#I just— I just want peace is that so difficult

[missarchive]

Spencer finally agrees to let you peg him and out of no where becomes a full submissive whiny and needy

so maybe i got a little carried away with this one...

cw; +18 minors dni, sub!spencer, anal play, oral (m. receiving), pegging, praise, sex toys, porn mention

You step into your bedroom, the weight of the day pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, golden hue across the room, but even that familiar comfort doesn’t alleviate your exhaustion. With a deep sigh, you collapse onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. The month has been brutal—a seemingly endless series of late nights, grueling days, and one of the most difficult cases your team has ever faced. The effort has drained every ounce of your energy, leaving little time for yourself, let alone for Spencer.

Your eyes drift to him, lying on his side of the bed, his profile bathed in the faint light. His eyes are closed, and the faint strains of classical music hum softly from his earbuds. It’s his nightly ritual, a small slice of tranquility amid the chaos. He’s so focused, so absorbed in the music, that he doesn’t even notice your gaze lingering on him.

You watch him for a few quiet moments, taking in the way his features seem to soften in the calm. His lashes rest against his cheeks, and his lips part ever so slightly, as though he’s on the verge of sleep. Something about him looks so peaceful, so untouched by the storm you’ve both weathered.

Taking a steadying breath, you push yourself upright. The exhaustion doesn’t fade, but something compels you to move closer. Crawling across the bed, you reach out, your hand coming to rest gently on his chest. His warmth seeps into your palm, grounding you in the moment.

“Spencer, honey,” you murmur softly.

The music halts immediately, and his eyes flutter open. He blinks a few times before focusing on you, his gaze warm and familiar despite the weariness etched across his face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice tinged with the heaviness of the day but laced with affection. “What’s up?”

You smile at the tenderness in his tone. Even now, when exhaustion clings to both of you like a second skin, he’s still so present, so attentive. “I wanted to ask you something,” you say, sliding out from under the covers to kneel on the mattress beside him.

Spencer sits up immediately, his brow furrowing slightly as his focus sharpens. “What is it?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of apprehension.

You hesitate for a moment, searching for the right words. Your heart pounds a little faster as you finally voice the question. “I was wondering if you would let me peg you,” you say, keeping your tone as soft and nonchalant as possible.

His eyes widen slightly, and you notice the flicker of fear that passes through them. Spencer has always been open-minded and eager to make you happy, but you know this particular subject is new territory for him.

“Um…” he begins, his voice faltering as his gaze darts away. You can see the uncertainty in the way his hands fidget with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reach out to touch his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay,” you say gently, offering him an easy way out. “We don’t have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You start to slide back under the covers, prepared to let the moment pass, but his hand suddenly closes over yours, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait,” he says, his voice firmer now.

You turn back to him, and this time his gaze is steady, locking onto yours with a newfound resolve. The nervousness is still there, but beneath it, you catch a spark of courage.

“I want to try it,” he says, his words measured but sincere. Your heart leaps at the declaration, a swell of gratitude and affection washing over you.

He hesitates, his voice softening as his vulnerability shines through. “I just… I don’t know if I’m going to like it. What if I hate it?” There’s a crack in his voice, and you can see how much courage it’s taking for him to even consider this.

You reach out again, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing gently against his cheeks. “If you don’t like it, we’ll stop. No pressure, no expectations. I just love that you’re willing to try this for me,” you say, your voice filled with reassurance.

Spencer nods slowly, exhaling a shaky breath. The nervousness in his eyes doesn’t disappear completely, but there’s a flicker of trust there now—trust in you and in the connection you share.

“I’m going to make sure you like it,” you say softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. The warmth of the gesture makes his smile bloom, and he kisses you back, his lips tender and unhurried against yours.

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” you murmur, your voice filled with affection and sincerity. You kiss him again, this time lingering just a little longer, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. When you pull away, his smile is still there—soft and genuine—and the sight of it fills your chest with a deep, quiet happiness.

“We’ll take a few days,” you continue, brushing a strand of his hair away from his face. “I want you to feel comfortable and relaxed. When you’re ready, we’ll do this. Okay?”

Spencer looks at you for a moment, his hazel eyes searching yours before he nods. “Okay,” he says softly, his voice carrying a mixture of trust and determination.

Satisfied, you shift back to your usual spot on your side of the bed, nestling into the familiar warmth of the blankets. Spencer watches you with a thoughtful expression before settling down beside you, his hand briefly grazing yours as if to anchor himself to you.

“Alright,” he says, his tone lightening just enough to let you know he’s trying. “I’ll do my best to relax by then.”

You smile to yourself, feeling a quiet pride in his willingness to try something new, to trust you so deeply. The soft hum of contentment settles over the room, and as you close your eyes, you know this is just another way your connection grows stronger.

A few days later, Spencer comes home earlier than usual. You’re lounging in the living room when you hear the front door open and slam shut, followed by the unmistakable sound of his hurried footsteps heading straight for the bedroom. Something about his energy feels different—excited, almost jittery.

Curious, you follow him and peek into the room just as he’s setting down a large box and a few smaller items you can’t quite make out. He’s grinning from ear to ear, his cheeks flushed with anticipation, and his hazel eyes shine brighter than you’ve seen in days.

“What’s all that?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as you step closer.

Spencer takes a deep breath, his hands brushing over the box nervously before he looks up at you. “I did some research,” he says, his tone a mixture of pride and awkwardness. His gaze flickers down to the items he’s brought, and his cheeks redden even further. “I was scared at first, but… I knew how much this meant to you.”

You tilt your head, watching him intently as he takes a small step forward. There’s a flicker of determination in his expression now, pushing through the nerves. “So… I watched porn.”

The words catch you off guard, and a burst of laughter escapes before you can stop it. Spencer looks so adorably earnest, standing there with that sheepish expression, that you can’t help but find the moment endearing. “Porn?” you repeat, chuckling.

“Well, yeah,” he says, shifting on his feet as he scratches the back of his neck. “It seemed like the most efficient way to learn. I wanted to understand, you know… technique.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but the blush spreading across his face betrays his embarrassment.

Your laughter softens into a warm smile as he takes another step closer, his nervous energy practically radiating off him. “So,” he continues, motioning to the items behind him, “I bought all this stuff for us. I think it should work well together.”

Intrigued, you walk over to the pile and begin inspecting it. Inside the box, you find a selection of items: large plugs, sleek dildos in varying sizes, several bottles of lube, and a high-quality harness. Your excitement builds as you take in everything he’s thoughtfully gathered. Each piece feels intentional, like he’s truly put effort into understanding and preparing for this.

When you turn back to him, Spencer is watching you closely, his cheeks still a deep shade of red. The vulnerability in his expression makes your heart swell.

“Do you think we can start now?” he asks, his voice soft but steady as his eyes meet yours.

You nod, your excitement bubbling to the surface as you motion for him to come closer. He steps forward, his movements tentative but purposeful, and you reach for him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.

Leaning in, you press your lips to his in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft against yours, trembling slightly with nerves. You can taste his apprehension, but it’s clear that his desire to please you—and his trust in you—overpowers his fears.

As the kiss deepens, you feel him relax ever so slightly, his hands brushing tentatively against your sides. The air between you is electric, charged with a mix of anticipation and affection. You pull back just enough to whisper, “We’ll take it slow, okay?”

Spencer nods, his eyes locked on yours, and you can see the flicker of trust and excitement that’s starting to replace his nerves. 

You lean in, pressing soft kisses along Spencer’s neck, letting your lips linger just enough to tease. His breathing is already growing heavier, each exhale escaping with a faint quiver. You smile against his skin, the anticipation bubbling up inside you. This is going to be fun.

Trailing your kisses lower, you take your time exploring, savoring every reaction. When you reach his collarbone, you gently nip at it, and the sound he makes—a sharp gasp—sends a thrill through you. You glance up to see him tipping his head back, his eyes closed, his face awash in pleasure.

“Come on,” you whisper, taking his hand in yours. There’s no hesitation as he follows you, his trust evident in the way his fingers lace with yours. You guide him to the bed, and he sits on the edge, watching you with wide, expectant eyes.

Moving with intention, you step closer and begin to undress him. Your fingers work delicately at the buttons of his shirt, and as each one comes undone, you notice the faint rise and fall of his chest quicken. He’s looking at you intently, the nerves creeping back into his expression.

But then, his eyes meet yours. The warmth and hunger in your gaze seem to melt his apprehension. You can see the moment he relaxes, the tension in his shoulders easing as he realizes just how much you want this—how much you want him.

Once his clothes are discarded, you gently urge him to lie back on the bed. He complies, stretching out across the mattress, his legs parting instinctively as you position him. You pause for a moment, taking in the sight of him—his flushed cheeks, his slightly parted lips, and the way his body seems to tremble under your gaze.

Leaning down, you start with soft, warm kisses on the inside of his thighs. His skin is smooth and sensitive, and the way he twitches beneath your touch makes your smile widen. You keep your pace unhurried, teasing him with featherlight brushes of your lips.

Spencer’s breathing grows erratic, a mix of gasps and soft whimpers escaping him as you work your way closer to where he wants you most. His legs are already squirming, shifting restlessly as he tries to process the sensations.

“You’re so sensitive,” you murmur against his skin, your voice low and teasing.

He lets out a breathy laugh, but it’s quickly swallowed by another gasp as you press a firmer kiss to the tender flesh of his thigh.

You inch closer, your lips trailing ever upward, and the anticipation in Spencer’s body is palpable. His legs shift restlessly, his chest rising and falling as his breath comes in short, uneven bursts. By the time you’re near his cock, he’s already squirming beneath you, unable to stay still.

He’s so hard already, his arousal evident in the way he twitches with every slight movement of your touch. You glance up at him briefly before taking him into your mouth, the heat and weight of him filling you. The moment your lips wrap around him, he lets out a soft, unfiltered gasp that shoots straight through you.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, his voice rough and tinged with disbelief at the sensation.

You hum softly in response, letting the vibrations ripple through him as you start to move. Slow, deliberate bobs of your head have him unraveling almost immediately. You can feel every pulse, every throb of his arousal, and it only spurs you on.

Spencer’s hands grip the sheets beside him, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to keep some semblance of control. You know if you keep this up much longer, he’s not going to last—and that’s exactly why you stop.

Pulling back slowly, you release him with a soft, teasing drag of your tongue. Spencer’s eyes snap open, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of confusion and desperation. For a moment, he looks like he’s about to protest, his lips parting to complain, but then he notices the playful smile curling at the corners of your mouth.

“What?” he asks breathlessly, his voice hoarse with need as he glances down at you.

His expression is equal parts bewildered and captivated, and you can’t help but relish the sight of him—flushed, vulnerable, and completely at your mercy.

“I need you to relax for me, baby,” you whisper, your voice soft and soothing. Spencer looks at you, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and trust. After a moment, he nods, his lips curving into a small, hesitant smile. You watch as he exhales deeply, his shoulders beginning to loosen.

“That’s it,” you murmur, your tone encouraging as you reach over to the bedside table. You grab the bottle of lube, the cool weight of it in your hand grounding you as you turn back to him. Squeezing a generous amount into your palm, you warm it between your fingers before gently applying it to his rim.

He lets out a shaky breath at the first touch, his body instinctively tensing under your hand. “Relax,” you remind him softly, your other hand moving to rest reassuringly on his thigh. You feel the tension ease slightly as he takes another deep breath, his chest rising and falling in an effort to steady himself.

You slowly slip one finger inside, feeling his body react to the intrusion. He flinches slightly, his muscles tightening, but almost immediately forces himself to relax again, exhaling in measured breaths. His determination makes your heart swell, and you offer him a soft, encouraging smile.

“That’s good,” you say quietly, watching him closely. After a few moments, he nods, signaling his readiness for more.

Gently, you add a second finger, moving them with deliberate care. You curl and scissor them slightly, giving him time to adjust. His breathing quickens, and a small, breathy moan escapes his lips. The sound sends a spark of heat through you, and your gaze drifts up to his face.

Spencer’s eyes are closed now, his expression soft and blissful, his lips parted as he lets himself feel everything. The sight of him like this—so vulnerable, so completely in the moment—makes desire pool low in your belly. You bite your lip, trying to steady yourself, but it’s impossible not to feel the pull of how much you want him.

Carefully, you add a third finger. The moment you do, his whole body tenses again, his thighs clenching under your touch. “Shh,” you soothe, your free hand stroking his thigh in slow, calming motions. “Just relax, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”

Spencer’s breaths are uneven as he struggles to let go of the tension. You feel him gradually soften under your touch, his body yielding bit by bit. His trust in you is palpable, and you move your fingers again, slow and deliberate, watching his reactions closely.

“That’s it, good boy, Spence” you whisper, your voice filled with quiet praise. He nods faintly, his body beginning to respond to the sensations rather than resist them. You feel the subtle shift as he starts to relax fully into your touch, and it only heightens the growing anticipation between you.

Spencer’s breaths are coming faster now, each exhale accompanied by soft, desperate moans that seem to escape without his permission. His chest rises and falls in rhythm with the pleasure coursing through him, and you know he’s finally relaxed enough to take the next step.

With care, you slide your fingers out of him, his body trembling slightly at the loss of contact. For a moment, you glance down and feel the heat bloom within you—you’re dripping wet, slick with desire, and the realization sends a thrill through your body. You smirk, your arousal heightened by how much Spencer has stirred in you.

Reaching down, you gather some of your wetness on your fingers, the sensation making you bite your lip in anticipation. Without hesitation, you wrap your slick fingers around his cock and stroke him gently, spreading your wetness over his length.

The reaction is immediate. Spencer gasps sharply, his eyes fluttering open as he looks down at you. His gaze locks onto your hand, watching as you glide over him, the sight seemingly too much for him to process. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice breaking on the word.

You smirk, letting your fingers trace over the sensitive head of his cock, watching his hips shift involuntarily in response. “You want me that badly?” you ask, your tone playful but tinged with heat.

“Yes,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and filled with longing. He nods, his body practically vibrating with need.

Leaning down, you press your tongue against the underside of his cock, dragging it slowly from base to tip. The loud moan that spills from him is raw and unrestrained, sending shivers down your spine. His cock twitches against your lips, the sensation fueling your growing desire.

You continue, licking and teasing him, savoring every sound he makes. Spencer’s moans grow louder, filling the room as you work him over with deliberate care. The way he writhes beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets as though they’re the only thing anchoring him, is intoxicating.

“Please,” he whimpers, his voice needy and breathless. “Oh, fuck, yes, please.”

His words make you smirk, a spark of satisfaction flickering in your chest as you take him deeper. You alternate between slow, languid strokes and quicker movements, your tongue tracing along his length with purpose. The taste of him, the sounds he makes, the way his body trembles—it all drives you to keep going.

After a few minutes, you feel him tensing again, his thighs tightening, his breathing becoming erratic. You know he’s close, his body teetering on the edge. You don’t let up, your head bobbing as you take him deeper, your tongue flicking over his most sensitive spots.

With a final, desperate moan, Spencer arches his back, his release hitting you in waves as he finishes in your mouth. You stay with him through it, savoring every reaction, until his body relaxes beneath you, spent and trembling. You pull away gently, wiping the corner of your mouth as you look up at him, his flushed face and half-lidded eyes the perfect reward for your efforts.

Spencer’s chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, his skin flushed and glistening with a light sheen of sweat. When you finally release him, his cock slipping from your mouth, he groans softly. “That was so fucking good,” he murmurs, his voice still thick and breathless.

You smirk, wiping the corner of your lips as you rise to your feet. “We’re not done yet,” you tease, shooting him a playful glance. His gaze follows you as you walk over to the bedside table, where you retrieve one of the plugs he picked out and the lube.

Returning to him, you squirt a generous amount of lube onto your fingers, warming it between them before gently pressing against his rim again. The sensation pulls a moan from him almost instantly, his body reacting to your touch.

“Relax for me,” you whisper, your tone both soothing and commanding. Spencer nods faintly, his muscles easing as you work your way back in. Sliding one finger inside, you feel him clench momentarily before softening again.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word falling from his lips like a mantra, over and over, as though it’s the only thought he can cling to.

You add a second finger, twisting and scissoring them gently to stretch him further. His back arches off the bed, his head pressing into the pillow as he gasps, “Holy shit.” His voice trembles, and the moans that follow are softer now, more drawn out, as he lets the pleasure overtake him.

His body writhes under your touch, his breathing becoming shallow and erratic. You can tell he’s teetering close to the edge again, his cock twitching against his stomach. But you’re not ready for him to finish—not yet.

Adding a bit more lube, you withdraw your fingers and press the first plug against his entrance. Slowly, carefully, you ease it in, watching as his body adjusts. Spencer lets out a sharp gasp at the new sensation, his thighs trembling as his entire body tenses for a moment.

You pause, your free hand resting on his thigh in reassurance. “Breathe,” you murmur, waiting until his body softens again. When he finally relaxes, you ask, “How does that feel?”

His head tilts back as he nods, his voice barely audible. “Fuck yes, so so good,” he mumbles, though the words are almost lost in his shaky breaths.

You can’t help the swell of pride in your chest as you take in the sight of him—so open, so willing to trust you with this. He’s being incredibly brave, pushing himself beyond his comfort zone, and it’s not lost on you how vulnerable he must feel.

Leaning over, you press a soft kiss to his lips, your voice gentle and affectionate as you murmur, “Good boy.”

The effect is immediate. Spencer��s eyes snap to yours, and for a moment, you see something new flicker within them. There’s a softness there, a quiet, submissive energy that hadn’t been present before.

You smirk, your lips curving into a knowing smile as you whisper, “You like that, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer with words, but the way his cheeks flush deeper and his eyes dart away shyly tells you everything you need to know. His vulnerability is achingly beautiful, and you make a silent vow to take care of him—to guide him through this new experience with all the care and tenderness he deserves.

You lean down and kiss him deeply, your lips brushing softly against his before pulling away just enough to see his face. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with anticipation. “What do I do?” he asks, his voice tinged with both curiosity and need, so vulnerable yet eager.

The sound of him like this—so needy, so open—is enough to make your breath hitch. “Just let me take care of you,” you whisper, running your fingers down his chest. The slight drag of your nails across his skin elicits a low, drawn-out moan from him, his body arching into your touch.

“Let me make you feel good,” you say softly, your hand gliding down to wrap around his cock. He’s already hard again, his arousal obvious in the way he throbs in your palm. Spencer’s cheeks flush pink, and he lets out another quiet moan as you stroke him slowly.

Your movements pause as you reach for the harness, slipping it on with practiced ease. The straps hug your hips snugly, and you adjust it to make sure it’s secure. The soft click of the buckles draws Spencer’s attention, and his breath hitches audibly when he sees you attach the dildo.

“What...what is that?” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly as his gaze flicks between the harness and your face.

“It’s a harness,” you say with a smile, stepping closer so he can see it better. Holding up the dildo, you let it catch the light as you grin down at him. “And this,” you purr, running your fingers along its length for effect, “is what I’m going to fuck you with.”

The way Spencer’s eyes darken with a mixture of nervousness and excitement is absolutely intoxicating. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he shifts slightly on the bed, his thighs pressing together in anticipation.

You grab the lube, squirting a generous amount onto the dildo and spreading it evenly. The slick sound fills the quiet room, heightening the tension as you glance up at him.

“Are you ready?” you ask, your voice low and steady, but the heat in your tone is unmistakable.

Spencer’s head tips back against the pillow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “Fuck yes, please, sweetheart” he breathes, his voice trembling with desire.

Positioning yourself behind him, you take a moment to admire him. His body is laid bare before you, his back arched slightly, his ass raised in perfect submission. The sight alone makes your pulse race, and you can’t help but let out a soft exhale.

You press the tip of the dildo against his entrance, moving slowly and deliberately. The resistance is brief before the head slips inside, and Spencer lets out a soft, shuddering moan. His muscles clench reflexively around you, his body so tight and warm that it takes everything in you not to rush.

“Breathe,” you remind him gently, your free hand stroking his lower back in reassurance. He takes a shaky inhale, the tension easing as you push in a little further.

His whimpers fill the room, soft and needy, the sound sending a jolt of heat straight through you. “Oh, God,” he whispers, his voice strained as his hands grip the sheets. The vulnerability in his tone makes your chest tighten with both affection and desire.

You move inch by inch, letting him adjust at his own pace. Each sound he makes—every gasp, every whispered curse—fuels you, and the way his body quivers beneath you is impossibly alluring.

When you’re fully seated inside him, you pause, leaning over to kiss the back of his neck. “You’re doing so well, Spence” you murmur against his skin, your voice soft but full of praise. His whole body shivers at your words, and you can feel him relax even further, melting into the moment.

You reach around Spencer and start to stroke his cock. He gasps when he feels you touch him again, you know he must be so over-sensitive by this point. “Holy fuck, that feels good,” he gasps. You can hear how close he’s getting. “Faster, please,” he begs. You oblige and start to go harder.

You can feel Spencer starting to tighten up around the dildo, you know he’s getting even closer. “Oh fuck,” he says loudly. You’re going as fast as you can, you know your thighs will be on fire tomorrow morning.

“Fuck me harder,” he gasps, you can hear the whine in his voice.

Spencer lets out a loud gasp, his body going even more tense. His cock twitches before shooting out into your palm, cum trickling down your hand as he arches into your touch subconsciously. Thrusting into him until you feel him go limp against you before gently pulling the dildo out, allowing him to collapse back onto the bed. His face is sweaty and his breathing is labored but you think he’s never looked more beautiful. You climb off him and lay beside him, giving him a kiss on the lips. “Such a pretty boy,” you praise, he smiles at you.

You lean up to kiss him again but he suddenly looks worried.

“Did I do good?” He asks. You can hear the fear in his voice and you look at him with soft eyes. “Of course you did,” you say, giving him another kiss. His eyes immediately relax and he smiles. “Did so well for me, honey,” you praise him, giving him soft kisses down his neck.

Spencer moans softly as you kiss him and you can tell that he’s enjoying the aftercare. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For what?” You ask. “For doing this with me,” he says. You look at him with softness and you smile.  “Anything for you,” you say.

You continue with the aftercare until Spencer is relaxed again. His eyes are closed and his breathing is normal again. You give him one last kiss before you climb out of bed to get cleaned up. As soon as you’re standing you feel a soft hand wrap around your thigh, you look down and see Spencer looking up at you with need in his eyes again.

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“Just to clean up,” you say, your voice gentle but practical as you shift to sit up.

But before you can move, Spencer’s hand lightly brushes against your arm. “Stay here with me,” he whispers, his tone so soft and pleading that it tugs at your heartstrings. “Please?”

There’s something about the way he says it—so vulnerable, so utterly sincere—that makes it impossible to refuse him. The faint curve of his lips and the tired, hopeful gleam in his eyes only add to his charm. He’s irresistible like this, a mix of sweet and earnest.

“Okay,” you murmur, a smile tugging at your lips as you settle back down beside him.

Spencer’s face lights up with a small, grateful smile before he shifts closer, snuggling into your side as if seeking comfort in your warmth. His lean frame molds perfectly against you, and the weight of him feels grounding, soothing.

Gently, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close and holding him securely. The soft scent of his shampoo mingles with the faintest trace of coffee still clinging to him, a reminder of the day you’ve shared.

“Thank you,” he breathes, his voice muffled as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, but the sensation is pleasant, comforting even.

You feel the tension in his body slowly melt away, his breathing evening out as he relaxes fully into your embrace. The moment feels tender, intimate—a quiet connection shared in the stillness of the room.

Before long, the soft rhythm of his snores fills the air. You hold him a little tighter, savouring the peacefulness of having him so close, and let yourself be lost in the simplicity of the moment.

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[adieutristana]

Jinx and her girlfriend stopping Vi and Caitlyn's wedding just for fun

LMAOO?? this is messy… anyways of course! thank you for the request <3

summary; jinx and her girlfriend crashing caitlyn and vi’s wedding.

characters included; jinx (romantic), vi (platonic), caitlyn (platonic)

tags/warnings; crack kinda, fluff, caitvi, mentions of war/combat, in-laws

men dni.

stating that jinx doesn't like caitlyn kiramman is like saying that grass is green.

saying that she doesn't like caitlyn with her sister even more so.

she’s tried to be patient, tried to appreciate the fact that her sister had someone to love and love her in return. despite the fact that that someone was a topsider, an enforcer no less.

could she not find someone in zaun that would be just as good for her? someone who wasn’t allied with the people who killed their parents?

regardless, jinx came to terms with the relationship as time went on. jinx and vi weren’t exactly on good terms to begin with- and getting herself involved in vi’s relationship wasn’t bound to make things any less tense. while vi knew that jinx didn’t approve of the relationship- especially after the stunt she pulled with kidnapping the two of them, the two of them didn’t talk about it explicitly.

caitlyn had grown to tolerate jinx, sometimes even going as far as to show genuine concern for the girl and talk to her in her own time. their encounters had always been fleeting, no more than a few sentences exchanged, but it was peaceful. it was something. she could live with this, jinx thought.

that was until they got engaged.

“hey, jinx. caitlyn and i recently got engaged, and while i know you’re less than happy about the relationship, i still want you to be there. you’re my sister and i don’t want you to miss this. you’re welcome to bring your girlfriend with you. i’ve put the invitation in here, love you.

-vi”

jinx is seething next to you, fighting herself to not rip up the stupid envelope and throw away the stupid invitation and curse out her stupid sister. your hand on her shoulder with your thumb gently running along the skin, doing everything you can to soothe your girlfriend.

“baby, she’s just trying to include you… you’re sisters.”

you whisper, voice low and soft as you can manage. she shakes her head and goes to start picking at her cuticiles- which you have to physically stop her from doing.

“she’s doing it to get to me. she can’t be actually marrying her, can she?”

she says through gritted teeth, and you can’t tell if jinx is trying to ask you or herself. you can’t tell if she wants an answer, either, but decide to not give her one for fear of making things even worse.

the girl is almost rocking herself forward and back in an effort to try and stop herself from doing something she’ll regret, and it breaks your heart to see her like this. after caitlyn shooting off her finger, after the war, the way that caitlyn spoke about zaun and its inhabitants, you could understand perfectly well why jinx wouldn’t approve of her. but this was worse than you’ve ever seen her in regards to the issue.

it was finally settling in that caitlyn was there to stay. maybe part of jinx was convinced that this would all blow over, it was a phase, and vi would wake up and realize that she didn’t need her. despite the fact that jinx told her she deserved to be with her.

“i shouldn’t have said that. i shouldn’t.”

she mutters. it truly does break your heart to see jinx like this, so distraught and torn. she tried to be supportive, tried to see things from her sister's point of view (especially with your help), but she just couldn't.

you let out a heavy sigh, observing your girlfriend's pained expression. part of you wants to keep trying to talk to her and comfort her, the other part wants to let her have time to think and process everything. either way, you'd be there the entire way through. but sometimes with jinx, despite how long you've been together, it can be difficult to tell the exact thing she needs. but for your own conscience, you have to know that you at least tried.

"jinx... we don't have to go if you don't want to."

you offer, pressing close to jinx so that your shoulders are now touching. your approach is careful. if she doesn't want to take it, she doesn't have to, but it's something at the very least. she lets out a shaky breath, keeping her gaze downcast. it's like she's begun to shut down.

"no... no, we'll be there. we'll be there."

she mumbles. voice barely audible, but stern.

✧.*

"you're sure about this?"

you ask, hands occupied with tying a black tie onto jinx.

"yeah, i'm sure. all according to plan, right?"

she smirks, hands on her hips. you'd decided to go to a secondhand shop in the undercity to grab some clothes for jinx that would be acceptable for a wedding- gods know she doesn't have any. a simple white long-sleeved blouse, black tie, and black slacks. not too polished, not too flashy, but just formal enough for her sister's big day.

you'd also taken it upon yourself to carefully braid jinx's usual unruly hair, despite her (playful) protests. though the way she relaxed under your touch and her shoulders dropped the moment your fingertips grazed her scalp told you everything you needed to know.

"alright, ready!"

jinx exclaims before grabbing the last of her things and swiftly grabbing your arm, leading you toward the exit of her hideout. she seems oddly energetic- possibly even giddy. she hadn't been excited for this day at all until coming up with one of her typical schemes, and now it seemed as if the girl was just itching to get to the chapel.

while reluctant at first considering these were about to be basically your in-laws, you found yourself agreeing to jinx's plan. you've always been on board with the chaos innate in jinx, but the way she lit up as she described her so-called 'master plan' to you cemented that you simply couldn't say no. it was a fun idea, and jinx was counting on you to help enact it. who were you to refuse her?

✧.*

the kirammans have truly outdone themselves.

a large chapel decorated with luxurious shades of blue and gold, with hints of bright pink thrown into the flower arrangements. chandeliers, soft candlelight, windows of stained glass and pews large enough to sit an entire city.

you and jinx exchange a few polite yet drawn out 'hello's, 'nice to see you's, and 'thanks for coming's from council members, ex-fighters and members of the remaining kiramman clan.

you slide down a white pew near the front of the chapel with jinx, one that had been reserved for vi's guests. jinx huffs, folding her arms out onto the edge of the pew in front and resting her chin on them.

"just got here, and you're already bored?"

you tease, tilting your head to look down at the girl.

"yeah. this sucks."

"it hasn't started yet."

"yeah, and it'll suck worse when it does."

jinx starts bouncing her left leg, heel quickly tapping across the floor and nearly echoing through the large room. she huffs, looking to the altar, then back, toward the aisle, all around, waiting for something to happen.

"and you're completely sure that we're doing this, right?"

jinx nods, giving a little 'mhm.'

you'd discussed the plan several times in the days leading up to the wedding. jinx hadn't left a single base uncovered in terms of timing, execution, what to say, what to do. one of your favorite things about her had always been her tendency to get wrapped up the second that she really puts her mind to something. whether that be jinx drowning out any external noises while tinkering, using all of her strength to handle weapons twice her weight, or scouring all of zaun for materials, her dedication was always evident.

guests continue pouring in, and it seems as if caitlyn has invited the entire population of piltover. maybe she has. unsurprisingly and unfortunately, there aren't many on vi's side, but the ones that are count. jinx, yourself, a few old friends of vi's from the lanes, and seemingly some new friends and colleagues. vi's circle had always been small, but the people in it were of such high value.

yourself and jinx pass a few more minutes with jinx's head on your shoulder, exchanging soft kisses in anticipation for what's to come, fixing jinx's tie and simply people-watching. before the chord of a pipe organ is heard, and all heads turn to the back of the room- where caitlyn is being led down the aisle by her father.

that dress alone could cost more than the lifetime salary of ten zaunites. regardless, it's beautiful. sleek, pure white, with a silver tiara atop loosely curled blue hair. the room is still, the only things moving being the two kirammans. the moment is picturesque, it's captivating.

shortly after comes vi, walking down the aisle by unaccompanied. she looks considerably more anxious than her fiancee, but with so much pure glee that it's weighed out. she anxiously looks over at her side of the chapel, her face softening the slightest bit when she lays eyes on jinx. the girl gives her a soft smile, and although jinx doesn't react, you almost swear you could see vi mouthing something to her sister.

when both women are on the altar and the ceremony starts, it's like gears begin turning in jinx's head. she takes your hand into hers, squeezing it against her lip as her eyes turn to you.

"ready, toots?"

she whispers, the slightest smirk evident on her expression. you nod, squeezing her hand back. neither of your eyes move from the scene unfolding in front of you. caitlyn and vi with their hands clasped, looking into each other's eyes so lovingly as they exchange vows. everything was in place, you'd made sure everything was planted and taken care of before the actual event.

"if anybody should object to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace."

jinx immediately shoots up from her seat, hand raised high.

"yeah, i've got somethin'!"

she keeps her gaze on the now bewildered couple as you pull a remote from your pocket, triggering pink and blue smoke bombs from the corridors of the chapel. the crowd immediately erupts into a scatter of screams, people rushing from their seats and trying to take cover. just some colored smoke bombs; nothing that would cause harm, but sure as hell enough to cause a commotion. jinx places her hands on her hips, shaking her head.

"just some smoke bombs... pussies."

she remarks, before grabbing your hand and beginning to make her way out of the chapel with haste. not before turning over her shoulder and yelling, "tough luck!" to the couple first, though. you're giggling beside your girlfriend as the two of you run off into the streets of piltover, not even sure of your destination. only enjoying the thrill of it all and the feeling of running off into nowhere with each other. jinx's laugh is infectious, the sound ringing in your ears as she pulls you into an alleyway.

your girlfriend quickly presses your back to a wall as she grasps your waist, grinning at you.

"how was that for a wedding?"

"pretty damn good."

she barks out another laugh, before connecting her lips to yours.

[silvertheduckling]

Shadows in the Rain

This is a Shadow one shot! I could make it into a series if everyone likes :3 Music I recommend for this fic, (if you like listening and reading) is Sailor by Alex Kehm. Also her song called Howl also fits the mood ♡

Summary: You find Shadow in the park during a rainy afternoon, and you share an umbrella.

Reader is a mobian and GUN agent. (1,347 words.) Hope you enjoy! 💙

It was a misty afternoon, as soft rain drops fell from the sky. Small puddles pooled in curbs and in the imperfections of the sidewalk. There was no breeze or movement, just calm, peaceful silence. Except for the patter of the rain drops, making a pleasant hum. You had taken the afternoon off, to enjoy this serene atmosphere. Umbrella in hand, as your boots made little splashes on the wet sidewalk. 

That morning, you had been assigned to work with Shadow, only for Shadow nowhere to be found. It was unusual for him to be absent, for he was always very punctual, especially if others were relying on him. You worried about him, for how uncharacteristic it was. But you were left with your thoughts and the soft sound of the rain.

 He was a very intriguing person; Rouge herself had told you about how he was. She always teased you about Shadow, saying you had a way of pulling words out of him that no one else could. Though you were never sure if you believed her. Over the few months together on missions, he never conversed more than necessary.

Only, his eyes always spoke more than his voice ever did. You could swear you'd seen a hint of vulnerability in his deep, ruby eyes. A hidden struggle behind those beautiful gems. 

 His gaze always seemed to stiffen as soon as it became too revealing. Making you wonder if those moments were all a work in your head.  

Over these past months, he'd warmed up to you more, though never getting too comfortable. On those riskier missions he always would choose the more difficult front-line assignments. Saying you wouldn't be able to keep up. 

Those missions when you could see the flash of panic when you made a close call, the strong reprimand to never do that again on the ride to headquarters. When you'd see that deeper look in his eyes. Those moments when you understood he did care. 

He had showed it many times. When he had saved your life. When enemies got a little too close and he stepped in front of you. Shielding you with himself. Though, more recently, he had grown distant. 

Ever since you both had been on a mission that cut very close. Too close. In the moment he insistently asked if you were alright, looking you over many times. That desperate worry in his eyes as he looked in yours. He held you by your shoulders making you look in his eyes, his grip firm but gentle.

"Don't do that again."

The passing of a car splashing in the little stream brought you out of your thoughts, the blur of fading headlights melting in the hazy fog. 

 Faint glow from a light pole shined a misty haze over an approaching bench, a figure lightly illuminated there. Curiosity bubbled in you as you wondered who the figure was. Once close enough the misty glow revealed an empty stare, Shadow. 

Raindrops trickled from his fur to the cool ground. He looked so distant, so lost. Gazing in no direction in particular, tension in his hands as they clenched. 

You stood there for a few moments, wanting to greet him happily but biting your tongue, knowing that's not what he needed right now. With a soft movement, you sat on the bench, an arm length between you. 

You debated in your head if that had been the best idea, that he probably wanted to be left alone. It's too late to turn back now.

You inched closer, wondering if he noticed your presence. Slowly, you shifted your umbrella, letting its brim cover him. After a few moments he seemed to notice. His ruby eyes softened slightly as they met yours, revealing a flicker of emotion beneath his usual hardened gaze.

Though, he was silent. His irises looking impossibly deep in yours. It felt like he was looking in your soul. Like, he was.... searching. Searching for your angle, why you were showing him grace. 

All he seen was your honest sweet gaze. The kindness in your eyes... They were genuine. It had been so long since he had seen such tender, empathetic eyes directed towards him... He hesitantly met your gaze once again. 

"What are you doing?" 

His voice soft and quiet matching the gentle hum of the rain.

"You weren't at the meeting for our mission this morning, so I took this afternoon off; and found you here."

You had noticed? That alone made Shadow soften ever slightly. His gaze left yours to the rest of the misty central park. 

"I'm sorry."

he murmured, lowering his gaze to his lap as if the weight of the words pained him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." 

He looked up again, as his eyes found yours once more. His facial features softened gently, his brow less furrowed, his frown less prominent. 

"It's okay to take a break sometimes. I just... I was worried about you."

He froze a little after that statement. The idea that his presence... was missed. 

That look in his sanguine eyes revealing how much that sentence alone meant to him. 

The buzz of a phone interrupted the exchange as you sheepishly took out your phone with murmured apologies. It was Rouge asking where you were, you had forgotten your plans with her. 

"I'm sorry. Rouge is waiting on me and you know how she is."   

You said hurriedly embarrassed as you gathered yourself. 

"Um... where I'm going isn't far, you want my umbrella?"

Kindness in your eyes as you smiled gently offering the umbrella. He looked at you for a lingering moment, then he gently reached for it. Your hands brushed each other softly as he took it from your hand.

For a moment that felt longer than it was, his hand lingered over yours on the umbrella. In the gentle shower you both stood under the cover of the umbrella. You both clung onto this moment preserving it gazes locked. 

Time seemed to slow as your eyes searched his and his prodded yours. He remained silent, his eyes speaking for him. His deep gemstones caught the faint cast of light, showing the vulnerability in them. They wavered between yours. Your presence comforted him. Though silent, his eyes betrayed the truth—he didn't want you to leave.

The buzz of a phone call in your pocket disrupted the eye contact. You both knew who it was. 

"I should go. You have a good afternoon, ok?"  

You spoke apologetically as you pulled your hand away fully giving him the umbrella. 

"See you later."   

 He nodded faintly at your soft tone, as his grip on the umbrella grew tighter. You turned walking down the path, taking the phone call. Your figure growing farther in the misty afternoon. Blurring into the rain. He stood there watching you go, left with his thoughts. 

"Bye (name)."

He murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain, as though speaking to the memory of your presence more than to you. He gazed where you once were, umbrella in hand. 

As he walked home, he held tight to the look in your eyes. The rain continued to fall, but the memory of your warmth lingered. A contrast to the cool misty atmosphere. 

It had been a few days since that late afternoon, you were at your home enjoying a lovely clear morning making some breakfast. There was a gentle knock at your doorstep, as you gazed curiously in that direction. After a few moments you walked to the door opening it, revealing no one there. Your gaze fell and there you saw your umbrella and beside it a vase of red roses and little white flowers. You picked both up bringing them inside. You set the flowers on the counter. 

A soft smile crossed your lips as you traced the delicate petals. The roses, their crimson petals catching the morning sunlight; reminded you of his gaze—vulnerable, yet unyielding. Even in his silence, Shadow's gratitude spoke volumes. You noticed a little card in the middle, and you pulled it out. Opening it gently it simply read;

"Thank you ---Shadow."

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know! Reblogs, comments and likes much appreciated! 💙

[simmplerussiangirl]

Her princess.

part two

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Synopsis : The only daughter of the Ras family is exchanged with the Medard clan for a peace treaty. Thanks to her pride and the hard core inside her, she doesn't falls into despair and continues to live. She continues to live to take revenge on her family for literally selling her to a clan of enemies.

word count: 2.2k

cw: selfharm, hatred, aggression, death, defiant behavior, Ambressa is a sweet bun.

A/N: I wrote the second part in five thousand words, but decided it would be better to divide it into two anyway. I doubt that people will read such a large amount of text.

Walking down the stairs, I yank my arm out with force. I wish I could say I succeeded with ease, but alas, I didn't. I only succeeded because she let me.

 Ambressa Medard was difficult to be around. She literally pressured you with her status and authority. What to say that any average person would feel like a bug comparing their bodies and accomplishments. Inwardly, I chuckled at the thought that she had put thousands of men into complexes with her mere appearance.

  Here I was, standing in front of her and feeling like a little girl. Even in my high heels I could only reach her nose. So I had to raise my head to look her in the eye.

 But there was a huge problem. She was scanning you like she was reading you. And her gaze was heavy. The kind of look that makes you want to hide or at least put your eyes to the floor to get away from it.

 And I was no exception; I wanted to stop feeling it, badly enough. But my pride choked me. So I stood in front of the girl towering over me, breathing heavily, my eyebrows pulled down to the bridge of my nose.

 I saw a faint smile of approval run across her face, but unfortunately I didn't have time to see it. The girl turned around and walked toward the ship. I followed, still not saying a word.

 It took us about ten minutes to get to the dock, and when we finally stopped, I was overjoyed. My heels were insanely beautiful, but they were uncomfortable. They also made my feet bleed. The last few steps to the ship were the most painful, and I limped along, trying not to lose my face in any way; Ambressa could turn around at any moment. My shoulders were still squared, my head proudly up, and my face calm, as if I were not going into slavery, but on vacation in a neighboring country.

  Ambressa stopped near the stairs to the ship and let me pass through. I only arched an eyebrow in surprise and rolled my eyes.

-Are you afraid I'm going to kill you from behind? - I smirked wickedly.

-No, I just don't want my soldiers looking at your scuffed skirt. - She nodded toward the stairs - The stairs are high, and your dress is already moving in the breeze. But if you want to...-  she took a step toward the stairs, and I just put my hand out in front of her, blocking the way.

 I rolled my eyes again, and started to climb up the stairs, holding the dress on both sides so it wouldn't ride up. Since I was now the first to walk, I could take a little break and squint endlessly, biting my lips and cheeks in pain. The pain in my heart and the pain in my legs, which already had a trickle of blood running down my ankles.

 I climbed up onto the deck, and stepping slightly away from the stairs, turned to face the girl who was also standing on the ship.

- Don't expect me not to make life hell. Don't think I'll die so easily as a slave,” I adjusted my dress and looked into her face.

 Under other circumstances, I would have said her beauty was captivating. Her features were enchanting, mesmerizing, and even somewhat intimidating. The scars did not mar her face, only added to her charm and memorability.

- Who told you that you are my slave? You will not be a slave in my house, nor in my state as a whole.

 The woman turned and pushed me toward some kind of door. I reflexively took a step and nearly hissed at the flaring pain in my legs. Miraculously, I managed to pull myself together in time. But the girl seemed to have noticed something strange, either in my movements or in the sound I made.

- What is it? - She grabbed my chin, but I couldn't break free this time, so I just looked her in the eyes with distaste. - You look like a drowning cat. . They reach out and rescue you while you hiss and bite.

 She let go of my chin and put her palm on my shoulder blades this time, not pushing. She was just laying down to guide me in the direction she wanted me to go.

 We walked in silence for a long time as I ran her phrase “You won't be a slave” through my head. Thoughts were literally boiling in my head. Why am I there then? Does she really think that I would willingly agree to fight under her leadership using my magic? She can't be that naive, can she? No, absolutely not. Then maybe she thinks she can find something to blackmail me with. But I have no weaknesses; after all, I killed my father with my own hands. Only if it's through my country.,,

-Your pretty little head is about to boil. Ask me if you have any questions, child.

 I snorted loudly and rolled my eyes. Is she trying to gain my trust? Does she want to make the right first impression? Why the hell is she talking to me like that? Why worry about me and my condition?

-Whatever you want, sweetheart. - Ambressa stopped in front of some door -Your room for the next few days.

 The woman turned and walked back down the hallway, I watched the muscles of her exposed back roll over as she walked, as she moved further away from me. It was quite a breathtaking sight....

- No one will lock the door until the first time you make a mistake. Oh, and your maid Maria will be assigned to you tonight. Change before she comes; don't scare the poor girl with blood on your dress. There are a couple of outfits in the closet.

- You wouldn't dare lock me in!

 Ambressa never once looked at me, but I bet she smiled. Because she knew she'd do it if she had to.

 After waiting until I was completely alone in the hallway I opened the door and took an unsure step inside. I looked around the room. It wasn't luxurious, but it wasn't horrible either.

 There was a wooden bed pinned to the floor. It was already tucked into fresh linens in scarlet and gold. And near the wall were many different burgundy-colored pillows. By the small porthole was a desk, on which were sheets of paper and a couple of pens. Also in the cabin was an elongated wooden cabinet. When I opened it, I saw dresses of extraordinary beauty. There were three of them, all lavish, in the colors of the Medard clan and richly studded with jewels. The jewels sprawled along the bodice, along the translucent sleeves and hem of the dresses. This jewelry looked very much like splashes of bright scarlet blood.

- So he wants me to be a toy... A piece of jewelry... A trophy... Fuck that. - I laughed, and my laughter echoed off the walls and rang through my quarters.

I was angry. The last few days had been stressful enough as it was. And today was the last straw of my patience. Tears of anger, resentment, and hopelessness rolled down my cheeks.  I threw my dresses into the far corner of the room, threw everything off the table, and exhaled a sigh of relief. I turned to face the door with my eyes closed and breathed heavily, tears still streaming down my cheeks. As I opened my eyes, I saw the maroon pillows with the edge of my gaze and my eyes turned scarlet. Slowly limping, still standing on my heels, I walked over to the bed and used my magic to burn the pillows one by one.

 When I use my magic when my emotions are strong, it turns into a truly breathtaking sight. My eyes take on a blood red hue, my hair seems to lose its gravitational force and dangles quietly in the air. It is something like a strong wind blowing on me, but my hair is not tangled in any way, but goes behind my back, where it swirls up and down in a smooth wave. On my hands at this time you can see the glow, the color depends on the degree of complexity of the spell, as well as on the strength of my emotions.  The color changes from light red to coal black, as my grandmother told me while she was still alive. My glow once turned bright scarlet, and after that I was unconscious for over two weeks. I've never gone further than that, and I can't imagine what I'd have to do to turn my hands black.

 Hearing someone's quick footsteps outside the door, I braided weeds around the door, making a kind of barricade. I couldn't let anyone see the state I was in, and fuck it; some of the warriors probably heard me scream.

-Princess Ros, are you all right? - A man's voice called out, but my plants were untouched.

-Yes,” I hummed and sat down on the bed, finally taking off my shoes. I saw they were drenched in my own blood - Fuck.

 Footsteps were heard behind the wall again, it looked like the warrior had moved away from the door. I leaned back on the bed; arms spread, and stared up at the ceiling, digesting everything that had happened today. A tear rolled down my cheek again, and I lay in the fetal position, grabbed the white pillow I had left, and put it to my mouth and screamed.

 I screamed long and hard, feeling something inside me break. I don't know how long my next scream was stuck in my throat, all the time crammed into one big pile. It might have been ten minutes it might have been three hours. It didn't matter. Even with my voice broken, I wheezed into the pillow until I was completely exhausted.

My heart was beating at an incredibly fast pace, and my throat ached unbearably, as did my head. I finally got out of bed and went to the window. The sun was already setting over the horizon, which meant I'd cried all day.

 I started rummaging through my desk drawers to find something where I could look at my reflection. To my great delight, I found a large gilded mirror in one of them that was studded with red stones. It looked like this clan had plenty of money.

 I looked into my reflection and was horrified. My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen and red, and so was my nose.

 - Horrible... - I put the mirror back down - And my dress is also bloody.... I look like a ragamuffin....

“A ragamuffin...” - I echoed in my mind.

 A plan instantly formed in my head. I grabbed one of the pens and used it to make a bundle on my head.  With a sigh of encouragement, I wiped the remnants of tears from my cheeks, grabbed the first dress I could find, and began to create.

 I finished when it was well past midnight. Placing the mirror on the table, I stepped away and admired my dress that I had altered to spite Ambressa. I knew it was unimaginably expensive, but it made me feel a little better about what I'd done to it.

I left the corset almost untouched, but I cut off the sleeves, leaving only the wide shoulder straps. I cut the jewels off the fabric and used the vine to attach them to the corset, in the form of blood splatters.

 The most interesting thing I did was with the layers of the skirt. Most of them, of course, I just cut off, and the rest I cut into scraps of different lengths. It looked very beautiful, though quite inappropriate for a girl of my level and status.

 I twirled around the mirror and fixed my hair, which had already been styled by magic. I smiled at my reflection. My mood had lifted after my recent tantrum.

 I was good for letting those emotions out, but I shouldn't cry anymore, it wouldn't help my grief.

 Removing the vine from the door, I walked out into the hallway. There I saw a young boy standing by my door. He didn't react to my appearance.

-Good evening- -I put my hand over my heart and nodded my head slightly, saying hello out of the politeness that had been instilled in me. - Can you tell me where the exit to the deck is?

 The warrior answered me nothing, didn't even look at me. I furrowed my eyebrows and, squaring my shoulders, walked in the direction from which I had come here.

- If you make any movement on the ship, it is your responsibility to alert Mistress Medarda and get her permission.

- I thought you were dumb-I continued to walk quietly down the corridor, feeling the damp boards beneath my bare feet. - I don't owe anyone anything, boy.

I looked over my shoulder and saw him striding in the opposite direction from me. It looked like he was going to report back. Chuckling to myself, I kept walking.

[graceisinthelibrary]

Leaving it like that was a bit mean, so I decided to continue the drabble from yesterday.

You can find the first part here . @avengersome made the request.

The prompt was "I can't find a pulse".

And here comes the second part:

He sneaked out of the house into the backyard, hoping for a moment of peace. Unable to remember a time when he had felt this wrecked, he leaned against the wall and drew in the sweetness of the spring air. Somehow he had done it. Dash was still alive. Weak, but alive. The daft beggar had survived the terrible ordeal of first being run over and then cut open only to be stitched up again.

He was a trooper. Just like her. 

In the house Mrs Hall was now watching over him in the second exam room where he lay by the oven and recovered from the surgery. Convinced she wouldn’t leave the pet’s side for the foreseeable future, he blindly searched for his pipe. The tobacco would sooth his nerves and help him to regain control over the shaking of his hands. What was wrong with him? He called himself an experienced vet, the best in the county, but when it came to his own dog he became a bundle of nerves. The pipe wasn’t in his breast pocket. Damn it. But how could it be when he was wearing a shirt and waistcoat? 

“Bugger it!” He mumbled and rubbed his tired face. 

“Were you looking for this?” Suddenly she was standing next to him and he frowned. She pushed the pipe and the tobacco into his hands. 

“You’ve been reading my mind,” he admitted. She stood so close that he could smell the fading scent of her shampoo and the smell of Dash’s blood on her jacket. To occupy his hands he slowly rolled the intoxicating leaves between his fingers. As always the action helped him to relax and to focus. And it helped him not to think about how close she was and how much he wanted to hold her. In moments like these, diversion was key to pretending that he didn’t see more in her than a good friend. 

While he stared on his meticulously working fingertips, he felt how her body leaned against his. Her head against his shoulder, her hip against his hip. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, placing one hand over his heart. 

“He’s my dog, too.” Was all he replied. Her touch was almost unbearable. He craved the warmth of her hand on his bare skin. 

“Not for the operation,” she countered softly. “For believing.” 

As a man of science, the concept of faith was difficult for him. He preferred the anthem book to a sermon and a book about bacteria to the paternoster. Unlike her, he liked to believe in the things he had control over. 

“I’ve always believed in you,” she said, coming face to face with him. The palms of her hand cupped his face and her sweet breath brushed over his face. He wanted to tell her that her belief in him was as misplaced as her belief in the Almighty himself, but he was too mesmerised by her eyes and the sparkle in them. 

Where did she take this hope from? Her optimism? 

Her kiss was soft and shy, filled with tenderness and he dropped his pipe. The shock about her unexpected pass ran deep and felt like a fever dream. 

“Don’t…” His voice was hoarse. The idea that she kissed him out of gratitude was as painful as the sight of her kissing someone else had been. He didn’t want her to be grateful. He wanted her love. All of it. Everything. The whole package. Nothing else would do. 

“This isn’t a prize,” she said, once again reading his mind. “No reward. It ain’t working like that, you daft creature.” 

Then she kissed him again and his defences melted as her arms snaked around his neck, and her body pressed willingly against his. Unable to resist, he returned her kiss and pushed her against the wall. 

With the kiss she was testing his whole belief system, but after a day like this, he was ready to believe she loved him too. 

[justaragdollysblog]

Sweet Things

a Ragatha x Gummigoo fic!

Hi guys!!!!! i’m trying to get motivated to write more so here we are!! i absolutely adore this ship i think they’re so cute shdhdjdj

———————————————————

Sugary sweet and perfect.

That’s what Ragatha thinks as she sits next to Gummigoo on a bench at the Carnival.

The two are sharing a funnel cake together, and the sun is setting, painting the coded sky oranges and purples.

It had been a few months since Ragatha convinced (read as: begged) Caine to let him stay, and the two were quickly enamored with each other.

Ragatha was just as accommodating as she always was: showing him around, explaining the rules of the world, etc.

But there was something about his charm, and how he seemed to see right past Ragatha’s fake happy act and what she actually was:

A human. A human being in a bleak situation.

Ragatha’s snapped out of her thoughts by the roller coaster passing overhead. “Oh- Sorry, Gummi! I didn’t mean to space out there.”

“You’re alright, sheila. Everything okay?” He asked in a concerned tone. He set aside the plate of sweet food and wrapped his tail around her comfortingly. Ragatha, she found, was a sucker for this.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, the candyesque texture soothing her further. “Yeah, I’m okay. I was just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts, darlin.” He wrapped an arm around her. He never thought his limited worldview (widened unintentionally thanks to Pomni) could account for so much love. But it did, and he loved Ragatha more than anything or anyone.

She smiled softly and genuinely. “Just thinking about how we met. When I practically begged Caine to let you stay, and you stayed in my room that night.” She was quickly melting under his touch.

Gummigoo smiled softly at the rag doll in his arms. “What a day that was. I remember when I saw you for the first time, love. I thought I would’ve melted right then and there.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head, using his alligator-like snout. “And I just fell deeper in love with you. And it’s been a learning curve, even a little difficult at times.”

Ragatha glanced up at him, concern in her eye. “I hope it hasn’t been too rough…”

He simply shook his head. “There’s no other way I’d want to spend my time. I mean that, doll. You’ve done so much for me, and…I love you so, so much.”

Ragatha felt her eye well up with tears of joy. The circus was hardly a place of peace and fulfillment, but as the cool breeze passed through her hair, and the sky was ablaze in a sunset,

it was still nice to have these sweet things.

————————————————————

WOOOOOO FIRST FIC OF 2025

i wanna get more consistent for u guys!!!

reblogs are appreciated!! see you guys next time!!

[astralhope]

- Yuma... Someday, once again, we will... -

Rank 55: Yuma Jet!!

[skeletoninthemelonland]

[sneakystorms]

Kepcobi this kepcobi that. None of you understand them like i do the nature of jacobis damage towards kepler is PARENTAL. He's the character whose family life we get the most detail on and that detail is that he has a disapproving military father he feels he can never be good enough for. Kepler is the surrogate paternal figure who appreciates his skillset and so jacobi offers unquestioning pseudofilial loyalty in return. Any romantic or sexual undertones are one sided and, i am sorry to say, tangled up in the parental angle. The car stakeout fireworks mini episode does undeniably have "you forgot our anniversary" vibes but it ALSO has "taking my surrogate son fishing/baseball throwing like his real father never did" energy!!! That being said i like to believe he was totally checking kepler out that first time in the bar

[deadn30n]

woke up and immediately started daydreaming about my novel

[gudakdalee]

i actually think jinx's ending makes sense... i dont think it was a surprise or unwarranted, esp when the writers set up every warning leading up to it since 2x03

i get that fans are sad to see her go, but story-wise, thematically, character arc-wise, and relationally, it was an ending that just fit. It hurt, but it fit. it punched home her journey/growth, and allowed the sister relationship to grow another layer, that certain bittersweet resolution. And im not saying jinx had to pass in order for us to feel her impact, but I'm saying her decision of sacrifice makes sense for her journey and shows how far she's come.

if we got every fairytale ending we imagine, it would be ooc, and we as viewers wouldn't feel the sacrifice or lessons to the same degree.

[found--family]

am i the only one who sensed some jilted lover vibes from jensen? 

[dirtbra1n]

AA4 SPOILERS/////

that quote you called krisnix is soooo fascinating to me bc, they really had dinner together most days, like that’s a level of commitment we didn’t even see from most of the ppl who phoenix considered important and that whole time on kristoph’s end it was to keep an eye on Phoenix and on phoenix’s end it curiosity bc kristoph voted against him losing his badge and also it was to find out the reason why he lost his badge and kristoph was just this name that kept popping up, and for Phoenix and kristoph it was so many red flags bc kristoph knew phoenix wasn’t the type to let something rest and Phoenix knew there was more to kristoph then at first glance but somewhere along the way it become genuine, but at the same time kristoph still kills shadi after a single convo with phoenix and phoenix still pressed record before even asking kristoph to be his lawyer, it’s Phoenix recording every single one of those convos with kristoph but still (probably) having him meet truck, but it’s kristoph keeping himself at arms length from Phoenix but Phoenix taking it bc he’s never been the type to give up on a person, whether it’s to their doom or his and for better or worse he wouldn’t want anyone else to really see him the way he currently is besides kristoph, now what the hell could that possibly mean?

(that quote I called krisnix)

anon you will never know the extent of the joy I felt seeing this initially and the extent of it I still feel now. but I’d like you to. Thank You For Biting. and for waiting a little over a month Sorry about that. I'm gonna ask you to forgive me if this doesn't make any sense or hold up to scrutiny. the demons have got hold of me and I'm making do

because I get to talk more about krisnix. Ha ha. pulled out all my silly little suppositions to review again I think I was waiting for an opportunity like this. like my hubris is getting me. I recklessly called that quote krisnix and now a little over a month later I'm completely sick about it.

I'm going to reiterate that I'm very sorry if this reads like shit, and I'll apologize just this once that this post got as long as it did. go fish

you ever think about how kristoph's a dog guy. guy who has a dog, guy who brought a photo of his dog into solitary confinement with him. also a caged blue bird which alive or not happened to contribute significantly to the krisnix breakdown of dec. 2023 There are really some very bright minds in krisnix pit. me and you included anon. that's a tangent. I'm sick. I'm drafting this in a terribly disorganized fashion. I'm reading transcripts. I'm getting dizzy.

this fucking room haunts me

vongole, though

a man's best friend, who's known to bite if handled roughly. her name means clams.

I've been doing some web surfing. I can't move in one straight line to save my life so I've been doing some web surfing. kristoph doesn't say what kind of retriever vongole is, which is fine. retrievers are dogs bred to retrieve game, tasked not to break skin, to be gentle, to keep soft mouths. vongole is a retriever who bites (literal) when bitten (metaphorical); a clam that clasps shut.

kristoph's a dog guy and sometimes he's the metaphorical dog. not One straight line to save my life. it's funny that seven years have passed without phoenix meeting vongole. held at arms length but indisputably held. a man's closest friend. besides his dog.

a lot of the time phoenix is the metaphorical dog. putting all tangents aside A lot of the time. phoenix is that metaphorical dog. what is seven years of companionship, eating dinner after dinner together, and being seen at your worst... worth? indulge me: this guy, you pieced together pretty quick, was behind the forged evidence that lost you your badge. this guy, as you saw happen in real time, was the one person on that committee to vote against that "strictest punishment".

this guy, as an indisputable fact, is a big fucking weirdo. you'll need to snare him eventually, for the forged evidence, but--you're kind of in the habit of liking weirdos. is the thing. he sunk your career, he lost you your badge. he's kind of an asshole, also.

he has bought you and trucy dinner more times than you could ever hope to count. there's a curve in your sofa from all the times he's sat in the same spot, wrinkling his nose at greasy takeout boxes and your grape juice breath. he talks to trucy in a voice slightly less haughty--warm, if a gun was held to your head about it--than the one he plays up with you, and she completely eats it up; thinks he's real fun to tease. his eyebrows wrinkle, an almost nothing frown, when she puts on a show with a trick that he can't immediately come to some conclusion about. he'll put on obnoxious rubber gloves to wash your dishes, to protect his manicured nails, as he goes down a dozen rabbit holes trying to reason out what he's missing. you've seen him doing casework. he's seen you delirious and half out of your mind. his mouth, in your experience, is soft.

you're kind of in the habit of liking assholes, too.

neither of these guys can be vulnerable for shit. over the course of seven years, they've seen each other as close to vulnerable as they can get, which isn't very, because this span of time especially--phoenix stubbornly keeping a little girl's head above the water, kristoph, for reasons we will never, ever understand, constantly looking over his shoulder--really doesn't see either of them in a place to get through any skin-flaying conversations about what they want with or from one another.

kristoph really does want control, though. he wants to be in control of things, have a handle on things. and he probably figured out something like immediately that phoenix wright really isn't the sort of guy you go to for that kind of thing. and yet! sunk cost fallacy's a bitch, kristoph! what good does a beautiful bluebird do you if you don't keep it with you on display heavy-handed. I know. don't I know it.

gonna rein myself in a little. because I'm off the deep end and you're posing really interesting ideas. kristoph couldn't rest for seven years because "shadi smith" was unaccounted for, out there somewhere. kristoph couldn't rest for seven years because he was scared for his life. "shadi smith" played a game of poker against the best and got whacked. and then murdered! tough luck!

really it's my curse. that so much of krisnix is personalized person to person, because of real aa5 shaped smoke and mirrors. because it gives me the space, the soapbox, the platform, microphone, and spotlight, to ask, In that trial, of the murder of Shadi Smith, where Kristoph Gavin was supposed to defend Phoenix Wright, what verdict was he looking to see through?

because I'm sick, you see. kristoph had just, finally, gotten rid of the man he spent so long being scared of, just clawed his way to the path out of the woods, and all he had to do was--

Have you ever stood at a crossroad. the decision laid out in front of you's not actually that tough, if you can believe it. even space for you to completely rationalize any attachments away: you get phoenix wright off (haha), you keep your reputation as the best defense in the west (opinions on the name notwithstanding), and you could, as a possibility to consider on occasion, maybe even learn how to have a slightly more-vulnerable-than-usual conversation.

or you could lose.

pretty simple choice to make, right?

and then phoenix goes and fucks it up, of course. dogs get restless with nothing to do. they want to be of use to you, kristoph, did you ever think to fucking ask phoenix for help? you come when called, you let yourself be persuaded, generously, to help keep food on the table. to keep a warm body company, one way or the other. to be some fucked up psychosexual approximation of a friend. but phoenix comes running when called, too, and you haven't once given him the chance.

big fucking stink you're in, kristoph! You didn't just brain a guy with a juice bottle for no reason. Tell me why you did it.

the big question you won't answer. five black psyche locks pulsing with a despair you don't have the tools to register. you said it already: I killed a man named "Smith" with a bottle because I am an evil human being.

what does phoenix hope to get out of this. motive for a murder, then what?

you really get me anon. phoenix never the kind of guy to give up on somebody he loves, up against someone who's finished with even arms length, stubborn as all get-out, and, even to himself, completely unsalvageable. irredeemable. an evil human being who killed a man named "smith" with a bottle.

it's not that phoenix would help kristoph hide a body. he pretty evidently did not do that. and it's not that phoenix would just forgive kristoph for trying to poison a twelve year old girl either. but there were seven full years between the disappearance of zak gramarye and the murder of "shadi smith", and vera misham hadn't been poisoned yet, and phoenix wright is an awfully loyal, terribly stubborn man himself.

I don't really know what the hell the lot of this means to tell you the truth. but I think now as much as ever that phoenix should chase kristoph's chance at life to the death, and I think that regardless of the stopping point on the line of time kristoph's last words to phoenix should be ...Later, then.

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

hotd never fails to disappoint

[gideonisms]

any time I use the feminine pronoun or gendered titles for myself please put the ancillary justice gender filter over it. this is a gender of convenience to fit in with the locals and if I'm being honest I still find it inconvenient and counterintuitive