#and I won’t be able to babysit tonight unless I get one in a few hours

[theonlythingimfuckingisstupid]

Ugh. Insurance need to get this claim through so I can get a rental car and get to work tomorrow

[beyondconfessor]

Unsaid Desire

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Missy/Reader

Summary: You've been asked to babysit Missy into being good while the Doctor runs off a quick mission, but she has other ideas once she realises what's pressing through your pants.

Note Before: Crossposted onto AO3

The Doctor had a knack for bad timing. You were on your way downtown for a hot, dirty hook-up with an ex––the kind of hot, dirty hook-ups where she texted “Do you still have that toy? You should wear it when you come and see me.”. So you did because you wanted that kind of filthy sex where you fuck some hot girl in an alley while she digs her nails into your shoulders.

But it was just as you were leaving your house in your best casual date clothes, with a strap packed comfortably in your pants, that the Doctor appeared and began advising you that there was urgent business, yes absolutely, no problem, he’ll get you to this exact moment, if a few minutes later, but you are URGENTLY needed. Right. Now.

Did he mention it was urgent? Because it was URGENT.

An urgent mission…to babysit, so it seemed.

It involved you staying in the TARDIS while the Doctor, Nardole and Bill went out and explored the cool alien town. Because you were to stay here and look after Missy and ensure she Did Not Get Up To Anything (though you knew that if Missy wanted to get up to anything, you wouldn’t be able to actually stop her. You wouldn’t even tattle on her because, honestly, you liked your insides to remain in the insides of your body more than you feared the Doctor).

So, there you were. In the TARDIS console room, packing for a hot date, watching as Missy bent over the console to adjust the TARDIS monitor that the Doctor had set up for her to watch as he, Bill and Nardole did Good Things.

Unfortunately, the camera the Doctor had on the lapel of his jacket was jerky and prone to cutting out, however, which meant Missy was often fiddling with the TARDIS to fix it, because, as she had told you, that was far more interesting than you were.

You shifted in your seat, arms crossed, sinking in on yourself.

Usually, you were up for whatever the Doctor said, but you had had a hot date and were now being told you couldn’t step out to the new planet, so your mood was a burning mix of frustration and arousal.

“Grumpy today,” Missy said.

You looked up at her, and then glanced away, ignoring the way her skirts shifted around her ankles as she fiddled with the console. “I had somewhere else to be.”

To that, she paused. “And what’s more fascinating than being in an alien craft? Don’t you humans get all gooey being in something so far beyond your capabilities to understand? I mean, it’s bigger on the inside! How can it be?” She mocked, eyes going wide as she posed, waiting for your response.

You ignored her, choosing to stare at the wall instead.

Missy’s heels clicked, edging closer. It made you want to pull back. There was something about the way her perfume washed over you that made you want to bury your nose in her throat and inhale deeply.

“Something the matter, poppet?”

“No,” you responded flatly.

You had an awful feeling that she knew where your thoughts were when you looked at her. There were times when you thought the filthiest things (just briefly!) and watched as her head tilted to you, a slow smile pooling over her lips before she turned away.

It could be a coincidence. You wanted it to be a coincidence. But you suspected otherwise.

“It’s just us girls, here,” she said. “You can tell me anything.”

You looked at her, and for a moment wondered what she would do if you said what was actually on your mind. Given her disgust about humans need to “constantly breed” you doubted it’d be anything nice (not that that bothered you. Her snarking commentary was nearly as good as how you imagined she sounded when you pressed her to a surface and sucked on her neck).

You exhaled, pushing the thoughts away. “There’s nothing to say. Shouldn’t you be watching the Doctor?”

She scoffed. “Because he’s going to quiz me later?” You paused, holding your tongue and her eyes narrowed. “How original of him. Well, I’m sure that watching him negotiate with a bunch of plants will certainly be the missing thing for this rehabilitation he’s going on about.”

“I think he’s trying to play to your fear of failing.”

“I don’t have a fear of failing,” Missy said, and there she gave a strange look. “If you’re afraid to fail, then you make mistakes. Sometimes the most frightening thing can be succeeding.” She turned, looking back to the video. It seemed to only be Bill and Nardol talking at the markets––even you felt your mind haze in disinterest, despite the alien culture.

You turned away, thinking about the hot date, about the way your pants pressed between your thighs. About how you kept wanting to ask the doctor about the future of sex toys but always seemed to shy away from it at the last moment because it felt like asking your dad.

By some point in the future, on some planet, they must have developed a strap the wearer could feel, right?

Missy was leaning over the console again and all you could think about was pulling those skirts up over her waist.

Un-fucking-fair for the Doctor to pull you away from a hot date. It’d been months since you’d had your tongue in another woman. You were nearly climbing the walls and half prepared to shag the first girl you could get your hands on and had you not cared for your friendship with Bill more than your own needs, you might have tried something there.

But you cared for Bill’s feelings. Or, you were pretty certain she wasn’t interested in you anyway and it was easier to simplify it that way.

“Come here,” Missy said. You looked at her and watched as she made an exacerbated look at you. “Well, I’m not going to bite you.”

Pity.

“Unless you ask first, of course.”

You swallowed, squeezing your jaw to prevent yourself from saying anything stupid as you walked over and stood beside her.

“What do you want?”

“I need you to move that,” she said, pointing to a nozzle out of her reach. “And then hold that while I do something marvellous but utterly incomprehensible to your tiny mind.”

“Why?”

“Because the picture’s fuzzy and in case you haven’t noticed, we can’t hear,” she snapped the last bit and you stepped forward, moving to where she asked you to stand. “Turn that twice, and hold that red button while I…do this,” she said. And you watched as she flicked through a few buttons, flicking switches, turning other things, and then she did something you didn’t expect.

She pressed between you and the console, reaching to touch something to your far right, as her arse wiggled against your front to squeeze between, you watched as she tensed and then suddenly pressed firmer to you.

The room felt hot and muggy all at once.

“Last I knew, human biology being changed in your decade requires quite an extensive surgery, and you don’t have the smell of someone who's had surgery.”

You swallowed, pulling back, but still holding the dial. “I didn’t plan to be here tonight. I was meant to be somewhere else,” you explained, before biting down on your dark. Your face was hot and you just wanted this to be over as fast as possible.

Missy turned to look over her shoulder, her smile going wide as she moved back, pushing against you. “And you were all prepped for your…paramour was it?”

The flush burned across your cheeks. “We don’t need to discuss it.”

“Oh, but I think we should. Is it an earthen one, or have you made your way to Sirius Sixty-Nine yet?”

“Sirius…sixty-nine?”

“It’s…think of it like an extensive alien sex shop that takes up the size of a planetoid. Named by humans, of course. But we can go there if you’re curious. The Doctor won’t even notice,” she was purring her words by the end of it and you could feel her slight wiggle as she pressed firmer against you. “I bet that human biological need to breed has you desperate to feel what it’s like to penetrate someone.”

“I can penetrate plenty with my hands,” you said as if you hadn’t just been thinking about what it felt like to have a cock.

Missy turned on her heel so her back was to the TARDIS console and her front pressed against you. All at once she’d propped herself up on the console and wrapped her legs around your waist, tugging you close. There was a heartbeat pause at that, as you felt your jeans press to her, knowing where it was pressing. “It’s different,” she said. “When you penetrate someone with a cock, when you feel that person squeeze around you. It’s different to your hands. Especially if your hands are…” and there she paused, grabbing yours and tugging them down, to wrap around her sides, below her breasts. “Occupied,” she finished with a sharp look, daring you to move them.

You swallowed, thumb tracing over the material of her blouse, feeling the corset bones underneath your hands. “Missy.”

“Don’t you want to feel me?”

“Don’t tease me. This isn’t fair.”

“Who said anything about teasing?” She asked, holding your gaze steady. “You don’t know what I want.”

“You don’t want this. You’re always making fun of…” you wanted to tug away, but her legs were firm around your waist, her hands deceptively strong around your wrists. “I didn’t think…you’d like that sort of thing.”

“What? That I don’t care for the simplest bodily pleasure? I’m not immune to desire. Now tell me, shall I go and find some other way to busy myself while the Doctor is off doing good? Or can I count on you to follow through with those nasty thoughts you’ve been having of me?”

“You…” and you trailed off, because the correct response, from the Doctor, would be to ensure she paid attention to what he was doing.

But Missy’s eyes were so blue, and her mouth was parted, her chin lifted up to look at you, causing the curve of her neck to become more apparent. You wanted to trail your mouth down that curve, to kiss her skin and tug the clothes from her body. You wanted to taste her and feel her, and––

You should have been worried that she confirmed your very fear of telepathy, but you could feel the corset moving with every breath of hers, watching her breath grow slow and heavy, her face tilted, waiting, watching you with curiosity.

“What do you want?” You asked her sincerely.

She scoffed, tugging your hands away. “If you can’t figure that out––“

There you stopped her, grabbing her and pressed her back to the TARDIS console just as she attempted to wriggle out from between you. “I said…” you repeated, slow, firmly to her as you held her still. “What do you want?”

She paused then, and a slow smile pulled over her lips. “How direct,” she teased, rolling her ‘r’s. “I want you on your knees.”

You sunk to your knees and it was all the permission you needed as your hands lifted up her skirts. Your heart thudded in your chest, waiting for the moment she’d laugh, or scoff or just pull a weapon from thin air and shoot you dead.

But she didn’t. Her eyes remained steady on you, watching as you kissed above her ankle where her heeled boot ended, trailing over her calves, her knees and thighs as the skirt was pushed up high, around her waist.

“Do time ladies often go without their knickers?” You asked.

“Skirts like this make them seem redundant,” she said, but there was a knowing look in her eyes, and you felt as if she was reading your thoughts.

No, you knew she was.

Her grin widened. “Perhaps I planned this,” she responded, echoing your own thoughts. “Manipulated the Doctor to get you alone in here with me.”

You paused, holding her gaze steady, watching for any changes to her expression as you kissed across her thigh, your mouth pressing against the crease where her thigh met her hip. Her expression softened, and there you were familiar with the look of desire.

“Are you lonely?” You asked her, “Or only looking for relief.” It was a sincere inquiry. You wanted to know what she wanted.

Her expression sharpened. “You’re a smart girl,” she teased. “Get started and I’m sure you can extrapolate from there.”

You obeyed.

It was easy to feel your mind soften, your thoughts quieten as you kissed over the pelvic bone, across the dark curls. Your hands drew up her thighs and there, with your hands on her hips, you felt her stomach tighten, intaking a breath as your mouth pressed over the slick folds, tongue sliding against the labia to taste the arousal.

Time Ladies, you found, tasted similar to the women you’d been with. There was a softer taste, muted sweetness, but it was still familiar. You stroked the flat over her vulva, before your tongue curled over her clit, testing what she liked––going from firm to soft, fast to slow, tracing different movements as you listened to her breath hitch, her thighs clench and relax around you.

Missy seemed to let you indulge in tasting her, of feeling her breath intake and muscles squeeze, before her hand curled in your hair and tugged you back.

“That’s enough of that, now.”

“Is it?” For a moment you hesitated over if you hadn’t done the right thing, and then her head tilted, her expression softening.

“We’ve limited time, and I’d rather this move to the next step,” she said, so matter of factly you wondered if you were a masturbatory tool to her. And then you wondered if that mattered at all.

You rose to your feet and tugged her thighs apart just as she pulled you close, undoing the zip of your pants, reaching out to pull out the dildo from the depths of your pants. And God, what’d you give to feel that hand curl around you, to feel her stroke it.

“You’re going to be fast about this,” she told you, “and if you’re a very good girl and do this right, I might just break out of my cell and find you again should I ever get the itch.”

“Because I’m going to be at your beck and call?”

“You will,” she said and then she pulled you closer, sliding the toy inside of her so sharply you found yourself gasping.

Well, you’d wanted something quick and dirty. Hand under her thighs, you pulled back and thrust inside of her, watching as her eyes fluttered, her back arching. Each thrust had her melting away, to wherever she wanted to be in her thoughts, mouth parted, a soft sigh on her lips as she rocked against you.

For a moment you were uncertain as to what you should be doing if you should move softly for her––as you usually would for the first time.

But this was Missy. If she wanted soft, she would have made some sardonic comment to the effect. Instead, she was drifting off to whatever bliss she wanted. You knew she was squeezing around the shaft as you thrust inside of her, muscles clenching, and for a moment you could…almost…imagine…

“Your thoughts are awfully busy,” Missy said. “Lamenting over the fact you can’t feel what it’s like inside of me?”

You didn’t respond, glaring at her.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said, arching, breath itching. “I can give you taste.”

And before you could agree, her hand had snatched at yours, pulling it to her mouth where she placed two fingers over her tongue. Your pace slowed for a moment as you felt her tongue wrap over your fingers, curling as she sucked, drawing your fingers down her tongue and then back.

Her lips pressed over the length of them and oh, God, you felt like you could come from this alone.

And then your fingers were out of her mouth with a soft pop as you dropped them wetly against the console, breathing hard.

“Get back to doing your job,” she said to you, like a teacher giving a sharp warning to put your head down back on your own work.

You swallowed, curling back in your confidence, trying to remember to thrust in her in an even speed––but her hand curled in your hair, tugging so your attention was brought to the brilliant, blue eyes and snarl on her lips. “If you’re not going to do this right, what good are you?”

You glared at her, shoving her back against the console as your hands gripped at her thighs, thrusting back in her. How dare she turn you on like that, and have the audacity to act like––like––

She moaned softly, and then her hand had grabbed yours, leading you to grasp at her hair. You blinked at her before fisting it tight, pulling her head back so her neck was elongated and exposed. Your breath came out in a pant as you leant forward against the flesh of her neck, your teeth dragging over her pulse.

“Yes,” she hissed. “All those years of evolution, and you’re still no better than a dog in heat.”

You bit down, sucking and felt her rock hard against you, a sound reverberating through the air and you didn’t know if it was your enjoyment or hers.

You could feel her thighs tensing, her hips shuddering as nails dug deep into your shoulders, pulling you tight.

And there, in a hot breath against your ear, you heard her exhale in relief before she shoved you backwards from her, sending you with a swift kick to hit the side of the TARDIS.

You panted, pants slipping down your thighs as Missy dropped off the console, onto the mesh ground as she adjusted her skirts and wiped at her neck and mouth, cleaning the evidence of you from her. Her eyes turned to you, and then a sharp smirk formed, before it faded, as her nose wrinkled, looking you up and down. “You can leave.”

“Leave?”

She turned away, adjusting the monitor to look back at the Doctor’s screen, fixing it so at last sound came out before she waved you off. “Off you pop. Go and light a cigarette, or whatever you humans do.”

You bared your teeth, shoving the toy back in your pants and doing it up. The slickness of the toy didn’t escape you, and a longing pulse throbbed in your clit. But your job was done. Well, fuck her then. Thank fuck that was over.

Or so you thought.

As it was, you cleaned up, you sat back in your spot and it was barely another hour passing before the Doctor returned and dropped you back home (a day late, thank’s doc.)

After receiving the half-dozen texts from your ex going from confused to angry, burning a bridge that probably should have remained burnt in the first place, you laid in bed at night, thinking about the exchange, wondering what you would do if Missy turned up.

Tell her to fuck off, maybe.

Unlikely.

You’d bring her inside, undress her off that skirt and pull her onto your face because since those many hours ago, you couldn’t help but think about her grinding on your face.

[idk-maybe-i-did-it]

Problem- Remus Lupin

Older Remus x Weasley!Reader

A/N: The Weasley!Reader is 22 years old in this to begin with but is 25 after the time skip, 26 after the second one.

ANYWAY- I hope you like it @elizaphantandroses tis your request after all. I think it was a bit bad toward the beginning but it was better near the end in my opinion

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, implied assault, blood and wounds, mild cursing

Let’s start:

Remus Lupin was in an emotional disaster.

Y/n L/n, the new Weasley recruit in the Order, he had a problem for her.

He didn’t have a problem with her work ethic or the ways he did thing, no, Remus had a problem, and his problem was her.

Whenever she was around Remus never was able to think entirely straight, he could never focus directly on his work when she was working on hers. When it was declared that she and Remus had to go on a mission together, his senses were jacked up by a megawatt and they finished up perfectly and quickly because of fear that she would get hurt.

It went the same with Y/n. Remus was her problem as well, and her mum and dad were starting to sense that.

———————————————————————

It was over, the war had ended, and everybody was finally safe.

Fred and George started a new line of products for people with P.T.S.D.

Harry and Ginny were ready, Hermione and Ron were together.

Yet, Remus and Y/n never stopped.

When Remus decided to open a bakery shop ad Y/n showed up one day to apply for a job, Remus hired her without a word and it was splendid. Molly and Arthur watched their eldest daughter as she fell in love again and waited for her to finally realize that the man she loved looked at her like she was his light and breath.

Remus, how do I say this, he loved Y/n, but he tried to tell himself he didn’t. Because he though that she deserved better; Remus thought the woman needed someone Younger, someone brighter, somebody who could give her as she needed and wanted. So, when Y/n one day walked into his house to ask him for help with a wound on her side Remus almost shut the door on her face. Until he realized she needed help.

Which of course led to this now.

“ No Remus let me in,-

“ Y/n really, I have to do something at the moment.”

He watched in sorrow as the woman leant against the door of his home, hand to her side, face screwed up in pain.

“ No Remus please, I’m bleeding out here you’re not just going to-‘

And that was when he snapped to attention and stopped with the lies. The man quickly put his arms under her legs and carefully under her waist and picked her up; moving her swiftly to his bedroom where he could asses the damage. He placed the H/c woman on the side of his bed and helped work her out of the shirt and cloak she had been wearing to reveal a knife dug into her side along with multiple bruises and two jagged cuts running down her chest to lower abdomen.

Remus had to clench his fists in anger and quickly set off to work mending the wounds and bruises, cuts and other marks. Where Remus had placed a spell to stop the blood from coming out of the knife wound he now had to remove to remove the knife itself and furthermore help her. Right before he went to remove the knife he looked up at the woman, “ This is going to hurt like hell love.”

She reached out and grasped his forearm as he went to pull it out and she bit down on her lip, her toes curling and back arching slightly. As Remus finished bandaging the wounds up he went over to his dresser and pulled out one of his sweaters, helping the panting woman into it.

“ What- Who- What the bloody hell happened Y/n?”

The girl shook her head, looking towards the floor, “ It’s nothing Remus...”

She had to stop mid sentence because a certain brown haired man looked up at her from his crouched position and gave her that look that just said ‘I am Remus Lupin, and You will cut the shit.’

“ I was cornered by a group of men on my way back home. They got a few good hits in before I got them with a jinx and Obliviated ‘em.”

Y/n attempted to moved backwards and sit up but Remus was having none of that. He was now even more pissed than before and he had good rights to be so. The man moved over and grasped his wand, waving it slightly and all the blood that had been spilled on the bed was gone then, he moved over and took the girls cloak out and put it on his coatrack before he moved back and picked up the woman, carrying her to the couch in his sittingroom.

Remus sat and placed her laying down beside him, she managed to wiggle over and place her head in his lap, arms propped up on his thigh to make her head adjust better. “ Don’t worry Rem, I’m good now. I just have to aparate home to mum so she knows I made it home and I’ll be fine.”

Remus scowled down at her and growled lowly.

“ No you’re not Y/n. You are going to stay here tonight and I’ll take you over to your parents home tomorrow and explain what’s happened.”

Y/n immediately reacted with a panicked look and slide backwards until she were sitting utop Remus’ leg. She quickly placed her hand on his leg and another on his arm to keep her body steady. “ Don’t tell mum Remus. It’ll kill her! She’s already worried enough about me being out on my own in this muggle town, if we tell her what happened she’ll freak out and I’ll never be able to leave the house anymore. I won’t be able to go to work and I won’t be able to visit the boys and gin anymore, I won’t be able to see Fred and George, I won’t be able to visit Perce and Bill and Fluer, I won’t be able to see yo-‘

Remus stopped Y/n’s panic attack and ongoing ramble by pushing her back lightly against the couch and leaning over her, engaging her mouth, lips and tongue in a very passionate kiss. The girl moved her elbows to prop herself up and reached an arm to thread it loosely through Remus’s hair and tugging on it slightly as he pulled her jaw closer to his. After a few more moments the two started to lose oxygen and Remus pulled away, panting, as he watched Y/n’s chest heave trying to get breath in.

“ I won’t tell your mum if that’s the case. Or maybe she’d let you stay s’long as you’re with me.”

The man let out a cheeky smirk at the woman underneath him and he leaned down, kissing her forehead.

“ Now let’s get you to bed love, you’ve had a rough night.”

———————————————————————

“ You’re moving back in with us.”

Y/n stood next to Remus in her childhood houses’ living room as her mum fussed over her split and sealed side.

“ No mum, I’m my own person. I can take care of myself mum-‘

“ That’s exactly what you said the Christmas of your third year when those boys felt you up and afterwards Charlie still had to hex them brainless.”

“ Dad! You can’t be going there now! We survived the war for Godics sake! I thought that would be enough to prove I could handle myself enough!”

Remus placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder, hand shaking slightly.

“ She has a point Molly, Y/n can take care of herself. Besides, she’ll be with me. Y/n’ll be fine, it was just one thing and we went off and told the muggle policeman earlier about what had happened aswell.”

Molly, still slightly fuming, came up and moved to where her daughter was standing, engulfing the two of them in her signature bone-crushing hug.

Fred came storming down from the stairwell and lifted his elder sister, spinning her bridal style in his arms.

“ Took you long enough N/n, just give it a bit more time before I get some nieces and nephews.”

“ Shut up Fred!”

__________________________________________

1 Year Later

__________________________________________

“ Hey Rem?”

Y/n asked as she slide into Remus’ lap on Ginny and Harry’s couch. They were babysitting her little sisters newborn infant so Harry could take Ginny out with Ron and Hermione.

She had just gotten the child to sleep and had been planning on going to sleep with her Fiancé on the couch afterwards.

Remus sat up a bit straighter and pulled Y/n closer to his chest, slipping his hands under the soft fabric of the sweater of his that she’d been wearing, rubbing shapes into her soft hips. “ What is it darling?”

Y/n turned around in his lap and began to smooth down the fabric of his button-up, biting her lip.

“ Mum has so many grandkids now Rem... I think I forgot count. Do you mind counting for me?”

Remus guided Y/n legs to straddle his waist as he continued to let his hands gently make their way up her back and torso.

“ Love, your memory must be jumbled, if I recall correctly James is her only grandchild.”

Y/n began to lightly trace the feel of Remus’s shoulders through his shirt as she held an innocently ignorant look on her face.

“ No, Rem you’re forgetting one.”

Remus looked up at his love with a quizzical expression and went back to kneading shapes into her hips.

“ What’re you talking about love? You must be confused because Molly doesn’t have anymore grandchildren... Unless someone else is pregnant and just hasn’t- you’re pregnant aren’t you Y/n?”

“ It depends on whether or not you’ll be mad by my response.”

Remus sat forward slightly pulling her closer to his chest as he wiped a few stray tears from her eye.

“ Love I would never be mad about something like this...”

Y/n nodded her head slightly.

“ I mean, I already talked to Perce and he said that Lyncanthrophilia can only be transferred through a werewolf’s bite. I mean, if you don’t want to keep it I’ll have to live with that but-‘

Remus stopped her worried ranting by pulling their bodies flush, slamming his lips into hers in a gentle yet passionate kiss.

“ I want to keep it Y/n.”

__________________________________________

Drink some water, eat some food, take screen breaks and remember that You Are Loved

^ - ^

[whitewolfmoving]

Guard Your Body, Guard My Heart || Bucky Barnes au

A/N: Writing commission for @arrowsandmixtapes I had so much fun writing this for you! Thank you for commissioning me 🥰

Summary: Agent Barnes is the best in his field. When Aceline Marcure—the key witness in a murder investigation—is placed in his care, he’s tasked with keeping her safe until their primary suspect can be taken out. As time goes on, Bucky Barnes learns two things: one, never judge a book by its cover and two, he owes Steve Rogers $100.

Warnings: swearing, Bucky Barnes needs to calm down, I don’t know what I’m talking about half the time—literally just made this crock of shit up

Word Count: 3976

——————————

File Status: CLASSIFIED

Password: ***************

Access: GRANTED

Bucky leaned against the driver’s door of his SUV and pushed his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head, quickly skimming over the file on his iPad screen. He’d just made it to the safe house out on Bennet road, and was waiting for the Director to arrive. This certainly wasn’t how he’d planned on spending his day off; forced to come into work at the last minute, forced to babysit someone else who couldn’t stay out of trouble. Fuck. Bucky couldn’t catch a break.

He took a long drag of the cigarette between the fingers of his right hand, and continued scrolling through the file. He noted the important details like the young woman’s name, her age, where she was from, what she did for a living, who she kept in her close inner circles; and threw out the ones he deemed unimportant like her favorite food, the name of her cat, her hobbies, where she did her grocery shopping. No sense getting to know her since this job would hopefully be short lived. Keep her safe long enough for authorities to apprehend the douche attempting to murder her, then let her go back to her old life… if she even could go back to her old life. Sometimes these things didn’t always go to plan, Bucky knew that well. He’d lost a few in his early years. But the reason Director Fury kept him on was because of his turnaround rate. No one brought down suspects with the same speed and zeal that James Barnes did. His success rate was through the roof and far outnumbered his failures. So if Nick Fury thought he was the perfect agent for this job, then he was the perfect agent for this job and no other questions needed asking.

A sleek black car pulled into the gravel driveway and parked next to Bucky’s SUV. The driver’s door opened and Steve Rogers stepped out of the car, not Director Fury.

“What are you doing here, Rogers? Where’s Fury?” Bucky asked, careful not to slip into the causal way he was used to addressing his fellow agent when they were off the clock.

Steve nodded back to the car as he stepped around the vehicle and joined Bucky at the SUV. “He got pulled into a meeting on his way out of the office, called me in to deliver.”

“Yeah? How was the ride over?”

“Quiet, she didn’t say much.”

“Good, makes my job a hell of a lot easier.”

“Listen, I think this guy’s really getting under her skin. Go easy on her, hmm?”

“Go easy on her? What kinda man do you take me for, Rogers?” Bucky laughed.

“I mean it, man. Look, I know how you can get on these jobs. Just try to be a bit more understanding than usual, alright?” Steve said. He lightly rapped on the tinted window of the car, the back right passenger door opened shortly after.

To say Bucky Barnes was floored by the sight in front of him would be putting it lightly. The young woman that stepped out of the car appeared to be so much more than what he was expecting, just from what he’d read of her file. She wasn’t nearly as fragile-looking as the report made her seem, though Bucky could tell she equally wasn’t as battle-hardened either.

Steve motioned between Bucky and the young woman, addressing them accordingly, “Barnes, this is Aceline Marcure. Miss Marcure, this is Agent James Barnes, he’ll be your bodyguard. You’ll be staying here at our safe house for the duration of the case. Unfortunately, you’re not allowed to have any outside visitors, that means no telling anyone where you are. This is just as much for their safety as it is yours. Should you need or want to leave the cabin for any reason, you are not to go alone. Agent Barnes is to be with you at all times. Take tonight to get settled, I’ll check in with you in the morning.”

“Agent Rogers, you’re not staying with us?” Aceline asked, hazel eyes shining as she looked up at the blond-haired man next to her.

“No, ma’am. My job was simply to make sure you arrived safely and were transferred to Agent Barnes’ care in one piece,” Steve said.

Aceline nodded. She extended her right hand toward Bucky, waiting for him to take it.

Bucky eyed her closely; he dismissed her outstretched hand and turned to Steve, pulling the other agent away from the car. He finished off his cigarette and tossed the butt to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his shoe. “You gotta be kidding me here, Stevie. Someone’s out for this girl? I don’t buy it.”

“I only know what’s in her file, Buck. Same as you. The rest is on a need-to-know basis.”

“Yeah, well, Fury better have a damn good reason for bringing me in on my one day off in over a month.”

“Just try to get through tonight without tearing each other’s heads off, alright? Can you do that?”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, I got it. Get out of here, Rogers.”

+

After Steve had helped Bucky get their bags inside, he’d left Aceline with his cell number before heading back to the city. He knew how Bucky could get, he promised her she’d need it. They both watched silently as Steve’s car backed down the gravel driveway and took off, leaving the two of them together in complete silence. Then Bucky left Aceline alone to get settled in while he went to take a shower.

Now, he stood at the island in the kitchen with a mug of coffee and a pack of cigarettes next to it. His iPad laid in front of him with Aceline’s file open on the screen. He rolled up the sleeves of the darke blue sweatshirt he’d pulled on after his shower and got to work reading through the report more thoroughly.

Name: Aceline Marcure

Age: Unknown

Birthplace: Brooklyn, New York

Occupation: Bookstore Owner

Bucky scoffed. Great, just what he needed, another softie. Another person who wouldn’t be able to hold her own against the horrors of being in Witness Protection. How in the hell was he supposed to keep her safe if he had to worry about whether or not she could handle it all, too? He took a sip of coffee; the warmth from the mug seeped deep into the palm of his right hand, his left hand remained vaguely unbothered by the change in temperature. Ah, yes, one more thing he’d have to worry about—whether or not she could handle that small detail on top of everything else. He was pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of soft footsteps coming down the stairs.

Bucky quickly closed the case file on his iPad and turned off the screen, he then moved to the coffee pot on the counter behind him and poured another mug. He wasn’t happy about this, far from it, but at least there was coffee. He set the new mug on the far end of the island and waited for Aceline to join him in the kitchen. As she rounded the corner, Bucky could see the exhaustion settled deep in her bones. He could tell that this wasn’t exactly her idea of a vacation either.

He nodded to the coffee mug on the opposite end of the island, watching Aceline’s movements closely. She moved slowly across the room; her shoulders hung heavy, her eyes dimmed. She smiled gratefully at Bucky, silently thanking him for the coffee. She didn’t try to talk to him, which he was grateful for.

Aceline set her mug back down on the counter and looked up at the agent. His demeanor was less than inviting. She couldn’t help but wonder what had crawled up his ass to make him that way. She sighed, combing a hand through her long hair. “Look, I know you don’t want to be here. And I know you want me here about as much as I’d like to be here, so can we just agree to stay out of each other’s way until this thing is over?”

“Good plan,” Bucky said gruffly. His tone alerted Aceline to the fact that he didn’t think it was a good idea at all, and even if it had been, he was about to shit all over it. “Except for the gaping hole in the center of it.”

“Oh, yeah, and what might that be?” Aceline challenged.

“You seem to be forgetting that you are in Witness Security. Which means, unless it’s to sleep, shower, piss or shit, you’re not allowed so much as a foot out of my sight. Am I clear?”

“Is that supposed to make me want to listen to you? Cause it doesn’t. I get that your weekend’s been ruined or whatever, but I didn’t ask to see some dude get his head blown off and I didn’t ask to be put in Witness Security.”

“Well, that’s just tough. It is, you did, and you are. I only have two rules for the duration of this case: stay where I can see you at all times, and follow my instructions. Do that, and we won’t have any problems.”

Aceline promptly excused herself, leaving Bucky alone under a heavy silence once again. He wouldn’t admit it, but she had fire in her veins—something Bucky wasn’t used to seeing in the usual clients who entered the program. If Bucky were a gambling man, he would have already bet on how long Aceline would be able to stick it out. But he wasn’t and he hadn’t.

+

Bucky was still up by the time the moon had settled at its peak in the dark sky.

Aceline had gone to bed hours ago and he hadn’t heard so much as a whisper from her since. Their earlier conversation yielded a thick amount of tension between them, with Bucky feeling no more or less in control of the situation as he had when it began. Throughout the day, it had become increasingly clear to Bucky that Aceline was stubborn, and unbearably so.

He’d just finished logging his notes for Director Fury on how the first day had gone, and was heading upstairs to bed, when a piercing scream came from Aceline’s room. Bucky was up the stairs and around the corner in seconds, gun drawn and ready for whatever he’d come face-to-face with. But as he made it to Aceline’s room, he was met with the sounds of pained whimpers—nothing like what he’d expect if someone were attempting to harm her. Still, he knew better than to let his guard down until he cleared the room.

Aceline’s door was cracked; Bucky slowly and carefully pushed it open just enough for him to slip through unheard. He cleared the corners to the left and right of the doorway, the room was empty except for the bed where Aceline slept fitfully. He holstered his handgun and scrubbed a hand down his tired face—he hated this part, the comforting part. He wasn’t good at it, comforting other people. S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t hired him for his ability to be nurturing, they’d hired him for his deadly aim.

Bucky sighed. He approached Aceline’s bedside cautiously, aware that any sudden movements on his part could spell disaster for both of them. Bucky stilled as she shot up quickly, eyes frantically darting around the room. Her eyes landed on Bucky still a few feet away, but close enough to make out who he was in the dark, and she settled. Bucky let his shoulders relax.

Her hair was disheveled, she was frightened; Bucky was so far out of his league.

Bucky cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. “You were screaming. I thought someone was in the house, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I can’t stop seeing it—what happened, over and over and over. It’s like it plays on a constant loop in my head. It won’t leave me alone.” Aceline shook her head, her voice trembled with exhaustion and Bucky wondered how long it’d been since she’d had a good night’s sleep.

“I wasn’t given the details of what happened, only told to protect you. Whatever you saw was—is important. You should go back to sleep, we have to head into the office tomorrow. Rest up.” He turned to leave without another word.

“Stay. Please?” Aceline switched on the lamp beside her bed, and warm light flooded the room. Bucky could see her properly now, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her hair was disheveled, she was trembling; Bucky was so far out of his league.

“I need to check the rest of the cabin. Rest up,” Bucky repeated. “See you in the morning.”

He exited the room and pulled the door shut behind him. The fear on Aceline’s face and the way she was staring up at him as she asked him to stay with her had been burned into his brain. For a moment there, he’d considered sitting by her bedside and watching over her until she fell asleep; but comforting someone wasn’t something Bucky Barnes could do.

He made his way back down the stairs and checked the locks once again. Taking a seat in the living room, he grabbed his phone to call Steve before heading to bed. The line rang twice and Steve picked up immediately.

“Buck, it’s late. Is Aceline okay?” The gruffness of Steve’s voice told Bucky he’d been asleep prior to the agent’s call.

“Everything’s fine here, Stevie. She had a nightmare or something, woke up screaming a little bit ago,” Bucky replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Well, is she alright? Do either of you need anything?” Steve asked, and Bucky could hear the shuffling of his blankets as he sat up in bed.

“No, we’re fine, she’s just spooked. She asked me to sit with her, but we both know that’s not something I can do.”

“Have you even tried since your last case?”

“Steve, don’t push it.”

“Have you tried getting to know her? Having a conversation with her?”

“Steve.” Bucky’s patience with his best friend was wearing thin.

“I’m just saying, it’s not any easier to be in WITSEC than it is to be the agent protecting her. You both could use some reassurance. She needs to know she can count on you to keep her safe, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. And you need to remember that it’s okay to care about someone else,” Steve said gently. “I’ll cover for you at the office tomorrow. Take her out, let her stretch her legs, see the city. And if she wants to talk, listen. I know you’re still carrying guilt for what happened last time, but that wasn’t your fault. And Aceline isn’t Charlotte.”

Bucky tensed at the mention of his last client; things hadn’t gone well, he still hadn’t recovered from her loss. He’d gotten too close, let his feelings get in the way… he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. He sighed, figuring Steve was at least right about getting Aceline out of the cabin for a little bit, what could it hurt?

He and Steve chatted for a few more minutes, then hung up. By the time he was finally ready to go back upstairs, he had a small game plan in place.

The following morning, Aceline was up with the sun. She hadn’t quite slept as soundly as she’d hoped after Bucky left her room, but knowing he was nearby had eased her worries enough to get some rest. She wasn’t sure what the day had in store for her, but she knew she needed to get out of the house. She couldn’t just leave, though, not without Bucky. In the time it took to shower and dress for the day, she’d only figured out part of a plan to sway things in her favor. She ventured down the stairs ready to put her half-baked plan into action.

The kitchen was empty when she entered. It was big, certainly bigger than her kitchen at home and would allow her to cook breakfast without hindrance. She wasn’t sure what Bucky liked to eat, but hoped he’d appreciate a warm home cooked meal to make up for their rocky start the day before. Upon further inspection, she found the kitchen and accompanying pantry fully stocked with everything she’d need to cook breakfast for her and Bucky. She set her Rainy Day Playlist on shuffle and got to work.

When Bucky finally made his way downstairs about two hours later, Aceline was pulling a tray stacked with waffles out of the oven here she’d placed them to stay warm. The dining table had been set with plates, bowls, glasses of orange juice, and silverware. Aceline walked over with the platter of waffles, and Bucky’s stomach grumbled. She turned to face him with a gentle smile.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said warmly. “I figured it’s the least I could do after yesterday.”

Bucky remained silent. He sat down at the table and waited, unsure of how to approach Aceline. He thought back to his conversation with Steve the night before; he’d been right about one thing, Aceline certainly wasn’t Charlotte.

“I know you said we have to go talk to your boss today, but I thought we could both use a bit of a break from all the madness. At least for a couple hours?” She sat down across from him and played a few waffles, then held the dish out for him to take. She looked a lot different now than she had when he’d checked on her eight hours before. It was as if the nightmare hadn’t even fazed her.

Bucky cleared his throat, he took the plate from her with a polite nod of his head. “Actually, we’ve been excused from the meeting this morning, Steve will give us the details later. Do you have everything you need? Or is there anything you’d like to go out and get? We’ll be staying here a while.”

He was trying, and Aceline appreciated that. She sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking. Was this really the same agent who’d given her a harsh set of rules and stern talking to? She thought she’d have to work a lot harder than a nice breakfast to get him to agree to let her out of the cabin for a few hours. Whatever Steve had said to him seemed to be working, and she certainly wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She took a small sip of orange juice, and nodded. “I could use a few more things. I wasn’t really given much warning, just told to pack a bag and be ready by the time Agent Rogers got to my house.”

“There’s a store in town that should have whatever you forgot to bring. Take as much time as you need, we’ll go when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thank you, Agent Barnes.”

They finished eating in silence. When they were done, Bucky offered to clean up while Aceline went to get ready. He hadn’t expected to receive breakfast and good company when he woke up that morning. Bucky hadn’t expected his opinion of Aceline to shift so suddenly either, he went from feeling like he’d been employed as her babysitter to wondering how she wasn’t a lot more freaked out over the situation than she seemed.

He was putting the last of the dishes away when she returned. She stood at the island, staring at his back as he dried the remaining plates.

“I can finish that if you’d like to grab your things,” Aceline said quietly. She set her purse down on the counter and went to his side. He handed her the dish towel, and turned to leave the kitchen.

+

The drive into town was long, filled with awkward silences Bucky wasn’t sure how to break.

He pulled the SUV to a stop outside of a small shop about 20 miles from the cabin. He wasn’t sure how this was going to go, but he knew he needed to do something to make up for how he’d been treating her.

He reached into the center console and pulled out the handgun he kept there, his badge, and his cellphone. He grabbed something else from the console and held his hand out to her. “Let me see your phone.”

“My phone? What for?” She asked defiantly, but handed it over with one stern look from Bucky. She watched him fiddle with it for a couple seconds, then took it back when he was done. “What’d you do?”

He held his phone up so she could see the screen. “Tracking app, leave your phone on. If we get separated, meet me back here. After 15 minutes if you don’t show up, I’ll come find you.”

They got out of the car and went inside. The shop was small, but packed. They’d be able to blend in easily, but Bucky wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance. He wasn’t going to have another Charlotte… Bucky shook his head, cleared it of all thoughts of previous cases, and put on the first smile Aceline had seen in 24 hours.

He greeted the shop owner as they entered. “Morning, Grace.”

Grace smiled. “Morning, James. Long time, no see. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know—same old, same old, Grace. How about you? How’s Walter?” Bucky leaned against the counter, slipping into a comfortable conversation with Grace.

Aceline stood back and watched the two interact. The Bucky she was seeing now, was vastly different than the one she’d met previously. He’d let his guard down, he was talking and laughing like he hadn’t a care in the world. Here, he was a normal civilian instead of an uptight secret agent. Here, Bucky had personality and manners. She noted the way his eyes lit up as he smiled; a blue so rich and dark that it was like looking at the night sky or the ocean in his eyes. This was a side of Bucky she didn’t know he possessed.

“Hey, Ace, come here a minute.” Bucky held his arm out to her, waiting. When she stepped over to his side, he pulled her against him. His hand rested protectively on her hip, she tensed up next to him. He sensed her discomfort and leaned in close. “The man who came in behind us has been eyeing you up and down for the last 10 minutes. Relax, stay calm and follow my lead.”

Aceline slightly relaxed into Bucky’s hold, and laid her head on his shoulder. Grace smiled at her from behind the counter.

“And who’s this?” Grace asked cheerily.

“Oh, right. Forgive me, ladies. Grace, this is my fiancée, Aceline Marcure. Ace, this is Grace Richards, she owns the shop,” Bucky said breezily. He gently squeezed her hip, folding her into his side. He pressed a soft kiss into Aceline’s hair and turned back to Grace. “What was it you were saying you wanted to try and find, babe?”

Aceline hummed. “Oh, I was hoping to find nice candles for the centerpieces. We discussed gold holders, if possible.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how, but in that moment Aceline seemed so much stronger than he’d previously given her credit for. She’d adapted to change in situation without hesitation or panic, she’d put her trust in Bucky as quickly as he’d had to put his faith in her. He turned to place another kiss against her temple, and smiled up at Grace. If every encounter they had in public went this smooth, Bucky was certain Aceline would make it out of this alive.

—————

A/N: I’m so glad this is finally ready! I had so much fun writing this for you, Kansas. I hope you love it as much as I do!

I decided to make this into a series, even though this initial post is for your commission--the whole series will be for your commission! I can only hope that it lives up to the hype.

Commissions are open and can be paid for via my ko-fi page.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged. Remember to like, comment, and reblog if you loved it!

Thank you for your continuous support!

-Auri <3

Till The End of All Things (main taglist):

@arrowsandmixtapes @pinknerdpanda

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Erik watches his landlords child and afterwards wants to practice making a little bundle of joy himrself with Reader

Warnings: FLUFF. Mentions of Smut.

There was so many things on the agenda for Erik on this windy Thursday....

Gym at 6 AM

Shower, eat breakfast

Head to work at the Outreach for an 8 hour shift

Come home, cook dinner, shower

See his baby girl, fuck, pillow talk

Come home and sleep for six hours.

Repeat.

He didn’t realize how much he was putting his body through hell until he passed out asleep during an Outreach meeting. No one woke him up but he was angry with himself for sleeping through it and having to ask what happened. Currently, Erik was stuck in traffic on his way home. He was off for about an hour now and he wouldn’t be home for another hour. Pissed and hungry, Erik resulted to listening to the Joe Budden podcast.

HONK HONK!

“What where you’re going, BITCH!”

Some reckless driver was about to side sweep his car; new car. She was on her phone talking away, clearly not paying attention to the road. He angry talked to himself in the drivers seat, praying that no one else pisses him off. The podcast pauses as an incoming call comes through

Justine

“What now, Justine,” Erik answers it anyway via Bluetooth, “Sup, Justine?”

“Hey Erik!”

Justine was Erik’s landlord at the luxury apartment complex he lived in.

“Is everything okay?” Erik’s asks while making a right turn.

“Everything is fine! You know I don’t have any problems with you.”

“Glad to know. I would hate to take some bad news right now especially with how frustrated I already am.”

“Oh, shit, well, maybe I shouldn’t ask this then.”

Erik raised a brow, “Ask what?”

“Uhm,” Justine could be heard rustling around in the background, “You rememebr my daughter, Bianca?”

“Yeah, fat mama, right?” Erik remembered her nickname when his landlord stopped by with her on her hip, “How is she?”

“She’s good. Sleeping right now.”

“Awww, you sound like she wore you out, girl.”

“She did,” Justine spike with an exhausting tone.

“So what’s going on with her?” He was almost home free.

“Well...I don’t want to be a burden...but could you watch her for me tonight?”

“What?” Erik didn’t mean to actually say that out loud.

“Watch Bianca? I have to take care of something important tonight involving my family and I can’t watch over fat mama and do that at the same time. If you can’t, it’s fine, I’ll see if my bestfriend can do it if she picks up.”

Erik was quiet for a fraction to mule this over. Watching a baby? The last time he even held a baby was when he was 18 years old. It was his best friends older sisters baby. The baby threw up on his shirt and he quickly handed him back to his mother. He was smart, he could figure out changing diapers and feeding a child but taking care of a baby that isn’t his made him nervous.

“Erik?” Justine called his name.

“Y-yeah, I’m still here,” He licks his lips, “How long do you need me to watch her?”

“For about a few hours?”

“...Okay, I can do it.” He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this.

“Really?! Oh, thank God, you’re the best, Erik.”

He shook his head with a smirk, “I try. Plus, you’re a great fucking landlord, I’ve had shitty landlords so,” Erik laughs.

“Thanks so much! I would ask her father but...never mind-“

“Aye, it’s cool, I got you. Me and fat mama can watch ummm, Vamperina? You said she likes that, right?”

“Yes,” Justine giggles in the phone.

“What does fat mama like to eat?” Erik had nothing but meal prepped food that Bianca would definitely spit out.

“She likes nuggets, hot sticks- I mean, those Jimmy Dean pancake sausages, she calls them hot sticks, she likes French fries, you can give her a little bit of cooked kale, grilled cheese-“

“Why don’t you bring her some chicken nuggets and hot sticks over just in case. I have fries, kale, and I can whip up a grilled cheese depending on what she chooses. Apple juice cool?”

“Yeah, but not after 8. After 8 I prefer to give her water.”

“I agree. Aight, I’m almost home you can come through, Justine.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“No problem, girl.”

The call ended and Joe Budden came back on.

————————

“Baby...I’m not gonna be able to come over tonight.”

“Why?”

“I have to babysit my landlords daughter.”

“Seriously? You? Babysitting? You’re kidding, right?”

“Nah, I’m dead ass. She needs help, I got her. She’s cool.”

“Sounds like you have a huge task on your hands, Daddy.”

“Nothing I can’t handle. I got this, Aight? Don’t clown me.”

“Don’t call me for help when you gotta change her diaper.”

“It’s just a shitty or pissy diaper, Y/N, ain’t nothing hard about that.”

“Yeah, okay, we’ll see.”

Knock knock.

“That’s them, I’ll talk to your cute ass later. Love you irky.”

“Love you too dumb ass.”

Erik lets out a sigh, walking out of his bedroom and towards his door. He unlocks it, opening the door, coming face to face with Justine holding a babbling Bianca. Just was dressed in a nice black turtle neck dress, some thigh high black suede boots, and her long dreads pulled up into a bun. Fat mama wore a pink onsie that read spoil me in gold glitter letters, feet bare and a gold anklet around her left ankle that patched the little gold heart earrings in her ears. She has big light brown eyes and messy curly hair with the barettes all over the place from her messing with her hair.

“Hey Erik! Say hi, fat mama!”

Bianca nervously looks at Erik with a finger in her mouth. Erik smiles at her.

“Weren’t you in the car asking about Mr. Ewik?”

Erik laughs at that. It sounded so cute.

“Now say hi,” Justine persists.

“Hi Erwik,” Bianca waves with her chubby hand.

“Hi, fat mama,” He grabs one of her chubby feet, swinging it, “You came to spend time with me?”

Bianca nods her head, one of her barrettes falling out of her hair and to the floor. Erik bends down to pick it up, Bianca putting her foot on top of his head.

“Stop that!” Justine pulls her foot away.

“It’s cool, she’s just having fun,” Erik acts like he was about to bite Bianca’s foot, making her giggle.

“Hey Erik, do you mind holding Bianca while I go get her play pin? She won’t play with her toys unless she’s in there.”

“I can get it for you,” Erik opened her door further, letting Justine and Bianca inside, “Just give me your keys.”

Justine hands Erik her keys, “It’s in the back seat folded up since I have too much junk in my trunk.

Erik slips on his Adidas slides that he had by the front door, walking out of the apartment to retrieve that play pin.

———————

Justine brought over nuggets and Mac and cheese. She told him Bianca was screaming about Velveeta Mac and cheese with nuggets. Erik made a little bit of kale, put the nuggets in the oven, and boiled the water on the stove for the Mac and cheese. Currently, fat mama was sitting in her play pin tossing around her LOL dolls that has tangled hair and missing outfits. She asked Erik to comb the hair for her but he couldn’t even do it. Erik stepped back into the living room, walking over to Bianca’s baby bag that Justine left on the couch. She had a change of clothes, some undies, a first aid kit just in case, and a blanket.

“Vamp-rina! Vamp-rina! Turn up! Turn up!”

“Hold on, fat mama,” Erik placed the baby bag on the floor next to the couch, laying her blanket down just in case she fell asleep.

“Turn up, EWIK!”

“Fat mama, stop bossing me around like a little diva.”

THUMP

Erik looked up to see one of fat mama’s LOL dolls on the floor in front of the TV. He looked from the doll to Bianca’s smiling face.

“Did you just throw that, fat mama?”

“Yesssss!” She spoke joyfully.

“I told you I was coming, don’t do that, you’re gonna break your doll.”

“Ewik,” she pointed a spit covered finger to the TV again.

Erik shakes his head, picking up his remote to turn the TV up.

“Shit!” He runs to the kitchen, thankful that the food was still good. Erik added the noodles to the boiling water, stirring it in before placing it on low heat. While he was flipping the nuggets over in the oven, he heard small footsteps behind him. Startled, Erik looks up to see Bianca crawling on one of his barstools to get to the counter.

“Aye, get down, girl,” Erik grabs her, fat mama wiggling in his arms, “chill out, girl.”

She starts crying.

“Shit,” Erik began to panic. He was dealing with a fussy toddler.

“Calm down fat mama, calm down? Girl,” Erik soothes her by rubbing her back, “The food is almost done and then you can eat and watch Vamperina.”

“I want my mommy,” she rubbed her teary eyes.

“I know, I know. She’ll be back soon, okay? But you have to be a good girl. You don’t want to hang out with Mr. Ewik?”

“You don’t comb the hair for me.”

“I tried, it’s too tangled,” Erik walks over to the stove with Bianca in his arms, turning off the flame, “I’ll try again after you eat, okay?”

“Okay,” She calmed down, “I wanna get down.”

“Okay, fat mama,” Erik lets her down, “go watch TV.”

Erik watched fat mama walk away with her chubby legs back to the living room. Erik quickly drains the noodles before adding the cheese. He takes the nuggets out of the stove, and grabs the kale from the microwave. Erik plates fat mama’s food in a bowl before walking out to her. She was standing at the TV stand, pulling out Erik’s DVDs that he still enjoyed collecting. That didn’t include his books from his book shelf on the bottom row on the floor. Fat mama was so invested in opening his DVDs to get the CDs out. Erik rushed over to her, picking her up, and placing her back in her play pin.

“You need a play pin with bars because you keep getting into everything, girl.”

“I’m hungry,” She spoke while looking up at Erik with her big light brown eyes that reminded Erik of maple syrup.

“I got you food coming right now. Stay put,” Erik pointed a finger at her, “Don’t get out.”

Bianca didn’t respond, she simply looked at the cartoon on TV while aggressively moving her toys around. Erik heaved a sigh, walking back to the TV stand to get her food. Erik handed fat mama her food before sitting down on the couch to relax a little he grabs his phone, calling Y/N back.

“Hey, Baby Sitter,” she spoke with a teasing tone of voice.

“I wish you were here to help me. She is wild. Gets into everything.”

“How old is she?”

“Two in a half. She’ll be three in like a few months I think,” Erik peeks over to see fat mama eating her Mac and cheese with the baby spoon that Justine had in her food bag, “She’s giving me a run for my money.”

“Told you so, babe. You want me to come over...don’t you?”

“Please?” Erik heard a noise, looking over to see fat mama trying to feed her dolls some kale, “Shit, she’s trying to feed her damn dolls, I gotta go, are you coming?”

“Yes, I’ll be to the rescue. I’ll even bring chocolate chip cookies for her.”

“Thanks baby, you’re the best,” Erik gets up from the couch, kissing Y/N through the phone before hanging up to stop fat mama from making a mess.

——————————

Erik wanted to rip his dreads out of his head. Y/N texted that she was stuck in traffic and Erik was currently chasing fat mama around his apartment because she wanted to play tag. She said her mama always plays tag with her. She was a quick one too, besting Erik every chance she got, her giggles so heart warming.

“Come on, girl, that’s enough, I’m tired,” Erik was sleepy and he didn’t have the energy anymore to keep up with a toddler, “aren’t you tired? All this running you’re doing.”

“NO!” She shouts, hiding behind one of Erik’s house plants, she almost made it fall over from how fast she bolted away before Erik could grab her. Fat mama was streaking and laughing.

“That’s enough now, come on!” Erik was growing frustrated. Y/N needed to hurry her ass up. He texted Justine back letting her know that everything was fine but what he really wanted to do was tell her to come get fat mama because she wouldn’t stay in one place. This was a challenge, but Erik didn’t want to give up.

“Fat mama, don’t you wanna watch Aladdin together?” He yelled out to her, “We can watch Aladdin and sing A Whole New World!”

“Really?!!!” She finally stops, coming from behind the kitchen island, running up to Erik. He smiled, inwardly cheering himself on for finally gaining her attention.

“Yeah, I have Disney+, we can watch it and sing together.”

“YAY!!!!” She reached out for him to pick her up, Erik grabbing her and bringing her to the living room. Fat mama insisted that Erik lay in the play pin with her and watch it. He didn’t think he would fit but he did, grabbing fat mama to sit in his lap while he turned in the movie. He told her that the cartoon version was better. Fat mama drank her apple juice while her and Erik watched the move. She was finally calm, singing along to the music. Erik remembered the songs from his own childhood. He yawns, blinking his eyes rapidly to try and stay awake. Erik looks down at fat mama, noticing that she was asleep with her little mouth hanging open.

“Success,” Erik carefully holds her in his arms while he laid down with her resting on his chest. Her soft snores were soothing to him while he continued to watch Aladdin.

————————-

“Baby?” Y/N opened the door with her own key that Erik gave her. She had a bag filled with fresh baked cookies since she owned a bakery. Y/N kicked off her sneakers, taking off her denim jacket to hang on a coat rack near Erik’s door before walking through the foyer and into his living room. There, in a play pin was Erik and Bianca sleeping. Bianca was asleep on his chest. Y/N looked up at the TV seeing that they were watching Aladdin. The image before her was so adorable. She couldn’t help the big smile on her face. Erik looked good with a baby. Calming her ovaries down, Y/N walks past, heading to the kitchen to put the cookies away. When she got into the kitchen, she placed the cookies in the counter, looking around at all the mess from Erik cooking Bianca food. Y/N decides to clean up since Erik was asleep with Bianca.

Back in the living room, Erik’s phone began to ring, waking him up out of his sleep suddenly. His hand came up to settle on fat mama’s back before using his other hand to feel around for his phone.

“Hello?” Erik clears his throat since he still had sleep in his voice.

“It’s Justine. Everything okay? I’m on my way to get Bianca.”

Erik looked down at the top of fat mama’s curly hair, “she’s good, we goofed around a little bit, fell asleep while watching Aladdin.”

“Awww, you remembered she loves Aladdin!”

“Yes, we sang A Whole New World together too,” Erik takes his hand to play in her hair.

“So sweet! I bet you two sounded nice.”

Movements could be heard coming from the kitchen. Erik looked up to find Y/N waving at him with a dish towel in her hand. Fat mama began to stir on him, moving her head to look up at him. She blinked, one side of her face imprinted from sleeping on Erik’s shirt and her hair even more wild.

“She’s looking up at me with her pretty eyes right now.”

“Can I speak to her?”

Erik put the phone to fat mama’s ear, “It’s mommy!”

“MOMMY!” She yelled into the phone, reaching to grab it. Erik gave it to her.

“Mommy! Where are you?”

Erik places Bianca down while he got out of the play pin. He walks over to Y/N pulling her close and cuffing both of her ass cheeks. Erik kisses her neck, using some tongue. Y/N looked over to see Bianca looking at them.

“Erik, she’s watching us,” Y/N whispered.

Erik looks over his shoulder at fat mama.

“Hey, mommy gone?”

She nodded her head while her eyes watched Y/N.

“This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

Y/N smiled, waving at Bianca, “Hi, pretty girl!

Bianca only smiles.

“She’s so freaking cute, Erik! Let me stop! Now, I’m having baby fever!”

“You want some cookies?” Erik asks.

Bianca was up and out of her play pin without a word.

—————————

Knock knock

Erik walks to the door while Y/N and fat mama combed the dolls hair. Justine was there with a tired smile on her face.

“I’m here! Thanks again Erik,” Justine reaches out to hug Erik, Erik wrapping his arm around her.

“Like I said, no problem, girl.”

“Where is she? Did she fall asleep?”

“Yeah, her and I. She had some cookies too.”

“Oooooo you really spoiled her,” Justine looks Erik up and down, “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Well...I did run into a few bumps but I came out on top,” He smirked at Justin, showing off his dimples. Justine bashfully looked down at her shoes before looking back up into his eyes through her lashes. Erik noticed that look in any women’s eyes. He cleared his throat, stepping aside so Justine could walk in. When Erik moved out of the way, Justine spotted Y/N and Bianca in the play pin.

“Oh,” Justine looked from Erik to them, “Is that your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, she came over to help out. Thank God too because fat mama kept asking me to comb her dolls hair for her. I couldn’t do that shit at all.”

“How cute,” Justine spoke in a flat tone while giving Erik a small smile, “Bianca seems to like her.”

“This is the calmest she’s been all night.”

Justine walks inside, making her way over to the play pin to get Bianca’s attention.

“Fat mama!!”

Bianca looked up, beaming at her mother, before rushing towards her. Y/N watched the interaction, before grabbing Bianca’s dolls.

“You miss me?!”

“Yeah!!” Fat mama squeezed Justine’s neck.

“Awww! Have fun with Mr. Ewik?!”

“Uh-huh! And Miss Y/N too!”

Y/N walked over to Justine, holding out her hand to greet her, “That’s me, how are you?”

“Hi,” Justine shakes her hand, “Thanks for the dolls even though it will be tangled again.”

“No worries, It was fun.”

Justine gave Y/N a smile before accepting Bianca’s bag from Erik.

“I put everything away. I’ll bring the play pin out for you.”

“You’re so helpful,” Justine gently touches Erik’s arm.

“I told you, I got you.”

“Say good bye to Y/N?” Justine whispered to Bianca.

“BYE BYE!”

“See you soon, beautiful!” Y/N waved.

Justine walks out of the house, Bianca looking at Y/N and Erik with sad eyes. Erik pouts, following them out the door with the folded up play pin.

—————————-

It was 10 PM and Erik knew he had to be asleep for work in the morning but he couldn’t keep his hands off of Y/N. He missed his baby.

“Daddy, shouldn’t you be sleeping? Tomorrow is Friday we can have more fun then,” Y/N spoke between gasps while Erik sucked on her nipples.

“I ain’t have you all day, girl,” He licks her nipples, “You didn’t miss Daddy’s tongue on you?”

“I missed all of Daddy...not just his tongue.”

“Damn,” Erik’s hand descends her body to slip inside of her jeans, “what’s this?”

“My wet little pussy,” Y/N whispered.

“Daddy’s wet little pussy,” Erik corrected her.

“Mhm,” Y/N ran a hand through his dreads.

“Thank you for coming to the rescue again.” Erik whispers in her ear.

“Baby...you had it under control. And you looked so damn adorable sleeping with Bianca in your chest. My ovaries were screaming,” Y/N giggles.

“Oh, yeah?” Erik’s fingers rubbed Y/N’s clit, “You like seeing me with a baby?”

“Yes,” Y/N sighs with pleasure, “Fuck, it was so cute.”

“What if I put a baby in you then?”

Y/N gawked at him, “what?!”

“Did I say something wrong?” Erik spoke with an elevated brow.

“N-no, just surprised me, that’s all.” Y/N got wetter when he said that. She would love to get pregnant by Erik. Become his baby mama. Be the reason why she’s pregnant because his cum filled her womb. It all sounded so...good.

“You’re serious?” She asks timidly.

“...what do you think?”

“I don’t know...are you?”

Erik looked from her lips to her eyes, “I am. I already made you my one and only.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest. She felt like everything around her stood still.

“Only if you want to though,” Erik still rubbed her clit, making Y/N squirm, “because we can do this right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I want to,” Y/N murmurs. She felt so excited saying those words. All of this because she saw Bianca and Erik sleeping.

“Shit, bet,” Erik got onto his knees, snatching her jeans off, “You don’t know what you just started girl.”

[aprils-arcadia]

Killjoy

Members: Kihyun, Changkyun Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1,5k Summary: Once again Kihyun finds himself at the mercy of one of Changkyun’s drunk plans.

A heavy sigh escaped Kihyun’s mouth as he slowly noticed where they were headed. Changkyun had always been very good at taking back roads and weird shortcuts to throw Kihyun's sense of direction off, making him realize too late where they were going, too late to turn around.

The night was stuffy and humid and if it would have been up to him he’d have spent it holed up in his air-conditioned apartment instead of walking around in the middle of the night. Unsure where he was going but already dreading their arrival. He could feel his shirt stick to his body and cursed himself for having agreed to go out tonight. It would turn out like usual anyway. They turned a last corner and Kihyun was equally proud and agitated of having guessed correctly. 

Changkyun on the other hand was in a completely different mood. He’d been happily strolling down the narrow lanes and alleys for the past 20 minutes, seemingly devoid of worry or care. It was a nice change of pace and Kihyun liked seeing him that way, that’s why even when he wasn’t in the mood he’d almost always agree to come along. Because for once it didn’t feel like the young man in front of him was carrying the weight of the world on his steadily broadening shoulders. Unfortunately this kind of thinking always got him to the same point. 

Another friday. Another fence.

 Changkyun had stopped in his tracks and turned around towards Kihyun, wearing his brightest smile. He gestured towards the fence and nodded. 

“Pretty good, huh?” He looked like a little kid wanting to be praised for finally having drawn the sun not in the corner but as a standalone wobbly circle - a truly magnificent feat.  

“Nope, not gonna happen.” Kihyun crossed his arms before his chest and briefly saw the mischievous glint in Changkyun’s eyes flicker. 

"Come on! Don't be such a chicken! It won't be dangerous." 

"You also said that the last time and we ended up in jail! So no thanks!" 

“That was one night. And it wasn't THAT bad.” Changkyun shrugged with his shoulders like the night had been equal to being downgraded from a 5-star hotel to a 4-star one. And not like they were forced to sleep sitting against a cold stonewall constantly questioning if closing their eyes would even be such a good idea.  

“Not that bad? May I remind you of that one creepy bloke that sat in the corner staring at us the entire time. And how in his end-of-the-world rant he told me to ‘watch out for the fairies’ because they were coming to steal my crackers.” 

“Dude that guy was hilarious. Come on you gotta admit it was completely worth it”

“Worth it? We broke into an aquarium at 3 am because and I am quoting here ‘the fishies might be lonely’.”

“You say that like it was a bad idea.” Changkyun said defensively.

“Because it was for God's sake and now? Now you want me to break into an amusement park. What is it with you and the desire for breaking and entering every time you get drunk.”

Over the last 4 years Kihyun had become pretty familiar with the two vastly different behaviours Changkyun exhibited while drunk. Either he’d turn deeply philosophical wanting to discuss the meaning of life and the existence of the universe for what always felt like a million years or he’d want to do something dangerous or in his words exciting. These déjà-vus had to stop but Kihyun wasn’t able to figure out how to break that circle yet.

“Because it's fun,” Changkyun simply said. “Isn’t it?”

Kihyun hated to admit this and the words would never leave his lips unless they’d be tortured out of him but it was fun. It was irresponsible and dangerous but the sight of the huge fish tanks illuminated only slightly was a sight he’d not forget so soon. The eerie sounds of the water lapping onto the glass that would never have been audible during the day. The opportunity to enjoy the place completely devoid of humans. He didn’t like how they got there and he surely disliked how they left but he greatly treasured those moments in between. 

“So let's hear it, what's your plan?” Kihyun asked purely out of curiosity. Maybe this time around Changkyun would have come prepared and not rely completely on his highly questionable ability to improvise.

“Easy. You give me a boost over the fence and then I'll pull you up.”

“That's the plan?”

“Yep”

“The whole plan?”

“Indeed.” Changkyun nodded sharply.

“You’re kidding, right?” Unfortunately Changkyun’s face remained unchanged. “That is not a plan. Not in the slightest. Seriously how is that supposed to be a plan?”

“Oh come on. It's not like you have a better idea.”

“I don't and you know why? Because I don't wanna end up in JAIL again.”

“But it would be so cool, don't you think? All the lights and the music.”

Kihyun looked towards the pitch-black park behind the fence and back to Changkyun.

“You do notice that everything is turned off right?” He said, cocking up his eyebrows and eyeing Changkyun in his perfectly patronizing way of stating the obvious to an apparently oblivious person. 

“But we can turn them on.” Changkyun stated matter-of-factly.

“No sh*t, Sherlock. Great idea. How do you intend to do that? Do you know where the control room is? How do you plan on getting in there? Please, do enlighten me.”

 “You know, I don’t like it when you ruin a perfectly good idea with all that realism. Why do you always have to be such a killjoy.”

“Killjoy?” Kihyun scoffed. “Seriously? Well one of us has to be the responsible adult in these scenarios. Otherwise you'd probably be dead in a ditch right now.”

“Like hell I would.”

“Do you even remotely recall all the things I prevented you from doing? Like at all? Believe me you’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for me.” Kihyun said, holding his head high.

“Yeah as if. And also we’ll never know because you are such a boring killjoy and wouldn't let me try it.”

“For good reason.” By now Kihyun's voice was raised and he could feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Why wouldn’t he listen. Once. Just once. 

Kihyun’s phone started to vibrate and snapped both of them out of their bickering before it would turn into a fight. 

“It’s Shownu. I gotta take this.” Kihyun felt the tension leave his body as he picked up the phone and heard the calm voice of his roommate. Kihyun walked a few steps further down the road but immediately regretted leaving Changkyun’s side the second he heard the distant clatter of metal. 

“Don’t you dare!” Kihyun turned around sharply, his eyes glaring at the young man that was now suspiciously close to the fence, tugging at the rusty chain links. Sometimes hanging out with Changkyun felt like babysitting a toddler that you couldn't leave alone for five seconds or they'd start chewing on the crayons.

Only their responses differed greatly from Changkyun, who dramatically gasped and placed his hand comically over his mouth and not to forget the middle finger flung in Kihyun’s direction. An especially rude toddler he might add.

 “Yeah got it. Thanks for letting me know.” Kihyun hung up. 

“What’s up with Shownu?” Changkyun yelled as Kihyun made his way back to him. “Did you ask him to come along?”

“No, I didn’t and there is still nothing for him to come along to because we are gonna head home now. Shownu just said that he will spend the night at work.”

“That’s perfect!” Changkyun exclaimed.

“And how is that?” 

“Obvious. He can bail us out anytime.”

“Shownu did not become a police officer just to bail your sorry ass outta jail everytime you so please.” Kihyun responded exasperatedly.

“But he definitely would. It’s the perfect night for this. Come on.”

Kihyun rubbed his forehead. This was getting exhausting. He knew the look in Changkyun’s eyes all too well and knew that he would not be able to stop him tonight. He’d have to trank him and carry him home if he wanted to achieve that. So the only reasonable thing left to do - and he hated himself for doing it - was to give in. 

“Arggh, to hell with this.” Kihyun grunted. “Let’s do this.” Because at least that way Changkyun would not get into trouble on his own and maybe he would be able to prevent at least some more severe incidents by not leaving Changkyun’s side.

“Awesome!” Changkyun was getting ready at the fence to give Kihyun a boost. 

“Great, so we’re not even following the tiny bit of a plan you had,” Kihyun said while already swinging across to the other side. “Just great.” 

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

secret baby ch12

When the day comes for Dabi to meet ‘the broker’ and start his new job doing whatever Giran asks of him Dabi spends the morning a nervous wreck. He scents his entire apartment. Trying to give himself something to do and trying to calm his nerves at the same time. He refuses to let go of Kiyoko as he paces around his apartment rescenting it and after almost 3 hours of this behaviour Kiyoko becomes fussy. Unhappy with being held and being so close to Dabi when he reeks of omega distress.  She continues to whimper and cry as Dabi gets ready and starts full on wailing when he sprays on a scent neutralizer.  Covering up his natural scent and making him smell like nothing in particular unless someone gets very close to him. Tucking his head against Kiyoko’s skull one he takes a deep breath, breathing in her unique baby scent. 

Knocking on the door to her babysitters apartment feels weird, like he’s moving too fast or too slow, the knocks sound extra loud. Dabi is more grateful for the neutralizing scent patch covering his distress. Kiyoko keeps scrunching her nose at him and making small unhappy wails. She’s not truly started fussing again yet but she might once Dabi leaves.The door opens and the young alpha female that babysits the buildings kids coo’s at Kiyoko. Thankfully she’s never tried to take Kiyoko out of Dabi’s arms, always waiting until Dabi has said goodbye one last time and hands her over.

“Ill see you tonight okay Kiyoko? Daddy will be back tonight and then you can stop making those grouchy faces.” He kisses the top of her head and vows to himself that no matter what he has to do tonight he will come home to Kiyoko in one piece. If that means dropping more bodies then he’s just going to have to be okay with that. “I love and be good.”

Kiyoko wails and reaches for him when he passes her to her babysitter but that's normal at this stage. 

At just 5 months Kiyoko has started recognizing people and doesn't like being left with her sitter or being held by anyone she doesn't know. 

Dabi waits until the babysitter has her inside and he’s heard the lock turn in place before he turns around leaving her behind.

The meeting place end’s up being a cafe that looks very nice for the neighborhood it's in. its welcoming and decorated in neutral tones with porcelain cups to drink out of instead of disposable ones. It feels very upscale, like somewhere Dabi would have gone when he was Touya, it leaves him feeling even more anxious.

“I'm here to meet someone,” He explains to the barista and asks for a water cup. Something to throw as a distraction if he has to make an escape. It won't buy him anything more than a few seconds but something is better than nothing.

“Ill let him know you're here! Feel free to order anything that catches your eye! Giran’s people get snacks catered to them on the house during meetings!” the barista chirps at him in her polite customer service voice. She didn't smell nervous or stressed from what he could tell. Unusual for people in customer service.

“Um, just water please. I'm not sure I'm one of his people yet” Dabi mutters and turns the cups he is given in his hands. Finding it hard to stop fidgeting,

He sits at a table close to the door and slowly sips at his water. The barista messes around on their phone before going back to what he assumes is an employee area. His legs won’t quit bouncing out of nerves. Then an older man in an ill fitting suit comes out smoking a cigar despite no smoking signs posted all over posted in clear view. There’s 3 from what Dabi can see focusing on them as the man takes his own sweet time coming over after talking to the barista. One small one near the registrar and one against the back wall, the last one being on the wall the table he chose is shoved up next to.

“Alright sugar relax.” the man puffs at his cigarette and sits down. The barista brings him a coffee moments later. “You don’t have to do anything you're not comfortable with.”

“What if i want to leave right now and not come back?” Dabi glares across the table. He may sound kind but Giran oozes sleezeball vibes. Maybe it's the poorly fitting suit and the cigar. Probably the nicknames too.

“If you want to change your mind and leave you can. But I promise you won't be able  to remember how to get a hold of me or how to find this lovely establishment again.”   Giran takes a drink of coffee and pulls out a nice tablet from his suit’s jacket.

“What do i call you?” shoulders sloping a fraction Dabi finally relaxes into his chair.Giran smelled of cigar smoke and coffee blended with the scent all alpha’s carried. It was oddly comforting to Dabi. 

“You can call me anything you’d like but most people call me either ‘the broker’ or my name Giran.” he messes around on the tablet for a few minutes before he turns it around showing Dabi the screen.

“I, there’s legal things here? Including actual delivery?” relieved, if a little confused Dabi looks at the ‘listings’. “I don’t understand. I, look. I was given your number for a job I cremated someone about to hit his girlfriend. Also a lot of these would take me months to pay you back. “ it would still be more than he was making now. Still a tight budget to raise Kiyoko on though. He would be getting a large porton siphoned off to Giran. He didn’t want to get himself wrapped up in a loan shark. None of the jobs were exactly descriptive either. 

“Oh! Mira told me about you! She’s not usually the type to recruit these sort of people so I assumed you would want to join her in being an escort or something on that level.” Giran swiped the tablet back and swiped over a few tabs. “This more like what you were expecting honey?”

The list was much much longer with bigger wages listed in parentheses next to each title. Maybe enough to pay Giran back in a couple weeks and live off of. Underneath were job descriptions detailing what would be expected of him for each and instructions to contact Giran about anything they were unsure about.

“Any of these i want?” there was a listing for anything from drug running to lookouts to something called ‘observer’. Apparently that one you just sat around in whatever locations you got texted and reported as many things as you noticed. Guards, people, Heros and where they stopped. Giran obviously wasn't a small time small information broker new to doing this.

There was a listing towards the bottom that grabbed Dabi’s attention right away. It offered a generous sum of money and was called “shovel”. Looking at the description it looked like debt collection and body disposal. It was something that paid very well and Dabi could easily due considering the nature of his quirk, with a little pain he could pay Giran back very quickly. However It required a two man team so he would be working closely with someone, who most likely would be nosy and wanting to hang out after ‘work’. It would require getting close to his partner as well, knowing enough about them to make sure he didn’t run to the police with a description of Dabi.

Dabi could probably just as well survive off any of the other jobs though. If he chose something he wouldn't have to work  with anyone else and have them snooping around in his business.

“I would like to try messenger for now Giran.” he tapped at his decision on screen,highlighting it. Messengers did a variety of things, delivering things for Giran he didn't want to send through the mail as well as verbal messages. He had explicit rights to defend himself if he needed to and it seemed to be lower risk than just dropping bodies.

“Alright then, can we get a name for you to go buy?” Giran took his tablet back and put it away after making a few notes on it.”I have to admit I was hoping for ‘shovel’ with that quirk of yours I heard about.”

“You can call me Dabi, and I'm not sure how alright I would be with ‘shovel’ as something to start with.” Dabi shrugged, still tense. This felt slightly too easy to do.

“Well let's cut a deal here ‘Dabi’ how about if you end up dropping a body or two out on the job 

then i’ll give you the ‘shovel’ rate of pay for saving me the work of calling in the other guys? Sound good?” standing up Giran held out his hand for Dabi to shake.

“ I'm not going to say no to more money.”  Dabi shook Giran’s calloused hand and made to leave. Feeling disgusting and wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Ill text you times and places a week in advance, If your not feeling well let me know. We can probably work something out and i don't want to be losing people because they didn't feel like they could stay home”

“I look forward to hearing from you then I guess.”  That had gone a lot better than expected, except for signing a bunch of legal papers it was what Dabi suspected a real job interview would have been like.

Kiyoko reaches for Dabi when he comes he goes to pick her up. Freshly showered and smelling like himself again. She’s only recently been able to control her little limbs enough to be able to reach for him and it melts his heart every single time.

“Dad got a job princess! We’re going to be living like royalty.” Dabi purrs at her as he carries her home.

Kiyoko gurgles at him and waps him with her arm.

“Yeah I know, you're always so upset when dad has to leave you with the babysitter. Well i don’t like it either.” opening up his apartment door he switched the radio on for some white noise and put Kiyoko in her high chair. Starting to cook something for himself and heating up Kiyoko’s formula. Which she gurgled and reached for the moment she saw it. Wrinkling his nose Dabi walked around his apartment opening the windows, it still smelled like his distress several hours later.

“Looks like i was worried for nothing Kiyoko, let's hope it stays that way.”  Later when Dabi had tucked Kiyoko into her crib for the night he paced around the apartment. Doing the dishes in silence and putting away any toys Kiyoko had out until the last minute when she couldn't keep her eyes open.   The  apartment still felt slightly empty and when it was this quite it only amplified the feeling.

@ruelukas22 @mostladylikeladythateverladied @xxsnowchildxx @i-like-to-shruggy

[all-hallows-evie]

Athenaeum:3

Warnings: LANGUAGE (cuz it’s me), Eventual canon type violence, this HAS NOT been Beta’d (sorry!), eventual fluff, domestic fluff up the ass,  no Y/N and as of right now, reader is not gendered. Not planning on changing that one. This fic will be rated T at most.

Summary: (stolen from my AO3 summary) You are the sole caretaker of a small archive in an outer rim planet, where you collect information from anyone who happens to wander through. When the Mandalorian happens to appear at your door you are loathe to help, but the kid wins you over.

But this is Star Wars, and nothing is ever that easy.

***

The chunky but funky chapter, lol.

Grogu plush was ABSOLUTELY used for reference....all over my house lol.

***

Chapter 3:

Two nights came and went, and life seems to get back to normal. The excitement from the arrival of the silver soldier of fortune has finally died down, and your overflowing stack of uncategorized information disks is finally starting to peter down to a sad stack of uninspired information split between discs. It was a shame the Mando had no information to give, it was always hard to gage when someone else even half as exciting might wander through town.

Your mind begins to wander. It circles around the dark corners of your mind, you are mindful and careful to stay away from the shadows that linger there but your toes can't help but dip in slightly, rewards for your curiosity come instantly, flashes of memories blind you, white as lightning and almost twice as hot.

It’s the high pitched squeal that finally manages to break you away from your thoughts, as a little green and tan blob of energy zooms underneath your table. Six little claws pinch into your calf. You peer under the table as the bubbling little gurgles start.

"Hello you," you coo back, "Where's your big bad bodyguard?"

The child clutches at the tops of your worn boots, pulling them slowly from off your calves as he tries in vain to crawl up your leg.

"Brave little thing, aren't you?" You sigh as you pull your boot back up by the thin leather before setting the child on the table in front of you. His little hands instantly clutching at the edge of your helmet.

"Can you watch him?"

You don’t even turn to face him, "You must be out of your mind Mando." Comes your huff of a reply.

"Overnight is all I ask."

Now you can’t help but turn, you sling your arm over the back of your chair, "No one else could take him in for you?"

"He doesn't like anyone else."

Doubtful , you can't help but think as your eyes roll behind the safety of your helmet.

"I will get you what you ask."

"Hn. So you expect me to watch your kid and give you access to my files...all for...what?"

"My bounty is a slaver from Baralou, sold native Krikthasi to anyone who would pay."

You hate the way your heart skips a beat at his words, "Krikthasi." You repeat, your mind mulls over the unknown word.

"It's a worm." He replies to your silence, "One of two species on the planet."

"Fine." You sigh as your mouth grows dry. You couldn’t think of anything else you would like to do less than to babysit tonight.  "Overnight Mando, and not a second longer."

He is already at the door before you can say anything else, his dark cape sways behind him as you turn back to the child who seems too distracted by the images on your viewpad to notice that his father, guard...whatever the Mandalorian was to this tiny creature is quietly leaving him behind.

"I hope you can eat human food." You sigh, pulling your gloves from off of your hands and slapping them onto the table a little harder than you intend.  You reach over to the screen and flip to the next image, the child gurgles happily, plopping down on the table and pulling the screen to rest on his tiny lap as he watches the fishes swim by on the screen. You can't help the warm smile that blooms on your lips, "You like those?"

He coos, big brown eyes sparkling with a question he's not yet able to verbalize.

"Those are fat fish guppies from Naboo." You reply, as you tap the screen to restart the holo, the kid squeals in joy.

"Your dad ever taken you to Naboo?"

He responds, in his own way, a series of quiet and sweet sounds as his eyes are glued to the screen. His little clawed hand reaches out to tap the glass, the yearning to touch etched deep creases on his little brow.

"I'll take that as a no." You chuckle. "He should. That planet would probably suit you, I think." You murmur as you reach a hand out gently and softly stroke his big ears, velvety and smooth under your fingertips. His big brown eyes never leave the guppies as they dance from one side to the other, he leans slightly into your hand as you both grow braver to each other's sudden company. Much braver than you would have been at his size, he never flinches away from your touch.

You scoot your chair closer so that both of you can watch the screen, he turns up to face you, little hands clutching together as he burbles. You aren’t positive what he's asking but the feeling at the pit of your gut makes you answer anyway, "No, you wouldn't want to eat them. They don't taste very good unless you’re a Gungan."

He nods with a satisfied little chirp and you laugh softly, tickled by every reaction on his little face. You bring your elbow up onto the table, and rest your head on your hand as you watch him, "Would you like to see my favorite creature?"

Joy erupts on his little face, eyes sparking as he taps on the glass excitedly.

"Alright, alright!" You laugh as you search the data files for the holo, finally placing it back on the child's lap as giant four legged beasts race across the screen, their large soft ears flap with every gallop. You didn't think it was possible for his eyes to grow any bigger, for the sparkle inside them to get any brighter. He squeals with delight, tiny teeth flashing in his little mouth.

"Exciting, I know!" You reply, "Those are called fathiers and they are some of the fastest animals in the galaxy."

His bubbly language comes faster and faster, raising with the excitement of the races on the screen. You feel the way the child is already worming his way into your heart, bringing sense into why the towering Mando seems so protective of the little squirt.

He suddenly looks away, uninterested with the images on the screen. He murmurs something softly as he looks around the room.

"I know that face." You smirk, "I bet you, little one, are hungry."

He babbles in agreement.

"Alright, come on up. Let's see what I've got laying around." You reply, shutting the viewscreen off before tucking it under your arm. He makes some more pleased noises as you pick him up from under his arms and tuck him into the crook of your opposite arm. You carry him through the small corridor in the back, and to the left, shutting off the lights for the front room as you go, making your way up a small staircase to the upper floor where you've managed to carve out a comfortable, if not small, home.

You push open the door and sunlight streams through open windows of your small living area, a sturdy old couch is pushed up against the side wall, small stacks of empty data disks are splayed over the floor in random puddles and a spare viewscreen lays across one of the old cushions. You shut the door before putting the child down in the middle of the living area space, his little toes disappear into the high pile of the worn down rug in the middle of the room. He sits instantly, little claws grasp at the soft fibers as he looks around, taking in every corner of your home. You set the viewscreen from under your arm down next to him, “Don't wander too far, the kitchen’s right in there, I’ll be right back.”

His big brown eyes watch you as you step into the kitchen area, your fingers slip under the lip of your helmet as you push it off of your shoulders and set it down on the small kitchen table before you wander over to your cabinets, looking for something that might appease a toddler’s appetite.

You open the old creaking cabinet, barely getting a small peek inside your supplies when the tiny scritches of sharp toes come up beside you. You look down and meet the curious gaze of the kid as he stares wonderingly at your face, tiny little mouth gaping open and closed like a little fish out of water.

You smile, “Yeah, I bet he doesn't take his helmet off around you yet, does he?”

The child doesn't make any sound this time, his eyes too caught up in the shine of your hair in the sunlight.

“Since you are here, you might as well decide.” You sigh, stooping over to haul him up on to your hip as you pull a few things from the cabinet, a crinkly silver package of some buttery crackers, some fresh fruit still in your netted shopping bag from only this morning and some freeze dried juice, “That look like enough?”

His little clawed hands make gripping gestures at the bag of fruit.

“Alright, I was hoping so.” You reply with a smirk as you place him gently on the counter beside you, you pop open the silver sleeve of crackers before fishing out a couple to give to him. Both little hands are instantly occupied with a cracker in each, he takes big bites as he watches you pull the fruit from the bag. He alternates bites from one hand to the other as you peel the fruit and dice it into small enough slices in a bowl. Once one hand is empty of crackers he waddles over to the bowl, fingers curling around a slick slice of bright colored fruit that is soon sucked into his tiny mouth. You rehydrate the juice as quickly as you can, as his little fingers are quickly making both the fruit and crackers disappear. You slide him the smallest glass you can find with a smirk.

“Look, usually this is for...adult stuff, “You find yourself reasoning with him as you fill the short spotchka glass with bright purple juice, “But if you don't tell Mando, I won't either.”

He burbles some kind of nonsense before he drops a half eaten cracker as he makes a beeline for the glass, still having to use both hands to lift the little metal cup to his lips. He smacks his lips in satisfaction after a few big gulps and then waddles back to pick up the discarded crackers from the counter top.

You can't help but shake your head as you watch him, this was not quite how you imagined today going. You pick the little green bean up again and place him in your arm, quieting his wiggles when you hand him the sleeve of crackers, with your free hand you grasp the bowl of fruit and his little cup before taking him back to the safety of the rug in the living room. You set him down again and he happily waddles towards the viewscreen, crackers held tightly in his free hand. You put the bowl close to his legs as he plops down and makes a small whine as he taps the viewscreen with one, very sticky hand.

“Well look at you, king of the castle already.” You huff but switch on the viewscreen again, this time bringing up holos of a different fish from another planet.

As he settles in, eyes glued to the screen, you walk over to the couch and snatch the other viewscreen from off of the cushion. You fully intended to sit and watch him from there, but his face turns towards you and he makes that sad little whine again.

“Ok fine, I’ll be right there.” You reply, as you move to sit beside him, your thigh pressed against his side as you bring up your own screen, “ I do have to work, you know.”

The child doesn't say anything else, instead he leans his head against your thigh and continues to chew on alternating fruit and crackers as the holos continue to play on the other screen. You lose yourself to your work in a matter of moments, sorting through information and locating the disks you will need in order to fulfill your end of the bargain with the Mandalorian.

But where do you even start? The Old Republic? The fall of the Jedi? The Golden years? The Mandalorian Jedi war? You sigh as you start to compile a little bit of everything, hopefully the information he has promised you is worth the trouble of hunting all of this information down.

Before you know it the pale walls around you are painted orange with the setting sun. You startle out of your trance, eyes landing on the child, still curled up to your thigh. The view screen now dark as the holo ended a long time ago. He breathes heavily, you crane over to look at him as slowly as you can. His big brown eyes are closed, his little hand splayed against the fabric of your pants as he sleeps.

You could have dropped a seismic charge into the middle of your home and the kid would not have stirred. It is only when you pull the roasted meat from the oven and the smell fully engulfs the room that you hear the kid begin to stir. It’s not a loud sound, just a quiet gurgle and shuffle of soft blanket as his little head peeks out from behind a mountain of worn burgundy felt.

Your stomach quietly grumbles as you realize you have the daunting task of keeping the kid asleep while you try to get up and start something for dinner. You shift your hips away from him, as smoothly and slowly as you can manage, sliding your thighs away from under his little green grasp, softly placing him face down on the carpet when you are finally able to pull all the way out from under him. He sighs and makes a soft bubbling noise but seems to stay asleep. You stay still for a few moments more, watching his little body move up and down with every breath before silently standing. You creep into your bedroom, pulling an old worn burgundy blanket from the foot of your bed and softly draping it around the child to keep him cozy. Maybe it was all for nothing, you chide yourself, the moment you start cooking the kid is probably going to spring awake.

"There he is, welcome back kid. You got room in that belly?" You chuckle as you place the hot pan on the counter, you toss the thick towels you were holding to protect your hands from the heat of the roasting tray to.one side before you pull open another cabinet and pull out two plates. As you cut the meat into bite size chunks you hear the patter of his little feet as he waddles back into the kitchen. He tries to rub the sleep from his eyes as he comes closer but he can’t quite reach with his tiny claws, so instead he rubs at his face with the thick fluff around the wrists of his little brown coat. You place a healthy portion of the cut up meat and vegetables on his plate, stopping only to blow on a roasted bit of root vegetable, trying to cool it a bit before leaning over and handing it to the child, "Try that."

He takes the entire bite into his mouth, chewing with a happy gurgle.

"Not bad?"

His response is to clutch his claws up to ask for more.

"Get your cup and I'll meet you at the table."

He clutches the air again in response.

"Ok, one more then go get your cup." You reply with a smirk as you pick up another steaming hot piece of vegetable and blow on it gently. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as the child looks up at you and smacks his lips in anticipation, until you hand him another piece. He pops it in his mouth before you can blink, "Ok, deal’s a deal buddy. Go bring me your cup."

He sighs loudly and dramatically before he turns around and waddles back into the living room as you set both plates down on the small table pushed to one side of the tiny kitchen area. He walks back towards you, dragging the cup behind him as he approaches.

"Thank you." You smirk as you lean over to pick him up from off the ground and sit him beside his own plate, "Don't choke, let me top you off."

He digs in immediately, both hands snatching up every bit of food they can as he shoves it into his little face. You fill the glass again before setting it down beside him. You pull your chair up to the table and take a few bites as well.

He eats his meal happily. Only stopping to gurgle in your direction or look around your home from his new vantage point on the table top. Your curiosity is starting to get the better of you as he waddles around the table, in search of more food for his plate.

You stand up and walk to the roasting tray, the kid watches you as you go.

It was fine, you could show him right?

The kid hasn't spoken any actual words the whole time he has been with you, who is he going to tell?

You shake your head, this has bad idea written all over it but here goes nothing.

"Hey kid." You say, reaching your hand out towards the table, with a quick pull from the energy buzzing around the room you snap his plate into your open hand. He squeals his delight, his little body suddenly flashes with his signature, a light blue glow all around him.

"I'll be damned." You can't help but sigh as you load his plate up with seconds. You bring it over, placing it beside him before sitting down again. "You've been hiding away too."

He coos, brown eyes studying your face before he digs back in, the glow from his life force slowly fading away as he goes back into hiding.

You wonder how much he has let his powers slip in front of the Mandalorian, but it wasn’t like you could ask him and get a solid response. A moment of terror sweeps over you, was this kid nothing more than a bounty?!

No.

Wait.

You remember the way the Mandalorian had gently pried the disk from his mouth, the way the hardened killer seemed to soften when he had scooped the ball of energy off of the floor.

Any work you had planned for the day goes out of the window after dinner as the child grows restless and full of energy.

"He's trying to get you home, isn't he?" Your heart clenches under your ribs, the kid turns to you, gurgling softly as his reply.

"I'm gonna have to wear you out aren't I?" You laugh as he runs little laps in your living room area, you grab a long scarf from your closet before you lead him downstairs and out the front door. He waddles behind, funny enough keeping up with your strides as you let him roam into the evening air. The streets light up from the lamps that dangle on thick metal ropes between posts, the two open air cafes hold their doors and windows open letting the music from the live bands inside leak out into the street.

This tiny little speck of town, untouched by the Empire or the rebellion, it was the best place the Mando could have landed. Safe, sound and hidden. You watch as the child wanders around, growing braver by the moment as he peeks through open doors as the music starts. He turns and looks at you, big brown eyes shining in curiosity until a group of other kids descend onto the street a few feet away. They split into their own little groups, some play on the sidewalk while another, slightly larger group, starts a game with a ball in the middle of the packed dirt street.

"Well go on then!" You laugh when he looks up to you, the request to play written all over his little face.

He squeals with joy and runs towards the larger group of children. He is pulled into their pack instantly. He is handed a ball and is walked through the game by one of the little girls who continues to hold his little hand as they play.

You watch from the sidelines, hopping up on a duracrete fence and folding your legs in under you, eyes never leaving the kid for long. One of the nearby cafe owners approaches you, handing you a mug of hot tea.

"That's the child that came with the Mandalorian, isn't it Conservator?" He mumbles.

You nod, slowly sipping at the herbal mixture in the clay mug, "His foundling."

"Is that what he looks like under that fancy helmet?"

You grin wide at the image it paints in your mind, "We will never know."

"You know, we offered to watch the child for him, but he declined. Why do you think that is?"

"To torture me, of course." You reply as you gulp down another mouthful of tea. Fucking full of surprises that Mandalorian. The man says nothing, just chuckles as he walks away, back to the few patrons of his small cafe.

You let the kid play for what feels like hours, it was easy to lose track of time when the nights were so calm and warm. You start to notice a bit of a drag in his step, his big brown eyes growing glassy. You swoop in and pick him up before he falls asleep on his feet, "Alright little one, I think you've had your fill."

He coos softly, rubbing at his eyes sleepily as you hold him close to your chest, wrapping him in your scarf before pulling it across your back, folding him into the makeshift carrier. You stroll home, the kid almost making a purring noise as you walk, tiny snores of exhaustion echo in the empty library as you lock up for the night.

You lay the kid on one of your extra pillows, and make him a small bed by your headboard. You pull spare blankets around him to keep him somewhat enclosed before tucking him in. He stirs for a moment before his little face relaxes again and he resumes snoring.

You sigh as you slip out of the layers of your long sleeve jacket and tunic, leaving on only a thin, sleeveless undershirt and your leggings. You rub away the slight itch from the constricting fabric that had been wrapped around your arms all day, but the dull ache returns to the scars on your arms. You rub at the aching skin with a bit more pressure.

The emblem of the Empire burned into the inside of your wrist is still rough around the edges, the ink of your call number still sitting on raised skin, as if it was still fresh instead of almost fifteen years old.

NC-062

It was marked up the length of your arm in bright red ink that could never be washed off. You hated it but at the same time it was your only link to who you could have been before you had been taken by the Empire.

You had traced the origin of your number for months after your escape, it had taken you to Naboo, but without a family name your search had taken you nowhere.

Nowhere but here, where you continue to search for something, anything that would help you find whatever was left of your home.

***

   <<Back to Master List  II  Chapter 2  II  Chapter 4>>

[shyficwriter]

Stage Fright

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Yondu x Reader, guest starring Kraglin

Summary: You won’t stop sneaking out each Friday night, and Yondu resolves to find out why.

Author’s Note: Based off this prompt by @giulscomix. Hope you like it! Also having trouble coming up with a title. I’m up for suggestions. I think I’m considering “Stage Fright.”

Word Count: 4,051

It was late one Friday night when Yondu and Kraglin could hear the firing of a M-ship engine. They were up later than normal working out the details of an upcoming job, sitting at a table in the nearly empty mess-hall pouring over the drafts and plans they had drawn up. 

Kraglin met Yondu’s confused gaze.

“Did I forget that someone had a late night assignment?” Yondu asked.

“No, Cap,” Kraglin said, opening up his planner to make sure. “No one is scheduled for anything.”

Yondu’s eyes narrowed as he stood from the table. “Then who’s leaving at this hour?”

Kraglin shook his head to indicate he didn’t know as he followed his captain to the Docking Bay. 

They didn’t get there in time to see who had left, so Yondu ordered Kraglin to check all the quarters to see if there was anyone missing who shouldn’t be. The Ravagers may have looked like they didn’t follow any rules, but that was far from true. To keep his crew in line Yondu set a curfew, which was only lifted on nights of celebration. What good were the crew to him if they stayed out late partying every night, after all? Everyone on the crew knew that unless they were on a job they better be back on the ship by midnight or risk getting their pay docked.

So whoever was sneaking out better have a damn good reason. Even then, there would still be hell to pay.

***

Yondu had fallen asleep before he could catch the culprit, but Kraglin hadn’t. After checking all the quarters he noticed you were the only one missing, and he was waiting for you when you returned and docked your M-ship.

He didn’t say much, just gave you a stern look and told you, “Captain wants to see you,” after you exited the ship and met his stern gaze with a startled one. You had never been caught sneaking out before.

You begrudgingly followed the first mate and he led you to your captain, who he woke up by clearing his throat. 

Yondu startled out of his sleep by the noise and quickly sat up in the chair he had fallen asleep in, rubbing his eyes as he tried to fully wake up. He was slightly confused in his grogginess but Kraglin helped him along to know why you were standing before him.

“She’s the one that sneaked out, boss.”

That helped wake the blue man up a little. “Well, ya got anythin’ to say fer yerself?” he asked, a scolding tone to his voice but it was obvious he still wasn’t completely awake.

Not wanting to reveal why you had snuck out, you merely shook your head, accepting whatever fate you had coming to you. “No, sir.”

“Ya know the penalty for sneakin’ out.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. You knew the consequences if you got caught, yet you chose do do so anyway, so now you were being punished.

You avoided his sleepy gaze. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m dockin’ yer pay, and yer on kitchen duty the rest of this week.”

You sighed but nodded. You hated kitchen duty. The cooks always gave you the crap jobs like cleaning the ovens.

“Don’t do it again. Get to bed.” Yondu ordered, keeping the reprimand briefer than normal as he wanted to get to bed himself.

You nodded and made your way to your quarters, recognizing that you got off relatively easy, but chalked it up to the fact that this was only the first time you’ve been caught. You would actually sneak out every Friday night to go sing in whatever nightclub happened to be on the nearest planet the Eclector happened to be near at the time. You’d never tell Yondu this, however. You’d rather die than risk your captain or the crew finding out for fear of either reprimand or ridicule for doing something frivolous as singing in a club. But it wasn’t like you could just stop. It made you too happy. 

You went to bed as ordered, but you were already planning your next Friday night trip.

***

You almost weren’t sure you’d be able to sneak out again the next Friday after you had been caught. This time you had the mind to check the ship throughly to make sure no one was around to hear you sneak out like last time. During this check you found Kraglin awake in an office. He was organizing the new incoming jobs for Yondu to assign the next morning. 

You waited what seemed like forever, hiding behind a wall just out of his view, waiting for him to turn in for the night. When he finally finished his work you let out a sigh of relief. You thought he’d never leave! But, just to make sure you wouldn’t be caught you waited another 10 minutes after he was gone before heading to the docking bay where you quietly made your way aboard a M-ship and took off for the night.

Little did you know, Kraglin didn’t actually go to bed. He circled back to the Control Room, and you didn’t get off as easy as you thought. He was silently waiting. Watching you on the cameras in the control room as you snuck out.

The day after you had last been caught sneaking out Yondu had ordered Kraglin to keep an eye on you. He, rightfully, assumed that hadn’t been your first time to sneak out, and he was certain it wouldn’t be your last. Kraglin’s task was to see if and when you tried to sneak out again, and to report back to Yondu when you did. It was tiring, staying up just to see if you tried to sneak out, but orders were orders. With nearly a week of no action he was beginning to think it maybe was a one-off occurrence, until tonight.

Once you were gone Kraglin went to Yondu’s Quarters to report you had snuck out. 

Yondu was most definitely not happy. You snuck out again? Just one week after the last time? The insolence!

Needless to say Yondu was waiting up for you when you got back, this time awake and alert, a glare on his face.

You froze when you saw him, your heart skipping a beat. You didn’t even try to speak your case or make excuses. You just nervously approached your captain, knowing you were dead.

“Can ya give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tear the hide right off yer backside for this?” he growled. 

You swallowed and looked up at him, opening your mouth to speak but thinking better of it. Eventually you just shook your head and looked back down.

“Two weeks of kitchen duty, plus latrine duty, and I’m docking yer pay again.” He said angrily. “And yer grounded to the ship.”

The other punishments you could live with, but it was this last one that got your attention. “Grounded?! What am I? A child?!” He couldn’t do that! You couldn’t just stay cooped up on the ship!

“Well ya sure as hell sneak off like one!” He gestured to the ship in frustration. “Kraglin will be keeping an eye on ya, since ya can’t seem to stop sneaking out.”

“A babysitter? You can’t be serious!” you moaned.

“I am. Maybe this will teach ya to quit disobeying orders. Now get to bed before I make it three weeks!”

You growl in frustration, but do as you are told, not wishing to make the punishment worse. You knew you should have just skipped this week, but noOo. You just hAd to go out again. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

***

By the end of the week you were already getting stir crazy. 

Yondu had kept good on his promise. You didn’t get to leave the ship at all. He didn’t give you any scavenging jobs or supply runs, and Kraglin made sure to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t leave. Of course you tried dodging him a couple times, but it never worked.

You were so frustrated by the end of the week you almost didn’t care if you got caught sneaking out again. That’s not to say you were careless, however. You took probably the most care in sneaking out as you ever had before. You carried your boots in your hands to avoid making too much noise, you checked to make sure the lights were out beneath Yondu and Kraglin’s doors, hell, you even took a different route than normal.

Unfortunately, it still wasn’t enough, though.

Kraglin caught you right outside the docking bay, startling you by stepping outside the doorway and turning to face you just as you were a few feet away.

You froze as Kraglin stared you down with his arms crossed. Your voice wavered slightly as you attempted to make a plea. “We-we don’t need to tell Yondu about this, do we?”

“Nope. ‘Cause he’s right behind you.”

The blood drained from your face and your whole body stiffened. Crap. Crap. Crap. You were dead. You were more than dead, you were already buried. You should have written a will. Hopefully it’ll be quick. Farewell cruel world.

Kraglin cracks a grin and snorts a laugh. “I’m joking, but you should see your face. You practically crapped your pants!”

You glared at him but let a sigh of relief. “Dick!”

“I wouldn’t relax too much. You know I still gotta tell him.“

"Please don’t!” You looked at the Xandarian pleadingly. “He’ll kill me!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, turning you back around and leading you away from the Docking Bay, “you’ll only wish you were dead.”

“Please, can’t we talk about this?”

Kraglin stops and looks at you. “Look, I don’t like needin’ to babysit you anymore than you do, and I don’t like having to stay up just to make sure you don’t sneak out neither. So how’s about this; you go to bed and quit trying to sneak out, and I’ll have nothing to report back to the captain. Good? Then we both might get what we want. ‘Cause ya know he’s only gonna keep it up if you keep trying to sneak out.”

“Ok. Anything. Just don’t tell him.” You begrudgingly agreed.

You shook on it and walked a few moments in silence before Kraglin spoke again.

“What do you keep sneaking off for anyway? Is it some boy or something?”

“What? No!” You say irritably. “Of course not.”

“Right.” He chuckled, not fully believing you.

You roll your eyes. “Whatever.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. All I care is that you quit so Yondu will stop making me watch you.”

You sigh and stop at your door, now back to your quarters. Kraglin nodded to you and you parted ways, you sighing in defeat as you went through your door.

There was always next week.

***

The next day Yondu called Kraglin in for his report as he had every morning that week.

“What do ya have for me, son?”

“She didn’t sneak out last night, sir.” Kraglin said. Normally he would have said he had nothing to report, but if he said that today he’d be lying, and he couldn’t do that. So, he settled for the next best thing.

However, Yondu noted how his answer differed from his usual report. “Good. Were there any attempts?” He asked, not looking up from his papers.

This caught Kraglin off guard. He knew he should have stuck to his original line. Realizing he was taking slightly too long to respond he panicked and repeated his previous statement. “She did not sneak out last night, sir.”

Yondu looked up. “Kraglin.”

“Yes, sir?” replied the first mate, slight nervousness creeping into his voice.

“Is there somethin’ ya need to tell me?”

Kraglin tried to keep it together, he really did, but he couldn’t lie to his captain. He spilled like a knocked over glass of milk, and told Yondu how he caught you trying to sneak out and sent you to your quarters.

Yondu was fuming, but he kept a cool face. He simply nodded and dismissed Kraglin to take care of another task, telling him they’d discuss it more when he got back.

There must be a reason why you kept sneaking out, and he was now determined to find out.

When Kraglin returned from his duties Yondu went over the plan with him.

***

The next week you noted how Kraglin’s idea seemed to have worked. Yondu stopped cracking the whip as hard and Kraglin seemed to have a little reprieve from having to constantly babysit you. You were getting pretty confident that you’d be able to leave again this Friday night with little issues.

When Friday rolled around it seemed you were again correct. You didn’t run into anyone on your way to the Docking Bay and you made your way into an M-ship and off the Eclector with no problems at all.

None you were aware of, that is.

What you didn’t realize was that Yondu and Kraglin were watching you the whole time from the cameras in the control room.

Using the GPS tracker on the M-Ship you had taken they were able to see where you were headed and they soon followed, leaving just enough time in between so that you wouldn’t be able to see you were being followed.

The tracker told them that you had flown to the planet closest to the ship, in this case Xandar. When they landed they followed the additional tracker Yondu had instructed Kraglin to hide in your jacket collar at the beginning of the week. This led them to a nightclub nearby.

They snuck in a side entrance, intent on ambushing you inside and pulling you out to take you home and discuss a fitting punishment.

However, once they got inside, you weren’t on the dance floor or at the bar. After searching for a bit and coming up empty the two men rejoined in confusion. The tracker said for sure you were in here.

Yondu instructed Kraglin to get the tracker back out, just in case the off chance you left just as they came in.

“Boss, it still says she’s here?”

“Let me see that. We’ve searched this whole club and ain’t found a hair of her.”

“Maybe we should ask if anyone’s seen her?”

They were so focused on trying to figure out if the GPS tracker was broken that they barely registered that the announcer was speaking.

They were about to give up on the tracker altogether when they heard your voice ring out over the crowd.

They turned towards the stage, and stood in stunned silence.

Yondu and Kraglin exchanged looks of surprise.

They found you.

You were singing.

And you were… actually really great.

Yondu and Kraglin knew you likely couldn’t see them for the dark dance floor, so Yondu took this as an opportunity to sneak him and Kraglin backstage. This way there wouldn’t be an opportunity for you to run off.

They listened in awe from behind the stage as you performed a couple more songs before your time was up and you left the stage.

You walked backstage laughing and joking with the stage manager, him asking when you’d thought you’d be back next. You answered that next week looked good as the ship should still be here until then, but just like always you couldn’t promise anything. You laughed and joked some more before you stated that you’d need to be headed off.

You were still smiling as you headed for the back door, that is until you saw that Yondu and Kraglin were waiting there for you in the dim light.

All the blood drained from your body in that instant and you stopped in your tracks when they walked out of the dark.

“I-I’m sorry!” You stuttered as Yondu approached you, his face expressionless. You were frozen to the spot, wondering what he would do. “I-I’m-” you started again when you were cut off by Yondu grabbing you and pulling you into a tight bear hug.

You were definitely caught by surprise. You had expected to be scolded, or even yelled at, but not crushed by a hug.

He released you with a proud smile. “Why did ya never tell me ya could do that!?”

You blushed. “You… uh… never asked?” you said sheepishly, still a bit startled and confused.

“Aw come now!” he exclaimed, noting your blush, “Ya were great!” He pulled you in for another hug. “I’m so proud of ya, little girl!”

You felt happy tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes. “Really?”

He pulled away again to look you in the eyes. “Of course!”

Kraglin decided to take this moment to throw in some good natured teasing. “Yeah maybe she can sing for the guys at dinnertime.” he laughed.

Your face burned scarlet and you looked at him in horror. “No! Absolutely not.”

“Aw, why not?” he teased, knowing full well you’d never bring yourself to sing for the crew but enjoying this moment to tease you anyway, “you just did it in front of a bunch of strangers! Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy now.”

“No! The whole point is that I don’t know them! And they don’t know me! I can’t do it in front of the crew!” Part of you was certain he was likely joking, but for all you knew maybe that is how they were going to punish you for sneaking out to do this. 

“Aw shucks! You can’t sing for people you know?” Kraglin grinned, he was enjoying embarrassing you. He could tell you weren’t sure they wouldn’t really make you.

You looked to Yondu for help. You couldn’t do it. Singing for a bunch of strangers in the dark? No problem. Singing for the whole crew that knew you in a fully lit Mess Hall? Big problem. You loved singing, but you also had a crippling stage fright. Hence, why you could only bring yourself to sing in these dark nightclubs.

The Centaurian laughed, “Krags that’s enough teasin’, for now. Ya will have plenty of time for that on the way back to the ship.”

Kraglin lightly punched you in the shoulder. “You were good, kid,” he said, giving you a little reprieve and making you blush again as you thanked him.

“So, am I in trouble?” you finally ask, nervously.

“Why do ya think I’m having Kraglin ride back with ya? The teasin’ will be punishment enough.”

You look at him in surprise. “Wait, so I’m not grounded again?”

“I didn’t say that. There still needs to be consequences for sneaking off, young lady,” he said firmly, “but, I suppose, since this makes ya so happy… and yer good at it… I suppose I can let ya keep doing it. We’ll talk about yer punishment later.”

“Really!?” you said excitedly. Now it was your turn to ambush him with a hug.

Yondu laughed. “Ya, but with some conditions, like behaving yerself. Ya don’t behave and I can just as easily ground from doing it.” he warned.

You looked down. Normally you would have complained that you weren’t a child, but you thought better of it this time. It was tough, but ultimately fair. Plus you weren’t lost on the fact that this was definitely special treatment. He would never allow the same to the rest of the crew. “Yes, sir.”

“Come on now, let’s get back to the ship.” Yondu ordered, and you obeyed.

***

The trip back was torture. 

Your face was beet red by the time you docked due to the constant teasing by Kraglin. He kept jokingly trying to get you to sing for him and going on about how the crew was going to love some dinner entertainment, the whole time you begging and at times even tossing threats his way so he wouldn’t tell anyone else about it.

By now you mostly knew he was joking about making you sing, but you couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of having to sing for the crew. You would literally die.

When Yondu saw your expression as he exited his own ship he laughed, stating that he guessed you really had been punished enough, and thankfully decided not to extend your prior punishment further.

It wasn’t until the next Friday that Yondu revealed what one of those “conditions” for being allowed to go sing in the club would be. 

He was going with you.

At first you were mortified. You couldn’t sing if you knew he could hear you!

You attempted to bargain with him, but he only firmly stated that if you were going, he was coming along. You didn’t need to be going to some club alone and also he wouldn’t mind hearing you sing again, either. Otherwise you could just “hike yer little ass back to yer quarters.”

Eventually you relented, and boarded the M-ship and plotted your course for the same nightclub you had sang in the previous week, Yondu in the co-pilot’s seat. 

The closer you got to your destination Yondu noticed the more nervous you got.

“Ya always this nervous when ya go do this?” he finally asked when you landed, noting how you still had a white knuckle grip on the flight controls.

“No,” you admitted. “You’re what’s making me nervous.”

Yondu laughed as he unbuckled his belt. “Come on now, girl! Ya know I already said ya were great, why are ya still afraid for me to listen just ‘cause ya know me?”

You too got up from your seat and made for the door of the ship. “I don’t know. I can’t help it!”

Yondu shook his head. “Ya really gotta work on that stage fright, girl. I’ve seen ya kick the ass of a man twice yer size, and yet yer scared of somethin’ like someone ya know hearin’ ya sing.”

You blushed and shot him a glare. “Look, can you please just wait outside or something this time? Just until I get used to the idea? I just- I just don’t want to freeze up and embarrass myself.” Your blush deepened at this confession and you avoided his gaze as you waited for an answer, pretending to be intently fixated on the ground as you walked.

Yondu, surprised both that you had confessed this to him and feeling a little guilty that he was making you so nervous, in turn surprised you by agreeing to wait outside the club.

You let a sigh of relief and thanked him, giving him a hug out of gratitude just before you went inside.

Now, Yondu might claim to be a man of his word, but he wasn’t above exploiting a loophole or two.

He never said how long he would wait outside.

He gave it a few minutes until he was sure you wouldn’t be around to notice before making his way inside, keeping to the shadows so that he wouldn’t be discovered. 

After a couple singers went before you it was finally your turn. Yondu listened covertly behind stage to your set of songs unfamiliar to him. He assumed they must be songs from Terra, but he thought you sang them beautifully nonetheless.

When you finally finished your set and made your way to come back out you obviously noticed that Yondu was backstage by the door.

“Come on, man. Not cool!” 

“What? I said I’d wait outside. Never said how long.” he grinned. “Besides, ya never knew I was here and ya still sang great.”

You blushed and lightly punched him in the arm. “Thanks. Do you mean that?”

“Girl, I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t!” he half scolded. “Yer good, and ya should be proud that ya can do that, missy. Ya already know I am. There’s no need for ya to be nervous about it.”

A warm feeling spread throughout your chest and you hugged him. You didn’t need to say anything more. He already knew, and he hugged you back.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad knowing he was listening to you sing after all.

You didn’t ask him to wait outside anymore after that.

[creative-type]

Hey @oriigami, I was your Secret Santa for the @opsecretsanta2019. I hope you enjoy your gift, and have a Merry Christmas

Title: Deliverance  Rating: T Characters: Sabo, Koala Summary: It stood to reason that Sabo and Koala would get a cupcake for their first mission. It also stood to reason that nothing would go as planned. 

Or, the story of how Sabo got his first bounty. 

“Promise me you won’t go off script.”

“I told you already, I promise.”

Sabo fought with an ill-fitting workman’s cap, which despite his best efforts to pummel into submission did not want to sit nicely on his head. It was new and stiff, without any of the give his usual tophat had. He heard Koala give a nearly inaudible sigh. Standing on her tiptoes she swiped it out of his hands, giving him just enough time to bend down so she could force it on, pulling the bill so low it nearly covered his eyes.

And his scar.

“When did you get so damn tall?” she groused.

“I’m perfectly average, thank you very much,” Sabo said. “You’re just short.”

Koala punched his arm a little harder than was necessary, but he got her to smile. A real, honest-to-god smile, and not the strained bastardization she resorted to when she was nervous. “Seriously, Koala,” he said. “They gave us a cupcake of a mission.”

“We’re going in alone. There won’t be any backup this time around,” she pointed out.

Sabo scoffed, “Hack will be a snailphone call away, not that we’ll need him just to make a delivery. Seriously, Koala, we’ll be fine.”

“I will be fine,” Koala corrected, jabbing her finger into his chest. “It’s you they don’t trust not to run off towards the nearest explodables.”

“That was one time! How was I supposed to know that ship was transporting gunpowder?”

“I rest my case.”

She took a step back and looked Sabo with a critical eye. He considered making a quip about how cute she looked dressed up like a little peasant girl out running errands, but decided he would rather start his first solo mission without any conspicuous bruising.

It was a simple enough job, all things considered. The Revolution had gotten wind of a few nasty rumors regarding some upstart nobleman on the Isle of Doulos and sent an agent to infiltrate the household, who was now in need of some extra reconnaissance equipment that Koala and Sabo were to smuggle in to the estate.  

“I’m not going to screw this up,” Sabo promised for what felt like the dozenth time. “I don’t plan on having Hack babysit me forever so might as well show them we have what it takes, right?”

“Right.” Koala adjusted his collar before giving her final nod of approval. “Remember, we absolutely cannot blow Bunny Joe’s cover. So no hitting douchebags in the face.”

“I won’t,” Sabo promised for the thirteenth time. He paused. “I mean, unless they really deserve it.”

Sabo set sail to Doulos with a sore arm, but it was worth it to hear her laugh.

Xxx 

There had been some question on how the Revolution would smuggle supplies into the mansion of Lord Chandler, the recently turned nobleman who was promoted from the merchant class after performing some kind of service to the crown. Preliminary scouting missions reported an exceptionally thorough snailphone system that covered every inch of the nobleman’s vast estate. Stealth was technically possible, but it would be difficult to sneak around without arousing suspicion.

Further surveillance uncovered a surprisingly simple solution: Supplies from the nearby port city were often delivered by children the same age as Sabo and Koala. All they had to do was get in, drop off a few snails of their own, and get out again.

It wasn’t exciting, or brimming with danger and glory. The Revolution was still treating Sabo and Koala like children even though they’d been around longer than most of the adults, training and studying for the day they could officially join Dragon’s army.

“This is almost embarrassingly easy,” Sabo complained as he carefully loaded a cart left by other agents in the area. Beside him, Koala was readying the donkey that would lead them to their glorious future.

“Would you rather get a free pass?” Koala asked. “There’s already talk about how you get preferential treatment. Boss doesn’t give out one on one lessons to everybody, you know.”

“Talk? From who?” Sabo asked.

Koala gestured vaguely. “You know, people. Is this really the best time to be talking about this?”

“No. And I don’t want any free passes, either,” Sabo said. He took the reigns from Koala and helped boost her into the cart.

“I know that, the boss knows that. Everyone who matters knows that.” Koala’s expression softened, and she placed a calming hand on his forearm. Sabo forced himself to relax, not wanting her to feel the tension that had him all wound up and irritable.

“Yeah, well I’m going to prove it. Yee-freaking-haw.” And with a gentle snap of the reigns, they were off.  

It was a pleasant trip, the air of the spring island crisp and cool while the sun danced its way through a cloudy sky. Sabo and Koala picked their way through town and out into the countryside where Lord Chandler’s estate was nestled between rolling green hills, away from the polluted pall of the city and the dirty peasants who lived there. It was about an hour of slow, deliberate plodding on a bumpy and unpaved road, but time with Koala always seemed to fly twice as fast. Their most arduous task was trying to lead the stubborn donkey pulling their cart.

“I think he takes after you,” Koala teased.

“I’d like to see you do better.”

And so she did.

Their first roadblock came at the estate itself. Koala knew better than to lead them through the main entrance, following down a well-worn servant’s path farther back. The security guard manning the gate, a burly man who seemed to have more muscles than brains, looked down at his clipboard and frowned.

“I don’t have any deliveries scheduled for today.”

“We were only called for this morning,” Sabo said. “We probably didn’t make it on your list.”

He flashed his most winsome smile while Koala gave a small nod in agreement. The guardsman’s frown deepened, and he squinted harder at his clipboard as if it would spontaneously give him the answer he was looking for.

“Who ordered the delivery?” he asked after a long moment of thought.

Sabo shrugged. “Some guy named Joe, I guess? We were only told to bring the stuff over to the kitchens.”

He climbed to the back of the cart and showed the guard their wares: A dozen bags of flour, sugar, and other staples, plus a few rarer items imported just that day from a faraway island that they could pass off as the reason for the emergency delivery.

“I don’t know...” the guardsman said, stretching out the know so long it almost became two words.

Sabo was not about ready to have his first mission waylaid by some no-name grunt. He took a deep breath, gearing himself to launch into another argument when he was interrupted.

“What seems to be a problem here?”

Sabo turned sharply toward the new voice. All the color left the guard’s face as a newcomer slid out from the shadows of the gate, seeming to glide across the ground as if he were a glob of human-shaped oil instead of a real person. He wore an expression that could technically be described as a smile, provided whoever was doing the describing was blind, standing very far away, and had never known the pleasure of genuine human kindness.

It took a small measure of effort for Sabo not to recoil in disgust as the newcomer observed both Sabo and Koala through heavily lidded eyes. There was something eerie about his expression, magnified by a pair of the palest blue eyes Sabo had ever seen in his life, so clear as to be nearly devoid of color. His gaze flitted from Koala, to Sabo--lingering a moment his scars--before returning to Koala and staying there. His lips stretched to reveal a few more teeth, and it took every scrap of Sabo’s will not to break his promise and punch him in his big, leering face.

Koala, bless her, feigned a look of desperate pleading. “Please, sir, we just want to make our delivery and go home.”

Only Sabo heard the sarcastic edge in her servile tone. The newcomer took another gliding step, the guardsman instinctively shying away as he got too close for comfort. “Ah, yes. The extra supplies for our guests tonight. You’re early.” He made a motion like he were batting away an annoying fly. “Hurry up and let them in. You’re causing a scene.”

“Yes, sir!”

Koala and Sabo exchanged a look of surprise, but they didn’t have any time for anything else as the guardsman snapped at them, “You heard the man, get a move on! You’re causing a scene!”

The newcomer’s eyes never left them as they made their way toward the kitchens. Sabo could feel him boring a hole into his back even as they disappeared out of sight.

Xxx

For as long as Sabo could remember, he had a cat’s instincts for people. He was able to decipher tells with uncanny accuracy, the little pushes and pulls of body language that said more than words ever did. It was something that came to Sabo naturally, but he didn’t think it was Haki. Dragon had taught him some of that, too, and while the ability to Observe had its roots in the same place deep in his subconsciousness they were not the same.

Sabo was one of the only people in the world who could tell when Koala was only pretending to smile. He could read the minute changes in Dragon’s expression to know if he was pleased or upset. He could look at two strangers and dissect the power dynamics between them after only a few minutes of observation, and he didn’t need a Devil Fruit or any supernatural willpower to do it.

It got him into trouble more often than not, his instinctual gut reactions making him act without thinking, but he never regretted plowing ahead when he knew in his heart of hearts he was right. The Revolutionary Army was in the middle of a war; they didn’t have time to wait around for opportunities that would never open up of someone didn’t force the issue.

“Don’t,” Koala hissed under her breath. “I know what you’re thinking. Do not go off-script.”

“Do you see Joe anywhere?” Sabo asked serenely, the picture of perfect innocence. “I don’t want to lay this stuff out where anyone can find it. Someone should go look for him.”

Before Sabo could move, Koala’s hand was around his bicep, her grip tighter than an iron vice. “I swear to whatever god cares to listen, I will murder you in the most painful way I can imagine. For once in your life, listen to me: There’s someone already here investigating. We know there’s some bad juju here and there are measures in place to take care of it.”

“Not fast enough, by the looks of it.”

He felt rather than saw Koala’s reaction, his gaze straight ahead to the men and women scurrying around Lord Chandler’s estate at the same frenzied pace as a colony of ants whose nest had just been overturned. The servants had their heads ducked low, hurrying from one place to another like they were scared to be caught loitering. No one had the time to make small talk with one another. No one seemed to be happy at all.

“Who do you think the guests are for tonight?” Sabo asked, his voice barely carrying the distance between he and Koala. “There wasn’t anything about that in the report.”

“Maybe it was need-to-know, and we didn’t,” Koala said.

“Or maaaybe something’s going on. Joe really should have been here by now,” Sabo said. “If we stick around much longer someone’s going to kick us out.”

He kicked a pebble at his feet for emphasis. It dinged against the side of the great building Lord Chandler used as his kitchens, the heat of a dozen ovens making the air ripple and haze. He hated waiting out in the open like this. It was hard enough trying not to be conspicuous with his face half-fried. They might as well have flashing signs over their heads saying that they didn’t belong.

“Then I’ll go look for him,” Koala said. “You stay here and guard our stuff.”

“But…”

Koala silenced him with a raised finger. “Do you even know the right staff person to ask?” She allowed him a moment to answer, and when he couldn’t said, “Exactly. Of the two of us, I have the most experience with...this kind of thing.”

Her mouth twisted in a way that meant she had unwittingly dredged to the surface the horrors of her childhood. Koala shook herself slightly, like a dog would to dry off, and immediately her more familiar smile was back.

Sabo hated when she looked like that, more than he hated the possibility of flubbing his first mission. “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll be a good boy and stay put.”

Koala’s soft flit of laughter lifted the dour atmosphere of the estate, if only for a moment. “I doubt that.”

She bounded off towards the servant’s entrance, moving with a warrior’s poise and grace. She would have to work on that if they ever went deep undercover; a layman would never notice, but an experienced fighter would and might ask questions they dare not answer.

Sabo was tucking that tidbit in the back of his mind when he saw a blur of color at the edge of his vision. The scarring on his bad eye rendered him nearly blind on that side, and by the time he got turned around the weird man with the blue eyes was nearly at his cart.

“Sorry, sir, we’ll be out of your way as soon as we can,” Sabo chirped in his most simpering tone. “Just trying to find who we’re supposed to drop this off with. It’ll only be a moment more.”

The hairs on the back of Sabo’s neck prickled as he felt the Presence of three others walking up behind him. A quick glance showed that none of them were Bunny Joe, and Sabo didn’t trust the strange man’s smile any more than he had before.

He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, remembering countless lessons with Hack and Koala and Dragon. He couldn’t lose control. Sabo felt his focus narrow as adrenaline hummed in his veins, sharpening every detail to its finest point.

The strange man stood directly in front of him, while three of the estate’s security detail formed a half-circle at Sabo’s back. Blue Eyes was empty handed, but the rest either held guns or wore them at their hips.

“Does there seem to be a problem, sir?” Sabo asked. Too late he remembered that he was supposed to be a normal city boy making a delivery, and the question came out more impertinent than fearful.

It seemed Koala wasn’t the only one who needed practice.

“Walk with me, boy,” Blue Eyes said. “I think I know where to find your friend.”

Sabo took a sharp breath. He had a split second to make his decision, and a not-so-small part of him wanted to fight. The mission was obviously compromised and Bunny Joe missing, and he’d foolishly allowed himself to be separated from his partner with no easy way to get into contact with her.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Koala’s told him to wait. There was no turning back once he decided to turn things into a slug fest. There were still too many questions he didn’t have answers to; if there was a chance of salvaging anything out of the mission, then he should take it. For the Revolution’s sake and his own curiosity.

“Um, okay. Sure thing, boss.” Sabo jumped down from the cart, carefully palming the baby snailphone hidden under the bench as he did so. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shuffled forward with his head ducked low and his shoulders rolled in defensively.

The Blue-Eyed man’s eyebrows crept up toward his hairline. “Hands where I can see them. I’ll not have any funny business now.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but have I done something wrong?” Sabo asked. “It’s just...you see, my sister’s the worrying type, and she’s going to wonder where I’ve gone.”

“I assure you, your sister is in the best of hands,” he said, before giggling at his own poor attempt at a joke.  

Blood thundered in Sabo’s ears, and he couldn’t stop a smile of his own, feral and just as unnerving as the one worn by the man who stood before him. Sabo got the satisfaction of seeing something that was very close to fear flash across Blue Eyes’ face, quickly covered by an imperious mask of self-importance.

Sabo was shoved forward while guardsmen came on either side, boxing him in and marching him away from the kitchens, his cart, and Koala. All of a sudden they were alone; the servants had decided it was best to batten down and wait for the storm to pass.

“Who are you?” Sabo asked. “Lord Chandler won’t be happy to see you interfering with his business.”

The man laughed a cruel and terrible laugh, high-pitched and cold like iron scraping against ice. His guardsmen aped him like a trio of trained monkeys, their low guffaws a mocking harmony. Sabo’s stomach sank when he realized his mistake. He should have known an ass of such massive proportions had to be titled.

“The better question is who are you?” Lord Chandler hissed once he regained control of his facilities. He bent close enough to Sabo that their noses were nearly touching and he was seeing double. “Who sent you? Was it El Jefe, or that upstart LeBlanc? I’ll have my answers one way or another; if you’re smart you’ll save me the trouble of beating them out of you.”

“And I told you, sir, I’m just here making a delivery,” Sabo said.

He saw the blow coming in time to turn his head with the hit, but Lord Chandler’s fist still caught enough of his nose to bloody it. Sabo dutifully let his head snap back to sell the hit. He didn’t really know how much to fake it, but erred on the side of caution. The supercilious grin that spread across Lord Chandler’s face as Sabo pretended to writhe in pain told him all he needed to know. The bastard was the kind of man that liked hurting people, and Sabo wasn’t the least bit surprised when he followed it up with a blow to his solar plexus.

This time Sabo didn’t need to fake a wheeze as all the air was forcibly excavated from his lungs.

Lord Chandler rubbed his knuckles. “The first was for your cheek. The second was for making me touch you.” He gestured for his guards. “Come along. I’ve wasted too much time already.”

Sabo drug his feet, making them work for every inch. Somewhere along the way ill-fitting hat fell off of his head and floated gently to the ground, accompanying the trail of blood that would lead Koala to wherever these idiots were taking him.

A curtain of hair fell over Sabo’s eyes and obscured his mad grin. This wasn’t over. Not by a longshot.

Xxx

Sabo had to applaud Lord Chandler’s ingenuity. He kept his prisoners in a slaughterhouse.

He smelled it before he saw it, the metallic stink of warm blood that never went away no matter how often the floors were scrubbed clean. The building itself was unassuming and plain, windowless, made of concrete with a roof of corrugated tin. Sabo was grateful for the island’s mild climate, but once he was forced inside there was no circulation to help keep cool. The air was stale and suffocating, and while the deadly machinery had been removed the long, narrow corridors remained. A true death row.

Sabo could hear other prisoners through the thin walls. He expanded his senses and thought he felt the Presence of fifteen, maybe twenty people in total. Did Lord Chandler have that many enemies, or was he snuffing out competition? His noble title was still sparkling new, after all. Maybe he was afraid of losing it.    

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years of business, it’s the importance of taking a hands-on approach,” Lord Chandler said in a conversational tone. He rolled up his sleeves past his elbows with deliberate slowness, savoring each moment. “That’s the problem with nobles these days, they’re afraid to get their hands dirty. But I’ve made an effort not to forget my roots.”

Sabo braced himself, not for any sort of blow, but the pain of the pretentious monologue he was certain was coming his way. He was considering saying something rude in hopes of making Lord Chandler shut up and hit him, but was saved the effort by the unexpected ring of the snailphone.

The snailphone that was currently in his pocket.

The snailphone that Lord Chandler did not know he was carrying.

Blue eyes narrowed into slits. “Search him!”

“Left pocket,” Sabo said with a longsuffering sigh.

One of the thugs growled in a way he probably thought was intimidating and forced one of his meaty paws into Sabo’s pants pocket. He looked at the baby snail as if he’d never seen a phone before in his life, causing Lord Chandler to bark, “Well, answer it, you buffoon!”

The guard did as he was told. He listened to the voice on the other end, thick eyebrows growing closer and closer together, and after a moment said, “Boss, it’s for you.”

Lord Chandler snatched the phone out of his hands and shouted into the receiver, “Who is this?!”

Sabo would have loved to hear what was said on the other end, but after a moment Lord Chandler’s face went ghost-white. He thrust the snail into one of his men’s hands without saying a word and rushed out of the slaughterhouse.

“Uh, boss…?”

“See, that’s the problem with doing everything yourself,” Sabo said. “A leader has to trust their underlings to do their job when they’re not around. Unfortunately, you’re just not up to the task.”

Sabo was moving before they had time to even process what he said. He broke out of their hold effortlessly, not even bothering with covering his fist with haki before ramming it into the nearest face. He had a brief moment of yearning for his metal pipe before thrusting the palm of his hand beneath the jaw of another. The third tripped over his own feet trying to run away, and Sabo decided to help him down, palming the back of his head and smashing his face into the concrete floor.

He took a step back, surveying his handiwork. They were all alive and twitching, so he took advantage of the abattoir aesthetic, wrapping them in the chains hanging from the ceiling. The hooks once used when draining blood of freshly slaughtered animals long-since repurposed with iron shackles.

Iron shackles. The idiot didn’t even invest in proper sea stone cuffs.

“Amateur,” Sabo muttered to himself. He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand and went in search of Bunny Joe.

He found him in the locker, standing over an uneasy group of prisoners. There weren’t enough rooms for individual cells or even chains to bind them all, so they were kept together in one huddled mass.

For a moment Sabo was irritated that Joe hadn’t freed himself of such a pathetic prison. The man himself was talking quietly to a young woman, wide-eyed and trembling like a frightened doe, and Sabo forced his annoyance down. There were some things that were more important.

“Hiya, Joe!” Sabo said cheerfully. “Lovely place you’ve got here.”

Joe whirled around. Confusion flashed across his face, before his eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, hey. You’re the boss’s brat. What are you doing here?”

“Trying to find you,” Sabo said. “What’s going on?  Chandler’s goons jumped me ‘n Koala before we had a chance to explain ourselves.”

Joe muttered a string of expletives and drew a hand over his forehead. “He got me early this morning. Must have seen me snooping someplace I shouldn’t and decided to tag you too. I’m so sorry, kid. I’ll get you out of this mess here in a bit.” A pause. “Wait, you said there was someone else with you? Where are they?”

“With a little bit of luck, out causing chaos and mayhem,” Sabo said.

“That’s no good. I need to get you guys out of here before the auction tonight.”

At the word auction the woman beside him burst into tears. Sabo saw her wobble like jelly, before the strength left her legs entirely and she collapsed into a sobbing mess on the ground. Bunny Joe knelt beside her and started rubbing her back in slow, steady circles.

“I’m going to get you all out of here, I promise. I need you to stay strong for me for just a little bit longer. Okay?”

She nodded, and Joe helped her stand with tears still streaming down her face. Taking her by the elbow, he led her back to the other prisoners. “I need to, uh, confer with my colleague for a moment. We’ll sort things out and get you home.”

“This was my home,” she whispered hoarsely.

Her expression crumpled into a look of wretched misery, and she buried her head in her hands. Joe handed her off to another one of the women, an older, matronly-type, his motions stiff and awkward. He returned to Sabo rubbing the back of his neck, uncomfortable and out of place.

“I’m no good at this sort of thing,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t just leave them here.”

“Lord Chandler’s hosting an auction?” Sabo said. It took enormous effort not to start shouting, the spark of his previous indignation ignited into a roaring fire of fury and rage.

“An art auction, yeah. It’s his third in the last two months.”

“I don’t get it.”

Bunny Joe sighed, scratched temple and tried to explain. “Chandler was a smuggler, yeah? And a damn good one at that. He opened up all sorts of illegal trade on this part of the Grand Line under the name Mr. Mooneyes.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Sabo said.

“Yeah, well, the king turned a blind eye so long as he got his piece of the pie. That was how Chandler earned his title, and now that he’s got it he’s decided to expand his business.”

He looked back at the people behind him. “Auctions are the perfect way to get dirty money clean, and art is easy because the value of any given piece is so subjective. You know, the eye of the beholder, that sort of thing. I was digging through old records, and nearly every piece sold was going for about B500,000. I thought that was a little suspicious, so I tried to find out who was buying, but Chandler runs a tight ship. Everything’s anonymous, supposedly to protect the buyer and their new investment.”

“So you tried to find out who the buyers were.”

“And apparently got caught doing it,” Joe said wearily. “Sorry, I didn’t think he’d go as far as gathering up you guys. I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

“I don’t need your protection. What I need to know is what’s your plan to blow this out of the water, and what can I do to help. Lord Chandler isn’t going to stay away for long, and my guess is he’s going to bring backup. We need to be ready when he does.”

Joe peered down at Sabo, as if he were seeing him for the first time. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Deadly.” Sabo said. “And here’s our backup now.”

Sabo felt Koala’s Presence before he saw her dance into the locker. She faltered for the briefest moment at the sight of the room before quickly finding Sabo and Joe. She didn’t appear seriously hurt, but it was impossible for Sabo not to see the blood on her knuckles. He wondered who it belonged to.

“I assume that was your work at the entrance? You were always good at tying people up.” Koala said.

“And I assume you were the one who called me?”

“I was surprised when you didn’t answer, but I think it worked out better this way,” Koala said, a look of pure wickedness on her face. “I wish I could have seen Chandler’s expression when I told him someone had knocked out his surveillance system.”

“And Hack?”

“I convinced him to hold off just a little bit longer. He’s at the harbor now snooping around the ships coming into port. Hopefully he can identify a few of the people on Chandler’s guestlist for tonight.”

She brushed a stray hair out of her face and scanned the room, noting each detail with a methodicalness that Sabo was sometimes jealous of. “But that’s enough about me. What’s all this?”

“A slave market,” Sabo said. “Seems like that’s how Lord Chandler is making money these days, with the approval of the crown.”

Her eyes hardened, the bright blue of her irises frosting over with an icy coldness. Her lips pursed together into a nearly invisible line, every muscle in her small body tensing. It was so rare to see her truly angry Sabo had almost forgotten how scary she could be. Bunny Joe took an involuntary step back as fury radiated off her in waves.

“The auction is this afternoon. I don’t think Chandler can afford to cancel. Not with so many VIPs coming in from all over the Grand Line,” Joe said. “But he’ll be ready. How bad did you mess up his snails?”

“It won’t be back up anytime soon,” Koala said tersely. “And I’ve brought you all a present.”

Without waiting for their response Koala turned sharply on one heel and walked back to the corridor near the entrance. Sitting next to the three guardsmen strung up from the ceiling was a man who’d been stripped down to his skivvies and hogtied, his clothes folded neatly beside him. Sabo almost laughed. “Who is he?”

“A visiting prince from the Moorlands,” Koala said. “I assume he came for the festivities later today.”

At the sight of them, the prince tried to yell into his gag. Sabo knelt down and picked up the man’s waistcoat with his thumb and forefinger, holding it away from his body as if it were diseased. “Is there a reason you decided to strip him?”

“He looked to be your size. Had this in his pocket.”

Koala handed him a card written on thick stock paper, the words TICKET OF INVITATION written in fancy script. Sabo took it from her skeptically. “His Lordship knows what I look like.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Joe said. “Everything is done anonymously. They wear masks.”

“It’s in there somewhere, just keep digging,” Koala said.

Sabo found a porcelain carnival mask, white a black domino pattern around the eyes, trimmed in gold. “Oh my god, it’s hideous.” He grinned up at her. “I’ll take it.”

Xxx

The clothes didn’t feel all that different from what he usually wore, albeit in black instead of his usual blue. Koala had even found him a cravat. But Sabo felt stiff, like he was wearing someone else’s skin.

He had to remember to walk like he had a stick up his ass, to look down at everyone else like they were bits of mud to be scrapped off of his polished boots. He stood in the spacious halls of Lord Chandler’s mansion, taking in the marble columns and the shiny crystal chandeliers, the smell of sandalwood in the air.

Even with his invitation he was afraid of someone seeing his disheveled hair, or that a guard would somehow see through the mask to see the imposter that lay beneath. The scars on his face and shoulder itched every time someone so much as glanced at him.

Security had been tripled, both inside and out of the mansion, but was thickest around the ballroom where the auction would take place. After a moment of consideration Sabo bypassed it. He was distinctly aware that they were running out of time, seconds ticking off the clock in the back of his mind. Following the directions left by Bunny Joe, he walked up a winding wrought-iron staircase to the second level of the mansion. A servant gave him a questioning look that Sabo dismissed with an aristocratic flick of the wrist. He ignored the stammared apology, stomach curling with guilt.

He hated acting like this. Hated more how good he was at it.

Sabo’s foul mood had nearly reached a boiling point by the time he reached the upper foyer. Two guards in white masks stood at attention by rich mahogany doors. At the sight of him they shifted their rifles, ready to raise them at a moment’s notice.

“No guests on the second floor,” one barked.

“But I have an invitation,” Sabo protested.

“No guests on the second floor.”

“I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with,” Sabo said softly. Dangerously.

He was moving before they had time to a look of confusion, twisting a hand into a dragon’s claw. Haki coating his hand black, he struck the middle of the rifle. Wood snapped into splinters under his hand, metal warping and bending with the force of the blow. The guardsman was thrown backward, head cracking against the doorpost. Pivoting sharply, Sabo grabbed a fistful of the second guardsman’s uniform. WIth a roar of fury he hurled him into the door with as much force as he could muster.

The door didn’t break, but the guard did. Shaking his head, Sabo stepped over him and jiggled the handle. Locked. Grinning behind his mask Sabo cracked his knuckles, surveying the door while he rolled his shoulders to loosen them.

One hit to break the lock. Another to blow the door off of its hinges. Mr. Mooneyes himself stood at a table at the center of the room in abject shock, the remnants clattering at his feet. His security was a little better, but Sabo hadn’t spent the past two years training with Dragon to be beaten by a handful of scrubs.

The last man fell before Lord Chandler could make his escape. Sabo grabbed him by the back of the waistcoat and whirled him around, pinning him up against the wall. Somewhere in the scrum the mask had fallen off of his face, and Lord Chandler’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Ha...You won’t get away with this,” Lord Chandler said, gasping for air. He looked down at Sabo with those clear, soulless eyes, a terrible grin twisting his face into something that was more monster than man.

“I think I will,” Sabo said.

“Marines are coming,” Lord Chandler said. “They’ll get you and the girl. No one will come to rescue you when you’re locked in Impel Down. I bet they have her already. I hope they make the little bitch suff--achgh!”

Somewhere along the line Sabo’s hand had found his neck and began squeezing. “I think you’ll find that girl doesn’t need rescued. Now tell me, who are your buyers? Who’s letting the slave trade expand this far from Mariejois?!”

“Hypocrite” Lord Chandler sneered. “Hubris like yours stinks of the Revolution. Where do you think Dragon gets his weapons? His supplies? Men like me...like my benefactor...are the grease that turns the wheel of society. My father always said you need a little bit of shit to make the garden grow, so don’t pretend you’re innocent. What sort of monster sends children out to do his dirty work?”

“What sort of monster puts free men and women in chains for profit?” Sabo spat through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to ask again, who’s the one letting you get away with it?!”

Lord Chandler laughed a dry, wheezy laugh. “Someone bigger and scarier than you. I’ll not breathe a word, boy, to you or your Revolution, so you might as well end this charade and kill me now.”

Before Sabo could answer, the snailphone in his pocket started to ring.

At the sound of it, Lord Chandler cackled like a madman.

“You’re too late, little Revolutionary. You should have known better than to challenge me when the World Government is on my side.”

Sabo kept one hand wrapped around Lord Chandler’s neck as he answered the phone. “What is it? I’m a little busy here.”

“We need to get out of here now,” Koala said. “Hack and I have the ship ready and Joe’s just about got the last of the slaves on board, but there’s half a dozen marine ships coming in hard. We’ll hold them off as long as we can, but they outgun us by...a lot.”

“I’ll divert their attention here,” Sabo said.

Hack’s voice cut in past Koala’s protests. “Sabo, you’ve done enough. It’s time to cut our losses and--”

“I’m going to burn it to the ground.”

Sabo hung up the phone. He looked at Lord Chandler like he were a newly discovered insect he was about to pin onto a specimen board. “I’ll admit, you’re clever. Joe said you have a code during your auctions, a whole system for bidding so that an outsider looking in would have no idea what was really going on. What was it, oil paintings if they were women, acrylics for men, that sort of thing? I have to wonder why even bother with all the subterfuge if the World Government is really on your side.”

Lord Chandler opened his mouth to answer, but Sabo stopped him with a little bit of pressure against his windpipe. “I didn’t say you could speak. See, I’d say you were scared of the Revolution, but you didn’t even suspect us to start with. You’ve got enough goons here and the approval of your king, which makes me think it’s not the local competition you’re worried about. You’ve got too many resources for them to ever be a true threat.”

Sabo leaned closer. “The slave market’s pretty much a one man show these days. You were a smuggler once, right? I’m sure you’ve heard who’s in charge.”

A spasm passed over Lord Chandler, all-but-confirming Sabo’s gut instinct.

“I’m going to give you one last shot,” Sabo said. “Either you come with me and tell us everything you know, or I leave you here for Joker to take care of. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

Sabo dropped Lord Chandler with an unceremonious thud. He kept half an eye on him while making a quick sweep of the room, gathering up any sort of documentation that looked to be important and stuffing it down the front of his shirt.

Everything else he gathered into a pile. Sabo found the nearest candle and carefully lowered the wicking flame. The paper caught, curling to black ash and smoke.

He would have to help it along if he wanted to make good on his promise to Koala, but Sabo figured he could make it work. He turned back to where Lord Chandler sat whimpering in a corner.

“Time’s up, your Lordship. What do you decide?”

Xxx

“Wanted for kidnapping, assault, and impersonating a noble.”

Koala slipped Sabo’s newly-minted bounty from between the pages for closer inspection before handing him the rest of the paper. “I thought you would be happy. Why are you not happy?”

“I don’t know,” Sabo admitted. He propped his head on his hand and scanned the news, trying to read between the lines of lies to find the truth that lay underneath. “It was all...vaguely unsatisfying.”

“You burned down a mansion.”

“I burn down things all the time. I wanted something...more. Something meaningful.”

Koala quirked an eyebrow. “Saving eighteen people from slavery isn’t meaningful?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do.

Sabo set down the paper and looked at her helplessly. A bandage covered one cheek from an errant bullet, a result of her staving off the marines long enough for everyone to escape.

He felt himself getting angry all over again, but it was an impotent anger. They’d completed their mission, but it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

“Lord Chandler’s one man. One. He’s not even that important in the grand scheme of things. How many others are out there just like him, trying to get their piece of the pie because the Government says it’s okay to sell people like chattel? He’s a symptom, not the disease.”

He tried to go back to his paper, but after a few seconds feeling Koala’s eyes boring into his side gave up and tossed it aside. He leaned his chair back on two legs and groaned. “I want to do more. Go higher. Punch more dochebags in the face.”

“And you will.”

Both Koala and Sabo whirled around where Dragon’s massive body filled the doorway. How he managed to be so sneaky in a base full of Observation Haki users Sabo would never know.

“I’ve gone over Bunny Joe’s report. You commended yourselves well, both of you.”

Koala bowed her head. “Thank you, sir.”

“When’s our next mission?” Sabo asked at the same time.

Dragon’s lips quirked in one of his almost-smiles. “Now. It turns out Mr. Mooneyes made sure to get dirt on each of his clients as a means of protecting himself. With this information, we’ll be able to climb a little bit closer to our goals. Now go pack your bags, you leave tonight with the tide.”

Sabo let out a whoop of joy and jumped to his feet, but before he could make a mad dash to his room Dragon placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Patience. A lion may stalk for hours waiting for the perfect time to strike. Our work will not be in vain. The Celestial Dragons will fall.”

Sabo nodded once, sharply. “And I’ll make sure to be there when it happens.”

[damienthepious]

tuesday tuesday tuesday time for fic

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 5)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [ao3] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery,  Hurt/Comfort,  (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: It's going to be a tense few days, in Rilla's hut.

Chapter Notes: Some mild, chapter specific warnings for people not taking very good care of themselves, like not eating for most of the day and depriving themselves of sleep out of stress. Take care of yourselves!

~

Arum wakes when she’s just about to change his bandages again. Less than ideal, but when he hisses low and squeezes his eyes more tightly closed she decides to check in verbally first, and she pulls the covers back over him. He wrinkles his snout, wincing up at her through a squint as she leans against the table at his bedside, and then he raises an eyebrow at her.

"I must assume your little operation was at least a reasonable success,” he mutters, not sounding particularly pleased about it. "Considering that I woke again at all."

"Yeah," Rilla says, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was right, and I got it out. You wanna tell me what kind of monster it was that ambushed you, now? Because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna figure it out when I analyze that thing anyway and it’d save me at least a little bit of time, Arum."

"Ambushed, they did not ambush me, I would not be so easily-"

"Back-stabbed, then?"

Arum goes silent, jaw snapping shut. He narrows his eyes. "Why, precisely, does it matter to you, little human? Do you intend to feed the information to your little … friend ? Your little knight ?"

It is Rilla’s turn to go silent for a moment, and then she scowls. “Did he wake you? I told him not to disturb-”

“Woke perfectly well on my own. Could not stay awake, with your persistent little injection still coursing through me, but- I would have thought it a dream, if he did not move the stool to be as far from me as he could be, if it were not still there now.” He pauses. “No, that is not quite true, I don’t think my own mind could have conjured such a distinct annoyance. I would have known he were real regardless.”

“He’s got his charms,” Rilla drawls. “Now, do you feel any different? It’s only been a few hours, but hopefully-”

“I do.” Arum sighs, settling more deeply in the blankets. “There is less… now that the sedative seems to be less present, I feel…”

“Better, hopefully?”

“A layer has been removed. Of the exhaustion, the- pain. It is lessened.”

Rilla smiles, the satisfaction curling through her again, and Arum watches her with puzzled eyes. “ Good .”

He allows her to lift the cup of water by the bedside to his mouth again, allows her to check his eyes, his range of movement, the edges of his frill that cannot be bandaged, and then he winces throughout as she changes his bandages out and checks the offending injury on his midsection, and when she finally resettles the blankets over him he is half-drifting again.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she says, gently teasing, and he frowns, flicks his tail, and sighs, but does not respond. “I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”

She exits, and closes the door behind her.

The hut is small enough that she knows she’ll be able to hear if he calls, and- well. If he’s still even partly awake, she’s not sure she wants him to hear whatever it is that she and Damien might say. She doesn’t expect this conversation to be any more pleasant than the one last night.

Damien sits by her table, tense and prim with his knees tucked beneath him on one of the cushions, and he glances up warily when she comes over to join him, dropping to settle on a cushion by his side.

“I take it you didn’t sleep at all,” she says mildly, lip curling into a wry sort of smile.

“Of course not.” He frowns, and the distinct pain in his eyes makes Rilla want very badly to reach out and cup his cheek, but she quells the urge. She’s not sure what angle he’s going to take yet, with his protests, and she doesn’t think he’ll welcome the contact, just now.

“He woke up at some point?” she prompts, and his lips press tight together.

“Intermittently,” he mutters, and he looks away again. “He- it did not stay conscious for any excessive length of time.”

“Why were you in there?”

“I couldn’t-” Damien cuts himself off, grimacing, one hand squeezing the table in front of him, and Rilla knows exactly what the answer will be before he opens his mouth to continue. “I could not stop thinking- every terrible thing it could have been doing in there, if I could not see- I could not keep my mind from racing with every catastrophe, every possible evil- I needed to have my eyes upon the beast.”

Rilla inhales, exhales. The idea of Damien glaring hatefully at Arum the whole night through is- unsettling , to say the least, but-

“Did that help, then?”

“Help,” he repeats in a mutter. “I did not lose myself to hysterics in fear of potential disaster, if that is what you mean.”

“Damien,” she says, her stomach doing an uncomfortable little turn at his tone. His frown deepens, just slightly, and he turns his face away. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“It seems to be as weak as you believe it to be,” he says, and he does not sound happy about it.

“He can barely lift his arms, Damien.”

“I said he seemed-” Damien cuts himself off again, and then he exhales a sigh. “Yes. At the moment it does not appear that he could attack you. At the moment.”

It’s not much of a concession, but it’s something . Rilla gives a very slight smile, just in time for Damien to glance her way again. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes are a little softer, she thinks.

“You… you look tired, Damien. You should lay down, just for a little bit-”

He shakes his head, sighing again. “I cannot.”

“Damien, he’s not going to-”

“I must return to the Citadel,” he interrupts, and her heart sinks as he rises to stand. “I am expected, today.”

“Oh,” she says, and she very much does not want to ask the question that hangs in the air between them. She doesn’t want to, but Rilla knows that leaving it hanging won’t help, so. She stands as well, biting her lip for a moment before she asks, “Are you- do you plan on-”

His jaw tightens. “I have yet to kill the creature,” he mutters, looking away. “I cannot say a word about it unless I wish to reveal my own failure and cowardice.”

“Oh, come on, Damien, it’s not-”

He turns towards her, his frown deepening further. “My love, I know my duty, and you know it just as well. This- this arrangement cannot stand. Surely you must understand that I cannot allow this. I will- I will concede some time, for you to reconcile that knowledge. I do not know why or how you have grown… attached to this thing, but I admire the compassion of your heart, even as I know I must act against it.”

“Damien,” Rilla tries again. “The only reason he’s hurt in the first place is because other monsters attacked him. You aren’t even a little curious why that would be true? And I’m not just going to- to let you hurt him after all this- after I’ve done so much to- Damien, he’s my patient-”

“I said I would give you time, my dearest love, and I shall. But you must come to terms with the reality of the situation. You must come to terms with the fact that he is a monster, and I am a knight. There is only one way this can possibly end, Rilla.”

He lifts his hand, reaching to cup her cheek, and Rilla scowls, smacking his palm away. “Don’t- I don’t need your concession, Damien. Don’t patronize me.”

“I-” he pauses, his expression somewhere between injured and mournful, and then he sighs. “I have duties that will keep me away tonight, but- but I will be back tomorrow, in the evening. When I can be.”

“Oh, thank the Saints,” she mutters, making no effort to disguise her irritation. “I’ll just muddle along and try not to get murdered until then.”

Damien presses his lips together, tight, but he manages not to respond to that. He takes another deep breath, instead, and then he fixes his eyes more deliberately on his fiance. “I love you, Rilla. I… you know that I worry as I do merely because of how deeply I care for you.”

Rilla sighs, some of the anger leaking away, and she steps close enough to the knight to touch his shoulder, her brow furrowed. “You know I love you too. Try- try not to overexert yourself today, Damien. It’s not healthy to push yourself on zero sleep.”

Damien purses his lips, but he doesn’t point out her hypocrisy. Instead, he gives his own weak smile and says, “Doctor’s orders?”

“Unless fiancée’s orders work better,” she says with a shrug, and she only hesitates for a heartbeat when she leans down to press a light kiss to his cheek. “I’ll- I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Damien agrees, and Rilla can’t help but notice the way his eyes flick towards Arum’s door.

~

Arum slips in and out of consciousness most of the rest of the day. Rilla has enough time in his frequent catnaps (lizardnaps?) to manage her experiments, finally. A lot of them went unruly while she was so distracted managing him , and she has to toss out the entirety of her new bandage adhesive experiment- it worked a little too well, actually, and she feels like that particular mixture wouldn’t be good to apply to actual human skin. Or scales, for that matter. She puts the ones she can on hold, and the others she scraps. She can’t be sure how much of her time is going to be co-opted by monster babysitting, right now, and she knows how easily she gets distracted by her work. This patient is worth better than half her attention.

She switches to research, instead, pulling out bestiaries and pulling up the floorboard at the foot of her bed so she can cross reference with some of her fathers’ old books as well.

She notes a few possibilities for the creature that left the talon behind, though she doesn’t have much luck, finding anything like Arum in those books, either.

She does find him on the floor of the exam room in the mid-afternoon, though. She hears the thump when he falls, and when she comes to check on that she finds him halfway off the cot and halfway on the floor. His tail and one foot are still on the bed, mostly, tangled in the blankets, and she sighs deeply as he growls up at her with his snout against the wood of her floor.

“In what way would leaving right now be useful to you, Arum?” she asks dryly. “You planning on crawling your way back to your swamp from here? I’m pretty sure the knights will notice you even if you are on ground level the whole time.”

His growl deepens as he glares up at her, and he makes a somewhat sad and not very fruitful effort to pull himself back up. His leg is still tangled, and Rilla needs to pull the cloth away so he can slump all the way to the floor before she can actually start to help get him back up.

He takes the help with bad grace, of course. He refuses to look at her as she slips an arm around his back, careful to avoid the one large stab wound on his lower back as she helps to lift him back to sit on the edge of the bed, and he growls continuously throughout, though he doesn’t try to push her away.

“I was gonna wait a while for this to let you rest a bit longer, but now I’m gonna have to check you over again to make sure you didn’t just pull something open, Arum.”

“I could tear your throat out, you know,” he snarls, and he’s close enough that she can see the flecks of darker purple in his eyes as he glares at her. “Effortlessly. Each time you patronize me I grow closer to succumbing to that temptation.”

“I feel like I don’t actually have to tell you how much of an idiot move that would be,” Rilla says wryly, making no effort to pull back away from him. Instead, she starts to unwind his bandages to check on his injuries, her fingers moving with the automatic ease of practice, and Arum winces, hissing lightly. “You could,” she says. “Obviously you could. But we both know that you shouldn’t. Especially not now that we’ve dealt with the biggest issue in the way of your recovery.”

He huffs, turning his face away, and she can’t help the way the laugh bubbles out of her at the pout on his face.

“Don’t- don’t you dare mock me, human-”

“I’m not. Arum-”

He’s actively trying to pull away from her hands, now, and she lets him, lifting her palms in a placating gesture. Last thing she wants to do is accidentally hurt him worse because he’s struggling against her.

“Arum. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you.” She shakes her head, smiling wryly. “The situation is more ridiculous than anything, honestly, but you just- you looked so irritated that you might survive and it just- hit me. Sorry.”

He makes a strange rattling noise and eyes her warily for a moment before he looks away with a huff. “Well. You are… you are correct that this entire debacle is ridiculous. I suppose you cannot be blamed,” he mutters. His frame relaxes, and he drops his hands. “Go on, then. If you must.”

It is a little strange, checking him so thoroughly like this while he’s actually conscious enough to scrutinize her in return. Usually he’s at least half-asleep when she does this, or at least too tired to pay much attention. With him frowning at her the whole time-

She starts talking her way through it after a few moments, explaining each step and describing his progress to him, and though he frowns at first, she can tell that he’s listening, and he almost seems to relax a bit. Not counting the moments he flinches when she needs to clean some of the more heinous injuries before rewrapping, at least.

“I… I do not understand you,” he mutters when she’s finished again, narrowing his eyes up at her as she checks his temperature with the back of a hand. “I don’t understand any of it. You, your little pet knight, none of it. It’s ridiculous.”

“That’s fair,” Rilla says with a shrug and a sigh. “Look, it doesn’t make a lot of sense from my perspective either, Arum. It’s not like I went for a walk the other day expecting to have a monster fall into my lap, you know? Sometimes- sometimes things just happen, and you react. I’m reacting.”

Arum ducks his head, glaring up at her as she puts the bandages away again, neatly arranging her materials back into their respective cabinets. “This is not the reaction that humans typically have to monsters , Amaryllis. Injured or no.”

Rilla tries not to let it show on her face, the little flash of delight she feels that he’s deigned to actually use her name. “Yeah, well. I tend to do things my own way.”

~

He doesn’t give her much trouble for the rest of the day. He must be exhausted by the whole collapsing-to-the-floor thing combined with just, like, the rest of it, because he’s right back to napping on and off until dark. She eats dinner early, since she was a bit too distracted for breakfast and she was busy with her experiment management around lunchtime, and the next time she hears Arum shifting around she brings something in for him, too.

Vegetable stew is a good sort of meal for where he’s at currently. He begrudgingly explained his dietary needs over the last day or so, mostly as she’s tried offering him various things and either had him turn his nose up in haughty disgust or snatch it impatiently out of her hands, by turns. His dental structure is odd enough that she had a difficult time hypothesizing what he would eat in the first place, but it turns out he’s an omnivore, with a preference for insects, fruits, and leafy greens. She could fry up some crickets, make a salad, that sort of thing, but his throat is still a little raw from the near-drowning, so she figures something more broth-based is probably better to stick to for the moment. He’s less grumpy when he’s full, too, which is a pleasant side effect.

(She’s amused as hell when she teases out of him that he doesn’t actually eat red meat- doesn’t , he says specifically, not can’t, which is interesting, but it ’s interesting less for the sake of her knowledge of his eating habits and more because it puts the lie to all his early grumbled I’ll bite your throat out, you’ll be delicious you foolish little creature sorts of threats from when he was barely awake.)

She goes to bed early, checks on her patient again in the middle of the night (he’s deep asleep at that point, thankfully), and when she wakes the next day it’s kind of a repeat. Arum’s making progress, now, sure, but it’s still slow. She thinks that he might heal more slowly than a human, but she can’t be sure if that’s inherent or just a consequence of him recovering from whatever toxin had been in his system. That’s first on the list for that day, anyway. Identifying that talon so she can figure out that much, at least.

The day runs sort of like clockwork, in that she spends any point during which she’s not busy thinking of the clock. Thinking of when Damien is coming back, of what he’s doing out there, how worried he must be (unnecessarily, but still), what kind of state he’s going to return in-

Even Arum notices that she’s distracted, which is annoying. He doesn’t say much besides a grumble that goes with an eye-roll, but still, she should be better than that.

Damien doesn’t come back until late, when she’s washing up the dishes after dinner. He knocks, which isn’t that unusual when she has the little plaque on her door turned to closed, and that’s been continual since she dragged Arum back here. She calls for him to come in, since she’s got her wrists in dishwater anyway, and there’s just enough of the meal left for him to have a bowl too, and she opens her mouth to offer as she glances over her shoulder, but-

“Saints, Damien, you look exhausted-”

He frowns, but he doesn’t answer. He crosses the room rather quickly, actually, and Rilla realizes after a half second that he’s marching straight for Arum’s door.

“Damien? Damien-”

He pulls the door open, stares inside, and then before Rilla can really start to panic he sighs and closes the door again.

“Still here,” he breathes. “It’s still here.”

“I…” Rilla shakes the water off her hands, eying Damien warily from across almost the entire space of her hut. “What did you think I was gonna do with him, exactly?”

“I had half-convinced myself I had dreamed the whole thing,” he mutters, and then he looks to her, and the shadows beneath his eyes are nearly purple. “Or- or perhaps I was hoping that was true.”

Rilla furrows her brow. “Well… sorry to disappoint, I guess. I saved you some food, if…”

He stares at the exam room door again, just for a moment, and then he comes over and sits by the table to eat.

It’s awkward, to say the least. Damien is never this quiet, and he keeps staring at Arum’s door as if he expects it to burst open or something worse , and Rilla can’t seem to draw him into conversation even a little. When he’s done eating he stands and washes the bowl without a word, and then he- hovers there, near the table, and just stares at the door for a while longer.

Rilla stands as well, after a moment, and she reaches gently to touch his shoulder.

“Damien… I think- I think you need to rest, okay?”

“I am perfectly-”

“You haven’t slept at all, have you?” she asks, and his eyes flick to the door again. She reaches her other hand out to cup his cheek, to make him meet her eyes. “Damien. Look, I’m- I’m tired too, okay? Just- come to bed with me. Lay down for- for just a couple hours. We can lock the bedroom door if that will make you feel better, but- you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. It’s not healthy, and it’s not going to help anyone. Please.”

You’re really worrying me, she doesn’t say, but she can tell he hears her anyway. He sags after a pause, then leans into her arms and nods. He lets her lead him to the bedroom. He lets her carefully undo his armor, lets her pull him into the bed and wrap her arms around him, lets her draw hands through his hair and hum some soft song until she drowses, until she falls entirely to sleep.

And then when Rilla is safe in slumber, when her worries have been appeased, Damien extricates himself from her embrace, retrieves his bow, and goes to resume his watch.

[->]

[johnny-and-dora]

a promise of hope is enough to feel free

26. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to.” requested by the lovely tilde @sergeantames & 79. “i’ll still be here when you’re ready.” requested by, uh, me (post 6x16 baby talk because i will actually never get over jake’s reaction to amy saying she’s pregnant bye)

read on ao3 -

“So, are you gonna stop keeping that super fancy pen in your pocket now you know I can tase you with it?” Jake asks, sliding her a drink as they steal away some precious alone time from Terry’s celebrations in their usual booth. She smiles fondly at the warm memory of their first Christmas as a married couple, bright with the new (and yet not surprising) knowledge of their secretly shared heist agenda.

Regardless of its less than desirable electrocuting abilities, she’s incredibly fond of the gift, something practical yet something that can also remind Amy of her husband when she misses having him at the other side of her desk. She’s not entirely sure she trusts the love of her life enough to not use it against her, but the sentimental value outweighs her fears, and there are more than enough of his personal belongings that she’s modified to get revenge if necessary.  

“No, I still love it. Let’s have a “no secret taser” gift policy for this year, though.” She says, as if that’s a perfectly normal rule to have, and he nods in agreement.

“That seems fair. Promise I won’t tase you unless you really deserve it.” He grins playfully and she shoves him lightly before resting her head on his shoulder in contentment.

Already one drink in, she allows herself to space out a little, letting the familiar buzz of Shaw’s flood her thoughts while Jake’s arm around her, seemingly by design, acts as her anchor. Her brow furrows as she recalls the chaos of the day, guilt seeping through the cracks of her conscience at the complete trashing of her usually strong moral compass.

She’d felt bad the second she’d yelled to the entire precinct that she was pregnant (though it was an extremely effective distraction, she had to admit), and Jake’s excitement had made her feel a million times worse - even if it had sparked brief joy in her too. The tangible idea that someday soon she could be pregnant for realz overwhelms her until her husband’s hand quietly ghosts over hers, brings it to rest on her lap. There’s unspoken concern when she meets his gaze and she decides to confess.

“So, I kind of feel terrible about the whole fake pregnancy thing…” She trails off, heat rising in her cheeks, but he just laughs warmly, taking a sip of his beer.

“It’s fine, Ames. Holt told me it was his idea. Sonogram was a nice touch.” He smiles brightly, good humour glimmering in his eyes that does wonders to ease the burden of shame she feels – he’s ridiculously good at doing that, another thing added to the list a very long time ago. She squeezes his hand under the table.

“Still, it was a low blow - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess with you like that.”

“It’s okay. I’m going to have to formally request that next time you tell me it’s for realz, though.”

Next time. Next time strikes a chord that resonates deep within her heart, sending it leaping with delight. It floods her with relief and, without guilt, she now feels curiosity quietly swelling to a crescendo.

You seemed really happy.” She prompts, nudging him with her shoulder, and his grin fades a little into something much more sincere, like he’s analysing his reaction for the first time. Something seems to entirely shift the atmosphere of the little bubble they’re currently inhabiting - she inches closer to him on instinct, checking that Charles is nowhere eavesdropping in case they cause a cardiac arrest. (Wouldn’t be the first time.)

“Well, yeah. I was. I…you know that I really want to have kids with you.”

She does, now – they’ve learnt from past mistakes and it’s now become a frequent topic of their treasured low, late-night conversations over the past few weeks. Amy’s found herself happily forgoing her beloved daily crossword puzzle in favour of pillow talk - listening to him outpour fear and excitement in equal measure as their hands intertwine, interrupting only to offer soft encouragement and to firmly veto any Die Hard related baby names.

They know they want at least two but preferably the second only after Amy’s made lieutenant. They know that the waterpark money isn’t a fortune but it’ll make a decent start. They know that they’ll be able to rely on Charles and Karen and probably even Holt & Kevin for babysitting duty, that they’ll be able to rely on their family (whether related by blood or by something arguably stronger) for anything and everything they might need.

Most importantly, they know that they have a impressive success rate of overcoming every single challenge the universe has thrown at them so far; Amy is more than confident that this will be no different, completely certain that as long as they’re together they can handle just about anything.

(She’s also certain that Jake will be an amazing father, something he is yet to start really believing – but for now, she is patient, and slowly, surely, something is shifting. More excitement, less fear.)

“I’ve been thinking about it, a lot. Lately. And I’m not…um, totally ready like right now.” He gestures vaguely with his free hand, and she nods in understanding – it’s overwhelming, even to her.

“But I am super excited, y’know. To be ready. Really.” He smiles earnestly and she squeezes his shoulder, thinking of every time her heart has lit up lately when she’s caught him asking Terry about the girls or actually paying attention to the seemingly endless photos of Nikolaj and his drawings that Charles is so proud of.

When she thinks of them having that - having a child to love so completely unconditionally, a young mind to shape together, she’s so unbelievably excited too. Realising Jake has been thinking about the same things, even in the smallest capacity, makes her heart dance in her chest.

“I know. And you know I’ll still be here when you’re ready.” She says, the adrenaline-fuelled edge of the heist wearing away into something much tender as she cranes up to press a gentle chaste kiss to his cheek.

It’s another gesture of reassurance, another tiny declaration of the love that softly pulses through her entire body every single second she gets to spend with him, and the way he looks at her with affection overspilling into gratitude creates a bubble of pure joy she never wants to burst.

(Four Drink Amy will find another way to express her gratitude later.)

“Soon, I promise. First I think I better check Terry’s refund policy on that banner.” Amy laughs, any laments at her husband’s seemingly crippling spending problem blown away just for tonight. Instead, she nestles into the soft maroon fabric of his hoodie and it feels like home.

“We’re not keeping it in the apartment.” “Not even above the bed?” “Especially not above the bed.”

Later, he gives her the little banner money he’s able to salvage from Terry as an apology for his poor financial judgement - the first thing she spends it on is three real pregnancy tests, burrowed safely in the back of their medicine cabinet, patiently waiting for the next time they are needed.

[munofsilver]

Putting Everything in Place

@chlonathweek is doing a Chlonath week starting today. I made a fanfic for it. Day one is Enemy/Friend. You can read it on my Ao3 account. Summary:  After years of defeating Hawkmoth, a new villain shows up. During the fight, Royal Blu and Rena Rouge got struck. Alya is fine the same can't be said about Nathaniel. He lost a big part of his memory, that includes his wife Chloe and their child, Nicole. His mind stops at college. Little by little his starts to learn about his life, starting with why is his sister pregnant?   

“How is he doing?” Chloe asked. Sitting across the table, her friend Marinette looks up then back down. “You would know if you visit him,” she answered. Chloe sighs and she slides down in her chair. “You know I can’t.” The truth is she doesn’t want to see him like that. It hurts her heart just thinking about it. If she sees him like he is now, it will break her heart. Even though she understands, Marinette thinks Chloe should still visit Nathaniel. “You can still see how he’s doing,” Marinette’s tone is a mix of anger and frustration. “It’s been three months since the accident, and you haven’t visited him at all. I know this is hard for you; it’s hard for us all. Nathaniel is a great guy. We all love and care about him. He has improved,” Marinette pause. “I talked with the doctors. They said that there’s a good chance he’ll never return to normal,” Chloe fights back her tears. “He is still the same Nathaniel,” Marinette was going to yell but stopped. Chloe is losing her fight with her tears. They form in her eyes, then fall down her cheeks. Marinette's anger fades away. Making her way over to Chloe and wraps her arms around her pulling Chloe into a tight hug. “What’s the point of seeing him if he doesn’t even know who I am?” Chloe cries hugging Marinette back. Right now Chloe could use a friend for support. She knows she can’t go through this alone. Marinette ignores the ringing of her phone. “He does remember you, Chloe. Nathaniel knows who you are,” Marinette tries to calm her down. Sadly it didn’t seem to work. “He only remembers the old me. The bully me. The evil, rotten spoiled me. Not the current me. The nice lovable, kind, caring me. The one he fell in love with.” “You were never evil Chloe. Even as Antibug and Queen Waps you were never evil,” Marinette raised her voice a bit, not of anger. Marinette’s phone finally stops ringing, only for Chloe’s phone to start. That's also ignored. The tears eventually end as Chloe release herself from the hug. “I….I will see him, not visit him. Just going to check. I guess I should do more than just talking with his doctor,” Chloe sighs. Marinette smiles, “I’ll be there for you if you need me to.” “When are you going to visit him next?” “Tomorrow. Would you like to come? Adrien can watch Nicole.” “Nicole,” Chloe whispers. “Do…..Do you think I should bring her?” “I would ask the doctor first.” Chloe nods, that is a good idea. Marinette returns to her original spot. She singles to the waiter that they are ready for their check. “Natalie was there last week. Nathaniel did remember her and surprised that his little sister is getting big.” Chloe half smiles. “She is seven months pregnant with twins.” Taking a sip as the check is placed between them, Chloe grabs her purse while Marinette hands her card to the waiter. Seeing the waiter walk off Chloe puts her purse away. “I’m not sure if that’s the reason he’s surprised. It took him some time to remember her. Now he thinks she’s too young to be pregnant. Even though she’s only a surrogate.” Chloe smiles, “Nathaniel was worried at first when Natalie told us she was thinking of saying yes. She’s doing this for a cousin they hardly know. Over time he got less worried. Even as adults Nathaniel still overprotective of his younger sister.” Marinette laughs as she puts her wallet in her purse. They both stand up and head outside. Chloe has her back towards Marinette. “I'll come with you to see Nathaniel tomorrow.” After saying that Chloe walks off towards her car. Marinette laughs, she will text Chloe when she will pick her up later. Right now she has some errands to do and not much time. Queen Bee is flying through the air as she carries Royal Blu. “After all these years we have a new enemy to fight. I hope we’re not rusty,” Royal Blu laughs. Queen Bee almost drop her when she turned. “Hey, none of that. It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I need to concentrate,” she picks up her speed. “Sorry, my queen.” Royal Blu was silence for the rest of the trip. They met up with Ladybug, Cat Noir, and Rena Rouge on top of the Eiffel Tower. Carapace is on his way. “What’s going on?” Asked Royal Blu. “I’ll explain all when everyone is here,” Ladybug checks something on her yo-yo. “That man of yours better hurry up,” Queen Bee crosses her arms. Rena Rouge did everything she can to not snap back. One thing Rena Rouge has is patients. She will never talk back unless she feels like she needs too. Soon Carapace arrives out of breath. “Sorry, I got here as fast as I could,” he says between breaths. “Now that’s everyone here, you can tell us why you called us, my lady,” Cat Noir purred. “I’m sure you all know about all these people disappearing. How could you not when it’s all over the news,” Ladybug looks right at Rena Rouge when she spoke the last part. “Last night when they were giving us an update I notice something.” She holds out her yo-yo as everyone gathered around her to see. Ladybug hits play on the video, and it starts. About half a minute in Ladybug pauses it. Everyone leans squinting their eyes. “Do you see what I did?” Ladybug asked. It’s hard to notice, in the background they were showing a playground full of kids playing as their parents watching very closely not taking their eyes off their kids. It was on for a second, but Ladybug paused it at the right spot. A jogger that was stopping to take a drink disappeared. Near where he was stood Hawkmoth! “Hawkmoth!” Yelled all the heroes. “That’s what I thought at first also. Look closer,” Ladybug told them. Looking closer it looks like Hawkmoth. Same mask and color outfit. Instead of a suit Hawkmoth is wearing a long dress split on both sides to the thigh. With knee high heeled boots. She’s leaning against the cane. Ladybug closes her yo-yo and places it back on her hip. “Somehow there is a new female Hawkmoth, and she’s kidnapping people. We as heroes need to stop this and free all those people,” Ladybug slams her fist into her other hand. “I asked you all here tonight to come up with a plan.” That night felt like it was yesterday not six months ago. It plays over again every night for Chloe. Every single night since it happened. Every night she cries herself to sleep over it. She knows she has to be brave, act like nothing’s wrong. Not for her, but for Nicole, her daughter. When she called the doctor, he said to wait until she brings Nicole over. It turns out the doctor did try to call before. Nothing’s wrong just giving her his daily report on Nathaniel. Chloe’s unsure how much longer she can handle this, or even if she can handle seeing him tomorrow. Going over how everything went and worrying about the visit Chloe almost burns dinner. Chloe didn’t eat much that night. Not because it was a little burnt, but her mind won’t let her get over the visit until it happens. She plays with her food as she watches her two-year-old daughter eat hers. With a sigh, Chloe takes a few bites. “Are you ready, Chloe? We’ll be there soon.” Marinette called Chloe around ten. With breakfast done Chloe is in the living room waiting for them to arrive. “I’m ready. When you two get here just stay in the car. I’ll come out once Adrien enters,” Chloe sighs. “Sounds good to us,” Marinette ends the call. Chloe places her phone in her purse and closes it. She sighs again, preparing herself for whatever waits for her. ‘You’ll be fine Chloe. You’re not going to talk to him. You’ll be fine.’ She not so sure of herself right now. The front door opening snaps her to life. “Uncle Adrien,” Nicole runs over to him for a hug. By the time Adrien looked up to greet Chloe, she was already gone. In the car, Chloe ever spoke a word. Neither did Marinette, until they arrived at the hospital. “Are you ready for this?” “It’s either now or never,” Chloe gathers up all her courage just to open the car door. “Seatbelt!” Marinette was able to yell. Lucky she did before Chloe tried to exit the car. It seems the thought of seeing Nathaniel is taking its toll on Chloe. A few deep breaths and she was able to unbuckle herself. In the hospital, the doctor was surprised to see Chloe there. “I never thought I would see you here. We talk on the phone all the time, now I finally get to see you,” the doctor laughed. Chloe didn’t think it was funny, Marinette kind of did, she doesn't hide it. The doctor leads them to Nathaniel's room. There is a window on the door, and Chloe peeks in. Nathaniel is sitting in his bed drawing. Chloe remembers how he would do that before bed. At first, Chloe didn’t like it, but after a while, she wonders why she hated it. Marinette and the doctor enters the room, while Chloe stays outside. Not yet ready to join. “Baby steps,” Chloe whispers. “Hello, Nathaniel. How are you?” Marinette chirps with a smile like she always does when she visits Nathaniel. “Hello, Marinette. Hello Dr. Tumble. I am doing fine. Thanks for asking,” Nathaniel smiles. He puts his drawing on the table next to him and gets out of bed. “It’s always good to see you, Marinette. How is Adrien? Is he here with you?” Nathaniel doesn’t stop smelling. “Not today. He’s babysitting. I did bring someone with me,” Marianette points with her head and faces the window. Nathaniel looks, but no one is there. Once Chloe heard Marinette said she wasn’t alone, Chloe ducks and dives out of view. Chloe isn’t here to visit just see how Nathaniel is doing. Chloe is cursing at Marinette under her breath. Along with some threats. “There’s no one there,” Nathaniel sounds confused. He’s even more confused when he sees the look of anger on Marinette’s face. “What’s wrong, Marinette?” She faces him again. “Sorry about that. What are you drawing?” Changing the subject did work. It brought Chloe back to the window. Nathaniel grabs his sketchbook.

He shows Marinette what he was working on. She takes a closer look and notices something. “I’ll be right back,” she announced before heading out. Nathaniel’s eyes followed her, and he saw someone else by the window. When he moved his head to face the window the person was gone. Thinking nothing of it, Nathaniel goes back to working on his drawing. “You have to visit him,” Marinette orders grabbing Chloe’s arm. “I’m here aren’t I,” Chloe spat back. Chloe Bourgeois never goes down without a fight. Right now neither is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. “You should talk to him instead of hiding,” Marinette said before she stormed off. “Besides he knows I have someone here anyways,” Marinette speaks over her shoulder. Soon she was back in the room with Nathaniel. Once again Chloe watches through the window. “Sorry about that, Nathaniel,” Marinette is full of smiles once more. Nathaniel smiles with her. “Who were you talking with? Was it Dr. Tumble?” Marinette glances at the window. It looks like Chloe is shaking her head. Marinette is going to give Chloe the push she needs. “Chloe is here with me today.” Before Chloe could hide Marinette and Nathaniel, face to see her. Marinette has an evil grin on while Nathaniel is confused and shocked. “Why is she here? Doesn’t she hate like everyone?” Chloe looks down in shame and hugs herself. The tears are coming back. She doesn’t want Nathaniel to see her with tears. “Chloe is different now. She’s nice and gets along with everyone. I know you may not believe it. Just talk with her you’ll see. Besides if she hates everyone then why is she here?” Chloe was unsure of what to say. She wipes a loose tear away and smiles. Nathaniel is also speechless, but seeing her with a smile like this is rare. “The last thing I remember about Chloe she tried to scare off Lila when she got too close to Adrien. Those two never got along. Then again most people didn’t get along with Lila when we found out she lied to everyone for attention,” Nathaniel thinks back the best he can. “Chloe didn’t have to embarrass Lila the way she did,” he finished. Chloe will admit she did go overboard, but she was mad that Lila’s lies have hurt her friends. Lila also tries to steal Adrien from Marinette. At that time they were just starting their friendship. Chloe felt like she had to protect Marinette and Adrien’s relationship. Shortly after that Chloe started patching things up with everyone. She remembers Nathaniel being one of the hardest because he was always so quiet and liked to be alone. That’s what she thought by the way he avoids everyone. In reality, he was just avoiding her. Once Nathaniel realized that Chloe is genuinely trying her best to be nice and making new friends, he stops avoiding her. Right away he noticed how well she’s been treating Sabrina. Nathaniel’s no longer shy even now. He lets people see his drawings, also loves to talk about them. More deep breaths before Chloe enters the room. “Hello, Nathaniel. Hope you don’t mind me coming in,” she speaks with a smile and a shaky voice.

[dear-arin-hanson]

Day 3: "You know what? Fuck Santa!" // EgoBang

You know what, Fuck Santa!" Mr and Mrs. Hanson were going to be working late on the ranch and little 8 year old Arin couldn't be left alone and would too fussy to stay very long with the horses. His mom left the stables long enough to pick him up from school and take him to the Avidan household. His mom asked where he wanted to go while mommy and daddy worked, she said he could pick any friend from school to ask to go play with, but each time it was Danny. "Are you sure?" She'd ask with an amused smile. "Dan's house! Dan's house! Dan's house!" He'd chant and kick his feet in his booster seat as she looked at him through her rearview mirror with a smile. It was so cute. When they get there he is running to the door as soon as he is told he allowed to get out of the car. He rings the bell a few times then waits, hopping from one foot to the other. Danny's Mom answers the door, smiling down at Arin, giving him a hug as they greeted each other. "Arin, darling, hello!" "Sorry this one is so last minute. Daniel didn't have any plans did he?" Arin's mother asks as she hands off a care bag for Arin to her. "Maurette, you know we love having Arin over, and Danny really gets a kick out of him. Is something wrong though? If you don't mind me asking why the last minute?" Arin impatiently watches them talk, his mom having his hand still as they talked excitedly about the horse due to give birth and the new baby that was going to be on the ranch. They were invited to come see of course. "Danny!" He finally yells out for his friend, hoping if he came out to get him he wouldn't have to sit and listen to adults talk any longer. They stopped for a moment to look down at the shout. Then a moment later, running to the call for help in the form of his name, was Danny. "Arin!" He pushes up his glasses before diving between their mothers to Arin. He picks him up and suddenly the 8 year old has a six foot point of view as Danny held him on his hip. "What's up buddy!? You excited to hang out tonight?" "And actually be sleeping at bed time this time?" Dan's mom reminds him. Danny grins nervously and chuckles a bit. "I wanted him to see the end of the game Debbie, you can't just stop when you're on a roll in the middle of kings quest!" Danny tries to defend himself, blushing a bit as he looks to Mrs. Hanson to make sure she wasn't mad about it. "You really have fun. Don't you two?" She asks letting him know he's off the hook for it. He was too good of a babysitter and influence on her son to be mad about something so small. "Yup!" Arin replied as Danny puts him up on his shoulders, holding both his hands to keep him up and steady. "Sure do Mrs. Hanson, this is my best friend right here." He says and holds a hand out to get a high five from the tike sat on him. "Can we come see the horse tomorrow when she's born?" He asks and Arin smiles ear to ear now listening to them talk. Because now Danny was here and it wasn't listening to adults talk, it was mixed company of adult and kids. The 8 years between them couldn't matter less to him. "... I don't know, I just feel like it's going to be a beautiful little girl, and I'm really hoping you'll let me call her Daphne if it is so I'm being hopeful." "We'll talk about it." She chuckles before saying her partings, kissing her son, and heading back home. Danny takes Arin inside and they say hi to his father and sister and Arin says hi to his dogs while Danny tells his mom what his plan was for the night and why Arin was here instead of Danny staying at the Hanson's house. "I know how to use the buses from here, it's harder from their place. It's out of the way." Which was a good enough answer. She was proud of her son that he didn't just try to get away with doing the least amount of work when he babysat but planned fun things to do. He received the money Mrs. Hanson gave to her for him, then he put on his warm jacket and hat, bundling Arin up too. He made sure he had some snacks and drinks in a backpack before they headed out. Arin had to hold his hand when they walked down the street but he didn't mind. All the walk, wait, and bus ride to the mall Arin told Danny about his day at school. The kid was funny and had solid opinions for a baby so Danny never had a problem being an audience to him. "Hey, you're 16 aren't you?" Arin remembers from when his mom had him read and sign a birthday car he gave Danny a few months ago. "Yeah I am." Danny is interested in where this is going right away because kids have no concept of age. "So why aren't you driving?" "Why would I be driving the bus?" "No!" He laughs at this silly idea and Danny smiles, feeling accomplished that he has the kid laughing. "I mean in your car?" "Oh? Oh! You mean cause I'm 16 I should have my licence, like on TV, right?" He asks and receives a nod. "Well I have my permit, so I'm close, I know how to drive but only when my mom is with me and you wouldn't be able to be in the car. The law says dependents only." "But I'm your best friend." "You sure are,buddy! But the law says not until I've been driving a year unless you were my brother I think… I'm not sure actually." "We could just tell them I'm your brother than." "Oh but that be lying to the cops. Which not only can get you in more trouble but will definitely put you on the naughty list." "No! No no let's not do that then." "You know? That's a good idea Arin. I'm glad I listened to you. Taking the bus? Good call." Arin beams with pride even though he was just doing as Danny said, but he made the kid feel smart and important. They got to the mall and Danny spends a bit of his own money to get Arin one of those things he can ride on for a while. It was shaped like a dinosaur and Danny told Arin all about the mistakes in the anatomy and how this one shouldn't look so mean because they only ate plants. Arin often came home from babysitting knowing something new about dinosaurs. It was important to Danny that Arin recognizes the impossible standards media puts on stegosaurus. They look at video games and toys while he motors around and have to hurry to make it back to the rental drop off or get charged for another half hour, which looked like a gangly teen had stolen a dinosaur with wheels from a child who chased him down. "That was a close one!" Danny says sighing deeply and trying to catch his breath. Arin is panting and he wipes his brow to express his relief. "Pheeww! We sure do-" He tries to go on but he is still trying to catch his breath. Danny cant help but chuckle at how even while probably having a baby heart attack he was trying to entertain him. He carried him on his back for a while as he makes his way to the line to see Santa. He thought it would be cute to be able to give his mom a picture of them with Santa, even if she wanted to take him again some time later in the season. Danny didn't really do the whole Santa thing, but he respected how excited it seemed to make Arin. "So what are you gonna ask him for?" Danny asks to entertain them both while they waited. "I don't know… I can ask him for a better dinosaur for you." He says smiling up him. Danny is melting. "No no! Don't waste your Santa wish on me!" "Okay, I'll keep thinking." "Yeah, you do that Big Cat." Danny chuckled and looked around the area. He looked down seeing he stepped on a crack so when he moved forward again his next foot stepped on the crack too. He watched Ari. Copy this behavior and tried to hold back giggles, pushing up his glasses up as he looked over to the mall Santa. He didn't seem so jolly. Danny was instantly worried, but then he saw the flask and a strange interaction between him and the next kid after he got back from his break. It was kurt, and rude, and when he looked down at Arin it broke his heart to think he would be let down like that. "Hey Arin you know what? Fuck Santa!" He says then covers his mouth. Arin looks at him with shock and a smile. "Ooooh! You said the F!!" "Hey, it's just a word right?" Arjn pondered that one as he took Danny's hand that was offered to him. "Let's go do something better." "But how will Satnta know what what I want?" Arin asks looking over his shoulder as he is lead away. "He'll get your letter won't he?" He asks and picks Arin up so that he can hold eye contact with him and keep him from looking at the nasty Santa. "You should celebrate Hanukkah with me anyways! 8 nights of presents!" "Eight!?" "Yeah!" "I wanna do that!" Arin's hands excitedly drummed on Danny's shoulder. Making him grin and laugh. "Perfect! I'll get you a yamaka and a dreidel." He says and bundles them both up before going back out to the bus to get on and go home.

[destiel-love-forever]

24

Thank you! #24 is : “Don’t come back until you’re fucking sober.” 

This is an AU with no spoilers. Any character deaths/relationships/etc. don’t reflect anything that’s happened in the actual show. Established Destiel - Castiel’s a high school teacher, they’ve been dating since college, Dean’s been sober three years, they live together in an apartment/house. Mary Winchester just died before fic begins.

Read on my Ao3 or below! 

Jack & Coke, and One Red Rose 

Dean

When Castiel falls asleep beside me, I carefully extract myself from our bed and tip toe out of the room. The dark, quiet house is a relief. Peaceful. No Castiel asking me every few minutes if I need anything or if I’m okay. No Sam falling apart for me to hold and comfort. No old friends from school I could care less about offering me empty apologies. No extended family making passive aggressive comments about my life style or my drinking problem.

No dead mom.

What’s even more peaceful is when I show up to the bar. It’s like a breath of fresh air. Everything from the shitty jukebox crackling in the corner to the sticky, stained bar top are a comfort. I wave down the bartender, giving him a charming smile. “Double Jack and Coke, please.”

He nods and begins to pour. This stranger wearing a blue cotton shirt with a stain on the hem, quick hands mixing drinks, has no idea I’m three years sober. He has no idea that the last time I drank, I ended up in the hospital. Someone had found me in a puddle of my own vomit my final year of college and called an ambulance. Castiel and I had been dating for two months at that point - I had been doing a pretty good job at keeping my problem from him. When I woke up in the hospital, he had been holding my hand, tears drying on his face. He made me promise that I’d go to rehab and get help. That I’d never drink again. I said yes.

I exchange a five-dollar bill with the bartender in return for my drink. The smell alone makes me dizzy. Leaning against the bar, I rotate my wrist so I can watch the ice swirl. It’s mesmerizing. It’s exactly what I need. Just one drink, and it won’t be so hard to stay alive. Just one drink, and I won’t see my mom lying in that grave every time I close my eyes.

Just one drink.

Just one.

-----

When the bartender does last call, his eyes are glued to me specifically. He stopped serving me an hour ago but his hopes for me to sober up did absolutely nothing. I’m in that mental state when you know you’re shit faced, and you want to stop giggling and talking and doing stupid shit, but you just can’t.

“Buddy, you ain’t driving home tonight. Want me to call a cab? Or help you call a friend? Family?”

“Buried my ma today.” I look up at him and giggle again, even though it’s not funny. It’s not funny at all.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says quietly, in a way that I actually believe. “Do you have any family in town for the funeral? A girlfriend? Boyfriend? Anyone? Maybe it’s best if you call one of them instead of a cab. Might be good if you’re not alone tonight.”

“Home,” I mumble.

“Do you have someone at home?”

“Cas.” I lay my head on the bartop. It may be sticky and smells of tomato juice and vodka, but it’s cool against my overheated skin and that feels amazing. “Gonna be mad.”

Someone comes up beside me and hands the bartender the money for their bill. The place is incredibly quiet. When I lift my head to glance around, I see that I’m alone. Just me and the poor bartender.

The guy motions for me to lift my head so he can wipe down the bartop beneath my face. I immediately press my cheek against it again when he’s done. It’s much more pleasing now that it smells like lemony soap.

“Give me your phone, buddy.”

I slap around my pockets a few times before finding my phone and waving it in the air for him. “Don’ call Cas. Be mad ‘t me.”

Castiel

My phone ringing wakes me from the restless state of sleep I’d been struggling through. I roll over to look at Dean, hoping it doesn’t wake him when I know he was having a hard time falling asleep, but his side of the bed is empty. With one hand, I answer my phone. With the other, I reach out and feel that his spot is cold.

“H - hello?”

“Hi. This is - well, okay. This is going to sound weird but I have a really drunk guy here mumbling about a Cas and you’re Cas in his phone.” I stare at the place where my boyfriend of three years should be lying. “He said his mom’s funeral was today? Ring any bells?”

I close my eyes and tell myself not to cry. “Yup. He’s mine.”

“Awesome. Would you be able to come get him? I didn’t want to send him off in a cab. He’s kind of - well, he’s a fucking mess, to be honest.”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course.” I shove the blankets back, trying to keep calm because this poor bartender doesn’t need to deal with my emotions. As I scavenge on the floor for some decent clothes to throw on, I ask, “What bar?”

“Rookies. Do you know where we’re at? Downtown?”

I slap a hand at my cheek, stopping the one tear that slipped from my control. “Of course. Yes. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Can you please wait with him?”

“Of course. We’ll be here.”

Once I’m dressed and in the car, it truly sinks in that he relapsed. I should have known better. I should have fucking known. How could I be so stupid? I should have stayed awake until I knew he was asleep. I should have stayed awake all night if it was what he needed.

No. You know what? He fucking should have woken me up when he was struggling. He knows better than to drink. He’s a big fucking boy. All he had to do was wake me up.

By the time I’m at the bar, I’m pissed. Furious, actually.

By the time I see Dean, I’m heart broken.

He’s sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with his elbows resting on his knees, head hanging between his legs as he heaves up all the alcohol he drank. A gruff man standing behind him gives me a kind smile. “Cas?”

“Yeah. Thank you so much for this. Uh, what’s his tab?”

“Fifty-two.”

I close my eyes until I’m confident that I won’t cry. Then I grab my wallet and hand him eighty bucks. “Keep the change.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks.”

“No problem. I know how he gets when he’s drinking.” I get down on a knee, a few feet away from Dean so I’m not kneeling in his vomit. “Dean?”

Impossibly green eyes surrounded by red veins lift to look at me. “Told him not to call you.”

“Where did you plan on going, then?”

“Dunno.”

“Mmm.” I try to help him stand up but he starts to cry. Big, wet sobs. His entire body shakes and heaves. The bartender helps me get him fully to his feet and takes one of his arms as we guide a stumbling, crying Dean to my car.

Just before closing the door to the backseat where we dumped him, Dean blinks up at me and whispers, “Sorry broke the promise.”

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“Go to a meetin’ tomorrow. Promise.”

“Sure. Let’s just get you home.”

He parts his lips to speak again but I slam the door and press my hands against it, hanging my head. I forgot the bartender was even still standing there until he says in a thick voice, “I am so sorry. I didn’t know he was an alcoholic.”

I give him a broken smile, not even caring anymore that my eyes are watering. “He’s charming. You’d never know unless he told you. Don’t worry about it.”

With a polite nod, the man backs away and heads inside the bar. I crouch down and bury my face in my hands, giving myself a minute to fall apart before I have to be the strong one for Dean. When the minute is done, I can’t stop sobbing. So, I give myself one more.

Dean

I try. I really fucking try. Sam picks me up in the morning and brings me, and my pounding, aching head, to an AA meeting. We sip cheap, shitty coffee. I walk up to the podium and admit I relapsed. Everyone looks at me with a mixture of pity and fear, because they’ve all either been there or are terrified they’ll be there soon.

We grab a bite to eat after and Sam delicately lectures me about staying sober. About calling him if I need him. About honesty and humility and all the other shit him and Castiel have been spouting for years.

I make promises, but even as they fall from my lips, I know they’re lies. Then he drops me off at home and I find out that Castiel stayed home from work to babysit me. He’s much more upset than Sam. No lectures. No coddling. Just a cold shoulder and a clearly broken heart. When I wake up from a nap on the couch, he looks at me with a sad smile and tells me he loves me. It sounds a lot like the promises I made to Sam. Empty. Unrealistic.

How could he love me? Especially now?

The second he falls asleep, I’m out the door. Fuck being sober. Where did that ever get me? A dead mom. A job I hate. A long-term boyfriend who deserves so much more.

I slide onto the bar stool and smile when I see the same bartender from the night before. He frowns when he sees me, then glances around like he’s expecting something or someone. Waving a five dollar bill in the air, I tell him, “Double Jack and Coke, please.”

“Dean, I think you should go home.”

“Um, no.” I slap the bill on the bartop. “What I will do is take a Double Jack and Coke.”

“Does Cas know you’re here?”

Narrowing my eyes, I tell him through gritted teeth, “Don’t say his name.”

“If you can’t even hear his name as you’re about to drink, maybe you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Fuck you, asshole.” I push away from the bar and start to leave. The bar is in the busy downtown area. My options are not at all limited.

The bartender wraps a hand around my bicep and tugs me toward the bar stool I was just sitting on. “Alright. You gonna get shit faced, might as well do it here so you don’t get your stupid ass killed or something.”

When he hands me the drink after a minute, I make eye contact and hold him there. “At the end of the night, call a cab. Not Cas.”

Something flashes in his eyes but then he gives me a curt nod. “Whatever you say, man. It’s your life you’re fuckin’ up.”

“Yeah,” I tell him, slamming the drink in one go and pushing it toward him for a refill. “It is.”

Castiel

For the eighth night in a row, he stumbles into the house. Tonight, he trips over my leather messenger bag stuffed full of shitty high school student essays. Ones I haven’t even graded yet, because all I do every night is sit up watching reruns on Netflix and crying. Except for tonight. Tonight, I watched reruns on Netflix and just stared in a stunned emptiness.

He falls to his hands and knees, immediately chuckling. When he squints in the living room light and spots me, he laughs harder. “Cas! Missed you!”

“Are you sure?” I stand up, shoving my hands in my sweatpants pockets. Actually, his sweatpants. I like his better because they’re nice and baggy. I’ll have to buy some in his size when he moves out. Lord knows I can’t keep a pair here. The smell of him alone will break me and I’ll go running back to him. That’s what I do best. Running back to Dean Winchester. “Doesn’t feel like you missed me.”

“‘Course silly! Missed you lots.”

“Then stop leaving me.”

His green eyes narrow as he stares up at me from where he’s still on the floor. If it was a few days ago, I would offer to help him stand. Not anymore. I’m so unbelievably done. “I’d never leave you, Cas.”

“You leave me every night, Dean.”

“Well, yeaaaaaaah!” he giggles, slowly pushing to his feet. “But ‘ways come back home to ya.”

I stand and watch him as he wavers on his feet. With just a slight wind, he’d be on his ass again. “I can’t keep doing this, Dean.”

“Doin’ what?”

“This.” I gesture between us. “I need you to stay at Sam’s from now on.”

“S- Sam’s?” He shakes his head like he can make the words disappear. “What? No. We’re - we - this ‘s m’ home.”

Ignoring the tears slipping down my cheeks, I swallow around the giant lump in my throat and inform him, “No. This is not your home anymore, Dean.”

He starts to cry. Then I start to cry. On shaking legs, he hurries over to me, backing me into the wall. His lips are on mine and he tastes like whiskey and regret, but I can’t get myself to pull away. When his hands grab the backs of my thighs, I let him lift me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. We get each other’s shirts off by some miracle, our mouths barely separating. I think he makes sure it’s that way so I can’t tell him to leave again. It’s not like I’m exactly committed to it. Apparently, Dean Winchester still has all the power. Not sure why that surprises me. It wasn’t a problem before his relapse, because he didn’t abuse the power. He took care of me. He was kind. Funny. Loving. Caring. Gentle. Sure, a pain in the ass sometimes, but not like this. Not a fucking mess. On night four, he told me to fuck off. On night six, he came home so angry he started throwing things. I don’t like drunk Dean. Drunk Dean isn’t my Dean.

Things turn angry fast. I start to yank at his hair and claw at the bare skin of his back. He finally pulls his lips from my mouth only to clamp down on the side of my neck, biting and sucking all the way down to my shoulder before moving to the other side and doing it all over again.

“Dean,” I whisper, reminding myself that this was supposed to be a break-up. Or, at the very least, an I-need-space-up.

“Shh,” he whispers against my abused skin. “Just, shhhh.”

I rest my head against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. He stops and I’m not sure I want him to stop anymore because I’m too afraid to lose him now. The words are stuck in my throat and I can’t get them out, even though nothing sexual is happening between us anymore. Even wasted, Dean picked up on my mood. He knows I’m not okay.

“Come on. Let’s go sleep,” he whispers.

“No. Stay.” I cling to him, shaking now. “Stay. Here. Fuck me.”

“Cas-”

“Dean, fuck me or leave.”

He looks away, shame clear across his face. “I don’t wanna leave, Cas. Don’t make me leave you.”

“Then fuck me.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath, then gives me a tight smile. “Can we at least go to the bedroom?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I give him the same tight smile back. “Because you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, babe.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat and nods. “Yeah. That’s - yeah. That’s fair.”

Before either of us can think of anything else to say, he’s pressing a searing kiss to my lips. I shiver and melt against him. When he presses me harder into the wall, I help him undo our pants, shoving them awkwardly the best we can. He rips my underwear in the back instead of trying to maneuver around them but I don't care. I just want him to fuck me. To remind me of the love we share, because I can't seem to find it anymore.

After a sloppy and quick prep with his fingers and spit, he’s pushing inside me. He groans and buries his face in my neck. “God, baby. ‘S been s’ long.”

Maybe if you weren’t getting wasted every fucking night, we could be having sex more often. Instead of saying that, I just grab a fistful of his hair and bring his mouth back to mine, pressing our lips together again. I have no idea if this break-up sex or make-up sex or what, but I know one thing. It might be our last time. So, I free myself from all the anger and sadness and loneliness, and give myself one more night with the love of my life.

Dean

The bartender at Rookies, who I now know is named Benny, is just a year older than me, and is really invested in my life for some reason, hands me my final glass of whiskey for the night. At some point I stopped even asking for the soda along with it. What’s the point, right?

I stare down into the glass and think about what I’ve been thinking about all night long. Castiel. I know he was trying to break-up with me last night. I know it was wrong that I used sex against him. I know I’m being a piece of shit lately. Drinking. Smoking. Getting into fights. Yelling at Castiel. Being crabby and hungover all day just to sneak away and get wasted at night.

Not even sneak away anymore. I left while he was still awake tonight. He was sitting on the couch grading papers and drinking coffee, like he was planning on staying awake for a while, so I decided to just leave instead of trying to wait him out. What if he didn’t fall asleep fast enough and I missed bar close? Then what would I drink? So, I left. Walked right out. Avoided eye contact.

Except the guilt is haunting me. It’s the first time since I relapsed that I haven’t been able to enjoy myself at the bar. No loud karaoke. No meaningless flirting. No nachos. No playing card games with some of the regulars. Just me and my glass of whiskey, freaking the fuck out.

He wanted me to leave. He was trying to break-up. He’s done with me. Fuck. What will I go home to tonight? Will he still be there? Will he demand I leave? How do I fix this?

Two assholes are laughing at the end of the bar. I keep looking at them, hoping that they’ll get the picture that they’re annoying the fuck out of me, but they just get louder. More obnoxious. When one of them spews something about “fags” I launch to my feet.

“Woah, buddy,” Benny immediately says, putting a hand out to stop me. “Not worth it.”

“Nothin’s worth it ‘n more.”

“Dean!”

I hurry to the guy that’s closest to me and slam my fist against his face, smiling as the blood sprays from his nose. He stumbles back but before I can pursue him, his friend is jumping on me. We fall to the floor but I quickly gain the upper hand, rolling us so I’m on top. I land a few good punches before the first guy is pulling me off and slamming me into the bartop. As he hits me, I start to laugh like a fucking maniac.

Castiel

The knock on the door wakes me from where I’m sleeping on the couch. I rub my eyes and look at the time. It’s still an hour to bar close so I’m not sure why Dean’s already home. Or why he can’t use his goddamn key.

Even more annoyed than usual, I storm over to the door and unlock it, then yank it open. I gasp when I see that Dean’s not alone. Benny, the nice bartender that’s been trying to keep him as safe as possible during his recent bender, is holding him up. Dean’s bleeding and one eye is swelling shut. When he sees me, though, he starts to laugh and walk toward me. I back away and he stumbles, but with a hand on the wall he stabilizes himself and stands up straight. His grin is bloody and terrifying.

“Hey you,” he slurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smiling again, this time a softer, loving smile. It makes me nauseous.

I look at Benny and give him a tight, thankful smile. “Sorry about this.”

“I’m sorry. The fight happened too fast. It didn’t last long, I got his ass out of there the second I could.”

“Thank you, Benny.”

“Are you,” he pauses, looking at Dean before looking at me again. “Are you okay here, Cas? Do you want a ride somewhere? Or I can take him somewhere else? He’s bad tonight.”

“‘Ay, fuck off, asshole! He’s mine,” Dean shouts, stabbing a finger in the air toward Benny. “Leave!”

Knowing that I’m now crying, I pretend like I’m not and wave Benny off. “It’s fine. I promise. Thank you, again.”

He looks nervous leaving me but after a few seconds he nods and closes the door behind himself. I stare at Dean, trying to recognize him. Trying to understand how, in nine short days, we got here.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dean.”

“‘Ll get better. ‘Swear.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s getting better.”

“Jus’ fuckin’ buried my ma, Cas! Wha’ ya wan’ from me?”

Unable to look him in the eye, I stare at the ground and whisper, “I want you to leave.”

“Fuck you.” As he walks by, he shoulder checks me. It’s the most violent he’s ever been with me - which is saying a lot, because people constantly shoulder check people - but it still sets me off.

Whipping around, I put my hands on his back and shove him. He goes stumbling across the floor before turning to stare at me with wide eyes. “Jesus christ, you’re fuckin’ crazy!”

“I want you out of this house!”

“No. ‘s our house.”

“Actually, it’s not. It’s mine. You just have a key.” I swallow down the pain I’m feeling and force myself to look straight at him, lifting my chin to look more confident than I actually feel. “I will pack your things and bring them to Sam’s tomorrow.”

“No.” He shakes his head, laughing. “You don’ get to break up with me. That - ‘s not how it works.”

I go to the door and yank it open, pointing out toward the sidewalk. “Leave. Now.”

The nearest thing to him is an end table with a lamp and a picture frame on it. He growls and turns to it, lashing out and dragging his hands across the surface. He sends the lamp crashing to the ground and the picture flying. It lands a few feet from me, picture facing up, the broken glass spidering across my smiling face. Dean’s face is left untouched.

Staring down at our broken image, I tell him, “Leave on your own right now, or I’ll call Sam. Who doesn’t even know you’re still drinking, by the way. So I suggest you don’t make me do that.”

“How dare you?” he chokes out. “My ma died.”

“That excuse stopped working a few days ago, Dean. You need help.”

“I need you.”

“I’m not available right now.”

He makes a weird sound that draws my attention. When I look up at him, he’s staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me. His face is covered in tears. “Don’ do this, Cas. ‘can fix this.”

“No you can’t.”

The sadness morphs to anger, like it always does with Dean Winchester. He starts throwing everything in sight. None in my direction, like I said, he’d never hurt me. But it still makes me start to shake. I openly sob but it doesn’t matter to him. He’s too busy screaming about how selfish and judgemental I am. How he deserves better than me. How I’m an asshole. How I’m heartless. How I’m the worst person he’s ever met.

At some point, I got myself to dial Sam’s number. I couldn’t speak through the sobs but he could clearly hear Dean screaming at me. He lives three streets away from us. By the time I hear him enter the house, Dean hasn’t even run out of steam yet. He punches the wall right before Sam hugs him from behind, pulling him away from the new hole in the drywall, grabbing his bleeding hand to keep it from getting injured further.

I lift my chin to look at Dean as Sam drags him toward the door. Sam is in responsible big brother mode, shifting between apologizing to me and asking if I’m okay, to hushing and whispering to Dean that everything will be fine. When they get directly in front of me, Dean’s eyes meet mine. They’re full of so much hate and pain and love that I have to take a step back.

“Don’ do this, Cas,” he whispers a final time, voice raw from his screaming. “Don’ make me leave.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” I whisper in a voice just as broken, even though I’ve barely raised my voice since he got home. “I can't be with you like this.”

“You're heartless. You never loved me, did you?”

“How can you even say that? Of course I did. I still do! But I can't anymore. You have to stop this.”

“Fuck you! I need you ‘n you're fuckin’ abandonin’ me!”

Sam tries pulling him away but Dean pulls his arm back, his elbow hitting Sam in the nose. He takes advantage of his freedom by coming for me. I back away out the door so he will follow me outside, then turn so I'm closest to the door.

“Don't speak to me like that, Dean.”

“Fuck. You.” He spits at me. “I'll be back. You'll be beggin’ me to.”

“No, Dean.” Wiping at my face, I tell him in the strongest, most confident tone I can muster, “I swear to god. Don’t come back until you’re fucking sober.”

His lips part but I turn my back to him and run inside, slamming the door and locking it. Then I slump down on the ground and curl in on myself, not sure if I just made the best decision of my life, or the worst mistake.

Dean

17 hours sober.

Well, since my last drink. I doubt I'm even sober yet, considering the amount of alcohol in my system. Still, 17 hours is impressive for me, so I'm counting it.

I rest my cheek against the cool toilet seat, vomit dripping from the corner of my mouth. Sam enters the bathroom, placing a glass of water on the counter before wringing out a cold cloth over my head, sending refreshingly cold water down my body. He runs it under cold water again before resting it on the back of my neck.

“Thanks, Sammy,” I whisper through chattering teeth. I wish my fucking body would stop shaking so hard. It's starting to hurt. Every muscle is aching. With each heave as I vomit, my body protests. It feels like I'm being ripped into ten different directions.

------

37 hours sober.

I sit at the back of my second meeting of the day, bouncing my knees to the rhythm of my pounding heart. The man speaking to the group is talking about being sober for ten years. There's a wedding ring on his finger. I stare at it as he talks with his hands. It was just last month I was at the jewelry store with my mom, browsing rings for when I proposed to Castiel. We said we would go back and make a final decision but we never did.

Now she's dead.

Now, Castiel would probably throw the ring at my face.

Don't come back until you're fucking sober.

I want to go home right now. Technically, I've sobered up. I purged all the alcohol out of my system through vomit, sweat, and time. Now I'm left with a shaky, empty shell of myself. Not the man Castiel is hoping will return, I'm sure.

------

42 hours sober.

I want a drink so fucking bad. My hands are trembling so hard and I know what they're begging me for. I know they want the comfort of wrapping around a glass of whiskey. My whole body wants something to do with the liquid gold. My tongue longs for the taste. My throat for the burn. My stomach for the heat that spreads through it. My veins want to be pumping alcohol. My mind wants help shutting off.

I scrub a rough hand over my face, my knees bouncing double time. I should go to another meeting. I'm sure there's one right now, even though it's late. If I was more determined, I'd find one. I'm not though. I'm worried if I get off the couch and allow my feet to move, they will bring me to the nearest bar. So, I sit on Sam's couch with the TV on mute so I don't wake his family up. I sit until I don't need a drink.

I end up falling asleep first.

------

56 hours sober.

God, I miss him. I miss him so fucking much. I need him. Almost as much as I need a drink. Since I know that's wrong, since I know he deserves someone who needs him more than anything, especially more than whiskey, I still don't go back.

------

6 days sober.

The cravings still thrum beneath the surface of my skin. The piercing headache I’ve had for three days straight now still won’t go away. But, when I sweat, it doesn’t smell like booze anymore. I can now eat three meals a day without throwing them up. The trembling has mostly stopped. It only returns when I’m anxious or unable to sleep. That’s probably my biggest problem now, besides the Castiel issue. I can’t sleep well.

It’s mostly that I can’t even fall asleep. Too restless. Too many thoughts. Too upset. When I do manage to fall asleep, I’m battling nightmares. Nightmares about the horrors of my past. Nightmares about dying alone. Nightmares of Castiel dead like my mom, lying stiff in a coffin. Nightmares of Castiel finding someone else. Nightmares of me trying to go back, proud of being sober, only to be told he can no longer love me.

------

12 days sober.

I dial his number after work, drumming the fingers of my free hand nervously against my thigh. I've sent him two texts since he kicked me out. One when I first detoxed, apologizing and promising I would get better. The second a few days ago, just saying I miss and love him, and want him to take all the time he needs. He didn't answer either.

He doesn't answer the phone call either. It takes a lot for me to not throw my phone at the wall. It takes even more for me not to drink. I go for a run instead. 8 miles. Sam would be so proud.

------

30 days sober.

I get my bronze chip at my daily meeting. Everyone claps for me. I even smile.

I visit my mom's grave, apologizing for being gone so long. She listens to me talk and cry. She sits with me in silence.

I ask Sam if Castiel is okay. Sam promises he is. I can't decide if I'm relieved or hurt by that. All I know is I fucking need him, and it's killing me that he doesn't need me too.

Castiel

34 days alone.

The first apology arrives during the school day in the middle of my lesson on Ernest Hemingway. 37 pink roses and one red rose. They come with a note written in Dean’s beautifully messy handwriting: 37 pink roses for every month we’ve been together, and one red for this past month that we’ve had to spend apart. I’m so sorry I made it so we needed a red rose… I promise to try and make sure we never have another one again. I miss you. I love you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. - Dean

Telling my students to read the short story I just introduced, I hurry off to the staff bathroom and lock myself in. With the note crumpled in my hand, I let myself cry. I cry for every pink rose. I cry even harder for the red one.

------

37 days alone.

The second apology is in my mailbox the next morning. An envelope with just my name on it, in that same handwriting as the note with the roses. I bring it inside and open it as I eat my breakfast. It’s a gift certificate for a full day at the spa in town. With it is a note that reads: You talk all the time about how stressed you are. With work. Your kids. Coworkers. Family. Even with me. I never tell you enough how much I appreciate you. How I appreciate that even if you get home after dark, you still make us dinner. How I appreciate that even when you’re exhausted, you still wake up with me when I have my nightmares. How I appreciate your never ending patience and understanding. How I appreciate that you planned my mom’s funeral since Sam and I were too upset. I promise to appreciate you more. I promise to tell you more. I’m nowhere near the man you deserve.. But I’m going to try my hardest to become him for you. I miss you. I love you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. - Dean

------

40 days alone.

The third apology is a pink gift bag on my front porch when I come home at the end of the day. I bring it inside and place it on the breakfast bar. After I’ve changed into more comfortable clothes and poured myself a glass of wine, I open it. A note is tied with a ribbon off one of the handles. I open it and read: I miss you. I love you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. - Dean

When I look inside, I see that the bag is actually packed full of notes. Little folded up slips of paper. With shaking hands, I open the first and read: You don’t know this, but the first time we met wasn’t actually the first time I’d seen you. I saw you a week before that, when walking across campus to the dorms. It was a cool, windy, fall day. You were in this chunky, burgundy sweater. A plaid flannel blanket was wrapped around you, falling off one shoulder. You were sitting on the ground with your back against a tree. Reading. Always reading. My cute little nerd. The wind kept blowing your crazy curls around and I just stood there in awe. You were so beautiful. I remember when I saw you at that party the week after, I just knew. I knew you were the one. It was fate.

Clamping down on my bottom lip to keep from crying, I grab a new one and read: I know you hate my homemade lasagna, babe. But thanks for always pretending anyway.

I laugh softly, the smile feeling foreign on my face. I can’t remember the last time I genuinely smiled, instead of the forced ones I give in public to keep up appearances. It’s not really a surprise that Dean Winchester is the one to get me to smile again. He was always quite good at that.

I read another one: I’m sorry for that terrible fucking haircut I gave you last year… that was… oh boy.. That was terrible babe. I wasn’t lying though. You still looked gorgeous.

This makes me laugh until I’m breathless. I remember that day. I had a meeting the next morning and it had completely slipped my mind to go to the salon. All I needed was a trim so my curls weren’t falling in my eyes. He butchered it so bad I wore a weird fedora like hat to the meeting, which my coworkers to this day still tease me about. The laughter is relieving. Almost all of the pressure that’s been building on my chest the last 40 days lifts. I can almost breathe again.

I read another: When I make love to you, your sexy legs wrapped around my waist and your arms around my back, holding me close so we can kiss, you make the most beautiful noises. I get lost in your eyes sometimes and forget to even move my hips. You’ve never pointed it out. Sometimes I wonder if you get lost in me too. If you don’t even notice.

My heart flutters.

I read another: When we were both still in the dorms on campus, you accused me of stealing one of your favorite sweaters. It was blue, almost identical to your eyes, and so fucking soft. My favorite part though was that it smelled like you. So… yeah… I totally lied. I stole that. I’m really sorry. It just made me feel safe and it helped with my nightmares. I slept with it every night, even long after it stopped smelling like you. When we moved in together, I was afraid to tell you… so I hid it. It’s in our bedroom closet right now if you want it back. In a box labeled ‘Dean’s College Shit’. Maybe it smells like me… maybe it can help you sleep now.

“I fucking knew he stole that,” I grumble, unable to stop myself from smiling. I go to the closet and find the sweater, exactly where he said it’d be. It’s slightly dusty but it does still smell like him. Actually, it smells like us. A smell the rest of this house is starting to lose. I pull the sweater on over my shirt and sink into it.

Going back to the kitchen, now wrapped in my own Dean security blanket, I read another: I love you so much, Cas. You make my entire world spin. It feels like everything is standing still lately… you know how much I hate being still.

And another: I miss you.

And another: Sam’s dog is under the impression we are now best friends, and he sleeps on the couch with me every night. He’s lucky he’s cute because this couch is fucking small.

Another: I love when you read to me at night while I fall asleep, even when it’s your students’ terrible essays that I know drive you nuts. God.. I miss your voice, babe.

Another: When we kissed for the first time, you tasted like skittles. I never asked if you had been eating them, or maybe drinking something earlier. I wonder what it was.

Another: It’s raining tonight. Thunderstorming. I know how much you love them. I hope you’re sitting in the window seat with a book and a mug of tea, enjoying it. You deserve peaceful moments like that.

It hasn’t thunderstormed in two weeks. He's been writing these over the time we’ve been apart, instead of all at once for this apology gift like I thought.

My resolve crumbles.

I read another: I love you.

I read every single one. Most of them more than once.  By the time the sun is setting, the wine bottle is empty and I’m dialing Dean’s number.

He answers before the phone can ring a second time. “Cas?” he asks breathlessly. The desperation and hope in his voice breaks my heart.

With a smile, I say what I’ve wanted to for 40 days now. “Dean. Come home.”

[cherry3point14]

Dean Winchester definitely isn't in love, so don't ask him about it    

DESCRIPTION: All the times that Dean definitely didn’t have any feelings for you and totally wasn’t pining away like a lovesick puppy, so if everyone could shut up about it that’d be great.

THIS IS A ONESHOT AS PART OF THE ALONE SERIES, WHICH YOU CAN READ HERE OR HERE (AO3), I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU READ THIS AFTER THAT FIC AS THIS IS AS ADD ON TO THAT STORY.

[A collection of Dean POV drabbles glued together to make a oneshot of how Dean fell in love with you (in the multi-chap fic Alone). Ranging from S9 E5 up to S10 E12. Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader. Warnings: MOC!Dean and mentions of Demon!Dean. 14 Year old Dean cannot control his body.]

AO3 link here if you would prefer.

The first time he sees you

The first time Dean sees you he thinks you're dead. He gets that familiar churn in his chest, guilt at having lost another one. You make three. They'd already found two dead girls downstairs so you, hanging there lifeless, makes three dead girls.

If only they'd have got here sooner but they weren't exactly scouring missing person reports while the Wicked Witch of the West was loose in the bunker. He knows sometimes they miss some, but it doesn't make it any easier and like every other time, he's still taking it personally. Three dead girls because of one bloodsucking Djinn, and him not getting there fast enough. The Djinn he can kill, it's harder to forgive himself.

Suddenly he wishes he'd twisted that knife into the son of a bitches heart a little deeper.

Course, that is before they actually get to you and your eyes flutter open. You look like you don't have blood left in you but somehow, you're still kicking. And just like that, he thinks he's going to get to save one as he tells Sam to cut you down. That'll do for today, just let him save one of you and maybe he'll be able to sleep tonight.

Then you talk. He's about to tell you not too, you're weak right now and you shouldn't be talking but you ask about the other one. Dean prepares to tell you about monsters being real and these ones in particular. Djinn are lonely cave dwellers. They live alone.

He never gets a chance before you grab the knife from Sam and shove Dean out of the way, with strength you shouldn't have after being drained of your blood for God knows how long. He doesn't even finish blinking and you've killed the Djinn who'd been lurking behind him and saved his ass instead.

And when he asks if you're a hunter you basically call him an idiot.

Somehow, Dean knows you'll be ok.

The first time you leave

Dean hadn't liked the idea of leaving you with Kevin at first. Sam had been insistent since you were in pretty bad shape after the Djinn and Dean could admit you did kind of save their lives right after they saved yours. But Kevin was family, Dean was just being careful.

You making fun of him down the phone hadn't really improved his opinion of you, he'd been really excited to see the squirrel.

It's when they get back to the bunker, and Dean still swears he's got an itch behind his ear, that he changes his mind about you.

Because Kevin—won't take breaks because he wants everything to be over and still mourning his mother—is running around the bunker playing hide and seek. Dean doesn't think he's ever seen the kid look like he's having so much fun. When Sam clears his throat to get Kevin's attention he looks embarrassed, but he still animatedly talks about the afternoon you've both spent playing cards and board games. He claims he only started because you were annoying him while you were bored, but then he's talking about his strategy in Monopoly that should have worked so maybe you'd cheated.

Damn. Dean kind of super fucking appreciates you making this kid take the day off because Kevin suddenly reminds him of the kid they first picked up all that time ago. The innocent kid from advanced placement before heaven and hell were after him. 

Although with his track record Dean should have known that the fun was never going to last.

He's never really heard something as loud as your scream and he's heard angels talk. He knows that might be a slight exaggeration, but it is goddam frightening when you're screaming so loud about finding Crowley.

Somehow, it's even worse when you leave quietly.

He takes you back to your car because he's not a dick. If you want to leave he's not going to try and stop you. Doing the sensitive thing is Sam's gig.

He's just glad when you stop crying on the journey because crying chicks are definitely not his rodeo. Not unless he's saving them anyway.

And despite your freak out, you don't seem like you need saving.

He's horrified when he sees what you consider a car. It's one of those things that's more computer than engine and you try to sell him on the heated seats. Of course, he can't show you that he's actually intrigued by that, not with Baby right there. His hand rests on her hood while he watches you get in your truck and spend a moment appreciating it before you come back. 

He doesn’t understand what there is to appreciate but he doesn’t say anything more about it. 

He makes you leave with his number and a promise to check-in, not before you insist he checks in with you.

Maybe he can manage that.

The first time you text

He's sitting in the car after having watched Cas go into his date when his phone goes off.

Breaking News. Bieber has been arrested. How are the pretty boys of America dealing with this crisis?

Dean can't help but smile at the screen. He hasn't heard from you since he drove away leaving you with your transformer truck and this is the first thing you text him?

No comment. And you've gotta keep my membership a secret.

He throws his phone down on the seat next to him and drives off hearing it buzz while he's on the road. He's smirking at the sound when the Sheriff calls and he changes direction to head to the station instead.

It's not until Cas is sliding out of the passenger seat the next morning, after his adventures in babysitting and Dean's own continuing adventures in angel killing, that he looks at the message you'd sent back the previous night.

A secret? Oh, you poor pretty dummy. It's true what they say, brains or brawn. Can't have it all.

Dean doesn't type back and instead opts to drive back to the bunker first. When he gets there Sam is, as ever, reading something that looks like the most boring book they own. And they have a whole library of boring.

He snaps a picture of Sam and sends it back with a caption.

This is what brains look like in its natural habitat. There's no case, he is choosing to do this for fun.

He sits down opposite Sam waiting for the reply, which only takes a minute.

What a nerd. I'll take a pretty face any day of the week.

He only realizes how much he's grinning when he hears Sam's voice, "what are you so happy about? How did it go with Cas?"

The first time he doesn't tell you something

He doesn't like watching Crowley walk up the stairs and out of sight. It makes his shoulders tense and his fingers twitch like they're missing a weapon. Too many times has he fallen into a pattern of working with Crowley and usually the outcome is the same, bad. But really what the hell is he supposed to do? He needs to find Sam and the angel currently taking his brother for a joy ride. He needs to focus on the person he can still save.

His brain is about to dwell on Kevin again when his phone vibrates in his pocket, like an electric shock, and your name flashes on the screen.

When he opens it there's a picture. You're holding your phone up for a selfie that encompasses your face and the table in front of you. Your free hand is lifting a fry from the plate of chili fries below, but it's still attached by stringy cheese and blobs of meat while your face is frozen in some over the top look of pleasure. Eyes rolling in the back of your head and tongue hanging out of your mouth. Underneath is a caption.

Better than sex.

He really tried to resist but the corners of his lips curl upwards for the briefest of seconds. It's a momentary reminder that everything isn't fire and brimstone and dick angels. But it's also a reminder he doesn't deserve. He slips his phone back into his pocket without replying and flushes that small spark of joy from his system.

The one thing he's grateful for is neither of you talks about the deep shit because he doesn't think he can bear to tell another person about Kevin. Even the idea of telling you, who only knew him for all of a few days, is too much anguish for Dean to consider. He buries that shit. He tells himself it's not something you do over text anyway and he can't call you from a CIA outpost either.

Then when Crowley returns with news of Baby he's back behind the wheel of the pimpmobile. He's got a brother to save and a mission.

The first time you don't text back

Dean is consumed by a lot of things. Guilt is probably the main one but, in fairness, he has a lot to feel guilty about. Anger is another. Before the mark, he could focus his anger, use it to sharpen his senses, make him a better hunter but now? With the mark slowly draining the things that make him Dean it's only the anger that remains. An unrestricted fury that swallows him whole sometimes.

Since he touched the first blade though, since he took a life with it, something else lights him up like the sky on 4th July. Need. Hunger. To hold the blade again and never let go. To kill with it. 

It's getting harder to fight the more he tries to. Every minute that passes he can feel the power surge up his arm like he's still holding it.

So, it's a relief to be distracted. He's mostly been distracting himself with his faithful friend, drink. She's comforting and safe and takes the edge off, if only temporarily.

The last few days there's been another, not necessarily good distraction, that he's been clinging to so tightly he's becoming stalker level obsessive but screw it, he's worried.

Sometimes you've made him wait a day for a reply, he assumes you're on a hunt, but it's been three days now with nothing. He's tried starting one of your casual arguments or sending you a joke about Sam being too tall to tie his own shoes, but nothing. Radio silence.

The concern is enough for him to break down and finally send you a message that straight up tells you he's worried.

Not heard from you in a few days, check-in at some point, ok?

He'd hoped it would be enough to force a reply if you knew he was serious. But he finds himself swirling his scotch in one hand and thumbing through his unanswered message history in the other. Which is looking one-sided and excessive on his part.

Then Crowley shows up. Dean barely resists punching the demon in the face and he only manages that since the bottom feeder has the blade and that's the only way to kill Abaddon. Dean does allow himself a huff and eye roll combo though, "you're like a bad case of the clap, every time I think you're gone you pop up again."

"Always the charmer." Is all the king of hell replies as Dean escapes to the pool table.

What follows is a few hours of annoyance. Trying to ignore the demon who is so intent on not being ignored, until finally Dean is saving Crowley from a low-level wannabe bad guy and burying all thoughts of you in favor of the thing he really needs to do. Kill Abaddon.

He guesses putting aside his worry is just one more thing to feel guilty about.

The second time you almost die on him

He hadn't realized how bothered he was about not hearing from you, now for four weeks and six days, until he's leaving the penthouse where he's just killed carrot top.

There's a lot of things he's repressed. It's a damn hobby of his. Dean Winchester hasn't had a good day if he hasn't swallowed a complicated emotion and washed it down with a whiskey chaser. Some come back to haunt him, some stay where he keeps them, mostly.

Not often do they come back as quickly as his concern for you.

He swears he tried to sleep when they got back to the bunker, but it was pointless. He had a case to work, the case just happened to be you.

One plus side of the mark of Cain? Better than any caffeine buzz when he needed to be focused. It's just that increasingly the focus becomes violent or murder-y.  

He checks the GPS on your car but it's static at some motel in Columbus. The address gets written down anyway, just in case, but if something happened to you he doubts they took you in your own truck. Then he checks in with a few hunters that he figures might be mutual acquaintances and the ones that are haven't heard from you either. It's when Sam wanders in that he tracks your phone and sees it hasn't had a ping in over a month.

Or about four weeks and six days, give or take.

It's a few miles from the motel your ridiculous red truck is sitting at and it's as good a place as any to start.

He's only half-aware he's been having a conversation with Sam the whole time.

Dean can feel the tension in his body as he drives, accompanied by that heavy, sickly feeling of anticipation he gets when he's on a hunt. The one that sits in his gut when he's trying to save someone.

Who knows, maybe you're fine. Maybe you've shacked up with a Townie and you've spent the last four weeks living carefree.

He knows that's not what's happened.

From the outside, the building looks like a piss poor version of every bad guy's lair ever. It's a few miles out of town against a lonely highway and looks about ten minutes away from crumbling under its own weight.

Sam tries to suggest scoping out the place before going in hot, but Dean shakes his head to end that train of thought before it starts. He doesn't care what's in there. With the blade tucked in the back of his jeans, he feels invincible but it's more than that. It's the familiar anger emanating from the mark. The vengeful fury that he can't control when his emotions are already running so high.

After all, he's already wasted four weeks and six days, give or take.

They kick down the main doors together, guns raised, but only his door splinters away from its hinges. His boots pound the concrete and he's ready for a fight, he needs a fight.

Except there are only two other people in the room. There's a woman standing over a table with something sharp in her hand and there's this other person. Chained to said table and as he gets closer, shouting for the stranger to get back, he sees the prisoners face.

Your face.

He's about to shoot the woman standing a few feet in front of him, with utter boredom on her face, but she flashes black eyes. It'd be easy to say that he's doing it for you, that shooting isn't good enough for this bitch who's been keeping you here. But as his fingers wrap around the hilt of the first blade forging a connection between the mark and the blade and his unfettered bloodlust, it's not about anything except the pure joy that he gets as he drives it into her chest.

Her death flashes in his eyes as he stands steadfast, watching the demon become nothing but an empty, dead shell. 

It's the voice he hasn't heard in months that pulls him back from the murderous haze. A quiet and broken whisper and then sobs. He turns his whole body in the direction of those sounds and takes in the sight of you. Mangled and bleeding. Some parts of you so bruised that he can't imagine what was done to cause it. The blade slips from his hand like he's scared the sight of it is going to frighten you.

The same hand that had held it, the same hand that had killed this Demon, curls into the ends of your hair while you cry. He wants to hold you, but he doesn't want to break you any more than you already are so this is all he can think to do. Shushing noises and his fingers tangled in the knots on your head.

This time he's not so sure you're going to be ok.

The first time he doesn't text you back

He sent the message before he summoned Crowley. It does nothing to ease how shitty he feels about this to you.

He can feel his phone buzzing continuously in his back pocket, you must be calling, when Crowley arrives with a complaint on his lips. 

All throughout the conversation, while Crowley spouts out his knowledge of the mark, that it's controlling him now and he'll die if he doesn't kill, the image of you bloody and broken is in the back of his head.

"And you're gonna help me."

Crowley actually looks interested, "and why am I going to do that?"

"Because I haven't killed you yet for what you did to her."

Crowley isn't stupid enough to laugh in Deans's face like he normally would, but he doesn't hold back the bite in his retort. "Oh squirrel. So sensitive still. Y/N got what was coming to her. Besides, what's to stop you killing me once you've got the blade and a full dose from the mark?"

Dean lets out a sigh. He's fighting the part of him that's still telling him not to do this.

"Because I want to gut Metatron more than I want you dead."

Crowley smiles. After a brief reprieve, Dean’s phone starts buzzing again. He takes it out only to turn it off before he nods and escapes with Crowley in tow.

The first time you don't say goodbye

He hasn't left his room since Cas left. He's been clawing at the inside of his head trying to piece things together but it's all half stories and half actual memories. And somehow karaoke remains.

So, Dean does what he does best. His reflex. He goes to grab a beer.

"Hunting felt like the thing I'd always been missing but my sister was going to have a career and kids and everything she ever wanted. I was going to make sure of it."

Your voice is quiet but not so quiet that it doesn't fill the library, the room acting like a huge echo chamber. He stops dead. Neither Cas or Sam had mentioned you were here but hearing your voice brings back bits and pieces. Enough that he can still remember what your neck felt like in his hand and the look in your eyes as you passed out after he'd smashed your head into a wall.

He stands there listening to you pour your heart out to Sam. You sister had been one of Azazel's, you'd burned them all and you couldn't find a way to bring your sister back.

Something flashes in his head. What you'd cried out in that warehouse. He'd never thought to ask you about it before they'd left you at that hospital but now it makes sense. Your sister had been a demon, a demon who tortured you, and he'd killed her.

Dean wants to jump out of the shadow he's hiding in when you blame yourself again. He doesn't. He's stopped in place when you say his name. Apparently, he knows something. What did he know?  

He's trying to remember when he hears Sam.

"So, you're not even going to say goodbye to him? You're just going to run away?"

A lump forms in Dean's throat. You were leaving because of something he knew but he couldn't remember. Maybe he could stop you.

He doesn't.

Because the thing he does know is that you deserve a chance to get away and go back to your old life. Hunting monsters without the big bad and without him. Dean's life has too many complications and you deserve to get out of that.

He nearly killed you and he nearly killed his brother. Sam wouldn't give up that easy but you? He could let you go.

The first time you come back

The rain is battering the outside of the bunker but it's quiet inside. Sam is gone and Dean is buried in a book looking for a thread of hope and finding none.

It's been quiet in the bunker for days. Since Charlie. Since what he did to Charlie.

But rain isn't loud enough to hide the pounding on the door, or the voice he hears as he's climbing the stairs.

"Strippergram, open up!"

He almost falters, almost trips over his own feet but somehow, he rights himself. His heart beating faster than necessary and his palms a little sweaty for his liking.

You're alive and, more than that, you're here.

As soon as he sees you it's like you haven't spent two months off the map. You're soaked, your clothes cling to every curve of your body in the rain, making you look fucking beautiful. Even if your loose hair is stuck to your forehead and you shiver in the cold.

For a while, it's like none of it happened. Him becoming a demon and running off with Crowley. You leaving without a goodbye. All erased while you stand there being idiots and trading jokes. For a few minutes even, the things he's done because of the mark get cast into the back of his mind.

Then you limp.

He's in the middle of explaining why 'Pour Some Sugar on Me' is one of the top three stripper songs of all time when his words stop. You're leaning on your right leg, right arm on the banister with an iron grip and you're dragging your left leg the rest of the way, down each step. While you don't seem to be about to immediately drop dead he's still concerned.

Of course, he had no idea what kind of injury you were going to admit to.

He shouldn't laugh. You got shot. But worrying takes a backseat when you tell him where you got shot. He's even grinning to himself as he gets the supplies needed to patch you up.

It's only when he opens the door to find you casually lying on the bed, ass up, that he doesn't find it so funny anymore. In fact, he tells you as much when you decide to slap your good ass cheek and make another joke.

He has to bite back a groan watching that.

He sinks into a comfortable position once he's concentrating on getting the bullet out of you. Then he can focus on the task in front of him and forget about your shapely, bare legs that look endless from this angle. It's not your ass he's touching with careful grazes and patient fingers, it's just a wound that he's fixing. Doesn't matter where it is.

That works fine until he puts a fresh bandage on and you immediately start trying to roll off the bed in your half-naked state.

He doesn't need to be told twice when you tell him to leave. He's just grateful that he manages to do it, honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he'd been unable to move because of the situation in his pants. 

Thankfully you take a while to catch up with him, now in clean and dry clothes. And for some reason, he remembers what you said to Sam, not him, the day you left. About that always being your room and there's a warmth in his chest that you were actually telling the truth. You left clothes there, in your room.

His smile only gets wider when you ask about Sam. You've been here as long as you have and not noticed Sam is missing. He tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything but, what if it did?

He hadn't even thought about going back to his room and trying to read more lore. It hadn't crossed his mind once. Instead, he'd venomously defended his TV choices and made you a grilled cheese so that you could both drink the hard stuff. He wasn't sure when you last ate.

It's when you've both finally agreed to watch an old movie, although he doesn't remember which one, that you start drifting. He watches it out the corner of his eyes.

Your eyelids start getting too heavy for you to keep them open although you desperately try. You curl onto your side to get more comfortable and stretch your legs out before you realize your feet land in his lap and you quickly retract them. Not that he'd mind but he's past the point of using words as he watches you like a nature documentary.

Finally, when your eyes close this big, deep breath falls out of you and it seems to take away the last of your resistance because then your chest starts that gentle up and down of sleep. It only takes a few minutes before he decides to put you in bed since you start fidgeting for not having enough space and it bugs him.

That's definitely the reason he scoops you into his arms as gently as possible and takes his time slowly carrying you to your room.

Although when he gets you there it presents another problem. You keep trying to roll onto your back, which causes you to disturb your bullet wound, which makes you whimper and almost wake up. So, he stands there for a few minutes nudging you back onto your front, not because the noise you make when you almost wake up is the most helpless thing he's ever heard, but because you probably need your sleep.

It's how he ends up sitting in the chair and watching you. Not in a creepy sparkly vampire way but to make sure you don't rollover.

When you finally seem settled, by the fact that you're now sprawled out on your stomach making happy mumble sounds into your pillow, his own eyes get too heavy to keep open.

He definitely didn't wait till you were comfortable before he lets himself fall asleep. He wasn't tired until now is all. 

The first time you wake him up

He doesn't know what time it is or how long he was out but he does know that your hand is on his shoulder when he wakes up.

Dean cracks his eyes open and looks up at you, noticing how you smile when you call him 'dummy' and the way your eyes seem to sparkle when you mention pancakes. The happiness is so obvious that it's all he can manage to repeat it back, to make sure he was hearing you properly.

"Pancakes?"

You tell him to lie down and that's when he notices the ache in his back from sleeping propped up in this chair. He doesn't have time to tell you that you were right about it though because you wander off, presumably for the love of pancakes.

He stands up and stretches. It takes care of his back enough that he doesn't feel the need to lie down like he was told to and, with the promise of breakfast, he's done with sleep now. He notices the practically empty whiskey bottle as he slowly trudges his way to the kitchen and groans to himself.

Then he hears Sam in the kitchen. Dean hadn't realized he was back but he sure as shit could hear him talking to you. Sam was telling you about the mark, how it had gotten worse and Dean didn't need to see your face to hear the concern in your voice.

It's too early for him to control the anger in his veins as he asks to speak to Sam privately.

"Dean, what the hell? I can't get you out of your room, but Y/N shows up and you're watching TV and hanging out?" If Dean didn't know any better he'd think his little brother was jealous.

"What are you doing telling her how bad I've been?"

Sam's eyes appear to bug out of his head momentarily, "what like it's a secret now? She knows you have the mark, what's the problem telling her that you've been struggling? You have!"

Dean runs a hand down his face but it doesn't stop the words tumbling out, "because I don't want her to be afraid of me."

He doesn't know why but Sam stares dumbly like he's trying to work something out and in true annoying little brother fashion he steamrolls ahead with his assumptions once they are made. "If you feel like that about her why don't you… I mean I'd be ok with you asking her to stay, especially if it helps."

Dean feels warm on the back of his neck, but he furiously ignores it, "I don't know what you're talking about Sammy."

"What you mean the fact that last night was the first time in forever that you've slept more than an hour or hung out without some lore? Dude why don't you just ask her, as a friend even?"

This time his fist clenches and he struggles to release it. His voice is louder and more frustrated than he intended, "would you shut up I'm not asking."

Sam is doing his dumb puppy dog eyes now in an attempt to be convincing and understanding all at once, "But what if it makes a difference Dean. I mean she clearly-"

Dean pushes his index finger into Sam's chest, cutting him off with a glare, "You keep your mouth shut."

He has to walk away after that and not just because he can feel the pink on his ears. It's probably anger anyway, at Sam for butting in.

And then he trudges into the kitchen and you're flipping pancakes with a little sway in your hips as you do like there's a song in your head that he can't hear.

It's not weird that he wants to know what the song is.

The first time he fights with you

You somehow sneak into the room without him noticing. Maybe it's the fact that he's retreated back into his favorite new hobby, looking up mark lore, or maybe you're just sneaky.

When you ask about that text message he wishes he had more time. Even though he's been expecting this question since he sent it. There were so many things he's sorry for. He's sorry for calling Crowley in the first place, he's sorry for getting himself killed by Metatron, and turned into a demon. He's really fucking sorry about what he did as a demon but mostly he's sorry for what happened to you in the first place. He goes with his practiced answer though.

"That was when I started working with Crowley. He had the first blade and it was the only way I could kill Metatron. But after what he did to you, I thought…"

"You thought you owed me an apology for trying to save the world?"

How were you so understanding about this? He saw what had been done to you, or at least the after effects, the rest he can only imagine. And yet you were so quick to forgive him that he wonders if you were even mad at him for his adventures with the king of hell.

Then you have to go and ask about his argument with Sam at breakfast.

You keep asking and asking, a question for every answer that comes out of his mouth. And he jumps away from you because you're too close, but you follow him anyway. 

He doesn't want to talk about it, if he was going to ask you to stay he wants it to be different. He doesn't want it to be because of the mark or his screwed-up life.

Except translating those emotions to the mark is something different entirely. All it knows is that he's getting agitated, which leads to violence, which leads to the resentments he buried down deep about you leaving flying from his mouth before he can stop them.

He knows he's already too far gone but it's so easy to push your buttons, you haven't seen him at his worst, so you don't know what he's capable of, so you fight back. You argue. You challenge him until he says it.

"No worries honey. I didn't cry myself to sleep or anything. With your track record, I think I dodged a bullet."

When you answer him with, "go fuck yourself, Dean," he wants to stop. He wants to pull back and apologize. Just the way you say his name is enough to make his chest constrict.

But that's not what the mark wants. The mark wants him to have the last word, so he follows you as you leave.

He should have just let you go.

Sam shows up at the worst possible time and you tell him that you’re staying. Dean knows it's only to spite him for everything he's said but in some twisted way he's got exactly what he wanted. He can calm down now, right?

"LIKE HELL ARE YOU STAYING, I WANT YOU OUT!"

He roars it against her own battle cry but both of you end the same way. Trying to stare at each other until one of you spontaneously combusts.

Neither of you do.

Dean has no idea how but eventually he tears himself away. He shoots daggers at you one more time before he retreats to his room, and with a slam of the door, he hears you do the same.

So much for that.

The second time he goes through puberty

He's sitting on a bus. A goddamn bus.

He had to leave Tina there alone and he is sitting on a bus. In a hoodie. Looking like Bieber.

Dean really didn't want to play into the teenage stereotype, but this seemed totally unfair.

He's about ten minutes into the journey when he closes his eyes. Just for a minute. He hasn't slept in what feels like days and the rumble of the bloated bus engine lulls him to sleep.

It's been a while since Dean had a dream, in fact, he hasn't since well before he got the mark. Maybe not being able to dream another side effect nobody writes in the lore books.

But he's in his teenage body now so with no mark it's Dreamtown USA, population Dean Winchester.

At first, the weirdest thing about the dream is that he's an adult, like he had been a few hours ago. It's simple enough. He's in the bunker, cleaning his gun except he's butt naked. Feet crossed on the table while he leans back in his chair but naked. And he thinks it's hilarious, he's laughing and making a plan to get Sam to sit in his chair for dinner. This goes on for a while until the bunker door opens and closes and he looks up to see you there. Dressed like a pizza delivery girl. But in roller-skates that you somehow use to get down the stairs without breaking your neck.

Dream Dean seems to have no issues with the fact that he's naked, or that the pizza delivery girl, you, let yourself in. He's mainly concerned about the pizza.

"Delivery for Mr. Dick Hertz," your voice is a sultry tone as if you're trying to be a porn star. He laughs at the name thinking his joke hilarious, but your mouth falls open in shock when you realize what you just said. "Oh no, is it true? Does your dick… hurt?"

You're moving towards him now like you're floating, although, it's probably the skates, and you toss the pizza box to the table carelessly. As you reach him the baseball cap on your head is thrown away too and your hair falls around your face in bouncy pornstar curls. "Because if it does hurt, I'm sure I can help with that."

Dean sits forward now, the front legs of his chair slamming against the floor and he sits up straight. His hands reach out for you and pull you forward so you're straddling him on the chair, while he's still naked. "I'm sure you can, sweetheart," he says smiling up at you as his fingers skin the hem of your tee, dragging it up your body. You bend your arms and duck your head letting him throw the offending item over his shoulder, leaving you topless because, of course, you're not wearing a bra.

He grins as he leans himself forward, pressing his lips to the skin of your chest, while you giggle. It's only a moment later that you push him back and lean into his face, your lips so close to his he can almost taste them.

"If I'm going to help you, I'm going to need to finish getting out of these clothes first," you whisper before you close the gap, crashing your mouth into his.

"Hey kid, wake up!"

Dean sits up abruptly. A teenager again, on a bus, in a hoodie. He blinks to adjust his eyes to the light when he sees some old guy shouting at him, "the driver said this is your stop kid."

It's only as he stands up that he feels something wet. It's a strange experience because it's a feeling he remembers only consciously having twice before in his life. And both times he was, shockingly, a teenager.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me."

The first time he kisses you

Dean is enjoying the ride home like any other time he's been kept apart from Baby. His full focus is on how she's driving and if that's a smudge on her hood or an actual dent.

He's so engrossed with the sound of her engine that he doesn't really listen to Sam much. Dean will tell him later and Sam will get annoyed, but Dean knows he'll repeat all of it anyway.

Or at least he wasn't listening until Sam said it.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, I spoke to Y/N this morning and told her we're on our way back. She asked about us grabbing some dinner because, and I quote, 'she's not our maid'."

"What?" Dean asked suddenly very interested in every word his brother said.

"Well ok there was more than that, she went on about if we wanted a maid then we'd need to find a non-kinky one online, but I don't remember the whole thing word for word."

He can't believe his brother is as smart as he is and thinks the part that Dean wanted repeating was the maid thing. "Wait, so you're saying she's still at the bunker?"

Sam seems to catch on because he twists in his seat to look at Dean better with a smirk on his dumb face, "yes Dean, I'm saying she's still there. Like she said she would be."

Baby was used to sudden increases in speed but even this one made her jolt a little as Dean's foot hits the floor.

"Dean, what the hell? Is this about your, ahem, dream?"

He already regrets telling Sam about that but when he'd had to rush to the bathroom after arriving at the motel, Sam had forced the information out of him.

"Shut up Sammy," was Dean's eloquent response when, in fact, it was about the dream.

He'd been so sure that you would have left. After the fight, the way you'd both screamed at each other, more importantly, the things he'd said. You'd left before for a lot less. So, yeah, he'd been sure. He'd been expecting to come home to an empty bunker if he was lucky a note that didn't directly blame him even if it was his fault.

But you were still there. You'd stayed. He had no idea why you'd stayed but you had, and he wanted to be there ten minutes ago already, but Baby can only go so fast.

Denial was getting harder to maintain with the way he needed to be there already, the way his heart thumped in his chest or the fucking butterflies in his stomach. A man with the mark of Cain on his arm shouldn't be feeling butterflies in his gut, but here Dean is anyway. Maybe he wasn't ready to put words onto his feelings but fuck, if all he wanted to do was kiss you.

Sam wisely doesn't interrupt his daydreams for the rest of the way, he doesn't even mention that they haven't stopped for food.

When the bunker is in sight you're outside and Dean still doesn't believe it. 

You’re really there. You really stayed. 

You're in this outfit, God help him, it's cut-off jeans and t-shirt that is sticking to your skin on account of you cleaning your truck. He pulls up and throws Baby into park—he'll apologize for being so rough with her later—and as he slams the door you're offering to clean Baby later to make amends for raiding his car supplies.

Surely you couldn't have been this perfect the whole goddamn time.

Well, not perfect, considering your choice of wheels. 

He's by your side before you really finish the question. He's close enough that you have to stand up to full height and he can't help taking a second to look at you. Your hair is pulled onto the top of your head and there's a smudge of something on your cheek, your eyes are wide with oblivious innocence right until the last second before he kisses you.

In his dumb teenage dream, kissing you made him jizz in his pants, but this is even better. This is real. Plus he manages to control himself.

Your lips are full and soft and frozen for a split second until he runs his tongue over them. You taste like syrup and coffee and your mouth is warmer than his somehow. When you kiss him back his thumb rubs encouraging circles over your cheek, not that you need encouraging because you kiss him fiercely. You kiss him like you argue, with your entire soul.

When you can't breathe anymore, and you pull back, he tells you you're staying. And when you try to start a lecture, which he knows will be about not telling you what to do, he kisses you again.

Only partly to shut you up, mostly because once he's started he doesn't know how to stop.