b e SAFE OUT THERE B(

jo sits herself in front of him, chestnut hue lift to look  along freckle dusted features. she watches him for a moment before reaching her hand slowly out. nimble fingers move to wrap around the man’s palm as she  gets his attention for a split moment. 

                              ❛ ‘m proud of you. ❜

“It may be.”

It is. Clearly so. Salome drowns in his clothing; far tinier than the demon who keeps her company. Even in something as simple as a tshirt, it drapes so loose it may as well be a dress. 

In this instance, however, it’s simple a maroon colored button-up that he’d carelessly left discarded between visits. And it smells of whiskey and cheap aftershave and something mixed with benzoin and tonka, but she cares little. The likelihood of him retrieving it seems even less.

When Dean disappears on his personal missions from something -- certainly not God, she knows that much -- it weasels its way under her bed linens, firmly planted under a pillow. Sometimes, like now, it simply works as an overcoat to make lounging seem much less lonely. 

He hadn’t seen it, not until now. The curse she wants to mutter never makes it to her lips, but it still felt far too exposing. Too raw. Weak human or not, the lord and lady of this house doesn’t like to be perceived that way.

She probably should have thought this through a little more. The accidental summoning of a demon probably isn’t be something to be scoffed at, even now. Especially with the force and violence he wields. A Knight of Hell? She doesn’t know what it means, not really. She just knows he has the power to kill with little more than a look. It’s the same power that carves his claim into her flesh. The one she doesn’t begin to challenge, because she likes it.

Because in that twisted brain, it makes her feel wanted for the first time in a life that has been largely devoid of such a thing.

And, worse, if Salome actually does think on it long enough, she realizes it was being told she was hellbound by her family that made it enough to silently and unconscious allow for it to be an acceptable course. She realizes how pathetically lonely her job makes her; how dismally empty her life is beyond the books and the clutter she’s tried to make a home of. 

Maybe that’s why he comes, too. The loneliness. But she doesn’t think about that. Instead, she just keeps the fridge well stocked. Makes sure her hips sway in half moons whenever he’s near. And she smiles. She never forgets.

Which is what she’s doing now. Bright and toothy and eyes silently challenging him from her place on the sofa.