#This sounded way dirtier than my feet issue

[sugaldean]

Everyday when I go to bed I wonder if I hate or love the feeling of my feet finally resting.

Yeah there is pain release but why does it have to feel like my feet is expanding and is trying to get out of my skin

[x-reader-theater]

I wish for you to feel as I do

summary: Spencer Reid has been dating his boyfriend for six years, but what happens when he finds out you’re killing to make him happy?

pairing: Spencer Reid x Male!Reader 

details: Unsub Reader

category: Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

word count: 8488

warnings: Reader as Unsub, rapey reader, controlling and manipulative reader, unhealthy relationship

a/n: This literally starts with smut so be warned. This was suuuuper fun to write! It’s an addition to this very short oneshot with an unsub reader, but I wanted to expand it because I just had so many ideas! @luvofyourlifeliv this is for your 500 follow contest so I hope you like it! As always, this is edited by @mystic-writes and I will upload it to Ao3 :) Enjoy! 

Moodboard by Me

You kiss Spencer, leaning over him, over his book, pushing it down. You smirk into the kiss, but Spencer turns away from you. 

"Hey! Hey!" he exclaims, trying to push you away, but you take the book from his hands and drop it onto the floor, before latching your lips to his neck. "I have work to do!"

"You read… 20,000 words a minute…" you say between kisses. "You can… read it… later…" 

Spencer moans into your mouth, and reaches his hands up, placing them on your cheeks and pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You bracket his legs with yours, and he gasps as you rub up against his growing erection. You reach down and take his half hard cock from his pants, stroking it until it becomes fully hard. 

When Spencer goes to do the same for you, he stops. Because you're not hard at all. 

You push off him and clear your throat, tucking yourself back into your pants and zipping them up. 

"[Y/N], it's okay!" Spencer exclaims, but you ignore him, and the hand he puts on your shoulder. "It's totally normal!" 

"It's not though!" you exclaim, turning to face Spencer and shrugging his hand off your arm. "We've been together for six years and I've never once had trouble… getting it up." 

You huff and stand up, walking to grab your keys and your wallet, shoving them into your pockets as Spencer says from the couch, "The Cleveland Clinic estimates that it’s normal to have trouble getting or keeping an erection for up to 20 percent of sexual encounters. Having trouble getting an erection more than 50 percent of the time can indicate a medical issue." You stop and look at him, and he stands up, walking over to you, taking your hand, and kissing the knuckles. "It's too early to know if anything really is wrong. Just… take a breath."

You nod and take a deep breath in, kissing his own knuckles back, before saying, "Okay. I just… I need a drink." Spencer nods and you pull away. "I'll probably be back after midnight, so just go to sleep without me." 

Spencer nods again and you exit your shared apartment. 

You don't really know where you're going, your feet are just taking you somewhere. You walk past a bus station and nearly knock into a young blonde woman. You just stumble out of the way of her. 

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she exclaims, but you smile and shake your head. 

"It was my fault," you say, putting your hands up. She smiles at you. "I wasn't looking where I was going." She smiles and nods, and you stick your hand out, saying, "I'm [Y/N]. What's your name?" 

"Haley," she says with a smile, gripping your hand and shaking it. 

You smile at her. "You should be careful, Haley. A pretty woman, all alone. You could get hurt," you say, and she frowns. 

"That sounds like something my husband would say…" she trails off, but you're already walking away from her, a spring in your step as you walk into the first open bar you come across. 

It's dingy and musty, but it'll do the trick of getting you drunk enough to forget everything that happened with Spencer tonight. 

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," someone says next to you, and you turn and see a thin, pale man with curly brown hair and deep brown eyes. 

You gasp slightly at how much he looks like Spencer. "No, no I just kinda found my way here. I don't even know where I am," you admit as the bartender comes over. You order a beer and the Bartender nods and walks off.

"I come here a lot. It's my local, really," the man says and you nod, grabbing your freshly poured beer, and taking a long gulp, draining half of it before putting it down. "Maybe I could… show you why I like it so much?"

The man trails a finger along the lapel of your shirt, and you look over at him, eyebrows raised. You take out your wallet and pay for the beer, before being led out a back door, into an even dirtier alley. 

You could never hurt Spencer. You love him. You've loved him for years, and while you have no plans on getting married any time soon, you could see yourself being with him for the rest of your life. But, old habits are hard to break. 

The man pushes you into the brick wall and starts kissing you, but before anything can happen, you take out your knife from your pocket, flick it open, and stab it into the man currently trying to tongue fuck you. He gasps and steps back, and you stab him again, and again, and again, until you're sure he's dead. You step back, panting, your knife clenched in your hand, and you grin, flicking the knife closed and stuffing it back into your pants. You're very thankful, in that moment, that you're wearing all black. 

It is also at this point that it starts to rain. 

You grin as you walk away from the unknown man, and when you look down, you see there's a tent in your pants, and you start playing with it, moaning as you think of the body back there, of Spencer, your perfect little Spencer just waiting at home for you. 

You eventually find your way back to your apartment and step inside, taking off your soaked clothing and throwing it in a nearby hamper. You see your right thigh, where your knife was, and your chest, are stained slightly red. You take your wallet and phone out of your pockets and go into the bathroom to take a quick shower. Once you have the red scrubbed away, you dry off but don't put anything on. 

You're still fully hard, the images of the body and Spencer filling your head as you showered, and you stroked yourself languidly. 

When you get into bed, you smile at Spencer sleeping soundly, and you press yourself to his back, slotting your cock in between his ass cheeks, that are covered by TARDIS pajamas that you gave him for his twenty-eighth birthday. He moans and pushes back into you, not even fully awake yet, and you kiss the back of his neck, moving to his shoulder, where you suck a hickey into. 

Spencer moves his hands to your head as you buck up into his ass, and you know he's awake. He turns around in your hold and kisses you as you run your fingers through his long, wavy brown hair. You remember the way the man's brown hair looked splayed out on the stone floor of the alleyway, and you almost cum right there, groaning loudly into Spencer's open mouth. 

"What- what happened?" Spencer asks, reaching his hand down and grabbing your throbbing erection. You grunt and buck up into his hand, your hips moving of their own accord. 

You kiss him and say, "Just… needed to clear my head. Fuck, Spencer you're so hot." 

Spencer moans and grabs his own erection, slotting the two of yours together, and he pumps both of them in his fist. You kiss him, swallowing every grunt and moan that he makes, as well as his scream when he cums. You cum only seconds after him, but you're still hard in his grip. 

"I am going to fuck you all night, Spencer Reid." 

He only moans at that. 

–

"Hey, hey! Pretty Boy! Have a late night?" Morgan asks as he walks into the small office kitchen for the BAU. Spencer looks up at him, frowning as he adds more sugar to his coffee. 

"Yeah," Spencer says, his cheeks turning slightly pink, but he doesn't say anything more. 

"Let me guess, Star Trek marathon?" Morgan asks with a laugh and Spencer ducks his head as he goes even more red, remembering exactly what you marathoned with him last night. 

"Uh, ahem, something like that," Spencer says, clearing his throat, before stirring his sugary coffee and going back to his desk. 

"Hey- wait a minute!" Morgan exclaims, and Spencer tenses, getting ready for his friend's grilling, when JJ interrupts. 

"Hey! We have a case up in Syracuse. Hotch wants everyone in the Round Table Room in five," she says and Spencer lets out a breath of relief as he gets up and walks into said room, leaving a very confused Morgan behind. 

–

You groan as you get home, shedding your bloody, black clothes, and you smirk at your erection. You've had no problem getting it up for Spencer the last few months, just thinking about the man you killed making you hard on the spot. Recently though, it hasn't been enough. You found yourself having to imagine Spencer dead and that just won't do. You would never hurt the love of your life. Ever. 

You walk into the master bathroom and slip into the already-on shower, wrapping your arms around your lover, pressing your erection against his hole. 

"You're back," you say, rubbing yourself against him. 

Spencer hums and leans his head back onto your shoulder. "We just got in. I wanted to take a shower and see my amazing boyfriend," he says and you kiss him, on his neck, his shoulder, and all down his arm. You kiss his palm and the pads of each of his fingers. "Everyone else wanted to go out for drinks, but I told them I had to get home. I wanted to see you."

You moan into his skin as you suck on his shoulder, biting slightly. Spencer gasps and jumps and you lick over the wound, kissing it. You didn't break the skin, just bit gently. You would never hurt your baby. 

You pull back, looking at Spencer's back, the back of his head, his lithe body, his pert ass, and you think of the man you killed tonight. He also had brown hair and pale skin, but that's about where the similarities ended. He was shorter than Spencer, his hair shorter as well and less curly, but when you plunged your knife into his back, and felt his sides tighten, it felt like Spencer when he came. 

Your cock jumps against your boyfriend's ass, and you take the lube you have in your shower, sticking your fingers into his tight hole, pushing them in and scissoring him open. He pushes back onto your fingers and you hook them. He jumps and you have to hold his hip with your free hand so he doesn't slip and fall in the shower. 

You slick up your own cock and slam it in, causing Spencer to cry out in ecstasy as you pull out almost all the way, and slam back into him over and over. Spencer braces his arms on the shower wall, and the feeling of water cascading down your chest just makes it all even hotter. You think back to the first man you killed, how it rained right after you killed him, and how it's almost like it's raining now. Cleaning away your sins. Making you the perfect man for Spencer once again. 

You cum at that thought, shooting your load into Spencer's ass, who comes only seconds after, not having touched his cock once.

You pull out of him and turn him around, kissing him, and he's practically melting into you. 

"I love you," you say and he smiles, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. 

"I love you too," he says back. 

–

"Another long night?" Morgan asks, and Spencer frowns. He already got his coffee and Morgan didn't even see him make it this time. 

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asks, and Morgan points to Spencer's neck. He takes out the small, two inch mirror from his top desk drawer and almost drops it when he sees the large, purple and black bruise on his neck. You told him to forego the tie, and to leave his shirt unbuttoned since it was going to be another hot summer day today, but now he knows why you really did it. 

Spencer yelps and slaps a hand over the bruise, turning a deep shade of red as Morgan cackles. 

He comes home that night and you laugh at Morgan's reaction, before soothing Spencer, kissing his temple and telling him that you just want people to know you're his. He blushes, admitting that he'd like that too, and you ask to mark him again, this time right underneath his jaw. 

Spencer doesn't hesitate when he says yes. 

"Woah, Pretty Boy. You okay?" Morgan asks the next morning when Spencer walks in. "Did you get mugged or something?" 

Spencer frowns and touches the dark purple mark under his chin. "What? No." 

"Did your girl do this to you? Because I swear to God if she hurts you…" Morgan says and Spencer's eyes go wide. 

"No! No one hit me. My boyfriend gave me what I believe is called a 'hickey'," he says. 

Morgan frowns before asking, "Boyfriend?" Spencer nods. "I didn't know you were gay."

"You never asked, and I didn't have a reason to tell you," Spencer says casually, shrugging as he gets some files out and starts working on them. 

"How long have you two been together?" Morgan asks. 

"Today's the 16th so 6 years, 9 months, 3 weeks and 6 days," Spencer says, and Morgan's jaw drops. 

"Six years?!" he exclaims and Spencer nods. "And you haven't told anyone?" 

Spencer shrugs. "We never felt the need." 

Morgan stares at Reid, dumbfounded, the rest of the day. 

–

"Hey, baby?" you call out into the apartment from the entryway. 

"In here!" you hear Spencer call back. 

You walk to the back of the apartment and open the door to Spencer's study. He's sitting at his desk, writing something down on a legal pad, before looking back at a book next to him. You walk over and start kissing the side of his neck, mouthing up and down, and he shivers underneath your touch. 

"I'm going to go out and grab something," you say, kissing right behind his ear, making Spencer moan. "I'll be back tonight. I expect you to be in bed, naked." 

Spencer shivers, and when you come back an hour later, you see he followed your instructions perfectly. 

–

There's no witty remark from Morgan this morning. No quip about having a good time or marathoning or whatever. Just a smirk that makes Spencer beet red. 

Spencer's about to say something when JJ calls out to the team, "We have a case!" 

They all file into the round table room and sit down, getting handed files. JJ stands at the front of the room and the television turns on. 

"Last night, Riley Heartwood was found stabbed to death in downtown DC," JJ says. 

Spencer's breath leaves him. The man looks almost exactly like him. 

"When was he killed?" Morgan asks, not noticing Spencer. 

"It says here around 10pm last night," Rossi interjects. 

Spencer feels his heart stop as he looks over the files. 

Fred Giles, killed three months ago on the 28th, the day you couldn't get hard, and left, is the exact day and time that Giles was murdered. Then there's Terrance Lake, murdered the day you joined him in the shower, cumming at your normal time instead of taking longer than normal like you had been the last few days. And now Riley Heartwood, murdered last night right before you came home from grabbing something at the grocery store, hard and aching, and fucking Spencer until he screamed and forgot his own name for six minutes and twelve seconds. 

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and he grabs it, seeing it's a text from you. 

To; Spencie 😘

From; [Y/N] 😍

I can't wait until you get home!

There's a picture attached with you sitting at his desk, shirtless and winking. 

Once is a happening. Twice is a coincidence. Thrice is a pattern. 

Spencer sits up suddenly, standing and grabbing the folder. "I-I have to go. Family Emergency," he mutters before sprinting out of the room. He grabs his messenger bag and makes sure his gun is still on his hip. 

–

You're sitting at home when you hear a gun cocking. 

"Please tell me you didn't kill that man last night?" Spencer asks. 

You sigh and turn around slowly, standing up from your couch. "You don't like it when I lie to you, Spencer." 

You see his hand tighten on the gun, but he doesn't put his finger on the trigger. You take a step forward, but he doesn't move back. 

"You're-you're impotent, aren't you?" Spencer asks. 

You smirk. "I wasn't last night when I was fucking you into the mattress and had you screaming out my name as my hands touched you." 

Spencer gasps, and his grip falters slightly. You dash forward and grab the gun from his grip, before pulling your body against his. You groan as your groin brushes against his, leaning down to nip at the hickey you put on him last night. 

"I-I have to arrest you. Take you in," he says, stuttering and nervous. 

You smirk and kiss him behind his ear, making him moan. "You would never. Besides, you could never catch me before I got to your mom…" 

Spencer freezes, but doesn't say anything. 

You lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, saying, "Please don't hate me." Spencer sucks in a breath as you kiss his cheek again. "I did this for you. I couldn't stop imagining myself hurting you, and I can't do that to you. Ever. I love you, Spencer Reid, and I just wanted to be the perfect boyfriend for you."

Spencer nods slowly. "They- they looked like me. The men you killed." 

You nod and turn Spencer around so he's facing you. "I don't want to ever hurt you, Spencer. I love you too much."

"You-you're a psychopath. How- you can't love me!" Spencer exclaims and you sigh, burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

"If I can't, how did I fool you, a seasoned profiler, for six years?" you ask. 

Spencer stops as he thinks about it. If you were faking it, Spencer would have known. He would have seen it. He's seen psychopaths fake love before. Frank comes to mind when he first thinks of it. But, you aren't killing these men for yourself. You're doing it for Spencer. For the man you love. 

And as much as Spencer wants to turn you in, he can't deny the adrenaline that courses through him when he thinks about how all of this is for him. To make him happy. To keep him satisfied. 

Spencer leans up and kisses you, feeling himself get hard against your thigh, and you are equally as hard. You set Spencer's gun down on his desk and wrap your arms around his waist, dipping your hands down to grab at his ass. He gasps and you take that opportunity to slip your tongue in his mouth. 

Just as you're about to push him onto the comfortable sofa that's in the room for you to use when Spencer's working and you want to be near him, Spencer's phone rings. 

Spencer groans and pulls away, taking out his phone and answering it. He puts it on speaker but presses a finger to your lips to quiet you. You kiss his finger, but nod. 

"Reid? Everything okay?" Morgan asks on the other side of the phone. 

Spencer nods. "Yeah. My uh… my boyfriend… fell down the stairs at our apartment!" Spencer exclaims and you nod, silently telling him it was a good cover story. "He sprained his ankle and I had to help him back up the stairs and into bed."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Morgan says and Spencer lets out a silent sigh. You kiss him quietly. "You ran out of there so fast. I'll tell the others you'll be back in tomorrow," he says and Spencer nods. 

"Okay. I gotta go, but I'll see you tomorrow," he says, and he hangs up. He throws his phone onto the sofa and pulls you to him again, kissing you loudly, moaning and gasping at every swipe of your tongue, every tug of his hair. 

"I love you, Spencer Reid," you say. 

"I love you too, [Y/N] [L/N]."

–

"How long?" Spencer asks, tracing what seems like random shapes into your skin, but you know they have meaning to him. 

You shrug. "Ever since I was younger. I would purposefully get into fights with other kids so I could hit them. I never killed any animals, and I was never really a bedwetter. I did like to start fires. My parents would always let me light the candles at dinner," you say. "The first person I ever killed was my babysitter. I was nine and she was seventeen. She kept touching me, kissing me, trying to take my clothes off. I got her onto the third floor balcony and pushed her off. I called my parents crying and told them she fell when I was playing in the yard when I wasn't supposed to."

"Wow," Spencer says, his hands stilling for a moment before continuing. 

"The second person I killed was the first time I killed with a knife. It was my next door neighbor. He would bully me at school, shove me into lockers, take my clothes when I was changing so I'd have to run through the school naked after him to get my clothes back, hit me, things like that. He cornered me in my backyard one day, jumping our shared fence. He was going to kill me. I ran inside and grabbed a knife and when I ran back out, I crashed into him, stabbing him. I cut my side with the blade to make it look like self defense, and told the police he attacked me. I ran inside and got a kitchen knife, and he took it from me. I managed to get it back and he ran at me. I told them it was an accident. It was, but it felt so good, I didn't want to stop," you say. 

"So you didn't," Spencer says, and you shake your head. "But, you haven't killed anyone for over six years. 

You nod. "I met you," you say, running your hands through Spencer's hair and bringing his head up to kiss you. "I found everything I needed. But, those urges came back. And I wanted everything to be perfect for you. I wanted you to have everything you could ever want. And for you, that meant sex. I know how much you like it." Spencer nods and blushes, looking away, but you move his face so he's looking at you again, and you kiss him. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I need it to. And I would never, ever hurt you. But, I kept thinking about it. And it scared me." 

Spencer nods and curls up against you so his head is on your chest. You kiss his hair as he mutters, "I love you."

You smile. "I love you too, baby. Now, let's get some sleep."

–

Spencer wakes with a start, shaking and crying. You feel the bed moving and slowly wake up, only to see Spencer in distress. You sit up as well and hold him to your chest as he cries. 

"What have I done? What will everyone think of me? Why do I want to- I want- why-" 

"Spencer, Spencer," you say, and almost as if he forgot you lived with him, his head snaps to look at you. "Baby, what's going on?"

"I shouldn't like it. I should take you in. I shouldn't want to know what it feels like, but I do. I want to know," he mutters, almost to himself, but he's still looking directly at you. 

"You want to know what it feels like to kill someone?" you ask. Spencer nods. You smile and kiss him. "I can help arrange that." 

Spencer nods. "I know I shouldn't like you… killing people for me, but I can't help it. It makes me happy to know you want me to be happy."

"Oh, baby," you say, holding him even closer to your bare chest. Spencer wraps his arms around you. "I would do anything to make you happy." 

Spencer hums, contentedly. 

–

"Everything okay, Reid?" Hotch asks as the youngest profiler walks into the Round Table Room that morning, his bag still on his hip. 

Spencer smiles and nods. "Everything is fine." 

"Morgan told us you had a family emergency, but wouldn't say anything else," Rossi says and Spencer nods again, throwing a grateful look to Morgan. 

He sighs and takes his messenger bag off, setting it at the ground by his desk before he begins to talk. "My boyfriend fell down the stairs in our apartment yesterday. I had to go home and help him."

JJ just nods and Garcia "Aw’s” as Hotch, Prentiss, and Rossi all narrow their eyes at him. 

"You've never mentioned having a boyfriend," Prentiss says and Spencer sighs. 

"It was my business and neither he nor I wanted to share it. But, we want to now," Spencer says. 

"How long! How long!" Garcia asks, practically bouncing in her seat. 

"Baby girl, they've been together for over six years now," Morgan says. 

Garcia's jaw drops, as does everyone else's in the room. 

"Six years?" JJ asks and Spencer nods. "Why didn't you tell us?" 

Spencer shrugs. "Because we weren't ready. Can we get started on the briefing now?" 

The team nods and JJ turns back to the screen. 

"Spence, we weren't able to get to the briefing yesterday, so we know about as much as you do,"  JJ explains. Spencer nods. 

"I think the unsub might be impotent," Morgan says, looking at the files. "The stabbing could indicate that."

"But, there was no semen found on the body. Usually, men who are impotent get off on the dead body as well as the killing," Spencer explains. A few of his co-workers nod. 

"I want to find out more about where these men were before they were murdered," Hotch says. "Reid and Morgan, go to the bar where Giles was last seen, Rossi and Prentiss, Lake, and JJ and I will go to where Heartwood was last seen. We'll meet back here and discuss what we learned." 

–

Spencer walks into the bar you were in only six months before, where you killed Fred Giles. 

"Hey! What can I get you boys?" the bartender asks from behind the bar. 

Morgan walks over and takes out his badge, saying, "I'm Agent Morgan and this is Doctor Reid. We're here to ask about Fred Giles, the man who was murdered behind your bar six months ago."

The bartender nods and sighs. "Yeah. I knew him. Said he was a regular to all the attractive men who walked in. He never bought anything though," he says. "Always just came in for sex. When I confronted him about it, he said he needed it, that he couldn't live without it, and he was a nice enough guy so I let him. He never deterred people from coming back." 

The bartender shrugs and Spencer steps up, asking, "Did anyone talk to him that night?"

"Uh, yeah. Some bloke. Don't know his name. He's never come back, but we get a lot of that here. Had a beer and they left out the back. Never saw him again."

"Sir, can you describe him for us?" Morgan asks, taking off his sunglasses. 

"No, sorry," the bartender says, picking up some glasses and putting them away underneath the bar. "It was busy and we don't usually have a lot of lights on in here. I know he was handsome. Fred wouldn't've gone with him if he weren't. Sorry, boys." 

Spencer nods and smiles and Morgan walks off, going towards the back door that leads out into the alley. As soon as Spencer steps out of the bar, he can feel himself getting hard. 

Spencer's never gotten hard at the thought of a dead body, except when he first started. He was young and beautiful sitting in the slab in the morgue, naked and displayed for him to assess. He had never seen a body so beautiful, so peaceful, and he had gotten an erection while looking at it. 

Now though, just the thought that you had killed this man to make Spencer feel good has his heart racing and adrenaline coursing through his stomach. He shifts his messenger bag over his groin to hide his growing erection. He flushes and looks down at the ground, trying to will away the thoughts of you murdering someone, and him finding it erotic. 

"Hey," Morgan says, and Spencer looks up at him, eyes wide. "Do you know if Garcia got the footage from the camera here?" Spencer shakes his head and Morgan pulls out his phone, pressing a button before holding it up to his ear. "Hey pretty mama, there's a CCTV camera in the alley behind the bar where Fred Giles was murdered. Can you see if that footage is anywhere?" 

There's a few moments of silence, and Spencer looks around, trying to see if there's anything the CSI missed, but it doesn't look like it. 

"Are you sure? Damn. Okay, thanks mama." Morgan flips the phone shut and sighs. "CCTV's fake, used to deter thieves most likely," he says and Spencer nods. "We should head back." 

–

"Reid. Morgan. Find anything?" Rossi asks as the two step into the bullpen. 

Morgan scoffs. "Nah. Nothing. He's handsome, but we figured that out already. Bartender didn't see anything and the CCTV in the back was fake so we got nothing."

Rossi nods. "Us as well. Maybe we should wait for Hotch. Maybe he found someone."

The rest of the team nods and Spencer takes out his phone, texting you.

To: [Y/N] 😍

From: Spencie 😘

Team hasn't found anything. Keep you updated. 

You message back just as quickly. 

To: Spencie 😘

From: [Y/N] 😍

Okay! I love you. Hurry back home quickly! I want to show you something! 

Spencer grins as he looks at his phone, before Morgan clears his throat. He quickly shuts it off and slides it into his back pocket, before following Morgan into the round table room. 

"Why are you so happy?" Prentiss asks, and Spencer schools his expression, clearing his throat. 

"My, uh, ahem, my boyfriend texted me," Spencer says and Prentiss nods, seeming to accept that answer. Spencer lets out a sigh of relief. 

–

"[Y/N]? Are you home?" Spencer calls out into the apartment, and you walk out of the study in a pair of black skinny jeans and a black button down, heavy black work boots already on your feet. You walk over to your boyfriend and put your arms around him, leaning your forehead against his. 

"Go get dressed. We're going out tonight," you say, but Spencer groans. 

"Do we have to?" he whines and you frown. 

"You wanted to know what it was like, Spence. So, I'm going to show you," you say, and that gets Spencer's attention. 

He looks at you, wide eyed, and asks, "Really?" 

You nod and kiss him. "Really. Now, get dressed. We don't want you to ruin your good clothes," you say and he nods, giving you one, last, chaste, kiss before running into the bedroom. 

He comes out a few minutes later, and you almost take him right there. He's wearing a pair of black skinny jeans you bought him years ago, and a tight black t-shirt. 

You walk over and take him in a searing kiss, putting your hand down his pants and groping him. You realize then that he's not wearing underwear and you have to restrain yourself from fucking him on the floor. 

"You have no idea what you do to me," you mutter against his lips before pulling away. Spencer whines but you just pay his ass and motion for him to grab his stuff. 

Thirty minutes later you find yourself and Spencer in a club. When asked why you were coming here instead of a bar, you answer that no one would suspect him being here. 

He admits that it's actually very smart. 

You sit down in a booth and pull him onto your lap, making sure everyone around you knows who this gorgeous man belongs to. He tilts his head to the side to give you access to his neck, to kiss and lick and nip to your heart's desire. 

"I want to dance," you say to Spencer after a few minutes of indulging in your boyfriend. 

Spencer nods and gets up off your lap before grabbing your hand and letting you lead him out onto the busy dance floor. You can feel Spencer shaking underneath you, and you pull him towards you, putting your hands in his back pockets. You kiss him deeply, letting your bodies sway to the music, your groins rubbing against each other. You can feel eyes on the two of you, but you don't care. 

Spencer moans into your mouth and you pull away, nipping at Spencer's bottom lip. The man moans deliciously and you kiss him again, trying to drink every sound. You pull away again and Spencer is staring at you with a goofy smile on his face. 

"See?" you ask, loudly, over the music. "That wasn't so bad." 

Spencer nods and places his head in your neck, swaying to the music that you should be jumping to, but you don't care. You lock eyes with a young man with curly brown hair and pale white skin, and the man sitting next to him. You nod at them before turning to look down at Spencer, who still has his face buried in your neck. 

"Baby," you say to him, nudging him with your shoulder. He looks up at you so innocently, and you have to lean down and kiss him again, showing all your love in the single kiss, prying open his lips with yours and letting your tongues explore each other for the millionth time. Well, you know it's probably not the millionth, and Spencer could absolutely tell you the accurate number, but you're too distracted by his mouth to ask. 

You pull away again and say, "Let's go sit down. I want to find someone."

Spencer nods and you lead him back to the booth you were at before, sitting down before Spencer settles on your lap. You shift your hand from his hip to underneath his button up, resting it on his stomach. Spencer gasps and you feel his stomach flatten even more. You grind your hips up into his ass, already half hard at the thought of killing a pretty little brunette. He groans as that pretty brunette from before sits across from you with his friend next to him. 

"Hi!" the brunette says, grinning wildly, and you're struck by how much he looks like Spencer. Even more than the first. "I'm Daniel! This is my boyfriend, Gary!" 

The man next to him raises a hand, but doesn't say anything. You raise an eyebrow at that, but don't say anything about it. 

You smile at them. "It's nice to meet you both. My boyfriend and I were looking to meet some couples around here."

"You were magnetic! I couldn't take my eyes off you! I think Gary here was a little jealous…" Daniel says, and Gary glares at him, but doesn't say anything. 

You smirk and nuzzle Spencer's neck, who tilts his head to give you a better angle. "Isn't he just?" 

You lock eyes Daniel, who shudders. "Come join us out back. We've been looking for some fun…" 

Daniel grins, turning to look at Gary, who nods, before the two get up. "We're going to go to the bathroom, but I know that no one will bother us out back…" Daniel says and you nod, watching the two walk away. 

You kiss Spencer's cheek, who hasn't said anything for a few minutes. "What do you think?"

"Daniel looks like me," Spencer whispers and you nod against his throat. "Is he yours?" 

"If I could," you say, and Spencer nods. "He looks so much like you baby. But no one could ever be you." You kiss his cheek before leaning back and grabbing something from your back pocket, before placing it in Spencer's hand, underneath the table. "Gary's big, but he'll squeal like a stuck pig if you stab him. You need strength, but once the blade gets past the epidermis, it'll be easy." 

Spencer whines, grinding down onto your lap, and you lick right under his jaw. "I know."

You smirk. "Reading about it and doing it are two very different things. Don't be afraid to ask for help." 

Spencer nods again and you squeeze his thigh, before pushing him up and making him pocket the knife. You grab him by the hand and lead him out back, where Daniel and Gary are already waiting. You grin and let go of Spencer, walking over to Daniel before pinning him to the wall of the alley. He moans underneath you, and you reach into your back pocket, grabbing your knife. You tilt your head and Daniel latches his lips to your neck, and you look over at Spencer. 

He's also pressed against the wall behind him, and he's being petted by Gary ever so gently. When the man turns to look at his partner, you lock eyes with Spencer and nod miniscule-y, before turning back to Daniel. You wait until Gary's eyes are off you, before grabbing your knife, and flicking it open, before stabbing it right underneath the young man's solar plexus. 

You feel that rush and shiver as you look over, and see Spencer doing the same thing. Gary looks like he's about to cry as he looks over at Daniel, but you grin, your cock starting to harden in your pants. You pull the knife out and drive it in again, and again, and again, and soon, Daniel can't hold himself up anymore, and you let him fall to the ground. 

Looking at Spencer, you see he still hasn't moved, has kept his knife right where he first stabbed it, and you notice Gary starting to get angry. You walk over and lean in so your lips are right next to Spencer's ear, and you whisper, "What do you think?" 

That seems to break Spencer from his spell and he moans beautifully, before pulling the knife out and plunging it in again. You reach down and grab his already hard cock through his pants, groping him through the thick jeans, and Spencer bucks up into your hand, stabbing Gary again. 

After three, the man is dead weight and he falls to the ground. You step around his body and put your knife away, before pressing Spencer into the wall and kissing him, flicking your tongue into his mouth as he ruts up against you. You slip your hand into his pants and start stroking his cock, he groans, but pushes you away. 

"We- oh yes! We can't leave any evidence," he says and you sigh, taking your hand from his pants. 

You kiss him before saying, "You're right. You're so smart. I love you so much."

"I love you too," Spencer says and you grin, holding out your hand. 

He puts his knife away and takes yours before you lead him out of the alley, leaving two dead bodies behind. 

–

"He's accelerating," Morgan says the next morning at the debrief. 

There was no talk from Morgan this morning about Spencer getting some. As much as you wanted to mark his neck, Spencer talked you down, stating that if he caught onto what you were doing, the others would notice by the hickeys alone. You conceded and just marked him below the collar. 

As Spencer thinks about this he presses his fingers into one of the bruises and has to bite his lip to keep from crying out in ecstasy. 

"Yeah, he is," Rossi says. "Could be he's devolving."

Hotch shakes his head. "If that were the case, the bodies would probably be more roughed up. Gary Jenkins and Daniel Espinoza knew each other. They were dating. If one saw the other go down, there would be a lot of defensive wounds."

"What are you sayin', Hotch?" Morgan asks. 

Before Hotch can reply, Spencer interrupts and says, "He's saying he thinks the unsub has a partner." 

Hotch nods and Rossi and Prentiss look at each other. "I can see that being a possibility, but we can't rule out that he's just that good," Prentiss says and everyone nods. 

"Here's a thought," Spencer says, and everyone looks over at him. "The unsub could be a woman. Usually stabbing creates a sexual response in men who can't normally get an erection, being able to penetrate a body without using the penis, but there's been no semen found at any of the crime scenes. The first one it rained after, but the others it didn't, and there should have been some evidence." 

Morgan and Rossi nod but Hotch frowns. "Could be, but we shouldn't scrap what we have now for that," Hotch says and Spencer sighs. 

"I think I have something!" Garcia exclaims, running into the conference room. 

–

"I want to kill my father," Spencer says that night as you are making dinner for him. 

You freeze in your movements before continuing, asking hesitantly, "Are you sure? If you do, you probably won't be able to go back to the BAU. We may have to run."

You hear Spencer get up and walk over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

"Garcia found something, a surveillance camera at the end of the alley, the end we didn't walk through. But, they know there's two unsubs, and that one's Caucasian. They couldn't get a good read on you, but it's only a matter of time before you're found- before we're found out," Spencer explains and you nod, turning to lock your arms around his waist and kiss him deeply. 

"Okay, baby," you say, kissing him again. "Whatever you want, I'll provide. Anything."

Spencer grins and kisses you again.You feel him shiver as you move a hand from his hip to his lower back and you pull him in closer. "We'll get on the first flight out of here if that's what you want. Just you and me." 

Spencer nods. "We should do some planning, but I want that. I want to see the country, and not because some murder happened there." 

You grin. "I've always wanted to do a road trip of the country!" you exclaim and Spencer grins back, kissing you. 

"Me too." 

–

A week later sees you and Spencer on a cross country flight to Las Vegas, your apartment, car, and stuff all sold and liquidated into cash. You took as much money as you possibly could from your accounts and Spencer did the same. You both took your vacation time off from work. 

The rest of the BAU had been angry at Spencer, but understood his need to have his boyfriend meet his mother. There also haven't been any more murders in DC, which means their current back alley ripper case was currently cold. Hotch had approved it before he told the rest of the team. Spencer just didn't tell Hotch that you had already met his mother five years ago. 

The flight is long and cramped, but you and Spencer have each other, and that makes it worth it. You get to Vegas and as soon as you check into your motel, you fuck Spencer every way you can, wanting to feel every part of him, and needing to stretch after the long flight. Spencer wasn't complaining. 

But today was the day. 

Spencer's leg wouldn't stop bouncing in the taxi as you both made your way to his father's law firm. You don't know exactly what he did to Spencer as a child, but you know it was bad enough that he's still with you, willing to kill his own father to stay with you forever. You place a hand on his thigh and he looks over at you, nervousness written across his face like the headline of a newspaper. 

You lean in and kiss his cheek. "It will be okay. You can do this. And if you can't, I'll do it for you." 

He nods and you grin, kissing his cheek again before leaning back over into your seat, but you don't remove your hand from his leg. 

You arrive in front of the building and thank the cabbie, paying the fare and giving a tip before exiting the vehicle. You grab Spencer's hand and drag him into the brown brick building before he can turn around. You squeeze his hand and walk in, looking at the receptionist with a smile. 

He smiles at you, a large, fake smile that you know he practiced. "Hi! What can I do for you today?" 

You pull Spencer forward so he's standing next to you, and you ask sweetly, "Can you please tell Mr. William Reid that Doctor Spencer Reid, his son, is here to see him?" 

The man's eyes widen and he nods, picking up his phone and telling the man exactly that. You smile as he tells you what floor and room to go to, and Spencer is the one to drag you this time, going to the elevators. As soon as the door closes, you push him against the wall and kiss him. 

"We're so close, baby," you say, kissing him. 

He nods against your mouth before pulling back. "I love you." 

You grin. "I love you."

You give him a chaste kiss before pulling away right as the doors open, showing a long stretch of doors along a brown hallway. You and Spencer walk side by side to his father's door, and you knock. You grab Spencer's hand once more and the man squeezes your fingers, making you smile. 

The door opens, and William Reid is standing in front of you, eyes wide and mouth open. "So, you're the one who fucked up my baby for life," you say, and William blinks at you. It's just enough time for Spencer to draw his knife, and plunge it into his father's stomach, pushing him back into his office. The man lets out a strangled groan, and you walk into the office after Spencer, closing the door behind you. You look around and when you don't see a camera, you walk over to the desk, turning the laptop so it's pointing at Spencer and his father, and you hit record. 

Spencer brings both his hands up and slams them back down, plunging the knife into his father over and over, screaming out, "That's for telling me it's normal! That's for telling me to deal with it! That's for locking me in that dark room with nothing!" 

You flinch at that. Spencer can't be alone in the dark. You used to have a night light in every room so he wouldn't be scared. That makes your own anger flare up, and you walk over to the two men. Spencer is kneeling beside his father's chest, plunging the knife into him over and over again, drawing more and more blood. When he finally stops, panting heavily and leaning back on his feet, you grab his shirt and pull him to you, kissing him soundly, not caring about your pants being soaked through by the blood pooling around Spencer's father. 

You pull back before getting up, dragging Spencer with you, and you push everything but the laptop off the desk. You push Spencer face first onto it, freeing his cock from his pants and stroking him. It doesn't take long for Spencer to go from half hard to fully hard, and you pull down his pants, fishing a bottle of lube out of your coat. You make eye contact with the computer, and you coat your fingers in lube. You lean in and kiss Spencer's neck, still not breaking contact, as you insert one finger inside of Spencer, quickly adding another. Spencer moans loudly as you bite down on his pulse point, adding a third finger. You scissor him open, before opening your pants and taking out your cock, and slicking it up as well. You pull him to the edge of the desk, and slam into him in one go. 

He throws his head back and screams loudly, before leaning in and kissing you soundly. You move your eyes from the computer and close them, moaning at the feeling of Spencer's tight heat enveloped around your hard cock, and your hips stutter as you get closer to your release.

"Touch me! [Y/N] I need you to touch me," Spencer exclaims and you do as asked, using your already lubed hand to wrap it around Spencer's prick and start stroking him. He gasps and moans loudly into your mouth. 

"Spencer, baby I love you. So much," you say, and Spencer cries out, his body tightening, and his cum splashes on your hand and his shirt. 

When you feel Spencer clench around you, you cry out as well, making eye contact once again with the computer camera before you cum, filling Spencer with your seed. 

You pant and kiss him before slowly pulling out, your dick over sensitive and aching. You lean over Spencer, give the computer a wink, and end the recording, saving it to the desktop. 

"Baby," you pant, putting yourself back in your pants. "I want to see the Grand Canyon."

Spencer grins. "Have you never been?" he asks and you shake your head. His grin gets wider and he stands up, situating himself as well, before grabbing your hand. "Come on! We can take William's car!" You look in his desk drawer and grin, holding up his keys when you find them. 

That night, on a blanket next to the grand canyon, you and Spencer make love. 

–

Morgan and Prentiss walk into the crime scene, cringing at the amount of blood that has soaked into the white carpet. They walk over to the desk and look at the open laptop, clicking on the file in the middle of the screen. 

"😘.mov"

Prentiss throws up into the bin by the desk, and honestly, Derek wants to throw up too. 

[haikyuu-philia]

Dancing in a Dirty Puddle | Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader

A typical case of 'It sounded much better in my head', but I wanted to share it with you anyways!

Words: 1755

Summary: Going with the headcanon about Sakusa being germaphobic, my head came up with this scenario :P

-----

There were many things that Sakusa wouldn't do. Simply shaking someone else's hand could make him reach his limits, if he wasn't wearing gloves or didn't have sanitizer on him. But this never stopped him from doing what he certainly wanted to do.

And this list happened to be a lot longer than the one with the situations he was struggling with.

As his teacher went on to explain the next math problem that the boy had already solved quite a while ago, he watched the raindrops on the window to his left. This morning had been unexpectedly perfect until the grey clouds had appeared at the horizon.

Nearly silent thuds echoed in his ears while his eyes followed the line of one of the new droplets.

A sigh slipped out of his mouth to be caught by his facial mask. Today would be rather exhausting for him since human interaction couldn't be avoided. First school, then practice and later a meet-up at the local library with some classmates to finish a group project.

At least the rain would wash off all the bacteria of the people he would run into on his way to the unusual location. Many considered it only a detour, for him it was the opportunity to catch a terminal disease.

Before the thoughts could take over, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now was not the time to have a panic attack in the classroom.

Some things just had to be done, like that biology project.

By the time practice had come to an end, some rays of sunshine broke through the gloomy blanket above his head. But the blue sky was still nowhere to be seen.

Carefully he made his way to the concreted paths of the school ground to not step into a puddle or - worse - faceplank into one. A shiver ran down his spine as he cleaned his hands with a sanitized wipe. Who knew in whose mouths the air had been earlier.

"Sakusa! Mind if we walk together again?" You, one of many classmates and member of his assigned group, waved from the school gate.

There you were, his personal ray of sunshine to save him from the boringness. Maybe the assignment had been of use for him anyways.

He shrugged his shoulders in response, though that seemed to be enough to get a smile from you. Everytime this happened, he stared at you for a second and looked away the next. Whatever it was, he couldn't tell whether you were the weird one in this scenario for causong such a reaction or him for acting this way.

Like the past two Fridays that your group had met up at the library to work on the project, he walked next to you with a safety distance of two imaginary people in between.

On your way to the meeting you asked him about his day and he responded with a short reply, mostly telling you the exact same thing as the other days. His hands in his pockets he watched you from the corner of his eyes whenever you spoke.

So he immediately noticed as soon as you had stopped in your tracks.

"Woah, how beautiful! Don't you agree, Sakusa?", you awed at the sight ahead of you.

The street on your right, Sakusa and a brick wall to your left a big cherry tree was looming over the side walk. In front of you the grey stones were covered in pink cherry blossoms that the wind had carried away.

Nevertheless the tree shone in the most beautiful colors from white to nearly red while some leaves still dripped a bit due to the heavy rain earlier.

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and went a few steps ahead. The device in your hand you stretched towards the sky as much as you could to capture the natural beauty that you were witnessing right there.

"Damnit, I'm not tall enough to get the wall out of the picture", you hissed between your breaths.

Sakusa watched your efforts from afar. How you were balancing on your tiptoes, arms high into the air to get the perfect angle and how you were failing in your opinion. In this position he would only have to place his hands around your waist to rise you up a tiny bit more.

Inside his pockets his fingers tingled while his feet nearly took action before his brain stepped in. The thoughts of where your jacket had been today, when it had been washed the last time and the amount of bacteria that might be attached to it took over.

Even though you were only a call away, he froze next to you. With his eyes fixated on your blazer, his chest tightened when he tried to suppress the urge to sanitize his hands.

"This will do", you finally exclaimed. "Thanks for the wait!"

Yet again with this big grin on your face, that looked so much happier than on anyone else's, you turned towards him.

The remaining minutes of the walk went by without another incident. Sometimes he would nod to agree with your statement, then a time would follow where you just continued to walk in silence.

While more and more rays of sunshine won the battle against the seemingly undefeatable dark, Sakusa found himself lost in the recaps of what had happened back there.

Sure, he had experienced moments of paralysis before. But in contrast to those he couldn't stop thinking about it now.

About how his actions could have changed the events for the better and how he could have been the one to make you smile even more.

The work on the presentation for school brought him some surprisingly welcomed distraction. It still didn't manage to make him forget about the wave of thoughts sweeping away his sanity.

For the first time in forever he actively noticed that he only touched his own things. The pens, the ruler, the scissors.

If someone else accidentally grabbed them, he would have to clean them or never get in contact with them again.

Nobody of the group made a comment about his reflex to use a baby wipe once he had touched someone else's belongings. Additionally, he didn't take off his mask in a secure place like a library as thousands of people had been there before.

To get a book from the shelves he grabbed a tissue first to protect his hand from direct contact. Everything else raised his blood pressure on the spot.

So he busied himself with writing note cards for his group in a neat handwriting.

When he stepped outside the building after finishing the project, he felt like being able to properly breath for the first time in hours. During the stay it had rained some more, leaving the air freshly cleaned from pollution.

 "Let's head for the station. It's late already", he announced to you.

Meanwhile you stretched to make the exhaustion vanish from your limbs. At home you planned to simply eat dinner before collapsing on the bed.

Pretty much aware of the tired look in your eyes, Sakusa didn't say a word. As you didn't either, silence ruled again.

Thanks to that it wasn't hard to hear a speeding car approaching you two from behind.

Before it passed you in the blink of an eye, Sakusa noticed the puddle on the side of the street, which instantly splashed into all directions once the wheels had hit it. The boy felt the urge to throw up as soon as single drops of water reached his face.

With an unsteady breath and shaking hands he pulled the baby wipes out of his backpack to clean his forehead. Next was the mask that he switched for a completely new one.

Only when he had discarded the used supplies into a zipper bag especially for that purpose, he checked the rest of his body.

"I'm sorry, Sakusa", you mumbled with a breaking giggle. "I didn't manage to shield you from all of it."

Then it hit him what had happened.

You were standing in front of him, the back of your clothes and parts of your hair soaking wet. Nevertheless you tried to smile at him while checking the damage the water had done to your appearance.

"Are you okay? Most of the water hit me, I guess. So I'm sure that you will only need to wash your uniform once and take a shower later."

"Why?", he replied without breaking eye contact with you.

At the same time you wiped your face with your bare hands, making him shiver at the mere look of it. You even tried to squish some water out of your wet hair.

"I've noticed that you don't get along with dirt, physical contact and everything of that sort", you explained calmly. "The bullet of discomfort was shot and I took it for you."

Offering you his help by throwing single baby wipes at you to finally make you stop touching your dirty face with your even dirtier hands, he didn't know what to answer.

Instead he grabbed a tissue for himself and opened the zipper of his sports bag with it. He would certainly not take the risk of touching potentially stained metal.

"Here. Take this."

Sakusa was holding his yellow-green trainings jacket towards you. Thanks to the face mask his expression seemed the same as always, though it did hide the uneasy snarl of his lips.

"Thanks", you welcomed the offer wholeheartedly "I will wash it and return it on Monday!"

It was this moment when the boy had made you smile simply because of him for the first time. The way your face lightened up once you had put on the jacket was directed towards him and only him at this very moment.

Sure to say that his lips formed a small smile as he found the neatly wrapped jacket in his shoe locker on Monday.

Immediately after opening the little package, a nice scent of flowers reached his nose through the face mask. You were nowhere to be seen, but your image popped up in his head as well as the memory of you standing underneath the cherry tree a few days prior.

Surprisingly, it didn't occur to him that you most likely hadn't worn gloves while wrapping his jacket.

His mind had other priorities to think about. Including the issue about the comforting warmth inside of his chest whenever you were around.

-----

Posted: April 8th 2020 | Requests: Open | Match-ups: Closed

[xpouii]

Spinning Wheel Chapter 2

I titled the A/B/O story so remind me to go and rename the first chapter ok?

It’s time for chapter 2!! I hope you guys are as excited as I am!

Tags/Warnings: NSFW, Logicality, A/B/O dynamics, marking, biting, hesitation, heat, themes of dysphoria

           Logan rolled his eyes as the commotion roaring from the smithy next to his own, loud voices practically rattling the stone wall that separated them. Logan glanced to his fire that was still not hot enough for work, and stood up from his bench, stretching his back. He made the short trip to the loud—cheerful—voices. His “neighbor” was Master Blacksmith Patton, and also his lifelong friend. Patton was shorter than Logan but powerful, built more like the ovens he worked than a man. Patton was standing with a small group of children—his plethora of apprentices.

           “Since it’s your birthday, I’ll allow it,” Patton said with false solemnity. A smile was itching at the corners of his mouth. “But you know not just anyone can handle a sword of this caliber.”

           The boy, Addison if Logan remembered correctly, nodded solemnly and held the child-sized sword with great respect. “Yes, Master Patton. I will wield it with honor.”

           “Very good! And! Take this to your mother as well.” He dropped a few coins into the boy’s hand. “Go and enjoy your birthday, Addy. There’ll be plenty of work tomorrow!”

           “Thank you!” the boy called, scrambling off into the street. The other apprentices milled off to work, mostly stoking fires and replenishing water troughs.

           Logan sidled up to Patton, “Feeling generous are we?”

           “It’s his birthday,” Patton dismissed.  

           “Wasn’t his birthday last month as well?” Logan asked.

           Patton chuckled and wiped his hands on the thick leather apron he was wearing, “It’s only scrap iron.”

           “Scrap iron worked by a blacksmith with royal accolades,” Logan said with a roll of his eyes. “How many orders do you have?”

           “Just working on this and that,” Patton said. “Not a terribly busy day. You?”

           “Lady Carrington’s ordered another set of plates,” Logan said. “Enough hammering to give you a headache for a few days.”

           Patton smiled, “I love the sound of your hammering, Logan. I don’t know what I’d do without it, that and the smell of jeweler’s pickle.”

           Logan huffed, “A better smell than sweat and singed hair.”

           “Hey it only smells like singed hair if I get distracted,” Patton said, and Logan couldn’t help but glanced at the scars along Patton’s forearms. “It’s been a while.”

           “It’s been a week,” Logan said. “Although to be fair I think that was one of your little goblins you let in here.”

           “My apprentices are skilled young people,” Patton said. “I’m sure at least half of them will be journeymen by next year!”

           Logan opened his mouth but suddenly his ears were ringing and his face felt hot; he shook his head, pressing his fingers into his temples. When he looked up Patton was looking at him with concern. “I haven’t quite shaken off the sleep yet,” Logan muttered, leaving quickly.

           Logan sank back onto his bench and squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the stars that were swimming in his vision. He knew too well what the problem was, his damned heat, but it wasn’t normally so intense in the mornings, and it was early.

              Logan managed to struggle through the first few mornings hours, working away at the ordered silver plates for the wealthy lady’s extravagant dinners. Logan himself ate from silver plates every night, but his extravagant dinners were always—blessedly—for one. Being a silversmith had perks beyond creative outlet and money, after all. It wasn’t until just after the midday bells had rung in the church tower that the scrawny messenger boy showed up in the smithy. Logan was glad for the distraction, so he met the boy with a raised eyebrow rather than an outright scowl of annoyance, “Yes?”

           “Message from Lady Carrington,” the boy said. “She wants to double her order of plates.”

           “Of course she does,” Logan said. “Is that all?”

           “The Lady says she’ll triple the payment if you don��t take any longer to complete the order,” the messenger said. He was eyeing the coin purse that hung on Logan’s hip. Logan sighed and shook out two coins for the boy. “Tell her I’ll have them done, no change in schedule.”

           The boy pocketed the coins and ran off. Logan turned around to check what he’d finished already when another wave of heat slammed him into the wall and he fought to steady himself. Three days of this would ensure Logan could never finish the order on time. He grit his teeth and returned to his workspace, sitting heavily on the bench and scrubbing his face with his calloused palms. He gave himself a moment, but the order had just doubled, and he had no time for weakness. With a deep breath, Logan got back to work, soothed by the sound of rhythmic hammering and the smell of his shop, a smell that was so familiar sometimes he didn’t smell it at all. There was something else in it, though, something deep like burnished wood, and Logan sniffed, looking at his own fire to make sure nothing was burning—that wasn’t supposed to. That’s when he saw him.

           A man with blond hair pulled into a messy bun, dirtier than the typical sort he got in his shop. The swagger and the smell were unmistakable, and the man bared his teeth in a predatory grin as he stepped closer, “You know, it isn’t very professional to be advertising yourself like that during work.”

           Logan stood immediately and felt the tickle of slick escaping his body, responding to the heavy pheromones in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you here to buy something?”

           The alpha’s grin widened as he moved in, his nose wrinkling as he dragged Logan’s scent into his nose. “You know, a good roll with me would take care of that,” the man rasped. “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be allowed out of the house when you’re whoring around like that.”

           Logan took another step back, gritting his teeth as he felt behind him as discreetly as he could for something to defend himself. “If you aren’t here to buy then get out,” Logan said, hating how his voice shook.

           The alpha snorted, grabbing Logan’s wrist and spinning him around. Logan yelped as he was slammed into his own worktable, the wood scratching his cheek when he struggled to escape. His own body was betraying him, heavy and weak under the pheromones stinging his nose. “What’s going on here!”

           The alpha held Logan where he was, but he straightened and Logan looked over his shoulder as much as he could. He could see Patton’s boots moving in closer. The alpha growled, “Omega here was asking for help. Seeping like an old well. I’m here to answer his call.”

           “I don’t think that’s right,” Patton said. His voice was stone, and suddenly the stranger’s pheromones were gone, overpowered by a wave so strong Logan’s knees went weak. The alpha hesitated, then stumbled back and ran, leaving Patton to catch Logan before he went the rest of the way to the floor. “What happened Logan? He attacked you?”

           Logan took in a shaky breath, turning to hide his face in Patton’s chest. He’d lost complete control of himself now, and slick was running down his inner thighs. “I can’t.”

           “Can’t? Oh! Right.” The pheromones lessened as Patton got control of himself, “I’m sorry. Seeing him about to hurt you I… got carried away. Logan are you… in heat?”

           “Patton just… just get away,” he said, but his vice grip on Patton’s apron said something else. “I… don’t want this.”

           Patton helped Logan get his feet under him, “It’s ok, Logan. I’ll take you home. The boys can close up for us. I promise I won’t do anything ok? I can’t just leave you like this. You can barely walk.”

           “Not usually this bad,” Logan muttered. The fear he had felt was fading, and the last thing he wanted was for Patton to leave. He needed him. “Your place is closer.”

           “Right,” Patton said. He took off Logan’s apron, then his own and walked to the entrance of the shop. “James!”

           The oldest of Patton’s apprentices, nearly twelve ran to them, looking worried. “Yes, Master Patton?”

           “Close up the shops and bring the keys to my home, please. Make sure the fires are out, and have others help.”

           “Yes sir,” the boy said, running back to Patton’s shop.

           Logan’s ears rang again and he leaned heavily against his friend; his mind was spinning, stars behind his eyes as Patton half-carried him down the street. Patton assured a few curious shopkeepers that Logan had simply overheated working at the fire. The sweat matting his hair to his forehead was enough to convince them not to interrupt—and Patton had no intention of stopping anyway.

             It was a decently short walk to Patton’s modest little home, and once inside Logan was surrounded by the inescapable scent of Patton, usually a mere annoyance but now a full-blown issue in his state. Patton led Logan to the bedroom and lowered him onto the bed, “I’ll get you some water.”

           Logan writhed on the small mattress, trying to get comfortable. Patton reappeared so suddenly that Logan scrambled away, backing against the wall, but Patton just set down the water, “You normally stay home, don’t you?”

           “It... came early,” Logan said, reaching for the water with a shaky hand.

           “It usually lasts three days,” Patton said. “When you’re feeling up to it I can take you home if-”

           Logan sputtered, “I can’t wait three days. I have to go back tomorrow. The order for… for…”

           Patton raised an eyebrow, “Lady Carrington?”

           “It has to be done on time,” Logan said miserably. “She doubled it.”

           “Is there something I can get you from the apothecary? An herb or… something?”

           Logan shook his head, “Doesn’t work.”

           Patton nodded, “I’m sorry Logan. I wish I could help you… but I don’t think you’ll be able to work tomorrow if this is your first day. My brother’s heats always got more intense as the days went on. He was pretty unbearable to be around by the third day.”

           Logan gave Patton a look, but he was too weak for one of his full-strength glares. “Help me, Patton.”

           “I would if I could,” Patton said, his eyes on the floor.

           “You can,” Logan whined, undoing his pants that were now completely unwearable, anyway. He was desperate to have them off.

           Patton glanced up, looking bewildered, “Logan do you mean…”

           “Please,” Logan said. “I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t… if my entire reputation wasn’t at stake.”

           “Of course,” Patton said. “But… are you sure?”

           Logan bit his lip in frustration, tossing his pants across the room. “Damn it Patton I need you!”

           The last of Logan’s sentence was a whine and Patton’s pupils dilated as a wave of Logan’s scent hit his nose. “You need me?”

           Logan tore off his shirt and sighed at the relief of cool air on his skin. He glanced at Patton, “Alpha.”

           Patton bared his teeth and he stood, shedding his own clothing before crawling over the bed to capture Logan’s lips with his own. Logan melted beneath him, and Patton kissed down to Logan’s neck, inhaling deeply and groaning, “Logan.”

           Logan sighed, arching up against Patton, “Please, Patton.”

           “Shhh,” Patton nuzzled Logan’s neck, taking his time. He slowly kissed down Logan’s body until he was between the omega’s legs. He flipped Logan over and the omega was reminded of Patton’s strength, “Have to taste you.”

           Logan cried out as Patton’s tongue slid over his entrance, and he rocked backward instinctively. It felt so good, but it wasn’t enough. “Stop… stop stalling and f-fuck me!”

           Patton sat back on his knees and smiled when Logan rolled back onto his back, “You smell like metal and parchment, but you taste like fire.”

           “And you smell like wet dog,” Logan huffed, but he wrapped his legs around Patton’s waist, silently begging for more.

           Patton pushed inside and they both moaned, Logan a bit louder, “Are you-“

           “Yes, Patton,” Logan panted.

           Patton met Logan’s gaze and smiled as he started to move, leaning down to kiss Logan softly. Logan cried out against Patton’s lips, fear and need and ecstasy twisting into a braid of mindlessness as he was touched like this for the first time. Patton’s weight was a comfort and a prison, and Logan’s body and mind wrestled with his reaction. Pinned—albeit gently—under an alpha, being rutted into, being stretched open, covered in scent and sweat and maddeningly soft kisses from Patton’s chapped lips. It was a warm bath that Logan was terrified to sink into, but the water was so inviting.

           Logan hid his face in the soft pillows beneath his head, unknowingly baring his neck, but when Patton kissed the spot, Logan could think of nothing else than being bitten. He groaned, tangling a hand in Patton’s hair, “Yes! Yes there please!”

           Patton didn’t bite, didn’t so much as graze the spot with his teeth, but he sucked at the skin until it bloomed with a subtle mark, and Logan’s eyes rolled back in his head. “I’ve got you,” Patton whispered in his ear. “I won’t… I won’t do that to you.”

           “Want it,” Logan growled. “I want everything! Please!”

           Patton reached down and took Logan’s throbbing cock in his hand, stroking in time with his thrusts. Logan wanted to protest, to ask for the bite again, but words failed him as he squirmed under the unbearable stimulation. He moved his hands to Patton’s shoulders, clinging to the alpha as if he might disappear otherwise, carried off by his spinning mind. Patton kissed Logan just below his earlobe, moaning softly. “Logan I lo-”

           Logan arched up as he came, digging his nails into Patton’s arms and dragging deep scratches downward, tearing the intimate moment away as he shouted. “Patton fuck!”

           “Logan,” Patton groaned, and his thrusts became faster, harder, with an undeniable purpose.

           Logan looked down and the euphoria quickly faded as he realized Patton was going to try to knot him, “No, Patton. I don’t want-”

           “Mine,” Patton snarled, soft and breathy in Logan’s ear.

           “Patton no,” Logan yelped as he felt the knot pressing against him. In desperation he planted his feet against Patton’s middle and kicked as hard as he could, roaring. “I said no!”

           Patton yelped as he fell off the bed to the stone floor. The fog of sex immediately dissipating and Patton rolled onto his side, curling around himself but not standing up or trying to defend himself. He’d acted like a monster and been treated as such. Logan stood up from the bed and knelt beside him, leaning in to bring his face close to Patton’s, “If you try that again I’ll tear your dick off.”

           Patton nodded, tearful and breathless, “I’m sorry. I-I would never hurt you.”

           Logan lowered his head against Patton’s shoulder, then nuzzled into his neck, taking in as much of the soothing alpha scent as he could before his right mind returned. Then he would excuse himself and never ask Patton for help again—he’d been stupid to trust an alpha in the first place.

              Logan glanced around the home as he touched the door, hesitant to go. He wanted to crawl back in bed with Patton, wake him up, forgive him and spend the morning together. “Fucking heat,” Logan muttered, and let himself out.

He did feel better, no longer heavy or gasping for breath. Patton had helped, and Patton had also cried for nearly two hours afterward, apologizing and babbling until Logan finally snapped at him. Logan never had patience for regret, and Patton was always eager to apologize. It grated on Logan’s nerves even now as he strode down the street toward his smithy. The street was quiet, and it was still a bit early, still dark and cold. Logan let himself in and the smell almost knocked him over. Patton was still everywhere, and he sighed, doing his best to ignore it. His body was mercifully behaved as he went to recount he plates he’d done in a haze the day before—and toss the ones that weren’t up to his standards into the pile to be melted down.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside startled him, and he was brought back to the alpha before, dirty and rough and forceful. The way he’d held Logan down, and the way Patton had looked, smelled when he’d come to Logan’s aid. He’d practically carried Logan home and insisted on being respectful. And then Logan had begged him. Logan had stripped, leaking slick all over his bed, a sweaty, desperate mess. When Patton growled mine it was Logan’s heart, not his ass that had skipped a beat. Suddenly Logan wanted nothing to do with this smithy, nothing to do with the silver in his hands, and he dropped it, racing out after locking up and practically running back to Patton’s home.

Logan let himself in with the key Patton had given him some ten years earlier. The house was still quiet, curtains drawn and none of the candles lit. He closed the door quietly behind him and that’s when he heard it, soft whispering. He knew Patton was alone—Patton was always alone at home, and he’d only been gone about an hour, so he toed off his boots and stepped through the kitchen to the bedroom doorway.

           Patton was on the bed, his face hidden in his pillow as he rutted back against his hand, and Logan was fixated on the sight, frozen in the doorway as he watched. It wasn’t a new concept to Logan; as an omega, he wasn’t above slipping a finger or two inside of himself in a moment of desperation. What he couldn’t fathom was why an alpha would be doing it. When Patton muttered Logan’s name, Logan’s cock twitched in his pants and he glanced around as if there was some other Logan that Patton would be fantasizing about. Logan moved closer and the floor creaked softly.

           Patton winced and looked over his shoulder, quickly moving his hand but Logan reached to stop him from moving beyond that, “Please wait.”

           Patton turned red but he did as Logan said, his eyes half-lidded as he waited for an explanation. Logan glanced over and picked up the bottle of oil, pouring a bit into his hand and recapping it clumsily before slipping his own two fingers into Patton. Patton yelped, “You don’t h-ha-have to… ohhhh Logan.”

           Logan knew his way around his own body, and metaphysical differences aside, he assumed Patton couldn’t be that different. He went slow, thrusting and stroking until he found a spot that made Patton’s voice jump an octave and his hips rock backwards. This was all it took for Logan’s fascination to become something else. Passion ignited like a wayward spark hitting a pile of dry wool tinder, and he was soon fumbling with his free hand to get his pants out of the way.

           Patton mewled in disappointment when Logan’s fingers were withdrawn, but another glance over his shoulder and he outright moaned, “Yes Logan, want you so bad. Want your cock, please.”

           Logan didn’t even have the presence of mind to be startled by Patton’s shameless begging as he oiled himself up and pressed inside. He grit his teeth and growled, struggling not to pull Patton back and bury himself completely all in one go. He wasn’t some out of control monster—as blurred as his reason had become. When Patton started pushing back, Logan met his movements, and when he bottomed out, he took a moment to remind himself that he wasn’t dreaming. Patton was endearingly impatient, and Logan would have chuckled if he wasn’t overwhelmed by the tight heat around his cock when Patton pushed back, begging Logan to move.

           Logan wasn’t equipped with the same instincts as an alpha, but being inside of Patton felt right, like he’d finally found something that made him feel human instead of a creature that didn’t belong. He almost stopped to ask Patton if he felt the same, but it was fairly obvious. Patton was making tiny sounds with each collision of their hips as if Logan’s cock was knocking the wind out of him. Logan leaned down and buried his nose in the hair at the nape of Patton’s neck, inhaling deeply. He took in Patton’s scent eagerly for the first time, rather than avoiding or recoiling. Patton smelled like wildflower honey, warm and rich and spiced; it reminded Logan of his favorite tavern mead.

           When Logan licked the back of his neck, Patton hummed, “Logan?”

           “Hmm?”

           “Mark me?”

           Logan pulled back to look down where Patton was baring his neck, precisely where an alpha should bite. He hesitated, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do. “Patton…”

           “Please,” Patton said. “I want to be yours. I’ve always wanted…”

           Logan surged forward and Patton practically howled when Logan’s teeth sank into his shoulder; he reached back to bury his hand in Logan’s hair, holding him in place, “Harder.” His voice was hoarse, mad with lust, “Bite me harder.”

           Logan did so, because he wanted to; he wanted a mouthful of Patton, to mark him and claim him and keep him, all because he knew it’s what Patton wanted too. The copper tang of blood reached Logan’s tongue and Patton came, yelling Logan’s name loud enough that Logan was half-sure the city guards would show up any minute to arrest him for attempted murder. Patton tensed and trembled around him and Logan moaned through clenched teeth, burying himself inside of Patton as his release took him, more powerful, more meaningful than it had ever been.

           Patton collapsed onto the bed, rolling onto his back and reaching for Logan. Logan lowered himself onto Patton and their lips met in an exhausted kiss before Patton hid his face in the crook of Logan’s neck. “Where’d you learn to… do that?” Logan muttered.

           “I’ve been watching you,” Patton teased, giggling when Logan pinched his side.

Logan’s heart skipped and he took a sharp breath as emotion choked him, “Patton…”

           “I know,” Patton said against Logan’s skin. “Me too.”

             The fire burned hot as Logan watched his old mistakes melt away, sweat rolling down his back beneath his shirt. He felt strong, fully himself again, and he’d already torn through half of the order for Lady Carrington, having spent most of the morning cursing her name with each hammer-stroke. Admiring the completed pieces had eased his spite somewhat, and every once in a while the dull roar of entirely-too-happy voices from next door would bring a smile to his lips. The apprentices were absolutely running wild, but they’d drawn a crowd of shoppers with their antics, and usually Patton would take in orders for doorknobs and drawer-pulls in the dozens when crowds gathered. His talent was undeniable, and his smile was beyond infectious.

           It was the warm, fluffy thoughts clogging up his brain that made work go so much faster into the afternoon, when his hands and back had begun to ache, and he had a fine layer of soot over every bare part of his body. Footsteps at the open doorway to his shop drew his attention, and Patton stood there, his honey-sweet pheromones tickling Logan’s nose. “Looks like Lady Carrington’s party will be saved after all,” he said with a smile.

           Logan chuckled, setting the last plate aside after he’d finished polishing it, “If it’s the death of me, that damn party will go on unhindered.”

           Patton had his shirt unbuttoned almost halfway down, as usual, but it exposed the bite on his neck, Logan’s mark, and it made the silversmith’s cheeks go hot as he remembered their whispered promises to one another, sequestered in Patton’s bed. Patton noticed Logan’s gaze and lifted his hand to touch the spot; it had healing to do, but there was no doubt the mark would be permanent. “I missed you.”

           “Can’t smell me through the wall?”

           Patton lifted his shirt collar and sniffed it, “I don’t have to smell through any wall to catch your scent anymore.”

           Patton grinned and Logan’s gaze darkened, “Tease.”

           “What!” Patton defended. “I’m just speaking the truth.” He moved closer and stretched up to kiss Logan’s nose.

           Logan pulled Patton closer and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth, relishing the way Patton went boneless in his grip, so pliant and easy under his guidance, “How long before you quench the fires?”

           “I want you to quench my fire, first,” Patton breathed.

           Logan didn’t hesitate, pushing Patton up against the stone wall hard enough that Patton let out a little oh! before Logan attacked his neck with kisses. They were never going to get any work done now.

TAG LIST: @dragonheart905 @lovely-nerd27  @smacksmicktactic

[sxveme-2]

hidden // din djarin

description: the life of nobility wasn't one for everyone. some would rather duck under the shadows around them, especially after a great betrayal to the name of a planet but despite being hidden, not everyone can avoid the blinding lights of danger. whether it be those after those who had escaped, or the poor bounty hunter who ended up picking her up. both with a large bounty on their heads.    follow Cloak as she lives the days as an escaped noble, hiding from the eyes of serenno after the fall of count dooku, shacking up with one of the most sought after child and the mandalorian unfortunate enough to have a big heart.

chapter four: the one with a new title

warnings: violence, fight scenes

word count: 3000

     "you know I shouldn't be teaching you these ways, princess." the commander chuckled as the young girl jogged towards him after the proper training session of new recruits was let out.

      "commander boudir, what am I supposed to do if the castle is attacked though?" she sighed, placing her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side.

      "allow the guards to do their jobs, princess." he sighed, looking down at the young girl, "your father would have my neck if he found out I had even considered teaching you the ways of the soldiers." the man huffed, turning his attention back to bandaging his knuckles.

      the tan skinned girl lowered her eyes and shook her head, loose brown curls dancing across her shoulders. she was prepared to train. she wore a pair of brown cargo pants and a simple white top, comfortable combat boots covering her feet. she was gifted the garments from a few of the vendors she would go see whenever she escaped from the castle or when the royal family did their rounds into the local village. they were her favourite things to wear, but she wasn't allowed to wear them around the royal family. she'd be absolutely shunned if she was found in something other than an unbearably heavy and uncomfortable dress.

      widening her eyes and giving a signature pout, "please?" she asked, rocking back and fourth on the balls of her feet.

      sighing, the man nodded and glanced down at the girl,  "alright then. not for too long though, alright?"

      grinning, the young girl took a few steps back and standing in the stance that he had taught her before. she had come to learn over the past while they had been training that she was quite the acrobat. and he had helped her hone those skills and use them to advantage when they would spar or practice. she just wanted to know how to defend herself for possible future instances, because maker knows that her father had a tendency to upset people. it wouldn't surprise her if there was an attack on the monarch.

        "have you been practicing, princess?"  he taunted.

        the nineteen year old shrugged and tucked a stray piece of hair that had fallen from her braid, grinning up at the man. she loosened her shoulders and gripped her hands into fists. and the sparring began. the man went to strike and she ducked down, summersaulting between his legs, kicking the mans tailbone. she grinned as he stumbled forward, only catching himself on his hands. a laugh escaped his lips as he turned and looked over at the dark haired princess.

       "not bad. you've always been good at thinking quickly." he taunted, motioning her forward, "alright, you haven't won yet. you know the rules, princess, you've gotta get me to fall."

-----

      her eyes fixated on the dark pools of the attackers eyes. putting aside any reservations, she launched forward into action. she grabbed the woman's forearm and yanked her forward, stretching her opposite arm, pulling the serennian directly into the crook of her arm. the other girl hopped back up and kicked at the back of her knee, causing her to stumble forward. letting out a huff of annoyance, she turned back towards her. loosening her shoulders and gripping her hands into fists, she cocked her head in a menacing and taunting way.

      rushing forward, the cloaked woman dropped down and swiped her legs sideways, taking the girl down as she grabbed the blaster on her hip, tossing it over her shoulder and out of her reach. she was quick to recover however, and jumped up and went to grab at her waist. but she was quicker, and gripped the commanders arm and twisted, snapping it over her shoulder before bending down and tossing her over her shoulder. flipping forward, she slammed the heel of her foot down into the olive skinned girl's back, a sick crack echoing through the area.

       "you're good." the woman spat, coughing as she struggled to stand. using a magma rock to heave herself up, she chuckled, "you fight like a serennian."

       lowering her eyes beneath her goggles, she launched once more. the other woman went to punch, but she took the opportunity to summersault between her legs and kick her lower back. but she didn't fall, but caught herself on the same magma rock that had helped her stand. muttering a curse, she used the rock to gain leverage and wrapped her arm around the others neck, kicking her leg around her waist and flipping forward, ending with tossing the dark haired opponent into a rock. not hard enough to kill, just hard enough to maim.

      a sputtering cough came from the girl, as she struggled to stand once more, "maybe a bit dirtier than a serennian." she whispered, rolling onto her butt and leaning back against the rock, "seems like your pals may be having  a few more issues though."

      glancing over her shoulder, she scoffed at a few of the guards heading towards cara and mando with their backs pressed against one another. but luckily, there were only five soldiers left standing. glancing behind her, and then over at the child once more, she went charging forward. she slid forward on her hip and kicked out the back of one of their knees, before twisting and grabbing at his ankle, snapping it forward. grabbing a blaster that had fallen, she jumped onto her feet and shot it in the fallen soldiers chest. this caused a bit more of a distraction, and gave cara and mando a moment to attack the others.

      before long, the only living member was that of her sister from the past. the woman that used to be her sister, more so. someone who she left and forgot about. a beacon of venom that followed her around like an unwanted pet. someone that if she could wipe from her memory, she would. and that sick, poison filled laugh echoed through the field, catching everyone's attention as they turned to her.

     "what's so funny?" cara asked, placing her hand on her hip.

     "mm nothing." she sputtered, wiping the blood from her chin, "she just fights like someone I haven't seen in a while." leta sighed, gesturing towards the cloaked girl standing next to mando.

     "alright, let's get you off this planet." greef karga muttered as him and cara walked forward to handcuff the girl.

     she lowered her eyes at the serennian's gaze. it sent a shiver down her spine, despite the multiple layers she wore to hide her true identity. clearing her throat, she wandered over towards the child, popping his hatch and smiling slightly under her mask at the beaming face that looked up at her. bending down, she plucked the small green creature from his blankets and cradled him into her shoulder, rocking back and fourth as he cooed softly at her.

      "you're a good fighter." mando's voice echoed through his mask, as he walked up behind her, "why don't we update your job title."

      turning, she looked up at the man with a quizzical look hidden underneath her mask, "and what would we update it to? ass kicking nanny?"

     "how about partner. you can help me with the kid obviously, but also with the jobs. you're quick, you move quieter and faster than I do. it could be a benefit for everyone." he answered.

      nodding, she agreed, "alright. doesn't sound too bad. do I get a pay raise?"

     "don't push it."

     "it would make sense!"

-----

      "so what do you plan on doing with her?" mando asked as the two were walked back to the razor crest the day after the ambush.

      apart of her wished she had spoken up and said that they would take the leader of the attack. that they'd turn her over to serenno, but she also knew that there was no punishment on that planet for leta, especially. the only real repercussions would be because of her failure to raid the area, and the loss of men. but they'd quickly move on, and begin the planning of the next raid. planning the next lives they'd take on their attempt to regain empire territory. but instead, she was only left to trust what the two had in mind for her sister. no say or opinion in the matter. which, she was slightly grateful for. since her emotions may cloud her judgement.

     "might turn her over to the resistance," cara sighed, leaning on her left foot, "but she's serennian royalty. there might not be much that can be done."

     "how do you know?" mando asked, shifting his own weight at the new piece of information.

     "she has the tattoo on her arm," karga explained, "the house symbol of her father, and then an image depicting the meaning of her name. hers means joyful, though she seems to be anything but...why don't you guys take her? if you're heading that way."

      she tensed up as he beckoned a few people forward. two men were holding onto the bruised princess, who had a sick grin still on her swollen lips. she shifted slightly where she stood, unable to meet the eyes of the raven haired girl that was being brought forward. she knew that she would be able to overpower her if she tried to step out of line, if they did take her with them in the end. but still, it created risks for her identity to be found out. especially when it was someone she had spent fifteen years with before she escaped. someone who probably knew even she smallest of her mannerisms. from the picking at her gloves to the touching of her covered cheek.

      "sure. but if she acts up or mouths off I may have to put her in carbonite." mando sighed, grabbing the girls arm and tugging her over towards the ship, "thank you. we'll be off then."

      waving one last time, the small group wandered up onto the ship. she wanted nothing more than to immediately shove the girl into the carbonite and keep her silent. but she knew that wouldn't end with a very pretty scene on serenno. if they were to return with the sole princess left, and the next heir to the throne since her own absence, she and mando would be in for a whirlwind of problems. serennian's aren't known for their kindness and their mercy. especially when it came to the already fragile system that was their new monarchy.

      "you ever been to serenno?" mando asked as the lot climbed up to the upper story of the ship, all walking into the cockpit.

      "no." she stated simply. if she talked too much, she knew that leta would pick up on her familiar tone. the melodic sounds of words and her accent.

     but knowing mando, he would make her life a living hell for the trip and actually talk to her. something she despised. it had only been a few days since the two began their travels together, and already, she hated being in the same room as him without grogu or something of similar interest to discuss. she wasn't sure what it was about him, he just rubbed her the wrong way. and she'd be damned if he would make conversation with her the one time she needed to be silent. because that's just who he was.

      "maker, you two should just have it out at one another with the amount of tension in this room." the princess huffed, readjusting her wrists in the shackles.

      both crewmates whipped out a blaster and pointed it at the girls head. neither seemed to be in much of a joking mood, especially when it came to something as outlandish as the two of them getting together in that way. typically, it wouldn't be too big of a deal. but there was truly just something about mando that made her want to shove his own beskar staff right up his behind. maybe it was their first interaction with one another, or their seemingly similar personality types. she wasn't sure. she just knew she'd never view him in that way.

       "alright let's relax there. wouldn't want whatever that womp rat thing is to see you two kill someone." she chidded, rolling her eyes.

        "he's seen worse." mando retorted, starting the ship. he fell silent after that, as if waiting for the insult from the masked girl to come flying back, "wow. now sarcastic comment. is this growth?"

       lowering her eyes beneath her goggles, she stood. her hands wrapped around grogu's torso and lifted the child from his carrier, tucking him into her side. sending a quick  middle finger to the back of mando's head, she left the cockpit without a single word. she wanted to give him a jab back, it pained her she couldn't. but she did have a fairly noticeable tone to her voice, one she was sure the princess would pick up on. five years, she had gone without a single scare of who she was coming to the surface. but the moment she becomes connected to the one and only mandalorian she had seen, things start popping up. the first being her sister, and she could only guess what would be next.

       "why don't we get you fed." she whispered when she was sure she was out of range of the others. she chuckled at the noises the child made in agreement with her statement, "what're we feeling today? portion bread?" she teased, grimacing at the idea of it. nodding at his obviously disgusted face, she turned back to the food storage, "how about some food rations?"

      with a grin in return from the child, she sat him down and took out the container, straining her ears to try and pick up if any conversation was happening in the cockpit. but with the hum of the razor crest and the distance, she knew it was a long shot. the thing that pulled her back, however, was the small tug on her thumb from the child, urging her to continue feeding him.

      "you're a needy little one aren't you buddy?"

-----

       she knew it wouldn't take too long to arrive on serenno. but the day it took wasn't enough to prepare her for what she was going to see. it wasn't much different from when she left, which may have been the thing that set her on edge the most. she wanted to see some sort of change, that her father may have taken her leaving as a wakeup call. to change the ways of the monarchy, and better the system. but instead, it was the same. same guards, same poverty issues. the same dictatorship her father had sworn to change when he created the new system.

       "you seem tense." mando stated, coming up behind the girl as she readjusted the light green cloak she would wear for the day, deciding the dark blue could cause a head or two to turn.

       "well I heard your voice and it ruined my day." she retorted simply, glancing over her shoulder at him, "how is she?"

      "surprisingly more enjoyable to sit in silence with than you." he quipped, closing the child's hatch and opening the ships.

      "mm maybe you should make her your partner then. would you pay her more?"

      "probably."

      "mee waba u two doe best." I wish you two the best, she remarked in huttese, winking at the taller man before pulling her goggles over her eyes, walking down the ramp with the child's carrier following close behind her.

      the air of serenno smacked her in the face like something from a nightmare. one of her reliving the days she would have while running through the trees after escaping from her father's intense control. the feeling of the soft land beneath her feet caused a wave of nausea to hit her like a train, knowing that she never planned on returning back to this place. she swore to live in isolation away from the horrid planet for the rest of her days. as far from the life of a royal as she could get, which is why she had landed in tatooine. but now...the same planet that had saved her, lead her right back home.

     "seem familiar?" the sick voice of leta cooed as she walked down the ramp, being led by the mandalorian, "you seem a bit awe struck." she tanted, chuckling as she grabbed at her blaster.

     "don't. you'll be executed if you kill her here." mando chidded, gesturing for her to follow him towards the large castle that stood at the top of the highest point in the planet.

     "mee'd prefer da than hearing cheekta speak." I'd prefer that than hearing her speak, she scoffed in huttese once more. hoping the foreign language would mask that of her typical voice and accent.

     "if you're going to keep speaking huttese I may just drop you off back on tatooine." mando threatened, earning a shrug from the girl. without another word from anyone, the three began their walk through the vast forest towards the large building.

     where hopefully, they'd have a peaceful drop off. but then again, when had she ever gotten what she wanted? from being an escaped royal, to landing on a burnt planet with a destroyed ship, and then being unable to properly make a life on the planet, and then being picked up by a mandalorian and having her sister pop up. and now, she was back on her home planet. somewhere where she had nightmares about. reliving the traumatic experiences she was forced to live through at a young age. the same traumatic events she found herself reliving any moment she could. because they hurt more than any wound she may have felt throughout those same years. or any hunger pain she felt on tatooine, struggling to help peli provide and live.

     so yeah, she wasn't expecting things to go well.

[thegildedlady]

Life Itself

In all of Revendreth (and quite probably all of the Shadowlands) no fortress stood with such dominating impenetrability as the spires of Castle Nathria. The structure loomed over the landscape of deep blue pines and thorny underbrush, casting a long shadow onto the valley below. Layer after layer of jutting turrets and stained-glass windows rose up out of the darkness in tiers, with the crackling lightning of anima-extraction glowing through the panes like the crimson compound gaze of a monstrous insect. Atop it all was a giant stone gargoyle whose watchful eye reflected those of the Master as he looked down upon the unfavorable ones residing outside the castle’s walls. Groaning bellies and parched throats were turned away at the gate. No trace of the drought could slip through its iron bars at risk of dampening the revelry within, and the Master would not have that. Those lucky enough to hold a coveted invitation to tonight’s masquerade made their way across the colossal cobblestone bridges that fed into the castle’s core, each Venthyr dressed more lavishly than the last. They dripped with rubies and diamonds and black pearls, golden chains softly rustling against velvet gowns and doublets. No expense could be spared if there was a chance that they might meet their Sire this night. He demanded perfection, and so perfection he would have.

The labyrinthian castle defied all laws of reality, twisting and turning in on itself with hallways that lead to nowhere and stairs that loop infinitely around the echoing stone corridors. An upstart without a proper escort could spend eons wandering Nathria’s grand halls before they ever found the main event that all visitors sought- the ballroom. Every visible inch of the space was leaden with scarlet drapery and gilded candelabras, their gentle light casting shadows on the walls and reflecting off the marble tiled floor. The results gave the whole room a hazy golden glow, much akin to how overindulging on anima consumption can simultaneously ignite and blur the user’s senses. It was a space designed to be jaw-dropping, and it served as the setting for the Dionysian delights of court. Though the ballroom was impressive enough empty, it came alive when the party started. Venthyr of all shapes and sizes packed the room to bursting, even in the air above the dance floor. Over the raucous chatter of the crowd and the tinkling of anima-flutes, a band of dredgers plunked away at waltz after waltz- some fast, some slow, all with an intoxicating rhythm that compelled the feet to move. Even the most sour of souls eventually joined the line for a dance or two. No one, in this afterlife or the next, threw a party like Denathrius.

Little did the pompous partygoers know that a much more exclusive, intimate soirée was taking place at that very moment beneath their feet. If you could peel back the layers of stone that made up the gargantuan structure- starting with the ballroom and digging down, past the private baths, the chef’s kitchen, the disembowelment room, and below the undercroft, one may find themselves standing outside the Master’s botanical laboratory. Two identical, ancient wooden doors guarded the entry, each with a long, pointed window that formed a coffin shape when together. The glass was opaque, but one could still make out the colors inside as they scurried around the room. Should you venture even further past the doors, one may find on any given night two very different people working within.

Cazimir looked the part of head scientist in his pale gray lab coat and goggles. A tug on the chain hanging next to his left ear brought down glass lenses in metal frames over his vision. He was fiddling with piles of indistinguishable plant matter with the intensity of some far more interesting task, while his lab assistant, Ciaragan, was throwing open windows to let the cool night air clear the room. Her smock was darker and dirtier than his, and hung a bit too short on her spindly legs as it was a much better fit for someone Dredger-sized. They were quite the odd couple- in every way Cazimir was ashen and cold, Ciaragan was warm and full of life. Where she was impatient and pessimistic, he was a calm, steady presence. The pair had worked together for what felt like years in Revendreth, though the exact amount of time could not really be measured. Tonight was nothing special. Even the soirée upstairs was to be expected, since Denathrius hosted guests around the clock. Cazimir hummed along with the soft melody floating through the open window, the music traveling down from the balconies of the grand ballroom above them.

“Ciara- pass me the forceps, please.”

She did as he asked, moving away from the open night and towards the dissection kit lying on his desk to retrieve the tool in question.

“Forceps,” she repeated as she plonked them into the palm of Cazimir’s hand.

“Much obliged,” was his reply. He didn’t look up from his work, but let his fingers curl around the metal instrument and added it to his ever-growing pile of sharp, pointy objects that teetered on the edge of the lab table. He resumed humming along with the waltz, hitting every note with eternal familiarity. Ciaragan rested her hand on the back of his chair as she silently watched him work.

“You enjoy this piece?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Though it is not my favorite. They haven’t played that one yet.”

“Are these unique to the Venthyr, or do you play songs from your home world?”

“We play whatever the Sire wants to listen to, of course. His will is the will of Revendreth.”

“Meaning his taste is the taste of Revendreth as well?” she prodded.

He shook his head, taking a moment to lean back in his chair and break the line of concentration he had been walking. Cazimir was always ready to humor Ciaragan’s questioning. There would be time for work later.

“Taste?” he half-chuckled, “Taste is unique to the individual. Entirely subjective.”

“Yet you claim to have a favorite,” she pushed back, a sly smile appearing at the corners of her mouth. “...so there must be something about that particular piece that makes it superior to other pieces.”

He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “‘Superior’ is the wrong choice of words here, I think. No, I would say instead that there is something appealing to me about that particular piece.”

“So it’s an issue of semantics, then.”

“It’s not an issue at all. It is an instinctive feeling- a warmth that starts in your core and spreads over your body, til your fingers cannot help but tap along to the rhythm and your head swims with the melody.” Cazimir reached up to remove his clunky goggles, tugged his leather work gloves from each finger, and smoothed a hand over his crown of curls.

“It is an attraction; natural as night and day.”

Ciaragan tried not to think about what Cazimir might find attractive. Instead she shrugged coolly before circling around him to take her chair on the opposite side of the lab table.

“I thought we were talking about philosophy, not physiology.”

“We can talk about whatever you desire to, my dear assistant.”

This brought the smile back to her lips. Ciaragan did not mind his doting on her- many more ‘dears’ had been slipping into Cazimir’s vocabulary as of late. He had also started calling her by her nickname, Ciara. The changes in their relationship were subtle, but never slipped past her unnoticed. How could they? No one else in this accursed place had ever shown her the compassion that Cazimir was generously giving. Many Venthyr considered it beneath their standing to interact with the souls bound to Revendreth, preferring the company of those freed from their sinful burdens already. But Cazimir was just... nice. He saw Ciaragan as the person she was and still wanted to be around her. That was more than she was used to.

“Why aren’t you at the party upstairs tonight?”

Cazimir flicked his eyes towards the ceiling, having nearly forgotten it entirely. “Bah, it is no concern of mine. The Master has given me enough to remain occupied with this evening. Besides, there will be another one tomorrow. Always is.”

“Still,” she said as she listened to the sounds of jubilation coming from the open window, “I’m sure you would have more fun there, rather than stuck in here with me.”

“Are you really so sure of this? You wound me, Ciara. I thought you knew me better by now.”

He clutched a hand over his heart and pantomimed his anguish, all the while unable to hide a grin. Ciaragan rolled her eyes and crossed her arms before defending herself.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. I can’t imagine picking at bark samples all night is more thrilling than whatever they’re getting up to.” She jabbed a finger upwards, though her eyes were set on the window where sounds of the party crept in to remind them of what they were missing.

Cazimir’s ear swiveled in its socket akin to a bat’s to locate the source of the noise. His eyes lit up when it hit him. “Ah! This is it, you hear? The one I was telling you about- my favorite…”

Before she even registered a change Cazimir appeared at her back and pulled the chair Ciaragan was seated in away from the lab table, bowed regally at the waist, and extended his hand for her to take. She was still in defensive mode, arms tightly wound across her chest and one leg slung over the other’s knee. Her cheeks flushed hot and red, and her mouth fell slightly agape. What was he doing?

“What are you doing?” She demanded, trying to convey the annoyance in her voice clearly.

“I’m asking you to dance the waltz! Does this gesture have a different meaning on your home world?”

“N-no but-”

Her feet left the ground before she could complete the objection. Cazimir was much larger than her and found no trouble scooping her up around the waist to pull her into a spin. He held her hand in his, clumsily at first, but adjusted to a gentle leading grip. Ciaragan felt his arm pinned against her back as he danced her around the room, her shoes barely brushing the floor. You could only just hear the muffled waltz drifting out of the grand ballroom above them. She had meant to protest, but no words would come to her. The mind was a fickle mistress- all that energy formulating how she would berate him for declining her declination was useless when he set her senses alight. Now all she could think about was the closeness of their bodies, the pulse in her wrist, the roughness of his palm, and the heat pooling in her belly. The air between them was hazy and blurred the edges of the world as they spun through it. Her golden gaze locked with his eyes, black as night, and saw the same conflicted desire reflected back at her.

Neither of them realized when the song had ended, or when they had stopped dancing. They just stood like that, holding each other, for some time afterwards. Neither quite knew what to say, either.

Finally, Cazimir blinked.

“I must say… You make an excellent dance partner…” His voice rumbled low in his chest.

Though his own appearance had been somewhat ruffled in their motion, the Venthyr’s undeath kept Cazimir from experiencing the breathlessness Ciaragan was still catching up from. She was much more disheveled than he, with strands of ebony hair falling over her face and dripping down her shoulders. Beads of sweat formed on her brow and her face was awash with rosy colors. Her chest rose and fell, the sound of her labored breathing the only accompaniment to the next song lilting in from above. She stared up at him under heavy eyelids.

Cazimir could not focus on one part of her for long as his eyes swept over every inch of Ciaragan, dark and hungry for her. She had never seen him look at her that way before. It was almost frightening. Almost.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Nothing, I- ...You’re so-”

With her free arm, she instinctively reached to push the hair from her eyes and fix herself. “Oh, I must look all out of sorts.”

He stopped her before she could reach anything, taking her ever so gently by the wrist and bringing it down to meet the other as he placed his hands around hers.

“You look like life itself, my dear. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

----------------

There were no birds to sing the arrival of day in Revendreth, no sunrise to paint the sky in pink and golden hues- mornings were just as shadowy and gray as the evening time. The guests of the Master dragged themselves back home at break of dawn, worn and weary and gorged on anima. Every soul in attendance would be riding on Denathrius’s coat tails for weeks to come as they delighted their village with tales of the Master’s decadence. Though all would claim to have had the best night of their afterlives, that special victory was quietly confined within two coffin-shaped doors deep inside Castle Nathria’s corridors. Ciaragan slept a dreamless slumber, while Cazimir kept watch over her nearby. What they shared was heaven, hell, and everything in between.

[lavenderbones22]

Call It Fate-Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx

Summary: Nikki keeps bumping into the same girl in the most random of places. It gets so out of hand that it starts freaking them both out. So they decide to just fuck.

A/N Just a random idea I had so just had to get it written :)

Word Count: 2871

---------

It had happened a few times that week. The first time was in a corner store in West Hollywood; his eyes followed me the whole way round while I tried to find my favourite candy. The second was when I was out having lunch with my cousin; he walked in and it would have been impossible to not recognise him with his black hair and eye-lined eyes. The third time was at the gas station and I nearly poured all of the gas over my converse when I saw him strutting his way inside to pay.

"What the fuck," I'd mumbled to myself as I watched him through the glass windows.

I must have looked like a lunatic the way that I was looking at him and he didn't strike me as the sort of guy who would miss an opportunity to say something to somebody who was staring. Especially if that somebody was a person he'd already seen twice that week.

"Are you following me or something?" He called out on his way back to his car, his smirk turning me on more than it should have but probably just as much as he meant it to.

"N-no, sorry," I laughed nervously, pulling the gas pump from my car and hanging it back up. Shit, he was making me a nervous wreck. I could feel him watching me still as I closed the gas tank and then fumbled around the passenger side for my purse.

"I don't mind it if you are," he spoke again, sounding closer this time and I could hear the humour in his voice.

"Well I'm not," I spoke with more conviction. He was on the other side of my car, his arm leaning on the roof casually. He was eyeing me like I was his prey.

"Why you out so late getting gas anyways?" He asked apathetically. I mustn't have heard what he said or even heard him speak because he waved his hand in front of my face.

Fuck. I was staring at him again.

"All good?" He chuckled.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" I ran my hand through my long hair and shifted in my spot. "I'm good, I'm just, you know, it's weird I've seen you so many times these last few days and I don't even know who you are."

"Well I don't know who you are either," he retorted. "Come on," he nudged his head in the direction of his car. "Come with me."

"What?" I raised my brows, shocked at his proposal. "I just said that I don't even know who you are and you're expecting me to get in your car with you?"

He nodded his head slowly, like he didn't understand why I had an issue with this.

"Do you think that because you're good looking that I'm just going to get in your car with you?" This guy was kidding himself! Sorry bud, but I don't really feel like being murdered tonight. "No thanks."

"Well yeah, I mean, it wouldn't be the first time it's happened." He looked genuinely perplexed by my resistance to him.

"Sorry, it's not gonna happen," I said as I headed inside to pay for my fuel.

"Let's make a deal then," he called out.

"What?" I called back without even looking at him and still walking but now slower because duh, obviously I wanted to know what his deal was; he was sexy as fuck.

"If we bump into each other again you'll give me the time of day. If not, well then have a good life."

I laughed to myself and turned around.

"You got it, rockstar," I winked.

"I'm not a rockstar, well, not yet anyway," he corrected me.

"Well you look like one."

Fast forward one month and I'm standing outside the Whisky on the Sunset Strip waiting to get inside. I loved this place but I didn't come here nearly as often as I would like to. My friends were already inside but I was late because work kept me and I always took way too long to get ready.

I hadn't seen that guy again and to be honest I was kind of bummed out about it. I told my roommate about him and she told me I was crazy to not have just screwed him around the side of the gas station.

"From the sounds of him I rekon he'd have totally gone for it," she'd said.

I was nearly at the front of the line when some commotion started. A bunch of guys came from inside with security guards behind them, shoving them aggressively and pushing them onto the sidewalk.

"I fuckin' told ya Nikki if it happens again you guys are out!" A really tall security guard emerged with a loud mouthed dude in his grip and I nearly died.

It was that guy.

"You can't fuckin' throw us out we make this fuckin' place!" He yelled in his face.

"Go home and sober up Nikki," the security guard said. "You too Tommy."

Nikki. That was his name.

"We didn't start the fucking fight man." The guy he referred to as Tommy spoke up. He was as tall as Nikki but maybe a little skinnier and he had light brown, wavy-ish hair. He was hot too.

What the hell is with all of these hot guys entering my life all of a sudden?

I watched Nikki as he stumbled around trying to find his feet and Tommy as he put a cigarette between his lips and tried to keep Nikki from wandering onto the road. I didn't know whether to say anything because he seemed pretty fucked up but this was kind of a big deal. I mean, we did agree that if we saw each other again we'd well, I didn't know what we'd agreed to do but it was something and that was good enough for me.

I toyed with my thoughts and it must have been written on my face or something because the next thing I knew that Tommy guy was coming over to me.

"Hey babe, do you have a lighter?"

"Uh, yeah, one sec," I stuttered awkwardly as I shuffled around my bag looking for my lighter. A few glances up and making eye contact with Tommy, an uncomfortable laugh from both of us then I found it. "Here ya go!" I extended my hand to him, he lit his cigarette while I watched him but also, I watched Nikki out the corner of my eye. He was standing very close to the side of the road, wobbling around and making me nervous. "Y-your friend, you better watch him." Tommy's eyes widened as if he had just remembered what a fucking fucked up mess his friend was right now, dashed over and grabbed him by both his upper arms. Tommy was taller but not by much.

"Sorry babe, thanks for this." His smile was sweet, innocent almost, as he handed me back my lighter and I was a little put out that Nikki hadn't even noticed me let alone looked in my direction. He was off in his own little world.

"Yeah, all good," I replied taking it from him.

The two boys headed off down the sidewalk and I felt my heart sink a little.

"Tommy, Nikki!" A small, well maybe just taller than me, blonde dude was coming out of the Whiskey calling their names and this made both of them turn around.

I could see even from the small distance I was standing from him that his eyes were glassy, vision most definitely hazy and eyes a sore looking red. He was wearing all black just like the previous times I'd seen him. I supposed this was his look; what he was known for. Those fuckin' skinny jeans man, they were as tight as hell and hugging him in all the right places. And his leather jacket, well that hung on him like he was born wearing it.

Shit. He was turning me on just by looking at him.

"No fuckin' way."

I vaguely heard him speak but didn't process it in time.

"We have to stop meeting like this." He was in front of me now and my sense of smell was overcome with the alcohol radiating off of him.

"I believe we'll call this fate, right?" I crossed my arms and looked up at him with a flirty smile.

"I believe we'll call this I think that you should come back to my place with me?" His voice was slower when he was fucked, raspier, dirtier even. If sex was a sound, it would be Nikki's voice when he was drunk.

He was closer, nearly pressed against me and I could feel the eyes of every girl in the line watching us.

"What makes you so sure I'll come with you this time?" I wanted to play hard to get even though I was very far from it right now.

"She's cheeky. I like that," he teased and suddenly it didn't feel like he was the same guy nearly stumbling onto a busy road five minutes ago. "Didn't we have a deal?" He whispered into my ear, hand now placed on my hipbone. Shivers.

"We did."

That was all he needed to hear right before he took my hand and dragged me out of the line.

"My friends are in there!" I laughed, pointing back at the Whiskey whilst trying to keep up with Nikki's suddenly weirdly sober strides.

"Don't worry, we live just 'round the corner," he said. "I'll bring you back after."

And indeed he did literally live right around the corner. I mean, you could see the Whiskey from his balcony.

"Wow, you weren't kidding," I mused, following Nikki up the stairs to his apartment, our hands still linked and Tommy and the blonde dude already inside.

"'Bout what?"

"Living right round the corner."

"Oh yeah," he laughed, leading me to a window. "We gotta climb through here." He stood to the side of the already opened window.

"Where's your door?"

"We had to nail it shut because the cops keep bustin' in on us," he told me nonchalantly.

"Oh...okay."

Once we were inside it didn't take long before I was pressed against the wall of what I think was Nikki's bedroom; his tongue down my throat.

We didn't need to talk about what was about to happen nor did I care that he was shit faced and I'd only had a couple of lines and a bourbon. All that mattered was we had somehow found ourselves in yet another random place but this time we'd decided to take the goddamn hint.

I ran my hands through his long hair, my fingers getting caught here and there and seemingly turning Nikki on even more. His cock was pressed into me, still covered by his skinny jeans but still very prominent and fuck I was keen.

He pushed me closer into him by gripping my ass with both hands, thrusting himself so I could feel as much of him as possible without being naked. I moved my hands from his hair and grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, too pulling him closer. Nikki intensified the kiss by grabbing my neck and shoving his tongue further into my mouth...if that were at all possible.

I was losing my breath at a rapid rate so broke away for a second. Nikki smiled a  sexy, drunken smile and whispered, "you are fucking irresistible." I ran my hands under his jacket and slid it down his arms.

"Then don't resist me," I whispered back, bringing his mouth back to mine.

Things progressed pretty quickly from there. Nikki's hands were suddenly gripping my tits, toying with my nipples since I'd forgone a bra with the dress I'd worn. Said dress was gone within seconds, a crumpled mess on the ground near his feet. His mouth was then drawn to one nipple, then the other, like a magnet.

I whined for him to take his shirt off. Nikki whined in return having to leave my tits alone for a second.

"They're fucking phenomenal," he said, eyes wide in hunger, mine probably the same because now he was shirtless.

It was weird to me for a second. I mean, we were both near naked and as far as he knew I didn't know his name and he certainly didn't know mine. Maybe this was a regular thing for him but for me, it was the first time having stranger sex.

In just my leopard print lacy thong, Nikki was practically drooling. Both hands were back gripping my now bare ass cheeks and and walked us over to his bed.

"Do you like to be on top?" He asked.

"Question is, do you want me to be on top?"

"I do," he smirked.

"Then yeah, I like to be on top."

Nikki managed to get us on the bed without letting me go, laying down on his back and positioning me just how he wanted; right on top of his cock that was nearly bulging out of his zipper.

"These really need to come off." I leaned down licking along the top of his jeans, unbuttoning and then unzipping them. They came down surprisingly easy along his legs, his thighs exposed and his cock tenting his underwear. He gasped briefly when I softly squeezed him, pulling me forward slightly so he can capture my nipple in his mouth again. "It's your turn now, bad boy," I purred moving away and back down to hover over his dick. I pushed his jeans to his ankles and do the same with his underwear. I'm pretty sure I audibly gasped when I was met with his gorgeous cock already leaking with pre cum.

Nikki grinned at my obvious arousal and pushed himself into my mouth. I closed my lips around him, pulling back my teeth and sucking hard. He groaned softly and grabbed my head, brushing my hair out of my face. I licked over the veins on his cock, massaging his balls, and kissed the tip.

"Fuck baby, keep going like that!"

The sound of a bunch of people talking and then loud music ground me to a halt. I looked wide eyed up at Nikki.

"It's okay," he chuckled. "They won't come in here with the door closed."

"How are you so sure about that?" I questioned him, his dick still firmly in my grasp.

"It's an unwritten law around here." His hand moved from my hair down to my face where he held my chin almost keeping me focused on him; like he was studying me. "Don't you worry that pretty face of yours." He stared at me for a second longer and I felt this weird sort of comfortableness from it.

"You really are beautiful though."

"And you're drunk."

He laughed and I put his dick back in my mouth. This time I licked from the base to the tip and sucked him again. I moaned around his dick and grabbed his hips to support me. I released him, and smirked up at him through my long lashes.

"You don't wanna cum yet, do you?" I asked.

He shook his head quickly. "Fuck no. Get up here!"

In an instant he'd literally ripped my thong off of me and guided my hips so that he could slip into me and fuck, slip into me did he ever.

He was huge. And it kinda hurt but also it kinda felt so fucking good from the get go. Nikki may very well have been the biggest guy I'd been with.

"Fuck you're tight," he moaned, his grip on my hips whitening his knuckles.

"And you're big," I cooed, not missing the proud smirk across his sweaty face.

I started to move slowly just to get the rhythm. Nikki's hands were guiding my movements in a way that felt pleasurable to him. He then increased the pressure on my hips and started to move me up and down his cock, causing me to groan and start panting. He felt so fucking good.

"Come on baby, that's it," he encouraged me. "Bounce for me baby girl...yeah...that's it."

My head was thrown back in bliss, Nikki's hands were holding onto my hips for dear life and my thighs were getting a better workout than the gym could have ever done. Our moans and groans mixed together in his small bedroom although drowned out by the loudness of the party now happening in his living room.

"Is this what you wanted when you first saw me?" I asked him, breathless, fishing for compliments.

"Fuck yeah it is!" He yelled. "Ahhh, yeah babe so good...I'm nearly there." Nikki's hips then started to meet mine as he got closer to his orgasm and those movements quite literally started to bring me undone as well.

"Fuck you're so deep," I cried. "Oh my god."

Within seconds I let out animalistic sounds from the pleasure Nikki had caused to erupt throughout my body and seconds after me he finally came, groaning loud enough for me to nearly hear him over the music.

I collapsed on his sweaty chest, breathing heavily and laughing a little. Nikki's arms wrapped themselves around my back and he held me long enough that it started to feel like we knew each other. You know, actually knew each other.

We laid in semi silence for a few seconds just basking in our post-coital calmness.

"My name's Nikki, by the way."

I snickered.

"Yeah, I know."

TAGLIST: @chocolatealmondmilkshake

[kenzie-kitty]

Enemies? Part 2 -Batman/Joker

Part 2 of “Enemies?”, which was posted not too long before this.

Definitely a trigger warning for a suicide attempt in this part :/

Part 1 is here

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was evening in Gotham, raining as usual, and the sun was setting slowly behind the tall buildings. The only strange thing about the night was that it was the end to a relatively uneventful day; the bank robbery was the only crime that had happened, and no one had actually gotten hurt.

Joker wasn’t feeling up for any other adventures at the moment, and he doubted he would any time soon. He considered taking off on an early retirement, but he’d come to actually like Gotham and the people in it. Specifically one person.

As he wasn’t doing anything illegal, he chose to go for a walk; he loved the smell of gasoline and smoke that had permeated the joke shop due to his arrival, but city-polluted fresh air was just as great. The streets were deserted, as they generally were in the southern side of the city, so Joker didn’t have any issues while he strolled through the cracked streets. His mind kept going back to his Dark Knight, the man who had stolen his heart without even knowing it. He couldn’t help but give himself the tiniest slice of hope that they’d end up together; he wanted desperately to know the Bat inside and out.

‘Don’t be stupid, clown. He’s a hero, you’re a villain; you’ll never be together. He’s a million times too good for you,’ his mind taunted him, slashing at his emotions with mental knives. He argued back and forth with the harsh little voice, eventually giving in and agreeing with it. He even started to join it.

His distracted mind was the reason he didn’t see the dark shape coming at him from his side.

~~~~~~~~~

Bruce, now in his Batsuit, made a quick trip to the police station as soon as the sun began to sink. He’d wanted to know more about the robbery, surprised to hear that Joker hadn’t made his usual jests or even shown his face. Come to think of it, the clown had been acting stranger than usual for the past couple months; Batman had heard him more than once muttering to himself, and he thought he’d heard the clown say something about a dark night.

Before he left the station, Gordon pulled him aside into the lockup.

“Listen, Batman. We’ve all noticed how you and Joker seem more… friendly than you used to, and we’ve kinda found that if we do as he says most people survive. So, uhm, we still have his coat and weapons from yesterday and I thought I’d give them to you to get back to him,” Gordon explained, handing Batman the dirty purple coat and a small shoebox filled with the aforementioned weapons.

“We aren’t friends. He doesn’t have friends. He’s just calmed down a bit, and I’m taking advantage of the down-time,” Batman claimed, taking the Joker’s belongings. He left the station and climbed onto his bike, speeding off in the direction of the bakery he’d dropped his clown off at the night before.

‘There I go again, calling him my clown,’ he thought, getting more and more annoyed at himself. He’d even asked Alfred about the food, but nothing sounded like it would’ve caused this. Besides, it would’ve stopped by this point had it been the food.

The bakery came into view and Batman parked in the shadows between it and its neighbor. Looking in one of the broken windows, he could see that no one had so much as touched anything inside recently; he wasn’t surprised he’d been mislead, Joker was becoming less hostile but he wasn’t getting any dumber.

He decided to walk around in case he could find any semblance of life in the dirtier side of the city. It didn’t take long for him to hear the distracted mutters of the Joker, nor did he have to look far to figure out where the costumed man was. He saw the green hair first, glowing slightly neon in the light of a lamp, and then the greasepaint came into view. Batman had to smirk at the way Joker would subconsciously flick the strands of hair from his face.

It was then that he noticed the coat he was wearing, identical to the one he’d left at the police station. He almost laughed aloud at the thought that the Joker had a closet full of identical outfits; he managed to achieve a blank look on his face before he moved toward his clown. ‘Stop calling him that,’ came the little voice again, but he ignored it.

As he got closer to Joker, he heard parts of what he was muttering. “Stupid clown… never be together… too good for you… never deserve his love… might as well die…” He suddenly became concerned for Joker, although he had no idea who or what he was thinking about. He closed the distance between them and shoved the clown into an alleyway, holding him against the wall with his hands over his head. For a moment, Joker struggled, not knowing for sure who was holding him down; the second he realised it was the Bat, he calmed down and sighed.

“If this is about the bank, it was because I got… bored,” Joker claimed, an unreadable look on his face.

“You’ve been awfully calm lately,” Batman accused, pushing his other questions to the end of his list. “What are you planning?”

“Do I really look like a guy with a plan?” Joker retorted immediately. “No, I’m just… letting everyone get used to the silence before I hit them with a big surprise.”

Batman narrowed his eyes at his clown, pressing Joker’s wrists together in his one hand as he began to struggle slightly. He couldn’t help but notice the lean yet muscular body hidden by the layers of tailored fabric, and the full lips underneath the bright red greasepaint. He mentally shook his head to refocus and continued the conversation.

“You left your things at the police station.”

Joker shrugged. “Yeah, but I know a good tailor and I have many more weapons than where those came from,” he smirked and winked at the Bat.

Batman kept his face straight as he revealed the coat and shoebox with his free hand. “Now you have the original coat and more weapons. Gordon wanted rid of them,” he supplied the explanation before Joker could ask; he was always doing that, giving the explanation the second he assumed his clown would ask. ‘Stop calling him yours, Wayne! He’s not, he’d probably rather be with Dent than you.’ He once again pushed down the voice.

“Why give them back when you know I’ll probably just cause more damage with them?”

Batman shrugged, “They’re yours and Gordon doesn’t want them. Neither do I.” He mentally punched the voice telling him he was lying about not wanting them, if only just to have a piece of the clown with him.

Joker stared at him for a heartbeat, suspicion clear in his eyes, before nodding slowly. “Well, I can’t take them from you with my hands caught above my head, now can I?”

Batman grunted and released one of his hands, quickly tightening his grip on the other to keep Joker where he was. The clown grabbed his things, first putting the coat over his arm then holding the box in his hand. “Uh, thanks,” he muttered, looking away from the caped vigilante and out into the dark street.

“I have more questions,” Batman informed, gaining back his clown’s attention. Joker nodded and put on his normal bored expression. “Ask away,” Joker motioned for him to continue with his freed hand, the weapons in the box sliding around making clicking sounds as they hit each other.

“Why steal money when you’ve said yourself that it’s not about the money,” Batman asked, dark eyes narrowing. Everybody had wondered it, constantly saying that he was contradicting himself.

Joker sighed in slight annoyance. ‘No one ever listens!’ His verbal replay showed he was becoming tired of answering the question. “It isn’t about the money, not for me. But, to everyone else, it is! See, people think that it’s money that can make them happy, but in reality it’s anything else. Friends, adventures, excitement, love! That’s what brings happiness; not money.”

Batman was taken aback by the answer. He didn’t think his clown- this mass murdering, bank robbing clown- was so sentimental. He then had to wonder if Joker had these things; he knew his clown had his own adventures and excitement, but friends and love? Everyone in the city was awaiting the day they’d see the clown’s corpse on TV as they danced around it.

“How’d you come up with that?”

Joker shrugged as best he could with one arm still extended above his head, slightly painfully he might add, and looked away from his Bat again. “Let’s just say it, uh, came to me in a dream,” he jested quietly, licking one of the scars inside his cheek. He was trying his hardest (ha, hardest) to ignore the way his Bat’s body was pressing against him; there was hardly any space between them. He tried to figure out a way to get out of his Knight’s grip, or at the very least put a small amount of space between them.

“Would you, uh, mind not standing so close to me? I’d rather not be pressed against you,” Joker lied. He internally winced when he noticed that he hadn’t made that statement sound anything close to being the truth.

Batman heard the lie in Joker’s words, though his mind tried to tell him he was imagining things. ‘Joker couldn’t possibly feel anything close to even liking me. He just wants to play mind games, just like he always does, don’t pay any attention to what he wants.’ The Bat ignored the Joker’s request and asked yet another question. “What’s the next big surprise?”

Joker found it increasingly more difficult to concentrate, especially when Batman repositioned his feet to find a more comfortable stance and inadvertently brushed harshly against Joker’s hips. Joker took slow, calming breaths to try to cool himself down, not hearing Batman’s question as he did so.

“Joker, answer the question,” Batman growled, surprised he was able to hide his reaction to accidentally brushing against his clown’s hips. Joker wasn’t responding and Batman could see that something had made him uncomfortable. ‘No, he can’t be… He’s just playing around,’ his brain insisted even as Batman could see a flash of… arousal? flash through his clown’s eyes.

“Joker?”

Joker blinked, finally calm enough to realise that his Knight was staring at him suspiciously through his mask’s eye holes. He cleared his throat and managed a smile. “Heh, gotcha!” He shouted weakly, somehow knowing his Bat wouldn’t be convinced. He had to get away before he said anything more condemning. “I, uhm, just realised that I, uh, left my oven on,” he smirked nervously before somehow wriggling out of his Bat’s grip and taking off down the road.

He ran fast, not caring how awkwardly tight his pants had gotten; he had to make it back to the joke shop without further stalling. He was close to his hideout when he was again shoved into a wall in an alley by his Knight.

“Oh, hello. So we meet again, Dark Knight,” he greeted as sarcastically as he could to cover his arousal. The fact that he’d been forcefully slammed into a wall (twice) was not helping.

“What are you hiding, Joker,” Batman growled, hoping to get the answer to the underlying question. It suddenly occurred to him what Joker had called him. ‘Dark Knight? He’d been muttering about a dark knight for days, could he have meant… me?’

“N-nothing, I have nothing to hide. Well, I mean, I do but nothing actually of concern to you,” Joker mentally cursed himself as he managed to somehow sound more suspicious.

“What did you call me?”

Joker’s paint covered eyebrows knitted together at the question. He’d been expecting something more… aggressive to follow his statement. “W-what do you, uh, mean?”

“You called me ‘Dark Knight’,” Batman clarified. “Why?”

Joker mentally stumbled for an answer that wouldn’t reveal how he felt; he couldn’t think of a believable reason to call him that, not one that wouldn’t bring the expectation of further explanation. He swallowed thickly, looking everywhere except his Dark Knight. He hadn’t even realised he’d called him that out loud, and he certainly hadn’t been wanting to do so.

“You’re not answering,” Batman growled. Joker couldn’t help but be aroused by the deep sound of the false voice and the feeling of being pressed against by the man who haunted his mind day and night. He knew that if his Bat moved his leg even slightly to the left he’d be able to feel Joker’s erection through both their layers of clothing. He had to distract the masked vigilante somehow and run; he didn’t want to hurt him, he’d done enough of that already. So he went with the next thing he thought of.

Batman’s eyes widened as his clown’s painted face was suddenly closer, their lips forced together with the surprisingly strong hand of the clown. He stood there, head stooped down in their kiss, as Joker let out a happy sounding hum. Then, as quickly as it had happened, the kiss stopped. Batman opened his eyes, although he wasn’t sure when they had closed, to see an empty space in front of him.

Joker was gone, but his paint was on Batman’s face as the only evidence he’d been there in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Joker slammed the joke shop’s door closed and leaned back against it, sliding down to sit on the floor. He felt the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. ‘Why did I do that?! He knows… He fucking knows!’

His head fell forward into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. He tried to hold back the tears, knowing they’d lead to sobs; he hadn’t cried in years and knew he wouldn’t be able to handle himself if he started now. The salty liquid streaming down his face, creating tracks in his makeup that was already smearing off, had its own ideas. His shoulders shook as he realised he’d made a mistake by letting himself feel anything for his… the Batman.

He stood suddenly, slamming his fist backward into the wooden door and ignoring the sting in his hand as he walked into the back room he’d made into his bedroom. He found the bottle of vodka he’d taken from a gas station a couple days ago and twisted the cap off. Taking a long swig from it, he fell back onto his small bed and let sad sleep take over.

~~~~~~~~~

Bruce pulled the last of his costume off and tossed it to the ground of the Batcave. He’d changed into his normal clothing before he remembered the greasepaint that was still on and around his mouth. He pressed two fingers against his lips and pulled them away to see them covered in red and white paint. He wiped the last of it off his face with his black shirtsleeve and exited his secret hideout. He headed home to his penthouse, hoping to be able to think over his clown’s actions.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time had passed since their kiss, ten hours to be exact. Joker hadn’t left his hideout in that time, instead spending the day sitting on his bed unmoving. His minions had knocked on the door plenty of times but left believing he wasn’t there; he knew at some point they’d either enter to check on him or completely leave him be, but he didn’t care. Caring had been what hurt him in the first place. It always did.

He vaguely noticed the sun setting and the room becoming darker as time slipped deeper into the night. He supposed he should get up and eat or drink something before he passed out, but couldn’t bring himself to move until he decided to do something to get rid of his feelings.

He stood shakily and walked slowly to the dingy bathroom. His reflection showed a tired man with more tanned skin showing than greasepaint and dark rings under his eyes. The green in his hair was fading, but he didn’t have the energy to re-dye it. Looking away from the grimy mirror, he picked up the three shallow jars of his makeup.

He opened the first jar to see pasty white cream that he knew would be cold on his warm skin. He carefully slathered it over his face, leaving the areas around his eyes, mouth and scars clean of white as he knew they’d be covered in their own designated colors. Closing that jar, he twisted open the jar of black, seeing inky darkness as he did so. His fingers dipped inside and brought his covered fingers to his eyes. He smeared it over the lids, making sure no skin was showing through.

The red was always last, and he made sure to wipe the white and black residue off his fingers before he coated them in the crimson paint. He covered his lips first, pushing his thoughts of Batman’s soft lips as far from his mind as he could; he knew any tears would ruin the perfected makeup. His fingers painted the red over his scars and he shuddered slightly as he felt the jagged edges.

He stepped out of the bathroom and pulled on his purple coat, the one his Bat had brought back to him, feeling the familiar slight bulge of his favorite blade in his pocket. Sighing and rolling his shoulders back in a move of decision, he left the joke shop, thinking it would be his last time seeing the old building.

~~~~~~~~~~~ (Trigger warning for this upcoming part)

Bruce was back in his Batsuit as he stood at the top of one of the many skyscrapers of Gotham. The sun had set once again as he stood watching over his city. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice come over the radio waves through the earpiece in his mask.

“Batman, I know you’re listening to this and even if you, uh, aren’t, you’ll hear it later,” Joker’s voice said quietly. He sounded… different; there was a twinge of pain in his nasally voice. “I, uh, I just want to say that we’ve had a good run, you and I. But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. I suppose I should resort back to my more normal self and give you a time frame to find your, uh, victim. So, you have five minutes until they’re… dead.”

Batman immediately jumped down from the building, using his suit’s wings to guide him away from the ground and across the sky; Alfred, who had been listening, used the signal to pinpoint the location of the voice. It took only a minute and a half for Batman to find the place; Joker was at the top of one of the largest skyscrapers in the city. And he was alone.

The Bat quickly used his Bat hook to scale the building, leaving him with only a minute left to figure out his clown’s plans. The clown in question had moved to the opposite end of the roof and was standing on the edge of the roof, his back to the vigilante.

“You found me,” he halfheartedly congratulated him, his shoulders slouched as he stared down to the ground.

“Who’s the victim?” Batman questioned, worriedly hoping he wouldn’t get the answer he was thinking. Hope was not on his side.

“Don’t you get it, Dark Knight? It’s me!” Joker shouted suddenly, swaying forward concerningly. He glanced at the purple watch he had around his wrist to see that he had ten seconds left. He turned, and what Batman saw made him gasp.

Those green eyes that were usually filled with anger and murder were now filled with sadness and tears. His makeup, which had obviously been applied with great care, now had streaks on the cheeks. A gust of wind blew his coat back to reveal his favorite suit, the one with the metallic blue, hexagonal patterned dress shirt, green vest, purple jacket, and purple slacks. He had a light green pocket square in the jacket’s breast pocket and shining green cufflinks on the sleeves that peeked out from under his coat’s sleeves. He was dressed how he wanted to be remembered; as the Clown Prince of Crime.

“Joker… You don’t want to do this,” Batman reasoned, taking a step toward him.

Five seconds.

“Yeah, I, uh, really do,” Joker confirmed quietly, edging his feet back. “And you won’t stop me. Because this city would condemn you for saving the terrorist clown.”

Three seconds.

“I’ll save you because no one deserves to die, especially not like this. Especially not you,” Batman insisted, taking two more steps forward.

One second.

Joker gave what he thought would be his last smile. “Goodbye, my Dark Knight.”

He felt the upward draft hit him hard as he fell backward off the building; his wavy hair flew up along the sides of his painted face and his coat was plastered against his back. He knew more tears were leaking out of his eyes, but he didn’t care; he closed his eyes against them and waited for his body to hit the ground and blackness to take over.

He must have been halfway to the ground when something wrapped around his ankle and stopped his fall. ‘No! No, no, no, no, no! He’s not supposed to save me! He can’t save me! We’re enemies, and it isn’t even like he’s breaking his rule! I was killing myself!’ He mentally screamed at his Bat as he was lifted back up to the roof. His back hit the side of the building every so often, but he barely felt it as the (second) bottle of vodka he’d downed merely fifteen minutes ago finally numbed his body.

“You,” he muttered with depressed annoyance as he was pulled over the edge and set down in a sitting position. “You just couldn’t let me die. Why not?! Huh?! I have nothing left to live for, Batsy! You’re the only one who’s willing to save me, and now it’s for no real reason. You wouldn’t have broken your rule, I was jumping on my own! Why can’t you just forg-”

His depressed speech was suddenly cut off as his lips were covered by Batman’s. Shocked, he froze, not sure if this was some sick trick to just shut him up or if it was real. He couldn’t sit still for long, however, and he leaned into his Bat’s chest, returning the kiss wholeheartedly as he placed his hands lightly on his chestplate. He felt as Batman grinned against his lips and couldn’t help but pull away to see the rare sight.

Batman was still smiling as his clown pulled away; he could accept that he was in love with the murderer and that the murderer was in love with him.

Joker smiled back at his Dark Knight, then looked away as he realised he’d probably never get anything like this again. I mean, they were enemies. Right?

“Hey, look at me,” a smooth voice said. Joker knew it had been his Bat, but it wasn’t gravelly; it was familiar, though he didn’t know why. Looking up, confused, he opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by a gloved finger.

“Listen, Joker,” he started. Joker braced himself for the next words he knew he would hear. “I think I should get you off of this building just in case you got physically hurt or you decide to try again.”

Joker hadn’t been expecting that to be the next words, but he nodded. Batman lifted him with one arm before grabbing him around the waist. “Now, we could take the stairs, but it’s faster to fly,” the Bat smirked, giving his clown a slight squeezed before jumping off the building and using his free arm to guide them down. Joker felt the updraft of wind hit his face, but this time he wasn’t crying or falling. He was floating with a grin as he held onto his Bat’s arm.

They landed safely on their feet and Batman lead them to where his Bat Bike was waiting only a few blocks away. They hopped on, Batman in front and Joker on the back for the second time that week with his arms around his Bat’s waist, the dark cape being moved to the side. They sped off in the direction of the storage lot for Wayne Enterprises. Joker wondered what they were doing there when Batman likely knew where Joker was staying, but he didn’t say anything as he navigated inside the fenced in lot.

“Normally, I would’ve blindfolded you or something, but I have to doubt you’d do anything to hurt me at this point,” Batman informed him as he stopped before a group of large storage trailers. Joker was still getting used to the familiar smooth voice that was obviously the vigilante’s real voice.

“You could blindfold me anyway, I wouldn’t mind,” the clown teased, resting his painted chin on his Dark Knight’s shoulder. The latter glanced back with a smirk before slowly driving them forward and through the large door of one. The inside was dark for a split second before the floor began to drop down; Joker was amazed by how discreet the Batcave was made. No one would think to look in Wayne Enterprises.

It took only a moment for his amazement to be for the brightly lit, white room. He saw a desk covered with high-tech computers and televisions sitting in the center of the floor. To his right, a section of the wall rose up to reveal a dark garage-type space and he saw his Bat rolling his bike into the space before closing it.

“Alright, c’mere. I have to check for wounds, so take off your coat and jacket,” Batman instructed, motioning for Joker to follow him and sit at the desk. Joker did as he was told and looked around as Batman placed his two clothing items at the empty end of the desk. “Your shirt will have to come off, as well, so I can actually see if there are wounds,” he teased gently, his lips hovering just next to Joker’s ear.

The makeup-covered man felt a small shiver traveled up his spine as he unbuttoned his flashy shirt and folded it sloppily in his lap. The vodka was wearing off and he could feel fresh bruises on his back and a slight headache was pounding in his head.

“No bleeding, so that’s good,” Batman murmured as his fingers slid lightly around his clown’s back. He was shocked into momentary silence to see scars scattered across his skin, and that was only his back; he had to wonder what -or who- had happened to this man, besides himself. He stepped slightly over to Joker’s side to check his arms and head for any wounds he might have overlooked. There were less scars on Joker’s biceps, but the few that were there looked to be painful.

“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?” Joker jested quietly, feeling the slight sensation of bare hands brushing over his skin. He suppressed another shiver as he realised his Bat was examining his other scars, the ones he could keep hidden. “I know it, uh, looks gruesome,” he swallowed quietly, pulling his arms quickly through the sleeves of his shirt and redoing the buttons.

“They suit you, Mr. Puts-his-own-life-in-danger-so-many-times-I’m-amazed-you’re-still-alive,” his Bat joked, resting his forearms over Joker’s shoulders.

Joker snorted but remained quiet as he leaned back into the armored chest of his Bat. He froze as the entrance opened again; his Bat stood up straight and blocked the view of his clown from the arriving newcomer.

“Alfred, how good to see you,” Batman greeted in his false voice. Joker heard quiet footsteps coming closer and he couldn’t help but panic a little as he thought of what this Alfred would think. ‘Oh, fuck! What if he’s already in a relationship with this guy?’

“Well, I didn’t see you back at the pe-”

“I’ve been busy,” Batman interrupted, gaining a suspicious look from his elderly butler. He motioned with his head that he had someone here, but didn’t move to reveal who it was just yet. “You remember when I had you look for where the Joker was? Well… Found ‘im!” His false voice had gone back to his normal one as he forced Joker’s chair around and moved to stand beside him as his clown waved nervously at the old butler.

“Uh, hi,” Joker greeted slowly, looking at his Bat and back to the nicely dressed, older British man a few times.

Alfred stood looking at the two for a heartbeat before he addressed his master. “If you’re going to bring you boyfriend to you cave, you could at least put a sock on the pod’s door,” he teased, giving Batman a smirk.

The caped man was stunned into silence by the statement as Joker laughed incredulously; the Bat smacked his shoulder playfully, causing his clown to let out an amused “Ow.”

Alfred shook his head and turned back to exit  the cave, muttering something about young love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okie, so I’m gonna post the rest in a final post a.k.a. Part 3

I hope if you’ve made it this far you’re enjoying this. I’m honestly feeling giddy like I did when this was first written, so I hope it’s well received.

Please don’t copyright, it would be super mean.

[whoareurl]

Causing Chaos in Pyjamas (6/9)

While Q dozed restlessly, he had fleeting snippets of dreams involving guns and monsters and 007. He tried not to examine the significance of James Bond saving him from ankle-grabbing tentacle monsters in too much detail, especially considering he was technically the damsel in distress in that particular scenario. When he woke up, it was to the man himself securing a bandage around his injured foot, a small first aid kit open at his side with its guts scattered haphazardly around Bond’s knees.

(Bond’s shirt had a small rip on the right side of the chest just below his collarbone and Q had to try very hard not to look at it.)

“You must be really out of it,” Bond noted when he saw Q’s eyes were on him. “You didn’t even flinch when I used the alcohol.”

Q wriggled his toes experimentally, feeling the bandage shifting against his skin. Bond had done a good job but, then again, he was something of a practiced expert in field first aid so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.

“Thank you, 007,” said Q with all the formality he could muster.

Bond’s smile was soft.

For a moment, Q found it all to easy to forget that they were currently hiding out at the old MI6 emergency base to avoid being captured and...killed? Q hadn’t given it much thought. He wasn’t entirely sure what the hackers wanted with them, exactly. They had their data - or so they thought - so what possible reason could they have for this bizarre pursuit? Q was well and truly baffled; a rare occurrence in and of itself.

“Have to get you some shoes,” Bond muttered, breaking the companionable silence with a concerned glance at Q’s bare and battered feet. “I should have thought of it sooner and then you wouldn’t have had to run through the tube like that. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get an infection.”

Q tried to smile. “I’m up to date on my vaccinations, I assure you.”

Perhaps as some sort of show of solidarity, Bond chuckled amiably and patted Q’s knee. By now, his pyjamas were dirtier than pyjamas ought to be with dirty marks on the knees and a general discolouration around the ankles. They weren’t exactly built for outdoor use.

Glancing around, Q noticed that the base looked very different than it had during their time there. The desks were bare and several were missing. A few stray wires lay scattered across tables and on the floor (Q would have to see about reprimanding whichever of his minions were careless enough to leave them behind) and the room was shrouded in darkness. When he looked up at the ceiling, Q realised that was because only the light on the far side of the room had a working bulb. Typical of MI6, really. Typical of the British government, in all honesty.

Q sighed, a wet, heaving sound that crackled on its way out. He winced immediately at the sound of the obvious thick congestion clogging his poor chest. As he gave his chest a soft rub with the palm of his hand, he caught Bond’s eye.

“Don’t suppose they left the kettle behind, did they?” He asked hopefully.

Bond grinned and sauntered off to the little kitchenette just through one of the doors.

“You’re in luck,” Bond’s voice called, muffled by the walls. He reappeared in the doorway, waving a white plastic kettle which Q suspected was from Argos. Still, if it could heat water, Q didn’t particularly care.

Minutes later, Bond placed a steaming cup into Q’s hands and his chilled fingers sang with the warmth as they curled around the curves. The cup was one of those cups that Q absolutely loathed; it was a cup sporting an inspirational quote in curled lettering which changed colour on a gradient.

Reach for the stars.

If he’d managed to eat anything, Q might have vomited. No doubt this had once belonged to R who was nuts about things like this.

Wistfully, Q thought of Q-Branch, his branch, and the minions who even now were working there tirelessly to keep the country safe. Q had a deep affection for his subordinates, especially the clever ones (like R), and would defend any one of them against whatever threat stood in their path.

He took a sip of his tea.

“Christ,” he sputtered, quickly swallowing the offensive substance Bond had had the nerve to present to him and call tea. “What the hell is this?”

Bond’s face sported a look of self-satisfied mirth. “No Earl Grey, I’m afraid. You’ll have to make do with the cranberry and raspberry stuff I found in the cupboard.”

Q grimaced, shooting a withering scowl in Bond’s direction as he took another sip, this time more prepared for the sickly sweet flavour to his his tongue. It wasn’t what he’d been hoping for but he knew that beggars could not be choosers and right now, on the run with a cold and a smarmy double-oh, Q would definitely classify himself as a beggar.

“Bond, I’m reassigning you,” he muttered grumpily as he swallowed another mouthful. “This is an affront to Queen and Country and it needs to stop.”

While Bond smiled back at him, Q let the steam clear his sinuses. It made his nose run but thankfully it didn’t trigger those horrid itchy sneezes he’d spent most of the morning cursing. There was only so much the steam produced Q’s small cup of tea could do in the face of his aggressive congestion but even the slight relief it granted him from this gruesome headache was welcome. He still felt like there was an entire orchestra in there playing in dissonance, the pressure of the noise making his temples pulse and swell in an effort to contain it, but in the absence of painkiller this would have to do.

“I believe this particular brand is manufactured in the US,” said Bond offhandedly and Q grimaced.

“Even worse,” he muttered and thankfully Bond didn’t comment on the fact that he finished the entire cup anyway.

With the comfortable heat of the tea in his stomach and its residual warmth settling nicely in his chest, Q was starting to feel somewhat better. The breakdown Bond had suggested he save for later didn’t appear to be making a comeback. That was something, he supposed. Handling mental health issues didn’t feature nearly as prominently on MI6’s extensive list of required training for field agents as Q thought it ought to, given their penchant for dragging innocent and frightened civilians into the mix with them. Bond, of course, was particularly guilty of this; he couldn’t resist a pretty face.

The improvement was short lived, however, as Q suddenly found himself shrinking into himself with another wet, rumbling cough. Before he could curl up in a pathetic ball, Bond’s hands were on his shoulders. Bond moved to sit beside him and curled one arm around his waist to keep him upright. Q could only rub uselessly at his chest while Bond did the same to his back, waiting for it to pass.

“You need a doctor,” Bond stated plainly while Q’s lungs tried to clear themselves to no avail. He could barely breathe and Bond’s hand on his back was a welcome comfort. “We need to get you to MI6. You sound like you’ve got the Thames in your lungs.”

When his chest finally stopped spasming, Q gave a hum of agreement. “Not to alarm you, but I fear I might be developing a chest infection,” he said nonchalantly. He didn’t want to put Bond on even higher alert by suggesting that it might - might - be pneumonia. He’d had it twice before and it had certainly felt a lot like this.

The Thames comparison was rather accurate given how little space Q felt had been reserved for air in his crackling, wheezing chest. Really, it was getting to the point where Q could be attacked by a savage rhino and think well, this might as well happen. However, a potential chest infection was hardly worrying him as much as trying to lose their pursuers. Besides, he’d still been able to run even if the experience had left him terribly breathless. Even if it did turn out to be something a little more serious- well, they could deal with it later.

Apparently, Bond didn’t agree with Q’s order of priorities.

“It’ll be no good outsmarting them if you die of dysentery before we can get you somewhere safe,” he grumbled and something about the way he said ‘we’ made Q’s thick chest feel just a little lighter.

“This isn’t the Oregon Trail, Bond. I don’t think dysentery is a typical complication of the common cold,” Q quipped.

Bond grunted. “It’d be much easier if I could take you to a safehouse.”

(Q chose not to point out that Bond had insisted they head for MI6 not moments before.)

“I can do much more good from HQ,” said Q instead with an absent wave of his hand.

“Maybe,” Bond conceded. “But I’m sure your immune system would appreciate some help. Rest might not be a bad idea.”

Q could feel his headache returning. “Bond, I know you mean well, but my agents are in danger because of me,” he said with steel in his tone. “If I can be doing something useful, I can’t justify resting.”

Bond muttered something that Q couldn’t hear but he didn’t ask Bond to repeat himself.

After a beat of silence, Q added, “We should get going.”

Bond shook his head. “Another half hour. Then we’ll go.” He ignored the look Q was giving him (which was incredibly vexing) and continued, “Call it instinct but I’d rather wait a bit longer. Besides, you’re dead on your feet and you’ll be a liability if you can’t even stand.”

Q wanted to protest because he was certain that Bond’s reasons for staying had much more to do with Q’s health than they should have done considering how many agents were currently in danger. But he had to concede that last point. He needed a clear head or he’d end up getting them both caught.

Reluctantly and with all the grace of a downed elephant, Q slumped over on the floor again with Bond’s one-armed suit jacket draped over him. It didn’t do much to stem his brutal shivers but it was a nice gesture nonetheless. It smelled of Bond - all cologne and alcohol and charm. Q couldn’t help but find the familiar smell comforting. Of all the people he could be stuck with in this situation, Bond would definitely have been his first choice. Quite aside from the fact that he was a trained spy with a licence to kill and a poorly-hidden protective streak when it came to his Quartermaster, he was also Q’s favourite double-oh to go toe-to-toe with in a war of wits. Bond could give as good as he got and Q could well appreciate a sharp tongue and a quick mind.

“Stop thinking so loud, Q, or they’ll find us in a heartbeat,” Bond teased.

Never mind. Q would much rather be stuck here with anybody else. He made a half-arsed attempt to flip Bond off and let his mind wander. He tried to think of his meditation CDs with their soft ocean waves and creaking forests. Bond would probably tease him about it if he knew but Q would be quick to tell him that 00-bloody-7 was 90% of the reason he needed them in the first place.

Listen to him, having arguments with James Bond in his own bloody head.

Half an hour passed but it was closer to forty-five minutes before Bond roused him, helping him to his feet and helping Q slip his arms (well...arm) into Bond’s jacket in a way which was almost motherly. Bond’s poorly containing smirk at the sight of Q’s pyjama-clad arm sticking out of the hole where the right arm should be, however, was distinctly reminiscent of a teasing older brother.

Q shot him a withering scowl. “Not one word, 007.”

For once in his life, James Bond said nothing.

[space-whalesharks]

35 / “is that my shirt?” :D

A coincidence turns out to be a curse and a blessing for Deputy Nic. 

Nicolette Raylan was getting extremely tired of John Fuckface Seed’s Wile E. Coyote bullshit.

He had won their game of cat and mouse fair and square twice now. A zig when she should’ve zagged and a bliss bullet to the collarbone was one thing. The Tree Incident was another. But this?

After she escaped her current predicament, she was going to help those PAs murder Guy Marvel. Forget about the hammer or screwdriver they had suggested, she was going to do it with her bare hands.

He had a fucking film set off in a heavily wooded area in the Valley.

Or, she had thought it was heavily wooded, except every tree in a twenty foot radius was fake, there was a disturbingly realistic rock wall as a backdrop, and like some sort of fucking idiot, she had walked right through it, thinking it was just part of the Valley.

Except it wasn’t. It was one of his sets. One of his abandoned sets. Because John had apparently taken it over, chased everyone away and set up traps. Stupid ones, like some cartoon rope noose thing that caught you around the leg and yanked up so you were dangling from a branch.

Who the fuck did that in reality?

Well, that’s what she got for responding to a distress call that sounded fishy to begin with. ‘Someone’ had seen a hiker fall off a cliff near the edge of the Valley and couldn’t get to them from ‘wherever they were.’

She could just make out the outline of a crash dummy a few feet away lodged behind a rock. Because of course John had the fucking money and too much time to just have one laying around for just such an occasion.

She had never been one for science in school, so she figured any more than ten minutes of hanging upside down was going to be an issue. She figured she had been hanging, contemplating life and its unfairness for five- it was time to make the fucking call. She lifted the radio from her belt, switched to the channel she hated that she knew by heart by then, and pressed the talk button. “Asshole,” she sighed into it, “Come get me,” she found herself requesting for the second time in a matter of months, because that was her life now, apparently.

“Deputy!” John purred in that fucking way of his after a few moments. “I’m a little… caught up at the moment. But I imagine you’re… not far off from that, either.”

She rolled her eyes at his snicker. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Ah-ah. Play nice or I won’t play hero.”

“ ‘Hero’ aint your type.”

“Neither is leaving an adversary I’m admittedly fond of to a very unpleasant death, and yet…”

“Just get here.”

“You’ll have to make it worth my while.”

“I’m not blowing you, if that’s what your asking.”

“You know what I’m asking, Deputy.”

She heaved a sigh. “Greed. And Pride, I guess: A couple of years after the whole dad fiasco I was a very angry teenager who was really, really angry at the world and for some reason my brain translated that into ‘steal those really expensive shoes in the mall.’ Made it out of the mall no problem, got home, decided I hated the shoes, kinda liked the whole adrenaline rush. Kept them as a trophy.”

“Would’ve have taken you for the thieving type.”

“Wasn’t. The stealing didn’t sell me, the adrenaline did. Took me a few years to realize it. Either way, there’s one confession. Come get me.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

By some miracle, only Nicolette’s legs had started to go numb by the time she heard a car speed up the nearest road, said car’s door slamming shut, someone humming that stupid Vera Lynn song, and  then an appreciative whistle. With an annoying amount of effort she brought her arms back up in order to pin the back of her T-shirt up and closer to the waistband of her jeans. She tucked the end in to her shorts for good measure. “Our deal’s still good, Assh-”

“Such language,” was John’s only reply off to the side and behind her.

She suddenly jerked in place and could tell he had undone whatever the trap was. She had the brief moment to pray to whatever higher power was still around and rooting for her for the asshole not to catch her and give him the ego boost of the century before she fell and hit the ground hard- except it wasn’t the ground. It was a gym mat made to look like ground. Because fuck Guy Marvel.  It didn’t change the fact it hurt like Hell. She groaned. “Thanks for catching me,” she hissed.

John smirked. “I’m ‘not the hero type’, remember?”

Nicolette raised a certain finger and flinched against the sunlight streaming into her face- until it abruptly stopped and she kept her eyes shut, unwilling to see the satisfied smirk she was sure was on John’s face.

“Now, Depu- is that my shirt?”

She cracked one eye open and was at least rewarded with John’s face being the absolute picture of bafflement. It was the most welcome change yet.

But oh, right.

She glanced down at the Adderon logo on the T-shirt that it only just occurred to her she had taken from his Ranch when she had captured it a few weeks prior.

Great. Because obviously getting caught by the weird guy who had a Thing for her while apparently in his attire when he was probably the possessive type was just what she needed.

“In my defense I didn’t know it was yours. I just needed one that fit and was comfortable and not pretentious considering you tore my favorite one.”

John eyed her up and down like a meal. “ I’d offer to buy you a new one, but, that would err on the side of greed. It is, however, a very attractive look on you.”

“Pride and lust, dick.” If he was going to file every single thing she did under a sin, she’d damn well do the same. 

“Says the girl running around and playing hero in a skimpy little shorts and shirts. I mean, is that even practical for your profession?”

Nic was torn about the fact that he had the decency to say that and not ‘woman of your profession.’ The bag of dicks had some semblance of being a feminist. Go figure. “Got you distracted enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m always distracted by you, Deputy.”

“Oh fuck you, you line-using fuck.”

John sighed dramatically. “Must you always resort to name-calling?”

“For you? Every damn day.”

There was suddenly the sound of a helicopter approaching, and Nic panicked until the helicopter drifted into view he helicopter’s paintjob was littered with pink and grey and not the telltale tan of the enemy.

And then, even better, from the loudspeaker on the chopper:

“Hey, John! Addie Drubman here. Now, as much of a crime as it would be to riddle your pretty face and tight little bod with holes, that’s my and the rest of the county’s hero you’re ogling right now, so laying off would be greatly appreciated. Blood red ain’t Nikki’s color.”

John scoffed, sent an irritated look at the helicopter, then backed up. “This isn’t over.”

“Never is.”

“I’m waiting!” Addie called again.

John waved her off before giving Nic one last once over. He disappeared into the treeline after a while.

Addie landed Tulip, and Nic got inside. The pair waited a few more minutes to ensure he was gone, then took off.

“Where to, Darlin’?” Addie asked.

“That one’s Ranch. I just found a really stupid advantage.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

A closet raid, one week and a stupid idea to walk along the river between John and Jacob’s regions when the latter was pissed later, Nicolette took an arrow to the shin and blacked out.

When she came to, she found herself in one of those damned chairs again and in front of the projector screen. The room was even dingier and dirtier than the last. Christ, was every single sibling upping the dramatics?

There was a set of footsteps from beside her, and then Jacob strolled into view. “What did I tell you… about being weak?” he began, all gravelly and intimidating, as he did- and then stopped short upon taking her appearance- and wardrobe in. He squinted, then looked back at her. “Is- is that John’s shirt?” he asked, easily an octave higher and probably the most confused-sounding he had been in years.

Oh, she was going to have fun with this. And if she had to play mindgames, as easily disprovable as they were, she was damn well going to do it. “Yes it is!” she announced, and offered her best convincing, was-just-up-to-no-good grin. “Wanna know how I got it?”

[vxctxrx]

reaping, part ii,

__________________________________

with eyelids as droopy as his grandmother’s bosom, royce dragged his feet alongside his family’s proper footsteps as the unit made its way to the center of the district. while the streets were usually filled with the hustle and bustle of cars, machinery, and people talking, royce once again felt slight irritation at the lack of the latter. he wasn’t fond of quiet places given that he had been raised in such a -- or, rather, what would have been given a different universe -- a booming metropolis. 

his irritation also stemmed from the fact that the little morphling pill he had popped right as they were leaving hadn’t kicked in. come on, he thought to himself, this should have already dropped by now. what’s the deal? as per the regularities that occurred whenever he was far too impatient (and wired beyond belief) to understanding that some things take time, royce found himself repeatedly splaying his fingers and sucking his teeth. the boy was still over the moon because of his last dosage -- one that was a little dirtier than a simple pill -- but he wanted more. he wanted that slight, sweet, simple little push that would put him over the edge. he wanted it -- no, needed it-- right now. right. now.

the process was the same as it had been for the past, what, six years? first they lined up, then they pricked their fingers, then they had to stand around and wait for what seemed like an eternity, then some poor guy and girl got royally screwed. it was the same repetitive mess every year. he wouldn’t know it, but before his accident, royce would never have tossed aside the lives of those that were ripped from their homes and murdered on live television. now... well, all royce could think of at the moment was how that one girl in the purple shirt he had seen about an hour ago was standing next to a girl with a somehow brighter green shirt. 

he became vaguely aware that the introductions had started -- first, their mayor had begun giving that same tired and true speech -- but all royce could do was stare at those two girls. they look like candy, he began to think as the dose of morphling he took began to kick in. or, no, better yet, they look like little flowers floating in the breeze. hey there, little flowers, what’re you guys up to? did you get lost from your garden? damn, that’s too bad. oh, well, at least you won’t get reaped.

wait a minute -- reaped? like, cut? oh, no! little flowers! you’re gonna get reaped!

god, what is that humming sound?

the minutes dissolved into the universe as royce became absolutely, impossibly lost in his thoughts. under normal circumstances, he would potentially stay frozen like that for a good hour or two --  followed swiftly by him wandering away and just taking in the hidden beauties that district six had to offer. whether or not the following events were fortunate or not wasn’t really an issue. royce would later only recall that the flowers had screamed at him. they were loud, too!

he wasn’t even aware that his name had called -- which had garnered a few laughs from the older crowd that were too old to be reaped since the escort had pronounced the nine in his name (ix) like it was a whole word. some of those nearest to him, people that he didn’t even know and one or two of his old friends, tried to whisper his name. even those girls wearing bright colors stared at him with worried expressions. they would later whisper unabashedly to their other friends about it -- they had been standing not too far away from the boy that had been reaped.

a blank-faced, slackjawed royce was eventually escorted up to the stage via the peacekeepers. they had approached him and exchanged a look -- what was wrong with this kid? royce was none the wiser. he simply took in the distorted sights that appeared to him as he was dragged to the stage. for a second, he thought he was flying. whee, he had thought, my feet have turned to mush!

“ladies and gentlemen, may i present to you this year’s tributes from district six! [nobody important] and royce carter--”

“wooh! wait, what are we doing?  oh, shit, sorry miss. uh, by the way... do you know what that incessant humming sound is?”

it had been him all along, of course.

[sami-ardens]

31 d, 31s: Hot Date, Part 1

Today’s prompt was prompt 2, “The potato sliced nicely into five pieces.”

So I struggled with this bit of the story because I kept flashing forward to the part that I Really wanted to write, which is more physically and emotionally intimate in nature (but mostly emotionally, like “oh no I nearly cried on stream while writing it” emotionally). Consider this a teaser for the stuff that will really hit you.

End author notes! Story below the read more.

Melvin chopped all his potatoes for the night’s dinner with an uncanny precision that prompted even his daughter to watch him go.

“Your hands aren’t even shaking,” Vera said, peeking over her father’s shoulder. “You’re either in hacker mode or you’re so nervous that you wrapped around to perfect focus.”

“I…” Melvin looked at his hands, then the knife in his hand, then at the cutting board. “Well, I know how to cook. That much isn’t a problem.”

“C’mon, Dad, it’ll be fine.” Vera rubbed Melvin’s back to encourage him. “Sweep her off her feet with your best dish, be that big sweetie she wants to hang off and snuggle to bits, and then you’ll have her in the bag!” A dirtier alternative to “in the bag” lingered on the tip of Vera’s tongue, and she would have deployed that had she not remembered that she was speaking to her dad.

Melvin offered a thin smile and a heavy sigh. “I’m mildly concerned about my fourteen-year-old daughter having more romantic advice to offer me than I would her,” he said. “I hope Ranna is okay with steak and spicy roast potatoes and some of the fresher treats from the cafe for dessert.”

“What happened to ‘well, I know how to cook?’” Vera quipped, giving her father’s back a teasing swat before backing off. “I’m excited for dinner tonight, even if it turns into you two making goopy faces at each other all night.”

“Goopy faces?” Melvin asked, then shook his head. “I appreciate your support, but why…?” Why something. He couldn’t narrow down his inquiry any further.

“I’m not a baby, Dad. I can want you to be happy without going ‘eww, cooties!’ about it. Just, y’know, leave the saucy bits out. Because gross.” Vera wrinkled her nose at the mere thought. “Anyway, if you’re that nervous, maybe you should pick out something a bit nicer to wear than your usual sweaters.”

Melvin’s nervous swallow could have produced a record scratch if it were possible. “I didn’t think about that at all, but I’m not sure I like the idea of wearing a suit in my home.”

“Doesn’t have to be a suit, just, like… anything different.” Vera’s face fell as she came to a dramatic conclusion. “Wait, don’t tell me that your crappy big boy sweaters are all you own?!”

Melvin sighed again and adjusted his glasses. “Vera, please stop. I can’t tell what your angle is and it’s not helping.”

Vera puffed her cheeks out in an exaggerated pout before taking a few steps away. “Fine, I can entertain myself till dinner. Don’t forget to brush your teeth one last time for good luck!”

After watching his daughter go, Melvin continued to cut potatoes, finding the rhythm and gentle thunk of the knife against the cutting board relaxing. He zoned out as he continued his meal prep, going literally absentminded as he cooked and prayed that Ranna wouldn’t take issue with anything in the meal or house.

* * *

When Ranna knocked on the door, Vera was the one who had to answer. “Hi, Ranna!”

Ranna slid her sunglasses down her face, barely hiding the fact that she was using the monitors in them to do her work still. “Vera, hello,” she said, offering a tight little smile. The purple-haired woman always appeared poised, but the way she was gripping the side of her glasses made Vera wonder. “Where’s Mel?”

“Brushing his teeth one last time for good luck,” Vera replied, all mischief. “He made you a great dinner and everything.”

“Oh, really?” Ranna’s face relaxed slightly. “A home cooked meal sounds lovely. Will you be eating with us too?”

“Yeah, well… you wouldn’t mind if I did, would you?” Vera scraped a foot against the floor as she asked, pretending to be shy.

“No, not at all.”

“Glad to hear it! Come on in, I’m sure Dad will be here any minute now,” Vera said, stepping aside to let Ranna in.

Right then, Melvin just about zipped to the front door; he had replaced his sweater with a sweater vest outfit, and the tips of his eternally tousled-looking hair were wet, probably from an attempt to get the curly ends to calm down a bit. “Ranna, welcome! It’s so nice to see you.”

“‘Welcome?’ Mel, hon, we’re at your house, not the Sugar Star. You don’t have to use your customer service-speak on me.” Ranna approached Melvin and wrapped him up in a decently tight hug.

“Ah, um, well… you look lovely tonight,” Melvin stammered, the red already going to his cheeks. “You’re always a snappy dresser, but, um…”

“Thank you,” Ranna cooed, giving Melvin a peck on the cheek. “Vera has been advertising your cooking to me. I forgot to eat lunch, so I’m quite interested to see what’s on offer.”

“I-it’s just steak and spicy potatoes.” Melvin’s eye contact went to Vera for a brief moment, attempting to communicate a swift apology as he gave Ranna a cheek-to-cheek nuzzle back. “But I’m glad to see you brought your appetite.”

“Get a room, lovebirds,” Vera teased from off to the side.

Melvin opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again as he floundered over whether to let his daughter keep doing this cheering yet jeering thing. “I thought you wanted to eat with us?”

“Only if you guys are okay with it,” Vera said with a shrug.

“I’m fine with it. I don’t mind at all,” Ranna said, holding back the urge to say that it would be like a family dinner.

“If it’s okay with you, I’ll go finish setting everything up,” Melvin said, scuttling away to serve dinner a room away.

“So adorably skittish,” Ranna said, chuckling before looking to Vera. “But it’s probably not that cute for you, is it now…”

“Meh, he’ll man up eventually.” Vera pulled her phone out of a pocket and started scrolling on some app or another. “It’s all right.”

Ranna followed Vera into the kitchen, where Melvin was scooping potatoes onto a plate at Vera’s usual spot. “Come in, come in, take a seat.”

The ensuing dinner was amicable, but as the couple became more absorbed in each other, Vera made her exit and slipped out to her room as she got the sense that she should leave them be. Her timing turned out to spot on, as the night would take a more intimate turn from there.

[ask-marble-pasta-boys]

For the mini fic, Masky and Jay? Thank you lots!

(Unedited. If you see something wrong please tell me! :D)

Who said “I love you” firstEveryone thinks the first “I love you” will come at a special time. There are many stories about how the first “I love you” happens when one of the characters are hurt. Or when the two characters are sleepily cuddling one another. But for Jay, the first “I love you” wasn't anything like that. Tim was driving, he was filming the road humming along to the music coming out of Tim’s speakers. It was later in the evening, so the roads were dead when Tim spoke. “Jay… you know I love you right?” Jay blinked. At that point in time, they were nothing more than fuck buddies… was this… was this because Jay ran after the Operator and tried to throw something at him? Who knew. Jay didn’t. “I know now” He replied and watched the road… Tim loved Jay… and Jay…with a soft smile whispered back. “And I love you”

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone backgroundTim sat alone at a bar. He was alone… so damn alone. And It was all Alex’s fault… and his own. Maybe if he didn’t go to college Jay, Brian and Alex would all be normal. Maybe if he didn’t join Jay the idiot wouldn’t have started to get sick. Maybe if he stayed with that blue bird with the softest wings… he wouldn’t have just one photo on his phone to remember him by.

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirrorHis life was a mess. Jay could admit that. It was a mess and messes need to be cleaned up. Where should he start? By taking a long shower. It sucked. Waking up and having no memory of the last few months, but whatever. He could watch the tapes, deal with the safe, and figure out where the Go-Pro came from after his shower. The hot water felt amazing on his sore body. What the hell did he do? Run through the forest away from a madman with a gun or something? He shook off the thoughts and started scrubbing at his skin. When he was washing up he swore he heard the bathroom door open. He quickly poked his head out from behind the curtain… No… no one… It could have been the person next to his room. These walls were thin after all. After finishing cleaning up he hopped out. ”THEY ARE WATCHING YOU. BE SAFE” was written on the mirror. Terror shot through Jay. Can’t he just have five minutes to himself, fuck!

MORE UNDERCUT CAUSE THESE ARE LONG. SEND IN MORE SHIPS :D

Who buys the other cheesy giftsJay’s camera bag had a huge hole in it. How? well running through the forest, being chased by a hooded man did come with some accidents. He sighed and looked sadly at his bag. It was such a good bag too! It had been with him for the past few years, but it was time to buy a new one. Just as he thought that, something was thrown on the bed he was sitting on.“Tim?” “Got you duck tape to fix your bag” He said with a shrug, pulling out a pack of smokes and headed for the door. “Thanks, Tim” He left. Jay reached for the tape… Duck tape… this tape was covered in bright yellow ducks. “Yeah… thanks Tim for the “duck” tape” He growled and shook his head. That was too cheesy.

Who initiated the first kiss“I could really go for some coffee right now” Tim mumbled driving down the high way. Jay was nodding off in the seat beside him. “Same,” He said sleepily. They couldn’t stop, not yet. Alex was on their trail and they needed to go farther away. Tim pulled off to the side of the road, reaching for the map. Jay grabbed it first. ”Rest now, we can look at the map later” Tim grunted and reached for it again but was too slow. Jay stuffed it under his butt and smiled at Tim.”Sleep now” Tim started to protest and Jay kissed him softly. ”Sleep now?” another kiss.”Sleep now” one last kiss and they both hopped into the back of Tim’s car to sleep. 

Who kisses the other awake in the morningJay woke up, feeling soft… kisses? all over his face. It didn’t really feel like a kiss, just… cold plastic brushing against him. He sat up groggily and looked over to his bedside. There was the Masked Man. Jay blinked. The Masked Man tilted his head in a fluid kind of way.“Uh… get out of my room” He said, still half asleep. This had to be a dream right? The man watched him for a moment, before walking to Jay’s window and climbing out… Dream… It had to be a dream. He’d wake up in the morning, rewind the tape of him sleeping and find nothing. It was just a dream. It had to be.... it wasn'tWho starts tickle fights. Jay flopped on the motel bed. Just their luck. A horrible storm had rolled in, making it next to impossible to see, let alone drive. The two had to take shelter from the storm in this shitty motel room and Jay was miserable. One bed and a chair that looked like it had more dust then fabric on it. That was all that was in the room. Not even a T.V! He sighed and rolled over, nudging Tim as he moved. Tim was reading some book that he stole from the lobby of the motel. ”Tim” no reply. ”Tim” Still nothing. Jay watched him for a bit then poked Tim in the side. He squirmed a bit… interesting. Before Tim could think, skinny, light Jay had pinned him to the bed and was tickling him senseless. Jay was no longer bored.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the showerThey were both sweaty, hungry, and had dust all over their body. Jay fucked up a code that totheark had hidden in their videos, which led the two to an old sawmill. fucking scary they were a mess but that was alright. “Jay, I’m filthy, can I have the shower first?” Tim asked throwing his bag on the motel bed.“Wha? Tim, I'm dirtier! I was the one who fell in that hole and got covered in cobwebs” he said shuddering. ”And whose fault is that dumbass?” Tim hissed. “You were the one who was too busy looking through the camera and not where you were going!” Jay didn’t reply. ”How about we just… shower together” He said softly… he was a dumbass, wasn't he? Tim didn't say anything at first then walked over and put a hand on Jay’s dusty shoulder. ”I didn’t mean to call you a dumbass… I just…. I thought you were going to fall through the floor Jay… I could have lost you” Jay gasped… he did have a point... He could have died... He grabbed Tim’s hand.”Shower?””Yeah”Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunchTim hated being a cashier. People fucking sucked, the bags always broke when he packed them. No one understood that a DEBIT and CREDIT card were different then they got angry at HIM for pushing the wrong button. Well, you fucker if you told me it was a VISA DEBIT, not just a fucking VISA I wouldn't have hit the god damn CREDIT button! It was easy to say Tim hated his job.He wasn’t even going to be working here long. One of the workers got very ill and they were understaffed so an emergency higher happen. Luckily Tim answered that call and for the next three weeks, he was being paid, under the table, to be yelled at. Whatever, they needed the money. A woman had just argued over the price of bananas to him. Yes, ma’am, one banana is 59 cents. No, ma’am, I have to charge you for EACH individual banana since you are not buying them by the bag. Yes, ma’am, I understand the sign said 59 cents for them, but that is just for one banana. Not 8 of them. Buy them by the bag next time if you have an issue with it. Okay, ma’am have a nice day. He hated his job. He fucking hated it. A paper bag was placed on his belt. He was about to snap at the person to get their shit off the belt unless they were buying something when he looked at who it was.”Jay?” ”Hi, Tim! I brought you some lunch” Jay said with his dorky, awkward, slightly paranoid smile… Tim’s day just got 1000X better. (I am a cashier, I went on a long rant but cut most of it out- it fucking sucks people)

Who was nervous and shy on the first dateThey were both so very nervous. How could they not be? Alex’s was on their trial, so was the Hooded Man. It was hard to go out in public and not look over their shoulder at every sound. But it was also nerve-racking going on your first “normal” date with someone. Jay hadn’t been on a date since high school and Tim… Tim had only ever seen “dates” in movies. Would Jay have fun? What if he didn’t? What if Tim got a coughing attack? Would Tim bring his pills? They were both a nervous mess… but the thing that broke them out of it… Was when things went bad. They shared a meal, Jay spilling half of the spaghetti on Tim’s lap. When trying to clean it up Jay got covered in water from their glasses. It was a mess, it was the worst date to most but to them… To them, it was so normal that they laughed and had a great time.

Who kills/takes out the spidersJay HATED Spiders. Downright hated them. So waking up finding that he was tied to a chair with the Masked Man standing less than five feet away didn’t bother him. It was the daddy long-legs crawling on his leg that freaked him out. He shouted and threw his body back almost knocking over the chair. The Masked Man tilted his head, watching the sacred bird. The bird must have been so scared of him. Waking up tied to a chair, with no memory of how he got there... yes very scary... but... why was the idiot not looking at him? Was... was that damn spider scarier?? Jay was close to tears at that point. The spider was making its way up his shirt now, coming closer and closer and- The Masked Man flicked it. It went flying a crossed the abandoned room. “Hey... Thanks” Jay said smiling happily now that the creepy crawly was off of him. The Masked Man stared... then walked away. He was not dealing with this idiot today, let the Hooded one deal with him.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunkThey were both huddled on the floor of their newest motel. Soft whispers and kisses were shared between them. A bottle of alcohol hung loosely from Tim’s hand. Jay’s was already finished laying on the floor. “I love you Jay Merrick” Tim said softly. “I love you more Tim Wright” Jay said, a little loud and slurred. “But I love you more” Tim cracked a grin at his own words. Jay stared at him, then straddled his legs. “I Jay Merrick LOVE Tim Wright” He proclaimed a little louder than before. Jay continued to say that any time Tim tried to talk. Before long Jay was shouting it with Tim laughing his ass off. Damn... this wouldn’t be the first time they were kicked out due to a noise complaint. (take that last line however you want to-)

[diss0nant-a]

WHO: Amelie Holt and The Twelve* WHAT: Music Therapy: Session Four WHERE: Unknown Location - One of The Twelve’s HQs WHEN: December 18th, 2017

CW / TWs: hypnosis?, blood, death, murder, manipulation, etc NOTES: okay, so after talking about it in this post, i can’t stop imagining this song being one the twelve used on amelie (like this post but a lot less subtle) so here’s this self para of what keeps playing in my head when this song comes on shuffle :)

* amelie doesn’t know the name ‘the twelve’ yet, so i’m going to refrain from using it.

During her eleven months with the organisation; Amelie had learnt many things. Some things she already knew, others not so much. It was the kind of stuff her father would hide from her, the dirtier side to his job. Not that guns, knifes and beatings are clean, but when it was only the two of them; the bloodshed was minimal, if not entirely absent. These lessons were as polar opposite as they could get. Each physical and weapons training leaving her needing a three hour shower afterwards.

She was sure the blood wasn’t real. Or at least if it was, it usually wouldn't be from her targets during practice. After all, she would see them again next time. It was always the same people for combat, yet that never stopped the voice in the back of her head from panicking ‘what if?’. Amelie assumed it was that voice that was keeping her “not fit for work” yet.

Having faced the barrel of a gun far too many times during therapy; she had also learnt to never lie to her unknown co-workers. Meaning they knew about her every doubt and worry. Each time she’s felt annoyed, angry, alone or just shit in general; they knew.

They knew everything.

Amelie wasn’t sure what was more terrifying. The fact she had no control over her life anymore. Or the fact the people now in control, knew everything there was to know about the life she’d left behind. Dwelling on it would get her nowhere. That was Maeve’s weakness, not hers. Not anymore.

At least that was the plan.

Different kinds of therapy had been used sporadically in Amelie’s months with them. So many variants that she had simply learnt to accept whatever faced her behind the clinical looking doors. Usually, it was just her therapist, her handler and a couch. Today it was a woman, her handler, a chair and some tech sat atop of it.

“ Please, sit down. Riley will assist you with the sensors. ”     Her handler spoke calmly. Before Amelie could ask further he continued.     “ They are merely for the heart monitors, there is no need to fear. ”

Despite the reassurance, the young blonde didn’t feel any calmer. Picking the gear off the chair before sitting, Riley approached and took it all from her swiftly. The suggestion of assisting was never an actual option. Just a way to compel Amelie to go ahead with the organisations plan.     “ So what is this? I get the headphones. Music therapy, right? But... Why the TV? And this stuff? ”     She held out her arm for Riley to place one of the sensors.

“ I can't answer your questions. All you need to do is sit still. Feel free to close your eyes. ”

She scoffed as the unfamiliar woman brought the headphones over her crown and sat them snug on her ears. Riley then gently placed Amelie’s hands on their respectful arm rests. It was the softest physical interaction she had received since coming to the organisation — aside from drunken one night stands but that never did truly satisfy her want to simply be held — it made her feel safe, just for a moment.

As music slowly began to fade through the speakers of the headphones, the lights dimmed until they were entirely out. Sitting in the dark, she continued to ponder over why she was here. She'd only had a few sessions of music therapy but normally, it was played out loud as they spoke about what was playing and how it made her feel. Not like this.

Time went on and multiple songs came and passed. Amelie had almost settled on this being some sort of way to figure out her music tastes perhaps? But, with what was playing it seemed they already knew that, for the most part. Maybe to make future sessions better? Honestly, she had no clue what any of their plans were. She had given up on actually finding out only a couple of months in. There are only so many times you can knowingly walk yourself into being beat up.

Just as her thoughts began to wander, her ears were filled with sounds best described as sparkles. Auditory sparkles. It was the first song to actually get her attention. After so long of sitting in the dark her eyes fluttered closed, allowing herself to actually enjoy the song. If she had to be there, she may as well let herself have fun if it was possible.

When the lyrics began, she instantly recognised the language. Her fragmented Japanese, finally showing itself to be somewhat handy. Understanding parts of what was being sang, Amelie let herself get lost in the beat, her head bopping to the tempo without her realising. Eyes slipping slightly open every now and then; she caught the lights flicker as the upbeat track began to slow.

Confused since they had been sat in darkness for so long, Amelie’s eyes opened. Hurting from the sudden brightness flooding from the screen in front of her. The television she had forgotten about now playing scenes from movies. Spliced together with her own home videos and news coverage on her father’s gang crimes, including her own.

Movie scenes re-enacting events of her life she had told her therapist. Her dad’s gang, her parent’s absence, her drug and alcohol issues... Her first love. Bittersweet memories mixed with those most foul, her emotions like a yo-yo they were playing with.

I         REMEMBER         YOUR         SCENT     .

Footage of her parent’s interviews with police began playing, translated lyrics placed over them. Amelie’s parents begging for the man, they believe had taken her, to bring her home. The fictional man they believe committed the murder she had done.

BANG !     B-BANG !     BANG !

Heavy beats in the song, amplified by the sound of gun fire. Paired with flashing images of crime scenes. Of the three men that she had killed. The song continued its slowed melody, the television’s Amelie special still playing. The knot in her throat getting larger and tighter around her oesophagus. The tears pooling in her eyes, crashing over the border at footage of her mother crying out for her.     “ Stop!     Please! ”

As Amelie began to cave, the music’s pace picked up once more.     “ Please... ”     She begged. The lights flashing along with the television’s images. It was as if they had gathered as many crime scene photos as possible. Dead body after the next, showing on the screen.

SOMETHING IS OVERFLOWING !     HOW NICE !     HOW NICE !

The mix of horrific visual stimulation and only partial understanding of the language used, was overwhelming her. She attempted moving her head into her chest, but it was no use, the sensors attached to the side of her head stopping her from getting far. Her hands began reaching for the headphones when —

“ Sit still! ”

Having heard nothing but music, her handler’s voice managing to overcome the blasts coming from the headphones shocked her. A jumped causing her to snap back into the position Riley had placed her in at the start. Her head facing straight ahead, forcing her to watch the images.

She never knew so much blood could come from one person. Or the sheer mass of it with more than one. Precisely as her stomach was about to flip, the chaotic beats normalised once again; a sense of familiarity soothed her slightly.

The screen turned black for a moment, only showing the lyrics. WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH YOUR LIFE ? It filled Amelie’s drying eyes with tears once more. She couldn’t do anything with it. It wasn’t her own anymore. WHAT WILL YOU DO FOR A LIVING ? Oh.

Yet another raise in tempo had distracted Amelie from figuring out that this was all about moulding her. To break her down enough so that her captors could reshape her, to make her commit the horrific crimes still painting the screen red with blood.

ENVY , ENVY ,     SEEMS FUN !

At this point, the song felt like it would never end. BY YOUR SIDE , BY YOUR SIDE . So as she felt the wind down of it all, and the woman Riley’s arms wrapping around her; Amelie curled towards herself, as much as the sensors allowed. I WAS WAITING FOR YOU . I LOVED YOU . The screen faded black again, lyrics left to play in the dark. The woman’s arms tightened and remained around Amelie for the rest of the song. 

When it finally finished, no more music played. The lights were flicked on and Riley removed herself, the headphones and sensors. Amelie felt frozen stiff. She was like a statue as the woman worked around her to detach her from the monitors.

With no time to waste, her handler cleared his throat.     “ You can go now. ”     His customary, dismissive tone returning.     “ They need you in weapons. ”

Floating on a cloud, she got off the chair and made it through the doors. Her body felt like it was swimming through the air, like her feet weren’t genuinely touching solid ground. Not entirely sure how she could manage to hold a weapon right now, let alone train, she stopped for a moment. The swimming feeling making it to her head, drenching her in the images she had only just seen.

Unable to shift her body further, an attempt to move her legs caused them to cave. Securing her on the floor. It required all she had for her arms to support her. It was needless to say, she was going to be late to training.

[panharmonium]

birthday fic for my best girl, @dyingsighs - a gift for you!

prompt: it’s 2017 and i still can’t type CLOk - CLOAK - correctly

aka: two padawans who cannot take care of their clothes

i. 

Qui-Gon sighs lengthily.  “What have you done to this, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan fingers the long gash in his discarded cloak.  ‘I’m sorry, master.  I didn’t intend...I know I only just had a replacement issued last week.”

Qui-Gon shakes out the cloak experimentally, noting with a grimace the location of each additional rip and tear.  “Your apology is appreciated, though it would be better directed to the unfortunate quartermaster whose onerous duty it is to keep you properly outfitted.  

Obi-Wan looks appropriately abashed.  “Yes, master.  I’ll go and see him directly, when we land.”

“Yes, you will.  And you still have not answered my original question.”

“Oh.  Yes.  Well...to be honest, master, I think perhaps the incident in question might be better omitted from the official reports.”  

Qui-Gon raises one arch eyebrow.  “Oh?”

A glimmer of impertinence pokes out from behind Obi-Wan’s chastened mien.  “There is no need to burden our readers with unnecessary details, as you say, master.”

ii.

"What have you done to this, Anakin?"

Anakin snatches the soiled cloak away from his master's fingers, staring up at him with wide eyes, seemingly torn between stuffing the cloak behind his back and pretending not to have heard Obi-Wan's pointed question, or leaping for the balcony doors and plummeting thirty levels into the Coruscanti underbelly, never to be seen again.  Rather than select either of these less than favorable choices, Anakin opts instead for an inquiry of his own.  "Where did you find it?"

"Where you hid it, presumably."  Obi-Wan's brows are drawn together in a very unhappy sort of severe line.

"I did not!" Anakin protests immediately.  "I didn't hide it anywhere!"

"Am I to assume, then, that it wandered into an incineration bin on the second sublevel of the Temple waste packaging facility of its own accord?"

Anakin hates it when Obi-Wan asks him questions he isn't really supposed to answer.  It makes him feel squirmy inside.  "No, master."

"Have you been down to the pit races again?"

"No!"  

"Are you still scrounging around in industrial scrap piles?"

"I don't wear my cloak when I do that."

Too late, Anakin realizes that this wasn't the right answer.  Obi-Wan's brows contract even further.  

Anakin attempts to backpedal awkwardly.  "I mean..."

Obi-Wan waves an abrupt hand, effectively silencing him.  "Not now.  We'll discuss where you have and haven't been, with or without your cloak, another time."  This seemingly generous allowance is not a pardon, Anakin knows, but a promise.  "Right now, however, I should like to know where this cloak has been, and I should like to know now, without any more inappropriate evasions on the part of my very young and very foolhardy apprentice."

Anakin opens his mouth, but hesitates.  He doesn't think he's done anything wrong, but it's hard to tell, when there are so many rules, some of them for things he's never heard of - some of which Obi-Wan says aren't rules at all but something called precepts, which don't seem all that different to Anakin - because as far as Anakin is concerned, rules are something you get in trouble for breaking, and so far he hasn't seen much difference between precepts and rules when it comes to the number of lectures he earns for pushing either of their limits.  "I was just - I had to fix something."

Obi-Wan does not yield even the slightest bit.  "What something?"

Anakin shuffles his feet, before remembering that maybe there is a rule about that, too.  He stills himself with difficulty, staring at the floor in evident discomfort.  "The trash compactor under the kitchens."

"The what now?"

Anakin is well and truly in it now; there's no choice but to commit.  "The trash compactor under the kitchens, master.  I heard the droids complaining about it at noon meal."

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to have an immediate reply to this, so Anakin presses on, warming to the subject.  "They were saying it never empties right, that it's always getting backed up and then they have a mess in the kitchen because there's nowhere to put the trash - "

Obi-Wan makes a weak attempt to interject.  "Anakin, we have maintenance staff who address that sort of thing - "

"Maintenance just kept saying it's because they weren't choosing their disposables right!  But they're kitchen droids, master, obviously they know what to put in the garbage.  So - I dunno, I just thought I would help them."  He makes a challenging face at Obi-Wan.  "We're supposed to help people, right?"

Obi-Wan sinks down onto a meditation cushion without comment, looking like he's getting one of his headaches.  "What, exactly, did you do?"

"Well..."  The cloak in Anakin's hands is dirtier even than anything he'd ever worn on Tatooine, sporting a thick layer of grime that feels mucoid and tacky under his fingers.  "I climbed down the kitchen chute to see."

"You climbed into the trash compactor?"

"Just to look!  And I found the problem - it was a broken sensor in the belly compartment that wasn't reading, so it never registered when the compactor was getting full, so it never turned on.  And then it would back up."

"And?"

"And I fixed it.  But then the belly turned on, and so obviously I had to scoot out of there pretty quick - "

"Obviously," Obi-Wan echoes faintly, sounding like he can't quite absorb what he's hearing.

"- but my cloak got stuck in the gears and I didn't want to get smooshed, you know,  all squished like a strip of chokie.  So I left it."  He fingers the cloak's seams, which are, amazingly, still intact.  "And then you found it, I guess."  He looks at Obi-Wan, suddenly curious.  "How did you find it?"

Obi-Wan doesn't answer that, but instead closes his eyes, taking a long breath in, and then out again.  Anakin doesn't really like it when he does that, either - he's never sure what's coming next.  

All Obi-Wan does this time, though, is loosen a little, and straighten up in his seat, like he's shed something clunky and heavy from his shoulders.  "Anakin," he says, eyes still closed, "I forbid you to set so much as a toe inside the Temple's waste disposal system again."

Anakin scowls.  "Is that a Jedi rule?" he says.

"It is my rule," Obi-Wan says sternly, opening his eyes.  "I have no interest in explaining a suddenly two-dimensional padawan to the Council."

Anakin rolls his eyes good-naturedly.  "I wasn't gonna let it squash me, master." Obviously.  The things Obi-Wan needs to have explained to him sometimes, honestly.

"And," Obi-Wan plows forward, ignoring Anakin's confident reassurances, "you are to take that cloak down to the laundry facilities immediately."

Anakin hesitates, looking toward the 'fresher.  "Can't I just put it in the chute?"

"No," Obi-Wan says.  "You will walk it down personally and explain to the staff how exactly it is that they come to be so inconvenienced."

"Master - "

"Protest even once and you shall wear that cloak all the way there."

Anakin doesn't think Obi-Wan would actually do that.  But he might.  And it’s better to be safe.  "Okay."  

Anakin gathers the cloak more securely into his arms and makes for the door, but before he can exit, Obi-Wan rises and stops him.  "And I knew where to find it," Obi-Wan says, sticking a hand into one of the cloak's sodden folds, "because you left your commlink in the pocket."  He produces the small chromium device and gives Anakin a significant look.  "You must be more mindful, Anakin."  

Anakin accepts the commlink with a sheepish expression.  "Yes, master."

"For your own personal safety, if nothing else."  Though my mental stability ought to be as important a cause as any other.

Anakin, picking up a wisp of that last thought, tries not to smile.  "Yes, master."  He pauses, then adds, "But don't you think you would get bored - "

"Go," Obi-Wan says emphatically.

"Yes, master."

Anakin goes, surprisingly content, trailing the aromatic stench of half-decomposed kitchen scraps behind him.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

World’s Best Dad (Part 4)

Summary: Dean’s doing his best to take it easy at home while the reader runs into a few unexpected issues while helping out...

World’s Best Dad Masterlist

Pairing: single parent!Dean x kindergarten teacher!reader

Word Count: 5,200ish

Warnings: language, implied future smut

A/N: I want a fluffy Dean like this if anyone’s got one lying around I can borrow...

You’d snuck into Dean’s room just before his alarm went off, wanting him to get the extra rest. Getting Gracie ready was easier today now that you realized you couldn’t assume she would do things as quickly as you. You even had extra time after making breakfast somehow.

“Y/N? You guys still here?” shouted Dean from upstairs, Gracie giggling as she slurped up the last of her milk.

“I think your dad’s up,” you said, handing her the box of cereal. “Want to help me bring him breakfast?”

“He likes bacon for breakfast,” she said, watching you grab a bowl and spoon, carrying the milk up on a tray, waving for her to follow.

“Well today Dean is getting cheerios. He can cut back on the grease,” you said, Gracie taking the lead up the stairs. She pushed Dean’s door open and he looked better than the day before, a sleepy smile on his cheeks. “Morning Dean.”

“Morning girls,” said Dean, Gracie crawling up on the bed, handing him the cereal. “I was hoping for something a little more bacon-y.”

“You need to cut back on the grease,” Gracie said, Dean tilting his head at you.

“Turning my own daughter against me,” he said tsking you. “Here I thought we had something special, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah, eat your heart healthy grains and we can have a pizza tonight. How’s that sound?” you asked, Dean nodding his head.

“I’ll let it slide this time, Y/L/N only because you’re really cute. Got me?” he said, pointing at you with a smirk.

“Uh, huh,” you said, handing him the tray and propping up his pillows. Dean poured his cereal out as Gracie played with the ends of her hair, looking at your side braid, trying to do the same thing. “Want me to braid your hair Gracie?”

“Go for it. I can barely handle a pony tail,” said Dean. You grabbed her hairbrush from her bathroom and sat down behind her on the bed, Dean smiling at the two of you as you bunched up her hair and started weaving it together.

“Got any plans today, Dean?” you asked, wrapping a hair tie around the end, giving it a little tug. Gracie was practically fawning over it and your heart melted a little when she climbed into your lap to give you a hug. “You’re welcome.”

“Um, call Benny, figure out when I can start at the garage. I’m sure Sam told him I’m worse than I am so Benny’ll probably not let me start for a month at least. Other than that, I guess do some chores,” he said, catching your eyebrow raise. “I meant sit in bed and watch TV and play video games all day.”

“Ah, your daddy is a very smart man, Gracie,” you said, picking her up and setting her down. “Be back in two seconds.”

You were glad you spotted the clock because you had just enough time to get her shoes on and backpack, ushering her out the door and watch her get on the bus.

“Hey Dean,” you said, walking back upstairs. “I mean it. Don’t get that ass out of bed today unless you have to. You’re recovering from major surgery.”

“Can you grab some stuff for me from downstairs then? I wouldn’t want to find out what happens when I break teacher’s rules,” he said, giving you a smirk again, this one much dirtier.

“No you wouldn’t,” you said, grabbing a pad of paper from the desk in the corner of the room covered in drawings and the father’s day card the kids made in class the week before.

“Hey, come here,” said Dean, patting the side of the bed. You got in next to him, handing him the pad but his arm fell around your shoulders instead. “Are you sure you’re okay with all of this? I feel like I’m dumping Gracie on you, taking advantage of you and I don’t-”

“I just said you were smart like two minutes ago. Don’t be a dumbass now,” you said. “I like you. A lot. You’re my boyfriend. I want to take care of my boyfriend and his daughter. I enjoy spending time with both of you. Can you please stop asking me stuff like that? It makes me think you’re going to break up with me before we even got started.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dean, moving his arm away from you. “I’m still a bit scared is all, the way Gracie looks at you...it’ll break her if you left now. Me too.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, Dean moving his arm back around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll try not to be so stupid from now on,” said Dean, pressing a kiss to your lips. You felt him open his mouth more than before, teasing you in, delving deeper into your own mouth and before long he had a hand on the back of your neck, your hands fisting in his shirt. Then he pulled away panting with a cheeky smile on his face. “Just a little something to get you through the day.”

“I will gladly have all the hot make out session you want Winchester,” you said, throwing him a smirk. “But that’s as far as it goes until you’re feeling better.”

“We’ll see about that. There’s plenty of things I can do without exerting myself,” he said. You raised an eyebrow as he started writing down a list of things for you to bring up, some snacks and drinks, other things like his computer or a couple movies.

“I am not doing some teacher role play with you,” you said, shaking your head.

“Good. I like cops and bad boys better,” said Dean, whispering in your ear. “Or bad girls.”

“Such a sweet guy like you was bound to have a dirty side,” you said, taking his list from him. You were back in five minutes, taking his old tray away, making sure his crutches were close and the path to the bathroom was clear. “You good for the day? You need anything call me or Sam. It’s field trip day so Gracie and I’ll probably be a little earlier than normal.”

“I’m all set. Have a good day, sweetheart,” said Dean, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “Drive safe.”

You were having a perfectly great day until your phone rang two minutes after coming home to Dean.

“Y/N? We’ll be by around seven, okay? Your dad got lost on the turnpike again. We’ll see you soon honey. Bye!” your mom said before hanging up, once again not giving you a chance to speak.

“Shit,” you said, Gracie with her painted cheetah face scowling up at you. “Sorry Gracie. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Can I go play outside?” she asked. You nodded.

“Stay in the backyard, munchkin,” you said, going upstairs to help Dean. He gave you a scowl himself but didn’t say anything until you two were on the back porch swing, watching you sigh heavily.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You look sad.”

“I forgot my parent’s are coming into town for dinner tonight. They’re on their way up north for their annual vacation,” you said, kicking the swing, Dean nodding his head.

“Hey, go hang out with them, I don’t mind. You probably don’t see them that often, right?” he asked. You didn’t but you knew you’d have a good time with the Winchesters whereas with them it normally ended in you feeling crappy about yourself. “Y/N.”

“I’d rather be with you guys,” you said. Dean hummed and then smiled.

“Why don’t you have them over here for dinner? It’s not like ordering another pizza is hard. I got to meet them eventually, right?” he asked.

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” you said. “They’re kind of the eat in a five start restaurant type, not pizza off a paper plate.”

“They raised you. They can’t be that bad,” said Dean.

“Alright,” you said, pulling out your phone, hoping this didn’t turn into a nightmare.

Dean invited Sam over for dinner too to try and help you relax. But he was going to be late and grab the food on the way over. It was a little after seven when you heard the car out front and the doorbell ring. 

“I got it,” you said, hoping up, Dean taking a little longer to get to his feet. When you swung open the door, your parents seemed in a good enough mood. “Hi.”

“Hello honey,” said your dad, stepping inside and giving you a hug. You mother did the same as she looked around. “This is cozy.”

You fought back your eye roll, knowing that was code for he’s not wealthy. 

“This is Dean,” you said, waving your arm as Dean stood next to you on his crutches. “My boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you both,” said Dean, doing his best to hold out a hand with the crutches under him, your parents being polite but you already saw they didn’t like him.

“How’d you injure yourself if you don’t mind me asking?” asked your dad, pointing at Dean’s leg.

“Accident with a nail gun at work. Thankfully nothing serious,” said Dean, sensing their confusion. “I work construction. Well, worked construction. I got a new job as a mechanic today. Should be much safer so the girls won’t worry so much.”

“Girls?” asked your mom. 

“Hi!” said Gracie, running out from the kitchen on cue, a juice box in her hand. “I’m Gracie.”

“Hi Gracie,” said your mom and dad, both looking at you like you were nuts.

“You have a daughter?” asked your mom to Dean and you saw him look over at you, finally understanding why you didn’t want them here. 

“Yeah. Gracie, can you go play in your room for a minute, munchkin?” asked Dean, sensing this wasn’t going to end well. When the four of you heard the door shut, your mom shook her head.

“Mom, really?” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I mean, okay, he’s a little older than I thought he was going to be and I can look past that but Y/N, I mean, what happened to that nice boy in college? The architect guy?”

“He cheated on me! With my so called best friend! Why do you think I broke up with him!” you said, trying to not raise your voice. “What does that-”

“Dean, I’m sure you’re a great guy but Y/N, come on,” said your dad, Dean quietly watching your fury build. “You can do better. I mean he has a kid.”

“I love that kid,” you said, stepping around them and throwing open the front door. “Get out of this house and don’t speak to me unless you’re ready to welcome them into your life with open arms because I am not leaving them.”

“Y/N! Don’t speak to us like that,” said your dad.

“I love you both. I do, but you have been nothing but awful, stuck up, pricks since I was old enough to know better. When you’re ready to apologize to Dean and Gracie, give me a call. Maybe Dean can teach you both how to be a good parent. Until then, please leave,” you said, hand on the door. Your parents shared a look and walked away without a word, leaving you to close up with Dean watching you carefully. “What.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “Stick up for us like that.”

“Yeah, well, they insulted people I care about so fuck them,” you said, heading for his kitchen. “I may or may not drink most of your alcohol tonight.”

“I’ll join you,” said Dean, following after, grabbing you each a glass as you climbed up on the counter and got the bottle from the top shelf. Dean hopped up on the one next to you, pouring you each a drink and then another after you swallowed them down fast. “You love Gracie?”

“I care about her,” you said, rubbing your hand over your face. “I am so glad the school year ends in a couple days. I need to go get drunk.”

“Y/N,” said Dean. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not going to say it again, Dean. I care about her. I care about you. I don’t give two shits how old you are, what job you have, how many kids you have. You’re a good person, she’s a good kid and that’s all I fucking care about,” you said with a sigh. “Where is Sam with that damn pizza!”

“Sweetheart,” said Dean, putting his glass down, running his thumb over your cheek, moving away a tear that had escaped. “I should never have pushed you to invite them.”

“No,” you said, sitting up right, looking him in the eye. “It’s better you know now before this gets too far. You should know what I come from in case you change your mind.”

“What was that conversation we had this morning? The one about not being a dumbass?” he asked. “We ain’t leaving you either sweetheart. The Winchesters are head over heels for you.”

“Can I spend the night?” you asked, knowing it hadn’t really been discussed since Gracie only had two days left of school until summer break, one of which Dean would be going with her for her graduation.

“Yeah. Sleep in my bed tonight,” he said, brushing him thumb over your skin again. “Nothing adult, I just want you close.” You nodded and let him rub his hand over your head, calming you down until you no longer felt your blood boiling. You heard the front door open and Sam come down the hall with a couple boxes, raising an eyebrow when he saw the two of you like that.

“I’m guessing meeting the parents didn’t go so well,” said Sam, looking around.

“Not so much,” said Dean. “Mind grabbing Gracie and bringing her down?”

“I can get her,” you said, moving to slide off the counter when Dean’s hand shot out in front of you.

“You’re always taking care of us. Let us take care of you,” said Dean, squeezing your hand. 

“But-”

“Sweetheart, you’re going to run yourself into the ground. Parents need a break from time to time, trust me,” he said. You sighed but let Dean steal a box that the two of you could eat out of, Sam hoping up on the counter a minute later, holding Gracie in his lap as you ate dinner. 

Eventually you eased up, putting on an old movie that had everyone cracking up and kept Gracie up way past her bedtime. Sam helped Dean up to bed as you got Gracie tucked away after a short story, earning a head ruffle from Sam on his way out.

You didn’t have any extra pajamas and Dean nodded at his dresser. You opened a drawer and saw it full of plain black tees. You changed in the bathroom, leaving just your underwear on, coming out to Dean looking almost shyly at you.

“Dude, I’m not wearing a bra to bed. You can look,” you said. 

“You just look really beautiful is all,” said Dean, throwing back the covers for you. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve shared a bed with another adult.”

“Their loss,” you said, walking around and crawling in next to him. “Dean.”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“This is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever laid in. These sheets are like...where did you find these sheets? I need these sheets in my life. I need this bed in my life,” you said.

“It’s a good thing this is your bed too, huh,” said Dean with a chuckle. “I told you I had a comfy ass bed.”

“Yes you did,” you said, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you a little closer. Your leg brushed up against him and you jerked back, his hand moving to your waist to roll you close again. “Dean...”

“I am covered in stitches and gauze and bandages. You are not going to hurt me, Y/N,” said Dean. “Come on, be my little spoon.”

“Be my little spoon? It’s a miracle you ever got laid in the first place,” you teased, shifting closer to him. His arm that draped over your waist was heavy but nice and you could feel his body heat under the covers. 

“Feeling better since earlier?” he asked softly. He moved a piece of hair that decided to fall in front of your eyes, his green ones looking over different parts of your face, letting himself look closely for the first time.

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a smile as you realized he had freckles. Those would probably come out full force if he spent some time in the sun. They were all over his nose and cheeks, watching them move as he chuckled.

“Good. I can tell it’s working already,” said Dean. “What with the goofy smile on your face.”

“Shut up,” you said, putting your hand on his chest to give him a light shove. “You’re cute, I can’t help it.”

“I am not cute,” he said. “I’m adorable.”

“Yes you really are,” you said, pecking his cheek goodnight. “When did Benny say you could start?”

“At the end of the summer the sweet bastard. He knows I’ll get worker’s comp for a while and this way she’s not stuck at some expensive daycare or babysitter’s that’s going to ignore her half the day,” said Dean. 

“Aw, I like Benny. He sounds nice,” you said, Dean giving you another kiss. “You have nice friends.”

“The one’s that stuck around when I needed them most...they’ll always have my back,” he said. You felt Dean’s fingers playing with the ends of your hair when you smiled and he nodded. “Oh, so she finally figured it out, did she?”

“Wait so I have the whole summer off and you have the whole summer off and Gracie has it off so doesn’t that mean we can run around like a bunch of kids for the next two and a half months?” you asked, Dean smiling wide.

“I’m gonna take you on so many dates you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself,” he said.

“I think I’ve got some of my own to plan,” you said, fighting back a yawn. 

“Looking forward to it, sweetheart,” said Dean, rolling over and turning off the light. “Night.”

“Night,” you said, snuggling into his chest, falling asleep faster than you had in a long time.

You woke up a few hours later, a thunderstorm overhead when you remembered the weekend was supposed to be constant storms. Dean felt you stir and tugged you back to his chest, nuzzling his head against the back of your neck. Your hand found his and pulled it to your chest, Dean’s lips forming a smile on your skin.

“Daddy,” you heard Gracie whine from her room. Another big crack of thunder went off and you heard a pair of little feet down the hall and push the door open. “Daddy.”

“S’just a storm munchkin. Go back to bed,” said Dean. She whined again as the wind whipped and more rain came down, the room flashing with light. 

“Can I stay?” she asked. 

“Do you mind?” he whispered in your ear.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that. She’s an upset five year old. Of course she can stay with us,” you whispered back.

“Come on up, Gracie,” said Dean, sitting up and patting the bed. You moved over, knowing she’d want to be next to him. But she surprised you both by curling into you, putting her bear between Dean and herself. Dean just shrugged when she wasn’t looking and lay back down.

She was all calm after that, tucked in between you two. She took a minute to settle but once she was out, she didn’t budge an inch. Dean gave you a tired smile and reached his arm over to tuck you both beneath it. He mouthed night again and you fell asleep in no time at all.

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet but you were pretty sure you were missing at least one Winchester and it wasn’t the tiny blonde spread out next to you. When you blinked open your eyes Gracie’s hair was all over the place, sleeping on her stomach, leg half off the bed, one arm over her teddy bear. You leaned up, and twisted each direction, Dean’s bathroom open wide which meant...

“Want some breakfast?” said Dean, walking in on his crutches, seeing the look on your face. “I was just making her bed, I wasn’t downstairs, I promise.”

“You’re too sweet,” you said, stretching in bed and plopping back down. “It’s only been a few days. Let’s have you take it easy today, alright?”

“Well it is supposed to pour for the foreseeable future so I plan on being a lazy ass all day,” he said. You turned your head to Gracie and Dean laughed. “She’s passed out. You’ll get the hang of swearing and kids soon enough.”

“I’m a kindergarten teacher. I could probably teach you a thing or two,” you said. 

“Well excuse me,” said Dean, making a dramatic wave as you rolled out of bed and wandered over. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of such an expert.”

“Dick,” you said, shoving him playfully before throwing an arm around his back. “Want to have some coffee and watch the rain before she gets up?”

“Yeah,” said Dean quietly. “I’d like that.”

“You okay?” you asked, supporting some of his weight down the stairs until he got his footing at the bottom. 

“I guess that’s one of those things I never told anyone I liked to do, morning coffee on the back porch, the air nice and chilly on a summer day. I thought it was a little weird honestly,” said Dean.

“Come be weird with me then,” you said, guiding the two of you down the hall and pouring yourself some coffee, Dean watching carefully how you liked to make yours, Dean flat out telling you how much cream he liked because you were staring so long.

You carried the mugs out and he took a seat, a few streaks of lightening every so often as you curled up next to him.

“What do you want to do today?” you asked. “Oh, wait. Hold on, okay, yes, yes! We’re doing that.”

“Wow, your coffee kicked in fast,” he teased. “What exactly are we doing?”

“Rainy days are great for baking. Kids like it and we get something yummy at the end of it,” you said, tilting your head. “So, you want to bake with me today?”

“I thought I needed to watch the grease,” he said, throwing his legs over your lap, turning so he could see you better.

“If you want bacon, you can have bacon. I’m not-”

“I’m teasing you, sweetheart. I know I shouldn’t have it every morning, maybe like only a couple times a week. But baked goods, they’re in a whole other food group. We can definitely have some of those,” he said.

“Do you know how to bake?” you asked.

“I know how to take the pre cut things out of the box and put them on a tray,” he said. “I’m guessing that doesn’t count?”

“What do you want to learn how to make? Whatever you want, we’re going to make it today,” you said. The words barely left your mouth before he was mouthing pie. “You like pie?”

“I love pie. It’s like I got Sam and Gracie and you and Baby and pie. What more could a man need?” he said.

“Alright, we’ll make a pie then. Now what-”

“Pecan. Or lime. Or chocolate. Gracie would like chocolate probably. Or sweet potato. The kind with the marshmallows? You know they-”

“I’ve never seen a man get a boner for pie before,” you teased. “How about you decide on a pie you want and I can show you how to make some really simple sugar cookies you can throw together whenever for Gracie? I always make them during the holidays. Just mix in an egg and some water and you’re done.”

“Pecan then. I do not have a boner by the way,” said Dean.

“Have you told him that?” you asked, pointing at Dean’s lap, his loose boxers not doing much to hide the tent that had popped up. 

“I’m sorry,” said Dean, throwing his hands over his lap. “I thought I dealt with him while you were sleeping.”

“Well if Gracie’s not in the room, make sure to wake me up next time. I could help with that,” you said. “I’m very hands on.”

“I’m the cocky one in this relationship,” said Dean. “Right.”

“Seriously though, when your stitches come out and your concussion is cleared up...let’s have a date night, you know, just the two of us. You promised me it’d be pretty awesome...” you said, patting his leg.

“You’re on. Until then you get to torture me with your beauty for two whole weeks,” said Dean.

“Daddy, you burnt the toast again,” said Gracie, opening up the back door.

“Yes I did,” said Dean, standing up with your help as you both turned your noses up. “Good thing we got plenty of bread.”

“Gracie, you want to come to the store with me? We’re going to make a pie and cookies today,” you said. 

“Yeah! Can we go right now?” she asked. Dean chuckled and scooped her up under one arm, sitting the two of them down at the table.

“No munchkin. You need breakfast first! Plus you’re in your jammies,” he said. “And after breakfast, Y/N is going to go home and make sure her apartment is okay.”

He gave you a look as he tucked Gracie’s head under his chin before sighing.

“Y/N, go home. Grab some clothes, do some laundry, dump your old milk, we got this for a few hours,” said Dean. “Then you can come back and take Gracie, hmm?”

“Alright, deal.”

Your first thought was maybe you should have argued with Dean more about not needing to go back to your apartment, maybe you should have taken longer, shouldn’t have taken as long. Well you knew you were freaking out and that wasn’t helping but the store was packed and you felt like you were going to throw up as you sprinted for the customer service desk.

“Hi, can I help-”

“I had a five year old with me. Gracie Winchester. She’s lost. I can’t find her. She’s got blonde hair in a pony tail and a bright pink rain coat and little blue whale rain boots and she was there and then she wasn’t and I don’t know where she is and you-”

“Calm down, mom, happens every day around here,” said the woman, picking up a phone. You heard an announcement go over the loud speaker as you started wandering down the aisles again, spotting Gracie staring at a box of mac and cheese.

“Y/N, can we get-”

“Your dad told you not to wander off,” you said, scooping her up and holding on to her probably a little too tight. 

“I’m sorry,” she said as you tried for the life of you to calm down. 

“I know munchkin, I know,” you said, giving her a smile as she looked upset. “Just...just don’t...stay with me okay?”

“Okay,” she said, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“Did you want the spongebob mac and cheese Gracie?” you asked, leaning down and grabbing a box.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“Okay, why don’t we get some. We can get some frosting too to decorate the cookies, how’s that sound?” you asked, watching her perk up again. You spotted an employee and told them she was okay, Gracie back to her normal self by the time you were at Dean’s.

“How was the store?” asked Dean when Gracie ran with the bags to the kitchen happily, leaving you alone. “Y/N, you look ready to cry. What’s wrong?”

“I lost her. For two seconds I turned away and she let go of my hand and I put it back and she didn’t grab it and she wasn’t there and Dean if something happened to her-”

“Hey, hey, calm down. That ‘I think I’m going to throw up and faint and oh my God the world is ending’ feeling? It’s called being a parent,” said Dean, watching your head nod. “I have lost her at that very same store before and I know, I know how awful it feels. But she’s safe and happy and you can’t let her see you freak out. I’ll be superman, you got to be wonder woman for her. You want to go scream into a pillow in my room if it helps, go do it. I’m telling you from experience, seeing someone she looks up to freak out is going to put her in a weird position until she forgets about it which’ll be who knows how long,” said Dean.

“Dean, I almost...why aren’t you furious with me?” you asked, Dean giving you a smile and wrapping you up in a hug, getting soaked form your jacket. “Dean.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not her fault,” he said, kissing your forehead. “It’s okay.”

“I feel awful,” you said, trying to move away but his hold too strong. “Dean, lemme go.”

“Y/N, look at me,” said Dean. You looked up carefully, Dean’s face the same kind one as always. “Nothing has changed apart from you getting an unfortunate taste of what this is like sometimes.”

“Think I’m going somewhere Winchester,” you said, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “I’m getting your floor soaking wet is all.”

“Take a hot shower and calm down for me. It’ll help,” he said, kissing your cheek.

By the time you were walking downstairs in fresh clothes, you could smell a pie in the oven. Of course he knew how to bake, he was just playing along for your sake. You spotted two tufts of blonde hair on the back of the couch, watching an old western.

“You smell nice,” said Dean, holding his arm up for you to slide in. You nodded and curled into him, trying to be relaxed but still sure Dean was going to get mad at some point. You must not have been doing a good job of it because he was turning his attention to the other end of the couch. “Gracie, when you’re with Y/N and I’m not around, you do what she says, understand? You stay with her.”

“I know,” said Gracie, hopping up and running into the kitchen. She came back with a warm cookie and handed it to you. “Daddy said you aren’t feeling good.”

“I’m feeling much better now, thanks, munchkin,” you said, giving her a hug and looking at the poorly decorated cookie. It had a heart on it and you weren’t necessarily in the mood anymore but you took a few big bites and swallowed it down for her sake. “That was yummy.”

“Daddy made that one,” she said, crawling up against Dean’s other side. “I think daddy really likes you.”

“I think I really like him too,” you said, lifting your head up to see Dean doing his best to hide a small blush. “We’re really lucky to have him.”

A/N: Read Part 5 here!

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