#✦ — • VERSE • Where the Dead Never Sleep •

[wherethedeadneversleep]

And So We Meet & Revelations

Michael's power grew stronger every day, but he was also biding his time. It was all about finding Dean and securing his place. His true vessel had nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. He could fight and deny all he wanted, but in the end, he would simply give in, and say "yes" to him. Michael always won in the end, because fate was always inevitable.

But what was a surprise to the archangel was Dean's choice of company: a bewitching vampire slayer known as Buffy Summers. From the moment he seeped into Dean's consciousness, and peered through his eyes, he saw the little blonde human for himself. She was a petite thing with a smart mouth, but a fiery, passionate personality that easily kept up with Dean's temperament.

She was a fighter like Dean. Like him, she was destined to protect humanity, and she sacrificed so much if only to gain so little in return. Yet she continued - or rather, continues - to do so, even if it meant being left alone to fight her battles.

Michael found himself drawn to her. Though she was human, he couldn't help but be fascinated with her, and not just because she was with his vessel (though, the idea of taking what belonged to him highly amused him to no end). The blood of the demon flowed through her, but even that fact didn't disgust him... for once. She was an anomaly he wanted to explore with his own hands.

This time around, he chose not to pester Dean. Rather, he would give Buffy a visit. Through the vastness of space-time, he traveled, until he arrived at his destination. Dark clouds sifted, and stars faded in the process. No matter what, his vessel couldn't interfere with his one-on-one with Buffy in her dreams.

"And so we meet," Michael spoke to the blonde as he appeared from behind. It mattered not what scenario was going on in Buffy's dream. He shattered through the environment effortlessly, and as calm as one could be: a tall, dark-haired individual with bright, glowing eyes, and smoldering good looks that could land him on the cover of a magazine.

"Dean's had a lot to say about me, I'm sure."

As Buffy drifted off into a deep sleep, she found herself walking in a graveyard. The moon cast an eerie glow over the tombstones, creating long shadows that danced in the night. The air was heavy with an otherworldly stillness as if the spirits of the departed were holding their breath.

Buffy's senses heightened as she cautiously made her way through the maze of graves. She could feel a subtle chill in the air, sending shivers down her spine. Her Slayer instincts told her that something was amiss, that danger lurked in every corner of this haunting place. Every creaking branch and rustling leaf seemed to echo in her ears, amplifying her unease. The darkness seemed to consume everything around her, making it difficult to distinguish much of anything. Every step she took felt like a leap into the unknown, her senses on high alert, ready to react at the slightest sign of danger. 

She couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, as if unseen eyes were following her every move. Despite her years of training as a vampire slayer, this particular night felt different. As she walked down the dimly lit alley behind the graveyard, she tightened her grip on her trusted stake, ready to face whatever awaited her in the darkness. The eerie silence only heightened her senses, making her acutely aware of every sound and movement around her. 

Just then the sky above her head was engulfed by rolling dark clouds, causing the stars to vanish. The only source of light she had was the faint glow of the moon peeking through the clouds.

Buffy was rarely taken off guard but the voice that came from behind her does just that. It's not one she recognizes, it's deep and mysterious. Buffy's instincts kick in immediately, her body tensing as she swiftly turns around to face the source of the voice. As her gaze settles on a figure, a stranger stands tall and imposing, cloaked in an air of enigma. His deep voice resonates with an otherworldly quality. A flicker of curiosity replaces her initial surprise at the words he speaks. " So you're the one that's been following me all night. What was your plan to just walk behind me to death? " Admittedly he was he was strikingly good-looking, tall with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and piercing eyes. Was it just a thing for all the good looking guys to be stalkery psychos?

Buffy's eyes narrowed as the next words he uttered were Dean's name. After uttering those words, there was no doubt in her mind that this could only be one person ─ The Archangel Michael. " Oh God " For a moment she felt her heart sink inside her chest. Buffy's mind raced as she tried to process the implications of Michael's presence. She couldn't believe that Michael was standing right in front of her. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, and Buffy's mind was filled with a mix of awe and fear. She had heard stories of his immense power and divine purpose, but never did she imagine that she would come face to face with him. As her thoughts raced, she couldn't help but wonder why he had chosen to reveal himself to her. No matter what she couldn't let him shake her.

" So this is your grand plan to make Dean say yes to you, going after someone he cares about? That plan is overrated and has been used way too many times. I thought someone like yourself could have come up with something more original. "

Michael couldn’t help but smile condescendingly at Buffy’s remarks.

“No matter how many times the Bible’s been written, re-written, and RE-WRITTEN,” he said, “I’ll give them this matter-of-fact statement about originality from Ecclesiastes 1:9 - ‘What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.’ Or, I like the quicker version: ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’”

He eyed the graveyard that consisted of Buffy’s dreamscape. It was a constant reminder of her destiny. Dean had the same reminders – nightmares – when he slept. No wonder these two were bonded. The horrors they faced when they were awake followed their every waking and sleeping moment.

Michael took one step forward and vanished – only to appear right behind Buffy, and was practically against her backside.

“Turn around to do anything, and I promise you that I will obliterate the place you and Dean are staying in, along with the occupants that are inside of it,” the archangel warned. The child that stayed with them would never have her chance at revenge if the beautiful slayer made one false move against him.

Michael stepped to the side of Buffy, where his lips brushed alongside her ear. In a hush voice, and with his hand upon her shoulder, he said, “I do see why Dean likes you, though. You have a spark about you. Smart mouth. Spirit. Even against the likes of me. You want to fight me. I can see it in your eyes. Even in your thoughts. I know what you’re thinking. You’re going to keep challenging me, even if you’re scared. That’s why I like you. I shouldn’t, though. The thing of it is, I don’t care for humans. My brother, Lucifer? He hates them. He really, truly hates them. Which is why we’re in this predicament right now. That monster needs to be punished for defying our father, and as his older brother, it is my duty to do so.”

Being this close to this human, Dean’s human, Michael couldn’t resist using his finger to stroke the side of her cheek. Her skin was soft as silk. He couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to be indulged like this. Attachments weren't his "thing," yet he was slowly but surely becoming fond of this woman.

Michael stepped away from the blonde slayer and informed her, “Don’t worry, when the population of humans declines sharply, I’ll make sure you are spared.”

As Buffy stood there, her eyes widened in disbelief. Was Michael actually reciting scripture to her?

Michael disappeared before she had the opportunity to utter a word, only to reemerge positioned directly behind her. Her chest hitched as she felt his body pressed tightly against hers. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. The sudden proximity made her heart race, and she struggled to find her voice. His presence was both exhilarating and unnerving, leaving her unsure of what to expect next. But that was soon answered when he gave his bone chilling warning. She knew she had to stay vigilant, prepared for whatever might come next. As much as she wanted to turn around and face him she remained where she stood. 

The Slayer's eyes closed feeling Michael's lips against her ear. How was he making her feel this way? She couldn't deny the attraction she felt towards him, even though her instincts screamed at her that this was wrong on so many levels. Buffy's heart raced as Michael's words sank in. She had always prided herself on her strength and resilience, but this unexpected connection with him was stirring emotions she hadn't anticipated. 

She knows that if he succeeds in his malevolent mission, countless innocent lives will be lost forever. No matter what threat the indiscriminate destruction of countless innocent lives is never an acceptable solution. That's when the gears inside her head begin turning. Her eyes narrow as he steps away from her and states how he'll have her spared.

Buffy's hands clench tightly by her hips, and in that moment, she comprehends the error he committed. Michael had issued a menacing promise to annihilate not only her but also Dean. Michael had an unfathomable way of tormenting Dean, but he had no intention of ending his life. To have the ultimate confrontation with his brother, he required Dean's vessel to remain alive. The second mistake he made was declaring his intention to do it in their shared location. If she was present with Michael, she couldn't simultaneously be with Dean ─ unless she was dreaming.

She made her move, her fists still tightly clenched. Advancing towards him, she pulled back and landed a powerful punch directly on Michael's face not even realizing she had most likely broken a few fingers on that hand.

" Bet you didn't see that coming. You want to recite scripture to me? You and Lucifer both need to get over your Daddy issues. You want to do what God tells you to do by fighting your brother and killing thousands of innocent people in the process. Don't you find that rather odd when he also told you to love humans more than you love him? News flash Michael, you can't do both at the same time. Neither of you care about humans so straight out of the races you're both already defying your father. Have you ever once stopped to think maybe for his own twisted amusement he's testing the two of you? " She was beyond angry and she wouldn't hold back.

" Your second mistake is threatening the people I care about. You say you'll make sure I'm spared but know this, it's my ' duty ' to protect these people and I'll go down doing just that ─ Vampires, Demons, Werewolves, Angels, it doesn't matter to me. If you're a threat to humanity you're gonna have me standing in your way. So stop trying to seduce me with your Angelic charms. "

Michael’s nose broke, and his head snapped back, but he made an instant recovery, due to his healing abilities. Nasal cartilage and bones were instantly repaired, and Michael faced forward once more. He had to commend Buffy on her reaction. Even with his threats, she still took a chance to attack. What would Dean say in this situation? “She had balls of steel.”

“I ‘tolerate’ humans, but don’t forget my father sacrificed humans many times over the centuries,” Michael reminded her. “It was out of necessity, and yet they still loved and devoted their lives to him. I still remain faithful and duty-bound to him. I can do away with as many humans as I see fit because more will be born. It’s Lucifer who is rather gung-ho about killing them like sheep in a slaughterhouse. But don’t misunderstand me, Miss Summers. I do love my brother, but he needs to be punished for misbehaving. He’s been a bad, bad boy.”

The archangel disappeared once more, only to appear a few feet away. This time, he was crouched on top of a headstone that read “Buffy Anne Summers.” It had her birth year and death date, along with an epithet that read, “SHE SAVED THE WORLD A LOT.”

He didn’t appreciate her playing armchair therapist about his family. With anyone else who spoke to him so openly, he would have destroyed them without a second thought. Yet, she still remained alive and still dreaming. Why? Was he simply amusing himself by allowing her to win this confrontation on her own turf?

“You like it when I seduce you, don’t you?” he asked, putting on a charming face for her, even as the dark thoughts continued to swim in his head. “You wouldn’t mind if I brushed up against you again? I bet Dean would have a problem with it. He hates the fact that we’d have shared custody of you when I take over. He’s the jealous type, and he hates sharing.”

It was his destiny to fight Lucifer. Nothing and nobody would put a stop to that. Yet after sifting through Buffy’s memories, it surprised him to learn how often she too had been betrayed and abandoned. All he wanted to do was be a loyal son to God. All Buffy wanted to do was be a fighter for humanity, and to be a good friend.

Michael’s eyes softened just a bit. Huh. Well, interesting. Maybe they had a few things in common after all.

Buffy's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the situation. She clenched her hand, feeling the throbbing ache intensify with each passing moment. The sharp sting of pain was too vivid, too tangible to be a mere figment of her imagination. She desperately searched for any signs that would confirm this was all just an illusion. Pinching herself, she hoped for that familiar jolt of disbelief that would wake her from this dream. But there was no waking up.

" Why can't you and your brother deal with this on your own without hurting innocent people? There are still good people out there who deserve a chance to live their lives. I don't know where you've been for the past decade or so but Lucifer doesn't want to destroy this planet. He might still have a distaste for humans but he's not out there killing them. " She wished there was something she could say or do to change his mind, to talk him out of this upcoming apocalypse. " If you really loved your brother you would want to help him not punish him and cause him pain. If god wants him punished why have you do it instead of him being a parent and doing it himself? " Why couldn't she make him understand this? It honestly hurts her knowing any parent would pit their children against each other.

Suddenly Michael disappeared once more, causing her to search the graveyard with her eyes and ears. Eventually, she found him perched atop the very same headstone that had emitted an uncommon energy just before he materialized. Buffy's heart sank in her chest as she approached. It was her grave from Sunnydale, a haunting reminder of the trauma she had endured. The mere sight of it brought back the night she was torn from heaven and forced to claw her way out of that very burial site. Was this his way of trying to scare her? He should know she had no fear of death if it meant she was able to save the people she cared for. Was this his attempt at instilling fear in her? He ought to know she had no fear of death when it came to protecting the ones she loved.

Her eyes narrowed as she observed Michael's charming facade. " Michael... " Buffy said firmly, her voice laced with both caution and defiance. " You seem to misunderstand the situation entirely. Dean and I have a partnership built on trust and respect. There is no 'shared custody' when it comes to me. " She took a step back, creating some distance between them, her body language reflecting her growing discomfort. She purposefully disregarded his questions, for the reality was that she did enjoy it and it was unjust that he had the ability to delve into her thoughts and perceive that. Why her body reacted to him the way it did she was unsure of but she refused to succumb to it or him. Despite her determination to resist, his presence continued to affect her in ways she couldn't fully comprehend. It was as if he held power over her, effortlessly unraveling the layers of her emotions. The more she tried to push him away, the stronger her desire for him grew, creating an internal conflict she couldn't escape. Yet, she remained steadfast in her decision not to let him break down her defenses, determined to protect herself from the vulnerability he seemed to effortlessly expose.  

Unexpectedly, a transformation occurred in his eyes, a softening that diminished his previous anger and condescension. While that grave still caused her great discomfort she moved forward until she was standing before Michael again. " You keep saying all these things about you and I. What exactly do you want from me, Michael? "

Michael ducked his head when Buffy questioned his father’s motives. How ironic she didn’t understand how fate worked: no matter how many choices were played out, how many alternate choices could have been made, the results would have wound up the same in the end. It was like how destiny would’ve worked out for Buffy. Her fate in becoming a slayer would have been the same in the end, regardless of what other choices she would have made, had she not moved to Sunnydale right away.

Him being on her grave stirred a surge of mixed emotions within her. She tried to defy him, but at the same time, she wasn’t completely discouraged by him, either. Truth be told, this was new territory for him. Never before had he been tempted by any human, as he saw himself too busy doing his best to be a loyal soldier and son for God to be stirred by any creature. Buffy undoubtedly fascinated and captivated him like no other being had before.

Just like the first time he’d felt her presence.

Tapping his finger on her headstone, Michael spoke once again.

“You don’t remember me,” he said to her, his eyes all-knowing, “but I clearly remember you. The day you died, and your soul went to heaven? That was when we first met. You fought the brave fight by sacrificing yourself in place of your little sister. Such a doting, responsible sibling you are. You didn’t stay long, though, did you? You were ripped away from us before you had a chance to settle down. But I never forgot about you.”

The archangel smirked, as he climbed down from the tombstone, and was now standing in front of Buffy once more. He could still recall the day her soul breached heaven. She was a pure source of energy, unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

“Now, for what I want from you?” he asked, finally getting around to answering her question. He could still feel that radiant energy that sung to him the moment she arrived in heaven. It was untapped energy he wanted to embrace and become one with. Even within the human body Buffy possessed, her very aura shined brighter than the sun itself. The more he stayed in her dream, the more prevalent her presence rapidly became for him. She challenged him in ways that didn’t annoy him, but rather, made him question himself inward.

Michael held his head high, as he brought his hand up, and cupped the side of her face.

“I’ll make it simple,” he said at long last. “What I want, is you.”

Before she could say anything else, he reached in and planted a kiss on her lips.

Buffy didn't exactly believe in fate and that there was no such thing as free will. However, recent events had started to make her question her long-held beliefs. The constant battles against supernatural forces, the unexplainable coincidences that seemed to guide her path, and the eerie way everything always seemed to fall into place had started to chip away at her skepticism.

As she delved deeper into her own introspection, Buffy began noticing patterns in her own choices and actions. She realized that even though she believed she had free will, there were moments when it felt like an invisible hand guided her decisions. Whether it was an instinctual urge or a gut feeling leading her down a particular path. But she couldn't let herself believe this to be true. Wasn't Lucifer a clear-cut example that free will exists? The war between Michael and Lucifer was meant to happen and if that was his destiny why did he fight it so hard? Why was humanity not at stake all this time he walked the earth? He simply wanted to live his life on earth alongside his family.

As Michael started talking, her eyes welled up with tears. Her insides twisted and the world around her seemed to spin. How could this not be the first time she had met Michael? She tried to compose herself, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. She could recall the immense confusion and agony she experienced when her friends forcefully ripped her out of Heaven. She had finally found tranquility, completion, and joy, but they had cruelly snatched it away from her. She had been consumed by the feeling that she was trapped in a living hell. The way Michael talked about not forgetting her was as if they had experienced something more than just a casual encounter in Heaven. Was he lying to her? Was he trying to play some game to twist her mind up? How could she know for sure? Everything around her started spinning more.

" You're lying. "

As Michael descended from the top of her tombstone, a chilling sensation enveloped her, rendering her immobile despite her desire to move. She could feel the coldness seeping into her bones, causing a shiver to run down her spine. The air around her seemed to grow heavy. Buffy's heart raced, her instincts urging her to flee, but an inexplicable force held her in place. The more time she spent in his presence, the more difficult it grew for her to fight against him – even more so after what he had just revealed to her.

She wanted to pull away from his touch but she felt her head melting against his palm. Her eyes closed as she heard him speak the answer to her initial question.  Michael's touch was tender yet filled with an undeniable passion. The weight of his words lingered in the air, leaving her breathless and unsure of how to respond. But before she could even think of doing so his lips were upon hers. As their lips met, a surge of electricity coursed through her veins. The memories of her and him started flashing back to her, gradually seeping back in one by one. As their kiss deepened, her arms wrapped around his shoulder, finger grasping in the back of his hair. She could feel the passion building, threatening to consume her completely.

The desires that spread throughout his body surprised him in the best way possible. It was unlike anything he could have possibly imagined. More than ever, he didn’t want to let her go. Just like when her soul reached heaven, he wanted to keep her there. He refused to release her. They were here now. For the first time, he wanted to be selfish and to keep something for himself for once.

His hands fell to her waist as they continued kissing. The air grew warm – in fact, he felt feverish. Impossible, seeing as how the body he inhabited shouldn’t be capable of being ill, especially in a dream landscape. But part of him was losing his senses as he allowed himself to sink more into Buffy’s kisses. He, a top tier archangel, was allowing himself to show weakness to a vampire slayer. This would’ve spelled doom for anyone else, yet he was letting his guard down for one person.

Fingers lifted from her waist and wove themselves through her silky blonde hair. Lips momentarily left her mouth, only to leave trails of kisses along her jawline and neck. His thoughts became silent, as his bodily instincts took over. Again, new territory for the likes of him, who’d never allowed himself to indulge in such selfish acts. Everything he’d done before, was for God, and God only. Never before did he comprehend even thinking of doing anything to appease himself… until now.

Once again, his lips reached her ear, where he admitted in a hushed tone, “Lucifer might be onto something.”

Free will. What a concept. But would he admit that so readily to his little brother? After all, this was Buffy’s dream. Perhaps by the time the slayer woke up, she would forget all about this. Michael, too, might move on from this by the time he arrived at Earth. He couldn’t possibly believe such a relationship would work out between them. But denial now? While he was so in over his head with how far he’d gotten already?

Michael hummed as he inhaled Buffy’s scent, giving her one more kiss on the lips, before standing tall before her. His fingertips danced through her hairline and trailed across her cheeks, and down her neckline until he left her body entirely. He didn’t want to leave her, but he knew dreams only lasted for so long for humans.

“Dean’s going to throw a fit once he finds out how fond I am of you,” Michael jested, his lips curling into a slight grin. “But don’t worry, you’ll hear from me again real soon, much to the ‘delight’ of my vessel. You can pass along my visit to him if you wish. Or if you keep our get-together hush-hush, I won’t blame you. Either way, he’ll find out once I take over.”

Buffy quickly found herself caught up in the intensity of the moment. The way Michael's hands held her waist made her heart race, and she couldn't help but reciprocate his passion. As their lips moved together, a surge of desire coursed through her veins, making her forget everything else. The dream landscape around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their own world. The air crackled with electricity, and she could feel the heat radiating from Michael's body. It was as if their connection had ignited a fire within him that burned hotter than any fever.

The kisses along her jawline and neck made her eyes flutter. She could sense the conflict within Michael ─ the battle between his devotion to God and the overwhelming pull of his own desires. Yet, she couldn't help but be drawn to him, captivated by the intensity in his eyes and the vulnerability he displayed at this moment. She knew that pursuing this connection with Michael would come with its own set of challenges and complications. The clash between their contrasting beliefs and desires seemed inevitable, like two opposing forces destined to collide. Yet, in the midst of this internal struggle, there was an undeniable chemistry between them that defied all logic and reason.

It was as if time stood still, allowing them to forget about the complexities that awaited them. Yet reality would soon come crashing back down upon them. That moment came sooner than later, at least for her when Michael stepped back from her and mentioned Dean's name. As she listened to him she couldn't figure out if she was more hurt or just pissed off.

Briefly, her eyes closed as she struggled to pull her words together. " Is that what this was all about? Just another way to hurt Dean? " Just that quickly her fists were balling together at her sides again. " I'm not some toy to be used between the two of you. " The mere idea of that had her turning her back to him.

Maybe Michael was right all along. Was every event that occurred in Heaven merely a prearrangement for this precise moment? Could it be possible that every single event, every twist and turn of fate, was leading up to this very moment? The idea that her entire existence, filled with hardships and challenges, might have solely served to appease someone's ego, surpassing even their god complex, was unbearable to her. Was there any meaning to her journey, or was it all just a cruel game? No, she would not accept that as truth.

Whipping back around to look Michael in the eyes she demanded. " I refuse to believe that. Tell me something, Michael. You talk as if all of this is some great destiny and you can't even see how much free will you actually have. We both know you could have gone after Dean directly, you didn't need me for that. The obedient son deviated from his mission for something he wanted for once in his lifetime. Unless I'm just some damn bargaining chip to you, prove it to me here and now. Because if you don't and you do somehow manage to get Dean to say yes to you I'll be the first person to tell you to go get bent. "

Had any other human spoke so boldly and defiantly to and about Michael, they would’ve been eradicated on the spot, and without hesitation. Yet Buffy’s words struck a multitude of nerves within him. Yes, he wanted something for himself. He’d done everything ever asked of him. Everything he’d ever done for God, he did so without question. Yet where was his reward? Aside from being worshiped for eons, and having great power, in retrospect, it felt like he was still missing something.

When he first went after Lucifer, he took his little she-wolf of a wife to lure him out of hiding. Never could he have fathomed that a lover would have been a weakness for his brother. She, not even a human, prevented Lucifer from destroying mankind. Lucifer settled down with this werewolf, even took in her child, and raised it as his own. He allowed himself to grow soft… Yet it was what Lucifer wanted freely, and without shame.

Michael fixed Buffy with a hard stare. Was he no different from his brother? Having such feelings for another creature, only such was that of an actual human being? And of his own free will? She wasn’t a maggot like the rest. He’d care if something did happen to her. Oh, he’d more than care. No, he’d truly be bothered if anyone dared to lay a finger on her. He would absolutely lay waste to an entire landscape if his human were to be harmed.

“You’re quite the challenge I hadn’t expected,” Michael admitted, as he closed his eyes and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But you know something? I won’t mind this extended stay at all.”

He snapped his fingers once. Gone was the cemetery and its gloomy atmosphere. Now Buffy found herself in a beautiful garden under a moonlit sky. As far as the eye could see, there were all sorts of fruit bearing trees, along with rivers that stretched far and wide. Michael opened his eyes and he stood gloriously before Buffy… without a single stitch of clothing on.

Being in control was one of Michael’s strongest characteristics… yet, it quickly failed, as he couldn’t help but admire how lovely Buffy looked, as she too was without any clothing on. He willed it, after all, when he teleported them within Buffy’s dream to the Garden of Eden. She was a warrior who still looked like a maiden, with how slender and delicate she appeared. As he advanced toward her, his eyes remained steadfast on hers, his breathing steady, and his vessel’s heart racing.

This was madness. It was unlike anything he’d ever done before. That was the excitement that drove him to this moment, this point of no return. He stood over her, their nude bodies now mere inches apart, and even knowing what she was capable of, she somehow looked so vulnerable. It was so wrong, but he couldn’t wait to taste her again. He never wanted anything more in his life.

His second kiss was filled with more urgency, as he wrapped his arms around her. The feeling of their bodies pressed together went straight to his manhood. He immediately wanted more of her, and he pulled her body flush against his. Even going as far as to bring one of her legs up and hook it around his waist.

Buffy was never one to hold her tongue not even after being constantly reminded of the tales, and repeatedly told, of Michael's cruelty and ruthlessness, and how his temper aligned with both. However, as she stood there bravely revealing her truth in a way that no one else seemed willing to do, she remained oblivious to that aspect of his character. She believed that beneath his rough exterior, there was a flicker of goodness waiting to be ignited. As she observed his inner turmoil, she saw a chance for redemption, a chance to bring out the best in him. 

If a wrathful Archangel was capable of love, then he was capable of change. Love had the power to transform even the most hardened hearts, melting away anger and replacing it with compassion. Michael's realization of his free will, which he had always possessed but lacked the confidence to acknowledge could come to light by that same love. Perhaps, it could potentially empower him to step off the playing field and express to his father that enough was enough. 

The way Michael looked at her made her swallow roughly. Her attention was then caught by a quick change in his gaze. It transformed from disbelief to a more intense possessive stare, causing the tiny hairs on her arms to stand up. The intensity in his eyes made her heart race, and she couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were swirling in his mind. She couldn't deny the magnetic pull between them, but she also couldn't ignore the warning bells ringing in the back of her mind.

" I'm not like most humans nor anyone you've had to deal with. " Buffy replied, exuding her signature blend of fiery spirit and sass. It was the little details that truly defined her character. His mention of an extended stay caused a raised eyebrow, piquing curiosity.

In the blink of an eye, she was transported to a completely different place. The sight of magnificent trees adorned with blossoms and endless rivers captivated her. A sense of familiarity washed over her as she realized she hadn't laid eyes on this place in years. As she stood there, taking in the breathtaking scenery, memories flooded back to her. The nostalgia brought a smile to her face, and she couldn't help but feel grateful for this unexpected journey down memory lane. Then, as her gaze ceased to wander, her sight landed on Michael. Another gulp came as she beheld him standing there completely naked before her. As she realizes she is fully undressed also she can't help but feel a hinge of embarrassment as she attempts to cover hers with her arms. Yet another small detail that defined who she was.

As he drew nearer, she sensed a suffocating sensation. This wasn't quite what she had envisioned when she challenged him to prove himself, but in this instant, she couldn't ignore the escalating intensity and her overwhelming desire to experience his touch once more. Even if she had desired to, she couldn't divert her gaze from his. Her heart thumped so loudly that its pounding echoed in her ears. The air crackled with anticipation, and every nerve in her body tingled with excitement. She yearned to feel his fingertips tracing delicate patterns on her skin, igniting a fire within her that only he could quench.

She was fully aware of the wrongdoing, acknowledging the need to jolt herself awake by pinching or any means necessary. The primary cause of her unease was the presence of the man slumbering beside her, and the overwhelming guilt that would consume her upon awakening and having to look into his eyes. Perhaps she was being greedy and selfish by loving them both, but the heart desires what it desires. She could deceive anyone else, but betraying her heart was an impossibility.

Their lips collided with an uncontrollable longing. Her arms intertwined around his shoulders, with her fingers firmly gripping the back of his hair. Her body ignited with a blazing fire as he pressed against her. Unable to restrain herself, she continued to entwine her legs around him, swiftly utilizing her power to secure both limbs tightly around his waist instead of one. Her back arched pressing her breast against his firm muscular chest. Soft moans escaped her lips each time she found herself needing to surface for air. " Make love to me, Michael. "  Uttered words filled with an intoxicating desire.

Rational thoughts flew out the window for Michael the moment he heard Buffy’s request to make love. His body moved automatically, and he had no issues with this whatsoever. The strength she demonstrated when she tightened herself around him was arousing. Hands soothed themselves through her hair while their tongues danced in their mouths. Without having to rely on his angel strength, Michael carried Buffy over to the nearest tree and carefully lowered her beneath the branches. He treated her as if she were made of glass, all the while still tasting her, and exploring the womanly, feminine curves of her body.

These desires within him screamed to just take her and ravish her, but those rational thoughts he assumed vanished returned and urged him to remain calm. Buffy wanted him to make love to her, and he’d do just that. He wouldn’t rush this. Even as he covered her soft body with his masculine one, he would take his time with her. Peppering her neck with kisses, he reached between her thighs and ran a finger along her sopping, wet slit.

His cock stiffened, and it pulsed with aching need. He’d never been one to indulge in such pleasures of the flesh as other angels may have done before him. It went against his duties, and it was the reason why he was the most powerful archangel. He kept himself focused, yet here he was, at the sheer mercy of a slayer who had him humbled and weak at the sight of the most beautiful body his father could have gifted among mankind.

Taking his moist finger out, he slid her honey along her inner thigh and cupped the underside of her breast. He thumbed her hardened nipple, fascinated with the sounds she made in response to his touch. Curiosity got the better of him, and he brought the finger he’d used to touch her folds to his tongue. He licked it, and he closed his eyes in delight.

“Never tasted anything so good,” he murmured as he stared lustfully at her through half-hooded eyes. His body grew increasingly warm. With a hum, he added, “I want more.”

Scaling himself back, Michael kept Buffy’s legs apart and focused. Though his cock was still solid, and he was more than ready to take her, he was steadfast in pleasing his lovely little human. Leaning down, the intensity of his eyes met hers briefly, before he proceeded to lap her pussy, eagerly tasting her sweet nectar. Long, lingering strokes, even going as far as to thrust his tongue in and out of her core.

Pulling his tongue out, he planted a kiss on her inner thigh, and asked, “Do you wish to reach paradise now before I properly claim you? Or I can stop right now, and take you in the more traditional sense? Either way, I have no complaints. You taste divine, my little human.”

Michael couldn’t resist giving Buffy’s slit another long, lingering lick before she could even give him a response. He could already feel a bit of semen leak from the tip of his cock. His restraint failed him, but it was difficult to keep himself in check when the slayer was the very definition of perfection in his eyes.

Buffy had a specific motive for her request. She believed that engaging in heated passionate sex without a deeper emotional connection was merely a fleeting moment of pleasure. She yearned for a love that transcended the physical realm, where every touch and caress held a deeper meaning. To her, making love was an intimate dance of souls, a sacred union that brought two individuals closer together in mind, body, and spirit. She wanted to be connected to Michael in every way possible. 

Michael, the eldest and mightiest among all the Angels, displayed an extraordinary tenderness with how he touched her. As their bodies intertwined, she could feel the power and grace emanating from Michael. His touch was gentle yet commanding as if he held the universe's secrets within his fingertips. She eagerly explored every inch of his physique, her hands gliding across his well-built form. He was perfect in every sense. It wasn't until his hand dipped between her thighs that her eyes fluttered closed. Her back arched away from the ground as she released a breathy moan. 

As the flames of passion engulfed her, she could feel an exhilarating surge of energy coursing through her veins. It was as if every dormant dream, every suppressed desire, had suddenly burst into life. The intensity of this newfound fire consumed her thoughts, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, she felt reborn. In that very instant, she realized that there was still a glimmer of hope remaining. The fact that Michael could expose his vulnerability and establish such a profound connection with her indicated that there was still a chance for this world.

If his intense focus on her nipples didn't already make her squirm, it definitely did when she witnessed him savoring the taste of her. " Oh God... " Her desire surged within, causing her inner walls to tighten with an intensity surpassing the fiercest flames she had ever encountered. As her desire grew stronger, she could feel her heart racing in sync with the wild rhythm of her thoughts. Every breath she took seemed to fuel the fire burning inside her, spreading warmth to every inch of her being. The anticipation of what lay ahead made her tremble with a mix of excitement and nervousness, like a tightrope walker teetering on the edge of a thrilling abyss.  

" Michael... " Buffy let out a cry as his head vanished into the space between her thighs. Her heart raced as she felt such intense pleasure coursing through her body. The intensity of the moment overwhelmed her, and she instinctively tangled her fingers into the top of his hair. Her mind was consumed by a whirlwind of sensations, each one more electrifying than the last. As his tongue explored her she couldn't help but rock her hips ever so lightly. God, it was too much, and yet still not enough.

A whimper of discontent drew from her lips as soon as she no longer felt the sensation of his tongue. She found herself in a whirlwind, her heart racing as she struggled to catch her breath amidst the overwhelming shower of euphoric praises being shouted at him. She couldn't handle it any longer she needed to have him inside her, to feel him stretching her so perfectly. Another fluttering roll of her eyes came when he went in for seconds. He was going to be the death of her and she knew it, but what a glorious death it would be.

She was so wet already and the need she felt for him surpassed anything she's ever known. As heavenly as his tongue had felt she needed more. " Please, Michael... " She practically begged, her head lifting enough to catch his gaze. " Now, I want you now. " With her hands, she effortlessly brought him back above her. Their mouths met, their tongues intertwining with a fiery passion.

He enjoyed teasing her and listening to the sounds she made was music to his ears. It churned his own burning desires for her and stirred the aching within. Never had he imagined such joy in being intimate with another like this before. When she begged for him, and their mouths met once more, who was he to deny her? For once, he was at a human’s mercy – HIS human’s.

Cupping her cheeks with both of his hands, they continued to share a deep, passionate kiss. He savored the way her tongue danced with his, the touch of her soft lips against his, and the sweet, breathy pants against his mouth. Already, her legs were wrapped around his hips, and the tip of his manhood rubbed against her slick entrance. He made sure her hips were arched just at the right angle, as he temporarily broke their kiss. His gaze was intense when he spoke.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

The tone was both accusatory and at the same time, an admission of feelings he’d been denying himself. Nevertheless, Michael knew there was no turning back. Buffy was his human, and he’d do whatever it took to protect her. While he still had questions about his duties to God and his conflicts with Lucifer, there was no doubt his feelings for Buffy were strong and positive. Having her writhing and naked before him, completely open to him, assured Michael that the universe was on his side when it came to benevolent fortune.

Again, he kissed her, and at the same time, he pushed his long cock inside her. Michael closed his eyes and relished over how warm and tight she felt. He never felt anything so pleasing in all of his life. This was a type of paradise that he hadn’t imagined possible. Instincts urged him to thrust his hips against hers, and he moaned into her mouth.

His hands ran down to Buffy’s side until he grabbed her hip. He held her down to the grass so that he could thrust his cock deep, faster, and harder into her. Panting heavily, he groaned as the wet, slapping sound of flesh on flesh was heard in the night air. Pleasure was swiftly building within him, that it was nearly overwhelming.

He knew what would happen if he didn’t stop this. The consequences of an archangel and a human mating would be dire, but during this moment of bliss, Michael didn’t care. For once, he allowed himself to be selfish. Wrapped in the arms and legs of his own angel, it was impossible to want to stop. He wanted to own her body, much as she would own his. Lust and desire would conquer all tonight.

The incredible sensation she experienced solely from his touch and kisses was indescribable! Never before had she encountered such bliss. All she desired was for it to continue endlessly. Her body was trembling with the force of her desire for him, her body withering beneath him. She wanted to etch this moment into eternity, to savor the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin against hers. In this moment she knew that this connection between them was destined to be an everlasting flame, burning fiercely amidst the chaos of the world.

Buffy's heart raced as she locked eyes with Michael, his words echoing in her mind. The man she was looking at now was not the same as he had been earlier that night. The hard edges that had once defined his features seemed to melt away, revealing a vulnerability she had never seen before. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders ─ as if he had shed his armor and allowed himself to be seen for who he truly was. He wasn't the only one who with those feelings because she knew after this night she would never be the same again. From the revelation he revealed to her earlier that night up until this very moment, something inside the Slayer had crossed over and never wanted to go back.

" I'm saving you... " She whispered back to him.

She was sure her face had never had such a look of pure unadulterated lust upon it as it did right now. His tongue searched every corner of her mouth sending sparks of desire throughout her taut trembling body. Michael was the missing piece of herself that she had longed for since her return from heaven. Warmth spread through her body as she embraced him. She kissed him back, feeling as if her soul was merging with his. She felt consumed with passion, her skin burning with need. But her wait was short-lived as she felt him penetrating her at long last.

Her body stiffened with pleasure causing her lips to break away from his as a heavenly moan broke past her lips. Every single nerve ending of her body came to life in ways she didn't even know existed. She barely had a chance to catch her breath before he was thrusting in and out of her aching channel. The harder he pounded into her, the louder she got. She moaned his name repeatedly as she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist. Simultaneously she begged him with words and with her actions to go deeper, harder, and faster. His movements were perfect, and she could feel her body trembling with pleasure.

His shoulder felt solid beneath her touch, a reassuring anchor amidst the swirling emotions within her. The arching of her back allowed her to press closer against him, their connection growing stronger with every passing second. It was as if their souls were dancing in perfect harmony. The grip on his hip tightened, conveying both desire and possessiveness. Her knuckles whitened under the strain, mirroring the fire that blazed within her eyes and heart. Their bodies moved as one, guided by an invisible force that defied logic and reason. Each thrust of his hips brought her closer to paradise. " Promise to never leave me again... " Breathing heavily again his ear.

Michael’s own body was overpowered with warmth and intoxication. His fingers kept busy weaving through her golden tresses, and occasionally cradling her head in the palm of his hands. He continued to revel in the taste of her mouth, and the way their tongues intertwined in a sensual dance. Yes, she was indeed saving him. He truly accepted it as fact.

The powerful emotions he had for her continued to surge through him. Listening to the sounds she made while his body moved with hers caused electricity to spark through him and jolt his nerves. Nothing about what they were doing or where they were doing it was wrong. Nobody could tell them otherwise.

Lust pummeled through his entire being. Buffy was the sweetest sin he’d ever known. When she begged him to fuck her harder, he happily obliged. He shifted their positions just slightly, making sure they couldn’t let go of one another, yet her glorious pussy would take on the pounding.

It was then he heard her plea whispered into his ear. There was no doubt in his mind – he was never going to leave her. Especially now, as they shared this moment of heated passion between them. If anyone dared to interrupt them now or even thought about taking her away from him, he’d destroy them in the blink of an eye. But thoughts of destruction swiftly banished, as ever-mounting rapture neared its peak.

Hoisting himself just high enough so that he could peer deep into her eyes, Michael grunted, “I promise… I will never leave you.”

That was a vow. In this body, or in Dean’s, Michael would not break his promise to Buffy Anne Summers. He sealed that declaration with a kiss, right as he surged into her once more, with wild, uncontrolled thrusts. The hard grip he had over her created bruising on her body, and even drew blood. She could take the pain, as she was stronger than she looked. Too many people underestimated her. She desired this, and he wasn’t going to hold back. They both wanted this.

The archangel was lightheaded. He was close, and it was hard to think. As much as he wanted to savor this frenzied state of pleasure, he could no longer keep himself in check. Michael groaned, continued to move as one with her, and within mere moments, spiraled to the highest peak. It was no gentle release, but a raging inferno. It consumed him, and it left him barely able to breathe, as he emptied himself completely inside her.

Even though Buffy knew she was dreaming, she couldn't recall a better dream. It was one she didn't want to wake up from. Her grip on him could not be tighter than it was already. Buffy knew Michael could handle her strength so there was no fear or restraint on her part. She felt safe and secure in his arms as if she belonged there and nowhere else. It was here that she felt content with where she was and with who she was with. How could this be wrong when it felt so damn right?

It was known that Slayers who didn't become rogue always reached the pearly gates of heaven when their ticket was punched. She had no doubt that this act alone would be enough to condemn her to the fiery pits of hell. It wasn't solely because she was in love with two different men, but the fact that God's most loyal and obedient son no longer seemed on track with his father's plan.

When his hips picked up the rhythm and she heard his answer to her question her eyes fluttered. She felt her body temperature rise and she could feel her heart pounding. At this point, she was sure her body was all over the bed she slept on. Buffy could feel her body shaking from the intensity of the pleasure she was feeling. She felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. Her body tensed up and then released in waves of pure pleasure.

She could no longer contain herself when she felt his strong, powerful body tensing above her. Her own body felt like a volcano ready to erupt. Every touch, every caress had ignited a fire within her that now burned with an intensity she couldn't ignore. As his muscles flexed against her skin, she could feel the raw strength emanating from him. The weight of his body pressing against hers created a delicious friction that made her heart race and her breath hitch.

Their bodies were entwined in a dance of desire, their connection electric and undeniable. She surrendered herself completely to the sensations coursing through her veins, losing herself in the depths of passion that consumed them both. Her body tensed and she flew straight over the edge, her climax so strong that she shouted his name so loudly that she was sure god himself had heard her. The entire time she refused to close her eyes, instead she kept her eyes locked on his. She wanted... needed... to see every single expression that touched his features.  It was as if his face was a canvas, displaying the intricate tapestry of his innermost thoughts and feelings. 

Both her hands raised to press palms to both sides of his face as she attempted to steady her breathing. As she pressed her palms against his face, she could feel the warmth of his skin against her fingertips. The touch brought a sense of calmness, grounding her racing thoughts. With each breath, she could feel herself slowly regaining control over herself. Both her thumbs lightly brushed against his lips.  " What are you doing every night for the foreseeable future? " She just had to ask to see if his answer had changed from earlier that night.

He wouldn’t dare look away from her. There was nowhere else he wanted to look. His fascination with the slayer was beyond obsession. Nobody would dare take her away from him. He’d marked her and planted his seed in her. Dream or not, they were now united as one.

His hand caressed the side of her face as her own hand explored his. He couldn’t stop touching her. It was like a renewed sense of wonder every time. She fascinated him in numerous ways. She was like no other human he ever encountered. Michal was mesmerized. He would dare say that his father’s greatest human creation was this woman beneath him.

Though their lovemaking had ceased, he refused to pull out. Instead, they remained entangled in each other’s arms, as they continued to touch and admire one another. Sweat on sweat, skin to skin, neither ever wanted to part. They were truly one and the same in the Garden of Eden.

Michael slowly blinked at Buffy’s question, as if their wondrous act of sex tired him out. He didn’t need to sleep, but the thought of having her rest in his arms beneath the branches of this tree did bring joy to this archangel’s heart. It was one of the first selfless joys he experienced in eons.

“I’ll be visiting you in your dreams every night as I prepare to make my return back to the mortal realm,” he declared, as his fingers trailed lazily through her silken blonde hair. He gently pushed her hands away from his face, only so he could dip down and pepper her neck with kisses. While in the crook of her neck, he declared, “Consider me your personal guardian angel.”

As Buffy continued to gaze at Michael, she couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Every time their eyes met, it was as if the world around them faded into oblivion. She couldn't deny the magnetic pull between her and Michael. It was a connection that defied logic and reason. The intensity of their gaze held a promise of a love that could transcend time and space, a love that could conquer any obstacle in their path. At that moment, Buffy knew that Michael had become the missing piece in her life, he was the one who had made her feel complete.

She found it difficult to fathom that throughout this entire time, she had been led to believe that he was a heartless, uncaring monster. How could someone capable of having such passion and beauty be labeled as heartless and uncaring? It was almost heartbreaking to think this encounter between them would soon end. 

As she lay there, her body tingled with a mix of pleasure and longing. The lingering sensations from their passionate encounter left her craving more. Each movement of his hips, though tantalizing, only scratched the surface of her desires. She felt like she was on a high that her body refused to come down from. If she ever had an addiction he was surely it. 

Her eyes fluttered again feeling his lips trailing across her neck. It had always been one of the most sensitive spots on her body. Knowing she was going to see him every night from here on out until she got to finally touch him in person had her heart pounding inside her chest. Chills rolled down her spine and without thought she found herself flipping the tables. Within an instant she had Michael lying on the grassy ground with her straddled on top of him. 

" I hope you can get used to me being insatiable. " Both her hands rested at his shoulders, not that she thought she could even attempt to overpower him, but so that she could slowly and teasingly rotate her hips. Her eyes remained locked on his because no matter how long they were together it was never enough. " I hope my guardian angel can keep up. "

A second wind? The thought drew a smile upon his lips. He didn't object in the slightest. It amused him to find himself beneath her, and he didn't fight it. His vessel certain didn't mind, as a surge of pleasure swelled in his lower regions, as she rocked her hips against his.

"No hope needed, because I will keep up," he promised, as his hands slid up her arms, and stroked her skin. He drank in the sight of her breasts as they jiggled with every movement she made. Every inch of her was flawless.

Now, Michael's desires surpassed anything he could've dreamed of. Gone were his needs to please anybody, other than this mortal seated upon him, whimpering, and moaning his name. He had a new love that extended besides his father and brothers, one that he'd kill for, and protect with his own life. This love was one he'd ensure would be one that would be crying out once more with pleasure and ecstasy. His hands cupped her breasts as she continued to ride him, rocking his hips against hers. Oh, how he wanted to lick the sweat off her stomach, as he drove his shaft deep into her tight sex.

Buffy gasped at the intensity of the sensations coursing through her as their bodies fused together. Michael's hands roamed over her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She felt alive in a way she never had before, like nothing could ever touch her again. Buffy's breaths grew more ragged with each thrust, her hands clutching Michael's shoulders as she ground herself against him. She felt as though she could never get enough, never spend enough time wrapped up in his embrace. Her heart pounded in sync with his, each beat a testament to the undeniable connection between them.

 As they continued to move in sync, Buffy felt as though she was floating on air, carried away by the intensity of their connection. Their bodies melded together perfectly, creating a sense of completeness that she had only ever felt once before. Michael's hands sliding across her skin, his lips trailing kisses along her neck, sent shivers down her spine. She knew she wanted more, needed more, and she would do whatever it took to have him — and not in just some out of body dream world. Their lovemaking was not just about physical pleasure, but emotional and spiritual as well. It was a connection that transcended time and space, and she knew that she would never be the same after this.

 She arched her back, pressing herself closer to him, her hips moving in a steady rhythm. " Michael… " Buffy whimpered as her body trembled, the pleasurable sensations coursing through her reaching a fever pitch. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in sync with the rhythm of her body. She clung to Michael, her nails digging into his shoulders, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. But suddenly she heard in the distance a familiar voice calling out her name. She tried to shake it off but as she looked down at Michael his figure began to blur. Something or someone was trying to pull her back. Her fingers gripped tighter to Michael’s shoulders … " Not yet…please… " She pleaded.

Michael was still riding high from his climax, savoring his own intense rush, when he also heard that overly chummy voice calling out to his human. The waking world summoned her at the worst time. They were two souls reunited at long last--better later than never. Their time together was brief, but at least it was sensual and meaningful. Most importantly, it was impactful. What he left within Buffy would allow his return to Earth to be much sooner than anticipated.

The fear in Buffy's eyes, and the way she gripped him with iron tight intensity, caused him to carefully sit them up off the ground. If it'd been anyone or anything making her so distressed, he would've destroyed them in the blink of an eye. Nobody would've stood in his way, because none would've lasted a second if they hurt what was precious to him. But because it was his vessel, and because of circumstances, he couldn't do anything, but allow her to be awakened.

"It won't be too long before we'll truly be together," Michael promised, as he carefully shifted their bodies, so that their foreheads tenderly rested against one another's. This gesture was a stark contrast to how he acted when they first encountered one another. The thought of her leaving him displeased him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "I promise you that you'll have a reminder of me in the waking world."

Michael glanced at the morning skies, noticing the light colors breaking through the darkness. It was the first time in his billions of years of existence that he noticed that none of his father's creations could match Buffy's natural beauty. He shifted his gaze back to her, and used his fingers to stroke the side of her face and lips, allowing himself to enjoy their velvet softness one last time.

After doing so, he gave her a chaste kiss on the lips, then whispered, "Wake up."

------- One Month Later

"… Buffy?" Dean's voice called out to her from the distance. "Want some breakfast?"

Buffy slowly blinked, her eyes unfocused as she opened them to the world around her. She reluctantly let go of Michael, feeling the void left behind as he vanished from her grasp. She was disoriented and felt the remnants of the dream world still lingering within her. She was lying on her bed, her clothes disheveled and messy. It was the sight of her torn blouse and the dampness between her legs that reminded her of the intense dreams she still had. They felt so real. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had truly been with Michael, that they'd shared an intimate connection, and that it was something she desperately wanted to experience again and again.

Hearing Dean’s voice brought instant guilt within her. She had to get up, to act normal, to pretend like nothing had happened. She was still in shock, and she knew that Dean would notice something was off if she didn't get a grip on herself. She sat up, smoothing out her clothes as best she could. " Be right there, Dean ! " She called out, her voice weak but steady.

As she walked out of her room, she could feel the aftermath of her dream still coursing through her veins. Her heart pounded, her face flushed, and her mind couldn't shake the memory of Michael's touch. It was as if he had left an indelible mark on her soul, one that she was afraid could never be erased.

Darting past the kitchen and straight into the bathroom she took a moment to splash her face with some cold water. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but run her fingers through her tousled hair, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She had to do something to try and clear her head. She needed to focus on the here and now. But she couldn’t shake Michael’s last few words " I promise you that you'll have a reminder of me in the waking world ". Was he talking about Dean ? Because if so that was kind of cruel, but Michael wasn’t the cruel monster everyone lead him out to be so that couldn’t be it.

Buffy knew that she had to keep her feelings for Michael a secret, at least for now. She couldn't let anyone, especially Dean, know about the dream she had or the strange connection she felt with this mysterious figure. She had to maintain her normal facade, and try to push the dream to the back of her mind.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face. " Hey, Dean. What's for breakfast ? " She asked, trying to sound casual and carefree. She knew that if she let on that something was off, Dean would immediately sense it and she wouldn't be able to shake the feeling that she was holding a secret from him.

Dressed in comfortable sweatpants and a well-worn shirt, Dean was already working the skillet over a heated oven when he heard Buffy call out to him. He almost didn't hear her over the sizzling bacon and oil. Buffy must've had a hell of a dream to have slept that long. He almost regretted waking her up. She deserved rest. God knew he needed to sleep in, but his internal clock wouldn't allow him. He felt guilt more than half the time doing so. It was like he didn't deserve it, even after all of his personal achievements over the years.

After cooking the bacon and sausages and setting them aside, Dean prepped the hash browns and onions. Growing up, he made meals like these for Sam during the rare times they had enough money to buy real ingredients, and not junk food from the gas stations. Good old-fashioned hobo meals, or "Mulligan stews." All he needed to add left were the eggs, cheese, and milk, and boom! Breakfast was served.

Even as he moved about the kitchen, Dean's mind shifted to Buffy. When he woke up earlier, he remembered how gorgeous Buffy was in bed. Even with her clothes on, he couldn't remember seeing anyone at peace like her. When he tried to wake her the first time, he wished he hadn't done so. He internally kicked himself, and retreated to the kitchen, where he decided to make breakfast for the two of them. It was only after he warmed up the oven, and busted out the ingredients, did he consider calling out to her again. They were both destined to fight and protect others, but she deserved to rest more than he did.

"Hey!" he greeted when he finally heard Buffy's voice. "Just in time! 'Bout finished here. Have a seat at the table, and I'll serve you a mix of eggs, bacon, sausage, and onions. You up for coffee or juice?"

 Buffy hesitated for a moment, her mind still foggy from the intense dream. She forced herself to focus on Dean and the present moment. " Um, coffee please. I definitely need the caffeine this morning. " She replied, managing a small smile.

 As she sat down at the table, she couldn't help but notice how attentive and caring Dean was being. It made her feel even guiltier about the vivid dream she'd just had about Michael. She watched Dean move around the kitchen with practiced ease, plating up the hearty breakfast he'd prepared.

 " This looks amazing, Dean. " Buffy said, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness. Dean was so good to her, so attentive and caring. And here she was, her mind still reeling from the intense dream about another man. She took a long sip of coffee, hoping it would help clear her head.

Maybe everything would be okay as long as he didn’t ask to many questions. As hard as she tried she couldn't stop thinking about Michael's touch, his words, the intensity of their connection. But she knew she had to push those thoughts aside and concentrate on Dean, but it was so hard to focus right now.

 " You didn't have to go to all this trouble. " She said, watching as Dean set a steaming plate in front of her. Her stomach growled and churned but she didn’t think it was because she was hungry. The smell of the food was causing her some discomfort. She picked up her fork, poking at the eggs, willing herself to take a bite despite her churning stomach. " How long have you been awake ? " She asked to make some conversation to distract herself, but she could bring herself to look him in the eyes because of the guilt eating her up inside.

"'Bout two hours or so," Dean replied after he turned off the stove. Once he made sure everything was secure, he served himself a plate of food, along with a cup of coffee. After grabbing the morning paper, he took a seat next to Buffy, where he scanned the headlines for any potential leads for new cases. Dean wanted to make sure he was on top of anything that might lead them to their next mission. Failure could never be an option for him.

Under normal circumstances, Dean was laser focused on his next hunt. It was his job, after all. There was no quitting when it came to being a hunter. But ever since Emma mentioned Buffy's situation, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He allowed his emotions for his daughter to blindside him over what was closest to him, what was right in front of him. He couldn't focus when two women he cared for battled for his attention in ways that tied him up and spun him around at the same time.

Dean was a soldier, and he was also a simple man. There was no beating around the bush. Buffy was puking in the bathroom as of late. Picking at the food. Avoiding eye contact. Making small talk. Wasn't acting like her cheery self.

Was she...? Maybe...?

The paper fell to the table. Dean didn't even touch his food nor coffee. Hazel eyes studied the blonde next to him.

"How late are you?" he asked her.

Buffy froze, her fork hovering midair. Her heart started racing as Dean's words sank in. She slowly lowered the utensil, her appetite completely gone now. She knew exactly what he was implying, and the possibility terrified her.

 " I... I'm not sure, " she stammered, her mind whirling. She hadn't even considered that as a possibility, but now that Dean mentioned it, the signs were there. The nausea, the fatigue, the VIVID dreams... " You’ll have something in the waking world to remind you of me. " She swears she just heard his voice clear as day - it caused the fork in her hand to fall clanking against the plate.

 Buffy trailed off, her thoughts in turmoil. If she was pregnant, whose baby was it ? Dean's ? Or... She couldn't even bring herself to finish that thought. The possibility was too overwhelming. " Dean, I... " she started, then faltered. How could she possibly explain the dreams, the connection she felt with Michael ? How could she tell Dean about any of this without hurting him ?

 She stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. " I need some air, " she muttered fighting back her tears as she headed for the door unable to find the words to express the storm of emotions inside her. The guilt, the fear, the confusion - it was all threatening to overwhelm her.

Dean rose and pushed his seat back. He drew in a sharp breath as he started to leave the table, and yet he could only take a few steps forward, before he stopped all together. Something felt off. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was in the back of his mind.

"Buffy?!" he called out to her. "Wait!"

'Go to her!' he screamed at himself. His hand gripped the side of the table until veins were visible. There had to be something more to this than just a baby on the way. The way Buffy acted, it was as if she was extremely upset. Like she did the unthinkable. But what could it be? He didn't want to waste his time racking his brain over the many possibilities while her hormones were making her upset.

With a grunt, Dean pushed himself away from the table and hurried out the kitchen door. Busting outside under the early morning skies, he found the blonde not too far away, but slowed his pace down, so he didn't come off too intimidating. Her back was facing him, so he adjusted his posture, and remained behind her, where he made enough noise so she knew he was present.

"What's up, babe?" Dean prodded gently. "I'm here for you, y'know?"

Buffy hugged herself tightly, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back sobs. She could sense Dean behind her, his presence both comforting and distressing. How could she face him ? How could she explain what was happening when she barely understood it herself ?

" I don't know what's real anymore, Dean, " she whispered, her voice trembling. " These dreams I’ve been having... they feel so vivid, so tangible. It's like I'm living another life when I close my eyes. "

She turned to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes wide with guilt and anguish. " And now, if I'm really... if there's a baby... " She couldn't bring herself to say the word 'pregnant' out loud. " I… " She suddenly feels like her stomach is going to turn upside down.

There is literally no way out of this now. " I'm not sure you'd understand, " she whispered. " I'm not sure I understand it myself. " Buffy looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The love and concern in Dean's gaze made her heart ache with more guilt because she knew exactly what it meant.

" The dreams I’ve been having, " she began hesitantly knowing she just had to spit it out no matter the outcome. " They're with... Michael. " As soon as his name left her lips she dropped to the ground on her knees. She couldn’t even face him as her eyes focused through the tears on the sandy ground beneath her.

Buffy took a shaky breath. " I didn't know how to tell you, Dean. I was scared. I thought maybe I was going crazy, or that it was just stress but he said he was giving me something in the waking world to remind me of him… and now… " She trailed off, unable to voice that somehow, impossibly, the child might be Michael's.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. Muscles went rigid. The word "baby," mixed with Buffy and Michael, left him in a stupor. Dean's relationship with the archangel was complicated enough. He hated him, and Lucifer, for what they put him and his brother through. Now with the possibility, or rather, the reality, of what was to come, hit fast and hard.

Despite his soldier mentality filing through the facts of what this meant, the dire consequences that would come out of this, the sight of Buffy in tears and in utter defeat, tore at his heart. At the same time, Dean was beside himself. Michael, an archangel who didn't seem to care one way or another for humans, had slept with Buffy in her dreams. Without a physical body, he was able to impregnate her with his child - a child that would be born a Nephilim. That proved how much power Michael still had.

Wordlessly, Dean shuffled toward Buffy's fallen form, until he was able to kneel before her. The day had just begun, but Dean was already exhausted. Michael left him emotionally drained with the fact that within a few months, a hybrid would be among them, and the end of the world was around the corner. Michael and Buffy were in trouble. Dean couldn't drop that news on Buffy, not yet. He had to figure out something out fast.

Before Buffy could lift her eyes to look at him, Dean gently put his arms around her, and gathered her against his chest. Burying his face into her hair, he murmured, "Hey, let's get you back inside so you can rest, okay?"

Buffy tensed as Dean's arms encircled her, half-expecting him to push her away in disgust. But his embrace was gentle, comforting. She melted against him, clinging to his shirt as sobs wracked her body. But this was far from over. There was still one confession she had to face up to. This was already so much for Dean to take in and what if telling him how she felt about Michael was enough to break that fragile line he was already on ? " No, no you don’t understand. " She couldn't keep hiding the truth from him because it was tearing her up inside. He deserved the truth.

 She shook her head because deep down she felt like once she manages to get it out that everything’s going to change. Buffy pulled back slightly, her tear-stained face looking up at Dean. " There's... there's more. It wasn’t the dreams alone that I was scared to tell you about. " She whispered, her voice barely audible. Her fingers clutched Dean's shirt tighter, as if afraid he might disappear once the words left her mouth.

 " I have feelings for him. For Michael. I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear. But in those dreams, it's like I'm a different person. And that person... she loves him. " The words hung heavy in the air between them. Buffy couldn't bring herself to look at Dean's face, terrified of what she might see there. Anger ? Betrayal ? Disgust ? She trembled in his arms, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

 " I'm so sorry, " she whispered, her voice breaking. " I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, Dean. I do. But these feelings for Michael... they're real too. And I don't know what to do because I love you both. " She finally gathered the courage to meet Dean's gaze, her eyes pleading for understanding, for forgiveness. " Please say something. " She begged because she needed to hear something, even if it was him exploding at her.

Dean's arms remained around her, but they no longer had the strength they once did. They simply hung there, limp. His eyes were void of the warmth and concern they once held for the blonde. As of now, they were filled with confusion and hurt.

Well, shit. It was far from the first time he was ever deceived by someone he loved. He lost count on both hands and toes the number of times he'd been stabbed in the back. Why did this hurt worse than having his heart literally ripped out from a hellhound? Buffy looked and sounded so damned sincere about her actions, that Dean almost believed it. He should've known he wasn't meant for love. The two women in his life ultimately proved it to him: his daughter, and now Buffy.

Dean's hazel eyes hardened, but he still said nothing. There was no way she could possibly love him and Michael both. That was the swan song for him right there. Michael didn't love humans. He didn't hate them, either. How could he love Buffy? Who was he trying to kid? He forced Buffy to have his child. There was a sick plan involved. He must've brainwashed her somehow. Buffy must have been tricked into thinking she was in love with Michael. That was what Dean believed.

He took his arms back and stood to his feet, carefully stepping away from the slayer. As he turned away, a tear unknowingly slid down his face and onto the ground. A harsh sigh escaped his lips. It was difficult to think, let alone breathe. After everything Michael put him through, Buffy claimed to be in love with him? No, no, it was a trap. It was a deception. Over and over again, his mind rapidly told himself she was under his spell. The archangel harmed her, and now she was forced to carry his baby. That was it, end of story.

So why couldn't Dean believe it?

Dean made a tight fist at his side. If Michael was present here and now, he would've loved to hit him square in the jaw, over and over again, even if he broke his fist. There would've been plenty of words exchanged. Instead, Dean slowly relaxed his hand, and used it to wipe the rest of the tears that threatened to spill from his face.

"Wish I could believe you, Buff," he said, his voice utterly defeated. His back remained facing her, but his shoulders sagged, as he struggled to understand why this had to happen. "After all we went through together, after all I went through to accept you for who you are, this is what you do to me? Seriously?!"

Dean's words hit Buffy like a physical blow, causing her to flinch. She reached out towards him instinctively, but stopped herself, her hand hovering in the air between them. " Dean, please, " She whispered, her voice thick with emotion. " I know how this sounds, but you have to believe me. I never meant for any of this to happen. I fought against these feelings for so long, tried to deny them, but I can't anymore. "

 She took a shaky breath, trying to find the right words to make him understand. " What I feel for Michael... it's different from what I feel for you. It's not better or worse, just... different. I’m telling you this because it’s the truth. "

Buffy picked herself up from the ground and stepped closer to Dean, her heart breaking at the sight of his slumped shoulders. She longed to comfort him, to take away his pain, but she knew she was the cause of it. " I understand if you can't forgive me, " She said softly. " But please, don't think for a second that what we have isn't real. My love for you is as true and deep as it's ever been. That hasn't changed. "

Buffy's heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. She watched Dean's back, willing him to turn around, to look at her, to give her some sign that all wasn't lost between them.

Buffy felt like she was drowning, desperately searching for a lifeline. " Dean, I— " The words hung between them like a physical barrier. Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold and alone. " This is what I do to you ? " Buffy choked on those words. Dean's words echoed in Buffy's mind, each syllable piercing her heart like a dagger. Like she had planned for this to happen. That she went above and beyond to betray his trust. She took a trembling step towards him, her voice barely above a whisper.

" Dean, please... I know I've hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But you have to understand, this isn't something I chose. These feelings... they're confusing and terrifying, and I wish I could make them go away. " She paused, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. " But I can't. And I won't lie to you anymore. You deserve better than that. " Buffy longed to reach out, to touch him, to make him understand. But she knew she had lost that right.

Finally she managed to steady herself, a new train of thought about the situation storming into her head. " Like it or not, Michael is a part of you. Is it so hard to believe I’d fall so damn hard for you both ? " There was a flutter in her stomach almost as if her baby knew she was upset and was fighting inside her. " It happened to your brother and sister-in-law, didn’t it ? I love you, Dean, but if that’s not enough and you honestly think I planned all this out just to hurt you that I could be that cruel… then I don’t know what's left to say. "

Buffy was crying--he could hear it in her voice. It killed him to know she shed tears for him. He hated having her upset, but it went both ways. He was hurting big time, too. Yeah, Michael was a part of him, but it didn't mean he liked it. His destiny was intertwined with God and the archangel. It shouldn't have to involve his love life as well.

The more he listened to Buffy's pleading, the more he was tempted to turn around. Every word sounded heartfelt. Maybe she was telling the truth. He never heard her sound so desperate before. But the mention of Sam and Marie, and their relationship, only irritated him more. He couldn't understand that complexity to this day, and the thought of sharing Buffy with Michael, was a concept he refused to accept. He didn't even realize it was going to be the same like them until Buffy pointed it out. The same, but "different." Unlike Sam and Marie, Michael and Buffy were going to create an offspring that would cause death for both parents, and cause doom for the planet. Dean couldn't let that happen.

He raked his fingers using both hands. The anger would only bubble and fester until it exploded. He needed to get away and think. Let some aggression out. If he was going to do anything destructive, he'd do it away from Buffy and the baby. He'd refuse to call it Michael's child. The very thought of her carrying his baby made him sick to his stomach.

"I still love you, Buffy," Dean said, as he offered her a sideways glance. He revealed her one teary hazel eye before he quickly turned away, determined to focus on his next phase of action. "There's no mistaking that. I'm going to do what I can to protect you and the baby. But for right now, I need you to let me have some space. I just gotta process this whole… everything you told me, okay? I'm gonna come home. I won't be gone for long, and I have my phone on me."

Buffy's heart clenched at Dean's words. She wanted to reach out and stop him from leaving, to beg him to stay and work through this together. But she knew he needed space, and she owed him that much after everything she'd just dumped on him.

 " Okay, " She whispered, her voice small and fragile. " I understand. Just... please be careful out there. " She watched as Dean began to leave, his shoulders still tense, his movements stiff. Just as he was about to leave, Buffy found herself calling out to him one last time. " Dean, " She said, causing him to pause. " I know you need time, and I respect that. But please know that no matter what happens, no matter how you feel about me after this, I will always love you. And I will always fight for you. "

 As Dean's footsteps faded away, Buffy felt the full weight of her confession crash down upon her. Her legs gave out and she sank back to the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees. The sobs she'd been holding back broke free. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by her muffled sobs. She rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, as if trying to protect the life growing inside her from the emotional turmoil surrounding it.

 Minutes passed, or perhaps hours – Buffy couldn't tell. Time seemed to stand still in the wake of Dean's departure. Eventually, her sobs subsided, replaced by a hollow emptiness that threatened to consume her. She slowly uncurled herself, wincing at the stiffness in her muscles. Buffy's hand drifted to her stomach, gently caressing the slight swell there. " I'm sorry, little one, " She whispered. " I'm so sorry you have to go through all of this. " The one thing she could never be sorry about was the life growing inside her. Never had she thought the possibility of her being a mother would ever become a reality.

 With a deep breath, Buffy pulled herself to her feet. She made her way back inside but only went to the window, staring out at the darkening sky. The sun was setting, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink. It was beautiful, but Buffy couldn't appreciate it. Her mind was racing, replaying every moment over in her mind. Each word, each look, each painful silence – it all haunted her.

 She placed her hand on the cool glass, seeking some kind of anchor to reality. The weight of her choices, her feelings, her very existence seemed to press down on her shoulders. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine a different life – one where she wasn't the Slayer, where Dean wasn't a hunter, where Michael…

 Buffy shook her head, banishing the thought. There was no use in imagining 'what ifs'. This was her reality, complicated and messy as it was. A soft kick from within her womb brought Buffy's attention back to the present. She looked down at her slightly swollen belly, a mix of love and fear washing over her. " I know, little one, " She whispered. " Everything's a mess right now. But I promise you, we'll figure this out."

 As night fell, Buffy found herself pacing the room, alternating between checking her phone and glancing out the window. Every passing car made her heart leap, hoping it was Dean returning. But each time, disappointment settled heavily in her chest as the vehicle drove past.

[wickedanddeadly]

From Lucifer!

[zepskies]

Lesson Learned

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: There’s only so much teasing Ben is willing to take. He has no choice but to punish you.

AN: Here we go! lol. This is the highly requested Part 2 to This One’s For You, over in the BMD-verse!

Word Count: 2.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, edging, teasing, fluff, and feels.

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

You gasped, your nails raking through his hair. Your grip threatened to rip out a few strands as you panted into his neck.

“Ben, please…for God’s sake…”

“Please what?” he said. There was grit in his voice when he spoke into your ear, but he was all too controlled. Taunting.

Asshole.

He was relentless, dragging his fingers inside your quivering pussy, rubbing his thumb around your clit, but almost never where you wanted him. Your thighs were shaking on either side of his frame as he had you naked on your back, writhing in the middle of your shared bed. You’d sucked him off until his spine rattled and his eyes nearly crossed, swallowing up as much as you could of what he had to give.

Still, he wasn’t satisfied.

“I’m sorry!” you burst in frustration, but you also had to stifle your laughter. Your husband narrowed his eyes at you, spying the hint of your smile.

“How come I don’t fucking believe you?” said Ben. With his elbow digging into the bed beside your shoulder, his occupied fingers curled inside you, finally brushing against the sensitive ridge of your inner walls. It drew a faltering moan from your lips. 

“What exactly are you sorry for?” he demanded. He bowed his head and laid a biting kiss along your throat. “Use your fucking words.”

You exhaled roughly, gripping his hair tight again. Now that he couldn’t see your face, you could allow yourself to grin in amusement.

Three Days Ago…

Ben was tired and more irritable than usual when he stepped into the Flatiron Building. The night before had been a battle of wills between him and his infant daughter, who’d been finnicky, having a hard time going back to sleep. He’d done his best to help her get back to sleep, since you had been dead to the world and unable to leave the bed (or so you’d seemed).

Now, he took the elevator up to the right floor and used his key to get into the office suite, where Butcher and the rest of your delinquent friends were already dicking around.

Some horrible French rap was playing on the Bluetooth speaker. Kimiko was flicking tiny pieces of paper across the dining table, into a “goal” made by Hughie’s hands. Frenchie wore a “Kiss the Cook” apron as he pulled a fresh batch of croissants out of the oven in the kitchenette, while M.M. swept the excess flour stains off the counter. 

Annie was trying to get Butcher to smoke his cigarette out on the balcony.

“Really, you had fucking cancer. You’d think you’d try a little harder to take care of yourself,” she said. Butcher gave her a wan smile, and blew a coil of smoke upward between them.

“Nice,” she said flatly.

But all that stopped when Ben strode into the room. They stared at him, each starting to smile, no matter how much some of them tried to hide it (like Kimiko, with a hand over her mouth).

“What the fuck’re you staring at?” Ben snapped. “We got a job, right?”

Butcher cleared his throat and recovered first. He dabbed his cigarette on an ashtray on the dining table and grabbed an iPad to give to the supe.

“Yeah, got us an escapee. Our little slumlord, Sapphire,” he said.

Ben frowned. Sapphire was the supe who nearly vaporized you a couple of years ago, after they broke up her drug ring. While he read the file documenting detailing her escape and what the CIA knew of her whereabouts so far, Hughie shared a look with Kimiko and Annie before he spoke.

“So, uh, how’s Lila doing?”

 Ben shot him a look through furrowed brows.

“Fine. She’s with her mother,” he replied. Hughie predictably asked about you, and again, Ben said you were fine at home with the baby.

“Lila’s almost a year old, right?” Hughie asked. “Aw man, that’s gotta be a fun age, right? I mean, fun, but challenging. All the crying, the diaper changing. Getting her to sleep through the night must be tough.”

Ben’s attention piqued at that, and not in a good way. His dark suspicion grew when his gaze flicked up to Hughie’s dumb fucking face, and then the rest of them, with their dumbass smiles. Biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, Annie pressed a button on her phone.

All of a sudden, Ben heard his own voice playing from the speaker.

“H-Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in New York City?”

“Now ain’t that a lovely warble,” Butcher remarked. Ben shot him a warning glare, but the Brit raised his hands in amused surrender. He crossed his arms and continued to smoke as he watched the scene unfold.

Ben tossed the iPad onto the kitchen counter and strode over to Annie with menacing steps, intending to put an end to this bullshit. She grinned and tossed her phone over to Kimiko, and Ben glowered, changing directions.

“I'm a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes, you do. Time Square can’t shine as bright as you…I swear it’s true.”

Kimiko’s eyes widened at the angry supe heading toward her. She tossed the phone to Frenchie next. The phone bounced between his flour-stained hands as he yelped in surprise.

“Oh, shit,” he uttered, when Ben began stomping his way.

“Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen…”

“A voice like warm butter,” Frenchie praised. He quickly tried to move from side to side to evade his attacker. “You should be proud, Monsiuer Grincheux! A man soothing his baby is a beautiful thing.”

“Shut your fucking cockhole,” Ben gritted out, but he still reached out when the phone sailed under his arm—only to land in M.M.’s hands. He froze with widened eyes, not wanting to be in the game. But it was too late, for him and Ben.

“Hey there, Delilah, here’s to you,” his voice sang, more quietly, more tender, deep and baritone. “This one’s for you…”

A brief pause. And then—

“What the fuck’re you doing?”

M.M. managed to pause the video. A beat of utter silence, and then...

Everyone burst out into laughter. Hughie started it; he was damn near folded in half, leaning heavily on his girlfriend as he wiped a tear out of his eye. M.M. tossed the phone back to Frenchie, whose entire frame was shaking with restrained glee.

Ben’s jaw worked as he contemplated how exactly he was going to kill every one of these cocksucking morons.

And then you. Because how else had they gotten that video? You had to have sent it somehow before he got ahold of you last night.

“All right, enough!” he bellowed.

The entire room fell silent.

“First of all, erase that shit right now, or it’s coming out your ass,” he barked, pointing at Frenchie. The other man jolted and did as he was told.

“As for the rest of you, I better not hear another fucking word about this, or so help me Christ, I’m gonna do some barbecuing.” 

About three days later, Sapphire had been caught and re-imprisoned, and Ben returned home. He found you in the living room. He was taciturn to your happy smile when you welcomed him with a hug around his waist, though your smile fell after he didn’t respond to your kiss.

He slowly lowered his gaze down to you, and you knew.

Biting your lip, you soothed a hand along his cheek. “So, how’d it go?”

“Fine,” he said, but little else.

In fact, Ben didn’t speak to you for most of the evening. You tried cooking him a good hot meal, but he barely said two words to you. The only thing he did, before he was even showered and changed, was venture into the nursery to lay a gentle hand on his daughter’s head as she slept, over her downy brown hair. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

After that, he strode past you in the doorway and slammed the door shut in the bathroom.

Aw shit. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help chortling with laughter. You should’ve known he’d be a great big man child about this.

So you decided to call your mom and see if she could take Lila for the night.

You had some damage control to do.

Now…

He'd brought you to the edge of your pleasure three times before he withdrew his mouth or his hand from your body, not letting you touch yourself, not letting you come—driving you to the point of frustrated tears.

You grabbed his head with both hands and guided him to look you in the eyes.

“Baby, please. Stop torturing me,” you pleaded. You used every tool in your arsenal to make him break, giving him soft, tearful eyes. You leaned up and pressed gentle kisses to his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“I need you,” you whispered, drawing him into deeper, messier kisses. Part of him started to falter. He briefly closed his eyes and breathed into your kiss.

But then, he stubbornly broke from you with a frown.

“Nice try. You’re not getting off that easy,” he said. “Now say it. Why the fuck are you sorry?”

You huffed in aggravation, but you twined your arms around his neck and brushed slightly sweaty strands of his hair away from his forehead.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” you said, even though your mouth began to curve upward. “It was a sweet thing you did, and I’m glad I captured it. But I am sorry that sharing that moment with our friends bothers you so much.”

“First of all, they’re your idiot friends,” he said. You wanted to interject on that one, but you knew he wasn’t in the mood, and you didn’t want to fight with him for real.

“Second of all,” he began…but he didn’t have any more words after that. They were caught between his irritation, and his unwillingness to even voice what it was he felt. Eventually, he found them.

“There’s some shit that needs to stay between us,” he said.  

You smiled, but you mercifully drew him down for another slow kiss.

“Okay, okay. I hear you. It’s not that big a deal though. You love your family, and look! Your macho-ness is still very much intact,” you said, gesturing at his very much hard cock pressing against your thigh. “Now are you gonna fuck me like a man, or do I need to find a vibrator that will?”

At that Ben looked down at you with a raise of his brows. His lips twitched, mostly at your audacity. Shaking his head, he slid a hand behind your neck and drew you in for a kiss, fueled by passion and frustration in equal measure.

You wrapped your thighs around his hips, urging him closer. His straining length pressed against your center, the wet tip slipping against your glistening folds. He groaned at the sensation.

“Please,” you repeated, licking into his mouth for a sensuous kiss.

The once-iron grip on his restraint finally broke. Ben slid a hand between you to hold himself to your entrance. With one smooth thrust, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moan of relief echoed his own. If nothing else good came out of this situation, you two hadn’t had the time or the energy to go at it like this in a long time.

He grabbed your thigh and angled you higher, so he could sink in at an even better angle as he began to rut into you.

With all of his earlier edging and teasing, you were already so close. Your inner walls fluttered around him, welcoming him home and gripping him tight. All it took was a few well-placed swipes of his thumb over your clit to have you tumbling over the edge—a delicious cresting of pleasure that made you arch off the bed, biting your nails into his shoulders, a cry caught in your throat.

Ben fucked you through your release, all while chasing his own. His grip on your hip tightened as his thrusts grew ragged, his own breathing shallow and rough, until his balls tightened and his body locked up on him. He spent himself inside you, coating your inner walls until he had nothing left.

He just barely managed to keep himself from smothering you as his body relaxed. You still welcomed his weight on you, soothing your hands up and down his back while you both caught your breath. Your thighs slipped from his hips, your feet meeting bed and sliding out a little.

Ben brushed your sweaty hair away from your face. Looking down on you now, his face gentled from its hardened angles and furrowed brows. You smiled lazily.

“Still mad at me?” you teased.

Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he let out a rough exhale through his nose.

“Something tells me you didn’t learn your lesson,” he said, somewhat incredulous, and yet, amused.

Your smile was undoubtedly cheeky, even as you leaned up to give him a sweeter kiss.

“Sure did, baby,” you said against his lips. And another kiss. “Lesson learned, I promise.”

He really did roll his eyes this time.

AN: 😂 Ben just can't win, can he?

Translation: Monsiuer Grincheux - "Mr. Grumpy" in French

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, Ben has his Adventures in Babysitting moment in Green:

Summary: Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

▶️ Keep Reading: Green

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[deadsetobsessions]

This is based off of that one tiktok from @sorruna where it’s the audio from Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse.

——

Dick Grayson was a sneaky, intelligent little shit.

He was also dumb. These things are not mutually exclusive.

To this day, one of his best kept secrets- one of the many, many that he had now- was something he’d take to his grave.

Or to Jason’s grave, at least.

Dick sat down and began telling the story to ears that would never truly hear it.

——

Batman’s voice rumbled behind him as Dick, in his Robin suit, stood blankly on top of a roof.

“I know you snuck out last night, Robin.”

Dick froze, train of thought about his dinner derailed. Holy busted, Batman! Quick! Play dumb!

“Who’s Robin?” He asked, the years of performing in front of a large crowd coming to save his ass.

Not that dumb!

Batman sent him a dry look, reprimand already poised on his lips. Dick, however, was nothing but a good performer. Nay, a dedicated performer.

Quick! Do something out of character! He shouted at himself, panicking visibly. He stepped backwards, an idea appearing in his head. In his defense, it sounded like an amazing idea at the time. He had no idea it would blow up into a Justice League issue. If he had known… Dick would have lied better, probably. There was no way he was going to let B bench him for weeks!

“Who the fuck are you?!” He yelped. Dick apologized mentally to Alfred and his parents. Batman paused, stunned.

“That’s my question. Who are you?!” Bruce asked, immediately hostile. His son doesn’t curse. Well, not in any normal way anyways. Dick quickly backpedaled by yelling at him with a heavy Vlax dialect, missing his parents terribly as he screamed stranger danger in rudimentary Romany. After this, he was going to have to convince Bruce to get him a language tutor. He refused to forget one of the only ties he had left to his parents.

“Wait, wait- you’re my son.” Bruce replied back, in perfect Romany. He looked more convinced but still skeptical.

“My dad is a circus performer! Not a flying rat!” Dick screeched back. He couldn’t help but feel touched about Bruce seeing him like a son.

“Oy! Keep it down out there, you assholes! Some of us like our sleep, damn!” A random Gothamite screamed out of their window.

“Yo, shut the fuck up! The vigilantes are helping to keep the rent low, motherfucker!” Another Gothamite shouted back.

….

Needless to say, Bruce quickly brought Dick back to the cave- with precautions to make sure he didn’t figure out where the Cave was if Dick was actually someone else.

——

“You would have loved it, Little Wing. B was running around like a headless chicken. The memory loss protocol was actually made because of me, you know.” Dick chuckled, sniffling as he talked to the carved gravestone.

It did not reply.

——

The blood tests came back. Yeppers, Dick sarcastically thought, who woulda thought I’m me?

Reinforcements were called in.

Meaning, Batgirl.

“Watch him while I contact Justice League Dark.”

“You think it’s magic?” Barbara asked.

“Yes. There was no one else near our vicinity that could affect Dick like this. He has no head wounds.”

“Eesh. Okay, go. I’ll watch him.”

Bruce disappeared in his zeta tube, looking harried. So, to everyone that’s not a Bat, he looked absolutely terrifying.

“What did you get yourself into now, Boy Wonder?” Barbara sighed. Dick was careful to keep any signs of recognition out of his face.

“Stop calling me that! Where are my parents?!” He asked back. Barbara coughed and looked uncomfortably away.

That’s right, Babs. I’m pulling out the orphan card. Feel bad. Dick hid his feral grin.

“They’re… uh, busy.” Busy being dead, Barbara thought, immediately wincing at her own thoughts. Apparently, Dick thought the excuse was lame too, and he sent her an incredulous look.

“Would you like refreshments, Master Dick?”

“What?”

Alfred held out some cookies on a platter, giving Babs a quelling look as she tried to reach for his share.

“Oh, wow, these are really good!” Dick said as he shoveled cookies into his mouth. He tried to replicate the reaction he had when he tried these for the first time, and from Alfred’s satisfied look, Dick nailed it.

——

“Robin doesn’t remember who he is.” Batman rumbled as he all but dragged Zatanna and Constantine by the scuff of their jackets towards the zeta tubes.

“Hey, wait-”

“We have no time.” Batman snarled, tossing the two magic users into the zeta. He punched in the destination.

When they got there, he glared at the two magic users until they got into the cave.

“Damn, Bats. Really living up to your name, huh?”

“Not bad,” Zatanna said as she looked around.

“Robin,” Batman- Bruce- reminded them. He did a quick glance over to check on his kids, and found them satisfactorily uninjured. Though, Barbara was looking worse for wear. Bruce quickly found out why as she stalked to him.

“You deal with him.” She muttered. “I’m going home.”

Bruce blinked and nodded. “Get home safe.”

Zatanna and Constantine followed Batman as he walked towards Robin. It was odd to see the normally laughing child frown.

“It’s you! The kidnapper! Where are my parents?!”

Bruce winced which, for him, was akin to a full body flinch and recoil. No wonder Barbara was so tired.

“Fix it.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Batsy.” Constantine grumbled.

“Well help, Batman. Though… I’m not sure if he should be doing that.”

Bruce sharply turned his head back to where Dick was. Emphasis on was. Because now, he’s halfway up the giant dinosaur the Robin had insisted they keep.

“Robin, get down from there!”

“Stranger Danger!” Dick hollered back.

Batman- Bruce Wayne- sighed.

“That’s high level magic,” Zatanna hummed. “I can’t feel anything, but I know for sure that he won’t die. Magic like that either dissipates naturally or…”

“Lasts forever,” Constantine finished.

Bruce groaned, shooting off a grappling line and swooping upwards to catch Dick as he fell from the giant dinosaur.

——

“I pretended to get my memories back later,” Dick chuckled. “And pretended to forget the whole thing. Bruce was so relieved that I stopped knocking things over and trying to do cartwheels in high places that he totally forgot I snuck out.”

Dick patted the headstone.

“But between you and me? I’m pretty sure Alfred knew. I think B pissed him off that week.”

[peachesofteal]

Oh god - I’m still stuck on this.

18+ MDNI / explicit sex, dark and twisted themes

I've been thinking a lot about Simon Riley who doesn't want the divorce.

Simon who never wanted to be separated, who hates living apart. Simon, who would drag you to a tattoo artist to get your ring permanently inked to your skin so you could never be rid of him, if he could. He’s been actively avoiding the stack of papers that are waiting for his signature, staying on longer Ops, picking up extra work.

Can’t be divorced if there’s no signature.

Simon, who unbeknownst to you, still comes home. Still pushes open the back door in the dead of night, keeping his steps silent so he doesn't wake you. Simon, who stands in the doorway of your bedroom, his old bedroom, and watches you sleep on his side of the bed in those little, ratty shorts with your ass perked up in the air like you're waiting for him. Like you’re ripe, and ready.

Simon, who checks your birth control every night. Who’s pleased when he realizes this month’s pack hasn’t even been opened, every color coded pill still in place, foil glinting at him in the low light of the vanity.

Good girl, he thinks to himself, shutting your medicine cabinet with a silent click. Getting yourself all ready for him.

Simon, who agrees to meet you for dinner.

"Let's just sign and get it over with. We can catch up, too. Talk about what we want to do with the house."

"Alright, love. Whatever you want."

You're a bundle of nerves when he shows up, seated at a little table in the back, glass of wine already half gone.

Normally, he'd try to soothe you. You've always been naturally anxious, a little dependent, and in a social setting, a little high strung. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch.

But this time, he doesn't bother. He sits there with his arms crossed, watching you nervously chatter away, one hand flat on a manilla envelope. He stays quiet, letting you go on, watching your hands seek something to do, fingers finding your wine glass over and over.

You drink two glasses of wine before the entrees are served, dangerously close to your usual self imposed "three drink" limit.

One thing bleeds into another. You start to lean a little, in your chair. He nurses a bourbon, you order a shot after the meal.

"Want one?" Your tongue follows the seam of the lime wedge, dabbing along the spongy, white fibers before your teeth sink into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.

“You know I don’t like tequila, but you go on.”

You’re a bit sloppy by the time he gets you home, but still sweet like honey, like you used to be years ago. Before everything changed. Before you asked him to move out.

You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the kitchen table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.

You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.

“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He cooed, relishing in the way you moaned with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Don’t worry, I’m gon’ take care of you and this neglected little pussy.”

“You have to pull out.” You slurred, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.

Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up?

“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.

To have and to hold.

“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.

“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.

“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.

“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.

“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“

“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.

“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you wanted years ago, the thing that made you cry alone in the middle of the night whenever he refused.

Well, he’s going to give it to you now.

“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.

And he’ll throw away the key.

His phone dings with a text, two days later.

“Still mad at you… Can we please meet up about these signatures?”

This became a full fic here.

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

Young Cecil doing his homework with no help and walking past his mom’s half-open door hoping she doesn’t hear him sneaking out and doodling things like “CGP + EH” in his notebook (crossed out) and turning in permission slips at school that the teachers reject because they’re all signed by his big sister and feeling a shiver down his spine whenever he sees a too-tall tree and stealing makeup from drug stores but popping out the mirrors first and falling asleep to the radio and stacking cassette tapes next to his mattress because he never got a frame for his bed and leaving out bowls of water for stray cats and chasing the mice out of his room and learning Torah verses even though he knows no one other than Abby will come to his Bar Mitzvah and crying himself to sleep at night but making up stories in the morning about the citizens he’s seen around town and bumping into Josie at the supermarket where she offers to drive him to the bowling alley and bringing his mom mother’s day flowers even though he’ll be the one who puts them in water, plucks away the dead leaves, throws them away while she watches with blank eyes and when he stares at the loud sunrise he feels an ache in his chest he can’t explain yet and hating that Abby can get a summer job but he’s not old enough yet, it’s starting to feel like decades have passed and he’s still not old enough, and failing his practice SATs because he had to teach himself all those big words and dying in front of a broken mirror and looking at a mirror with broken shards that’s still intact and being a beautiful person in spite of everything and dragging his boy scout recorder into a blanket fort to record cassette tapes about how one day things will be better, one day things will be better, one day things will be better. 

[kechiwrites]

mirror image

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader

part 7/8

synopsis: two weeks into your uneasy truce, simon gets introspective.

wc: 811

cw: afab!reader, angst, banter that becomes arguing, hurt and the tiniest bit of comfort, language, trust issues, simon's pov, no gendered language. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: well, we back at it, the second last installment of this verse. i'll still take requests/thots for it of course, but soon we'll get closure for these two. for now, simon's thoughts on their situation.

new to baby blue? start here.

It’s disarming. 

And Simon Riley doesn’t like being disarmed. He doesn’t like being caught off guard, off kilter, unstable. 

It’s been happening more and more often though.

When you and Tommy look at him in perfect unison, he is struck stupid by your eyes, like you copy and pasted them onto your son. His son. His kid. His perfect, funny kid. Unmuddied by everything bad in the world. His life is pancakes and dinosaurs and that horrible fucking tv show that he’s sure rots his little mind. His life is you. Your smiles, your laugh, your cooking, your hugs. Things Simon cheated himself of when he walked out on you, choked with fear and bleeding misery.

Simon is disarmed, totally fucking helpless, a veritable babe in the woods when you let him hold you. When for the first time, in a long ass time, he gets to watch your lids flutter closed and slip into unconsciousness, in that quick, carefree way he’s always envied. 

He barely sleeps, even less so lately. 

After all, no sleeping meant no nightmares. No cloying, choking smoke-like fears reaching for the frayed edges of his subconscious. No sleeping meant he couldn’t play on your kindness, your goodness, and guilt you into holding him back when he woke up screaming, sweating, no matter how bad he wanted it.

It’s two weeks later. Two weeks after sleeping together but not sleeping together. After breakfast and an uneasy truce. Two weeks after kissing you and touching you and holding you like you both had all the time in the world. 

You’re not in a good mood. And he knows that. But he pushes you anyway, pokes and prods you even as you slam through your kitchen, noisily pulling out a pot and a huge bag of pasta shells.

“Let’s talk.” He approaches, arms crossed, full kit traded in for a skull emblazoned cloth mask, jeans and a threadbare black t-shirt, one he’d found in your bedroom days ago, stashed in the back your drawer, crumpled in a wrinkled ball, like you didn’t want to see it, but you didn’t want to trash it either. He’s been doing that lately, staying over for days and rifling through your shit, finding old relics and artifacts from a time neither of you can let go of. An old mask, a hat, t-shirts.

So many goddamn t-shirts.

“Talk?” you snort derisively, filling the pot with water. He watches you test the water with your fingertips and curse under your breath, mumbling something about shit pipes. When the pot is full, you turn to face him, lips curled, sneering. “I wasn’t aware you were capable of that. Thought you just communicated in grunts.”

“You’re funny. That's new.” He jabs, advancing in the conversation much faster than he should have, comforted in familiar territory, finding solace in what used to be commonplace for you, banter, barbs, teasing. The tense set of your shoulders should’ve warned him off it, should’ve told him you’d take it as well as a bullet in the back. But God help him, he’ll take whatever you give.

“Mm.” Your tone is casual but your answering nod is jerky, too fast, “Yeah, I developed a sense of humour when I realized our relationship had been a joke.” You slam the pot onto a burner, giving him your back. 

The air is suddenly devoid of mirth, utterly obliterated where it had been floating between you before. Now the living room and kitchen are a smoking crater, an oil rig on fire, a disaster site. 

He’s never been more grateful for his son’s propensity to nap like he’s dead.

Neither of you say anything. Simon is waiting for you to say something, to dress him down, but when you lower your head and sigh, heavy and deep with pain and exhaustion he planted within you, Simon withers. He slinks back to the living room and drops himself onto your couch. 

You wait, he’s not sure what for. He used to be so good at preempting your actions, your thoughts, your words, now he handles you like you’re a venomous reptile, looking for exposed, vulnerable flesh to strike, to bite.

You set down the glass you’d been drinking from hard. And he’s surprised you didn’t crack it.

“What do you want, Simon?” Question of the goddamn century, it is. And you’ve asked it of him plenty of times. But he never has an answer, can never really deduce just what the fuck he’s doing here, with you. With Tommy. Playing a game? Playing a role? Punishing you? Himself? All of it could be true, but none of it seems right. 

“I want to try.”

All he knows is that before this, four years seemed like a short time, nothing really. But now?

It’s an eternity. Reflected back to him in broken glass, in half full drawers, in his son’s eyes. 

In yours.

comments + tags + reblogs are so appreciated

oh simon...what do you want?

series masterlist here

[vase-of-lilies]

… for the tiny tiger au. How about Wanda and Nat freaking out thinking that R got out. Which we did, we’re alone outside. But instead of running like they think we did, we found a baby fox and start poking it and what not to see if it’s alive (cause it’s sleeping) and thinking it’s cute we bring it back to mommy and mama who are in hysterics trying to find out where we went, only to turn when tapped to find us covered in mud/dirt presenting the new friend we have to them, wide eyed kan we eep em? Mommy mama pweeesss?

Nat and Wanda don’t know what to do side eyeing one another because they don’t want their baby to cry, but also. It’s a fox.

Muddy Buddies

Paring: Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Little!Reader x Momma!Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: this is a dark AU, wandering off into the woods, finding a friend, fluff, heavy MD/LG, needles, rabies shots

A/N: This immediately reminds me of this video I saw where this kid found a raccoon and is crying because she can’t take him home 😭 Another small drabble for Into The Tiny Verse:) Also, I'm so sorry. I am so tired so if it sounds like a 10-year-old wrote this (my vocab sucks when I'm tired) then just- Idk bear with me here 😭

Your little self was none the wiser when an opportunity to go outside came up. You didn't have any intention of escaping from your new caregivers, all you wanted to do was go on an adventure with your lion! And when this opportunity came up, you took it.

Natasha had just returned from her trip to town, grocery bags in her arms. Usually, she was much better at keeping an eye on you when Wanda was busy, and when she didn't see you come running to the door to say hi to her, she figured you were asleep or with your mommy.

At this point, you were now a couple feet into the forest surrounding the cabin. Not wanting to scare your mommies, you never lost sight of the house. That is until a little hint of orange just a little further inside the trees caught your eye.

Your curiosity moved your feet closer to the unknown blob of color, and once you saw it you let out a soft gasp. Your hand covered your mouth and you moved just a little closer.

It was a baby fox!

Looking around, you grab a stick with some leaves still on it and you kneel down next to the still fox. Is it dead? Your head pushes. Why isn't the mother here? Another question you ask yourself. With the stick in your hand, you gently poke the soft bum of the fox. The animal twitches, and you jump in surprise. Dropping the stick, you crawl to it, not caring about the mud on your pants or hands.

The small fox squeaks, and opens her little eyes, looking up at you. However, it did not run away. Instead, she yawned and got up from her position on the muddy forest floor. She stretches and even approaches you. Carefully, you hold your hand out and you smile as the fox's wet nose sniffs your fingers.

"Aren't chu jus' the chutest ting?" You whisper, scratching the fox's chin. "Yous name is Butto! (Butter)"

Butter lets out a small whine and a raspy bark, and you pick her up. She looks around as you stand up with her, and she slightly starts to struggle. You hold her comfortably tight, and you walk quickly back to the cabin.

Upon entering the cabin once again, you hear your mommies' worried voices. They shouldn't be worried... I'm right here! They don't hear you come in through the front door, too focused on reviewing the camera footage from outside of the warm abode. The two women don't even hear you enter their office!

Holding Butter and Leo (your lion) in one arm, you gently tap Wanda's shoulder to get her attention with the other hand. Her head snaps to the side, her eyes widening when she sees you. "Tiny! Oh my- Oh, and tiny's friend..." She says with a hesitant laugh, pulling her hands away from your muddy self and your muddy friend.

You tilt your head at her reaction to you but shake it off to ask the more important question at hand. You look up at the woman with doe eyes, "kan we eep em? Mommy mama pweeesss?" Wanda and Nat look at each other, surprised to say the least, but not wanting to hear you cry if they take your friend away.

"Who- uh- who is this, little one?" Natasha says, looking down at the fox in your arms.

"Her name Butto'" You say nonchalantly, as if it was just a new stuffed animal.

"Butter?" Wanda confirms and looks at her wife, eyes wide and asking for some type of support. Natasha can’t help but chuckle, and she kneels down in front of you.

“Tiny, I know this little one looks like a friend, but these little guys are tedious. They aren’t very friendly,” Nat frowns, starting to take the fox from your arms.

“Nnnnooooo! No she fren, mama, she nice,” you protest, pulling yourself away from the woman. “She tan stay wif me in m’room, and she can snuggle wif us!”

Wanda and Natasha devise a plan to get the little fox away from you and back to its mother, and they do that by putting you outside with Butter. In the backyard of course.

Butter in fact wasn’t nice. She scratched you, bit you, and made you cry, but your intentions on keeping her never wavered. Your little brain was just seeing another friend, and that’s all you thought this little fox was.

Wanda offered you a deal. “How about we make a trade?” She asks with a smile. “How about I take Butter, and you take Pancakes?” Your mommy pulls a plush fox from behind her back, and you tilt your head. “Just like you need mommy to take care of you, so does little Butter, and we need to get her back to her mommy.” Wanda says, and you start to understand.

“Butter has mommy too?” You ask, tears forming in your eyes at the thought of being taken away from your caretakers. Wanda nods softly and takes Butter from your hands.

“Yeah, so let’s get her back to her home and we can play with Pancakes all night. How does that sound?” Wanda asks you, finally pulling the baby fox from your scratched up hands.

Natasha had contacted Bruce Banner. He may be a human doctor, but he knows where this little fox can go to get real care. He even said that you and your mommies could visit her too! While Wanda held you in her arms, Natasha was distracting you while Bruce gave you a few rabies shots, and a few other vaccines to help you stay healthy after touching a wild animal.

You were not a fan of needles, and the two women knew that.

As you waved goodbye to Bruce and Butter, you sighed softly. “Butto’ sc’atched me,” you sniffle, looking down at your hands that now stung.

“Oh honey, it’s ok, let’s go get you cleaned up for dinner, ok?” Wanda says, picking you up bridal-style and taking you to the bathroom to wash up.

Once your bath was finished, Wanda bandaged your hands and arms and got you all warmed up in your pjs. After dinner, your mommies kept their promise and you played with your new (fluff-filled) friend until you fell asleep!

“We need to watch her carefully…” Natasha chuckles, stroking her knuckle over your sleeping face.

Wanda nods, “Agreed!”

[wherethedeadneversleep]

Reunited

Emma’s phone rings and she thinks nothing of it. She figured it was Luke calling to apologize for the way his friend dragged him away from her a few nights back. Truth be told she should have known better when she received the package from him that had this very phone inside it. It seemed a little too convenient that only three names and numbers were preprogrammed into the phone ─ Luke, Sam, and Dean.

Imagine her surprise when she picked up the phone and saw the name and number of the caller. Someone had ratted on her and told Dean about her. It shouldn’t have come as a shock to her and she is pretty damn sure who did the snitching. She told Luke no one could be trusted, but one by one he still allowed his so called friends in on what should have been their shared secret. The very thing she warned him about, the very thing she told him she was terrified of was now playing out. There would be hell to pay for this for sure, but right now she had to take things one step at a time.

Just maybe all wasn’t lost just yet. Perhaps she could change her angle and still work this to her advantage. Sure, she was bitter and angry at Dean for not even bothering to see if she was still alive after she had been shot. But her real anger was directed at Sam ─ after all, he was the one who pulled the trigger. For this to work she couldn’t just answer the phone with all sunshine and rainbows. She had to play this out perfectly.

So finally she relents and answers the phone. “ I’m not sure how you got my number but you should lose it as quickly as you found it. “

Dean instantly straightened in his chair when he heard her voice, rather than some generic voice mail recording. He wasn't sure what to expect, really, as this was the first time he reached out to her since that infamous day. It left him uneasy, even as the brothers moved on from that incident, but Dean could never completely forget about Emma.

His own flesh and blood daughter had been sent to kill him to complete her initiation as an Amazon. She claimed she didn't want to go through with what she had to do, but it'd been a ploy. She was there to kill him no matter what; he said he'd kill her - at least, that was what he said out loud. It was as if he was trying to convince himself he could do it, but he hesitated when he had the chance to strike. Sam knew it, because he saw it from afar, and that was when he burst in and took out his gun. Before Dean could do anything, Emma was shot by her own uncle. One shot was all it took to kill her--

--or so the Winchesters assumed.

When Dean received the anonymous text message with the number and who it belonged to, he was naturally skeptical. There were a lot of contacts in his address book, and many of them came from his father's connections. But Emma's conception was long after his passing, so it couldn't have been any of them. He briefly considered contacting Sam, but in the end, decided to investigate this matter himself. With the strained relationship the brothers were experiencing, it'd be out of the blue for Sam to not just send him Emma's contact information, but through anonymously. That wasn't his style.

This was a shot in the dark for Dean, one that provided a light, even if it wasn't exactly the most welcoming.

"Don't hang up," Dean urged as he sat forward in his seat, grabbed his phone, and held it to his ear. "Look, I don't know who gave me this number or why, but we need to talk."

Finally hearing his voice after all these years gave her many feelings ─ most of which she did not enjoy. It stirred all those conflicted feelings just like it had the night she confronted Dean for the first time. She had been trained in the most brutal of ways, instructed to kill the very man who made her life possible. Yet, when she stood in front of him she found it not as easy as they had led her to believe it would be. Had she not been so conflicted their conversation would not have lasted as long as it had. Yes, her eyes changed and she got defensive when Sam barged into the room but how else was she to react to a man who had a gun pointed at her chest?

There’s no way anyone could convince her that if either one of them cared anything about her the two of them couldn’t have overpowered her and attempted something other than what Sam deemed the right thing to do. Two fully grown men couldn’t overpower a teenage girl? Such a hypocrite Sam was, now living the life that he was. Why did Sam Winchester get to be happy and have a family of his own when no one else could? What made him so damn special? What made him any more deserving than herself or Dean?

Which made her remember how Luke told her the two weren’t getting along right now. The big nasty blow-up they had over Sam’s new family. This was another angle she could work on when it came to Daddy Dearest. The more she could keep Dean mad at Sam the easier it would be for her to do what needed to be done.

What more could either of them expect from a MONSTER? Oh yeah, she’s heard the stories in regards to Dean’s feelings about anything that wasn’t completely human.

“ I’m pretty sure I know who it was, but does it matter? “ A long almost dramatic breath was exhaled. “ There’s nothing left for us to talk about. I think that was made pretty clear the night you left me for dead. I was an unwanted mistake, I get that now. “ 

Dean reached for the beer nearby and took a swig from it, knowing he was far from done with this conversation. This was no walk in the park. If anything, it was getting dragged through the mud, with unseen thorns and rocks scraping his skin along the way. Worse, he couldn't lay out his usual sarcasm on Emma. This was his only chance to get through to her, and he wasn't going to blow it by being his usual "charming" self.

"He didn't know," Dean said, defending his brother. To Sam, seeing Emma alone with Dean looked like trouble. He was always looking out for Dean, much like how Dean would look out for him. If it walked like a duck and all that... But it was that hesitation on both his and Emma's parts that stuck with him even after her supposed death. "What if?" Could she have been convinced to walk away from her fellow Amazons? Could Dean have done something more? What if Sam had waited to see either Dean or Emma’s next moves? There were so many questions, but none of them were answered, as the brothers had to move on after the deed was done. It wasn't like them to stick around in one place for long.

"I know saying 'sorry' isn't gonna cut it," he said as he set the now empty bottle of beer down next to his empty plate. His green eyes drifted at the crusty, peeling wallpaper of the motel room he was staying in. Last time this place had a makeover was probably when Regan was in office. His mind was trying to find distracting humor in this because this was one of the most difficult conversations he ever endured. Just coming up with the “right” words proved challenging.

"A lot's happened since we last saw each other."

He should inform Buffy about this. They were partners in crime and then some. Meeting Emma by himself was a major NO-NO. If Buffy were wanting to meet some random bozo, he'd demand she either stay put or go with her, because there was no way he was going to take off by herself. And while Emma was rightfully pissed off, who was to say she wasn't still wanting to kill him? Even if they were family?

“ He didn’t know? Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night. “ Of course, Sam knew. Both of them had figured out hours before the encounter. “ If it’s that easy for him to dispatch family, then I’d rather not. Been there, done that, didn’t turn out so well for me the first time. “ She reminded her father and decided to add a little more salt to the already open wound. “ I’ve done pretty good at uncovering things myself, must be that Winchester blood inside me. Did you ever once stop to think that Sam was just paying you back for what you did to Amy Pond? Not really that hard to put two and two together. “

Now the seed of doubt was planted. It was now up to Dean to let those words take hold. “ You’re right, a lot has happened, but nothing that can change what already happened. All I needed was for someone to give me a chance, I needed my father to believe in me because no one else did and I didn’t even get that. “ Now she allowed her voice to break a little as if she were upset. In many ways she was, but this moment she’s dreamed about many times. “ At least I can say I kept my word and so far I’ve not taken a single life. Not that mine's going to be around much longer. I told you they would hunt me down and with each passing day they get closer. I can feel them even now drawing in. “ She made sure to strain her voice saying those few lines.

 “ Sam has the family he always wanted and couldn’t be happier. To hell with anyone else who didn’t fit into those plans, huh Dad? Tell me, when was the last time he even bothered to check on you? Did you even get a call on your birthday day? I didn’t think so. “ She answered before giving him the chance to respond. “ And me, I just have the same as I’ve always had. Everything less than Nothing .. “

Oh yeah, she was laying it all out .. good and thick. “ Tell me something, Dad. Did either of you speak my name after all of that? Or was I just stuffed away like some dirty little secret? I’ve got every reason to be angry and pissed off. I even have a right to hate the world but I still can’t hate you because deep down, I know it, and you know it ... the people who should have loved us the most .. they forgot us both. You should do the same and forget me again before you get dragged into another mess you never asked for. “

Amy Pond. Great, Dean thought miserably. That wasn't a name he'd heard for some time, and for good reason. Sam's "friend" who turned out to be a kitsune had gone on a killing spree to save her son. That wasn't a good reason to murder humans left and right in Dean's mind. Friend or not, Dean did what he had to do, and after killing Amy, had her son threaten to kill him in the future. His actions drove a wedge between him and Sam after that asshole Leviathan took Dean's form and told Sam the truth behind Amy's death.

No, Sam wouldn't be that petty. They had to kill several people over the years, good and bad, if only for the sake of humanity. They lost people they personally loved and cared for. It never stopped hurting, even after the number of losses started to pile up, and no matter how they were forced to soldier on afterward.

And yet, he could vividly recall seeing Emma's lifeless corpse on the ground, with that gruesome bullet hole and the blood that pooled out of his daughter's body. His eyes had watered then, and they watered now. The more Emma talked about Sam, and how everything seemed to work out for him, the more Dean’s head started to hurt. It was difficult to breathe. He wanted to swallow, but his throat dried despite the beer he drank. Even when they were younger, it was all about protecting Sam. Sam was special, he was a target. Dean HAD to look out for him, and he accepted it was his mission in life. Dad drilled it into him from day one, after the loss of his mom, that he needed to protect Sam by any means necessary. Sam this, Sam that...

What about old Dean? No, he didn't get any call from Sam on his birthday. Not even a lousy text message. Ever since he left California with Edgar Frog, he hadn't heard a goddamn peep out of his brother. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" his goddamn ass. Sam was probably having the time of his life surrounded by remorseless monsters that Lucifer got for him. They only liked Sam because Lucifer was using him the entire time. Those so-called friends and family--they were NOT Sam's. Period.

Grabbing the beer bottle, Dean rose from his chair and spun around, only to throw it as hard as he could across the room. The bottle shattered upon impact, and broken shards spilled to the floor. A hand rubbed his face hard as the other kept the phone pressed to his ear.

"If you wanna be mad at someone, be mad at me, but don't go anywhere near Sam," Dean huffed as he paced the room while squeezing his eyes shut. His own kid stabbed him numerous times in the heart with her words. Painful... and truthful. It was all too easy to forget many of the people in their lives, but that night, when he saw Emma as a teenager, only to have her killed before his very eyes, ripped a piece of him that was never truly recovered. Later on, he'd joke about not sleeping with women to prevent another Emma situation, but it was to mask the fact that he couldn't go through that pain all over again, of losing his own child.

Emma was not making it easy on him, and if she was trying to get to him... Dammit, it was working.

“ Why am I not surprised that out of everything I just said the only response I got back from you was for me to stay away from Sam? Don’t worry DEAN, he doesn’t even know I’m alive and I’d like to keep it that way. I have enough family that wants me dead. “ She stressed that point to him once more.

Sure their lives hadn’t been easy, but it was nothing compared to the life she had. At least for a time being they had each other to turn to. From day one of her birth she had no one and to this day she still had no one. She never asked to be brought into this world and had she been given the choice knowing the things she does now, she sure as hell wouldn’t have opted for it. His willingness to STILL try and defend Sam’s action told her all she needed to know. While she planned to work this to her advantage she could NEVER fully trust her father. He would always place Sam above everyone else.

Including his own daughter ....

“ He’s your brother, I get that. You want to protect him, but would he give you that same courtesy right now? Sadly, I’ll never know what that kind of love is like. I’ll never get the chance to grow old, to have a family of my own. Sometimes I think I would have been better off had that bullet been just a little more to the left because I didn’t deserve any of this and I didn’t ask for it. “ The icing on top of the cake that would make the guilt so much stronger and after hearing the loud crashing noise that came from his end she knew it was time for her grand finale.

Forced tears bubbled in her eyes to make her voice sound wrecked and pained. “ Why even bother to call me, Dean? Just want to make sure the monster daughter isn’t trying to murder you. My track record speaks for itself, I’m not the killer of the family. “ She sniffled and rubbed at her face to make it hurt enough that her words sounded genuine. “ You don’t have any obligation to me. Sam decided that for us years ago. I’ve accepted that I’m alone and I’ll be alone until I truly am dead. I don’t hate you, you’re my father, no matter what happened or happens. I’m just asking that you don’t give your hopes up in thinking Sam would pick you over his own happiness and family. I think he’s already proven that. If you told him about me being alive he’d tell you the same thing all over again because only his happiness seems to matter and for that reason, you need to forget about me. I won’t be the reason the two of you continue on the paths you’re on. I just want to live what time I have left. “

She scuffled her hand over the receiver on the phone to make a few loud crackles and pops.

“ I .. I should .. go now. “

The heaviness that weighed heavily on his heart caused him to lean against the nearest wall, where he gradually slid down to the floor. Emma’s words pierced him like needles all over his body; there was no avoiding the harsh, painful truth behind everything she said. Guilt punched him in the stomach over and over again to where he visibly flinched. Nobody ever saw him like this except those closest to him. Inner battles were forever a fight he’d wrangle with, but this was a different battle that involved his own flesh and blood. Regardless of how she came to be, she was still his child, and one he never admittedly got over losing, even at the hands of his own brother.

“You are not alone, do you understand me?” Dean practically growled through the phone. He stared at the bed that he and Buffy shared in this squat joint they were temporarily holed up in. She would be back soon, and he had to tell her about this. This was a situation he couldn’t exactly skirt around, especially now that Emma was not only alive but within reach.

“I’m gonna work something out,” he promised. He had no idea even how to begin with that plan, but dammit, he was convinced he would not lose his daughter again. “Just… Just promise to stay in touch, alright?”

It was Dean’s role to make sure Sam lived life to the fullest. To have the most “normal” life possible… but that blew up in Dean’s face thanks to Lucifer’s involvement. Well, a lot of factors played into that, but Lucifer was absolutely a major part. From the way Dean saw it, Sam liked the idea of being a part of Lucifer’s fold. He loved sharing family and friends with the Devil. No matter how much Dean reasoned with him, there was no getting through to his brother.

Not anymore.

Why should Sam be the only one happy?

Dean wanted his own life, too. His own girl, his own child… His own slice of happiness.

This conversation was turning out to be harder than she could have ever dreamed it to be. A part of her hated Dean for not trying harder, for not sticking around or even checking to see if she was actually dead, for not saying a word when Sam barged into the room with his gun held high. For these reasons she wanted him to HURT. She wanted him to feel even just the smallest fraction of the pain she’s had to live with. There was also another part of her that didn’t want to hate him ─ there was a small part of her that wanted to believe the words he spoke. Emma wanted to believe that Dean Winchester actually cared about her and wanted to be the father he should have been, but how could she when it was no secret how Dean felt about anything less than human?

“ That has yet to be proven. “ She responded to the remark about her not being alone. The irritation in his voice was crystal clear. Even after only having met him once she could picture him standing there with his phone with a tightened jaw while staring at the wall or whatever object was closest in his eyes view.

“  I’m not sure what exactly needs to be worked out here. You’re my father, and I’m your daughter. If you really want this to work there shouldn’t be any planning involved, you should just do what needs to be done. “ She goes quiet after hearing a large crash in the hallway. The phone makes popping and crackling noises as she pulls it from her ear and holds it at her side so that she can look out the peephole of her door. Then there was nothing but silence on her end as she realized who the two men in the hallway were.

     This wasn’t exactly part of her plan but this might just actually work out, that is if she could hold them off long enough for Dean to reach her.

 “ Someone’s here ..” The phone was brought back to her ear just as loud pounding on her door began. “ We’re out of time, they found me. “  ........ The banging on the door got louder.

“ Open the door, Emma! “ A rough husky voice called out. “ We know you’re in there. “

Quickly she blurted out her address just as her front door busted open and the phone jerked away from her. More loud scuffling noises came through the receiving end of the phone and suddenly were replaced with heavy breathing.

 “ DAD !!! “ Emma screams and suddenly the room is filled full of windows breaking, furniture being overturned, and wood breaking. 

Having a family outside of Sam was a notion Dean didn't think about because he accepted that lifestyle wasn't for him. His duties as a hunter wouldn't allow such a luxury. Some hunters were capable of balancing a family and work life on top of going after monsters, but it wasn't easy. The fewer people involved in Dean's inner circle, the better - safer, too. Sam, on the other hand, took the concept of family and safety and mixed it with the supernatural under Lucifer's influence, and he more or less got his "happily ever after." Granted, it cost his relationship with his brother. Not to say it wasn't beyond repair, but Dean's unyielding opinions on the supernatural in general and Lucifer in particular didn't shine a bright light on that choice, either. The last conversation they had over the phone, where Dean let out his guilt for not being able to give Sam that happy normal life, blew up in his face. Sam claimed that he and Lucifer agreed on the outcome of his current family life didn't sit well with Dean.

But Emma? Yeah, what about the kid? She didn't ask to be born, but there she was, days later after her conception, seeking her father out. Ritually speaking, she needed to kill him, but that brief hesitation not just from her, but from Dean as well, always stuck with him. There could have been a chance for her to go a different path - but Sam made the final decision in the end for both him and Emma. And while Dean never entertained himself with actually being anyone's father (father figure, sure, even mentor), it was then that he instinctively wanted to make a difference with her. Supernatural blood aside, she was his child--

The crash in the background startled Dean out of his thoughts. Eyes narrowed, and his muscles tensed as the urgency of Emma's voice rang in his ears.

Someone - out of time - found her.

"Who? The Amazons?!" he asked impatiently, knowing that any Amazons who went against their own would be hunted down and killed.

Without thinking twice, Dean rushed to his side of the bed, where he kept a small notepad that was filled with all sorts of phrases, numbers, and addresses. Just as Emma started talking, he repeated the address out loud to himself as he snatched a pen, and jotted down her location. Then his heart stopped when he heard the sound of struggling, followed by that haunting scream for him.

"EMMA!" he yelled - so loud he shouted her name that he was sure someone might have overheard him from one of the nearby rooms. He didn't care. His daughter was in trouble. Time to move.

The line went dead, and Dean cursed under his breath. Without hesitation, he called Buffy. As eager as he was to track down his daughter, he made a promise to his girlfriend that they would work as a team. No solo missions, but they had to leave ASAP.

To hell if he’d lose his daughter again.

The largest of the three men grabbed Emma’s arms and tossed her across the room. Her body landed on a table that gave way between the force and weight of her body. For a brief moment, she lay on the floor as pain shot up and down her entire back. She could hear their footsteps getting closer. Even if she were to try and fight back there was no way she could take on three full-grown Amazon men on her own and she wasn’t stupid enough to think that she could. The only thing she could do was make a mad dash for the bathroom, locked the door behind her, somehow barricading it shut, and hope that it would hold up long enough for Dean to reach them.

So that’s exactly what she did. Pushing the pain to the side Emma scrambled to her feet and made a direct B-line for the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind her with shaking hands she locked the knob and tossed the chain on the lock. Frantically looking around she pushed over a large wooden stand that was used for holding towels and bathroom supplies. It landed in front of the door in a slanted position. It wouldn’t keep them out for long but hopefully just long enough.  “ Where are you, Dean? “ The words dropped from her in a whispered tone.

While Dean was relaxing back at the motel Buffy decided to make a quick trip down to the little corner market to pick up a few things to restock their food supply ─ after all, Santa Carla wasn’t going to be one of those in and out kind of jobs. There was far too much going on here for that. She felt that icy cold chill rushes down her spine the moment they crossed into this place. Honestly, the place felt a lot like Sunnydale, other than the smell of salt water that lingered in the air.

She wasn’t far from the store when she heard her phone ringing in her jacket pocket. After pulling it out her lips curved into that of a smile seeing that it was Dean calling her. Really? She hadn’t even been gone for a full ten minutes yet. With a perky teasing tone she answered. “ Well, that was certainly quick. Missing me already, are we? Or did you think of something we forgot to add to the list? “

“Emma’s in trouble!” Dean blurted into the phone before he could stop himself. Buffy knew the story about his kid, how she came to be, and what happened to her. Well, what supposedly happened. “I - we have to find her! Get here as soon as you can!”

He hung up before he could give her a chance to speak. His mind was racing a mile a minute, but the only thing he could focus on was helping his daughter. Dean was a determined man, and whatever he set his mind to, he wouldn’t get derailed easily.

With the phone still in hand, he hurried over to his equipment bag, where he dug through its contents until he pulled out a small, but rugged laptop. Sam was usually the one using HIS laptop for information. Researching online was always more his thing. But some time ago, Dean picked up this derpy piece of technology for the basics - in this case, using the internet, and having the right (illegal) software to track down cell phone signals anywhere.

He couldn’t risk calling Emma again, in fear that it would draw attention to whoever was attempting to get their hands on her. Instead, he opened his phone, cracked open the laptop, and typed in the number he used to call her.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Dean urged under his breath, regarding Buffy getting back soon and the software’s ability to find his daughter in time.

All jokes were instantly set aside as soon as Buffy heard Dean’s voice on the other end stating his daughter was in trouble. They didn’t talk much about Emma because it was a subject that was hard for Dean to talk about. But they’ve talked enough for her to know the basic details of how she came to be, what Sam had done to her ... or thought he had done to her, and Dean learning she was still alive after all this time and the regret he had for having not done more.

As soon as she heard the click of his hanging up on the other end she was in a dashing running back to the motel they were staying in. Humans couldn’t run the speed she was capable of moving in .. there were too many humans out and about and she couldn’t risk drawing attention to herself .. at least more than a frantic woman running to or from something.

All she could think about was the terrified sound of Dean’s voice. He had so many regrets about what happened all those years ago. He had a real chance now to try and make things right with his daughter and someone or something was trying to stand in the way of that AGAIN, and she had a pretty good idea who since Dean laid out the story of what happened to those Amazons who went against their own.

She stopped just short of the motel door. Even at the speed she ran in she knew she got back way sooner than she should have been able to. Right now Dean and his daughter were more important than him learning about her abilities. If it was brought to light, she would deal with that bridge once they got there. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, but she would risk that for them.

Nearly busting through the door winded she looked to Dean. “ Are you ready? Do you have our bags? “ At this point, she was practically heading to the Impala. There was time for questions on the way there.

While the program was tracing the location of Emma’s phone, Dean swiftly gathered everything that belonged to him and Buffy and packed it all up. As a kid, his father instilled in him the importance of leaving NOTHING behind. No matter how big or small, everything had to be accounted for. To which Dean instilled that importance to Sam once he started traveling with him. He had a mental checklist of his inventory, and even when it doubled since he started traveling with Buffy, he never experienced any lapse of memory. The more supplies (weapons in particular), the better. Thinking about the perils Emma was facing alone did bring more urgency for this departure, so he moved as quickly (though thorough) as possible.

As he secured the last of their equipment, the laptop made a sound, indicating that it finished its tracking. Dean hurried over to the table where the laptop sat and examined the map. It was quite a few miles away from his current location, but nothing his lead foot couldn’t handle. Along with his skilled precision when it came to driving, he and Buffy would make it.

Once he wrote down the coordinates, he closed the laptop. At the same time, the motel door busted open. Buffy was back - damn, she was fast! Dean didn’t ask how she made it back so quickly, as he was already on the move. His main focus was his daughter.

With the laptop tucked under his arm, he grabbed the keys to his car and was already following Buffy as she headed for the Impala.

“We’re heading to the county line,” Dean told her as they both climbed into the car. The laptop was tossed to the backseat, and Dean was already turning on the ignition. “I’m gonna burn rubber, so hold on tight.”

The Impala peeled out of the parking lot, and the two hunters made their way to their next destination. They would be up against Amazons, so there was no question that they’d be in for quite a fight. Dean didn’t care what he had to fight through, so long as he could save Emma. This time, he couldn’t lose her, not if he had the chance to actually have a say in the matter.

“ Drive fast but carefully, wrecking won’t get us to her any quicker. “ She was quick to remind him. She was used to Dean driving when they were in a hurry but this was a different kind of hurry. The first chance she got she reached into the back seat and grabbed his laptop. If she was going to be fighting Amazons then she needed to know what she was about to go up against. Normally she would have just asked Dean but she didn’t want to distract him from concentrating on the road. Thankfully he had taught her how to use this thing because electronics had never really been her thing.

The first thing that caught her eye was the mention of them being all female race. Buffy would never claim to be the smartest cookie in the jar but she was pretty sure there was no way to pick and choose what gender your child would be, and that went for any human or creature on the planet. So what happened to the males who were born? Did they just kill all the male babies? Did they keep them as slaves but not classify them as Amazons? Those thoughts alone turned her stomach. For a second her eyes shift to Dean with disbelief. But then she was back to reading.

Her stomach turned even more reading about the initiation by killing their father. More and more Buffy was starting to fully understand the story behind Dean and his daughter. She couldn’t begin to imagine the things Emma must have been put through those first few days of her life and then be expected to kill one of the two people who brought her into this world .. unreal. And to think what Dean must have been feeling when he learned he had a daughter who was already sixteen within just a few short days.

But then she found exactly what she was looking for. Super strength, check .. she had that covered. Rapid aging .. not a problem. Good at handling weapons, check. But once she read that despite their supernatural features they were very much mortal and could die just as easily.. this was going to be a walk in the park, hopefully if they made it in time.

But before she could even close the laptop Dean was throwing on the brakes and pulling them into an apartment complex. Once again she tossed the laptop into the back seat and grabbed their bag of weapons as Dean parked the Impala.

“ You have her room number? “

Dean slapped his magazine into the gun, pulled the slide back, and threw the car door open.

"Not a room number, but third floor!" he huffed as he bolted from the car. Together, the hunters raced up the stairs. Dusty floorboards creaked beneath the weight. The air was stale, and a number of the windows were boarded up. It wasn't the most ideal place, but no matter where someone hid, the Amazons would find you. No sense in keeping themselves quiet either, not when Emma's life was on the line.

Dean had his gun in one hand, and the tracking device in the other. The closer they approached their destination, the brighter the blips became on the small screen. As soon as they reached the third floor, however, footsteps thundered behind them. At the bottom of the stairwell, a group of men rushed upward.

"'Course they were expecting company," Dean growled as he took aim and fired at the closest male Amazon. The muzzle flashed, and the metallic pop cracked in the air. The first man's head snapped back, a wet hole was visible on his forehead, and he fell backward. The ones behind him topped back due to the dead weight upon them. Others climbed and jumped over them as they continued giving chase.

Dean fired more rounds, each one of them headshots, but when one fell, another appeared right behind him to take his place. Were these actually male Amazons? Or are some brainwashed suckers working for the Amazons? Either way, they weren't going to stop.

Between fired shots, he hollered at Buffy, "Take the tracker and find Emma. I promise I'll catch up! I don't want to lead any of these sons of bitches to her!"

Without hesitation, Buffy caught the tracker and continued her ascend to the fourth floor. She wanted to stay and help Dean, but she knew he could take care of himself and what mattered most was reaching his daughter before anything happened to her.

The tracker beeped louder with each step she took down the hallway. So far it looked like all the goons were stationed down on the third floor. That’s until she heard the sound of a door breaking and shouting. Buffy bolted down the hallway until she reached a room where the door had been kicked in. The tracker was beeping at full speed. Tossing it to the side she stepped inside to see three overly large men. Two searching the room and one seemed dead set on busting down a door that looked like it led to a bathroom.

“ Hey, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to pick on girls? “ She announced as she moved into the room and braced her stance ready for a fight. Right now she didn’t have to hold back. Dean was still a flight down and his daughter was undoubtedly the one in the bathroom. She could give them her all and not have to hold back. “ Well come on tough guys, show me what ya got. “

The two Amazons guarding the room instantly charged in. Swing after swing she ducked and dodged, only a few minor hits grazing the side of her face. With a balled fist she planted one perfect punch to one of the Amazon's faces sending him sailing across the room. Her body instantly spins into a roundhouse kick into the other. Her foot connects straight to his stomach. It gave her enough time to drop her bag and pull out the first thing her fingers wrapped around.

A hammer? Why did Dean have a hammer in their weapon bag? Oh well, a hammer it was, she didn’t have time to look for anything else because the two were back on their feet and heading for her again. Her Tae Kwon Do came in handy as she used several high-rising blocks and outer forearm blocks to counter their assault. Side, back and crescent kicks she used to unsteady them on their feet until she got the perfect opportunity to land the hammer straight down on top of one of their heads. His head cracked like a melon and just as he was dropping to his knees she yanked the hammer from the top of his head and swung straight around planting it straight between the eyes of the other.

That’s when she heard the crashing of the door. The third male had finally managed to bust the door to the bathroom open. Giving the hammer a spin in the hand she aimed and fired. The hammer soared through the air and impacted with the back of the Amazon's head with a sickening pop. She watched as he staggered forward and fell flat on his face in the bathroom.

Emma had no idea what was taking place in the other room other than hearing a female's voice and then the sound of fighting and all kinds of shit breaking. It was hard to hear much of anything over the sound of the door being knocked in with each shoulder that plowed into it.

Before she knew it the door busted wide open and when it did it knocked her off her feet. All she could see was a blonde woman standing in the distance and the man with red eyes who meant to deliver her to her true death. Emma’s eyes clasped shut at the popping sound and before she could register what happened the male was tumbling forward and fell across her body on the floor.

“ Get off me! “ But the more she pushed and struggled the more she realized he wasn’t going anywhere. “ Someone get this asshole off me .. “

If Dean saw another male Amazon, it’d be too soon. He couldn’t believe he was almost out of ammo by the time he put the last monster down. The carnage was akin to a slaughterhouse, with blood splattered against the wall, and blood oozing down the stairwell. While catching his breath, Dean stayed only a bit longer to make sure there weren’t any last-minute surprises to slow him down. Once he was satisfied, he was on the move once again. He listened for the beeping of the tracker, and it didn’t take long before he found it on the ground outside a unit. The door was busted open, and Dean made sure his gun was loaded, before pressing himself against the wall.

“Buffy!” he called out. No sound, except for the shattering of wood. He stepped into the room and aimed his gun, only to see Buffy standing in front of an open doorway, in a way that indicated she’d thrown something.

Once he searched the room and saw the dead bodies on the floor, he hurried to Buffy’s side, where he saw yet another dead body, only this time, it was on top of…

“Emma!”

Dean holstered his weapon and stepped into the bathroom, where he grabbed the male Amazon high enough to push him off to the side. Then he knelt before the girl in both relief and shock.

It was really her, his daughter, the one who shouldn’t even be here because of Sam. Yet here she was, in the flesh. He almost stopped breathing as he thought back to the last time they saw one another. It’d been brief and harrowing. Emotions ran high for both of them. Out of all the monsters Dean faced, the one who was his by blood, was the one he believed could have a chance to start a new life.

Holding out his hand to her, Dean said, “C’mere, you’re coming with us. We’re getting you out of here!”

When Dean took her side and realized his daughter had survived Buffy took a few steps back. She would look around the room to make sure no more hidden surprises were waiting for them. Then she headed to the door and placed her back on its frame. From here she was close enough to help if Dean should need it, but also close enough to watch the hallway for any unwanted company.

This was his moment to be reunited with his daughter, she wasn’t going to intrude on that. Every so often she would glance over her shoulder just to see how things were going.

“ Who the hell are you? “ Emma first questioned when the blonde came into her line of sight. Not who or what she was expecting with all the busting and breaking of things she heard only moments ago. Did Dean really send someone in his place?

That answer was soon answered when Dean stood beside the blonde. Despite it not being that long ago that she heard his voice on the phone, she could hardly believe her eyes. She knew he was in Santa Carla, she had spotted him on more than one occasion. Seeing him up close like this, he didn’t look like he’d aged a day.

Now Dean was directly in front of her after getting the dead Amazon and door off of her and while he had no weapon in hand that old familiar feeling crept into the pit of her stomach. Haunting memories of the past flashed before her very eyes. Her eyes moved to his hand when he reached it out to her but she couldn’t seem to reach back to him. Instead, she scurried to her feet and backed up a few inches almost planting her back against the nearest wall. Her emotions were running high having not expected to actually come face to face with him so soon. She wasn’t ready for this by no means.

Her eyes kept looking to the door behind him as if expecting to see Sam walk through it with his gun held high or maybe it was her looking for an escape. “ You want me to go with the two of you when I have no clue who she is, where it is you want to take me, who’s going to be there, or what you plan on doing. All I know is what you said on the phone and I still don’t know if I can trust that or if this is just some trick. Forgive me if I’m paranoid but I think I’ve got good reason to be. “

Dean let out a frustrated sigh but took back his hand, and rose to his feet. The kid had a point. Their last meet-up didn’t exactly close with a fairy tale ending. To say it caught them both off guard would be an understatement.

“I meant what I said,” he pressed. If this were anyone else, he would’ve lost his patience, especially if more monsters could potentially be coming back for round two. But he couldn’t risk losing his daughter - not again. How many times had he said this and thought this? It was as if he doubted this was possible. No, he refused to screw this up.

“Please, Emma,” Dean said, his features now softened, his tone cracking, on the verge of pleading. “I don’t know what magic words you want me to say. I can’t trade Sam’s life for yours for what he did, but I want you to know I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. You’re my daughter. I’m not perfect, I never claim to be perfect, but I’m gonna do what it takes to make sure you’re taken care of. This world... it's not as black and white as you think it is.”

Pot meet kettle, his inner voice chided, as he briefly reflected on Sam and his family situation.

Dean was never the type to watch those Hallmark movies, or worse, those sappy feel-good family-friendly shows, but he knew how not to treat a kid by his and Sam’s own upbringing. There clearly was no way to nab hold of a time machine to go back and right the wrongs of the past, but he could only hope that he could start repairing the trust issue between the two of them.

“I get that you’re paranoid,” Dean added gently, “but you have to start trusting somebody at some point. Even the Lone Ranger had Tonto. Batman and Robin.”

Emma thought she would have been able to breathe a little easier when Dean pulled his hands away from her. That wasn't the case because now it was harder for her to keep track of his hands along with the blonde that arrived moments before him.

" Just because you say it that doesn't make it true. I have no reason to trust you this time around. " The way he spoke it seemed like this was so easy for him. Could he even begin to imagine how she must feel after all this time? Did he have any idea of the pain she suffered and endured? Did he know what it was like to be alone, to have your entire family turn their backs on you? This was NOT as easy as Dean Winchester seemed to think it should be.

But when his voice softened and he almost sounded as if he was pleading with her, it reminded her of that night. He genuinely sounded like a man and not some Hunter. A huge part of her wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that everything could be different this time. But the Amazon inside her knew better, it knew no man could be trusted. There was a large reminder in the center of her chest of what happens when you're too trusting.

Wow, what bit of softness he managed to bring to her face instantly disappeared when he spoke of Sam. Of course, he couldn't harm his darling brother. The same damn brother who wouldn't even have anything to do with him right now. The same brother that had his own little monster family.

" Strange hearing that from you since you're the very person who taught me it's exactly as black and white as it seems. If you taught me nothing else that lesson sank in deep. "

" Paranoid probably wasn't the best word for me to have used. You want me to trust you and yes you came here to help me but trust isn't something I can just give to you, not after everything that's happened. This is going to take a lot of work and effort and it's not going to come easy. " And with that statement, Emma moved away from the wall. She kept her distance as she drew herself out of the cramped and destroyed bathroom.

Looking over at the blonde she turned back to Dean. " I take it a friend of yours? You always did have a thing for blondes. " Her own mother had been a blonde. Clearly, Dean had a type.

This wasn't going anywhere fast, but they couldn't stay here much longer. Staying would lead to possible retaliation. Dean wasn't sure if he had the strength to go another round with more Amazon rejects.

"Buffy," he introduced without looking over at his partner. He didn't invite her in, fearing that Emma would take this as a sign of her being not only outnumbered, but crowded. Someone "trapped" in a room would lead to wild and unpredictable actions. He had his daughter alone for the first time in years, and he didn't want anything else to happen to her. "Her name's Buffy Summers. She's my partner, and she's helped me find you."

Dean saw everything imaginable and impossible since he was a child. Stuff that would give others nightmares for years on end. Therapists would have a field day with Dean if they ever got the chance to pin him down and reveal anything about him. He simply coped and forced himself to go about every day that was given to him. Rarely did he ever have true nightmares that would leave him bolting up from bed and drenched in sweat. Emma's death was one of those disturbing dreams that, once in a while, jolted him from a sound sleep. He couldn't tell Sam about it, knowing how awkward and frustrating that conversation would get, so he kept those moments to himself. To have her here now was a chance he could not let slip away.

"You didn't come all the way here just to see me and take off on your own," Dean stated, keeping his composure. His eyes softened a bit as he studied the face that, no doubt, came from him. "I could've been anywhere else in the world, anywhere at all, but here we are, the two of us, in the Golden State. Now, you can act like you're not triggered by seeing me and go on your way, and I won't stop you. Or, you can give me a chance to work things out between me and you. Listen when I say I won't let Sam hurt you ever again. Neither of us can leave this room until we've got this situation settled here and now."

The instability of his life was something he was used to, often painfully so, but if he could have anything in the world right now, it would be some form of family security with his own flesh and blood.

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she caught Emma's smug remark. Suppressing the urge to say anything, Buffy took a deep breath and reminded herself of the bigger picture here. She knew that Dean's daughter had been through a lot as had Dean, but Emma seemed determined to stir the pot more than she should. Dean desperately wanted to reconnect with Emma, but his efforts were met with resistance and resentment time and time again. The pain in his eyes whenever he spoke about his daughter was impossible to ignore and if Emma couldn't see how honest he was being with her and how much he desperately wanted to make this work, then she was blind.

" Buffy? What kind of name is that? " Emma asked almost mockingly, her tone laced with a hint of superiority. She tilted her head slightly, a condescending smile playing on her lips.

Buffy felt a pang of annoyance at Emma's dismissive attitude. Taking a deep breath, she decided to respond calmly, refusing to let Emma's mockery get under her skin. " Well, Emma, " Buffy began, maintaining an air of composure. " My name may not fit into your conventional idea of what a 'normal' name should be, but it holds significance for me. Maybe I'll tell you about it one day. " She spoke but never moved into the room with the two.

Emma's nose turned up, and a hint of annoyance flashed across her face. The question was trivial and unimportant. Did she really think she cared about such petty matters? Her eyes rolled in exasperation. Over the years, he had undoubtedly downgraded in her eyes.

Dean was completely oblivious to the web of manipulation she had spun around him. Every step he took, every word he spoke, only solidified her position in this intricate game. She had orchestrated this meeting with precision, carefully planting herself in his path under the guise of coincidence. It was all part of her grand design, a plan fueled by a burning desire for revenge. Dean had no idea that he was merely a pawn in her game, a means to an end. Her true intentions were far from innocent. She had come to this town seeking retribution for past wrongs, and Dean unknowingly held the key to unlocking it all. The thought sent shivers down her spine, fueling her determination to see it through.

However, she couldn't help but notice Dean's genuine kindness and warmth, the way his words seemed so sincere. He seemed so trusting, so open-hearted. A pang of guilt touched upon her but lasted only a fleeting moment. Almost as quickly as that moment of fear struck her just before the bullet.

" No one will ever hurt me like that again. " Emma was quick to correct Dean. Sam would get everything he had coming to him for what he had done, she would personally see to it. " You're a walking, talking, breathing trigger, Dean, but against my better judgment and current situation, I'm giving you that one single change. That single chance I never got. "

From there she stepped past Dean and out of the bathroom. " Lead the way Blondie. "

Dean expected rejection. He was used to anticipating the worst out of a situation: "realism," Dad called it. Since childhood, his dad toughened him up for the worst-case scenario. Never expect a happy ending, just an ending, good or bad. Just make sure you were the one to walk away with all four limbs, and the enemy dealt with. When Emma actually accepted his offer, a wave of relief washed over him. That heavy weight that dragged him down ever since his daughter's supposed death finally eased off of him, allowing him to stand straight for once. The worries weren't completely faded, however. That'd be foolish to believe.

He exchanged a knowing look with Buffy as they gathered what was left of Emma's belongings. With Dean behind Emma, Buffy took the lead as they made their escape out of the apartment.

Dean had to keep his daughter safe. He had to tell Sam at some point. There was no way he couldn't keep her a secret from him. He still couldn't get over the fact that survived after all these years. His emotions were in a whirlwind. She was half of him - a Winchester by blood, but also a monster. The arguments he had with Sam came flying back to him, and the crap he gave him about Lucifer and his family. Dean never denied having a daughter, even when he thought she'd perished. It felt like a crazy dream, really. Yet here she was, fully - well, nearly fully - grown, and alive. Christ, he needed a stiff drink once they'd settled somewhere safe.

He wasn't sure what exactly to do with her once the dust settled. Well, besides make sure she wasn't carrying anything lethal on her that would be a threat to him or Buffy, and definitely make sure she had no plans to kill him like last time. No, he attempted to work things out with her before. Back then, she considered starting a new path if Sam hadn't…

Dean clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. He didn't want to blame his brother. Who knew what would've happened if his brother hadn't come when he had? Maybe Emma wouldn't have changed her mind. She could've tried to kill him anyhow - or maybe she would've agreed to sneak off with the Winchesters. What was done, was done. Dean has his daughter now. They would work it all out. Nobody was going to kill anybody, not if he had any say in the matter.

[wickedanddeadly]

From Sam!

[mm-lurking]

Nothing will ever fix us - Jiyan

A/N: Had an idea while I was sick and I ran with it. Warnings: Jiyan x fem! reader, angst with no happy ending, not really proofread I got tired WC: 2444 -- Everyone around you always talked about timing when it came to love. “If you find the right person you will make it work no matter what!” “There is no such thing as the wrong time.” “If you really wanted to, you would have.” It was so easy for them to say. So easy for them to say, you think as your fist tightens into a ball and your knuckles turn white. The item in your fist protrudes into your skin and the irregular edges pinch at the thinner edge of your palms but the pain is nothing compared to the aching in your heart that shows no signs of dulling.

You unravel your fist and stare at the item again. It was a necklace Jiyan gifted to you on your first anniversary together. You remember how surprised you were staring at the J-shaped gold pendant decorated with tiny emerald pieces. The shock on your face as you tried to form sentences only to look like a dying fish had Jiyan chuckling loudly, a sound you so dearly loved to hear.

“Jiyan…I…what-“

“Do you like it?”

He softly asks as you hold the necklace box in your hands. He notes how your hands shake slightly, as if afraid of the weight that the gift holds. One of his slender hands holds onto your occupied hand and he gently squeezes them.

“I- of course I do! But-“

“As long as you like it, my love.”

You gulp as you pry your eyes away from the glimmering necklace and look into his golden ones.

“Jiyan this is too much…and it’s just our first anniversary you can’t-“

“Nothing is too much when it comes to you. Nothing.”

You sense the determination and sheer amount of love he has for you. His voice is firm and resolute as if he’s sure he wants you right now and forever. That there is no one except you in this lifetime and more.

Tears blur your vision and you clench your teeth so tightly that you can feel them aching into your gums. The necklace falls from your palm and hits the floor with a loud thud as you bring your hands to your face and sob heavily. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. You didn’t want it to end like this. What choice did you have?

Jiyan was the perfect man. He truly really was. A well-versed medic and general with a gentle personality who knew when and where to display his power. He was observant; no detail ever slipped his eye and he made sure everyone and everything was taken care of. That is exactly what made you fall in love with him so deeply. You swore this man had no flaw -he was so well-rounded that nothing about him was a problem to you. Sure, he was stubborn and cared more for his troops and others than himself, but don’t we all? Aren’t we all like that for the ones we love? 

Yet when days turned into months, and months into years you realised that perhaps, just perhaps, the downside to meeting such a perfect man was that you were fated to never have him close to you. That when duty called and the lives of civilians were at stake you had to sacrifice your relationship so he could keep everyone safe. The sacrifice of your love was crucial so the army troops were not selfishly sacrificed.

The first few times it was fine. You didn’t mind having to part ways with him because it was part of the package -it was part of dating General Jiyan. You knew what you signed up for and you were ok with it. You were prepared to be lonely because you had been single before, so what was so hard about having a man but just not having him by your side? At least you had a companion, one so beyond your league you still wondered what you did to be blessed with him. You were his and he was yours.

But there is only so much burden a heart can hold. Some nights you couldn’t sleep when your aching heart haunted you instead of a good night’s rest. Some nights your anxiety ran wild as you thought of all possible worst-case scenarios of Jiyan getting hurt or worse…finding out he’s dead. Some nights you stayed awake wondering why you hadn’t received a reply from him when days and even weeks had passed. Other nights you stayed up sobbing into your arms, wondering when you would get to walk around with Jiyan in the city and have fun like all these other couples did. The bed was so cold and empty without him.

However you persisted. When those long nights passed and your tears dried, you washed your face, sucked it up and went to work. You had a duty to fulfill and the world didn’t care how painful it was to practically never see the man who owned your heart. You didn’t hold Jiyan accountable, you knew he didn’t do it on purpose. His long letters to you detailed how much he loved you and missed you and how sorry he was for missing the second anniversary or your new promotion or how he couldn’t make it back in time for the new years and other holidays where families celebrated together…you forgave and you forgave.

Until your third anniversary came around. He had told you he would be there for the day as work had lightened up. He told you he had a surprise for you and that he wanted you to dress your best and meet him at a specific spot. You remember how giddy you felt reading that letter, kicking your feet like a teenager in love and screeching with each word he wrote. Finally! Some quality time with my man! 

If only you knew.

He didn’t show up on the promised night. You waited and waited but there was no sign of Jiyan. The sun rested and the moon rose yet the love of your life wasn’t here. You stood there awkwardly, dressed head to toe like a supermodel compared to the civillians as they eyed you while walking past. Some grandmothers even offered to take you home, wondering what a maiden like you was doing alone dressed like this in such a place. The embarrassment turned into tears that bubbled in your eyes and eventually, you stormed home out of humiliation and frustration. Enough was enough.

The doorbell rang at 11 pm that night. You had changed out of your attire and gotten ready for bed. With a heavy heart, you went to open the door only to find the man responsible for your heartache standing there. You remember the way your tear-stained face turned into one of fury as you stared at him, angry and infuriated.

“Leave.”

There were several million things you wanted to say but that’s all you manage to squeak out. Jiyan stands there with an exhausted face as he looks at you, his heart breaking as he hears the coldness in your voice. You try to shut the door on him but his muscular arm blocks you from doing so.

“My love please-“

“Do not even use that term on me right now, General Jiyan.”

His Adam's apple bobs as he harshly swallows. He knew he messed up big time but he wanted you to listen to his side of the story.

“Something came up. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. I was going to come to the city but there was an emergency I had to resolve. Unfortunately it took much longer than I expected, for which I apologise.”

You scoff. You had spent this whole time crying and just when you had managed to calm down, of course he had to reignite the tears again. You angrily wipe your tears as you point your finger at him.

“Every single time you couldn’t come to see me, I forgave you. I forgave you for missing holidays, my new promotion, all important milestones in our relationship…I forgave and I forgave and I forgave!”

With each word you speak, your tone gets harsher and louder. Your finger trembles as you jab it into his chest continuously. You were fuming from how much he had neglected you all this time. Jiyan frowns in sadness as he watches you express your anger.

“The one time,” you say shakily, “the one time I had my hopes up for us, the one time I went all out as you requested me to do so… you just had to get me excited and happy only for you to shatter everything into pieces, didn’t you?!”

Hot tears roll down your eyes as you continue to yell at him. He tries to move away from the door and step inside your house but you prohibit him.

“Don’t even think about coming inside Jiyan.”

“Please, listen to me.”

“There is nothing left to listen to! Do you not understand?!”

Sobs wreck your body as you cry even harder. Your head hurts from all the tears you shed today and your eyes show no signs of stopping anytime soon. He extends his arm forward to comfort you but you swat it away.

“I don’t want anything to do with you anymore Jiyan. This…,” you point back and forth at the two of you, “is not working between us.” His eyes widen and waver at your words, unable to believe you would say such a thing.

“If…if you need more time, or a break away from me I totally understand but please,” his voice quietens as he continues, “please don’t leave me.” You can hear the pain in his words and it makes you cry harder but you shake your head.

“Don’t make this difficult for me. You can barely come back to the city to visit your mother let alone come visit me. You have spent most of your life on the battlefield and it’s the only place you ever will be. You don’t have time for me Jiyan, admit it. Admit it that you cannot give me the time and attention I need.”

Your voice breaks by the end of it. You never imagined there would be a day you would have to break up with this man. You truly thought you both would be together for eternity, that no matter what came your way, no matter what obstacles you faced, no matter how difficult things got for both of you, you always thought you both would be together through it all.

Yet that was never meant to be the case.

Jiyan forcefully swallows and stares at the ground for a moment, contemplating something as tears fill his eyes. Then with great sorrow, he looks up at you and awkwardly smiles. You cannot stop crying as you gaze into his eyes, hiccuping through your tears while trying to say something. You wanted to comfort him but that would make your decision harder.

“If…if you ever find yourself wishing for me again, my love…please know that my doors are always open for you.”

You wail like a widow upon hearing those words.

“I am sorry…I am sorry for doing this Jiyan…but this is for the best.”

Your throat burns from how aggressively you’ve cried so far. You shake your head, not wanting to deal with this anymore. The longer he stayed the more difficult he would make it for you to stay true to your words. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before giving your verdict.

“Leave Jiyan. Go. I hope you find your happiness elsewhere.”

His gaze lingers on you for a little longer as he takes in the last of you. You can see him trace your features mentally, etching every curve and crevice of you into his memory to last for a lifetime. Then with a heavy heart, he turns around and walks a few steps before stopping. He looks sideways, just enough for you to see his side profile but not enough for you to see the heartbreak that is visible on his face.

“I will never find happiness in anyone but you.”

Without turning back he walks away, leaving you in fresh tears as his grieving voice rings in your head. You watch him leave until he disappears from your line of sight. A gust of wind shuts your door close, closing off not just your encounter but also your relationship with him.

The flashbacks force you to open your puffy eyes and you slouch against the wall slowly as you slump to the floor. You can’t help but tug on the hairs on your scalp as everything hurts and burns. The necklace he gifted you lays by your feet and you stare at it for a while before hesitantly picking it up while crying. Anger surges through your body and you throw the necklace across the room, screaming in agony as you do so.

You want to hate him for making you feel like this, for taking your heart so lovingly and crushing into nothingness but the logical part of you knows it’s not his fault. You know he would never willingly hurt you and you know he didn’t want to make you feel like this. Yet sometimes as human beings our actions speak louder than words; no matter how many paragraphs of sickly sweet love letters someone writes, no matter how much someone says they will be there for you through thick and thin, their behaviour will speak volumes.

Simply put, he couldn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved and nothing could fix that, not even his letters and gifts to you. And even after two months of breaking up with him, you find it hard to find closure over your broken relationship. You stay there on the floor as you continue to cry your lungs out, letting yourself be a mess. In the distance, your phone screen lights up from an unknown number. You are too occupied in your grief to pay attention to the messages.

[sent 23:07] I…I know you’ve blocked me from reaching you so forgive me for finding another way

[sent 23:11] The battle was tough and I fear I don’t have much time left

[sent 23:13] But if I had to choose this life again

[sent 23:15] And I had to choose to love you again

[failed to send] I would

[failed to send] I would do it in a heartbeat 

[failed to send] I love you

[failed to send] Forever and always

[failed to send] Jiyan ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[avonne-writes]

Night Shadows

Again, I don't know what's up with me, I was suddenly inspired... This is in the same verse as this drabble - Gale has severe PTSD after the war.

The thin summer blanket falls over Bucky's frame like a veil, in soft folds. He lies still in his and Gale's bed and imagines he’s one of those timeless marble sculptures that look like people frozen in motion, with their clothes still ruffled by the breeze. A part of him longs for that oblivion, but a prickling awareness pulls him further away from sleep. The space on his left, where warmth and peace should press up against him, is as cold as the stone in Bucky's fading dream.

He cracks his eyes open to the shroud of the night and traces the silhouettes drawn by the pale moonlight that slips in through the curtains. Nothing lives and breathes around him, nothing moves. It’s only empty space.

Half-asleep, fear is a shock, a bucket of cold water after a bad evening spent drinking. He wrestles his marble bindings off and slips out of bed. His bare feet pad on thick carpet, then cool floor. His elbow brushes a doorframe a touch too hard, and the scrape of it draws a hiss, but nothing whispers back in the dead silence.

"Buck?" He calls out in that low, groggy voice that always gets him a fond smile in the morning. "You okay?"

There's no reply, but the living room gapes danger with its dark and empty space, and Bucky's heart kicks up its frantic beats. He looks around, squints, reaches for the lightswitch, but then he spots it - a pair of feet behind the couch.

He runs before the flood of dread could even materialize as a thought - he doesn’t think that Gale could be hurt or dead, he feels it. In his rush, he knocks into the coffee table that Gale apparently moved into the way, but he ignores the blooming pain and throws himself right down on the floor to grab the body lying lifeless in cold, wet liquid.

"Gale!" He exclaims. His fear drums so loud in his ears that he barely hears the gasp of surprise he draws, but the scrambling hands he does feel, as they scratch and grip at his shoulders in blind, animal panic.

"It's me. It’s me." He shifts his hold from Gale’s arms to his wrists and holds them away from the wounded skin of his neck until Gale calms and goes limp.

"Jesus Christ." Bucky breathes out in tired relief and pulls those hands to his chest, keeps them pressed there with his left while he cups Gale’s cheek with his right. "You scared me."

When Gale doesn’t reply, Bucky's heart clenches in a different kind of worry - the gentle, bittersweet kind that creeps around your heart like an embrace. It’s the worry of familiarity, the pain that comes from knowing what's coming and yet being powerless to do anything but watch how much damage the crash of a wave does against the shore.

"Don’t do this to me, doll. Not again." The plea slips out of his mouth quietly. It feels like defeat.

Gale doesn’t hear it.

"They’re out there." He whispers. His voice never sounded like this during the war, not even when they were on that train of death or when they plotted their escape - this voice knows neither reason, nor reality. "They’re coming."

Bucky shifts his grip on Gale’s hands, holding them both between his chest and his palm, and slides the other hand down Gale’s body to feel around for injuries. Wetness seeps into his pajamas from the puddle he’s kneeling in. It's dripping from Gale’s body, but it's not blood. Thank God, thank every saint for that. It’s ice cold water, and Gale is sopping wet with it.

"No one's coming." Bucky tries to soothe Gale. He wishes he spared that fraction of a second he would have needed to turn on the lights, because in the darkness, he can’t see Gale’s expression, just the white flash of his gaze sometimes as he stares at Bucky in wide-eyed horror.

"Shhh." Gale shushes him. "Lie down or they'll notice you." Gale's breathing speeds up to an unnatural, panicked rhythm, then goes slow so suddenly that it gives Bucky whiplash.

"Must join them to make it. Must join them." He mutters under his breath. It doesn't sound like he knows he’s speaking.

Bucky knows what he's doing. He put it together from the fragments Gale gave him during his episodes - he's on the run from the march, lying in a ditch among the dead to avoid being noticed by the German troops passing through the forest. In his right mind, Gale barely told him anything but the plain facts of what happened. Filth and rotting corpses only a few feet away from the retreating men. I made it out, it doesn't matter, John, he said that one time Bucky brought it up. But if something wakes him up wrong at night, it’s either this moment he loses his sanity to, or the darkest days of their captivity.

Usually, Bucky tries to wake him from it. He has tried it gently and rougher too, but it's always a tough wall to break, and he’s tired. Too tired to be the voice of reality. What if it helps more to play along?

He keeps stroking Gale's face and neck but lies down next to him just like Gale urges him to in half-finished sentences. The cold water drenches him in discomfort, but he pays it no notice, only Gale's laboured breathing.

"Quick, quick." Gale says, voice shaking now, and he pulls his hands out of Bucky's grip to strip his wet shirt. He lays it on Bucky’s stomach, then goes still. "It rained, if you're dry, they’ll see it."

That explains it, Bucky thinks as they lie together on the floor. Safe in their home, but hiding from the demons in Gale's mind. Bucky wonders if Gale went to the bathroom to splash water on his face but ended up here instead. He wonders if he didn’t switch on the light because he didn’t want to wake Bucky and if that's what got him confused. It happened before. And yet, Gale continues to try being considerate.

It breaks Bucky's heart.

He waits a few seconds, counts to ten in his head, then opens his mouth to whisper, "I think they’re gone now."

With his hand gripping Bucky's, Gale stops breathing for a moment, as if listening for the sound of footsteps, but, of course, there's nothing. When Gale believes it too, his body relaxes, and he sits up. He pulls his knees up, puts his elbows on them, then buries his face in his hands.

Bucky discards the wet shirt and moves behind Gale to hug him. He wraps his arms around Gale’s shivering torso and closes his eyes against the memories it brings up, the cold and the stalag. He pulls Gale back into his chest. A long kiss to Gale’s bare shoulder, then a soothing path of them up, better than any feeble word he’d try to say. Words he did say in the past, grains of sand in the wind.

It's only when Gale goes boneless and tries to crumple forward that he knows it's over, and what he says would be heard.

"It's okay. You're okay." He kisses Gale's temple, willing them both to believe it. The seconds tick by like a quiet metronome. They fly past, into the horizon of minutes, but the night feels so vast that it's as if they're floating in nothing.

"This floor needed mopping anyway." Bucky says in a lighter tone once he thinks that Gale’s ready for it.

Gale bursts into tears.

As always, it’s devastating. Bucky had been through pain and loss and hell with him, and Gale never once shed a tear. But since they returned, like taking a tourniquet off a wounded vein, the missing pressure to stay strong left him torn open and bleeding. Nothing hurts more than not being able to make it better. Just hoping for time to heal what Bucky can’t.

"I'm sorry." Gale's voice is like a ghost passing through the house. It stabs Bucky all the same.

"Don’t worry about it, Buck. You know me. Not the first time I sat in a puddle, hoping to get someone into bed with me." He tightens his arms as he says it, rocking Gale, but he feels the tremors of silent crying continue to run through Gale's body. "I love you."

A sob escapes Gale before he could clamp down on it. He forces himself to go still when it passes, then drops his hands and sniffles. "Does that line tend to work?"

The smile on Bucky’s lips is bittersweet. "Dunno, doll, you tell me. Never used it before."

Gale breathes in deep, then lets it out. Little by little, his body starts to settle down again. The shaking ceases. "I may need to hear it again." He swallows against his remaining tears, then leans his head against Bucky's. "To make sure."

Bucky hums. "Let me try my luck in a hot bath. For the acoustics."

That finally earns him a small, wet laugh. "Sure, Bucky."

Germany's frozen forests are never farther away than in the steamy warmth of their bathroom, in each other's embrace.

[peachesofteal]

On a Slow Night

Belongs in the Dead Disco - verse, but can be read as standalone.

Ghost/Soap/female reader 8.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Dominant/submissive. Smut of all kinds: male oral receiving, female oral receiving, barebacking, rimming, vaginal sex, anal sex, orgasm control and denial, creampie. Praise kink. Double Penetration. Possessive Simon Riley. Aftercare. Angst. Jealousy. Anxiety. Emotional hurt/comfort. Porn with feelings. Relationship issues. Simon takes control. This is a FLASHBACK, but I chose not to italicize the entire thing. Takes place before Chap 1 of Dead Disco.

It’s the tone of your voices that wakes Simon from where he sleeps, alone in the bed. It’s the sharp, raw edge of your words, your pitch dipped in malcontent, and Johnny’s low, harsh spitting, that has him sitting straight up, eyes narrowed, listening with intent.

You’re fighting. About what? Your voice peaks an octave, and then drops immediately, broken up by the crest of a sob, a sound of distress that has him out of bed and into the kitchen within a second’s time. 

“What is going on here?” He asks quietly, and Johnny returns his query with a pleading gaze, but you stare a spot on the countertop, eyes flush with tears. When the two of you stay silent, a flare of irritation creeps up his spine. “Well?” 

“It’s-“  Johnny begins but you speak over him, cutting him off efficiently. 

“I have to go to work.” You say to no one in particular, to your feet more than either of them. He glances at the clock and grimaces. If you don’t leave in the next five to ten minutes, you’ll be late. Not nearly enough time. You grab your bag, and your mug, turning on your heel for the door. Acid rises in the back of his throat when he realizes that you’re not even going to say goodbye to them, not going to kiss him, or Johnny, not going to let them tell you to have a good day or let Simon fuss over making sure you have your water bottle and your laptop charger, two things that commonly get left on the table. 

When the door swings shut, lead settles in his stomach while Johnny folds his hands, fingers battling each other with anxiety. 

“Johnny.” He breathes. “What the fuck?” 

“She wasn’t listening to me, and then it just… got out of control. I snapped at her.” Simon rubs the spot between his shoulder blades in a circle, nodding while Johnny breaks down everything that happened. The replay of last night. The sequence of events this morning, everything up until when Simon appeared from the bedroom, and you darted out the door.

You had been crying, this morning, when Johnny got up as he usually does to see you off to work. It’s a cherished part of his routine, when they’re home. Having breakfast with you, talking about your day, or not talking at all, just enjoying a few quiet moments before you leave, helping you put together your work bag or making you a cup of coffee. But this morning, when you were unusually frosty, and he had asked you what was wrong, you had tried to brush him off, tried to tell him what you were thinking was stupid, and that you didn’t want to talk about it.

And Johnny couldn’t have that. He knew what you were dwelling on, knew the streak of jealousy from last night was still present, sitting heavily on your mind. He tried to push you, kept prodding, ignoring the warning signs, blowing past your indicators that you were in an extremely sensitive state, until you turned on him with a snarl, body language tense and face closed off.

“Did you have him more than twice then?” you had asked, “Was he like me?”

“No one is like you, darling.” Johnny had tried to assure you, comfort you, but it fell flat.

“Yeah, okay. Why then, did you always tell me, you never slept with anyone more than once… and then there’s a guy in the bar not even down the fucking block that the two of you conveniently forgot to mention you shared at least twice!” 

“You should have woken me.” He keeps the bitterness from his voice, but Johnny doesn’t need it to know that Simon is upset. He reads him too easily.

“I thought everything was fine. ‘m sorry.” Simon knows he believed that, that he really did think everything was fine. After all, they brought you home last night and spent hours in bed, reassuring, reconfirming your place with them, until you were happy and sated, asleep in their arms with a little smile on your face. He runs his fingers through the mohawk soothingly.

“Everyone’s a little on edge right now, I think.” It’s not an excuse, but the truth. It was a longer op, and the time between this most recent one and the one before was hardly even a week. Not to mention, Johnny almost got himself blown up during this one, and Simon pulled a muscle in his back in the first week. They’ve been home for two weeks now, and their emotional states are still a little more fragile than either of them would care to admit, while you were trying so damn hard to keep yourself together for them, to keep your chin up. Simon knows it’s because you don’t want to feel like a burden, that you think you depending on them causes additional stress, but he’s seen the cracks in the surface for a few days, so it did not particularly surprise him when you crumbled last night. He’s been waiting, and waiting, impatiently, for you to let go, for you to drop the mask and let them step in.

He just didn’t want it to be like this.

Simon’s phone vibrates against the coffee table in the late afternoon, alerting both of them from where they sit on the couch. Johnny fidgets nervously, and Simon stills him with a firm grip on his thigh while he opens the text.

It’s in the group chat, between the three of you. A quick note that you’re going to be late tonight, and they shouldn’t wait to eat dinner. Simon scowls.

“Late?” Johnny questions, while Simon types a reply: ‘How late?’

Your answer comes a minute later: ‘Not sure. I have a fast-approaching deadline for this exhibit review that I’m behind on and if it’s not done, the director will ream me.’

Simon lets out a burst of a sigh, body expanding and relaxing with tense pressure while he types: ‘We’ll wait for you darling, don’t worry about that.’

You reply almost immediately: ‘You don’t have to.’ He frowns. Avoidance? It’s rare, from you. You usually get so full up with your own thoughts and feelings that you physically can’t avoid something, having to address it, talk about it, until you feel better, until it’s not overpowering you anymore. Johnny shifts next to him, blue eyes stricken while he reads from the screen.

“Is she… avoiding us?” He too, recognizes it, this outlier. Simon texts back. ‘We will.’

Three bubbles pop up on the screen, and then disappear.

It’s far past late by the time you get home. Johnny has taken to pacing around the flat, doing laundry and other things to occupy his mind, detailing the grout in the bathroom and nervously flitting about doing fuck all while Simon sits on the couch, trying to read a book and failing.

They’ve both been sitting in the living room for an hour by the time ten pm rolls around and you walk through the door, the sun long set, night overtaking the city and drenching it in an inky darkness that spreads throughout their home as well.

“Hi.” You drop your bag unceremoniously on the table, crossing your arms. Defensive posture, Simon notes. This is going to go real bloody well. “You really didn’t have to wait for me.” You complain, looking between the two of them, lingering for a long moment. Johnny stands, preparing, and Simon notices how your shoulders slump, just a fraction, tense energy leaking from your body while you lock eyes with him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts, eagerly. “I’m so, so sorry love. I shouldn’t have pushed you this morning. I lost my head… I was worried and I- I have no excuse. I should not have snapped at you. You are so precious to me, and I never, ever want to make you feel that way.” He steps closer, and closer, tentative hand in the air, reaching for you while Simon holds his breath, waiting to see how you’ll respond. He’s waiting for the inevitable, the crumble, the fall of everything you’ve been holding in, all the feelings and thoughts and rot you’ve been holding up. The emotional catharsis. The breaking point.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you heave a big, loud sigh, and wilt into Johnny’s arms.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for being dramatic.” Dramatic? You’re not dramatic. They’ve told you this a thousand times. He frowns, something new twisting in his gut, a feeling of something being really wrong creeping through his bones. What is going on with you? Johnny’s too distracted by being relieved, being grateful for your easy forgiveness that he misses the way your eyes tighten before going lax again, and Simon watches you bury your head in neck immediately afterwards, your arms going around Johnny like you’re holding on for dear life. Simon follows you both as Johnny pulls you along with him into the kitchen, settling you at the counter on the stool while he pulls dinner from the oven, little savory chicken pies, one of your favorite meals, still warm and ready to be eaten, and you clap your hands with excitement when he places yours in front of you.

“You didn’t have to.” You gush, and Johnny blushes prettily, over the moon with the change in your mood, your smiling face.

“Simon, sit.” He points to the seat next to you, and he takes it, all while studying you, noticing everything from the way you’re holding your fork to what your free hand is doing in your lap. Johnny coughs. “What’s wrong?” his tone is suspicious, and you turn to look at Simon with wide, curious eyes. He forces a smile and shakes his head.

“Nothing.”

A week later, it all comes crashing down. It’s a Friday, and you’ve worked from home, spent most of the day alone in the flat while they both had to go across town for a brief before their scheduled departure in another week and a half. Johnny stops at the market on the way back, having promised everyone curry tonight, so Simon beats him home, eager to get out of his starched clothing and into sweats, and hopefully drag you away from work for the rest of the evening to sit on the couch with him, curled up in his lap while the two of you wait for Johnny to get home.

Instead, something else happens all together.

You’re pacing, in front of the kitchen table, hand on your neck while you stop occasionally to bend at the waist and read something on your laptop. You don’t even acknowledge him when the door opens, and as he gets closer, he realizes your hand isn’t just on your neck, but it has a fist full of hair in it as well, the strands pulled so tight it looks painful. Your breakfast sits untouched on a plate, pushed away, and your eyes dart around the room, briefly touching over him before flicking back to the screen.

“Darling?” he calls, taking his jacket off slowly. You ignore him, shaking your head like you’ve heard him but can’t be bothered to acknowledge him, typing away at something from your half standing, half bending position. He’s close enough to see an email chain on the screen, long paragraphs broken up, your cursor blinking in front of one half written.

“I’m sorry.” You say, not even sparing him a glance. “I’m sorry I’m just dealing with something right now, there’s a lot going on and-“ He stills you, pulling at your forearm, trying to loosen your grip around your hair that you’ve wrapped so tight, it’s made imprints in your skin.

“Hey.” He squeezes your wrist, just enough to pull your attention, eyes partially glazed over, like you’re not even really in your own head right now. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just dealing with something, at work. There’s a lot going on.” You repeat it robotically, and he tilts his head in consideration, running a thumb under your jaw to tip your face upwards. There’s something… off, in your eyes. Something uneasy lurking in your gaze, something wrong, off balance.

“Alright. That’s enough work for today, I think.” He reaches past you and closes the laptop while you gasp a protest.

“Si, no! I have to finish, there’s stuff going on you don’t understand I need to-“

“Is anyone dying?”

“N-no but-“

“And it’s Friday, which means your boss isn’t back until Monday. It can wait.”

“I have to-“

“It can wait.” This time, he puts the authority behind his voice, the razor’s edge, to test the waters. To see, how you react.

You freeze. You’re holding your breath, eyes darting wildly around the flat like you’re looking for an escape of some sort. You reach for him, hand latching onto his forearm, and he realizes you’re shaking. He tries to pull you closer, but you lock up, immobile, except for the intense increase in your shivering.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp. “I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t know- I d-don’t know what’s wrong I, I’m sorry.” You repeat it over and over, frantic, tipping into hysteria and he shoves down his own panic so he can do what he needs to do.

Take over.

Take control.

He grips the back of your neck, the motion signaling you to what will happen next, and then pulls you into his chest, head tipped down so his lips hover just over your ear.

“It’s alright darling, just breathe.” When you do, he rewards you with praise, light and affectionate. “Good girl, just like that.” He counts them for you, one in, one out, two in, two out, and so on until they come easily, and you relax more into him, breathing languid, body calm. “Okay, you’re going to get in the shower. You will tell me if you want me to get in with you, or you need my help with something, like washing your hair.” You gulp, and he soothes a hand down your spine. “Yes?” He prompts and you nod slowly before giving your agreement. Recognition, acceptance, dances across your face, and he knows you know.

“Yes, Simon.” He hums his own acknowledgement, and then manages to shoot a text off to Johnny while ushering you towards the bathroom, one hand firm on your nape.

‘Get home. Right now.’

He’s sitting on the bed facing the door when Johnny blows through it, eyes seeking his.

“What’s going on?” he rushes out. “What’s wrong?” Simon holds his hand up, a clear stop signal, and Johnny screeches to a halt, a few paces into the bedroom.

“Tell me your safe word, Johnny.” Johnny’s eyes go wide, and then glances at the bathroom door, where the shower runs, and the sound of a drawer opens and shuts. “Your safe word, MacTavish.” Simon repeats and Johnny swallows.

“It’s bomb, sir.”

“When do you use it?”

“When I need a hard stop.” Simon nods.

“Good. And what if you can’t speak?” He points to the floor, the intended directive incredibly clear, and Johnny sinks to his knees without another thought.

“Then I tap twice.” He whispers his answer, to which Simon nods.

“Good boy.”

“What’s going on?” He asks again, because he’s allowed to, but Simon doesn’t answer. Instead he unzips his pants as he closes the distance between them, hand fisting his cock while he looms over where Johnny kneels.

“Open.” He pats his jaw, and Johnny parts his lips obediently, mouth glistening, wet and warm, waiting for Simon. He groans as he feeds him his cock slowly, pressing down against his tongue, choking him gradually, pulling out and pushing into his mouth with an achingly slow, leisurely pace. “What’s going on-“ he casually says, like he isn’t shoving the width of his cock into Johnny’s eager mouth. “is that I failed to take control of a rapidly deteriorating situation when I should have.” He rubs a hand through Johnny’s hair, admiring his sweet boy from this viewpoint, his crystal blue eyes and heavenly soft skin, perfect and pretty, just for him and you. It’s enough to make his knees fucking weak, with how much he loves him. How lucky Simon is, to have him. To have you both, like this. Sweet for him. Submissive for him. Willing, for him.

Which is why, when something like this happens, Simon is always the one who steps in and takes over. Who takes control.

He makes eye contact with Johnny while he pushes deeper, swiping his finger through the drool that drips from his bottom lip. “This is my fault, my responsibility. For not stepping in after that spat last week.” He draws out, holding the crown of his cock at Johnny’s messy lips, giving him a moment, a chance to speak, or tap, and breathe, before plunging back in, cramming himself to the hilt, until Johnny’s nose is pressed to the curls of his pubic hair. “But we’re going to fix that, now. We’re going to fix it all.” Johnny nods eagerly, humming with Simon shoved in his throat, the vibration sending a shiver up Simon’s spine.

The water in the shower shuts off, and they both hear the glass of the door open and shut. Simon pulls Johnny forward, walking him on his knees, cock still languishing in his mouth, until the back of his legs hit the bed and he sits, settling Johnny between his thighs and instructing him not to move, to just sit there and be a good cock warmer until he gives him another directive. Johnny’s eyes bliss out after a minute, and satisfaction warms Simon’s belly. Good boy. 

The bathroom door creaks open, to reveal you wrapped in a towel, cautiously peeking out at the two of them, feet arched like a dancers, walking on your tip toes.

“Um.” You squeak. You’ve got a wall back up; he can already tell. Whatever cracked earlier when he got home has been patched over, and he sighs, all the while, delicious anticipation curls in his heart. He’s going to make both of you cry tonight. 

“Darling.” He calls, steeling his voice. You need a stronger hand, in times like these. You’re headstrong, and resilient, and stubborn, all of these things that make you just that more special to him, to Johnny. But these things can also get you hurt. They can derail you, bully you into pushing through when you clearly need the opposite, when you desperately need to break instead. Good thing he’s happy to help. He points to the bottle of lube on the dresser near you, a silent command, and you grip it in nervous fingers as you creep closer. When you’re within arm’s reach, he pulls you down to his mouth for a kiss, something gentle and loving, a tender reminder of his love for you, before pulling away and pointing at the floor, right next to Johnny.  

“What is your safe word?” Your eyes flick to Johnny, who doesn’t move, just stays steady, even with Simon’s cock pressed against his tongue.

“It’s, uh. Paint.” He nods. The hesitation wasn’t because you don’t know your word, he knows that. It’s because your brain is trying to piece together what exactly is happening at a rapid pace, to try to prepare you.

“Good girl. When do you use it?”

“When I need to stop.”

“And if you can’t speak?”

“I tap three times.” You and Johnny’s taps are different, so he can differentiate them, if ever need be. It’s never been necessary, but he’d rather be safe, than be sorry when it came to either of you.

“You tap three times.” He repeats, and then pulls at your towel, which you let go willingly. Both he and Johnny are still fully clothed, which will be remedied eventually, but for now, he’s content to sit here with your body bare to him, the swell of your hips and breasts, the sheen of your still damp skin, sending lust licking down his spine.

You sit perfectly, palms above your knees, knees together while he thrusts very gently in Johnny’s mouth, not nearly enough, but adequate for right now, considering his release is likely hours away. You watch, mouth slack, eyes lidded, thighs shifting just barely, and he smirks to himself. He was so pleasantly surprised when they found you. When he discovered you fit so perfectly, with them. When he learned what your face looks like when you come for them. He was scared, terrified, but still surprised, when he realized he was thinking about you on ops, when he realized that Johnny was thinking about while on ops. And he was shocked when you started to let them in. Let them take care of you, let them see you. It didn’t take long before he wanted more and more and Johnny met him on it blow for blow, until they were both commandeering all your time when they weren’t on missions and when the three of you were laughing in bed in the middle of night, swapping stories and daydreaming about a future.

A future that he thought was impossible.

A future that is now more in his grasp than it ever has been before.

If they don’t make a fucking mess of it.

He pulls Johnny off his cock by his mohawk, lips making a wet pop while he tips his head backwards, latching their mouths together. Simon pushes his tongue inside, sweeping between his teeth, tasting the salted remnant of himself, before pulling away.

“Take off your clothes, get in the shower, be quick.” He orders, and Johnny scrambles to his feet, hastily working his buttons and boots, stripping as quickly as he can manage while practically running to the bathroom. “Darling, come here.” He pats his leg, and you hoist yourself onto the bed, allowing him to pull and arrange you so you straddle his thigh. You’re already wet, he can see the evidence of your need, your want, on his leg, and he presses his thumb against your bottom lip. “What happened to my darling girl?” He asks, and you blink, confused. “What happened to our sweet, sensitive girl who knows it’s okay to depend on us for what she needs?” Your brow furrows.

“I’m right here.” You whisper and he shakes his head.

“I don’t think you are.” He kisses your cheek, and then the tip of your nose while gripping you by the back of your neck. “I think you’ve been shoving your feelings down into the dark somewhere. Afraid to let go for some reason.”

“Simon…no.” your whisper is heavy now, tinged with something sad, something reluctant. It’s not the tears he’s looking for, not yet, but he’ll get you there. He always does.

“That’s alright love. We’re going to fix it.” He assures you, and strokes a featherlight touch across your thighs, listening to the sharp intake of breath that hisses between your teeth when he strokes over the seam of your cunt, just enough to feel the seep of wetness there, before tracing up to roll one of your nipples between his fingers. Your teeth bite down into your bottom lip while he’s content to sit there just like that for a while, teasing you until the bathroom door opens, revealing a naked Johnny, standing in the frame, waiting for instruction.

“Johnny.” He says, not taking his eyes off you, still holding you with one hand by the neck. He releases your nipple to motion to the side of the bed, a glaringly open space where his Sergeant’s body belongs. “On your back.” He obliges him easily, leaning backwards, stretching his toned abdomen long, the swell of his cock laying against his belly, leaking precome in a lazy, wonderful way that makes Simon’s mouth water a little. He holds your jaw in his fingers and turns your head to look at Johnny. “Isn’t he lovely?” He murmurs into your ear, and you try to nod.

“Perfect.” You breathe, and he agrees. Johnny is perfect, Johnny is the love of his life, his partner, forever. Unmatchable. Irreplaceable. Irreplicable.  

And so are you, even if you don’t realize it yet.

“Here are the rules.” He begins, shifting you to lay next to him, also on your back. Your knees are bent, and you let one go lax, knocking into Johnny’s, exposing your bare pussy just so for Simon, just a glimpse. His blood heats, and he starts to strip off his clothes while he speaks. “You, darling. Don’t get to come unless I give you permission.” You wiggle against the sheets, anticipation brewing in your eyes. Your hand reaches for Johnny’s, and he interlaces his fingers with yours in a heartbeat. “Johnny, can come at any time as long as he asks for permission, and he can come when you do, without permission.” His eyes snap incredulously to Simon, who allows a wicked smile to scrawl across his face. He leans over the two of you, kissing Johnny’s shoulder and then yours. “Johnny’s going to put your plug in, love. Because we’re both going to have you later.” He tells you, and you visibly brighten, excitement pushing your cheeks into a smile. It’s not an easy thing, to take them both, and something that only happens with enough prep and time, both of which he plans on having tonight.

He pulls the plug from the drawer in the nightstand, handing it to Johnny with the bottle of lube, and you turn obediently onto your knees, ass up in the air, cheek laying on Simon’s thigh. He strokes your skin soothingly while Johnny compresses the plug in his hand, warming the cool metal with a huff of breath, and then spreading lube over the ring of muscle between your cheeks, dipping his thumb in and out of you painstakingly slowly, just pushing against the rim as it flutters for him. You whimper.

“Like what you see?” Simon drawls, and Johnny nods.

“Okay, ready?”

“Y-yeah.” You croak. You usually take the plug no problem, but that’s also after a few orgasms, and a few fingers. They don’t usually use it as the warmup act. Johnny’s thumb for a handful of minutes is not quite as good, but you’re experienced now, and Simon is intending to use the burn of the stretch to his advantage, hoping the sting and bite speeds you along to the point of no return. Simon rubs your shoulders, while Johnny lowers it towards where you’re spread for him.

“Okay darling, nice and easy.” He coaches.

“Push out.” Simon reminds you, and you do, letting out a puff of air against his thigh. He massages your arm, your wrist soothingly, and you hiss, your reaction letting him know you’re spreading over the widest part. “Well done.” He murmurs, stroking some hair away from your temple. “Good girl.” You give him a syrupy smile, eyes a little dazed, and he rewards you with a kiss, before pulling both Johnny and you into his embrace. “I love you.” He vows. “We are going to correct whatever it is that has our girl all mixed up.” You huff indignantly, playfully, and he pinches your cheek in response. He loves this stubborn streak of yours but loves to break it even more. He presses his mouth against your neck, and then up to your lips, drawing breathy rasps from you with his lips, pulling you back up to a seated position against him, in between his thighs, spreading your legs to give Johnny a perfect view.

“Christ.” Johnny hisses, reaching out to touch you, dragging a finger through your soaking folds. You whimper, and he thinks reality is truly setting in for you now, the realization of the task ahead. He lets his own hand carefully drift down to your cunt, fingers exploring your body while you practically buzz in his arms, nerve endings already alight from the plug that’s settled in your ass.

“Shhh.” He soothes when he feels just how soaked you are, feels how hard your clit is beneath his touch while you jerk in his grasp, one arm pinning you against his chest. “Poor darling.” He works you slowly, feeling how your body responds to him, your hips moving in small, bucking movements. It goes on for minutes that feel like hours, until you’re whining and chasing his touch with your body.

“Simon.” You whimper.

“Johnny, will you taste her for me?” He asks to which Johnny eagerly agrees, bending to press his face into your eager cunt. He sucks at your clit before stroking his tongue up and down, sloppily eating you out, flicking your clit over and over while you pant.

“P-please, Simon. Please.” You plead, and he licks a salt-sweat trail up your neck to below your ear, where he plants a delicate kiss on the skin under your earlobe. Your body thrashes, trying to get more leverage, trying to grind against Johnny’s face but he wraps his legs around yours, pinning you effectively with his thighs. You whine, and your fingers sink into his flesh, your body pressing into his back, like you’re bearing down, preparing to come all over Johnny’s face.

“Don’t come.” He orders. You gasp, and he watches your stomach tense and flex, while he plays with your nipples lazily.

“Fuck.” You moan, and Johnny groans, eyes flicking up to where the two of you watch him.

“Don’t let her come, Johnny. Or it will be your punishment.” He says, and you squirm in his arms. Johnny pulls away, mouth soaked with you, and slides a deft finger into your cunt, twisting his wrist for the correct leverage. He’s smiling in a half sweet, half smirking way, watching his finger disappear inside of you unabashedly. Simon joins him, reaching down for where your clit is throbbing, pad of his finger swirling in the absolute mess between your legs before rubbing around your swollen nub’s hood, and then pushing inside of you next to Johnny’s digit, your body greedily accepting them both, cunt clenching hard around them.

“Oh my god.” Your head rocks back into Simon’s chest, panting with desperation. “Fuck, fuck I- I ca-can’t.” you protest, eyes smarting with tears, and he pulls away, trailing his touch back up to your clit, where he gives it a light pinch.

“Don’t you dare.” He demands and you shriek when he slaps your pussy, palm making contact with your clit, your legs jolting under his thighs. He brushes some hair from your face, your forehead damp with sweat, before pressing a kiss to your temple and reaching for Johnny’s cock, wrapping a fist around it and stroking him slowly. You’re still leaning against his back, but slouched now, and he can see the swell of your clit, the glisten of your thighs, soaked with your own arousal, from where he sits. “Do you want to feel him inside you, darling?” He asks, squeezing your flesh. You nod readily, shifting, until you’re spread wider, and he’s pulling your leg up by your knee, and then your calf. “Go ahead, Johnny. Give her your cock.” He watches when Johnny pushes inside of you, your body eagerly taking him, stretching around him. You hiss while he moves, clenching your eyes shut for a moment, before taking a deep breath, and letting go a little, body depressurizing gradually. It’s snug, he’s sure, with the plug and Johnny inside of you, and he rubs your clit in a circle, watching your face, delighted. When Johnny starts to pick up a faster pace, he presses his hand to his stomach, slowing him.

“Does that feel good?” he asks you, looking up at Johnny who’s watching the glide of his cock pump in and out of your pussy, agonizingly slow, his legs practically shaking with restraint.

“Unnf- I-“ you babble, hands against your chest. You’re concentrating, face intense, and he knows you’re trying so bloody hard not to come. Trying to be good.

“Do you want it faster?” He asks, fake sincerity dripping from his voice. You nod hastily, and he inclines his head to Johnny, who reads the signal well, picking up his pace, body slamming into yours while you practically scream in Simon’s arms.

“Si- Simon.” You sputter and wheeze. “Please, can I come?” your voice is thick, and he makes a show of appearing like he considers it before shaking his head with a simple no.

“No, darling. Slow down, Johnny.” Johnny groans, pressing his face into where your calf is still raised in the air, nipping at your skin while he drags his cock in and out of your body, excruciatingly slow.

“Nononono. Pl-please, Johnny- Harder.” Simon shakes his head, and Johnny face screws up, like he’s about to cry. He thrusts deep and Simon presses down on your lower belly, causing you to cry out. “Fuck, oh, fu-fuck. Oh- Si. I’m gonna-“

“No.” He pushes Johnny back, causing him to pull halfway out, and you whimper. “I think you need a break.” He murmurs, and you shake your head violently.

“No, no no, please…” But your pleading is no use, because Johnny’s already pulling away, leaving you empty and wanting. Simon motions for him to turn around, and he does eagerly, returning to his back, knees to the ceiling.

“Can you get our good boy ready for me?” He asks you, pitching his voice affectionately. “Don’t you think he deserves some attention?” You shake the stupor off, legs shaking underneath you while you lick your lips, and bend forward, crawling between Johnny’s thighs and perking your ass up into the air, right in front of Simon while you take Johnny’s cock between your lips. You’re trying to tempt him, trying to get him to plunge his cock inside of you, to make you come.

He wants to. He wants to so badly, he reaches a hand down to squeeze your flesh appreciatively, and you moan around Johnny, the vibration of your throat making the muscles in his thighs tense. You briefly glance over your shoulder before you adjust, your tongue dragging downwards over Johnny, where you prop his thigh on your shoulder and start to prep him for Simon, little grunts and whispers loosing from his lips while you work. You use your tongue first, lavishing his rim, slowly coaxing him into a relaxed state while you push into him, just barely. You stay like that for a while, working him open slowly, while Simon leisurely watches, occasionally ghosting a hand over your skin, or trailing his finger from where you’re dripping wet and swirling it around where your own rim is stretched around the plug, your muscles jumping and tensing beneath his touch. You’ll take them both tonight, and even though he clearly already made that decision, the image of you being full of both him and Johnny wracks him with a delicious shiver. Johnny moans, pulling his attention, to where you’ve got a finger pressing inside him now, dipping in and out of him gradually, teasingly, spit dripping from your mouth onto his perineum. You add a second, and Johnny groans, back arching just so when you crook your fingers up, seeking the spot that makes him lose his mind.

“Bloody- hell.” Simon can just barely see the curve of your lip, the evidence of your smile, your pure enjoyment when Johnny reacts to you, and it flushes him with something warm, something so sweet and soft it manages to surprise him. Only for them. 

“That’s it, good girl.” He praises you self-indulgently, because he knows what it does to you, knows how it can derail your focus and turn you to putty in their hands. “D’ya think he’s ready?” You nod, two fingers still stroking slowly inside of Johnny, pulling pleasure from him while you beam, his body pliant and sweet for Simon. He swats your ass because he can’t help it, loves to watch how your skin ripples under him, how your body moves for him, and you quiver.

He pulls you away, kissing the back of your neck while he shifts Johnny to the edge of the bed by his legs, moving him so his calves sit on Simon’s shoulders. Johnny locks eyes with him for a moment, and there’s something vulnerable there, something so gentle that Simon can’t help but drop his ankles and press his body on top of his, cradling Johnny’s face between his palms, kissing him softly.

“Alright?” he asks, and Johnny nods, eagerly before letting out a scratchy reply.

“Fuck me already.” He begs, and Simon chuckles, rearing up, pushing his knees towards his chest. You lay on your back, panting next to Johnny, staring up at Simon with wide, thirst filled eyes. He pulls one of your knees wide, admiring your weeping cunt, before pressing into Johnny slowly, giving him time to adjust, and the feel of him around his cock shoots straight to Simon’s brain, filling him with dizzying satisfaction. His body gives way for him, stretching to fit him just as he always does, and something burns inside Simon, some fierce feeling of possession, of love, fills him when he watches how Johnny’s face shifts the deeper he gets.

“Y’ feel so good.” He growls it, and Johnny moans, his muscles going taut as Simon works his cock in and out of Johnny’s body, the rhythm growing faster and faster, Johnny’s voice becoming desperately sharp whines and pleas.

“More, Si. F-fuck, more.” And he’s tempted, so tempted to fuck wildly into Johnny, to fill him with his come, but there’s more, there’s so much more to this night than the easy way out, and he has to take it slow.

“Christ, Johnny. Yer so fuckin’ tight.” He groans, folding himself forward to drag his lips across his skin in worship. Johnny moans, loudly, and Simon grinds his hips against his ass, pushing deep, fucking into Johnny unforgivably, grinding against the little sweet spot while his cock dribbles pathetically onto his belly. He strokes him, hand squeezing around the base on the down stroke, staving off a potential orgasm each time. Johnny shudders as Simon increases his pace, pumping faster, harder, all while squeezing the base of his cock, watching how Johnny writhes for him. “Touch yourself, love.” He instructs you, and your finger swirls around your clit, eyes locked on the two of them, drinking up the sight of them fucking like you always do, and the sound of their skin slapping together echoes around the room while you whimper.  

“Si-“ He howls, walls fluttering around Simon, his cock swollen and red, desperate to spill every time Simon grinds against him. He’s already so close, worked up after being inside of you, ready to come at any moment. “Shite, I- I-“

“What’s the rule, MacTavish?” He snarls, and Johnny blanches.

“Please can I come, I need ta come, please sir-“ he chokes off when Simon rubs his thumb over his tip, smearing the leaking precome around his head, while still plunging his cock through and through his body. You whimper, voice desperate, gaze wide, and he can tell that you’re close too. Perfect. 

“What a good boy, Johnny. Telling me what you need.” He tuts. “Do you want me to make you come?” There are tears in Johnny’s eyes, one spilling out down past his temple, and it’s a beautiful sight.

“Yes, y-es, cannae- fuck.” Simon glances over to you, where you’re frozen on the bed, hand not moving, suspended in the air, and he smirks. Smart girl. Johnny’s orgasms always push you over the edge. 

“Come for me then, come on. Let me see it.” He releases his grip from the base of Johnny’s shaft, pumping him once, twice, before Johnny’s body is locking up and he’s screaming, walls strangling down on Simon’s cock so much that he has to completely stop moving, otherwise he’ll come too. He strokes his cock through the orgasm, until it’s too much and Johnny’s whimpering through the overstimulation, hand trying to grab Simon’s wrist. “Good boy, did so well for me.” He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss him, slotting his lips against Johnny’s and giving him gentle, measured kisses until his breathing returns to normal and Simon is pulling his cock from his body slowly. He checks him, quickly, for tearing or damage, and then sweeps stray mohawk hairs from his forehead, giving him another honeyed kiss. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Johnny responds, a little dazed but satisfied, and Simon leans over to you, brushing his lips across your kneecap, before cupping your pussy gently and pressing down on your clit.

“Don’t move.” He orders, rising from the bed, pulling a washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning himself efficiently with soap and warm water, before discarding it and returning to the two of you with a new one.

When he steps back onto the bed, Johnny’s laying curled around you, arms holding you tight to him, your face in his neck, chest heaving, and it’s enough to give him pause, reminding him to take a moment. He presses a palm against your spine, encouraging you to look at him, allowing you to take your time when you turn your head. You have a faraway look in your eye, a little bit of discomfort, a little bit of confusion, but no tears. Time to check in. 

“How old are you, darling?” He asks you gently, tapping Johnny on the thigh to turn over so he can wipe him down. When you give your answer, and your voice doesn’t shake, he feels a little better.

“And what is today?” When you give the date, with the day of the week, he smiles, kissing you on the cheek.

“Good.” He cleans Johnny slowly, basking in the whimpers that slip free when he presses the warm cloth to the head of his cock, before tossing it in the corner of the room. He’s still rock hard, desperate with want for the two of you, just as desperate as you are to come, he imagines. He wrenches you into his lap to straddle him again, cradling your face to take you in one more time before starting again and you draw a shaky breath. He pulls you onto your knees, instructing you to hover over where he fists his cock, and then grips your hip and drives you down slowly, the heat and silk of your walls clutching him greedily, desperate for what he’s about to give you. Catharsis. Release.

“Good girl.” You moan and he calms you, reaching for Johnny’s hand, pulling him close until he’s pressed against your back, already hard again. Lucky boy, Simon muses, gets to come twice today. “You’ve been bloody perfect for me, darling. We’re so lucky.” He starts, setting everything in motion, putting the train on the tracks and loading it with coal. He returns to cradle your face, rubbing his thumbs across your cheeks while he bottoms out in you, Johnny pressing the sweetest kisses to your shoulder. “You’re everything to us.” He says, and watches you start to crack, watches the pressure start to rise. “We couldn’t be happier with you.” Like lighting the fuse of a rocket. You blink, quickly, in rapid succession, like you’re trying to get a handle on yourself, and he swipes over your clit before asking you if you’re okay for the next. “Do you feel ready to take Johnny here?” His hand drifts down your back to twist the plug, and your eyes shutter.

“Yeah, please.” You answer breathlessly. 

“Slowly.” He tells Johnny, who lets out a breathy sigh. Simon strokes your clit while Johnny works you, pulling the plug free and lining himself up with your stretched rim, your cunt squeezing him with each pass over your swollen numb, your jaw slack with bliss, face tranquil and open like your body until he can feel Johnny’s cock inside you, and your eyes widen, breath choking off in a gasp.

“Jesus.” Johnny moans, hardly even moving, but feeling the press of Simon’s cock against his inside of you, only the tissue of your walls separating the two of them. Simon grits his teeth, holding you still by the grip he has on your hips, thrusting upwards into you very, very sluggishly. He thumbs your clit again, working in a circular motion, pressing at just the right angle, the touch sending sparks through your body, jolting your muscles into squeezing around both of them. Simon pulls Johnny’s hand forward, snaking it around your waist to press against your belly, pulling you back while also pushing down, the pressure making your lower lip quiver and eyes gloss over.

“That’s it.” Simon praises, still stroking your clit while jerking his cock up into your body. You jolt, and Simon holds you steady, pressing more firmly while murmuring sweetly to you. “So beautiful.” He kisses your neck. “So sweet for us.” He kisses your clavicle. “So breathtaking. You make us so happy, darling.” Johnny thrusts a little, just enough to get some friction, eyes slipping shut in a haze of pleasure and Simon can’t not marvel at the two of you, how perfectly you fit together, how sublime this entire moment is. Almost there. He works his hips up faster, not enough to jostle the three of you, but enough that delicious sparks of fire are moving through his body, and your cunt is twitching on his cock. You tense around him, muscles turning solid, and Johnny lets out a string of curses while Simon keeps his sights locked on you, his fingers pushing you closer and the closer to the orgasm you’ve been desperately chasing for hours. You stare back at him, eyes wide, brows creased as he thumbs your clit, and he watches with the deepest satisfaction as they grow wetter and wetter, tears gathering along your lids like you’re giving him a gift. “There you go.” He coos, and your body responds, heat pooling around his cock. “We love you so much. You’re doing so good for us, darling girl.” The tears spill down your cheeks now, and you sob, all while sinking your fingers into his shoulders, shuddering recklessly, not even caring that Johnny is buried inside of you, the sporadic movement sending him deeper and deeper.

“Please Si.” You cry, and paw helplessly at him. “Pl- please I need to come.” You gasp it, raw and frantic, and he continues to stroke your clit.

“Good girl. Thank you for telling me what you need.” He grinds his cock into you and you keen, right before he finally gives you permission to let go. “Come for us.” He says and it happens nearly automatically, your hips jutting back, and then forward, body locking down on both of them while you scream through your climax, and they both fuck you through it, Simon wildly chasing his own while Johnny spasms behind you, your walls milking them both with the waves of your orgasm. His own nearly blinds him, burning him with white hot pleasure, the feeling of filling you with his come at the same as Johnny igniting something possessive and out of control in his heart. He throbs inside you through his aftershocks, coming down from an impossible high, fingers groping blindly against you and Johnny to bring you both closer.

You sob in his arms, completely wrecked and shaking, like he knew you would be, finally broken, finally free.

“Shhh.” He murmurs, guiding your face into his neck where you wet his skin with hot tears. Johnny shifts, rubbing your back, kissing your shoulder blades before pulling out slowly, his come dripping from your rim, sliding down your skin to mix where Simon’s leaks from your cunt. “Shhh, we’re here, we’re right here.” He moves to pull out, so he can carry you into the bathroom, or lay you down, but you hold him tighter, breaths coming in sharp pants, and you cry harder into his skin. It’s not just the sex, or the orgasm denial, or any of it, but something more, something complicated that lives within you, that settles darkly against your soul sometimes. “It’s alright. Breathe, just breathe. You’re okay, you did so good.” Johnny presses light kisses to your temple, your cheek, all while rubbing your back with a firm, grounding touch.

“Washcloth.” He mouths to Simon, voice just above a whisper, and Simon agrees, reaching for his hand before he gets up, holding it tight in his grip and pulling him in for a kiss. If you notice Johnny’s absence after he slips away, you don’t say anything, steadily keeping your face buried in Simon’s neck until he gets back, breath stuttering in a choked hiss when you flinch away from the wet fabric against your skin.

“I need to clean you up, love.” Johnny gently dabs you with the cloth, moving you as needed to check for bruising or tearing, just as Simon does for him, before tossing it on the bed, and holding you by your upper arms.

“Bathroom.” Simon instructs, and Johnny nods, pulling you from his lap, displacing Simon’s cock and cuddling you into his arms, while Simon follows behind. You’re still crying, but you let Johnny place you on the toilet, mumbling for him to ‘get out’ while you pee, so they both stand on the other side of the door, even though it’s half open. They don’t leave you alone after something like this, as a rule, choosing to wait just a few steps away instead. While they do, Simon holds Johnny in his arms, rocking him back and forth from their standing position, caressing gentle fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” He whispers, the full effect of his own emotions cresting over him like a tidal wave, leaving him both wrecked and overflowing, while Johnny smiles. “I love you both.”

“I know. I love you too, Si.” They stay like that, until you come out, hands reaching for them, a little bit panicky like you thought maybe they disappeared, and Simon scoops you back into his arms, carrying you into bed while Johnny takes care of himself, and works on the aftercare list: pain cream, hot washcloth, water, snacks.

You burrow yourself in the blankets, tucking into Simon, face still teary while he speaks softly to you, telling you how good you were, how happy you make them, how proud he is of you, soothing your vibrant emotions until Johnny comes back, and they trade off so Simon can get cleaned up. Johnny will need aftercare too, time curled up in Simon’s arms, but they’ll do it after yours, sticking to the routine that has always worked for the three of them.

Simon’s grateful to see you slipping into a dream-like state upon his return, happy and floating, no longer crying with eyes soft and full of bliss, content in Johnny’s hold, half empty water bottle on the bed. He slides in between the blankets, his own body lax and sated, and reaches for Johnny and you, anxious to hold his whole world in his arms at this moment, unwilling to give it up or let it go for anything.

His Johnny. His darling. His.

[tsunamis-for-uzumaki]

MCR moments that send me to the 80% of the ocean we haven't seen yet

Here's parts of My Chem songs that make me feel feelings, in no particular order

The desperate, gritty, sad second "And we'll love again, we'll laugh again, we'll cry again, and we'll dance again", I could write an essay on this part I swear

Vampires will never hurt you: "I'll never let them hurt you, i pROMISE". I believe her every time

Also in vampires pretty much any of the distorted screams like the "COME ON"

ALSO ALSO vamps "Someone get me to the doctor and someone call the nurse" and the entirety of that verse - smashing my head on my desk pounding my fist on the ground palpitating my heart with my ribcage ahhhhh (we're done with vampires I promise)

"l i g h t u p t h e s t a g e a n d w a t c h m e KICK OUT THE JAMS"

Fronk's rabid dog backing vocals in Honey this Mirror

The final line in the Dead! bridge (Is that the most both of you can gi-i-i-ive?) literally leaves me Dead! every single time

The grief-stricked, utterly DESPERATE bridge of Helena

Any Ray Toro solo

But especially Vampire Money (when i speak of the milf it is he who i speak of)

And all of Mama's guitar tings (I am dead in Seattle SIR PLEASEDFRWSASRSEAEW-)

boy division

"I MISS YOU, I MISS YOU SO FAR"

Scarecrow Rocals

" ~ TAKE A TRAIN OUTTA NEW ORLEANS AND THEY SHOT ME FULL OF EPHEDRINE ~ "

early sunsets over monroeville

When all the instruments cut out in the intro to This is How I Disappear and G screams "GO"

Also the unhinged spiraling vocals and instruments during the breakdown of Disappear

The Light Behind Your Eyes

"WAKE UUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPPP" - Sleep outro

"I AM NOT AFRAID TO KEEP ON LIVING, I AM NOT AFRAID TO WALK THIS WORLD ALONE" (I spontaneously burst into tears when I first heard this as a depressed 13-year-old, i will never forget that day)

The "WOO" at the very end of Headfirst for Halos

The harmonizing fuckworthy rayrard(?) vocals during "You and I" in Headfirst for Halos (there's probably more but it's most noticeable there)

Aw sugar

Desert Song. Especially the first verse

Mad Gear being so fucking old and so fucking alone in Mastas of Ravenkroft

"The World Is Ugly, but you're beautiful to me"

Also the Vampires reference in the World Is Ugly at the very end

Kiss the Ring: "Fist up, head down, Hail! (Hail!) to the King!"

The weird-ass high-pitched pussy-loaded submissive and breedable squeaky moan in the Sharpest Lives

The "ra-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta" in Make Room!!!

"When both our CAAAAAAARRRRRSSSSSS COLLIDE"

Heaven Help Us

Planetary dance vibes

Welcome to the Black Parade breakdown bridge thing, and the climactic earth-shattering "I DON'T CARE WE'LL CARRY OONNN" that leveled new jersey

G dropping bars in Heaven Help Us (second verse)

The very rocals in the Ghost of You (Lotms version)

Also rocals "One, two, three, four!" In PP

The background "saaay goodbye"s in To the End

Also To the End funkiness

WE GOT A MEDICAL EMERGENCE MEDICAL EMERGENCY

That part in Tomorrow's Money where I misheard one part as "I fell in love with a vampire / 'M gunna throw you in the air fryer"

The complete incoherence of overlapping yelling and guitar noises before it all stopped with the last "Make Room!!!"

"YOU CAN FIGHT THIS ALL YOU WA-A-A-HANT" run in Surrender the Night

Demo Lovers Guitar Solo

This list will only get longer and longer

[carolmunson]

thinking about the orange colored sky verse but maybe sorta sad. (james taylor’s cover of ‘walking my baby back home referenced, a good cozy listen.)

something in my chest tells me that peach starts to deal with some post-partum depression after baby lu is born. lucinda is a colicky baby, where gwen was weirdly easy despite some longer sleep training.

eddie doesn’t catch it at first, thinking the lack of sleep from having a newborn and a four and a half year old to deal with is just weighing on both of you. snippy, argumentative. never going to bed together anymore. never spending time alone. he thought you just got quiet cause you were always tired. you’d spend extra long in the bathroom. robotic when you made dinner - and you’d barely even eat. you’d opt to sleep on the couch while gwen played barbie’s with her aunt and uncle.

it’s not until one night he wakes up from lucy crying on the baby monitor that he gets it. with his glasses on he looks at the screen, you’re already in there bouncing lu on your hip. but it’s not just lu that’s crying.

“please, please go to sleep baby,” you beg, sniffling, “please. i’m so sorry you don’t feel good. i’m sorry if i did this. i’m so sorry.”

ed frowns, slowly getting up from the bed and putting his slides on before padding down the hall to the nursery. your face wet with tears, matching the baby in your arms.

“here, i’ll take her sweetheart,” he soothes, offering his arms. you give him the baby, where some rhythmic bounces and some soft singing puts her right to sleep. so easy with her dad for some reason.

once the baby is back down in her crib, he guides you back to the bedroom and keeps the light off. when the door closes he steps in front of you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“we’re gonna go to the doctor tomorrow, okay?” he says softly, “we’ll see if the lovebirds can watch the kids and we’ll talk to the doctor.”

“i’m…i’m trying my best,” you choke out, “i feel like a bad mom.”

“you’re not a bad mom,” he assures, arms wrapping around you to pull you to his chest, “don’t say that peach. you’re such a great mom.”

“she hates me,” you blurt out, a deep seated sob cracking front your chest.

“oh, no, no, babe,” he whispers into your temple, “shh-shh-shh, no she doesn’t. no one hates you. you’re doing such a good job.”

eddie chastises himself for not catching on sooner, for letting you hurt like this for the past couple of months without even realizing. he feels his own heart sink when he holds you close to him. because of course you’re a good mom, and an amazing wife and partner — maybe he wasn’t telling you that enough. maybe he hasn’t been supportive enough.

“do-do you still love me?” you ask snottily, looking up at him with wet eyes.

“peach,” he whispers down at you, wiping a tear from your cheek with the back of his fingers, “i’ll stop loving you when i’m dead. and even then, i don’t even know if that’s enough.”

you laugh a little, a weak smile stretching your cheeks, “you’re so corny sometimes, it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s good to know you’re already feeling more like yourself,” he teases back, leaning down to kiss you, “but we’re going to the doctor tomorrow, yeah?”

you nod, breaking away from each other so you can both crawl back into bed at the same time. and it had been a long time. his arms snake around you, humming the same song he hummed to lu, the same song he’d hum to gwen, the same song he’d hum around the apartment in New York after a good date night. after you ‘said yes’. all the good parts. and they were all good parts.

“after i kind of straighten my tie, she has to borrow my comb,” he sings soft, a barely audible melody, “one kiss then, we continue again. walkin’ my baby back home. i’m just walkin’ my baby, back home.”

[amber-lucca44]

Couldn't sleep and was bored, and kinda hate Drake so um

Drake's biggest fuckups I've caught on this beef

He loves trying to diss Kendrick for his height. Yk like a toddler would.

He tries to say Kendrick's Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers was a bad album. If we're talking critical reviews, it had a Metacritic rating of 85/100, compared to Drake's highest ever rating of 79/100 for Nothing Was The Same. In fact, Kendrick's lowest Metacritic score so far has been 80/100 for Section.80, again over Drake's highest.

...and if we're talking sales or streams, well first, no one ever challenged Drake's sales compared to Kendrick. I think we all know Drake is pretty much unmatched when it comes to that. Second, if sales were a factor to determine quality of music, then holy shit "Despacito" must be an all time magnum opus like nothing anyone ever heard before lol.

Trying to call Kendrick a sellout for doing songs with Maroon 5 and Taylor Swift? Drake calling someone else a sellout? 🤡🤡🤡

The line where he said Kendrick isn't on the big three because SZA, Travis Scott and 21 Savage "got him wiped down". Okay, first, I'm pretty sure this guy thinks big three means just "the three best selling" and uhhh no not quite. And second, and most obvious, SZA? SZA isn't even a rapper, why are you trying to bring her into this? 🙄

The AI to imitate 2Pac's and Snoop's voices. A few points here. First of all, the fucking disrespect to 2Pac, what the fuck. Glad Pac's family threatened him to remove it. Second, Snoop Dogg is alive. You just used his AI voice cause you know damn well he wouldn't be caught dead doing a verse on a Kendrick diss for you. And as a third point, it's just funny you felt like you had to use AI to make a diss track. Ghostwriters weren't enough for this one ig lol.

"Taylor Made Freestyle" was all just him begging on his hands and knees for Kendrick to reply something and give him some attention. Drake took almost a month replying to Kendrick's verse on "Like That". And he's begging for a response to "Push Ups" like a week after it was leaked (and the same day it was even officially released in the first place)

He tried to say the things Kendrick would diss him with. He was mostly right but oh boy did Kendrick do so much more.

Is he a Swiftie too? Cause he wouldn't let her go for "Taylor Made". In his mind, he swears Kendrick wasn't dropping a diss cause he didn't want to interrupt Taylor Swift's album's success, which is just a funny and dumb conclusion to make.

Spends the end of that track just talking, trying to praise Taylor for "managing Kendrick's schedule". 🤡

Drake beginning "Family Matters" with an n word and then going "yeah I said it I know that you mad" really came off sounding like when 12 year olds play online and say the word to seem tough. 😂

"Always rapping like you trying to get the slaves freed". Dang so making songs that actually have substance and meaning means you wanna free slaves, okay.

About these next lines...

Kendrick said he hated the girls you fuck referring to your dumbass being a pedo and hated you trying to hook up with underage girls. Not at any point did he say anything about their color tf.

"I've been with black and white and everything that's in between" okay so all underage girls okay got it. Again that was never the point. 😐

"You the black messiah wifin' up a mixed queen" Drake seriously missed the whole entire fucking point. Kendrick never said he didn't like you for hooking up with white women, what the fuck. And again the messiah thing is just funny.

He mentioned Whitney on "Push Ups", and some gave him the benefit of the doubt thinking he might have just done some wordplay about Whitney Houston being called the same as Kendrick's wife, wasn't clear enough. But these lyrics here are what made it abundantly clear he did want to try to mess with his family. I'm sorry but at this point that's not a rap beef, you intentionally tried to make it personal. Maybe you knew you never had a chance so you thought going there would make it possible to win? As if you didn't have a horrible fucking record already.

"Why you never hold your son and tell him 'say cheese'?" Maybe he doesn't want to expose him too much to the public while he raises him, decent human beings would understand that.

"We could've left the kids out of this, don't blame me" Kendrick said you don't know shit about raising a child based on information that was already abundantly public (see "The Story Of Addidon") and also based on the fact that you, despite having that child, love playing tough on IG and dropping disses using AI begging Kendrick to reply. Trying to get Kendrick's children involved is totally on you, buddy. Kendrick wasn't the one dealing with being exposed with having a child no one knew about and you wouldn't acknowledge.

He loves baselessly claiming that one of Kendrick's children isn't his. Again, baselessly, so literally just gossip lol.

And speaking of baseless stuff, he's really keeps running on his claim that Kendrick has beaten his wife. THERE IS NO EVIDENCE OF THIS. Like at all. In his mind, he probably thinks that since his easily provable bullshit was exposed, he'll try to invent some bs on Kendrick too to make it seem like they're both horrible people. The only piece of shit we know of in this beef is you, Drake.

Not at Kendrick but in a diss aimed at The Weeknd, Drake had to pull out his homophobic card. Disgusting. Fuck, it's so easy to dislike this guy. 🙄

Saying that Kendrick's music only "hitting hard" when Baby Keem writes on it. Is it cause he has writing credits on "N95"? He does ad libs on the song so I'm pretty sure that's why he's listed. Are the ad libs that fire? Lol

"Kendrick just opened his mouth, somebody go hand him a Grammy right now" awww he jealous bout Kendrick's Grammy's lol 🥺

He brought up Kendrick's transgender uncle, and was transphobic to try to diss Kendrick. Just plain ignorant and disgusting as hell. But of course he did. 😑🙄

Tried to blame Kendrick for 2Pac's family threatening legal action for his "Taylor Made Freestyle". Bro what you did was plain disrespectful and it was just bound to happen.

Did he really try to brag about the video leaked of him masturbating? 🤡🤡🤡

And this nonsense right here, was it cause he visited Ghana or something? He's trying to pin Kendrick as a racist? Huh?

...and follows this up with an ignorant, racist, weird ass comment dissing Michael Jackson too for no reason whatsoever. 🤡

Talking to the mirror here lol

Naming his diss track "The Heart part 6" was almost clever. Except for the fact that yk the song is fucking trash.

The first line on this song calls Kendrick "the Pulitzer Prize winner". Yeah pointing out an accolade as amazing as that one at the beginning of a diss towards him will definitely do it. 😀

Having a comment by Dave Free as the cover for the single. Is this his evidence for a kid being his? 😂

Saying you "plotted to give Kendrick information" doesn't even help you much when it's all easily believable based on your background lol.

Denying the child Kendrick is exposing him to have, again, doesn't help your case at all after Adonis.

Goes back to saying Kendrick beat his wife and one of his children is not his, again with no evidence or hint whatsoever, only to go and say he's all about "facts". 🤡

Okay so, be careful everyone, don't leave heart emojis to any child or baby post ever, cause Drake is going to think you're the father.

Why is he even bringing up Kendrick's confessions on "Mother I Sober"? How is bringing up a traumatic potential sexual abuse incident a good way to dodge your own sexual abuse allegations? And that's not even exactly what Kendrick said on the fucking song! It's just disgusting.

And then tries to ridicule Kendrick for being a victim of this. What the fuck is wrong with this mf.

Okay and this one is just cringe. He tried to spin Kendrick's jab on "Not Like Us". B sharp isn't even a thing btw. 😂😂🤡

"I'd never look twice at no teenager" there is literally video of you kissing a teenager on stage, for starters. So you just look at them once before you creep on them how does that work

"Only fucking with Whitney" ah yes the old "I'll fuck your bitch" trope very clever and original Drake

Drake believing some bullshit he saw around about Kendrick using bots to boost his view count is just hilarious. He really thinks Kenny sat down and took some time to actually do that. 😂😂

He thinks people will cancel Kendrick over his baseless battery accusations. 🤡

He ends it with another minute rant like the one he did on "Taylor Made", and starts by saying the beef was "some good exercise". Ngl it is the first time I hear Drake rap at all in a while. So yeah gotta thank Kendrick for getting Drake to actually TRY to do some good music at all. (It's not even good but yk better than whatever trash he was doing before the beef)

"Just let me know when we getting to the facts, everything in my shit is facts" *doubles down on baseless claims of battery and one of Kendrick's children not being his*