushing the lab door open with more force than necessary. “you’re relentless.”

“and you’re a terrible liar.” you grinned as you followed him inside. “so, tell me more, big guy. i’ve got all day.”

you followed jake straight to his link pod, still rattling off questions as he maneuvered himself inside. he let you talk, just watching you with that amused little smirk, until you finally noticed he wasn’t answering anymore.

“if you really wanna know,” he said, settling back into the pod, “i’ll answer everything. but in the avatar body.”

you huffed, crossing your arms. “seriously? what, you can’t just tell me now?”

“nope.” he popped the ‘p’ with a grin. “more immersive this way.”

you rolled your eyes but relented, stepping back as the techs moved in to set him up. “fine. but i’m holding you to that.”

jake just gave you a lazy two-fingered salute before the pod sealed shut, and within moments, his body relaxed, eyes slipping closed as the link took hold.

you sighed and turned on your heel, making your way to where you knew his avatar body would be waking up. as much as you wanted to act indifferent, your pace was a little too fast, your heart a little too eager.

because now that you knew who he was, the mystery wasn’t over—it was just beginning.

[lacethighs]

when memories snow

sam winchester x reader

synopsis sam disappeared after dean’s death— now that dean is back, he has to face the reality of who he left behind.

warnings angst with no comfort? this gets so dramatic at the end (idk how to end stories xx) kind of plot heavy? or well a lot of retelling. lower case intended. proof read? maybe.

word count 4.8k

you hunted alongside the winchesters, only sometimes, but often enough that people just expected the three of you to be together working a case.

it started way back when john was still alive. while on the search for their father, the winchester brothers ended up at your front door asking for help and talking about how they found your parents' names and contacts in john's hunter encyclopedia.

though your parents weren't there to assist the brothers, you were at their disposal and helped them the best you could with any missing information they had on their father's whereabouts.

deciding that you were helpful, they gave you their personal cell number in case you needed anything or had any new information.

that started the long history you have with the winchesters.

you got to know them better with every case you helped them on. growing up without siblings they opened your eyes to what it would be like; let's say you're glad your parents stopped after having you.

yet, you couldn't help but harbor feelings for one of the brothers. gentle and brooding, sam winchester captured your attention.

the way his shaggy hair covered his eyes, the brown carhartt jacket he always wore, and those god-forsaken puppy eyes, everything was so perfect about him.

it bothered you—you weren't the only person who noticed his attractiveness. case after case, women would swoon for him.

you weren't jealous, just annoyed. (big difference)

thinking it was pointless to yearn from afar, you decided to shoot your shot or ease your way into shooting it. casual flirting, more compliments, showing him affection as often as you could without making it obvious.

after about a month of this, dean was the first to pick up on your change. he quickly started to puzzle everything together, teasing you about it until you caved and admitted to him your feelings for his younger brother.

dean tried to be the best wingman, purposely leaving the two of you alone after a case or "accidentally" booking two hotel rooms and forcing you and sam to share.

sam wasn't an idiot; he caught on later than you'd like, but he eventually did.

after the third "accidental" wrong motel room jist, he first confronted dean about the change in demeanor between the two of you. poor dean tried so hard not to give your true feelings away to his baby brother.

however, if anyone knows dean, they know sam is his number one weakness.

"you can't tell her i told you, though; she'll rip my head off, man," dean begged his brother to at least try to be discreet about his new knowledge.

sam assured his brother he wouldn't tell you but didn't face you afterward. why was he so flustered? did he like you back?

you were charming, and the way you could go from badass monster killer to the sweetest girl sam could have the fortune of meeting. dean liked you, so he didn't need to worry about getting his blessing.

did he mention how pretty you were? he was smitten for you.

some days later, sam finally came around to talk about the massive elephant in your shared room. it was painstakingly awkward at first. the two of you acted like stupid teenagers, stuttering and nervously laughing.

god, you're grateful dean wasn't there to witness that moment in your relationship.

but, once the truth came out about how the two of you felt for each other, it was smooth sailing from there. telling dean about a week later that the two of you had made it official, he had to set some ground rules.

"no making out in front of me or in baby, and please, for the love of god, get a room furthest from mine; i don't need to hear whatever the two of you decide to do after midnight." laughable rules, but you and sam respected his wishes.

from then on, life continued—working cases, unwinding with sam, and occasionally going out with dean to a bar.

until sam died, and dean made the deal to save his life. you weren't there when sam woke up from dying, but the shock when he was at bobby's door.

the truth came to light when bobby demanded dean tell him what he had done to bring his brother back. dean had a year until those hounds came to maul him to hell, and no one could save him without sam's life being in jeopardy.

spending months searching for anything or anyone to help dean while he tried to enjoy the rest of his life the best he could; the circumstances weren't ideal, but you couldn't blame him for trying.

if it wasn't dean, it was sam, aware that his brother would do anything for him and resenting him for putting himself in this situation.

the search for help didn't stop, and sam seemed to have a solution at some point.

a demon by the name of ruby.

you'd never thought it'd come to this, but life works in mysterious ways. sam didn't give you or dean much information about her; she just said she could help and was willing.

furious with sam for even trusting a demon, dean refuses to agree with sam on this. you didn't have much choice, trying to stay as neutral as possible to keep both brothers happy. yet that didn't mean you had to like ruby; the more she inserted herself into the situation, the more sam pushed you away.

something inside you started to wonder; insecurities and anxieties filled you up. however, you knew better than to bring them up, not now, not when dean is on the verge of death, and sam is about to lose the most important person in his life.

pushing those feelings down wasn't easy, but you tried. from what you saw, it was strictly professional. ruby would pop up, help, and then leave. at least, that's what happened when you were around.

the closer it got to dean's death date, the more desperate sam became.

everyone knew that trying to go after lilith was a death sentence, but it didn't stop sam from arguing with dean about going after her.

the tension was suffocating, and dean refused to go after lilith, leaving no room for further argument. stuck in this abandoned house while trying to figure out a different way to save dean.

while you followed bobby to do more research, sam had slipped away. not questioning it, knowing he needed some time to cool down, you stayed with dean and bobby.

after some time without sam returning, dean instinctively goes to look for him, knowing his brother wouldn't listen to his commands. deciding to follow him, you watch as he sets up a devil's trap and sneaks into the part of the basement where sam is.

not just sam but sam and ruby.

she was going on about how sam could reach his full potential and how they could go after lilith together. it made you sick that sam was considering trusting her.

dean came out first, scrutinizing the blonde demon and demanding the knife. standing back, you watched sam try to intervene in dean and ruby's quarrel.

refusing to meet your eyes, you felt yourself starting to boil over.

things escalate quickly, and dean punches ruby, causing a chain reaction. as she kicks sam away for interfering, you try to hold her back, resulting in you getting punched. infuriated, you recover quickly and kick her in the back, shoving her towards dean. allowing himself to get beaten, he crawls towards the back of the cellar where the devil's trap awaits.

managing to steal the knife, dean traps her down in the basement.

you and the boys gear up to take on lilith. silence is all-consuming until sam asks if he could take on lilith and what ruby was trying to explain before you and dean interrupt.

shutting sam's idea down, the four of you head to indiana. you ride with bobby and have quiet banter; however, nothing gets past bobby. questioning why you weren't riding with the boys and why you and sam haven't made up, you started to regret riding with bobby.

after killing the possessed cop, a plan to take down lilith was made, using dean's newfound skill of seeing demons' actual forms. the boys would silently take down demons on guard while you helped bobby set up the holy water sprinklers.

you watched with bobby as the boys ran onto the porch where lilith was, the sprinklers turned on just in time, burning the demons in one swoop. now it was time to play the waiting game; you weren't religious but prayed that dean would make it out alive.

about an hour had passed, and it was safe to say that lilith was gone, the possessed people had dropped, and a large cloud of black smoke had disappeared into the night. running towards the house, you and bobby searched for sam and dean.

sam clutched onto his dead brother's corpse, you couldn't help but scream at the sight of dean's ripped stomach. tears ran down your face as you dropped down beside sam and held onto him.

days after dean's death were a blur; sam held his funeral, then vanished; no warning or goodbye, he just disappeared.

both you and bobby tried to look for him, searching in places where you'd think he'd be and calling him, only to go straight to voicemail.

after three weeks, bobby gave up. deciding that sam didn't want to be found, so he gave up on looking (he still tried to call him). you couldn't stop; you had to see him.

you couldn't lose both brothers.

two months passed, and bobby called weekly to check up on you. "how ya' holding up, kid?"

"good bobby…" the silence that followed was telling; bobby stopped trying to converse, knowing you'd only ask if he'd heard anything about sam's whereabouts.

you moved back with your parents, refusing to answer questions they had. only letting them know about dean's death, not telling them about sam's disappearance.

bobby still called, but you stopped picking up and listening to his voicemails, worrying for you, begging for you to answer.

the fourth month of sam's disappearance was rolling around, and you had given up on everything. you refused to leave your room, didn’t eat, and rotted in bed as you shuffled through old pictures of you and the boys.

your cell phone rang in your room, yet you didn't try to pick it up. you thought it was bobby until it rang repeatedly.

after the fourth ring, you decided to pick up, your voice hoarse from not talking to anyone in months. "hello?"

then you heard it: dean's voice filled your right ear.

your chest heaved; this must be some sick joke. a demon, ghost, a crocotta; dean was dead in hell. hanging up the phone, your hands began to shake. tears welled up in your eyes. who was doing this to you?

the cell phone began vibrating again, shakingly pressing it against your ear and picking it up.

"please, it's me–dean! "everything in your body told you this wasn't him; it couldn't be him. a sob choked out your throat, hearing him pleading for you not to hang up on him.

"you're sick; leave me alone." hanging up the phone, you feel your body go limp, sinking back into your bed, and you cry yourself to sleep, falling further into darkness.

a knock at your bedroom door stirs you. lifting your head off your pillow, you turn to your bedside clock, seeing it was around four in the morning. your parents weren't home, leaving to investigate a case the day before.

after another knock, your suspicion of hearing things was dissolved, frozen in your own body. you didn't feel like fighting until the sound of your window sliding open startled your instincts. leaning down, you reached for the knife stored under your bed frame.

leaping out of bed, you quickly pin whoever had entered your bedroom; you tried using all the strength you had left to keep them from moving.

"i'm glad you're happy to see me too."

as your eyes adjust to the lack of lighting, you see the outline of dean's face, his green eyes staring back at you. releasing him, you gasp, stumbling back from shock. turning on the light, dean opens the door to let in bobby and sam.

still frozen, your eyes dart between the brothers, overwhelmed with both of them standing in front of you. dean, reacting first, pulls you into a tight hug and shoves your face into his chest.

his chest, the same chest you saw mauled and bloodied. your hands hug him back, feeling his body's firmness; he’s really alive. pulling away from dean, bobby exclaimed, "my god, kid, you look horrible."

laughing at his remark, you turn to embrace the older man. mumbling an apology for ignoring him, bobby responds that he understands but to never do it again.

the silence that followed once you let go of bobby was scrutinizing. you looked down at your feet, refusing to meet eyes with the youngest winchester. he didn't try to hide it either; sam didn't try to go in for a hug or even say anything about his disappearance.

dean, noticing this, looked at his brother with disappointment. coughing, bobby said he'd give you all some space, and sam decided to follow.

sighing, you sit down on your bed, "so, who brought you back, dean?"

"that's kind of why we're here. did you make a deal?" his face was solemn, almost as if he already knew the answer and didn't like it.

shocked, you stare up at him.

you had considered it; you'd thought about bringing him back to restore the symmetry in your life—even if that meant that your life timer would go off sooner than it should. but you didn't, you couldn't, not when you saw what that same deal did to dean.

"no, i didn't." you finally respond, hardening your face to ensure he didn't think you were bluffing. that didn't stop dean from making a face, trying to make you uncomfortable to see if you'd end up folding.

"i'm serious, dean. i spent these last four months looking for something else to do with my life."

you hated that you couldn't tell him that you spent these past four months looking for his brother. "ask my parents, dean; after three weeks of staying with bobby, i moved back here, and since then, i've barely left the house."

this was pathetic. you looked horrible, as did your room: a mess of food plates and dirty clothing piled up around your bed, your desk complete of old pictures and memories you'd looked through.

as if he could read your mind, dean settled for your answer. the silence sat heavy again, as if dean wanted to say something but didn't know how to. "what happened?" was all he asked. you saw it coming, god. you couldn't hide anything from dean.

closing your eyes, you wished you could disappear. the feeling of dean's green eyes made your skin crawl. you knew what he was asking, yet you didn't want to tell him—this was his brother after all.

bringing your knees to your chest, you tried not to cry: "i don't know dean—he just disappeared, left without saying anything." sitting next to you, dean stared at the floor as he listened to you spew your feelings out.

"i knew that your death was a lot for him. it was hell for all of us, but i knew it was harder for him; something changed inside him, dean. i don't blame him, but to leave like that took a toll on me. i wish i could understand why he did it, but i can't. without a goodbye or a note or letter—nothing, he didn't even break up with me? today is the first time i've seen him since you died, and he can't even stand to be in the same room as me."

when you finished, you felt like a bag of bricks fell on your back. you sounded so selfish. the look on dean's face was unreadable. did he look angry? was he mad at you?

standing up, dean drags you along with him, pulling you into another hug. "i'm sorry. i don't know what to say to make you feel better, sweetheart. besides that, my brother is an idiot."

sighing softly, you shake your head. dean shouldn't be apologizing for his brother's behavior. it should be sam apologizing. sam should be the one comforting you, not dean. it felt so out of character for him to ignore and run away from you.

heading downstairs, you and dean discuss the next step in figuring out who pulled him out of hell. entering the living room, bobby's sleeping figure on your couch pulls a smile out of your face.

sam was still awake, lazily watching whatever was playing on the television. "how about you stay until morning? my parents aren't coming back for another day. bobby can take their bed while you take the couch," you suggested, feeling bad that they came all this way and so late.

nodding, dean wakes a begrudging bobby, leading him upstairs to your parents' room. as you get more comforters for the boys to use, you hand them to the brothers, wish them a goodnight, and head back up to your bedroom.

as the sun crept through your curtains, your memories of last night replayed. exhaling, you gathered yourself up and headed downstairs.

expecting to see the boys there, you were met with an empty house. heading to the living room, the comforters they used were folded neatly, and their things were gone. walking into the kitchen, you noticed a note was left on the counter.

"sorry we left without a goodbye, need to research, call xxx — dean :)" sighing, you crumble the paper and head back up into your room.

two days passed, and you had returned to living your life. your parents were surprised to see you out of your bedroom; you were cleaning up the mess you had created. they questioned if you weren't possessed by something, rolling your eyes as you vaguely explained what happened when they were gone.

as night came, you were getting ready to head up to bobby’s, feeling left out now that the boys were back and hunting.

after the first hour and a half on the road, you get a call from an unknown number: "hello?"

"sweetheart, are you okay?" dean's voice was full of worry.

"yes? what happened? are you okay?

sighing, dean explains what's been happening on their side of the world. hunters are dropping dead left and right, and he was worried you might've been a victim.

"no, i'm not even home right now. i'm actually on my way to bobby’s right now," you explain.

"good, we could use more help."

suddenly remembering your parents, you tell dean you'll see him soon and call your parents. relieved to hear their voices and that they're alive, you warn them to be careful and explain what dean explained.

arriving at bobby's, you're quickly caught up on what's been happening. now stuck in bobby's panic room. dealing with the mark of the witness, it was a sign of the apocalypse, which you weren't even aware was happening.

performing the spell wasn't easy, coming face to face with all the people you've killed, angry and ready to take revenge for what happened to them—a moment, in particular, had caused you almost to be knocked out of balance.

hearing meg scream at sam for working with ruby, how she is possessing some innocent girl, as she was once possessed, caused you almost to get killed. recovering quickly, you fend off the rest of the spirits while sam goes to save dean in the kitchen.

that moment lingered in your mind even after the spell was finished; what did she mean by that? you had thought that ruby was sent to the furthest, most profound parts of hell and was never coming back?

the following days were odd. sam and dean had left to take another case. dean asked if you wanted to come with him for old times' sake, but you refused. you and sam still weren't talking to each other; at this point, it was just childish pettiness. you wouldn't speak to him first; he should have explained himself. he was the one who left.

this was stupid—what was he so scared of? sam wasn't emotional but always preached about communication and talking things out. so, why was he ignoring you?

you wondered if he listened to all the voicemails you left him while looking for him; how you begged him to come back, that you were here for him, how much you missed him. the last voicemail you left before you stopped looking for him was you saying i love you, something both you and sam swore not to say to each other until you were getting married; sam was the one who was scared to say it, scared that you would die because you loved him–the same way everyone else who loved him died.

the ringing of your phone broke you out of your thoughts. seeing it was dean, you quickly picked the phone up. "is sam there with you?"

"well, hello to you too, dean," you reply sarcastically, annoyed at the mention of sam.

earning a scolding, you tell him no, that his brother isn't here with bobby. cursing to himself, dean tells you he will pick you up before hanging up.

after fifteen minutes, you hear the rumble of the impala outside. entering baby, you immediately

question the older winchester about what's happening and why you need to be part of it. giving you a vague answer, you don't push it further, noticing that dean is already on edge. whatever sam did must've seriously ticked dean off.

arriving at an abandoned shack, dean tells you to follow his lead and stay quiet—standing outside, you and dean peer inside through the well grates.

inside, sam and some women stood over a man tied to a chair. it was a secluded area, so there wasn't any outside noise, but you and dean could hear what they were saying inside.

it seemed like they had been interrogating the man inside for some time before the two of you arrived. "and yet here you are slutting around with some demon," you hear the demon scowl.

"shut your mouth," sam growled back.

a demon? that's who was next to him. a demon possessed the woman. thinking back to what meg said, you thought it was ruby, but denial stirred in your mind; it couldn't be.

"tell me about those months without your brother–or your girlfriend. left her to be with this bitch. have you told them about all the shady shit you two do in the dark?"

hearing everything from the demon's mouth was numbing; you stood frozen next to dean. your mind was racing–the idea that the man you once loved had fallen, and instead of letting you catch him, he finds solace with a demon.

you felt hysteric; you wanted to laugh, cry, scream–everything. every emotion you suppressed even before dean's death, all the jealousy and anxiety started to creep back up.

what you saw next was something you'd never thought you'd see in a million years—sam was sending the demon back to hell. not with incantations, no, with his mind.

you knew sam had powers; you knew that the demon's blood brewed inside his body, letting

him do things ordinary people couldn't, but this? this was some next-level shit. by the looks of it, this wasn't just something he figured out himself; she had to do something with it.

turning to dean, his gaze was stern on his brother–betrayal and anger stirred inside him.

before you could say anything, dean was already walking towards the door leading inside where sam was. following behind him, you felt like a bomb was ticking inside you. dean, ahead of you, spoke first, bringing sam and the demons' attention to the two of you. "anything you want to tell us, sam?”

sam's face was filled with terror and shock as he placed the man in his arms down and tried to explain what was happening.

"you were going to explain this? how about this: why don't you start with who she is? and what the hell is she doing here?" dean seethed.

looking down at the brunette beside him, she remarked, "it's good to see you two again."

"ruby?" both you and dean ask. "is that ruby? "dean asks again as if he didn't want to believe it the first time.

pure, white-hot rage flashed before you, almost as if both you and dean thought the same thing; you charged at the demon, pinning her against the well-grated door. hot on your heel, dean pulls out the demon knife and gets ready to stab her with it.

before he could, sam shoved his brother away, wrestling the knife out of his hand. caught off guard, ruby jumps on you, flipping the two of you and grabbing a tight hold on your throat.

"ruby, stop!"

even with her hand around your throat, you stare her down with all the hate you can muster up. "you better pray that i never see your face again, ruby," you choked out before she released you from her grasp. dean, coming to your side, holds you up as you steady yourself.

"ruby, he's hurt," sam murmured, giving her a knowing look. she grabbed the injured man and put him on his shoulder. "where the hell do you think you're going to?" dean barked.

"the E.R.… unless you want to go another round first," holding you back from jumping ruby, dean stares daggers at her. as she wobbles away with the man, dean turns towards his brother, giving him one final look before walking away.

staying put, dean turns back and gives you a look. nodding your head, you silently tell him to wait for you in the car. you weren't going to wait anymore; you needed answers now.

"bab–"

"no, sam, don't. god, are you really that stupid?" you scoff, facing him. now you think back to when the two of you were happy–when you would stay up in your hotel room researching future cases. when it was just the three of you, working quick salt and burns and then finding some cheap motel to crash at.

“please just let me explain,” he pleaded.

"i waited for you, sam. for four months, i waited. i called you every day and left you thousands of voicemails; i wasted so much time trying to look for you. and–and you were with her! ruby, out of all people? i mean, what does that say about me, sam? that my boyfriend of years couldn't rely on me, so he had to rely on some demon? i don't care anymore, sam; you chose who you wanted to be with; you made your decisions months ago. you ignored me– i needed you, sam! you left me–alone. dean's death was hard, i know, but to do this? you couldn't have tried to talk to me. what did she promise you, sam? could she bring dean back? did she know how you could get your revenge back on lilith? please, sam, tell me! tell me why you left me!"

your throat felt raw, tears rolled down your face, choking back a sob. your whole body began to tremble, feeling as if you couldn't stand on your own; sam grabbed you and pulled you into him.

falling apart in his hands, you hold onto him one last time. staining his jacket with tears, you want to punch him, hurt him the way he hurt you. as he whispered an apology into your hair, your heart squeezed, and you felt like you were losing your mind.

the two of you stood so close, yet it felt like you were strangers again.

pulling away, you stare up into his eyes, noticing tears streaming down his face. “please, i’m sorry” sam repeated, though his apologies fell on deaf ears.

you weren’t going to fight anymore, not when his mind was already made up. you weren’t going to compete with a demon for someone who would leave you during hardships.

"goodbye, sam," you finally said, leaving him with something he couldn't give you: a goodbye.