In Love With Jensen Ackles

Baby-sitter

Dean Winchester x female reader

one shot

smut, age gape, love confession

words count : 8,7 k

story: You know Dean since forever. He’s like family. Well, he’s supposed to be even if you considered him differently. He’s the one who taught you how to ride a bike, who drove you to school and always the one who kept an eye on you. And now, you can be 20, it doesn’t change. He watches after you.

—————————

My eyes were getting heavy. They were fixed on the TV screen, which was playing my favorite show. I was lying on the couch, thinking it wasn't a great idea to be in this position.

I was going to end up falling asleep and missing half my show.

I could see the images going by, but the sound was getting more and more distant. I was perceiving it more as background noise than as something I was actually paying attention to. My eyelids were getting heavier and heavier.

Then I jolted upright.

Someone had knocked at the front door.

It was 12:30 a.m. I was alone in the house. I wasn't expecting anyone.

It could be my dad, but I was pretty sure it wasn't. He'd left for three days because of a case, and I'd talked to him on the phone that afternoon — he wasn't close to being done.

I didn't feel tired anymore. There was just this ball of fear forming in my stomach.

Still, that was nothing compared to what I felt when I heard the lock turning. I didn't know who — or what — was on the other side of that door, but they were trying to get in, and they were about to succeed.

I lunged for the gun in the buffet drawer and pointed it straight at the door.

It swung open, and all I could hear was my own heart pounding in my chest. It felt so loud I thought it was going to burst out of me.

My finger settled threateningly on the trigger, and I fought to keep from shaking. I must have looked intimidating and confident. Even though I wasn't. I wasn't, anyway. Honestly, I wasn't even sure the gun was loaded. I'd just grabbed it without thinking. I was praying I wouldn't have to use it.

My prayer was answered.

I let out a breath of relief when I saw Dean walk through the door.

He threw his hands up, looking surprised.

"Whoa, easy there, sweetheart. It's just me." He gave a slightly nervous laugh, and I lowered the gun, furious.

"Are you serious? Do you know what time it is? I almost pissed myself."

He lowered his hands and shut the door behind him before heading into the kitchen like he owned the place.

I didn't know what irritated me more — the fact that he'd scared me, or the fact that my dad had sent him to babysit me.

I'd thought he'd finally stopped assigning me a babysitter. I'd made him swear it wasn't necessary, that at twenty years old I was capable of handling myself. Staying home alone for three nights wasn't exactly a hardship — I didn't need a bodyguard.

Especially not Dean.

"Good thing you managed to hold back. I wouldn't have liked seeing that."

I rolled my eyes while he poured himself a glass of whiskey with whatever he'd found in my dad's liquor cabinet.

He glanced over at me and turned a bit more serious when he saw his sarcasm wasn't making me laugh.

Truthfully, I did find him funny.

I probably would've given him a little laugh if I hadn't just had the fright of my life.

"I knocked. All you had to do was open the door."

I set the gun down on the counter and stepped toward him, accusing.

"Oh, sure. Because obviously my first instinct when someone knocks on my door at 12:30 a.m. is to just open it without asking any questions."

An amused smirk spread across his lips.

"You knew I was coming."

No.

Well — I'd thought about it, but I'd told myself it was too late for that.

Dean was often on duty watching over me whenever my dad went away for a bit. My dad couldn't stand leaving me alone, claiming it was too dangerous given the world we lived in.

He wasn't wrong.

Still, when you learn how to use a gun and take down a ghost by the age of thirteen, you're pretty well prepared for any kind of danger.

I crossed my arms, frustrated.

"Not really. I figured that at twenty years old I was allowed to not have a babysitter anymore." His smug grin never left his face. It didn't really surprise me — that was Dean Winchester through and through.

"I'm not your babysitter."

I tilted my head to the side, letting him know that he clearly was.

"Then what are you?"

He pretended to think it over, taking a sip from his glass. I watched him raise it to his lips with far too much attention, like it was the most fascinating thing on earth.

I had this annoying thing with Dean. Everything about him drew my attention. Everything he said drew my attention. He drew my attention. I couldn't help but be interested in him — in what he said, what he did, or just the way he carried himself. I was drawn to him like a magnet.

I tried telling myself it was because he was like family. After all, he was kind of like my big brother. My dad had looked after him and Sam plenty of times, and they'd always been there for each other whenever needed.

Proof enough.

We were family.

Except, unlike with Sam, I'd always seen Dean differently.

I'd always watched him with this admiring gaze. I was in awe of him. When I was little, I always wanted him to notice me. And when he did, I'd smile stupidly and struggle to answer, because it was Dean. He was devastatingly handsome. He'd always paid attention to me. He called me "sweetheart" in that protective tone of his.

I really tried to tell myself I saw him in a family kind of way.

But deep down I knew it had never actually felt that way.

He was family. We were one big family.

But in reality, I didn't think of him as a big brother or anything like that. I'd always had this huge, ridiculous crush on him, and it was completely stupid and inappropriate.

I shouldn't.

But I hadn't really chosen it. It had just always been there, and it wasn't until later that I'd actually managed to put a name to it.

Before, it had been careless and innocent, but it was starting to take on a different shape. The kind of shape that made me swallow hard and get butterflies in my stomach when he called me by that same nickname he'd always used. The kind of shape that made me think about him late at night, in bed, wondering what it would be like if he weren't "family," and if I weren't so much younger than him.

Because beyond the fact that he was supposed to be like my big brother, the real problem was the age difference.

We were eleven years apart.

He was thirty-one. I was twenty. I was a baby to him. It didn't matter that I'd had my license and my diploma for a few years now. I was still a kid. I was still the little girl he needed to look after because I was too young and fragile to be left alone.

He was right to see me that way. I was the one who was completely wrecked. I had to be seriously out of my mind to feel something like this for him and picture him the way I did.

But I wished he'd see me differently. I wanted him to see me as a woman. The kind of woman he'd meet at a bar and want to get to know a little better. I wanted him to find me attractive, not adorable, like I was his little sister.

But that was something that would never leave my mouth, because I shouldn't even be thinking it.

"I'm a friend just stopping by to visit."

A friend.

Sure.

"Right. So my dad didn't call you at all to tell you to come keep an eye on me?"

I straightened up when he stared at his glass with a strange look on his face. I frowned, waiting for him to say something.

"Your dad didn't ask me to come."

He said it looking a little guilty, but underneath it I could tell he didn't regret being here for a single second. He was looking me straight in the eye, still pretty sure of himself.

"He called just to give me a heads-up about the hunt. I asked what you'd be doing, and he said you'd be staying home. He doesn't even know I'm here."

I looked at him, annoyed, but couldn't come up with anything to say right away. His admission had caught me off guard. He was here because he wanted to be. He'd made that choice on his own.

There was nothing crazy about that, coming from Dean. He cared about me. He had this need to make sure everyone was safe. It didn't mean anything more than what I already knew. He was just being protective, the way he was always protective with the people in his family.

Still, even knowing that perfectly well, I paused, letting the information sink in.

I tried to look annoyed with him while in reality my heart was beating a little harder and my brain was replaying his words on a loop.

"You shouldn't have come." He completely ignored my comment. It was like talking to the wind. "I could've had company."

This time he looked up at me.

"You were expecting someone?"

I could tell that piqued his curiosity a little. I'd have liked to think it was because he was jealous, but that was just stupid.

"Maybe."

His jaw tightened.

I was being evasive, but the truth was I wasn't expecting anyone. It was just a childish attempt to get his attention. It was stupid, given that Dean didn't pay attention to me the way I wanted him to. I could make up a whole life and pretend I was seeing someone — he wouldn't care either way.

"Yeah, well, I just wanted to make sure you were alive. You are. I'm out."

He downed his drink in one go and started heading for the door. He'd gone cold. I figured the way I'd greeted him with so much reluctance had stung a little, and I couldn't really blame him for mirroring it back at me.

Except for me, it was a way of hiding the fact that I was actually really glad he was here.

More than I should've been.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

He didn't even look at me.

"Virginia, I have to go meet Sam."

"Wait, what? But it's super late and it's super far."

He shrugged, still keeping that distance between us.

"Yeah, so I might as well head out now."

His hand was on the doorknob when I stepped in a little closer to make him look at me.

"That's ridiculous. Now that you're here, at least stay the night. You can leave tomorrow."

His fingers stopped on the handle, and I felt him hesitate. He still wouldn't glance at me.

"I don't want to get in the way of your plans."

His tone was a little bitter.

"Too late for that."

I meant to sound sarcastic, and it finally earned me a glance from him. He wasn't smiling, but I could tell that underneath his coldness and irritation, my answer amused him.

I liked being sarcastic with him. Honestly, I was pretty sure I'd developed that whole attitude from watching him so much. Dean was the king of sarcasm. He always had some sharp, mocking comeback ready to go. That was his style. And from idealizing him that way, from wanting to please him — or at least earn some kind of approval from him — I'd started imitating him. I'd always been shy as a kid. Well, especially around Dean, because he left me tongue-tied. But I'd decided I'd act like him. I told myself it would get his attention.

I always wanted his attention.

And it never worked. Or at least, never the way I wanted it to.

Now I was just incapable of stringing a sentence together without being sarcastic, and it didn't really have anything to do with Dean anymore. It had just become natural.

"I thought you were expecting someone."

I was surprised by his response. I hadn't thought he was still thinking about that, especially since I figured he hadn't believed it for a second.

It seemed so obvious that I was alone that it hadn't occurred to me that he'd bought it.

"That was a lie."

His fingers loosened on the handle little by little until they let go completely. He turned to face me, his green eyes meeting mine, making me blush stupidly.

Good thing it was dark.

Dark enough that he wouldn't notice.

"I thought you didn't need a babysitter."

He'd traded his cold attitude for that famous mischievous smile of his. He'd forgotten about the door, and from the way he was acting, I knew he was going to stay. I could feel he had no intention of leaving anymore, and I hated myself for being glad about it.

"I thought you weren't playing babysitter."

He conceded the point and took off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the entrance.

My eyes lingered a moment on his arms, and I was already starting to regret having pushed him to stay. I didn't regret his presence, but I regretted every cell in my body that reacted to his slightest movement. I couldn't not look at him. Couldn't not notice, and it was driving me insane.

I shouldn't.

It was inappropriate.

"Were you watching TV?" I nodded, and he gave a fond smile, like he'd expected as much.

"Were you watching your cheesy show where everybody fucks everybody?"

I pretended to be offended.

"Keep talking like that and I'll kick you out."

That got a laugh out of him, and he headed for the couch. I tried to hide the fact that I was panicking. I was scared of sounding ridiculous or of him thinking I was an idiot. On top of that, I was in my pajamas, and of course I'd managed to pick out my most ridiculous pair.

For someone trying to be taken seriously and not seen as a silly kid, I was failing again.

"I like it when you play the little tyrant." Coming from him, it sounded like a compliment, but I still found it pretty annoying.

"Little tyrant."

I felt like a spoiled child.

"I don't play the little tyrant." I planted myself in front of him, arms crossed.

I didn't dare actually sit down. I'd be incapable of thinking straight if I sat that close to him. Me, who'd been dozing off on the couch a few minutes ago — I was wide awake now.

"You gonna keep playing little tyrant, or are you gonna watch your show?"

I was about to argue again that I wasn't a little tyrant, but I quickly realized that the more I tried to defend myself, the more I sounded exactly like the little tyrant he was describing. So I held back and sat down next to him in silence. I grabbed the remote and turned the show back on, fighting to look completely calm and normal.

It was normal, after all.

I was just watching my show with Dean. I'd probably done this a million times before. Too many times to remember any one instance.

So why was it hitting me like this?

I hated myself.

I'd sat as far to the other end of the couch as I could, as if that would let me escape whatever hold he had over me.

It didn't change a thing.

I was more consumed by him than by whatever show was playing on the TV. Every time he moved his arm, shifted his leg, or just repositioned himself to get more comfortable on the couch, my eyes drifted toward him. I fought against doing it. I couldn't help it. I did it anyway. I studied his face while he seemed completely absorbed in the images and the story. I should be doing the same.

I told myself it was because I'd already seen this episode hundreds of times and I was distracted, but it was more than that.

It was late, my heart was pounding too hard in my chest, and it had nothing to do with my interest in the show. It was simply because it was Dean. And when Dean was around, it was like he was the only person on earth.

"Wait, isn't Rachel in love with Ross to begin with?"

His voice pulled me out of my trance. When he turned his head to look at me, I prayed he hadn't noticed I'd already been staring at him.

"Yeah, that's right. But right now she's dating Joey."

He frowned.

He seemed so invested that it pulled a smile out of me.

"That's really not okay for Ross."

"Yeah, but Ross cheated on Rachel. That's why they broke up. Ross should've thought about that before. Besides, Joey would never do something like that."

This time he stopped watching the screen to focus on me. I was thrown off completely, and I kept repeating to myself that it was just Dean. Simply Dean.

It was Dean.

And I shouldn't be feeling like this about Dean.

"You like Joey better?"

I hesitated for a second.

His questions were helping me forget, at least a little, the pounding in my chest.

"I like Joey better, but I like Rachel with Ross better."

He looked at me like I was crazy.

"I thought he cheated on her?"

I nodded.

He kept watching me with confusion, so I sat up to pause the show.

"He cheated, but deep down it's always been him and Rachel. He just made a mistake and he regrets it. I'm not saying you should forget about it, but he's always been in love with her, and she's the love of his life."

I liked talking about my favorite show. I loved talking about things I loved. It just felt a little weird doing it with Dean. It wasn't really his thing. I talked about that stuff more with Sam. Honestly, I'd always gotten along better with Sam because there was less of an age gap between us. Plus Sam was around more, while his older brother was usually off hunting with their dad. And when he wasn't, he'd always just made fun of it a little, saying it was all pointless stuff.

I was realizing just how much things had changed, and it made me a little nostalgic.

"Yeah. It's just a show anyway." This time he sounded more like the old Dean, and I found it kind of funny. He turned back to face the screen, waiting for me to start the show again.

He could pretend all he wanted that he thought it was cheesy — he still seemed pretty interested.

Still, instead of pointing that out, I was caught up in what he'd said before.

"Yeah, but it's the same in real life."

His eyes met mine again. The way he was looking at me was indescribable. Suddenly my throat went dry and I felt strange.

"In real life, love isn't like it is in cheap TV shows."

I was surprised at how much his remark actually got to me.

"Of course it is. You just don't believe in it."

"Yeah, I don't believe in it. And you're way too naive if you think that garbage is real."

I was a little hurt by his sharp tone. Especially since he'd made it pretty clear he thought I was immature, and that stung. Not for the reasons it should have, but the result was the same.

I was hurt.

"You're the one who's way too pessimistic. It's not that you don't believe in it — you're just scared to believe in it."

His eyes were burning into my skin. It was deliciously unpleasant, because it was Dean looking at me like that. I felt like I was melting, it was so stupid how much it affected me, him looking at me that way — but at the same time, I loved that he was looking at me.

It was stupid.

Especially given the conversation we were having.

I'd just said something he didn't like, and I shouldn't be enjoying the way he was looking at me, not for one second.

Except the feeling in my stomach told me I was doing it anyway.

"I'm not scared."

Had I thought he was cold earlier?

That was nothing compared to the tone he'd just used. If I could have disappeared, I would have.

The worst part?

I was sure I was right, and the way he was responding made me believe that was exactly why he didn't like what I'd said. The truth hurts, after all.

"Yeah. That's why you've never had a serious relationship."

I knew before I even said it out loud that it was a bad idea. That got confirmed the second I saw Dean's expression.

Dean had a talent for hiding his emotions well. Deep down, it didn't surprise me that he didn't believe in love and all that. He'd always been raised to be a tough guy who wasn't supposed to get soft about that kind of thing. I guess in a way it was a defense mechanism. In our world, when you loved someone, that was dangerous. It was one more person you risked losing.

Or maybe he really just didn't believe in it. At least, not for himself.

I couldn't tell if I was sad for him or for myself. I was torn between being sad that he wouldn't let himself have something as simple as being in love, and being disappointed that I had a crush on a guy who shut down at the mere mention of feelings.

Because he forbade himself from feeling anything at all, except hatred.

He just kept putting on his mischievous smile and his sarcastic tone and acting like nothing was wrong.

So that's what he did. He didn't show anything.

He looked at me with indifference, almost with disdain.

I was pretty sure that, for him, that meant I'd hurt him, but honestly I wasn't sure of anything. I liked to believe I understood him, but I didn't understand a thing.

I was just a stupid kid who thought she was clever enough to figure him out.

He got up from the couch, and I watched him leave the living room and head into the kitchen. He poured himself another glass of whiskey, still with that icy indifference.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but you're wrong."

I'd given up hope that he'd say anything at all. I figured he'd just ignore me and ignore the subject because he didn't want to talk about it, especially not with me.

"I think you're freaking out because having feelings would expose you to getting hurt. So you spare yourself."

He let out a laugh that was meant to sound mean, and it made me feel exactly like the stupid kid he saw me as.

"I don't spare myself. I spare other people. That's the difference."

I got up from the couch timidly to join him. Even though I was saying all these things, it was taking everything I had. I wasn't sure I actually had the confidence I was pretending to have. I acted like I knew him, but really it was all just guesses that had wormed their way into my head from thinking about him too much. He was a puzzle I kept trying to solve.

But I didn't have the arrogance to say I actually could.

I just hoped I could.

"What's that supposed to mean exactly?"

He didn't even bother looking at me anymore. It was such a contrast to the mood from earlier.

I felt guilty.

It was my fault it had turned out this way. I hadn't been able to keep my mouth shut, and now he was distant. It was the opposite of the protective, softened-up Dean who'd shown up at my door earlier.

But I couldn't help myself. I needed to understand him.

Like I actually had a shot at that.

"It means it's none of your goddamn business! You think you know everything because you're young and stupid, but you don't know anything. Love isn't your dumbass boyfriend who took you to prom."

Young.

Stupid.

Ouch.

I tried to do what he did. To mask the pain with coldness and sharp words.

"Fine. So what is it, then, according to you? Have you even ever been in love? What could you possibly know about love? Besides fucking a different girl every night, you don't know how to do much of anything."

He stared at me intensely.

I didn't like that contemptuous comeback. I wasn't even ready to face the way he was looking at me after that. I swallowed hard, wondering where exactly I was trying to go with this. What was I even expecting?

I was ridiculous.

He was right.

I was young and stupid. I thought I knew everything, and I didn't know anything at all.

All I knew was that I had a completely delusional crush on him, even though he was way too old and way too different. A crush so idiotic it had convinced me I'd figured him out.

"Go to hell."

Those three words hit me like a punch.

I just stood there looking at him for a second.

He stayed stoic, impassive. I wanted to know what he was thinking. I wished I could read his mind.

"See, there you are with your kicked-puppy eyes and your head full of ideas. You act like you think I'm some problem you can solve. But life isn't a TV show. Love isn't enough. Sometimes you have to choose the guy who treats you right, and not the asshole who cheated on you, even if he's the one you love."

For a second I wondered if we were still talking about the show, or if this had gone way beyond that. I preferred to tell myself we were still talking about Ross and Rachel, because the idea that Dean might suspect I saw him that way made me sick to my stomach.

But the fact that he seemed to see himself so negatively didn't sit right with me either.

Already, just a moment ago, he'd implied that he was someone people needed protecting from, that he wasn't worth it. I wanted him to understand that wasn't true.

Except I didn't know how to say that without him suspecting I saw him differently.

If he didn't already.

"I don't think you're a problem."

His mocking laugh rang out again, and unlike usual, it made me feel anything but like laughing.

"But I am a problem."

He studied me for a moment.

I caught his cynicism slip, just slightly, toward something like despair. Well — he seemed desperate, but it was subtle, almost imperceptible. Just a small flicker in his eyes.

I don't know what kind of courage took hold of me, but I found myself stepping closer to him. It was hesitant, but I did it anyway.

"You're not a problem, Dean."

I'd said it so softly it was almost a whisper. I felt him tense when his name left my lips. I loved saying his name. It was the only name that ever sounded right in my mouth. Just saying it made me want to smile, and my stomach twisted pleasantly.

"You're not—"

"You have no idea how much of a problem all of this is." He pointed back and forth between the two of us. He seemed to understand himself, but I was having trouble understanding what he actually meant.

"What are you talking about?"

He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"About me. Being here. Why I came. It's a problem."

I shook my head.

"If this is about what I said, about believing in—"

"You really don't get it, do you?" I couldn't tell if that was a criticism, or if he actually admired my ignorance.

I didn't really take the time to decide, because I wasn't capable of thinking about anything except the small amount of distance still left between us. I could smell his cologne, mixed with gunpowder and gasoline. I could even smell the faint trace of whiskey.

I tilted my head up a little to keep looking him in the eye, and it was almost painful to hold his gaze.

But I knew it would hurt less than looking away.

"It's better this way."

I was holding my breath.

It was better if I didn't understand?

But what didn't I understand?

"Explain it to me." He looked like he was about to leave, but I grabbed his wrist. "Stop treating me like a kid! I'm not one."

He spun around so fast I ended up pressed completely against him.

"Trust me, I know." The green of his eyes was drowning every coherent thought trying to fight its way through my head. And it didn't get any better when he spoke again, his tone accusing. "You think I see you as a kid? I wish!"

He wasn't blaming me for that.

He seemed to be blaming himself.

Trust.

Me.

I.

Know.

What was that supposed to mean?

"I should see you as a kid, because that's what you are."

That should have stung like all his other sharp remarks. But it was different.

Because I knew he didn't mean it.

For the first time, I let myself entertain the idea that he saw me exactly the way I wanted him to see me.

"You should. But you don't?"

He was studying my face. The way he did it was intoxicating. I wanted him to look at me like that all the time. I doubted anyone else could ever look at me that way.

I was insatiable after the first time.

My question hung there.

It felt decisive.

The silence it created gave way to his answer, closing out this conversation whose subject I could no longer really name.

"No. I don't."

One heartbeat.

"Then how do you see me?"

Two heartbeats.

I couldn't believe I was asking such a question, and with so much hope behind it.

"You shouldn't ask that."

By now I was drowning in the smell of whiskey.

He was closer.

Too close.

Or maybe not close enough.

"And yet, I just did."

I'd whispered it, I was so embarrassed — it was almost a confession. I felt like we both knew exactly what we were talking about, and I was admitting that I wanted to address it head-on. Now I understood.

I wanted more.

"You don't want to know."

He was wrong.

I wanted to know.

It wasn't new. I'd always wanted to know how he saw me. I'd just forbidden myself from asking, because I was sure I wouldn't like the answer. I was sure he saw me as the little sister he never had, or maybe just Bobby's slightly annoying kid.

But he wasn't looking at me the way you look at a little sister, or a child.

"You have no idea how much I want to."

Silence reigned in the room.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

Three heartbeats.

Then his lips crashed onto mine.

I hadn't really expected it.

I don't know what I'd been expecting.

But I hadn't expected nothing at all.

I was pathetically at his mercy. I let myself get carried away by that kiss like it was the only thing I was capable of doing.

Maybe it was.

I'd imagined the taste of his lips a thousand times. I'd imagined what it would feel like. I'd imagined the way his touch would feel against my skin.

But what I'd imagined was nothing compared to the real thing.

His lips were warm, sweet. I had the feeling I'd never be able to taste anything again without finding it bland compared to him. Just like his touch stirred something in me that made me feel like, without it, I was empty. When it had been anyone else, it had felt like too much. He was perfect. He was exactly what I wanted.

His hands slid under me, and he lifted me up until I was sitting on the counter.

If someone had asked me where I was, I wouldn't have really known how to answer. I didn't know the time, the place, or even my own name. All I knew was that Dean was there, and he was kissing me.

And it felt so good I never wanted it to stop.

Because I also knew perfectly well that once it stopped, it would be over. I could tell by how urgent he was. Like he was making the most of every second of weakness before he came back to his senses. Because I could feel just how guilty he felt. So guilty that every time his tongue met mine, it felt like a punishment. A punishment that didn't feel anything like a punishment, but more like a blessing.

He'd positioned himself between my legs. Even though I was up higher, on the counter, he still had to duck his head down to reach me. I could feel it. Just like I could feel his hands on my hips, then on my waist, then one in my hair.

It was so addictive I never wanted to breathe again. I was scared that if I did, he'd leave and it would be over, and I couldn't let that happen.

He was here. That much was real. He wanted this.

It was the most insane thing that could possibly happen.

I didn't want to tell myself that he wanted it but that it was still out of reach for me.

Before, telling myself he didn't feel the same way had let me not regret it too much. I told myself I was the only one imagining it. It was simpler if it just stayed in my head, and only in my head.

But everything was different now.

He wanted this.

Because you don't kiss someone that hungrily if you don't want them.

Or he was just really good at faking it.

When he pulled away from me, my heart clenched. All the want and the euphoria that had taken hold of me faded a little, leaving behind a feeling of emptiness.

It was empty.

Everything was empty.

"This— this isn't right."

He was out of breath.

I never would have thought that hearing someone breathless could turn me on this much.

I guess it was just because it was Dean.

"I don't care."

I tried to kiss him again. But he turned his head to the side.

"I do."

A lump formed in my throat.

I could've said I was disappointed and that deep down I'd believed it, but that would have been a lie. I'd felt it the whole time we were kissing. It was a lapse. It was a moment of weakness.

He'd given himself that moment to try to quiet the want.

For me, it had only set it on fire.

And watching him turn his head made me want to cry.

"Please."

I was pathetic.

He was still against me. My chest still pressed against his. His hands on either side of my body, holding me in place on the counter.

But he kept his head turned away.

"Your dad would kill me."

My dad.

I didn't even want to think about him.

That was maybe exactly where the whole problem was. I was so consumed by all of this that I was ignoring everything else. I wasn't thinking about what came after, about what it meant, about what it would lead to.

Maybe I really was being childish.

"Who cares about my dad."

My hands were on his shoulders. I was clinging to him uselessly, like that would hold him there, or convince him.

Well, it didn't do anything.

He'd already made his decision before he'd even kissed me.

"I care."

He pulled back, and I found myself alone.

I was cold.

It was empty.

"I'm sorry."

I refused to let myself shed a single tear.

Even at his final apology, which made it painfully clear that this had been a mistake and that he regretted having let any of it happen.

I wasn't sorry.

That was the most infuriating part.

"I should go."

He didn't leave, though.

Not because he was hesitating. I knew this conversation was over. Maybe he was already erasing all of it, getting ready to never bring it up again, like it had never happened.

He wasn't moving because he was waiting for some kind of reaction from me.

Because even if he was choosing to end this thing between us that had never really started, I still mattered to him.

Again, like that fragile little sister he wanted to protect.

Like the stupid kid who was about to fall apart.

I slid off the counter, forcing myself to stand steady and not show that I was shaking, I felt so ashamed and stupid.

I avoided looking at him at all costs.

Or I was going to cry, like a child.

"You can stay and sleep here. I'm not going to beg you if you stay, don't worry."

It came out more bitter than I'd meant it to. It scraped at my throat.

I walked off toward my room without another word, fighting the urge to stay and see whether he'd stay or not. I tried to act like I didn't care.

But I'd always cared about him, so it was complicated.

So much so that the next morning, I came downstairs hoping he'd still be there, drinking his coffee and flipping through the local paper to check if there was anything strange going on nearby.

But there was no one.

He'd probably left right after.

In the end, he'd come to make sure I wasn't in danger, but I'd been doing a lot better before he showed up to play babysitter.

————————————

I was lifting the spoonful of cereal to my mouth. This time, I wasn't watching my usual show. I had refused to put on Friends because I knew that at the mere sight of Ross, Rachel, or Joey, I was going to think of Dean. And they were three of the six main characters. So it would be complicated not to think about him every two seconds. It was already bad enough as it was.

So I had traded my favorite show for some ridiculous and profoundly boring program. I could have fallen asleep in front of it if I weren't so wide awake. But my schedule was completely flipped. I had spent the day in bed after realizing that Dean was truly gone. I had cried so hard all last night that I had made up for my lost sleep this afternoon.

However, now it was 2:23 in the morning, and I couldn't find a single trace of sleep. I had already made the effort to take a shower, hoping it would tire me out a little, but unfortunately, I was wide awake. So I was also forced to live with reality. That was why I was forcing myself to watch stupid things on TV.

I needed to look at something. To think about something else. That was also why I was eating. When I was eating, I thought about something else.

At the very least, I thought less about the warmth of Dean’s breath mingling with mine, and my back arching over the counter. I had even promised myself not to do the dishes right away so I wouldn't have to go into the kitchen and face that infamous countertop that had witnessed the whole scene. I felt even more foolish and immature. I could have reacted like an adult. Accepted it and reasoned with myself.

But no. I kept seeing myself begging him with my eyes not to step back. And then I was back on my couch, crying over him like an idiot. I was pathetic.

But that was nothing compared to my level of patheticness when a knock echoed at the door.

Someone was knocking.

And with every fiber of my being, I hoped it was him.

But I stopped myself. I forced upon myself the cruel image of his determination to leave, and the way he had turned his head away when I had tried to kiss him again. It couldn't be Dean.

So why was I hoping?

I approached the door, dreading that I would find something I wouldn't like.

I grabbed the gun again, which was exactly where I had left it the night before. Only I still hadn't rechecked the chamber. I wasn't learning from my mistakes.

I glanced through the peephole and froze.

Damn.

It was him.

I set the gun down on a small table in the entryway and opened the door with hesitation.

He was standing there. Still the exact same as yesterday. Still the same jacket. Still those same green eyes that made me never want to look away. I was terrifyingly pathetic.

I waited on my threshold, praying that he would say something positive. Something that would go against everything he had said yesterday. But he didn't say anything. His silence was heavy. I wanted to cut the suffering short; it was already painful enough as it was.

"Listen, Dean, I—"

"I don't care."

I frowned and opened the door a little wider. He might look exactly the same, but his usual attitude wasn't there.

He wasn't playing the confident, indifferent role he embodied most of the time.

No.

He was sincere.

"About what?" He was still outside, and the cold was starting to seep in.

I opened the door even wider and gestured for him to come in, but he shook his head firmly, never breaking eye contact.

"About everything." I tried not to get my hopes up so I wouldn't be disappointed. He had my full attention. I hung on his every word. "All day long, I thought about all the reasons why this is completely crazy, and downright disgusting to put you through. You're young, you're full of hope, and me—me, I'm way too old and broken for you, you understand?"

I nodded weakly.

Was he here to convince me that he was right to leave?

"And then your dad, fuck, Bobby... he'd kill me if he had any idea what I imagine doing to you."

What.

I imagine.

Doing to you.

I wanted to ask him. I wanted to know what he was talking about. He was looking at me as if he knew he was saying things he couldn't take back. Things that would leave no room left for doubt.

Because he was imagining me?

He was imagining doing things to me?

Shit. That was seriously hot.

"But you know what? I don't care."

The knot that had formed in my stomach vanished. I blanked. I wondered if I had heard correctly or if my hearing had decided to play a cruel trick on me.

"Because there was a single reason that countered all the others—it's that I feel something for you that I can't shut up."

My fingers were still gripping the door, and I couldn't let go. It was my only way to stay upright and not collapse under my own weight. His words were keeping me from standing normally.

"Dean—" I didn't really know what I was planning to say to him.

Maybe beg him not to kiss me only to leave again. Maybe I was going to tell him that I preferred he leave and that deep down he was right, even if we felt something it was complicated and too messed up.

I would have said it half-heartedly, but maybe I would have said that. It didn't matter.

He cut me off.

"Wait." He sounded desperate, and yet I could have sworn he had never had so much hope. "You told me that life was too short to stop yourself from being with the person you love. And I told you I didn't believe that, but you were right. I'm scared. I'm scared because I don't want you to regret it, or for me to cause you pain. But at the same time, life is too short, right?"

I was stunned.

What could I have possibly said to that?

Even in my wildest dreams, I hadn't allowed myself to imagine a declaration like that.

"Say something. Please."

I didn't know how long I had been watching him in silence while he still waited on the threshold. I was so overwhelmed by each of his words that I was losing track of everything.

"Whatever your decision is, I'll stick to it. Just—you can't kiss me and leave again, I—"

He had just said the most romantic thing I had ever heard in my life, but I was still trying to spare myself last night's pain. I was terrified that he would vanish again because he’d realize it was truly too complicated and messed up.

"If you aren't sure, I'd rather you leave. I won't hold it against you, I just—" I couldn't finish my sentence.

He kissed me as if to confirm that he was sure of himself. I could feel that he was. Unlike yesterday, he was softer, gentler. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew that tomorrow, he would have it again, and that he didn't need to rush anything.

He slammed the door and turned the key in the lock without ever stopping kissing me.

His hand was resting on my cheek, and his thumb was caressing it tenderly. I forgot all the pain and the emptiness I had felt since he had decided to leave.

"What do you want? I'll do whatever you want."

That pulled a smile from me, and a new sensation formed in my lower stomach.

"I want you."

He pulled back to look at me. He scanned my face meticulously.

"How?"

The more he looked at me, the more I wanted it. I had already slept with a guy back when I was in high school, but this was different. I didn't want to sleep with him just to do it, I wanted to sleep with him because it was him.

Because my whole body was screaming his name and every inch of my skin wanted to be marked by him in every possible way.

"You said you imagined things. Do them." A spark shifted in his gaze, and my desire grew a little more.

He stared at me as if I were unbelievable. I even thought I saw him wondering if this was real or not.

"Are you sure about this? You don't have to—"

"I don't feel like I have to. I'm craving it."

His jaw clenched. I expected him to kiss me because of how intensely he was looking at me with desire, but he grabbed my wrist and led me to my bedroom.

I felt like my legs wouldn't carry me.

Not because I didn't want to, but because this was so entirely everything I had always fantasized about that it felt impossible to experience for real. He closed my bedroom door with a swift motion and then pinned me against it to kiss me again. I could feel his breath coming faster, his kisses deeper. This was for real. This was serious. His arms were on either side of my head, practically trapping me. Practically, because I didn't feel trapped at all. I was completely lost in his frame.

He could have done anything, and I would have let him. As long as he was touching me, as long as he was kissing me, as long as he was here, everything was fine.

My fingers grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, and I pulled it off him quickly. I felt him smile against my lips before he pulled back to help me take it off. He didn't kiss me after that. He contented himself with removing my t-shirt in turn, and I didn't know where to look. Between the sensation of his eyes on me and my eyes scanning his skin, I felt overstimulated.

And yet, that was only the beginning. His lips found my neck, and he began to move down slowly. I was addicted to his lips on my skin, on my collarbone, on the top of my breasts...

He lifted his head to look at me, and his fingers brushed the strap of my bra, sliding it to the side, grazing my shoulder. Then his fingers found the clasp in my back, and he unhooked it with such ease that I could have held it against him.

Except I didn't say anything, because finding myself half-naked in front of him took all the words right out of my mouth. It got even worse when his lips lingered on my nipples and his tongue relentlessly teased them.

My hands caught in his hair, and I bit my lip to stifle a whimper.

"Let me hear you, sweetheart. I want to hear your pretty voice like that."

That ripped a second whimper from me, which I didn't hold back this time. I felt my legs growing weak and a heat rising between my thighs.

I was hot all over.

He brought his face up to kiss me again, and I pushed him slightly toward the bed. He let himself be guided without a word, and when his knees hit the mattress, he sat down on it while staring at me intensely. I ended up straddling him on my bed, and I could barely process the picture we made.

My hips rolled involuntarily, causing a friction that was both painful and delicious. I was unable to stop myself, and I could feel him getting harder against me every time.

"You're gonna make me come in my jeans like a fucking teenager if you keep that up..."

His words were husky and echoed through my whole body. I didn't know what was turning me on more. What he was saying, or the sound of his voice.

"Take them off then."

I couldn't believe I was saying something like that to Dean. That brought a smile to his face. "Always a little tyrant, even in bed, huh?" I rolled my hips again to show him I didn't appreciate the nickname, when in reality I was starting to love it. His hands blocked my movements, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"I'm sorry to break it to you, but I want to take my sweet time with you. You're going to have to be patient."

I tried to give him another roll of my hips, but his hands held me firmly in place. Then one moved down to reach the waistband of my shorts. Just the thought of him going further made me soaking wet. I felt his breath on my neck. I felt his fingers slip beneath the fabric. All the way to my panties. With his other hand, he forced me to look him right in the eyes. I felt my cheeks burning. I exhaled loudly when he slipped underneath my underwear and his thumb found my clit. I arched into him, and he still held my jaw so I would look at him. It was unbearable, but in the most satisfying way.

"You're dripping wet for me, sweetheart. Hard for you to wait, huh?"

He was teasing a bit, but given the way his fingers took their time finding the exact spot to make me squeal again, I knew he was taking a wicked pleasure in it.

"Looks like the little tyrant lost her tongue."

I could feel him trying to prove to me that, at this moment, the tyrant wasn't me anymore. He was controlling the whole situation, and I was just a poor little needy thing in his arms. But my pride made me murmur between two moans, "Screw you."

He kissed my temple, and I could feel his lips stretch into an amused smile. Then he started to slow the rhythm, which tore a plea from me.

He stopped moving. I cursed him internally. I lifted my head to glare at him, but he was staring at me like he wanted to fuck me to daylight. I wanted it too. And surprisingly, even more so with his torturous way of making me beg. I pushed my hips forward, fucking his fingers myself, which widened his smile.

"You look all frustrated."

"Stop it."

His fingers curled slightly, extracting a gasp from me.

"Beg me."

I was about to tell him to screw off again, but his fingers bent a little more, and I lost all desire to appear proud.

"Fuck—Please. I'm begging you—Dean... I—"

He didn't make me wait any longer. He resumed the irregular rhythm he had started earlier and cruelly stopped. He stayed slow, and it was deliberate. "Please what?" I felt like I couldn't speak properly, but I forced myself. I fought through two moans. "Please—please make me come—I need it—" With that, he sped up, and it was only a matter of seconds before I let go and was caught up in my orgasm. His fingers didn't stop their pace, and I reveled in every drop of my release. He leaned close to my ear and whispered, "You're a good little girl for me, aren't you?"

The phrase itself ripped a moan from me, and I hated myself for being so weak. But at the same time, I forgave myself. I had fantasized about all of this so many times that I couldn't really blame myself. It was a fucking dream coming true. He withdrew his fingers, and I felt terribly empty. Even though I had just released. It was starting up all over again. I needed him. I needed him inside me. And more than just his fingers. My hands found his belt buckle, and I undid it quickly. Then I unzipped his fly and freed his dick, which was still just as hard and seemed painfully demanding. He was dying for it, and as much as he mocked me, I knew we were both in the same boat. I removed my shorts and my panties at the same time. And just the way he had done earlier, I didn't take my eyes off him as I positioned him right at the entrance. His eyes were burning. I felt like I was catching fire. It got even worse when, as I sank down, he couldn't help but let out a low groan. That single sound made my legs tremble. He gripped my ass tightly, and I could feel him guiding me. I rode him frantically and without really controlling it.

"Condom, baby..."

"I'm clean, and I'm on the pill."

At those words, I moved faster, which made him swear before burying his face in my shoulder. He was so long and thick that I couldn't really fight for more than a few minutes before collapsing into his arms again, dazed by my second orgasm. He kept going for a bit, then finally joined me, tightening his grip on my hips. I was unable to move. He was the one who had to shift me and lay me down on the bed. He pressed himself behind me, pulling us into a spoon, while I could still feel the lingering traces of pleasure throughout my body. I could still feel him.

Completely.

I didn't regret it for a single second.

"You feel better in real life than in my imagination."

That comment made me smile. He squeezed me a little tighter against him; it felt like he was afraid I would slip away.

"What do we do now?"

I felt guilty for ruining the moment with such a serious question, but I had this visceral need to ask it and to know. I wanted to know. He hesitated a bit, and I dreaded what he was going to say despite all the beautiful words he had given me earlier.

What if he had changed his mind?

"Now, we keep it quiet, and when the time is right, we tell the others."

He was calm and sincere. My hand found his, and I squeezed it, snuggling a little closer to him.

"And what are you going to tell them?"

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

Three heartbeats.

"That I'm in love with you."

My heart skipped a beat.

And in the darkness of the night and the stillness of the evening, I confessed to him:

"I'm in love with you too."

Ceillings

Jake Gray x female reader

one shot

smut, teen romance, first time, fluffy

words count : 6,5

A/N: I’m French and it was really long and hard to translate it. Hope it will still be good. Enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing it.

story : You always have been his best friend. But what he didn’t know it’s that even you really love to be his best friend, you always wanted more. You were so damn in love with him that it was painful. Especially when Dakota was hitting on him like that. But whatever, you can handle it, right ?

———————————————————————

“Do you think he likes me?”

I wasn’t really thinking. I listened to Dakota as she stood in front of the mirror, putting on her makeup. I was lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to empty my mind.

I already knew who she was talking about. Besides, I knew exactly who we were going to see at that party and who had gotten into the habit of treating her like more than just a friend. I could never have said whether I thought he liked her or not. I supposed he probably did, but honestly, I never would have known how to define whatever it was between her and Jake. I knew they had already slept together. Well, she had been his first time. One night, after a few too many drinks, Jake had told me, and I had forced a smile, pretending I was happy for him. Truthfully, I would have rather never known, but whatever.

Anyway, that still didn’t mean Dakota seemed capable of putting a name to whatever relationship they had, and even less so Jake himself.

That was just how Jake was.

It always had been.

He was my best friend. He had always been my best friend. He was the one who had taught me how to ride a bike, but also the one I had gotten drunk with for the very first time. I knew him well enough to say he was a good person. He was kind, he always checked in on people, and he took care of the ones he loved with quiet attention.

Being clear, however, was never one of his qualities.

Not even close.

And I understood why Dakota kept wondering. She tried to hide how much it affected her. I was even sure she hid it incredibly well whenever she was around Jake and all the other boys who toyed with her. She wasn’t mean. She was just desperate to find someone who would love her. Every single time, it was the same story. She met a guy, she liked him, she slept with him thinking it would make him stay, and in the end he always made it clear it wasn’t going to be anything more.

That was exactly what had happened with Jake.

Much to my dismay.

Dakota was new, and we’d become really close friends. I had never thought it was necessary to tell her that Jake, besides being my best friend, was also the boy I had always been in love with.

So she saw him, she wanted him, and she had him.

And I watched it all happen in silence, without complaining even once.

What could I have done anyway?

I was the complete opposite of Dakota. I was nowhere near the kind of girl a lot of boys liked, nowhere near confident enough to approach them, and even less confident enough to believe anything serious—or even something meaningless—could ever happen.

Because I could have told myself I didn’t care and that I just wanted to have fun since we were only in high school. I could have found myself a cute boyfriend to keep me distracted. I could have.

But when every time a boy comes anywhere near you, all you can think is that he’ll never be your best friend, it’s hopeless.

So I mourned it.

I mourned ever having a boyfriend.

I mourned Jake.

And I forced myself to listen to Dakota and try to answer her without sounding fake.

“I don’t know. You know, Jake doesn’t really talk to me about that stuff.” I kept staring at the ceiling as though I’d find some way to put an end to this misery. Or at least some way to spare myself from having to witness it.

I was already crossing my fingers that if Jake finally decided to make things serious with Dakota, he wouldn’t do it in front of me.

“You’re his best friend. He tells you everything. He must’ve talked to you about me.”

I shrugged as if she could see me. She didn’t notice because she was too focused on putting on her mascara.

“He told me he liked you, but that’s all.”

I was telling the truth.

Jake didn’t talk to me about that stuff. He talked to me about his parents. About his life in general. About the things he liked.

But he never talked to me about girls.

And it wasn’t like I had any stories about guys to tell him either.

I’d only mentioned Dakota once, and all he’d said was, “She’s nice, don’t you think?”

Of course I thought she was nice.

I just wanted to know if he thought she was nice the way you think your math teacher is nice, or the way you think a girl you can’t stop looking at is nice.

But I never had the nerve to ask Jake.

So neither of us would ever have the answer.

“I think he likes you. He’s just an idiot.” I said it a little reluctantly.

Not because I was lying to her. More because I dreamed of being in her place. I dreamed of Jake liking me enough that I could have been his first time, or simply a girl he thought was pretty. Because he thought she was pretty. That much was certain. You’d have to be blind not to.

Jake wasn’t blind.

She turned around with a smile, and I hated every part of myself that was jealous of her. “You really think so?”

I nodded before turning my attention back to the ceiling.

I heard her chair swivel again, and out of the corner of my eye I saw she’d gone back to doing her makeup.

“I hope you’re right. I shaved my whole body just in case.”

That made me laugh.

Well, it made me laugh until I remembered she was talking about Jake. I tried to forget it. That was what allowed me to genuinely enjoy being around Dakota. If I thought too much about the fact that she liked Jake, I dreaded her. So I forced myself to forget it.

But I never forgot for very long.

And now it made me sick to my stomach.

———————————————

My head was resting on Jake’s lap. I stared at a spot in front of me. It felt nice. Peaceful. I figured the alcohol was finally starting to relax me. I hadn’t had enough to get wasted, but I’d had enough to feel calmer.

Better.

“So… would you rather be a fish or a bird?” Conrad’s question pulled a smile out of me, and Jake shot me a knowing look.

For him, it was the weed that was starting to kick in. Weed did a lot more than just relax him.

It made him ask the most random, completely baked questions.

Still, I wasn’t complaining. I actually thought it was funny. I liked feeling smart enough to seriously think about something that stupid. It made me feel interesting.

I glanced over at Jake, who looked like he was actually giving it some serious thought.

“A bird.”

I frowned at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.

“No way. A fish.”

I pushed myself up so I was facing him. You would’ve thought we were discussing classified government secrets.

“Being a fish sucks. And they’re ugly as hell.”

I took that almost personally. I clutched a hand dramatically over my heart and dropped my jaw, pretending to be offended.

“You can breathe underwater.”

He shrugged.

“A bird can fly.”

I was about to argue, but Jake beat me to it.

“They’re faster. You can get anywhere way quicker.”

He wasn’t wrong.

But I still wanted to defend my point.

“What’s the point of getting somewhere faster if you can’t even see most of the planet?”

He stared at me, looking completely confused. He probably thought I’d lost it. He clearly had no idea where I was going with this.

“The planet’s basically all ocean. Birds can’t go see what’s underwater.”

I actually watched him think about that.

Then I watched him change his mind.

“Okay. Fish are better.”

I gave him the look I always gave him whenever he admitted I was right, earning one of his trademark eye rolls.

“What kind of fish would you be?”

I laughed.

The questions just kept getting more ridiculous.

“I don’t know. But you’ve already got the smell.”

That earned me a middle finger and one of those stupidly charming smiles of his.

I liked nights like this. I never really liked loud music or dancing. I couldn’t dance anyway. And too much noise always gave me a headache. What I liked was ending up alone in some room with my friends. I liked hearing the muffled sound of everyone else having fun while we sat around having the kind of completely ridiculous conversations alcohol always seemed to create. It was nice.

Just like having my head on Jake’s lap.

That felt nice too.

“I think I’d rather be a bird.”

Conrad’s eyes were slightly unfocused as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips.

I settled back down exactly where I’d been before, resting my head on Jake’s lap again. I kept pretending it was completely platonic, just something best friends did, except every time I touched him, nothing about it felt friendly to me. It almost felt wrong.

I let him do it anyway, even though he had no idea what it did to me.

Jake definitely didn’t see it the way I did. He probably had no clue my heart always beat a little faster whenever I rested my head on him, or every time his hand absentmindedly settled on my stomach. There was nothing complicated about it for him. He just wanted somewhere to rest his hand. I happened to be there. That was all.

But in my head…

It was never just that.

I always made it into something more.

I was almost ashamed of myself.

“You’re basically already a bird with how high you are.”

Conrad forced a smile before mumbling a sarcastic, “Real funny.”

Jake laughed, the sound completely clashing with Conrad’s annoyed expression.

I loved hearing Jake laugh.

Especially when I was the reason he was laughing.

Suddenly Dakota stood up and looked at Jake.

“Hey… you wanna come with me and grab another drink?”

Jake opened his mouth, then looked down at me.

I sat up and leaned back against the wall behind me.

I suddenly felt uncomfortable.

Jake hesitated.

He kept looking at me, lips slightly parted. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or why he wasn’t answering her right away.

I looked down, feeling stupid.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Now I felt even more stupid.

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off me, and before standing up he nodded toward me.

“You want anything?”

I quickly shook my head without looking at him.

It was stupid.

I was avoiding him because I’d just remembered there was something going on between him and Dakota.

But, how could I even forget?

It was just that whenever I was around Jake, I got so caught up in him that I stopped thinking about everything else.

Now that I remembered…

I just felt pathetic.

I watched them walk away, and right before they disappeared through the doorway, Dakota slipped her hand around his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jake smiled.

My chest tightened.

“You’re an idiot.”

I looked over at Conrad, surprised.

I acted like it didn’t bother me, answering with a sharp tone, but he was right.

And the truth hurts.

“And you’re stoned.”

He leaned farther back in his chair.

“Yeah. I’m stoned. Not blind.”

I pulled my legs up against my chest and rested my forehead on my knees.

It wasn’t nearly as nice as leaning against Jake.

But whatever.

Jake was with Dakota.

“So what exactly did you see?”

I sounded indifferent, but I wanted to know. I already thought I knew what he meant. I just wasn’t sure. And I hoped I was wrong. Because I’d rather keep my crush on Jake to myself. It was my secret. Nobody was supposed to know. Especially not Conrad. He was exactly the kind of guy who’d tell Jake. And that was the last thing I wanted.

“I see the way you look at him.”

He paused.

“Like you’re some puppy he dumped at a highway rest stop.”

The comparison stung.

But he was probably right.

It pissed me off that he’d noticed.

“I look at him normally.”

He raised an eyebrow, making it painfully obvious he didn’t believe me for a second.

“If you say so.”I hated that answer. I wanted him to believe me.

Instead, he was making it pretty damn clear he wasn’t buying a single lie coming out of my mouth.

I started hoping he was high enough to forget this conversation by tomorrow.

“You know what’s really stupid?”

I was hanging on every word.

“No. Enlighten me.”

He rolled his eyes.

“The stupid part is Jake feels the exact same way about you.”

I laughed.

A bitter, mocking laugh.

It hurt because I wanted that to be true more than anything.

I was in love with him.

I just wasn’t delusional.

“No, he doesn’t. He likes Dakota.”

Conrad laughed this time.

“He doesn’t give a shit about Dakota.”

I stared right back at him, convinced I was right.

You’d have to be deaf and blind not to see Jake had a thing for her.

“Oh yeah? Then why’d he fuck her?”

Conrad went quiet.

He actually thought about it.

I knew I was right.

His silence proved it.

“That didn’t mean anything.”

I brushed the comment away, convinced he just couldn’t admit I’d proved him wrong.

“Fucking someone means something.” Conrad didn’t answer. I looked at him sadly.

The alcohol wasn’t exactly helping me hide how miserable I felt about any of this.

Ironically, I was almost begging him with my eyes to come up with something—anything—that would prove me wrong. I’d have loved to believe him. I’d have loved to believe Jake really didn’t give a shit about Dakota.

But Conrad had nothing left to say.

Because I was right.

It felt like winning and losing at the exact same time.

“Well Jake’s an even bigger idiot than you are.”

It wasn’t enough.

He knew it.

So did I.

I stood up.

“I should go.”

He frowned.

“Why?”

I sighed, trying to think of an excuse that wouldn’t make it painfully obvious it was because Jake had left with Dakota.

“I’m tired.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

I was tired of all of this.

Conrad tried to stop me, but he’d obviously smoked way too much because he completely lost his train of thought and just let his head fall back against the chair with a grimace.

I grabbed my bag off the bed and left.

————————————

I was standing there like an idiot in the middle of the crowd. I hated this. There were too many people, too much noise, and it was way too hot. I kept getting shoved every time I tried to move forward, and I was starting to feel like I couldn’t breathe. That was exactly why I usually stayed off to the side.

Especially since I was putting myself through all this for almost nothing.

I was trying to decide whether I should say goodbye to Jake or not. I wanted to because he was my best friend, and I always did, but Conrad’s words still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

He’d fucked Dakota, he liked her, and I was pathetic.

I forced myself to push through the crowd a little farther until I spotted him near the table covered with drinks and half-empty pizza boxes. But what caught my eye wasn’t the food.

It was how close he was standing to Dakota.

They were practically pressed against each other, and the blonde’s hand rested lazily against his chest.

I gave up on interrupting them and turned to leave when a hand suddenly grabbed my wrist.

I spun around, startled, and found myself face-to-face with Cole Walker, a guy from school. He hadn’t even said anything yet, but I could already smell the alcohol pouring off him.

“Damn… you look really hot tonight.”

Maybe I should’ve felt flattered.

Instead, like every guy who wasn’t Jake, he filled me with nothing but disgust. Then again, Cole Walker also had a reputation for being a complete asshole, and even though I didn’t know him well enough to say if it was true, I was more than willing to believe the rumors. So at least I had another excuse besides Jake for not being interested in him. I pulled at my arm, trying to get him to let go of my wrist, while muttering a quick thanks, but his grip only tightened.

“You want a drink?”

The longer I looked at him, the more obvious it became that he’d already had way too many himself.

“No. I wanna go home. Let go of me.” He let out a dry little laugh, and a knot started forming in my stomach.

Something about him felt completely wrong, and his fingers wrapped around my wrist were starting to burn against my skin.

I wanted him to let go.

“Come on. Quit acting like some little prude. Have a drink.” I tensed up, realizing he really wasn’t planning on letting me leave.

His eyes were locked on mine with this unsettling determination, and there was something in them that made me sick to my stomach.

“I’m not thirsty. Let go of me.” As I said it, I yanked harder, but he squeezed my wrist even tighter and pulled me toward him.

He was hurting me.

“What the fuck is your problem? I just wanna get you a dr—”

“What part of let go of me don’t you understand?” For a second, I didn’t even understand what had happened.

In the blink of an eye, my wrist was free, and Cole was clutching his jaw with a grimace.

He glared at Jake, who was now standing between him and me.

When I noticed Jake’s knuckles turning white around his clenched fist, I realized exactly what had happened.

Jake had punched him.

Cole flashed him a vicious grin, ready to hit him back, and the crowd immediately started backing away to watch the show.

Jake dodged the first punch without much effort. Cole looked a little out of it probably because of the alcohol and probably because he’d just been punched in the face.

But the second time he swung, he landed it.

I flinched at the sound of the impact.

My best friend narrowed his eyes, stunned for half a second, before he started throwing punch after punch at him.

Someone yelled, “Fight!” Like it was the coolest thing that had happened all night. I silently cursed them.

There was nothing fun about a fight.

Especially when Jake was the one in it.

“Jake! Stop!” I was basically yelling into the void because he ignored me completely.

The fight finally stopped when one of Cole’s friends grabbed him and pulled him back before things got even worse. But that didn’t seem to calm Jake down.

He looked ready to hit him again.

I grabbed him by the arm, making him turn around to face me.

I was ready to tear into him, to give him the kind of look that told him he was acting like a complete idiot and that this whole thing was unbelievably stupid.

But the second I got a good look at his face, I realized how bad he looked. His lip was split open. Blood was running from his eyebrow. His cheekbone was already turning red. Every bit of my anger disappeared the moment I saw him.

My voice came out softer.

“Please, Jake. Let’s go.” He hesitated for a second, but I felt him relax just a little. He was still breathing hard, and I could almost feel the adrenaline still racing through him.

He looked back at Cole one last time.

“Go fuck yourself.” Then he followed me out.

————————————

I held the cotton gently against the wound, which still made Jake flinch. I whispered a sorry, trying to hurt him less. I grabbed his chin so he would stop moving around.

I focused like it was open-heart surgery.

But focusing on his injury kept me from focusing on him and the way he was looking at me while I was treating him.

“Did you call your mom?” I nodded. “Yeah. She said it was fine.”

I had insisted on walking Jake back to his place. After the fight, I felt kind of guilty. It was because of me that he had hit him, and therefore because of me that he was hurt. And I refused to let him go home alone. His dad was probably asleep, and the guilt was eating me up too much for me to go back home.

He had then asked me to stay over so I wouldn’t get home too late.

So I agreed.

Anyway, whenever I was with Jake, my mom let it slide. He had a reputation for being a pretty good influence, unlike Conrad and Dakota. My mom really liked him for that and she knew him really well.

Enough to let me stay the night at his place last minute.

I looked at his wound and started wondering if he needed stitches. I wasn’t exactly knowledgeable about medical stuff and I couldn’t tell if it did. I found steri-strips in the little first-aid kit he had grabbed for me and carefully applied them.

“It’s not necessary, you know? It’s really nothing.” I gave him a look telling him to shut up.

“Nothing? Are you serious? You got beaten up.”

Looking at him, you could tell he didn’t care at all. I was way more annoyed than him about the situation.

“He was way more messed up than me.” He smiled proudly.

I stepped back and closed the kit since I was done. I stood up to put it on his desk and came back to stand in front of him. I stayed standing while he was still sitting on the edge of his bed looking satisfied.

I looked at him with a disapproving expression.

“He deserved it.” He said it in a softer, more sincere tone.

I knew he thought what he did was right. He had defended me, and deep down, even though I wasn’t into violence and hated fights, I owed him. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through it if he hadn’t stepped in.

Still, I thought the fight was stupid.

“You shouldn’t have hit him though.” He frowned and shook his head, almost annoyed. “He was being pushy. And he’s an idiot. He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

Seeing him on my side like that made me shiver.

I would never admit it, but seeing him defend me felt a little too good. I acted like I thought it was ridiculous, but deep down, a part of me was touched.

I knew Jake would always defend me, because I was his best friend.

I wish he didn’t defend me just for that reason.

I liked being his best friend though, obviously.

But part of me wished he had fought Cole for another reason. That his reaction had been driven by jealousy instead of friendship.

“He would’ve eventually backed off.” He let out a laugh that wasn’t funny at all. He was laughing because he thought I was ridiculous. “That’s not the kind of guy who gives up.”

I could tell he wasn’t going to budge.

And deep down, that wasn’t what I wanted anyway. I liked that he insisted on the fact he had done the right thing by helping me.

It made me feel important.

It’s pathetic.

“I’m sorry I ruined your thing with Dakota.”

The sentence sounded fake the moment it left my lips but I was pretty sure Jake wouldn’t notice.

I hated myself for saying it out loud. I said it against my will, just to remind myself he was with Dakota and there was something between them. I needed to bring her up constantly to remind myself she had the place I wanted. It was every time I was alone with him.

Like now.

We were alone in his room, it was late, poorly lit, only his desk lamp lighting the space.

My heart was racing too fast. My mouth went dry whenever his green eyes landed on me.

I needed to come back to reality.

I needed to remind myself he liked Dakota and I was just his best friend.

It looked like he was trying to read me.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

I already regretted insisting. I couldn’t help it, I needed to bring it up to remind myself I wasn’t her.

“Yes, because of me you had to leave and—”

“We don’t care about Dakota.”

His tone was firm, almost cold, and I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or just didn’t understand why I kept talking about her.

“I tried to sound casual and playful even though it felt like it was tearing my throat apart to say it. “You do care about Dakota.”

He stared at me in a way I couldn’t read.

“What are you talking about?”

I was hurt.

He was acting like he didn’t get it. I wondered if he preferred pretending it wasn’t true or if he just didn’t want to talk about it. Either way, I took it badly.

“You like her, don’t act like you don’t.”

He looked at me like I made no sense.

“Nonsense.”

“Stop pretending!” I sounded desperate or annoyed, I didn’t know which. Either way, it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be indifferent. But I was too tired to hide my emotions. “You slept with her Jake.”

He opened his mouth, still shocked.

“It meant nothing.”

I laughed bitterly. “It does mean something!”

He stared at me coldly and stood up to face me. I had to look up at him, trying to keep my confidence. “Yeah, because you were there, so you clearly know exactly what it meant.”

He was right.

I wasn’t there. I had no right to assume anything.

But not knowing was exactly what made me torture myself with thoughts like that. I was consumed by the idea that he had been with her and it made me irrational.

I knew it.

But I couldn’t stop it.

“If it meant nothing, then you’re an idiot just like Cole Walker.”

His expression changed. He tensed.

“Maybe, yeah. But I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

He was right.

So right it made me sick.

I had to step back away from him. His presence was suffocating me. Or maybe it wasn’t him. It was me. What I was saying. I was talking too much, saying stupid things, and I couldn’t stand the way he was looking at me.

“I know.” I sounded desperate now. “I shouldn’t be involved in this.”

I was trying to excuse myself. Hoping we’d move on and he’d forget I’d just made a scene over something so stupid.

But I could see from the way he looked at me that he wasn’t going to forget.

“So why do you?”

I expected him to be harsher.

But his tone was so simple and calm it caught me off guard.

And I couldn’t answer.

I didn’t.

I looked down, biting my lip, praying he wouldn’t push it, even though I knew him too well to think he wouldn’t.

“Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?” I was at my breaking point. I had never felt so pathetic.

He moved closer and I stepped back.

I couldn’t be near him. I felt like I was messing everything up.

I was messing everything up.

“Tell me it’s because it matters to you.”

My heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t the question that broke me.

It was his tone.

He sounded desperate.

I tried to rationalize it. Tell myself I was imagining things. It was ridiculous. He had no reason to sound like that.

But then he spoke again and I couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Please, tell me it matters. Tell me it affects you.”

He was begging.

“Yeah. It matters.”

I had to say it twice to realize I had actually said it.

Jake stared at me.

“It matters so much that thinking about it makes me sick.”

“Why?” he whispered.

I hesitated.

Then I thought screw it. I might as well say everything.

The words just came out.

“Because I wish it had been me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I felt like I had just destroyed everything between us.

I exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath.

Then in a split second, Jake’s lips were on mine. I didn’t understand what was happening. My hands went to his neck, his hands to my waist.

It felt unreal.

But it was real. It was him. It was Jake.

His lips tasted exactly the way I’d imagined they would. The only difference was that, instead of being soft and tender, it was more passionate. As if the waiting had made him rough. He was incapable of being any gentler.

"I wish it had been you, too."

I felt myself drifting.

A small sound escaped me as his lips moved to my neck and his hands held me tighter.

When he lifted his head, his gaze was burning. Something between desire and admiration. Maybe love.

I wished it was love.

That was what drove me.

I wanted him, and I was head over heels in love.

"It didn't mean anything."

Now I believed it. I wanted to believe it. And I let myself believe it because he was convincing.

"Every time she touched me, I was thinking of you."

My mouth went dry.

The sensation that washed over my lower belly was new to me. I was discovering feelings in places I never imagined. I felt hot. Too hot.

I craved him as instinctively as I breathed. I wanted him to touch me in places that were completely off-limits.

I was almost ashamed of it.

"Is that true?" I whispered the words.

It sounded like a challenge.

He moved his hand up to my face and caressed my cheek with a tenderness that made me melt. He leaned in close to my ear; I could feel his warm breath against my neck.

"I can prove it to you, if you want."

I nodded.

He pulled back to face me. His face was so close that our lips were almost brushing.

But he stayed just millimeters away, never closing the gap.

"Say it."

I was still breathless, even though he wasn't kissing me anymore.

"Prove it." I paused. "Please."

Without another moment of hesitation, he kissed me again. This time it was soft, slow, and less hungry—but far more sensual. His tongue sought mine, and I didn't regret for a second having turned down every other guy who had ever tried to make a move. No one else could make me feel the way Jake did.

He was in a league of his own.

Before, it had just been a thought; now, I was absolutely certain.

"Jake, I’ve never..."

"I know."

He moved lower. He had to bend down to reach my neck because he was so tall.

"Have you ever touched yourself?"

The question made the blood pulse faster through my veins.

I couldn't believe he was asking me that. It was Jake—he was kissing me, and he was asking if I’d ever touched myself.

And the worst part?

It made me soaking wet.

I wasn't a saint. I was a virgin, but not asexual. Of course I’d touched myself.

"Yes."

He swore under his breath—"Shit."

He guided me toward his bed, and I was too aroused to really register what I was doing. Or rather, what I was about to do.

"When I do it, I imagine it’s you."

My back hit the mattress, and I stared intently at him. I’d never heard anything so arousing in my life.

"Me too."

He positioned himself over me and picked up where he’d left off, though with more ease this time. His hands roamed over my stomach. They’d slipped under my T-shirt, and the direct contact of his palm against my bare skin made me shiver.

His hands moved upward while his kisses trailed downward. I tilted my head back, the pillow cushioning the movement. His fingers caressed the skin just beneath my breasts, and I swallowed hard.

"Oh, really?"

At that, he ran his thumb over my nipples through my bra, drawing a moan from me.

"Fuck, yes..."

He quickly pulled off my T-shirt and studied me intently. I should have felt self-conscious, lying beneath him like that.

But I didn't.

I almost forgot that I didn't like my body and that no one had ever seen it before.

It wasn't just anyone.

It was Jake.

"You’re perfect."

I never thought I’d hear those words from him—describing me, in a moment like this. It gave me the confidence to pull off his T-shirt in return, which made him smile.

He was perfect.

I had to force myself to look away.

He noticed, yet his smile never left his face.

"Can I?"

I nodded as his fingers went to the button of my jeans. He slowly lowered the zipper, and I had to stifle a gasp as he slid them down with practiced ease.

He tossed them aside with our other clothes.

I grazed his chest with my fingers and felt him revel in the touch. I moved lower, then lower still, until I reached the buckle of his belt.

But he stopped me.

"Not yet. I’ve got things that are way more fun for now."

I felt like I was fighting for air as he pressed his lips to mine, then my jawline, lingering on my neck and the skin above my breasts, before finally planting a kiss right on my nipple through the fabric. He kept going—moving above my navel, then below it, then right above my panties. He positioned himself between my thighs, and the sight made me let out a sharp, audible breath.

He slid his arms under my legs and kissed the inside of my thigh. My fingers dug into the sheets, even though he wasn't yet where I truly wanted him to be.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and slowly slid them down my legs.

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

It was even worse when he spoke. "You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. You’re gonna make me cum just by the sight of you."

Just when I thought he couldn’t turn me on any more, he proved me wrong. I thought nothing could top a line like that, but he showed me otherwise when he planted that first kiss exactly where I wanted it. His tongue made an obscene sound, and I was unable to hold anything back.

He slowly licked my clit. Then he picked up the pace, only to slow down again. It was driving me out of my mind. And it got even more intense when he added a finger, arching it to perfection.

I’d touched myself before, but I’d never felt anything like this—and certainly not this quickly.

I was already on the edge, even though he’d barely started.

I couldn't say if it was just because it was Jake, or because he was genuinely skilled.

Probably both.

He made a sudden movement that made me incredibly sensitive, and my fingers tangled in his hair. Hearing him groan in response, I realized it was the most melodious sound I’d ever heard in my life.

The heat building in my lower belly intensified, and within seconds, my back arched as I moaned something that must have sounded like his name.

He slowly moved back up, retracing his path, kissing every inch of my skin as if he were worshipping me.

It was addictive.

My vision was a little blurred, my mind hazy.

"You taste like heaven, baby."

I’d barely finished coming when that same sensation stirred in my belly again.

He had that effect on me.

My fingers found his belt buckle again. "Can I now?"

It made him smile.

"Please, go ahead."

I didn't need to be asked twice.

In a flash, his jeans joined the pile of clothes accumulating beside the bed.

He paused, looking at me with a more serious expression. He was trying to detect the slightest trace of hesitation on my face, and I knew he wouldn’t find anything. I didn’t have an ounce of hesitation.

He reached for his nightstand, and I watched him pull out a condom, anticipating what was about to happen.

He tore the wrapper open with his teeth, and my heart began to race.

I studied his every move.

But when my eyes landed on his cock, I wasn't so sure anymore—not because I didn't want it, but because it was so long and thick.

"If you don't want to, I'll stop."

I looked up at him.

"I do want to. It’s just... I’m not sure it’ll fit."

He chuckled at my remark, and I tried to suppress the smile he’d drawn out of me because I wanted him to take me seriously.

His expression shifted, becoming more reassuring.

"Trust me, it’ll fit."

He positioned himself right at the entrance, and despite my apprehension, I felt a desperate, vital need to have him inside me.

"If it hurts, tell me. I’ll stop."

I nodded.

He paused for a moment, and we locked eyes. I think we were finally realizing that this was really happening.

Then he slowly slid inside me, drawing a moan from my lips. He wasn’t too fast; he was gentle and tender. I felt a bit tense, but the pleasure washed away the slight discomfort I’d felt at the start. I could feel him, and it wasn’t just physical.

It was him.

It was Jake.

It was real.

He studied me closely, and seeing no wince of pain, he gently picked up the pace. His thrusts were irregular yet precise—a deliciously exquisite torture. He repeatedly hit a spot that made my eyes roll back in my head. I couldn't feel my legs anymore; I couldn't feel anything but Jake.

His hand found my clitoris, and the overstimulation was my undoing. Every thrust was accompanied by a moan I couldn't suppress.

He started moaning too. He was more restrained, but that simple sound made me climax.

A violent wave of pleasure swept over me.

He followed close behind.

He kept going until we were both completely spent and gasping for breath.

I couldn't think straight.

He gently withdrew and lay on his side, catching his breath.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to gather my wits and fully take in everything that had just happened.

"I'm in love with you."

My heart skipped a beat. I turned my head to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling too, as if he hadn't just said the most significant thing imaginable.

"I'm in love with you, too."

I moved closer to rest my head on his chest. He welcomed me into his arms, and it felt so natural that I could have forgotten things hadn’t always been this way. He was still Jake—still my best friend—but he was also the guy I was in love with, and it felt like the most normal thing in the world.

After a moment of silence, Jake spoke.

"You know, it’s true—I did sleep with her. But making love to you confirmed what I already knew. It didn’t mean anything."

My fingers lingered on his chest as I etched every word he’d spoken into my memory. I didn’t even really feel that jealousy that had been eating away at me just hours before. It didn’t matter anymore.

"Why did you sleep with her?"

It wasn’t a vicious question. It was just a genuine question, asked simply to understand.

"Because I was a bit drunk and thought you didn’t care."

He paused.

"And maybe I was hoping for a reaction from you."

That remark made me smile, and I looked up at him.

"Well, it worked."

He smiled back.

"I’m glad."

I rolled my eyes, but the smile never left my lips.

I felt nothing but a sense of complete fullness.

It was soothing.

A/N: you can find me on Wattpad @lashehsal (I’m french so on my Wattpad there’s different version, the English and the French one. It’s specified anyway. Enjoy, and tell me if you like it.)

Dean Winchester

Fanfiction

Echo

Chapter 2

I rummaged through my bag, looking for my keys. I had this habit of never being able to find them despite the countless keychains hanging from them. I loved those little trinkets. They reminded me of all kinds of things. I was the kind of person who preferred to forget, but some memories were worth holding on to.

When I finally found them, I headed toward the Millers' house. It was 1:45 p.m., and I was expected there at 2:00.

The Millers were well-off people. I'd met them by chance at the grocery store, and we'd gotten along incredibly well. Their little boy, Lois, had wandered off in one of the aisles, and I'd helped him find his parents. On a whim, Mrs. Miller, Anna, had asked me to babysit the kids just to see how it went. So I showed up the next day to look after Lois and Sasha. Their daughter was only a little older than her little brother, but she was incredibly smart. They were wonderful kids to babysit, and whenever I went over, I genuinely enjoyed it. Especially since Anna adored me. She regularly invited me over for dinner, and she'd even asked me to sing at some of the events she organized.

I adjusted my guitar on my back. It was my secret weapon whenever I needed to keep the kids entertained for about an hour. They loved musical instruments. As I slowly made my way to the Millers' house, I found myself humming without even realizing it.

"She's running out the door. She's running out, she run, run, run, run..."

I stopped for a moment. Flashbacks from Wednesday night came rushing back, and his smile was part of every single one of them. The good mood I'd been in since I woke up vanished the second I thought about him.

After my song, we'd talked until ridiculously late. I was so caught up in our conversation that I honestly couldn't say what time we'd stopped, but if I had to guess, I'd say around four in the morning. We'd told each other about our lives. As if we were actually friends. His arrogant side had hit me right in the face again. Well... not exactly. I'd been wrong. He wasn't really arrogant. He was the kind of guy who hid behind a detached, cocky attitude because there was something broken underneath.

Well, that wasn't something he'd actually told me, but I'd figured it out. He was interesting. But what really made him interesting was how elusive he stayed about so many things. He had this mysterious side that made me want to know what was going on inside his head.

Usually, I found guys predictable and annoying. I'd rarely met one who genuinely made me want to get to know him, someone who felt like he might actually surprise me.

That was pretty bold of me.

I wasn't exactly the smartest girl on Earth.

But Dean had... something. The very thing I'd spent years hoping to find in every guy who'd ever approached me. He was funny. He wasn't really like me. I'd even say we were pretty different. And yet, somehow, we understood each other anyway. I could've spent hours talking to him.

I was disappointed I'd probably never see him again.

I wasn't going to the bar tonight because of my babysitting job, and he'd told me he rarely stayed more than three days whenever he and his brother were on one of their trips.

So I wasn't expecting to run into him again. Besides, I had no way of contacting him. All I knew was his name.

Dean Winchester.

Every time I thought about it, a strange feeling spread through my whole body. Like déjà vu. It was almost addictive.

But it didn't matter.

He was just some guy I'd met in a bar. I'd never see him again. I'd come to terms with that.

My heart clenched at the thought.

I shouldn't have been this affected. It was ridiculous. I'd even talked to his brother, Sam. It had only been brief, but it was enough for me to like him. He was just as kind as I'd expected.

But for the past two days, it was the blond's face that had been haunting me. The more I thought about him, the more familiar he seemed. The more I thought about him, the more afraid I became of forgetting the details of his eyes and his smile.

It was stupid. I barely knew him.

I reached the Millers' front door. Sasha opened it with a huge smile. She looked adorable in her little pink dress and her braided blonde hair.

"We've been waiting for you! Come on in!"

I smiled and stepped inside their huge house.

I really liked the Millers' house. It practically smelled of money and luxury, yet it still felt warm and welcoming. Family portraits hung everywhere. They looked like they loved each other, like they were a close-knit family.

For the past two years, I'd missed having a family.

I tried not to think about it too much.

After spending so much time there, the house had started to feel a little like home. Mrs. Miller always made sure I felt welcome, like I belonged. That was probably the biggest reason I liked her so much.

"Deva! I made up the guest room for you. Tonight I'm trusting you with dinner. You'll find something."

Anna came over to greet me while continuing to explain a few things.

"Lois isn't allowed to have ice cream tonight because he already had some at lunch! And make sure they're in bed before nine-thirty."

She slipped on a pair of heels just as Mr. Miller came up behind me. They were both dressed to the nines. From what I'd understood, they were spending the evening at a pretty upscale hotel.

"Hey, Deva."

He gave me a tight smile that immediately caught my attention before turning to his wife.

"Ready to go?"

I watched Adam closely. Something about him felt... off. He looked worried. Or maybe stressed. I figured it was just the trip making him nervous.

Mrs. Miller nodded, and together they said goodbye before heading out.

I watched the front door for a moment.

The second they were gone, an odd feeling crept slowly up my spine.

I was always a little nervous when I babysat the kids.

Especially for this long.

They had a long drive ahead of them, and they were spending the night there, not coming back until 10:30 the next morning. I'd be looking after their children for almost twenty-four hours straight, and as happy as I was to do it, I couldn't help feeling a little anxious. A whole night was a long time. A lot could happen in one night.

Still, looking after Lois and Sasha was never difficult, so I quickly pushed that silly feeling aside.

We started with a board game. The kids were always excited to play. It was nice. So nice that time flew by, and after three games of Uno we all agreed it was time to find something else to do. I suggested painting. Sasha was genuinely talented. She created beautiful little masterpieces. She often brought me drawings from school, and I was always amazed by her choice of colors and her incredible attention to detail.

Her little brother wasn't nearly as gifted, but he worked so hard. I'd even noticed that he stuck his tongue out whenever he concentrated on painting carefully. It always made me smile. They were adorable.

Eventually, though, even they got tired of drawing after about an hour.

So I suggested we head upstairs to their room and figure out something else to do. We were just about to go upstairs when the doorbell rang. I glanced at my watch.

4:37 p.m.

I frowned, trying not to let it show that hearing the doorbell at that hour made me uneasy.

The words, "Don't open the door to strangers," kept echoing in my head, and I wasn't sure what to do.

"Stay here."

Lois and Sasha nodded in perfect unison.

Normally, I would've found that adorable.

Right now, though, I was too busy wondering who could possibly be standing on the front porch.

Who could be stopping by at this hour?

I slowly walked toward the front door when someone knocked again. It made me jump. Trying to reassure myself before opening it, I leaned over and looked through the peephole.

I froze.

It felt like my mind was playing tricks on me. He'd occupied my thoughts so completely these past few days that I was starting to imagine him. I had to be losing my mind.

My heart started pounding.

I yanked the door open, silently hoping the sudden movement would make my hallucination disappear.

Except...

It wasn't a hallucination.

"What are you doing here?"

Dean's eyes went wide, and he muttered, "Damn," under his breath.

I couldn't help feeling a little hurt by his reaction. He'd been on my mind constantly for the past two days. I couldn't stop thinking about him, and even though I had no idea why he was here, seeing him filled me with an overwhelming sense of relief. I'd spent hours convincing myself I'd never see him again, to the point where I'd actually missed him. But now that he was standing in front of me, that feeling was gone.

All that time spent regretting it had been for nothing. Just for him to look at me and say, "Damn."

I was furious. I couldn't believe my eyes. I didn't dare look away, afraid he'd disappear and this time I'd really never see him again.

Still, I forced myself to focus on how insane it was that he was here.

Actually, that wasn't even what surprised me the most. What really caught my attention was the fact that he was dressed as a police officer, because unless my memory was failing me, he'd told me he worked in IT.

Sam stood behind him wearing the same uniform, and unlike his brother, the color completely drained from his face.

"Well... we came..." He glanced at Dean. "I..."

I looked at Dean, silently urging him to finish, but he couldn't. Frustration flared inside me. I hated not understanding what was going on, and right then, I wanted answers.

I wanted to silence the increasingly crazy ideas racing through my head. I barely knew him, and suddenly I couldn't help wondering if he'd lied to me during that entire conversation at the bar.

I'd thought I'd understood him. Turns out, It had all been a lie.

Lois suddenly appeared behind me and shouted,

"It's the superhero cop from yesterday! Sasha, come quick!"

I let out a sigh.

"Lois, you were supposed to stay back."

He threw himself into Dean's arms, and the blond caught him effortlessly, murmuring, "Hey there, buddy."

I found it unbelievably adorable, and I had to fight to keep the irritation on my face.

"So?" I said. "You gonna explain?"

He grimaced before setting Lois back on the floor.

He ran a hand through his hair, deep in thought. He was trying to come up with his next lie, and it was driving me crazy.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, "we can tell her."

My eyes moved from Sam to Dean. I shot him a glare.

Tell me what?

"Yeah... okay."

Dean hadn't even hesitated, and I wanted to scream.

Tell me what?

If he lied to me again, I wouldn't even know whether to believe him anymore. I'd already been stupid enough to think he'd been sincere that night. I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. I was already consumed enough by bitterness.

"Deva... can we come inside and talk?"

A bitter laugh escaped me. I didn't want to let them in because one thing had suddenly become painfully obvious.

I knew almost nothing about them.

It would be insane.

I felt like I knew them well, but I'd only spoken to them once, in that rundown little bar on the edge of town.

He'd lied to me.

I didn't know him.

Not even a little.

Even though a tiny part of me insisted that wasn't true.

I'd been fooled.

I couldn't let them inside.

"No. Absolutely not. I don't know you."

Dean's jaw tightened. He was probably offended by the cold, detached tone I'd used.

That was exactly the point.

I wanted him to feel at least a fraction of what I'd felt when I realized he'd lied to me.

And because of the way he'd reacted when he'd seen me.

I silently cursed every minute I'd spent idealizing him.

I'd imagined seeing him again.

One thing was certain...

This wasn't how I'd pictured our reunion.

"I was honest with you the other night, Deva. I didn't tell you what I do because... you wouldn't understand."

Ouch.

"But everything else I told you was real."

The fact that he felt the need to justify himself touched me.

He seemed genuinely determined to convince me he wasn't some jerk.

Unfortunately, I could already feel myself slipping back into the mindset I'd had the night we met.

Maybe my first impression had been the right one after all.

Maybe he was just like every other guy.

A smooth talker.

And his angel face didn't change a thing.

Especially since he thought I wouldn't understand, and that hurt. I'd always considered myself a very understanding person. We'd talked for hours. I'd been naïve enough to believe he trusted me.

It had been foolish trust.

But it had felt natural.

No...

Not natural at all.

Just naïve.

"After everything you told me yesterday... I know you better than most people who think they know you."

He was good.

A damn good talker. Good enough that, for one brief moment I actually considered letting him in.

I hated myself for it.

But I trusted him. For no reason. It was stupid. Everything told me I shouldn't.

And yet I did anyway.

I couldn't help it.

A shiver ran through me, and on impulse I stepped aside to let them into the house. I bit my lip as Sam gave me a grateful smile, mouthing, "Thanks."

The atmosphere remained ice-cold. We walked into the kitchen. The kids watched us from the doorway while Dean and Sam stood across from me. They both lowered their heads, clearly trying to figure out how to approach the subject. I folded my arms across my chest, watching them with a tired, impatient stare.

Maybe I couldn't control the trust Dean inspired in me.

But I could sure as hell hide it.

"So..." Dean said awkwardly. "You gonna offer us something to drink?"

Dean looked uncomfortable, but his attempt to lighten the mood didn't make me laugh.

"Shut up, Dean. Assuming that's even your real name. Maybe that was a lie too."

I was furious with him. But the truth was, I really had no right to throw his lie back in his face like that. After all, I barely knew him.

It wasn't really anger.

It was disappointment.

But they'd have to kill me before I'd admit that out loud.

I caught the flicker in his eyes at my sharp remark. I knew he hadn't lied about his name. I just wanted him to know I was upset. I wanted him to feel like I didn't believe a word he said anymore.

Even though that wasn't true.

I believed him. A little voice in the back of my mind kept whispering that if he'd lied, then he must've had a good reason.

That night, I'd spent hours talking to Dean. The kind of conversation you never wanted to end. The kind where it felt like you could tell each other everything, even your darkest secrets. That wasn't something you could fake. You couldn't invent that kind of connection.

There had to be some truth in it... right?

The hopeless romantic in me was completely obsessed with him and with whatever it was we'd shared. I'd been heartbroken thinking I might never see him again, telling myself I could be walking away from something important. From someone. It was as if my mind kept screaming that maybe... maybe he was special. I wanted him to be special.

It was ridiculous.

And he'd lied.

So no... I wasn't angry.

I was disappointed in myself for getting carried away so quickly, only to come crashing back down.

I looked at Sam, waiting for him to explain.

"Listen... it's kind of complicated. Could you send the kids upstairs?"

I nodded.

"Lois, Sasha, go to your rooms, please."

The two of them begged to stay with the superhero cop, but they obeyed anyway when they realized even Dean wanted them upstairs.

Sam cleared his throat and waited until we heard their footsteps on the stairs before speaking again.

"I don't know if you've heard about your neighbor's death."

I nodded.

I didn't understand why he was bringing that up, and I was surprised he'd even mentioned it. Mrs. Edward lived in the house next door. She was about thirty-five and lived alone. They'd found her murdered in her bathroom.

Just remembering it sent a chill down my spine.

I hadn't really known her, but the whole town had been talking about it. Nothing ever really happened in our little town.

"Dean and I think it's a lot more complicated than what the police believe."

I frowned, intrigued. I had no idea where he was going with this, and it was driving me crazy.

The police had ruled it a murder. They'd pinned it on her brother... or someone. I didn't really keep up with the news.

Was Sam saying the police had gotten it wrong?

"I know this is going to sound hard to believe, but supernatural things really do exist, Deva. And we're convinced Mrs. Edward is... still here somehow."

I walked over to the fridge and grabbed two beers. My movements were slow as I thought over every word that had just come out of his mouth.

Supernatural?

Well...

That definitely wasn't what I'd expected.

I could tell they were waiting for some kind of reaction. Maybe they expected me to laugh, or think they were pulling some elaborate prank. I did neither. I could tell they were serious, and the truth was... I already knew they were right. But obviously I couldn't exactly tell them I already knew the world was far stranger than most people believed. I didn't want them discovering that part of me. The part I didn't even understand myself. And even though part of me wanted to tell Dean, I stayed quiet.

Besides, we weren't at the point where we told each other everything.

So I played dumb.

"What do you mean?"

I handed them the beers. Sam took his and popped the cap while Dean kept staring at me without taking his.

"Ghosts. All the stuff you see in the movies. It's real."

Dean was waiting for me to lose it. He kept watching me, expecting some kind of reaction. He wanted one.

He wasn't getting it.

Keeping the fact that I already knew to myself was one thing.

Pretending to freak out just to make him happy was another.

"And what does that have to do with Mrs. Edward?"

A smile spread across the blond's face. He grabbed his beer and narrowed his eyes, as if he were trying to figure me out.

I intrigued him.

I wondered if I intrigued him half as much as he intrigued me.

"You're not gonna call us crazy?"

I sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and pinched the bridge of my nose before letting out a slow breath.

"Dean, I'm just trying to understand. You and your brother show up here dressed as cops to tell me my neighbor turned into Casper. I'm just trying to figure out what that has to do with the Millers."

Dean took a sip of his beer and sat down across from me. He still wore that smile that was so uniquely his. Half amused, half approving.

He liked my sarcasm.

"We think she's a vengeful spirit."

Sam pulled out a chair and sat down beside his brother. His height suddenly struck me. He was unbelievably tall. Dean wasn't exactly short either. He had at least a head on me. But standing next to his brother, he almost looked small. I was sure Sam had to be over six-four.

"We've been investigating since the day before yesterday, and guess what? Mrs. Edward was sleeping with Mr. Miller."

Dean flashed a smug little grin and slouched back in his chair as he took another sip of his beer. He looked like he was sharing the juiciest piece of gossip in town, and it almost made me smile. Sam rolled his eyes.

Then my heart sank.

I adored Mrs. Miller, and finding out her husband had been cheating on her made me sick. She was such a wonderful, kind, caring woman. How could he do something like that to her?

"And we think that's why she's still here."

I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious.

"So?"

"Listen, Dev. Mr. Miller knows damn well he's in trouble. Why do you think he skipped town?"

I tensed. So not only was he a cheater, he was running away... leaving his kids behind? I'd always liked Mr. Miller, but I could feel anger slowly building inside me.

Then the anger disappeared.

Dev.

That nickname made me tense up even more.

No one had ever called me that except in...

No.

Impossible.

"You probably don't know this, but somebody slashed his tires seven days ago. Right after the murder."

He took another sip.

I was listening, but that nickname—"Dev"—was driving me insane.

Even more than the ghost story.

"And somebody left a nice little message on his windshield."

He paused for effect.

"'Vengeance.'"

I nodded, trying to connect all the pieces together, but there were too many thoughts racing through my head at once.

"Dev."

"Vengeful spirit."

"Murder."

"You know how we found out about all this?" Dean asked. "Because the next day we got a call. Good old Mr. Miller said he'd been seeing a woman following him around. Tall. Brunette. Her throat slit from ear to ear."

Sam kept his eyes on the floor.

"Of course, we don't think Mr. Miller killed her. If he had, he never would've called us. We'd have turned him in. The question is... why is she after him?"

Surprisingly, I didn't feel completely lost anymore. I was almost proud of myself for managing to follow everything they were saying and understand where they were going with it.

"To get rid of a spirit, you have to burn the remains. The problem is... Mrs. Edward was cremated."

I frowned. The way Sam said it made it sound especially dramatic.

"So what are you gonna do?"

Dean grimaced.

"We have to figure out what's keeping her here."

"And then?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He studied me for a moment before answering. His green eyes were intense. I caught a faint spark in them that I couldn't quite read.

Dev.

"We try to reason with her."

A sarcastic laugh escaped me.

"You don't sound too confident."

Dean looked over at his brother before getting to his feet.

"Do you trust us?"

The question sent a shiver through me.

I didn't really want to trust them.

This was bigger than all of us.

Bigger than me.

And yet, a little voice inside me kept telling me to say yes.

To accept.

"Not really... but do I have much of a choice?"

Dean chuckled, leaned across the table, and brought his face close to mine.

"No, Dev."

His smile softened just enough to make my stomach tighten.

Twisted

Soldier boy x female reader

one shot

smut, age gape, Butcher’s daughter, soft spot, protective

approximately 8,6K words

AN: first one shot here, hope you like it. Don’t be hard on me I’m new.

story: You tried to hide it. A crush on soldier boy ? Your dad would kill you and you wouldn’t blame him. He was older, he was not a good guy and he was a damn supe. But you couldn’t help it, you felt like you get him better. Well It didn’t matter anyway because your dad betrayed him and killed him. At least, that’s what you thought.

————————

I remembered how it had all started.

My father had gone to Russia with Hughie and all of The Boys. I was the only one who had stayed behind. My old man was the type to never really involve me in his business, even though, one way or another, I always ended up caught in the middle of it. He said he wanted to protect me or something like that.

Then again, if he really wanted to protect me, maybe he’d stop constantly picking fights with Supes and Homelander.

Eventually, I started telling myself it had never really been about me anyway, because whatever drove him had become something sick. He had this constant need to go after the Supes and push his revenge even further.

A revenge that wasn’t really leading anywhere anymore.

All of that to say it had never been about me. Sometimes I even questioned whether it had ever really been about my mother. Because, of course, that’s where it had all started.

She disappeared. My father lost his mind.

Then again, ending up alone with a twelve-year-old daughter to raise while the love of your life had literally vanished into thin air… there was enough there to drive anyone insane.

So I never blamed him for his hunger for hatred and justice.

She was my mother, after all. I loved her too. I wanted to know what had happened to her just as badly. I wanted to understand why, overnight, she was simply… gone. I wanted to know what had condemned me to inherit nothing but blood and anger. That was my life. My father. His hatred. His obsession.

He loved me.

But he loved me less than he hated Homelander and the Supes.

It had never been about me.

It had always been about something buried deep inside him, something that consumed him completely.

Still, despite all his bloody, hateful tendencies, my father did everything he could to keep me out of it. I wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take long before I stumbled across documents and started questioning all of his disappearances. I was my father’s daughter, after all. Stubborn and curious. Curious enough to figure out that he was planning to take his revenge on Homelander for real.

Curious enough to deserve the truth.

That’s how I eventually found out my mother wasn’t dead, that I had a little brother, and that he was Homelander’s son too. Ironic situation, isn’t it?

Though I suppose the most ironic part was my mother’s death after spending eight miserable years trying to find her.

I think my father and I were simply forbidden from ever tasting happiness.

The Butcher curse.

Whatever.

My mother was dead. The mystery had been solved. But my father’s hatred didn’t fade. If anything, it only became worse. He was seized by something even darker. Even more ambitious.

Something that took him to Russia.

An ambition that brought Soldier Boy back.

That’s when it really started.

My father hadn’t let me come with them, but when he came back with America’s former golden boy, everything changed.

Changed too much.

Changed in the most dangerous way imaginable.

I’d heard about Soldier Boy before, just like I’d heard about plenty of Supes. At first, I saw him the same way I saw all the others. There wasn’t anything different about him. If anything, he was probably worse. Old-fashioned.

Pretty damn sexist.

With more than a few racist tendencies.

Terrified of the newer generation.

I should’ve hated him. When my father told me he’d come back with Soldier Boy, I’d already decided that I would. It was the logical thing to do. The right thing to do. It was exactly what I should have done.

But that wasn’t what happened at all.

He arrived.

I’d convinced myself he wasn’t my ally, just a weapon meant to kill Homelander, put an end to all of this revenge, and give me my father and my little brother back.

What I hadn’t expected was that he wasn’t just a weapon. He was a man. A Supe, sure, but still human underneath it all. A side of him I ended up seeing because I was constantly stuck babysitting him, making sure he didn’t decide to disappear. I had to keep him busy so he wouldn’t get any ideas about leaving us, and eventually, instead of simply keeping him occupied, I got to know him.

The babysitting… well, grandpa-sitting… became a lot more enjoyable than I’d ever expected. Who would’ve thought I’d grow attached to him? Certainly not me. And yet I’d laugh with him as though we were friends. Sometimes, it almost felt like we actually were.

Almost.

Because the feeling his laughter stirred low in my stomach wasn’t something a friend was supposed to make you feel.

Accepting that Soldier Boy was more than just another corrupt superhero and a weapon… I could do that.

Accepting that I had feelings for Ben?

That was completely ridiculous.

Because he was a Supe, but also because he was older than my own father, and most importantly because he probably saw me as William Butcher’s annoying little girl. Which, honestly, I couldn’t even blame him for. He probably never thought about our interactions the way I did. He had bigger things to worry about. The thought had probably never even crossed his mind. You’d have to be twisted for it to.

I was twisted.

Irrevocably twisted.

I almost felt like I understood him. I almost felt like we had our own silent understanding. I almost felt like he actually liked talking to me. I kept replaying the way he’d glance at me during briefings with The Boys. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way it had felt when he’d grabbed me to keep me from taking a bullet.

Those were ordinary things.

But inside my head, they became signs that I was completely screwed.

Then my father betrayed him.

The plan had been simple. Ben was invincible. Ben was probably the most powerful Supe the country had ever known. All he had to do was kill Homelander. That was the deal. That was the plan.

Except Ben turned on Ryan. My father completely lost it, and everything fell apart.

I remembered the look in his eyes too.

He looked at me like he was lost. Like he wanted to see if we were really turning against him. Like he was searching for even the smallest trace of betrayal on my face that would confirm we’d played him.

I never had the chance to do anything.

What could I have done anyway?

It didn’t matter.

Maeve carried him out of the building. And then… that was it. It was over. He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.

Dead.

He was dead.

I never allowed myself to mourn him in front of my father or anyone else.

Mourn who?

What?

My fundamentally twisted little love story?

The superhero who had tried to kill my little brother?

I talked myself out of it. In the end, he was a weapon. I’d let myself believe otherwise because I’d gotten distracted, but he was still a Supe conditioned to fight. He probably didn’t think much beyond that. He attacked what he was supposed to attack. I wasn’t about to mourn a dead man who probably hadn’t thought much of me while he was alive, just like he probably hadn’t thought much of anyone.

Besides, we’d betrayed him.

We killed him.

It was what had to be done. That was how it was supposed to end.

So why did my chest tighten every time someone mentioned his death?

I felt guilty. I couldn’t see him the way everyone else did. I couldn’t erase the version of him I’d come to know during all those hours we spent alone together. I remembered the detached way he’d talk about why he’d become a superhero, just as vividly as I remembered the pain in his voice whenever Russia came up. I could still hear the exact way he’d say, “Is that how you kids think these days, Doll?” Always with that deep voice soaked in sarcasm. I could almost hear him. I was haunted by his voice.

It was pathetic.

But the most pathetic part was my reaction when I heard the words through my earpiece.

“It’s Soldier Boy.”

Silence.

A very long silence.

“…Excuse me?”

My father paused after hearing my answer before repeating himself.

“Soldier Boy’s here. He’s alive. And he’s standing right in front of us.”

He was alive.

He was alive.

He was alive.

I’d spent two years trying to forget a dead man only to find out he’d been alive all along.

And the worst part?

Instead of feeling the same fear everyone else did, instead of being terrified to face him again after we’d so obviously betrayed him, I felt hope. I felt that exact same sensation low in my stomach, as though it had awakened the moment I heard he was alive. It had died with him, and learning that he hadn’t died had brought it back to life. Because it had always belonged to him.

I remembered how it had all started.

It had started with Soldier Boy.

With Ben.

It always starts with Ben.

————————————

“How the hell is that bastard still not dead? He’s a fucking leech.”

I stared at the screen where Ben—Soldier Boy—stood proudly, almost defiantly, as though death itself had looked him in the face and simply refused to take him. He looked exactly the same. The same broad shoulders. The same confidence. The same infuriating calm that made it seem as though nothing in this world could truly hurt him. Yesterday, he’d been exposed to the anti-Supe virus. I’d watched the virus consume him right in front of my eyes. I’d watched every muscle in his body tighten as pain spread through him, watched him bend under an agony I’d never imagined someone like him could feel, and once again his irises had found mine. I hadn’t seen him in two years, and the only time I’d properly looked him in the eyes since his so-called death was, once again, right before he was supposed to die. Hope had almost disappeared as quickly as it’d returned. It had barely had time to bloom before someone tried to crush it all over again. He had to have seen it. He could see me through that damn reinforced door. Even with soldiers shouting around him and alarms blaring, there was no mistaking the way our eyes had met. And while the virus slowly killed him, I’d let a single silent tear slip down my cheek. Just one. One pathetic, traitorous tear that escaped before I could stop it. A tear he’d noticed because he’d paused. His brows had drawn together ever so slightly in a way I couldn’t understand. Maybe he was simply in pain and it had nothing to do with me. Maybe I was imagining things because I’d spent two years haunted by the memory of him. Or maybe… maybe he remembered. I hoped he remembered that I’d liked him, that during those weeks I’d seen more than Soldier Boy. I hoped he remembered that, for at least one person, he hadn’t simply been a weapon. I hoped that wasn’t such a terrible thing.

I hoped he knew I’d never wanted this. More than anything, I wished he understood that I hadn’t known about my father’s plan. I’d simply turned my head for a second before Hughie quietly told me that the guinea pig for our damn virus was going to be him. I’d only just found out he was alive, and I already had to accept that he was about to die all over again. It felt cruel. Like fate had decided I wasn’t even allowed to enjoy the miracle of finding out he was alive before threatening to take him away again. I wanted him to know I wasn’t part of it. Not the first time. Not the second. Even if I’d been standing there both times, it wasn’t what I wanted. It never had been.

Then again, it didn’t matter. His eyes drifted away from me and settled on Frenchie, standing beside me, and my tear had already dried. Whatever I thought had happened between us lasted only a heartbeat before reality came rushing back.

Then I’d thought I’d watched him die a second time.

But the virus hadn’t worked on him.

I should’ve been disgusted. If it didn’t work on Soldier Boy, then it probably wouldn’t work on Homelander either, and that was very, very bad news. It meant everything we’d risked, everything Frenchie had sacrificed to create that damned virus, might’ve been for nothing. It meant Homelander could still be untouchable. It meant we’d all be right back where we’d started. But instead, I felt the exact opposite. Knowing he’d survived spread a warmth through my entire body that had absolutely nothing to do with fear. It settled somewhere beneath my ribs before spreading through my chest, easing a weight I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying for two years. I hated myself for it. I hated how natural it felt.

It was stupid.

I should’ve been terrified.

It was Soldier Boy. My father had betrayed him. He’d sided with Homelander. As far as Ben was concerned, we’d all stabbed him in the back. He probably spent every waking second waiting for the opportunity to make us pay for it. Waiting to settle the score with The Boys once and for all. If there was one thing I’d learned about men like him, it was that they never forgot betrayal. They carried it with them until they had the chance to return it tenfold.

But somehow…

None of that mattered to me.

He was alive.

That single fact drowned out every rational thought I should’ve had. It swallowed every warning screaming at the back of my mind. It was comforting in a way I couldn’t explain, like a part of me that had been grieving without permission had suddenly been given permission to breathe again. It felt like a silent victory, one I forced myself not to celebrate after hearing the disappointment dripping from my father’s voice and seeing the grim expressions on everyone else’s faces. MM looked furious. Frenchie looked exhausted. Kimiko remained unreadable. Hughie looked like someone had just told him the world was ending. They all hated him. Every single one of them. So I buried every ounce of relief threatening to show itself on my face. I swallowed it down before anyone could notice. I refused to let a smile betray me.

Still…

My father caught something.

He shot me a puzzled glance that lingered just a little too long.

“So what? You missed Soldier Boy or something?”

I lowered my eyes, pretending his question didn’t bother me nearly as much as it did. I ignored the remark completely, hoping the silence would kill the conversation before it had the chance to grow teeth. Then I stood up and walked away from everyone else. Suddenly the room felt too small. Too hot. Too crowded. His question wrapped itself around my throat like a noose. I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone could see straight through me. That if I stayed another minute, they’d read every stupid thought I’d spent the last two years trying to bury. I needed air. I needed distance. I needed to get away before my face betrayed me.

“That’s what I thought.”

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned back toward him.

My eyes met my father’s, colder than I intended, silently waiting for him to finish what he’d started.

“My girl fell for big bad Soldier Boy.”

For a split second my heart stopped.

I forced myself to look offended.

Confused.

Almost insulted by the accusation.

As though the very idea sounded ridiculous.

But it wasn’t ridiculous.

It was true.

“I didn’t fall for Soldier Boy.”

The lie tasted bitter the second it left my mouth.

I wasn’t even convinced by my own answer.

Still, I kept my expression perfectly neutral. I refused to let him see the panic clawing at the inside of my chest. I refused to let anyone else see it either.

I could already feel MM staring at me.

I didn’t even have to look.

His gaze burned against my skin anyway.

That was exactly why all of this was so completely insane. Ben wasn’t a good man. He’d hurt people. Killed people. Destroyed families without giving them a second thought. He wasn’t the kind of man you were supposed to fall in love with. He wasn’t supposed to be anybody’s happy ending. Least of all mine. None of this made sense. None of it fit with the person I wanted to believe I was.

And yet…

Part of me wanted to defend him.

To tell them they hadn’t seen the same man I had.

To tell them there had been moments when he’d looked tired instead of dangerous.

Moments when he’d laughed.

Moments when he’d looked… human.

But I said nothing.

Because defending him would’ve confirmed everything my father was accusing me of.

And that was the last thing I wanted. “Yeah, right.”

He wasn’t convinced. Not even a little.

“You think I didn’t see the way you looked at him? Like he wasn’t a complete fucking idiot?”

Every word that came out of his mouth made me feel smaller. More ridiculous. Coming from my father, it sounded so painfully obvious that I wondered if everyone else had noticed it too. Had they all watched me make a fool of myself while I thought I was hiding it so well? Had they all seen the way my eyes lingered on Ben whenever he walked into a room? The way I’d unconsciously looked for him before anyone else?

I felt like a child who’d been caught red-handed.

“He’s an asshole.”

I hated the way he looked at me.

Like I was naive.

Like I’d invented a version of Soldier Boy that had never existed.

Like I was too stupid to understand who he really was.

“So are you. Doesn’t mean you deserve to die.”

The words left my mouth before I had time to stop them.

Silence.

I watched his expression harden almost instantly.

His eyes sharpened into something cold enough to cut through steel. If he’d been able to kill me with a look alone, I probably would’ve dropped dead where I stood. Heat rushed into my cheeks, not because I regretted saying it, but because I knew exactly how far I’d just pushed him.

He took one slow step toward me.

Then another.

Until he was standing close enough that I almost had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

He looked down at me with something dangerously close to disgust.

“What d’you think, eh? That your innocent little act’s gonna soften him up? That somehow you’re different?” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “He doesn’t give a flying fuck about you. Hell, I’m not even sure he remembers your bloody name.”

The words hit harder than I wanted to admit.

Because they sounded true.

Painfully true.

He was right.

Cruel.

Unnecessarily cruel.

But right.

What reason would Ben have to remember me?

We’d spent a few weeks together.

A few conversations.

A few laughs that probably meant far more to me than they ever had to him.

Then we’d betrayed him.

I’d betrayed him, too, whether I’d wanted to or not. Why would he remember William Butcher’s daughter? Why would he waste even a second thinking about me after everything that had happened?

My chest tightened.

For one brief moment, I wanted to believe my father was wrong.

I wanted to believe Ben had paused because he’d recognized me.

Because that tear had meant something.

Because I’d meant something. But wishing didn’t make it true. I was hurt. Deeply. The kind of hurt that settled quietly inside you instead of exploding all at once.

Still…

I’d never been the type to let anyone see it.

Especially not my father.

Especially not now.

So I smiled.

A wide smile.

Fake enough that even I almost believed it.

Then I looked him straight in the eye.

“I don’t give a shit about Soldier Boy. He’s an asshole. Let him die.”

The lie felt rotten.

It scraped against my throat on the way out. Every single word tasted worse than the last.

I was lying.

I knew it.

My father knew it.

Hell, judging by the way MM glanced between us, maybe everyone else knew it too.

The crooked smirk creeping onto my father’s face said more than words ever could. There wasn’t an ounce of belief behind his eyes. If anything, he looked entertained. Watching me struggle to keep my composure amused him. Watching me desperately cling to a lie so transparent it was almost embarrassing amused him even more.

He looked like he’d already won.

Like he’d figured me out long before I’d figured myself out.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of saying anything else.

Before another sharp remark could leave his mouth, I turned around and walked away as fast as I could without making it look like I was running. Every step put a little more distance between us, but none between me and the thoughts clawing at my head. My own words echoed over and over until they made me feel sick.

Let him die.

I didn’t mean them.

Not a single one.

The thought of saying them aloud made my stomach twist.

It felt like I’d betrayed him all over again.

But my father was right.

He probably didn’t even remember my name.

And he almost certainly didn’t spare me the same foolish, impossible attention I’d spent two years giving him.

—————————

We were drowning in adrenaline. The pressure had every one of us wound tight, our nerves stretched to the breaking point. Truth be told, I’d already been tense before we even got here, and the same went for my dad. The little argument we’d had earlier still lingered in the air between us. I ignored him. He shot daggers at me every chance he got.

We weren’t the only ones on edge.

Hughie and Annie were arguing over who should head upstairs first. Frenchie’s leg was bouncing frantically. Kimiko was chewing at her nails. Then there was MM, who looked fairly composed, probably because he was better at hiding it than the rest of us.

After all, I found the situation stressful too. None of this had been part of the plan. We were supposed to make our way into an abandoned building because Frenchie wanted to retrieve… I didn’t even know what. Something that would help improve the virus and make sure it could kill Homelander. That was our one and only objective. Exterminate Homelander.

Except somehow, I had no idea how, someone must’ve tipped him off about our rendezvous point because The Deep and Black Noir were here too.

Only my dad and I were left in the main room.

“Go hide over there.”

I shook my head sharply. I hated being treated like some helpless little kid who couldn’t handle or face anything. Especially right now. We’d just had a fight, and I could feel the way he was looking at me. He thought I was childish. Stupid. He was telling me to hide because he wanted to protect me, but all I could feel was that he was treating me like a child.

I hated feeling infantilized.

“No. I’m staying with you.”

My answer earned me a dark glare. Instead of making me want to listen and hide, it only made me want to piss him off even more. I think what he’d said to me earlier made me want to push him over the edge. I loved pushing my dad’s buttons, but after what he’d told me earlier… it felt necessary. I wanted to get under his skin.

It was probably reckless of me, considering who my father was.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

I shrugged.

“But I am.”

At first he wasn’t fully facing me, but this time he turned until he was standing right in front of me. His hands gripped my shoulders firmly, giving me a slight shake as though he were trying to wake me up.

Or knock some sense into me.

“What’s your plan, kiddo? Get yourself killed?”

There was a genuine question in his eyes as they locked onto mine.

“Running around with guys like Soldier Boy and—”

He paused.

“And guys like you?”

He stared at me for a second before giving a slow nod. His fingers slid up to my cheek in an unusually gentle gesture. My dad was never affectionate.

Not even when I’d found out about his cancer. He’d just smiled at me and told me I’d make it through because I was just as strong as he was. That wasn’t true. I guess he liked telling himself that to justify all the shitty situations I’d been forced to survive.

“I never wanted to drag you into all this, you understand? I’m sorry, kiddo. You know I love you, right?”

I had nothing to say. I almost felt guilty for being angry at him earlier. Because for once, my dad had traded his usual sarcasm for a sincerity so unsettling it caught me completely off guard. A sincerity that made me nod.

He smiled before tilting his head to the side with a defeated look.

“So please… go hide.”

I didn’t argue this time. I slipped out of his grasp and hurried toward the spot he’d told me to go.

But I froze.

“Butcher. Miss me?”

His voice sounded different from the one I’d heard on TV. It made me recognize him even more.

And hearing it stirred something inside me. I hadn’t realized it when we’d trapped him with the virus because I hadn’t really seen him except through the window of that room where he’d been lying there, dying.

I realized just how much I’d missed that voice.

Missed it so much that I ignored my dad. I stayed hidden in the corner, watching the scene unfold. I could see him. His back was to me. Still wearing that dark green suit with his signature shield strapped to his arm. He walked with that almost arrogant stride. At the very least, he was confident. His voice certainly was.

My dad glanced in my direction, and I saw the disappointment in his eyes. A disappointment he quickly buried because Ben hadn’t noticed me. And we both knew Soldier Boy wasn’t on our side anymore. If he saw me, I probably wouldn’t make it out alive.

I wanted to believe otherwise.

But there was always that doubt.

“So tell me… you really that attached to living? You allergic to dying?”

My dad sounded confident too. Too confident. I didn’t like it. It felt misplaced. He was standing face-to-face with Soldier Boy. I didn’t doubt my dad, but Ben was terrifying. He could survive nuclear blasts. He was immortal.

He shouldn’t have sounded that confident.

“About as attached to life as you are to Homelander’s asshole. Fucking pathetic.”

My dad never lost that smile.

I was far too focused on Ben’s presence to really analyze his reaction.

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed through the entire building above us. I tensed instantly. Slowly, I lifted my eyes toward the ceiling.

And I saw it.

The crack.

The first person I looked for was my dad. Panic twisted in my chest. He was already staring straight at me. He immediately started moving toward me, and that was enough to catch Ben’s attention. I watched him slowly turn in my direction, and the second our eyes met, my entire body felt unbearably heavy.

The ceiling was about to collapse on top of me, yet I was completely consumed by Soldier Boy and the way he was looking at me.

My eyes kept darting between my dad and Ben as the first chunks of the ceiling crashed onto the floor. I couldn’t move. I was surrounded by falling slabs of concrete. I wasn’t the only one.

The three of us were trapped.

I didn’t even have time to understand what was happening before the ceiling finally gave way.

The only thing I managed to see was my dad disappearing beneath the rubble.

Then everything went black.

—————————

The smell of cigarette smoke pulled me out of my sleep. I was used to the smell of smoke. But I wasn’t used to being woken up by it. I didn’t smoke, and my dad never smoked in my room.

I shifted slightly, annoyed by the smell filling my nose, when it suddenly hit me.

I wasn’t in my bed. The sheets weren’t mine. I could tell by the way they felt against my skin, but also by the scent of the pillow my head was resting on.

I even surprised myself by recognizing the smell.

Ben.

I lifted my head too quickly, opening my eyes, only to immediately regret moving so fast. I squeezed my eyes shut again as pain shot through my head from the sudden movement. There was a constant ringing buzzing inside my skull.

“You should take it easy.”

I opened my eyes again the second his voice echoed through the room. This time, actually able to look around me, I realized I wasn’t in my bedroom.

The room was huge. Almost luxurious. I was lying in a king-size bed covered in dark green sheets. That color dominated the room, highlighted by shades of brown and white. As I looked around at the walls, I noticed paintings, magazine covers and framed articles. There were medals too, and all kinds of awards I couldn’t even recognize. Then my eyes lingered on the doorway.

Well… not really on the doorway.

On the man standing in it.

He was leaning almost carelessly against the frame, staring down at me. I watched him raise two fingers to his lips to pull the cigarette resting there away.

He was the one who’d woken me up.

And judging by the room I was in…

I was definitely at his place.

Still, for a situation that normally would’ve filled my stomach with that strange fluttering feeling…

I found myself reacting in the only reasonable way.

I was scared.

Scared of why I was here, but more than anything, scared of what exactly he planned to do with me.

“Why am I here?”

I wanted to sound intimidating, completely disconnected from the fear twisting my stomach into knots. But my voice stayed weak.

Hesitant.

He pushed himself away from the doorway and walked over to a small table tucked away in the corner of the room. An ashtray sat there. He crushed his cigarette inside it before turning back toward me.

“The ceiling collapsed.”

He said it as though that explained everything.

It didn’t explain anything. I already knew that.

“Why am I here?”

He almost hesitated before answering. Like the words cost him something.

“I brought you here.”

I repeated that sentence over and over in my head before I could even try to understand any of it.

I frowned.

“Why did you do that?”

He folded his arms across his chest, trying to look stern, but I couldn’t stop myself from hoping I was talking to Ben. The one I’d spent hours with two years ago while we waited around for my dad’s orders.

“‘Cause I wasn’t about to let you die.”

The answer sounded painfully obvious coming from him.

It wasn’t obvious to me.

“Why?”

My question earned me a surprised laugh.

“Why?”

I felt like a stupid little kid all over again.

“You should’ve let me die.”

That would’ve made sense. If he hadn’t been standing right in front of me, I almost would’ve believed he’d been the one responsible for the ceiling collapsing.

Instead, he stared at me with a hard expression rather than an understanding one.

“I did what I had to do.”

That pulled a sarcastic laugh out of me.

“What you had to do was let the daughter of the guy who betrayed you and tried to kill you die.”

I watched his jaw tighten.

He didn’t look like he was about to say anything.

So I changed the subject, promising myself I’d come back to it another time.

“How’s my dad?”

He shrugged.

I didn’t think he was going to answer.

But what he said made my fingers tighten around the sheets.

“I don’t give a damn about your father, so I didn’t bother finding out whether he was dead or not.”

That didn’t reassure me much.

He noticed.

“I’d assume he isn’t.”

He was trying to be comforting.

At least…

I think he was.

I didn’t even know what I was supposed to think anymore. How was I supposed to think straight when I was sitting in front of the man I’d believed dead for two years…

Especially in his bed?

He’d just admitted he hadn’t cared enough to find out if my father had survived because he didn’t give a damn.

But he’d pulled me out.

Did that mean…

He didn’t not care?

“Thank you.”

He hadn’t been expecting that.

He straightened up, looking at me with obvious confusion.

As if people didn’t thank him very often.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Easy for him to say.

A lot harder for me.

The more I realized where I was, the more my mind spiraled.

Because it was Ben.

Ben was what made my head spin.

The thought that he’d brought me here after the ceiling had collapsed made my thoughts impossible to sort through.

He should’ve hated me.

I should’ve reminded him of my father.

He should’ve watched me disappear beneath the rubble.

But he didn’t.

And I desperately wanted to know why.

That wasn’t like him.

He wasn’t the kind of man who saved someone connected to the person who’d betrayed him.

He turned to leave, but just as he reached the doorway, he slowed down.

“You should take a shower. The bathroom’s on your right, and the towels are in the cabinet under the sink. I’ll see if I can find you something to wear.”

I listened carefully.

I’d always been convinced he was kinder, softer even, than most people ever gave him credit for.

Still…

I couldn’t help being surprised by the way he was treating me.

I clearly didn’t deserve all this effort.

Least of all from him.

He finally left the room, and only then did I realize I was breathing again.

Ever since he’d walked in, I’d forgotten how.

He stole the air from my lungs.

Just as my heart finally settled back into a normal rhythm.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet.

I grimaced the second I put weight on my leg. My whole body was still numb, and everything hurt.

It hurt enough that I ended up sitting back down on the bed, wondering whether I’d even make it all the way to the bathroom.

But I was thinking beyond a shower too.

How was I supposed to get back home?

If my dad was still in one piece, he was probably losing his fucking mind by now.

There wasn’t a phone on the bedside table.

And honestly, even if I explained the situation to him, I doubted it’d reassure him.

Quite the opposite.

The idea that I was with Soldier Boy definitely wasn’t going to make my father feel any better.

Especially if he knew I was in his apartment, probably somewhere not too far from Vought and everything else.

He couldn’t find out.

Especially not after our last conversation.

I tried standing again when Ben walked back into the room carrying a pile of clothes in his arms.

I held my breath all over again.

He watched me for a second.

He set the clothes down on the table beside the ashtray before walking over to help me back onto my feet.

He did it silently.

I immediately protested.

“I can walk. I just need a little—”

“Sorry, but you don’t even look like you can lift your arm properly, doll.”

I shivered at the nickname and let myself lean against him so I could move forward.

He guided me slowly toward the bathroom.

Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly capable of moving fast.

The fact that I could even put one foot in front of the other was already impressive enough.

“I asked Firecracker for some clothes, but they’re not exactly…”

He paused, clearly searching for the right word.

“…covering.”

A small laugh escaped me.

“That’s okay. Thank you.”

It wasn’t until several seconds after I’d answered that he finally let go of me.

It almost seemed like he didn’t trust himself to leave me on my own anymore.

I hated when people helped me.

I hated being treated like I couldn’t do anything by myself.

But this was different.

I liked the attention. I liked the way he took care of me. I liked the way he looked at me. It almost felt like he actually cared. It was comforting.

“You sure you can…”

He stared at the shower as though it were some mountain I had to climb.

I caught myself smiling at his expression.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. Worst case, I’ll scream and you’ll come help me.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, but he still looked unconvinced.

I could see it in the way he carried himself. His eyes lingered on me just a little too long. It made swallowing suddenly feel much harder than it should have. He noticed. He paused. Then, finally, he left me alone in the bathroom.

I almost regretted that he hadn’t stayed.

That was my whole problem.

—————————

The water had washed every trace of dirt from my body. I watched the dust and dried blood rinse away, followed by the gray powder from the collapsed ceiling that had settled into my hair. It felt good to have the hot water against my skin. It was comforting. Just like the scent of my skin after using Ben’s shower products. I smelled like him. That was just as comforting as the warmth of the shower itself.

I hated myself for feeling relieved when I couldn’t find any women’s body wash. It was a man’s bathroom. When I stepped out, I only saw one toothbrush, just like there was only one bottle of men’s cologne. Besides that, the room was far too empty for a woman to live here. It was just as luxurious as the bedroom, but everything was clean and minimalist.

I shouldn’t have been so happy that he lived here alone.

And yet…

I was.

I think the simple thought of him being with someone else made my throat tighten.

I stepped out of the bathroom to grab the clothes he’d brought me. I pulled them on while silently cursing Firecracker more than once. I was almost embarrassed to put on the panties she’d lent me. They were so tiny they barely felt like I was wearing anything at all. Then realizing that Ben knew exactly what I had on made heat rush straight to my cheeks.

Whatever.

Thankfully, she’d at least given me a pair of short jogging shorts. I wasn’t exactly covered, but I was comfortable enough. Well… comfortable, but ridiculous. If my dad ever saw me wearing a T-shirt that said “Go Firecracker!” he’d openly make fun of me. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be able to blame him.

I almost hesitated before leaving the bedroom.

I was scared he’d be gone.

I was just as scared he’d stayed.

I was simply scared.

But it was an oddly pleasant kind of fear.

Because he was the reason for it.

I finally forced myself to step through the doorway and take a better look around the apartment.

I found myself standing in the living room. It was huge, decorated in the same colors as his bedroom. Everywhere I looked there were more objects with his face on them and posters from his movies. The entire room revolved around his image, yet somehow it still felt empty. Impersonal. Maybe it was bold of me to think that, but I had the strange feeling none of it really belonged to him. I would’ve bet Homelander had decorated the place for him. The only thing I genuinely liked was the enormous floor-to-ceiling window covering nearly the entire wall. You could see the city stretching endlessly below, every light reflecting against the darkness. Especially now that it was late. Night had already fallen.

It was even more beautiful.

He was there too, standing in front of the window, watching the view. I walked toward him slowly, almost like I was afraid I’d startle him. Then again, I wasn’t exactly capable of moving quickly.

He didn’t turn toward me. I stopped beside him and looked out over the city.

It was hypnotizing.

“So… you didn’t drown.”

His comment pulled a smile from me.

“No. But I came close a couple of times.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the faint smile tugging at his lips, and I liked the feeling it gave me far more than I should have. It was rare for a simple smile to affect me that much.

“What time is it?”

I guessed it had to be sometime after ten, but it was hard to tell.

He finally tore his eyes away from the skyline and looked at me.

“Around midnight. You should get some sleep. I’ll take you back to your father tomorrow.”

There was a bitterness in his voice the moment he mentioned my dad. I didn’t want to assume too much, but I would’ve bet he still held a grudge against him.

Honestly…

I thought it was justified.

“Are you planning on killing him?”

I could’ve asked a thousand different questions. I could’ve asked for a phone to let my dad know I was alive, or any number of other things.

Instead…

That was the one that came out.

I guess I had so many questions running through my mind that I didn’t really think about the first one I asked.

His entire body stiffened.

His gaze drifted away.

“No. Not this time, anyway.”

He sounded sincere.

That answer was enough for me.

I didn’t blame him for hating my father. I definitely didn’t want him to kill him, but the way he answered made it sound like he still hadn’t fully decided what he wanted.

For now…

That was enough.

“I never agreed with what he did.”

His jaw tightened.

I didn’t need to explain what I meant.

He understood immediately.

I couldn’t tell whether he was touched or irritated.

Either way…

He definitely wasn’t indifferent.

“I know.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He noticed, and I felt him gathering his thoughts before speaking again. He almost looked hesitant to say it.

“At first I thought you were part of the plan. But when I saw you during the virus thing… I understood.”

I knew he was talking about the tear I’d let fall.

I hadn’t been sure he’d noticed it.

Knowing that he had strangely reassured me.

“You were always my favorite out of that whole bunch of assholes anyway.”

The comment made me laugh quietly, but it affected me far more than it should have.

I liked hearing that.

I’d never imagined those words coming out of his mouth.

He’d never seemed like the type to express anything. He always looked lonely. Hard. Cold. Sure, I knew now those walls were there to protect himself, but that was still the image he gave off.

He was different. Softer. He didn’t look like a soldier anymore. He looked like a man. “Is that why you saved me?”

I didn’t really understand why he liked me, but I understood that it was why he hadn’t let me die. That was what I wanted to know.

He nodded.

“I told you not to let it go to your head, doll.”

I looked back at him. His eyes were fixed on the buildings, the city lights reflecting in them in a way that looked almost unreal. He was so beautiful it almost felt inappropriate to stare.

“You’ve changed.”

I tilted my head, confused.

“You can tell you’ve grown up.”

“I don’t look like a kid anymore?”

I said it jokingly, but there was truth behind the question. It was almost as if I was trying to find out whether he still saw me as a child.

Did he still see me as Butcher’s little girl?

“You never looked like a kid.”

My heart skipped a beat at the low, gravelly tone of his voice.

“You just seem wiser now.”

He paused.

“Still naïve, though.”

I stiffened at the word.

“You think I’m naïve?”

He looked at me and nodded.

“I am not.”

The sulky tone of my reply earned a rough laugh from him, one that forced me to take a slow breath just to steady myself again.

I hated the effect he had on me.

He really made me feel naïve.

“You are.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

He let out a deep breath before lowering his eyes to the floor, thoughtful. Then he looked back at me. My legs suddenly felt even less steady. Not because of the pain. Not because of the collapse.

“Because you look at me like I’m not a weapon.”

His answer caught me completely off guard.

He was right.

I just hadn’t thought he’d noticed.

“You’re not.”

He gave me a smile that looked almost sad.

“Then you really are naïve.”

I opened my mouth before replying, slightly offended.

“I’m not.”

He laughed again, and it irritated me that every single time it affected me the exact same way.

Pathetic.

“You’re stubborn.”

I pretended to think about it before nodding.

“That part’s true.”

He pressed his lips together, amused.

Maybe I’d changed.

But he hadn’t.

Even if I wasn’t used to seeing him this gentle, I could still tell he was the same man.

For a second I was back two years earlier, laughing with him on my dad’s old couch while I tried teaching him how to use my phone.

I realized I’d missed that more than I’d ever admitted to myself.

“I’m glad you didn’t die.”

I didn’t think I’d ever sounded so sincere.

It was something I’d thought countless times but had never dared say out loud.

Because if I’d said it to the rest of the group…

They probably wouldn’t have taken it very well.

His expression softened.

Then turned sad.

“That’s exactly the problem.”

His answer surprised me.

He let out a slow breath as though I was doing something obvious…

And disappointing.

Yet somehow, I knew he wasn’t disappointed in me.

“You shouldn’t be glad.”

I didn’t really understand why he was reacting like that.

“But I am.”

“You shouldn’t even care.”

There was frustration in his voice now.

“But I do.”

It wasn’t until the words left my mouth that I realized how close we’d gotten.

Closer than before.

Our voices had risen, and without realizing it I’d stepped toward him.

Close enough to feel his warm breath against my skin.

Close enough for his scent to fill my lungs.

Close enough that I had to tilt my head back just to look him in the eyes.

“You shouldn’t.”

His pupils burned as they held mine.

He looked at me in a way that suddenly made me aware of parts of my own body I’d been trying to ignore.

My heart was beating too fast.

Far too fast.

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

The certainty in his voice was absolute.

I couldn’t tell whether he meant that not wanting him dead was wrong. Or whether it ran much deeper than that.

I wondered if he’d realized just how much he mattered to me.

And if that was what he thought was wrong. My eyes drifted down to his lips with an intensity I couldn’t hide. I knew he saw it. I knew this wasn’t the time. I still couldn’t stop myself.

“I don’t give a damn if it’s wrong.”

I lifted my eyes back to his.

His expression was impossible to read. The way he looked at me should’ve made me feel embarrassed. Maybe it would have if I hadn’t already been so hopelessly turned on.

“You can’t look at me like that, doll.” Doll. That nickname only tightened the knot low in my stomach.

“How am I looking at you?” I almost whispered it. That wasn’t like me. I was very obviously trying to tempt him. Normally I was the type to hide what I felt.

To stay quiet.

But I couldn’t anymore. Because he’d saved me. Because he cared about me. Because I was starting to think He wanted this too. “You can’t look at me like you want me to take your clothes off.”

Hearing him say it out loud in such a calm voice drove me even crazier than before. His voice drove me crazy. So crazy that I found myself wondering what other sounds he could make.

“I want you to take my clothes off.”

His jaw tightened. I couldn’t even believe I’d just said that. I was completely running on impulse now.

It looked like he had to force himself to answer.

“It’s wrong. I’m older. I’m a Supe. Your father hates me.”

Every reason he gave only made me want him more. He thought he was talking me down, but it only made everything worse. I stepped even closer, resting my hand against his chest. My fingertips slowly traced the emblem on his suit, and I watched him tense beneath my touch.

“You’re hurt.”

I shook my head.

“I’m okay.”

He let out a slow breath.

“This is torture. You can’t do this to me.”

I lifted my eyes to meet his.

“Do you want me?”

A laugh, almost desperate, escaped him.

“Is that a trap?”

“Do you?”

This time I was serious. He looked at me as though the answer was obvious.

“Obviously, doll.”

The word shot through me like electricity.

My hand slid up to his jaw, my fingers slowly brushing through his beard as though it were the most natural thing in the world. I’d always wanted to do that.

“Then please, Ben. Waiting this long was hard enough already.”

I’d barely finished speaking before his hands grabbed my waist and his mouth crashed against mine. It was even better than I’d imagined. I’d dreamed about it.

It was better than my dreams.

Because this was real.

His hands slipped beneath my thighs as he lifted me effortlessly off the ground. He kissed me like he’d wanted this for years. There was hunger in it, impatience, desperation…

But tenderness too.

I could’ve gotten lost in that kiss alone.

But I wanted more.

He started walking. I had no idea where he was taking me. My eyes stayed closed, and I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else.

I only opened them again when my back met the mattress.

He’d carried me all the way to the bed.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, and I could already feel how soaked my panties were.

I was almost embarrassed by it.

He was still standing, and for a second I wondered if he was hesitating.

Then I realized he was simply taking off his suit.

I didn’t take my eyes off him for a single second.

I followed his hands as they slowly undid the top of his uniform. Then I watched the fabric slide down, revealing his chest. There were scars. Somehow, they only made me want him even more. He was built so perfectly it was almost unfair. Broad shoulders, sculpted muscles, veins standing out along his arms.

I felt weak.

“You like what you see, doll?” I nodded silently, almost dreading the moment he’d take off his pants.

He did it much faster than I’d expected. He stood there in nothing but his boxer briefs, and I could already see he was hard.

Fuck. This was completely insane. He finally climbed onto the bed, and beneath him I felt like I’d disappeared completely. The warmth radiating from his body made it impossible to think straight. His hips rolled forward ever so slightly, making me swallow hard. His forearms came to rest on either side of my head. He looked down at me with unmistakable desire, his gaze drinking me in.

He leaned close to my ear, his warm breath ghosting over my skin as he spoke.

“You sure you want me to take your clothes off, sweetheart?”

I nodded so quickly it was almost pathetic. It was all I wanted. All I could think about. Him. I felt him smile against my neck before his lips found the sensitive skin there, pressing slow kisses along it. The warmth and softness of his mouth felt so good it was almost cruel.

“I keep wondering what you look like underneath those little clothes. Knowing you were wearing that… that’s been torture, doll.”

A quiet moan slipped from my throat, and a low growl answered it. I barely caught the almost inaudible, “Fuck.”

His hands settled on my hips before slowly sliding upward, taking the T-shirt with them. His palms were warm, his hands rough. The feeling was completely new, yet I’d imagined it so many times that it almost felt familiar.

“Your skin’s so soft, baby…”

Every time he spoke it only made everything worse. My hands had already found the back of his neck, while my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. It was difficult to hold them there.

I was shaking.

He was the reason I was shaking.

He pulled the shirt over my head with practiced ease before looking down at me like a predator studying its prey. Something flickered in his eyes. It almost looked like hesitation.

“You’re too damn soft for me, doll. You can’t really want this.”

I shook my head.

“I do. I want you.”

There wasn’t a trace of hesitation left in me. The two years I’d spent believing he was dead had left me with nothing but regret. I’d promised myself I’d never let another chance pass me by.

Never another chance with him.

So I was certain.

“Touch me, Ben.”

He leaned down a little closer. “You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” The more he spoke, the more I became exactly that. He started kissing my neck, then my collarbones, then lower still, between my breasts, just beneath them, then above my navel… and lower.

The sensation was almost suffocating.

I let my head fall back and closed my eyes as his fingers stopped at the waistband of my shorts. He toyed with the elastic in a way that was so tempting I felt like I could come from that alone. Then he slowly slid them down, leaving my panties exactly where they were. I could feel him looking. Just knowing he was made goosebumps spread over my skin.

His fingers came to rest against the fabric.

“I want you to look at me, doll. I want you looking me straight in the eyes while I eat you out.”

Fuck.

I opened my eyes, but holding his gaze was almost impossible. He was there between my thighs, his green eyes never leaving mine as his lips slowly brushed the inside of my thigh.

“You don’t have to feel like you need to—”

“Oh, doll… you’d be doing me a favor by letting me taste you like this.”

His answer stole every remaining word from me. His fingers carefully slipped my panties away, and for the first time in my life I felt completely indifferent about being naked in front of someone.

“Fuck… you’re so wet for me, baby…”

I was.

And it only got worse the moment his lips met my skin. He was finally where I’d wanted him most, and it felt like pure relief. He was good at it. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d probably done this thousands of times, and I couldn’t decide whether I was jealous or grateful. I didn’t know if it felt this incredible because it was him or because he was just that skilled, but God… it felt so good. His tongue settled into an uneven rhythm. It was unbearable in the best possible way. I threw my head back, and then he pressed more firmly against my clit.

“I told you to look at me…” I forced myself to look back at him. It was impossible. Especially when he curled his fingers and moved even faster. His free hand slid up to my chest, teasing my nipple. I couldn’t hold on anymore. It was impossible. I could feel it building low in my stomach before it spread through my entire body. It felt like I was about to explode. Then, finally, my orgasm crashed over me in the most delicious way. He didn’t stop immediately. He kept kissing me gently, tenderly. It was perfect. I started wondering if I wasn’t imagining all of it.

He climbed back up and kissed me this time, right on the lips. It brought me back to reality, and I slowly regained some sense after my mind had been completely clouded by the orgasm from only a few seconds ago.

“You taste so sweet, doll.”

Fuck.

It just kept getting worse.

My breathing, which had only just calmed down, picked right back up.

I could feel his erection pressed against my thigh. I could feel his hands against my skin.

It was unbearable.

My fingers brushed over his cock. I watched him tense the exact second I touched it. A guttural sound escaped him, encouraging me to keep going. I could already tell it was long and thick. I’d thought it was impossible to want him any more than I already did.

I was wrong.

“You sure?”

My fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, and I felt his breathing grow heavier. Seeing him like that reassured me. It made me feel like I wasn’t the only one turning completely pathetic at the other’s touch.

“I’m sure.”

He didn’t wait any longer. He pulled off his boxer briefs, gave himself a quick stroke before positioning himself exactly where I’d been waiting for him. I could finally see him, and for a second it almost discouraged me. It would’ve discouraged me if I hadn’t wanted him so badly to take me right then and there. He was big. I wasn’t even sure it would fit.

I didn’t say anything, but I felt him stop right at my entrance.

He leaned close to my ear, and the anticipation was almost painful. Wanting him this much actually hurt.

“Don’t worry, doll. It’s gonna fit. Take it easy.”

I felt him slowly ease inside me. It was gentle. Gentle enough that I could adjust. He took his time, making sure he didn’t hurt me, and somehow that was almost more overwhelming than the feeling of finally having him inside me. A soft moan escaped my lips.

“I’m gonna make you feel so damn good you won’t even remember your own name, sweetheart.”

His voice was breathless, low and rough. I had no idea how I was still holding together when just hearing it was enough to make me feel like I was falling apart.

When he finally reached the deepest part of me, my hands found his back as though I were holding on for dear life.

Maybe I was.

He started moving a little faster. His rhythm stayed uneven. Every thrust made me feel weaker. My legs shook, my hands clung to him helplessly, and I couldn’t even control the sounds spilling from my mouth anymore. I wasn’t controlling anything.

All I could feel was him losing control just as much. He grew faster, rougher, more desperate. He whispered praises about how well I took his cock and how unbelievably tight I was for him. Every time his voice reached my ears, every single time, I found myself closer to the edge. Especially because of the way he said it. His voice had become pleading. Desperate.

I was making him desperate.

That thought alone made my eyes roll back.

His hand found my clit, and within minutes I was milking his cock. He kept thrusting through my orgasm for a little while before finally following me over the edge. I heard him moan against my ear, and the weight of his body on top of mine completely shattered what little composure I had left.

I’d slept with Ben.

A week ago, I thought he was dead. Two days ago, I thought we’d killed him all over again. And now I was in his bed. He was lying on top of me, breathing hard while his cum slowly leaked out of me.

He rolled onto his back beside me before pulling me against him, making me rest my head on his chest. He was still breathing heavily, and I could still feel him everywhere.

His fingers disappeared into my hair while mine gently traced one of the scars across his chest.

I could’ve stayed here forever.

“You sound even prettier than I imagined, doll.”

That pulled a smile from me. I was slowly coming back to my senses, and my cheeks immediately flushed the second I remembered everything we’d just done. If anyone ever brought up the way I’d been desperately begging him, I’d deny every second of it.

“I already knew you’d be that good.” His laugh filled my stomach with butterflies.

I didn’t have words to describe the overwhelming sense of peace washing over me.

“If you keep saying things like that, I’m gonna keep you here forever. You could be my own personal doll.”

The thought sent a shiver through me.

“I already am.”

He went completely still. Then he leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

“Then stay forever.”

I lifted my head to look at him. His eyes were already locked onto mine. He still wore that softened expression. It didn’t even feel real.

“I’ll stay if that’s what you want.”

I meant every word.

I’d spent two years trying to mourn him, only to arrive at one unavoidable conclusion.

I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

If he wanted me to stay…

I’d stay.

I couldn’t get rid of these feelings anyway.

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear anything else.

“Then I’m staying.”

“You’re staying.”

Damn…

It was twisted.

But whatever.

Dean Winchester

Fanfiction

Echo

chapter 1

The noise was deafening.

It was one of those nights when you never stopped moving. We darted from table to table as though our lives depended on it, constantly on alert, never given a second to breathe. It was well past eleven, and most of the customers were already drunk enough to become loud, demanding, and increasingly unbearable.

My dress clung to my skin, and my palms were slick with sweat. I’d always been sure-footed, but tonight every tray felt like it was on the verge of slipping from my hands, threatening to send glasses full of liquor crashing to the floor.

I moved on instinct, carried by the relentless pace of the shift. Every movement was quick and precise despite the heat and the adrenaline surging through my veins. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, allowing myself one deep breath before throwing myself back into the frenzy I’d been trapped in since the moment I’d walked through the door.

“Deva, can you cover the bar for ten minutes?” Clary called over the noise. “I need a smoke.”

I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the request, but I headed behind the counter anyway, already preparing myself to pour drinks for a lot longer than ten minutes. Clary’s cigarette breaks never lasted as long as she claimed they would.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. I liked feeling useful too much for that.

I glanced at the clock, silently willing it to hurry.

Midnight.

That was when my night truly began.

I’d spent the entire day counting down the hours, watching every minute crawl by as though my life depended on it.

Maybe, in a way, it did.

The clock read 11:45 p.m., taunting me with almost deliberate cruelty.

Fifteen minutes.

Just fifteen more minutes.

I slipped back into autopilot, pouring drinks without really thinking about what I was serving. At one point, a girl complained that I’d handed her a lager instead of the dark beer she’d ordered.

Honestly, I couldn’t have cared less.

Her beer was the last thing on my mind.

“A beer, angel.”

It wasn’t the first time a slightly drunk customer had greeted me with one of those ridiculous pet names. It came with the job. I was nineteen, I worked in a bar, and the dress I wore as part of the uniform seemed to encourage far too many men to mistake basic politeness for an invitation.

But something about the way he’d said it irritated me far more than it should have.

I shoved the beer across the counter a little harder than necessary.

“Does it cost extra to say ‘please’?”

Only then did I bother looking up at the man who’d managed to get under my skin in the space of five seconds.

The annoyance evaporated almost instantly.

He was unfairly handsome.

His green eyes were mesmerizing, and his smile… his smile was almost blinding. Every tooth was perfectly straight. I hated how jealous that made me.

He looked older than I was.

Twenty-four, maybe.

There was a confidence about him that made him seem even older, as though he’d already lived more life than most people ever would.

I wondered what he’d think if he knew I was only nineteen.

He’d probably bolt.

Especially if I admitted I was just as inexperienced as my age suggested.

He didn’t know it yet, but I was probably his worst nightmare.

Still, I wasn’t about to tell him that.

For some reason, I wanted to see what he’d do first.

He intrigued me almost as much as he annoyed me.

And that irritated me even more.

He took the beer from my hand, looking faintly offended.

“Thanks.”

He twisted off the cap and took a long drink, as though he’d been looking forward to that first sip all day. I caught myself watching him, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to look away.

He still annoyed me.

Only now, it was because of me.

I hated how easily a guy like him could get under my skin. Judging by the way he carried himself, he was exactly the type who flirted with waitresses in every bar he walked into. The kind of man who knew perfectly well the effect he had on women. Normally, he was exactly the sort of guy I had to stop myself from smacking during a shift.

The kind of guy who always got what he wanted.

Unfortunately for him, I hated giving men like that the satisfaction.

Standing just behind him was another guy who was just as striking.

Tall, dark-haired, and effortlessly handsome.

“A beer too, please.”

He’d addressed me with an easy familiarity that would usually have earned him a sharp remark. Normally, I couldn’t stand strangers acting as though we’d known each other for years.

For some reason, it didn’t bother me coming from him.

There was an unmistakable kindness about him, something calm and genuine that put me at ease before he’d even smiled.

I didn’t know him.

But I liked him instantly.

Unlike the blond standing beside him.

I slid the beer across the counter.

“Thanks.”

His smile was warm and sincere.

The blond let out an exaggerated sigh before chuckling.

“I told you. She definitely prefers brunettes. You should make your move, Sammy.”

God, he was insufferable.

Maybe hate was too strong a word.

But I definitely hated that sentence.

Every single word of it.

I pretended not to hear him, focusing on another customer’s order while listening to every word that came out of his mouth anyway.

“Oh, come on, Dean,” the brunette sighed. “You’re impossible.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips despite myself.

He wasn’t wrong.

Impossible suited him perfectly.

“I’m just saying,” Dean went on with a mock pout. “She was a lot nicer to you than she was to me. I’m starting to feel offended.”

The thought that I might have actually bruised his ego pleased me far more than it should have.

I finally looked up.

“I don’t prefer brunettes.”

His grin widened.

“I prefer men with class.”

I let the words hang in the air for a heartbeat before finishing,

“And good manners.”

His eyes settled on me, their intensity enough to make my skin prickle.

I told myself I could hold his gaze.

I was wrong.

The second our eyes met, my heart stumbled in my chest.

I looked away first, suddenly fascinated by the bottles lined up behind the bar.

Beside him, Sam let out a low whistle.

“Ouch.”

Even if I was the one left flustered, my words had hit exactly where I’d intended.

My fingers tightened around the neck of a bottle as I went back to serving drinks, but my thoughts never strayed far from the two brothers.

For a few moments, it felt as though they were the only people in the room.

I caught Dean looking at me again.

The instant our eyes met, he opened his mouth, clearly about to say something.

Against my better judgment…

I found myself wanting to hear it.

That annoyed me more than anything.

Because ever since he’d walked into the bar, I’d been trying very hard to convince myself he wasn’t interesting at all.

“De—”

“Deva, you’re up.”

Clary appeared behind the bar before he could finish, cutting him off as she slipped into my place.

I blinked, my thoughts scattering.

She looked at me expectantly.

“Deva? It’s midnight.”

A grin spread across her face.

“Go.”

For a second, I found myself resenting Clary.

She was taking my place behind the bar.

She’d be the one serving him now.

And knowing Dean, he’d probably flirt with her the same way he’d flirted with me. For reasons I couldn’t begin to explain, the thought irritated me far more than it should have.

I turned away and made my way toward the small stage tucked away at the back of the bar. I switched on the sound system, forcing myself to focus on the cables instead of the nerves twisting in my stomach. My hands were shaking. So were my legs. It was ridiculous—I’d done this dozens of times before.

I picked up the microphone and stepped onto the stage.

“Good evening, everyone!”

My voice echoed through the room, and conversations gradually died away as people turned to face me.

He’d turned around too.

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. I couldn’t really see him beneath the lights, but somehow I knew he was watching.

“I hope you’re all ready tonight,” I said with a laugh, trying to hide my nerves. “Because my night’s only just getting started.”

I still felt awkward under everyone’s gaze, but my confidence grew when a familiar whistle rang out from the back of the room.

“Go on, Deva!”

I laughed as I recognized old Jimmy.

Most people found him intimidating.

I never had.

He usually stayed long after closing, keeping me company while I finished cleaning up. He’d lived enough lives for ten people, and every conversation with him turned into another incredible story.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” I called back. “You’re making me think I’m actually talented.”

The room burst into laughter.

Smiling, I started the music.

The opening chords of Creep by Radiohead drifted through the speakers, silencing the last of the laughter. Then I began to sing.

The bar fell completely silent.

No one spoke.

People simply nursed their drinks, listening.

Without realizing it, I found myself searching for the blond I’d met only minutes earlier.

Dean.

He was watching me just as intently as everyone else.

My voice wavered.

Only for the briefest moment.

No one else would have noticed.

No one except him.

One of his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, and a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

He’d noticed.

Worse…

He knew he was the reason.

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

I tore my gaze away out of pure pride and lost myself in the music again.

Everything else disappeared.

The crowd.

The bar.

The noise.

It was just me, the microphone, and the song.

I’d always loved Creep. The lyrics. The melody. The ache behind every word.

I’d spent my whole life feeling… different.

Like there was something wrong with me.

Like I didn’t quite belong anywhere.

That song understood what I’d never been able to put into words.

By the time I opened my eyes again, I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them.

The music faded, the last note lingering in the air before disappearing altogether.

I stood there, slightly out of breath, staring at the crowd as I waited for a reaction.

For one endless second…

Nothing.

Then the entire bar erupted into applause.

Cheers echoed through the room.

People whistled.

Someone shouted my name.

A genuine smile spread across my face.

“Thank you,” I murmured into the microphone before stepping down from the stage.

The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins as people continued clapping.

“That was incredible, Deva.”

Jimmy smiled at me, raising his glass in my direction as if proposing a toast.

“You should be proud of yourself.”

His words warmed me more than I cared to admit.

Before I could enjoy the moment any longer, Clary appeared beside me.

“You were amazing,” she said, beaming. “But… I need you to take over the bar again. You owe me one, remember? I’m covering your shift in two days.”

Just like that, I came crashing back to reality.

I was a waitress again.

I didn’t complain.

Deep down, she was right. She was always there whenever I needed her, and Friday was no exception. I was babysitting for the Millers that night, and thanks to Clary, I didn’t have to worry about finding someone to cover my shift.

I couldn’t let the Millers down anyway. They’d been trusting me with their kids for years. Their children were adorable, and they always insisted on paying me a little more than we’d agreed. I always left their house with more money than I expected.

I slipped back behind the bar, grabbing two bottles of beer and handing them over as though I’d been doing it my whole life. Customers kept calling out their orders, and I served them one after another without thinking. Before long, I found myself wondering if the last ten minutes had even happened.

It already felt like stepping onto that stage belonged to someone else.

Or maybe to another life.

“Oh, by the way…”

Clary leaned in close, her bag slung over one shoulder. She was ready to leave.

“The ridiculously hot blond sitting at the back, on the right.”

She discreetly pointed in his direction.

“He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Not once. I even heard him tell his brother he was impressed.”

She stepped back, and only then did I notice the faint smell of alcohol on her breath.

She’d definitely had a drink.

It took me a moment to process what she’d just said.

Impressed?

Dean?

I looked up instinctively.

Almost immediately, our eyes met across the room.

My pulse quickened.

“And if you’re feeling generous…” Clary added with a grin. “Set me up with the brunette.”

I laughed.

“You have a boyfriend.”

“So?” She shrugged. “Flirting keeps me young.”

Before I could answer, she was gone.

I watched the door swing shut behind her before turning back to the bar.

Back to him.

Without really thinking about it, I drifted toward the end of the counter where Dean was sitting. I kept myself busy drying glasses and opening bottles, pretending I wasn’t secretly hoping he’d say something.

Anything.

My breath caught when he finally did.

“So…” His voice was warm, teasing.

“Is it considered classy if I tell you that you sing beautifully… or are you going to put me in my place again?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from smiling.

“I think it would sound better coming from your brother.”

A slow grin spread across his face. It was unfair how charming he looked when he smiled. Dimples appeared in his cheeks, and I felt warmth creep into my face. I’d spent the last half hour pretending I was completely unaffected by him.

Clearly, I wasn’t.

“I knew it,” he said. “You really do prefer brunettes.”

I rolled my eyes, feigning innocence. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Without a word, I grabbed another beer and slid it across the counter. He hadn’t asked for one. He looked down at the bottle before meeting my eyes again, giving me a grateful nod.

“So,” I asked, trying to sound casual, “are you from around here?”

I hoped I didn’t sound too curious. I knew I’d never seen him before. If I had, I would’ve remembered.

He shook his head. “No. Sam and I are kind of on a road trip.”

I rested my elbows on the counter, giving him my full attention. For the first time all night, I wasn’t trying to juggle three things at once.

I glanced toward the guy I’d assumed was just his friend. Now that I knew they were brothers, I searched for a resemblance.

There wasn’t much.

Dean was all confidence, cocky smiles, and restless energy. Sam seemed calmer. Kinder.

The only thing they truly had in common was how ridiculously handsome they both were.

Apparently, good looks ran in the family.

“Are you staying here long?” I asked.

He shrugged. “No idea.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to answer.

He genuinely didn’t know.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends.”

“Why are you wasting your time serving beers to idiots like me?”

The question caught me completely off guard.

His expression had changed. The teasing was gone.

He was serious.

“Your place is up there,” he said, nodding toward the stage. “Not behind this bar.”

I blinked.

“You have to pay rent somehow,” I replied with a small shrug. “Food doesn’t exactly buy itself.”

He shook his head.

“That’s a lousy excuse.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He slowly turned the bottle between his hands.

“You’re talented.”

His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. Not flirtatious. Not exaggerated.

He actually meant it.

“If I were you, I’d get the hell out of this town.” His green eyes locked onto mine. “I’d sing anywhere people were willing to listen.”

He took another sip before adding with a crooked smile, “But then again… I’m not you.”

His words lingered in my mind long after he’d finished speaking.

I turned to grab myself a beer from the cooler. The bottle was ice-cold against my fingers. I popped the cap and took a long drink, the cold stinging my throat in the best possible way.

“Okay,” I said, setting the bottle down. “And where exactly am I supposed to get the money to leave?”

“By singing.”

He answered so quickly it almost made me laugh.

He was completely serious.

As though making a living from music were the simplest thing in the world.

God…

I wanted to believe him.

More than I wanted to admit.

I’d dreamed about leaving for as long as I could remember. About singing. About finding somewhere I finally belonged.

Then his grin returned.

“Although…” he said, tilting his head, “you could always make money with that tongue of yours, angel.”

I stared at him for a second before a laugh escaped me.

A real laugh.

The kind you don’t even try to hold back.

He laughed with me.

For once, I didn’t even bother correcting the nickname.

“Class,” I said through a smile. “And manners.”

He laughed again.

“Right.”

“I keep forgetting.”

I caught sight of Sam a few feet away, talking to another guy who looked a little older than the two of them.

Dean’s smile softened.

“Listen,” he said, his voice quieter this time. “Sam and I have made this life work. So why couldn’t you?”

I held his gaze for a moment before answering.

“Because it isn’t that simple.”

I ran my thumb absentmindedly around the rim of my bottle.

“Leaving everything behind… not knowing if it’ll lead anywhere.”

His green eyes never left mine.

At some point, he’d shrugged off his leather jacket. My gaze drifted to the watch on his wrist. It was such an ordinary detail.

And yet, for some reason, I found it incredibly attractive.

“Come with us.”

The words caught me so off guard that I almost choked on my beer.

I laughed instead.

“Sure. Because traveling across the country with two complete strangers sounds like a fantastic idea.”

He scrunched up his nose, conceding the point.

“Fair enough.”

Then that familiar grin returned.

“I’m not a stranger.”

He tapped a hand against his chest.

“I’m Dean.”

A beat passed.

“The classless guy from the bar.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

“Oh, right…”

I let the sentence trail off on purpose.

“Dean…”

He caught on immediately.

“Winchester.”

The name sent an unexpected shiver through me.

Winchester.

For reasons I couldn’t explain, it felt strangely familiar.

Like I’d heard it somewhere before.

Like it meant something.

Dean Winchester. “So,” I teased, forcing myself back to reality, “I’m supposed to leave with my new best friend from the bar… Dean Winchester?”

We both laughed.

It felt absurdly easy. Comfortable. I’d been so sure I’d had him figured out the moment he’d called me angel. He was still cocky. Still flirtatious.Still exactly the kind of guy who knew the effect he had on women. But there was something else beneath all of that. Something real. Something I couldn’t quite understand.