#but it's never been more important to at least say something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugurusfavemonkey · 23 hours ago

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say you'll be my darlin' - kento nanami (1/2)

mosaic ceilings, painted tiles on the wall i can't help but feel somewhat like my body marred my soul handmade beauty sealed up by two man-made walls when's it gonna be my turn?

valentine's day special summary: you've never had a valentine, but kento intends to change that

Some may say Kento Nanami is a reserved man, perhaps even aloof. Both sentiments are easily endorsed due to his unwavering straightforwardness and tendency to avoid certain impracticalities. And still, his detachment and bluntness weren't nearly enough to stop him from falling.

He tried, he really did, to keep his emotions in check: compartmentalized and separated from his work life, but nothing could have prepared him for the whirlwind that you brought forward within him. When it came to you, that task was easier said than done.

You were never put off by his stoicism, quite the opposite. You saw his bluntness as honesty and his sobriety as a virtue. Never mind the fact that you found his candor amusing more often than not: his sarcasm easily brought laughter out of you, a chuckle when you were accompanied by others, or sometimes giggles you would try to hide behind your hand. Nanami found each of your reactions charming and if you saw the corner of his own lips lift into a subtle smile and his eyes soften behind the lenses of his glasses as he stored the image as a souvenir in his brain? No, you didn't.

Where typically Nanami would have no problem focusing wholly on his work, a small portion of his brain was constantly thinking back to you. How you've managed to steal all that space and become permanently etched onto his normally single-minded psyche no one could tell.

It didn't help that his infatuation had taken a more physical turn as of late. The curve of your smile, the way your nimble fingers played with the cuff of your shirt, the glow in your eyes... Every aspect of you had Nanami completely enraptured. He had to restrain himself, honeyed eyes ensnared to your every move, hands aching to feel your skin, arms yearning to hold you, desire burning like molten lava through his veins.

There was no denying it, Kento Nanami was completely and utterly in love with you. Now, if only admitting that was as easy as it had been falling. Instead, words failed him for your presence had him feeling like a teenager who had to hide under a thick fringe of hair all over again.

The opportunity to finally confess his devotion (or at least an idea of how to shape the admission) arose on a particularly slow Wednesday.

One of the perks of having his eyes constantly seeking you out was recognizing the faintest changes to your demeanor. Nanami immediately noticed how your posture sagged slightly, the furrow in between your brows, your frequent sighs, the mug of coffee left untouched slowly going cold, even the way your smile didn't quite reach your eyes that morning. It bothered him profusely to know something was causing you torment to an extent his own mood was diminished.

"Something wrong?"

"Huh?" You looked up at the sound of Nanami's inquiry, your brows furrowing even further.

Your eyes got momentarily lost in the flex of his exposed forearms as Nanami dropped the paper he had been reading through on his desk and followed by removing his signature glasses to reveal enthralling syrupy hazel eyes focused solely on you, likely intending to give you his full attention.

"You seem... preoccupied today."

That gave you pause. The sentiment Nanami expressed - the articulated concern - wasn't unusual. His uncanny ability to be acutely aware of your wavering moods easily contrasted with his habitual detached persona. Sometimes you wondered if he was genuinely worried or merely being polite.

"You know me so well," you chuckled under your breath, gaze wavering. With how easily you got lost in his eyes it was challenging to keep up the eye contact when they were unconcealed like that. You sighed, "it's nothing important, don't worry about it."

He tsked condescendingly, "If it's bothering you that means it is important."

You nearly snorted at that, not because his declaration was funny but because you didn't have to look up to know it was accompanied by that skeptical and judging expression of his. You did look up anyway, and your next words jumped out of you before you could think them through, "How are you even real?"

Despite his guise, Nanami had never once been mean to you. On the contrary, he always seemed to have words of encouragement ready for you. You wished more people took notice of this side of him.

"I'm sorry?" His confused frown and slight tilt of the head was nothing short of adorable. You smiled and shook your head dismissively before propping your chin on your hand as you rested your elbow on the table in front of you.

"I was just thinking about this Friday," you explained with a small shrug as the fingers of your other hand tapped against the wood rhythmically.

His low hum carried a touch of raspiness characteristic to his voice as he regarded you contemplatively, most likely expecting you to further expand your line of thought.

You succumbed under Nanami's unwavering perusal and eventually unraveled your inner turmoil:

"it's just... I've never had a Valentine," you paused to gauge his reaction, eyes flitting over his face for the slightest change in expressing and opting to continue when there was none, "on Valentine's Day."

Maybe there was a slight twitch to his brow or maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you (for he remained just as still as a statue), but Nanami gave you no other indication he had even heard your outburst. He was definitely judging you. You slid down your seat, burying your face in your hands.

Nanami felt his hands twitch, the need to reach out and comfort you almost too much for him to bear.

"Fuck, how pathetic is that?" You laughed deprecatingly, peeking at him through your fingers, "That probably sounds like such a silly concern to you. I shouldn't have annoyed you with it. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. That does not sound silly. Or pathetic. Like I've said, if it's troubling you, it's a legitimate concern." the deep and rather stern tone he used had you sitting up, mouth slightly agape. "I can't help but wonder though... how come you've never had a valentine?"

"What do you mean?"

Nanami leaned back on his chair, crossing his legs and bringing his hands together on his lap and a shiver ran down your spine as his gaze glided over you from head to toe before returning to your face.

"That outcome just seems rather unlikely. Objectively speaking, you have a lovely personality and you're obviously a very attractive person."

You gaped at him, unsure there had ever been another time he had outwardly complimented you like this. Sure he would sporadically praise you for a job well done or on your improvement, but never something so personal. And then you were laughing because you'd rather not unpack whatever he could have implied with that, less it drove you crazy.

"You really are too sweet, Nanami," you pretended to wipe imaginary tears once your laughter died down. "I think as a child and through my teenage years I went unnoticed and then as an adult it was mostly a matter of timing. I'm always single this time of the year. Just unfortunate coincidences I guess," you shrugged.

"Well, who's to say this year won't be different?" his piercing gaze finally relented when he spoke, legs uncrossing and hands searching for his glasses. It was clear the conversation was over.

"I doubt that," you snorted. "Thanks for acknowledging my concern though. I do feel better about it." For what it's worth, the weight on your chest felt less heavy, both thanks to his accidental pep talk and uncharacteristic positivity.

"I'm always glad to be of service" to you left unsaid.

"Anyway," you clapped your hands together before using them as leverage to push yourself up and started picking through your belongings, even though you knew you would need none of that. "I better get back to work 'cause I'm not being paid to lazy around. You're an angel, Nanamin. See you around!"

He was definitely avoiding looking as you walked out of the room because you certainly wouldn't have said that had you been able to witness the vile images constantly permeating his head and tainting his thoughts.

It's not like he hadn't been watching the tantalizing sway of your hips and the enticing curve of your neck peeking from underneath your shirt from the corner of his eye when you walked into that same room earlier that day though.

Shaking those pesky thoughts, Nanami focused instead on the plan already forming on his heads, the gears turning as he deliberated on his new goal: be your valentine.

Friday came around too soon for his liking, but the plan had already been set in motion. Even though you consistently flustered him, Nanami couldn't recall a time he had been quite as anxious before.

He had been not so patiently waiting by the window, shoulders stiff, impassive expression, crossed arms and fingers of his right hand tapping continuously on his left bicep.

The setting had been arranged just right for your arrival, but his scheme wasn't without fail. There was one small hindrance Nanami forgot to take into account: Gojo.

"Look what we've got here, someone has a secret admirer!" his cadence was unmistakable as he crossed the threshold to the office alongside you.

You stopped on your tracks, gaping like a fish at the voluminous arrangement of blooming red roses in light pink tissue paper set on your desk.

"What the- What's all this?" You put your hands on your waist and turned to face the mam beside you, "Gojo, I swear to god. If this is your idea of a prank-"

"Not me, sweets."

"Then who-?"

Nanami cleared his throat, finally calling the attention of the bickering duo to himself. Seeing him promptly causes your annoyance to face into a bright grin,

"Hi, Nanami! Almost didn't see you there!"

Which he would have corresponded hadn't it been for the white-haired nuisance standing by you.

"Nanamin! My favorite office worker dropout." Gojo smiled and opened his arms widely as if expecting a hug, only to receive a deadpan instead, the vein at Nanami's forehead close to bursting. Gojo lowered his arms, a pout on his lips.

"Gakuganji is waiting for you," it's what Nanami went with as a greeting.

"Ha! That old geezer could die waiting for all I care." Gojo dismissed the assertion. He leaned forward, one long finger swiping underneath the band of his blindfold to pull it up on one side, and winked at the blonde sorcerer, "but I will leave you two lovebirds alone, if that's what you want."

After snapping his headband back into place he was off to bug someone else.

You strolled over until you stood face to chest face with Nanami and reached a hand to smooth the lines between his brows, "with the way Gojo irritates you, you'll look like an old man in no time if you don't relax a little bit, Nanami."

His entire body seemed to loosen up at your touch - jaw and fists unclenching, eyes softening, shoulders falling. It worked like magic and you didn't even know.

"I'll try my best."

You stepped back, cringing as you became mindful of his personal space which you had just trespassed with no warning whatsoever. Yet, you thought better not to acknowledge it and instead held onto the strap of your bag with both hands, using it as an anchor, and pointed your chin to the flowers.

"Any idea who's behind the roses?"

"I am."

"What?"

"I wanted to gift them to you for Valentine's Day."

"Oh. Oh!" A smile slowly built as the surprise sunk in, "that's such a sweet gesture. Thank you, Nanami!"

He nodded once, lips parting and closing briefly as if unsure of how to proceed, "you know, I consider myself a very eloquent man, but you make it very difficult to express myself.... to find the right words. I even considered leaving a letter along with the flowers, but I believe some matters are better said in person."

"Do I make you nervous, Nanamin?" you teased, head lolling to the side playfully.

"Please, don't call me that."

"Sorry," you winced, scratching at your wrist, "Yuji and Gojo's antics rub on me sometimes. I'll go back to Nanami."

"I'd prefer if you called me Kento, actually."

Now, who's making who nervous?

"Alright. Kento."

He straight out gulped as you carefully enounced his name, almost as if caressing the sound. Kento cleared his throat, eyes flitting to the ground and then back to your face.

"And yes, you do make me nervous."

You bit your lip to suppress a proud grin. Was it too soon to mention you liked the idea of making him nervous?

Nanami took a deep breath before saying your name, "will you be my valentine?"

"I'm- Really?"

"If you will have me, that is."

"Kento, I'd like nothing more."

"Well, in that case, would you like to have dinner with me tonight to celebrate the occasion?"

"Sure, that sounds lovely."

"I want to cook for you, but I didn't want to be presumptuous assuming you'd be comfortable going to my home on our first date so I also went ahead and made reservations at a restaurant, I can even send you a copy of their menu if that would make you less anxious."

That was the closest you had ever seem of Kento rambling. Maybe he had been nervous, after all.

"First date, huh?" You chuckled, swaying back and forth in your giddiness. "You could never make me uncomfortable, Kento. I'm fine with dining at your house tonight."

"Excellent. I will pick you up. Is 7 a good time?"

"It's perfect."

"I'll let you get back to work then. I look forward to tonight."

"So do I."

He smiled briefly before strutting to the door. You were so hypnotized by the way his shoulders flexed underneath his suit that you nearly forgot:

"Kento!"

"Yes?" He stopped and turned to you right as he reached the door, one inquisitive brow lifting above the edge of his glasses.

"The flowers are beautiful."

You had been applying the finishing touches to your look when the intercom ringed. You cursed and tripped trying to reach the offending electronic as if Nanami would give up on you if you left him waiting.

If only you know he would wait forever if that's what it took to have you - Kento was a patient man.

"Yes?" you answered cheerfully. His resonant voice called your name in question, making sure he had the correct apartment.

"Hey, Kento. I'll be right down!"

You rushed out the door after picking up your purse and keys and basically flew down the stairs.

You slowed down as you reached the lobby of the building where you could see Nanami standing on the other side of the glass doors, hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants, his biceps bulging in the sleeves of a clearly ironed crisp white shirt and undercut visible underneath his brushed back blonde hair. All you could think then was that it was Valentine's Day and that man was waiting for you.

Nanami turned when he heard the door unlocking and watched as you stepped outside. He breathed your name in wonder, appreciative gaze taking in every detail of you.

"You look absolutely stunning," his voice came out breathy.

"I could say the same of you."

He offered you his arm to guide you to his car, and you took it, treasuring the opportunity of testing if his arm felt just as solid as it looked (it did).

Like the gentleman he is, Kento opened the passenger door for you, but instead of taking the offered seat, you turned to face him and stood on your toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. When you got back to the sole of your feet you could see the dust of red looming from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

"You have a beautiful smile. You should wear it more often," you commented casually even though the palm of your hands were clammy and your throat dry.

Only then you did enter the car, a satisfied grin painting your face at the sight of a flustered Nanami as he closed the door after you and walked around the vehicle to take his spot as the driver.

Of course he drove an austere German luxury car, the spotless silver undoubtedly recently polished and the inside looking just as pristine. You would have thought it was brand new if you hadn't felt his expensive cologne in the leather seat or if you couldn't see his blunt sword on the back seat through the rearview mirror and keys and water bottle on the center console.

The drive was filled with quiet conversation as you filled each other in on how you spent the day: you complaining about paperwork, him praising Ino and Yuji. Nothing outside of usual.

The conversation never dimmed, if anything it only picked up once you made it inside his apartment. He opened a bottle of wine and handed you a glass, pointing you towards one high stools by the island in his kitchen so you could watch as he finished off the dinner he had left half-ready before picking you up.

It all felt familiar, safe.

And the sight of his broad back and tiny waist accentuated by the apron tied around it was not half bad of a view.

You were slightly tipsy by the time he finished putting together the salad and the oven beeped announcing everything was ready.

"Gosh, it smells heavenly!" You commended after a particularly strong sniff of the delectable aroma reached your nose.

"Hopefully, it tastes just as good." Nanami chuckled as he removed the roasted chicken, bread rolls and vegetables from the oven and took it to the table. You took that as you cue to follow after him to the dinner room.

He had set the table previously to your arrival with plates, glasses, cutlery and napkins for two. The decoration consisting of flowers and candles.

You settled in comfortable silence as you ate, you leaving complimentary comments and delighted hums with each new flavor you discovered and Kento taking it with gracefulness until both of your plates where cleared.

"You've outdone yourself, Kento. When I mentioned my lack of valentine I really expected nothing out of it. Thank you for making this day less sad for me."

Nanami gifted you with a soft smile, one you didn't think you had ever seen on his lips, his eyes squinting lightly with it, "it was my pleasure."

His soothing disposition gave you the courage to continue:

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You already did."

"Imma walk out that door, Kento." you threatened, but Kento knew it was in jest. Still, he relented:

"Please, do ask a second question."

"Are you doing this out of pity? Because I was moping about never having a valentine?"

Kento regarded you curiously, the lack of glasses letting you read him easily than you would have usually, but not without some challenge, considering most of his expressions were kept to a minimum.

"What do you think?" He questioned softly.

"I think," you stopped and used the hold you had on the stem of your cup to twirl the remaining liquid inside of it, "you've never went out of your way like this for anyone. At least not for as long as I've known you."

"That would be correct." He nodded once, almost proud of you for reaching an accurate conclusion.

"So why are you doing so for me?"

"Because I want to," simple as that.

"Because I have a lovely personality and I am a very attractive person? Objectively speaking, of course." You parroted his earlier words with a playful smirk.

"Perhaps I haven't expressed myself clearly." Kento leaned forward, his hand reaching yours across the table, probably to stop your nervous fidgeting and bring your full attention to him, "I think you are lovely. And beautiful."

"Hmm... Is that so?"

"Spending this Friday with you is the farthest thing from charitable. I'm doing it out of my own selfish desires."

"I'm still not convinced. It's just that... earlier today you said I made you nervous, but you've been the picture of composure all night. Even your place looks impeccable despite the fact that you spent hours cooking," You explained your doubt, but your voice wavered as his thumb started caressing your knuckles back and forth.

"Don't let the image fool you. That's a facade. I'd like to think after a couple of years I've became a pro in disguising my flustered state around you."

"That's... a long time."

"Upon our initial meeting, your beauty was the first thing I noticed, and then just how charming you are."

"That just can't be right. What, you just immediately knew?" You mentally cursed yourself for your eagerness, shaking your head, "you know what? Don't answer that. I'm just fishing for compliments now."

"And I'll gladly shower you in compliments for you are deserving of them. It wasn't immediate, no. I believe these feelings came to fruition with small interactions throughout our daily lives because I've come to perceive how kind, passionate, and intelligent you are through them. All qualities I strongly admire."

"Well, I think you are all that but also honorable, wise, generous, and dependable. Not to mention very, very handsome."

"Is it safe to assume you feel the same then?"

"Oh, more than safe."

"Good."

"You also make it very difficult for me to lower my standards. Because not only you're incredible, but you also can cook? You have to teach me how you do those bread rolls!"

"I've actually got the recipe from a local bakery. Is where I buy bread more often than not, considering our hectic schedules. They have a great assortment of pastries as well. I'll take you there another day."

"Is this your way of asking me out on a second date?"

"No."

Your face fell, surely you hadn't read all of this wrong?

"I'd like our second date to be more romantic than that. That's me asking you out for a casual outing. Perhaps as your boyfriend?"

You could have hit him and his stupid smug smirk as relief washed over you.

"Yes, this is my way of asking you if you'll allow me that honor." Kento answered your next question before you even had time to formulate it.

part 2 (AKA the smut) here (coming hopefully soon)

#mavi writes #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x reader #kento x reader #jjk fanfic #nanami kento #kento fluff #kento nanami x you #kento x you

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pixiexdusts-world · 3 days ago

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The last game

Chishiya x reader

Summary: A carefree girl earns Chishiya’s respect through her charm and unpredictability in a deadly game.

Word count: 741

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I knew he was trouble the first time I saw him—tall, cool, and looking like he could read my mind. But I didn’t mind. Honestly, I liked the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to figure out. I’m not dumb, but I guess I don’t exactly come off as the smartest person in the room, either. That’s fine, though. I don’t need to be brainy to keep up with him.

Chishiya’s the kind of guy who doesn’t waste words. He says exactly what he means, and when he smiles, it’s like he already knows something you don’t. He’s a little scary, but I like it. He has this way of making everything feel like a game—a game I don’t always understand, but I play along.

He usually leaves me out of the really dangerous stuff, the mind games and the strategy talk. He knows I’m not good with that—hell, half the time I don’t even get what’s going on. But he doesn’t mind. Or at least, he never shows it.

It was during one of those endless nights when the games seemed to drag on forever that I found myself sitting beside him in a dark corner of the building. Everyone else was fighting, plotting, scheming. But me? I was just… existing. Trying to look cute. Trying to make him smile.

He didn’t look at me, not at first. His eyes were focused on the game screen, his mind already miles ahead, analyzing the next move. I was used to it by now, the way he just… tuned me out when things were important. It didn’t bother me.

But when I shifted and bumped his shoulder, he looked up, those sharp eyes locking onto mine.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low, like he was testing something.

I smiled, my fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. “Just thinking… about us, I guess.”

Chishiya didn’t react right away. His gaze lingered, as if trying to decipher what I meant. But I didn’t care. I liked being mysterious sometimes. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t always predictable.

“Thinking about what?” he asked.

“About how I can make you smile,” I said with a grin, leaning a little closer.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that your strategy?”

I shrugged, flipping my hair and making sure he caught the way I looked at him. “I guess you could say that.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His lips quirked up into a half-smile, the kind of smile that made you wonder if he was mocking you or just playing a game you didn’t quite understand.

“You know, I’ve been watching you,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not as dumb as you seem.”

I laughed, brushing it off. “Hey, I’m not stupid. I just like to have fun.”

His smile turned a little more genuine, and it made my heart race. “Fun can be dangerous,” he said, but there was a softness in his voice that didn’t match his usual cold tone.

I blinked at him. “Is that why you like me? ‘Cause I’m dangerous?”

He tilted his head, considering the question. “You’re not dangerous. But you’re unpredictable. And that makes things interesting.”

The next day, things went south. As usual, the game was twisted and brutal. The other players were ruthless, fighting for their lives in the most twisted ways. I kept close to Chishiya, though. He was my shield, my secret weapon. Not because he wanted to protect me, but because I kept him entertained. I had a feeling he liked keeping me close for the challenge, for the puzzle I presented.

“You’re not like the others,” he said when we managed to hide away from the chaos. “You don’t try to fight. You just… let things happen.”

I smiled, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “I don’t need to fight to win, babe. I have other ways.”

He studied me for a moment, that unreadable expression on his face. “You really think that?”

I nodded, proud of myself. “Of course. I have my charm.”

Chishiya’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was something different about it now. He wasn’t laughing at me, not anymore. It was like he finally understood me. He knew I wasn’t just a dumb girl in a messed-up game. I was a player, too, in my own way.

And for the first time, I thought maybe, just maybe, he respected me. Not for my brain, but for the way I played the game.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said, turning to leave.

I watched him go, my heart fluttering for reasons I didn’t fully understand. I was smart enough to know that with Chishiya, I was always one step behind—but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to play. And if that meant being the unpredictable, carefree girl who kept him intrigued, then so be it.

Because in the end, that was the game we were both playing.

#Alice in borderland #alice in borderland x you #alice in borderland x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #aib chishiya #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya aib #aib x reader

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 day ago

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Chapter 8 - Keep Us Far Apart

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This one’s for all my homies who’ve been sure she’s a demon blood kid. I’m sorry.

Chapter title from Tiffany Blews by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 16.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You get benched by Bobby, and Sam gives you a call. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, big angst, light fluff, pining

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

Read on A03!

You’re warm when you wake up.

Not a sticky, heavy warm that stings on your skin, but a soft, easy heat that settles in your bones. And everything feels Silver, but Dean’s not here. There’s nobody in the room but you.

You don’t have to open your eyes to know that. There’s only a static hum of a fan, that soft warmth, and the smell of grass and spice. A little faded but still obvious. Covering your senses and easing your brain down into peace.

Dean was here.

He’s gone now, but he was here. There’s no other reason for everything to smell like him. No other reason for the world to be blurred to Silver, because that’s something that still only happens with Dean. You know he’s gone because you feel bigger than you and you can’t feel him, but you can feel where he’d been. It’s like an imprint on everything around you, something stained gold that you can recognize even half asleep.

It's new.

You’d be more worried about it if it was painful. But it’s really not. You can feel everything like you always have, and it’s all Silver and easy like when Dean’s by your side.

He’s left marks all around you. You can feel the comfort of the mattress under your body, and there’s a weight on it that’s Dean. There’s something sturdy right next to you, and it has the same feeling wrapped over and around it. The floor feels worn but settled, and Dean seems to have trekked gold all over it. Left himself everywhere, even as he fades by the second.

Because he’s also gone.

He left you again. You can’t blame him. You’d leave you to, if you could, and you only lie to yourself a little less than you lie to Dean.

At least your lies to Dean have been justified. In the name of survival, but still setting scars on your throat because—apparently—the only thing worse than letting John Winchester kill you and driving Bobby to madness is lying to Dean.

Fuck.

Bobby.

You’re home. It took you a little too long to fully register it—you’ve never felt home like this, vast and unconstrained, but in no way that’s painful—but you’re back in your room. Which means Sam and Dean got you to Bobby’s.

Which means Bobby knows you’ve been hunting with Dean, and the brothers probably asked questions, and then they left. You don’t know if Bobby told them to leave—to give you space while your body recovered or simply get out of your life all together—but they’re gone all the same.

Bobby wouldn’t tell Sam and Dean to leave forever. He likely didn’t tell the full truth, but he also liked Sam and Dean. He wouldn’t just kicked them out.

So they left because they wanted to leave. Because something—or nothing at all—was more important than you and they didn’t really care to get your answers. To hear you try to justify how you’d lied about Bobby because you had to. Because you’ve been so sick, and they already had enough to worry about, and it wasn’t all that important but you had wanted to tell them.

You might have told them now. If you had woken up and felt Dean in more than just an intangible depression on the world around you, you may have told him the truth. You’re too tired to filter yourself, and you’re so warm, and everything is so easy, so you could’ve told Dean.

Not the careful half-truth you’ll spend the day crafting, but everything. About the Darkness and the White, and how he makes both of them better but also sets them off at a level nobody else seems capable of. How you’re not quite human and that demon had been far from the first. How you hate him, but you can’t hate him, and all he needs to say is sorry and you’ll crash into him until you’re both drowning in nothing at all.

But he’d left. And you don’t know if he’ll be coming back.

You could’ve sworn you heard a strong, certain voice tell you I don’t want to leave.

I like you, Princess. I’ll stick around.

But you’ve dreamt of him before. And—even if this feeling of Dean is the last piece of him you ever get—you’ll dream of him again.

Not tonight, sleep no longer lingering in your head, but again. For now, you’re hungry and sore and lonely—the stains of Dean beginning to fade—and you don’t really want to lie in bed being useless anymore.

When you open your eyes, the room is dim and a chair has been dragged right up to the edge of the your mattress.

That was the sturdy thing.

Dean had been sitting there.

And you can’t know that, but you’re certain. Even as the world comes into full focus and the strange marks of Dean around you start to dissipate, you’d bet more than your life that Dean really was here. That he’d sat on the chair for at least a little while, maybe speaking to you, maybe apologizing, maybe saying goodbye.

But he hasn’t been here in a while. And dwelling—overthinking and picking something apart until it’s raw and bare and you still don’t care for the truth—has never done you any favors before. It’s never made you forget or forgive Dean any faster. And you need to start moving.

So you don’t let it go. It’s Dean. You can’t let anything go with Dean. But you know how to compartmentalize, how to take he was here in a death grip and strangle it until it means nothing at all, and never allow your brain to drift to is he gone. Is Dean gone for real this time.

Did he leave you. Did Dean leave without saying goodbye, again. Did you let the Darkness slip out and didn’t even know, did you say something when everything had started to get hazy, something you don’t remember but he heard and now he gone.

Does he know what you are, does he hate you, he has no right to hate you, you’re the one who’s supposed to hate him-

You don’t hate him. You’ve forgotten how. If you need to, you’ll teach yourself again—beat it down and deep into your body until it sticks enough for you to feel it more than the pull—but until you know he’s gone, you still don’t hate Dean.

But knowing has never helped. And Dean is gone.

So you’ll get through this. You always get through this.

You just have to fucking move.

It takes a minute to get your bearings. To look around you, twist your palms to press on the mattress, and push yourself upright-

Fuck.

You have to choke down a scream. Your body shifts, just the slightly use of muscle and limb, and everything explodes with pain. Festering deep in your stomach and untenable, shooting from your gut into your blood like fire and eating at your head as it begins to pound and spin. The Silver rips itself apart as the pain escalates—stabbing behind your eyes as you squeeze them shut and scratching over your skin—and all you can do is curl into yourself and try to rip the darkness back down into your body.

Nails dig into your palm, teeth grit as breathing becomes labored, and you can feel everything. Too much. It all fucking hurts and it’s too much, and the sky is falling but you won’t catch it, not when the sky is made of crumbling and tired paint over your head, and cracked glass on the bathroom wall, and a massive, lonely weight over your chest-

The weight is new. You’ve been more than yourself in this room a million times, and there’s always an odd comfort of knowing what pain you’ll get. The White will bellow and riot around in search of peace and always find none, but the Darkness with settle and fall down faster. The cracked thing is the mirror you’d shattered when you were twelve. There’s a rotting feeling on the carpet from when you’d spilled coffee, and a long, dull ache on the wall from when you’d embedded a nail in it on accident, and the suffocation of the drawers is from all your clothing.

But the weight is new. It’s right about you, it feels almost forlorn, and it’s the last thing to still be stained with quickly fading Dean.

When you find enough willpower to bite your cheek until it bleeds and move your hand to grab it, it’s not a blanket. It’s a little rough and cool under your fingers, all the heat seemingly trapped in favor of your body rather than the fabric.

You drag your eyes open through sheer force of will, and it’s a jacket. Your jacket, that you’d left with Dean years ago.

You’d always assumed he’d thrown it out. That you’d never see it again, because it was ash in a junkyard or tatters in a dumpster. But it was back on your body, and that sensation of Dean seems almost embedded into it. Not fleeting like his presence on the room around you. Woven right into the fabric just as much as cotton and polyester.

It was never your favorite jacket.

It might be now.

You hope it can be. That this is Dean’s silent apology, instead of a goodbye. You really don’t want it to be goodbye, if only because you need to know why he’d kept it. It wouldn’t have fit him, and it was the exact style he often made fun of you for wearing—yeah, it’s nice, Princess, but it’s not good for hunting—so he’d had every reason to just dispose of it.

He has every reason to just dispose of you. And you know he’s aware of them, because he’d told you as much. But he hasn’t.

Not yet.

You can’t dwell. You can’t sit here as the Darkness bucks and twists over your organs, trying to make sense of Dean and why he does things. Understanding Dean Winchester is a game you’ll never win, because he’s a pretty, adorable, rouge-ish asshole who can’t just make anything easy. And there’s always something about him that fogs your usually measured and rational judgement. You’re not a picture of sanity—the blinds on your windows are rattling because they can feel how your ribs are trying to rip out of your chest—but you’re never dumb.

And Dean makes you dumb.

The asshole.

He leaves your jacket on your bed and now you want nothing more than to see him. He marks himself all over your room in a way that calls the Darkness and makes the White sing, all while your body shrieks with pain. He pulls a chair next to you while you sleep and you can hear his voice in your head saying I’m just gonna stay a while.

And he leaves. He walks away and you can’t find it in you to be truly angry because it’s Dean.

It’s not rational. It’s not logical, or careful, or reasonable. It fucking stupid. It’s against everything you carved yourself so carefully to be, because that’s how you survive. And then Dean shatters you, and lets you mend more colorfully than before, and shatters you again.

You’ll get yourself killed, if you keep ignoring your mind telling you just give it up. Stop following him around like a lost, feral dog, stop giving him grace he doesn’t offer you, stop entertaining the White when it calls for him. He doesn’t feel the pull, he can’t, he won’t, and you’re already in danger so you might as well give it up.

But it’s the pull that forgives him, every time. An instinct that melds the Darkness and White together and whimpers but it’s Dean.

And if it was Dean who had twisted that same knife into your gut—the one that’s still scarred over your stomach and burning just a layer under your skin—you don’t really know if you wouldn’t have forgiven him.

You’d like to say it would’ve been done there. That Dean would’ve stabbed you where people could see it and sent you toppling down alone, and you’d be done with him forever.

You’re not sure that’s the truth.

And it’s more terrifying than any demon or monster has been. Ever could be.

But you can’t dwell.

You move slowly. Rolling onto your side and lowering your legs to the floor so carefully, strangling the sheets for a grip and taking slow, careful breaths every time you risk another movement. It fucking hurts. You don’t know what that demon got you with, but it’s killing you. Twisting and rotting you for the inside, making your eyes unfocused and your head feel like a suffocating weight that drips venom into your lungs and gut. You aren’t going to be able to stand up. Your knees buckle when you’re fucking sitting. Standing sounds like trying to balance on a tightrope of ice.

Your palm presses to the wound, and you wince when the pain becomes electric through your body. You need to stop just sitting here, need to do something—anything—besides being alone, but you can taste bile in your throat and it all just fucking hurts.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re clenching the jacket like a flimsy tether, and it’s helping. Everything still hurts, but when you bow your head you can smell grass and spice and it makes the Darkness flow with a lighter ease. Everything is still too big, but you’re you.

And you can hover a hand over your stomach, bite your tongue until you taste metallic blood, and let the Darkness flow into the wound. You’d fixed Dean before, and he hadn’t gotten infected with whatever you are. And you’ve been you—sick and rampant—your whole life, so the worst thing that could happen here is you injure yourself.

And you don’t count.

When you feel the darkness spread into itself and push against the boils, it takes everything in you not to scream and to just push on. You can push on. The White is in an off-key harmony with the Darkness, and you might leave little indents of the jacket in your hand, but you can keep pushing.

Until eventually, you break out the other side.

It’s gone. All the additional pain from the wound has seemed to turn to thin air, and all that’s left is the usual. The pain that’s always there just a little because you’re you, and that’s the price you must pay.

You don’t know how you did that. You don’t know if you’ll be able to do it again, or if it’s something you’ll have to learn to control later, but in the split second before the Darkness and White fall back out of time in your body, nothing about you is wrong. You fixed something again. Mended instead of destroyed.

It hadn’t killed you, or hurt anyone at all.

And you feel okay.

When you walk downstairs with slow steps, you try to be quiet. You’ll maybe get some food, curl up in the library, start rehearsing what you’re going to tell-

Bobby snaps your name from the living room, and you wince.

Shit.

“You’re up sooner than I thought you’d be,” he says, and when you turn he’s sitting on the couch, watching you narrowed eyes. “How’r the stitches holdin’?”

“Um,” you glance down to your stomach and swallow. “I’m okay.”

When you look back up, Bobby’s followed your gaze, and his jaw is clenched.

“Before you say anything.” You tug at the hem of your shirt, trying to get ahead of as much as you can. “I really am okay. I great actually. Some might say I’m in perfect condition-“

Bobby grunts your name. “What’d you do.”

“Nothing! I’ve never done anything-“

“We both know that ain’t the truth, kiddo. You’re about as much an angel as I am, and you’re doin’ the nervous bounce-“

“I do not have a nervous bounce-“

“Yeah, ya do.” Bobby gives you a flat look. “You’re a good liar, but not that fuckin’ good. What’d you do.”

You sigh, and raise your shirt.

The stitches had gone with the pain. You don’t how where they’d went, or what the darkness had done with them, but they’re gone. It’s just perfectly mended skin—save for a bursting, star-like scar right below your ribs—and your close-lipped smile as you watch Bobby carefully.

“It doesn’t hurt.” You offer. “And I didn’t break anything-“

“You did that?” Bobby nods to your stomach. “With the… you’re freakin’ hoodoo shit?”

You nod, lowering your shirt, and Bobby lets out a long, slow breath, shaking his head.

“You know you were able to do that?”

“I-“ You glance down to your hands, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve kind of done it before. Once.”

Bobby raises his brows, and you’re going to have to say it. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to start that inevitable conversation, or hear the fallout you know it’ll have.

“I healed Dean.” You mumble, keeping your voice soft enough that—hopefully—it’ll make your words seem less important. “His hand was broken. I fixed it.”

“With the-“

“With the thing.”

Bobby grunts, and when you look up at him his face is stoic. Solemn. Deep in heavy thought and set with something you can’t read.

“Sit down, kiddo.”

You nod, shuffling to sit at Bobby’s side and picking at your nails until they’re a little numb. You didn’t get time to practice your explanation, or find a word for what Dean is to you, or figure out how you’re going to justify the past few years to Bobby when you can’t even justify them to yourself-

“They dropped you off here.” Bobby starts, and you nod, still staring at your hands. “Sam and Dean rolled up in that nice car John’s got and told me you got stabbed by a fuckin’ demon. Two idjits just kept sayin’ demon when I asked, and I don’t suppose you’d know what kinda demon-“

“Green eyes.” You say, folding one leg under your body. “I- I’ve seen the knives they use before, but I’ve never gotten hit with one. I’ve been careful, Bobby, I promise-“

“I know ya’ have.” He says. “You ain’t an idiot, and you know what you’re doin’ out there. Even if I wish you didn’t. What I need to know is what happened that got you stabbed.”

“It’s- It’s what it always is.”

“You haven’t told me what it always is.” You can feel Bobby’s glare in his words. You’d still rather not see it. “Ya just told me the demons were back, they weren’t goin’, and you needed to keep huntin’ alone. But,” Bobby’s words slow, his voice lowering slightly. “You weren’t huntin’ alone, were you. I hear you been huntin’ with Dean.”

“I didn’t- Who-“

“Sam spilled the beans.” He grunts. “Said you and Dean been best fuckin’ buddies for years.”

“Years is a bit dramatic-“

Bobby grunts your name, and you sigh. Again, there’s no way out of this but through.

“In 2003, Dean called you for advice about a hunt. Said there were a bunch of people going insane in North Texas. And then I got home a few weeks later and told you I’d dealt with a first century saint.”

There’s a long silence as Bobby ties the pieces together, and then, “Son of a bitch.”

“I, um- I realized what it was, and Dean took it out.”

“So for three years-“

“Yeah.” You sigh, and there’s a little blood coating your nails. “About once a month.”

“What had you planned on doing if John showed up?” Bobby’s question isn’t angry, but it’s strained, and you can picture his scowl. “If Ol’ Daddy Winchester tracked Dean down and realized what he’s been up to on his time off-“

“I was careful.” As careful as you could be, when it came to Dean. “And it’s- we’ve only hunted together twice since October-“

“Cause John went and fucked off! What if he’d come back, lookin’ for his boys and found you with them!”

“He wouldn’t have.”

“You can’t know that-“

“I can.” You snap, your head shooting up to hold Bobby’s gaze. He’s angry. You can see it all over his face. It’s better than nothing at all. “I didn’t sleep in the same motel room, I kept my own car, and Dean would always leave when John called. He wasn’t going to find me.”

Bobby groaned, shaking his head. “You don’t even like huntin’ with a partner, and we agreed that, ‘less it was me or Rufus, it ain’t safe to put yourself in that situation-“

“It was with-“ You cut yourself. You don’t want it to be safe with Dean. Only Dean. Only Dean had ever made everything feel right, only Dean knew when to listen to you and how to take over when you couldn’t do anything. “It was like this.”

“And all those moments where you ain’t in control?” Bobby challenged, raising his brows. “When glass starts shatterin’ and you make a river disappear?”

You swallow. “He never noticed.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Course he didn’t. Smitten fuckin’ dumbass.”

You frown at Bobby’s word, ready to ask what that means, but he pushes on.

“What about Sam, huh? He’s been noticin’. Asked me about your episodes, kid. If you been gettin’ panic attacks.”

“It’s- they were talking?” It would be nice if your voice didn’t sound so obviously nervous. “About me?”

“The hell else were they supposed to talk about? They come rollin’ in with you half-dead, laced up with Sam’s shit fuckin’ stitches and Dean clingin’ to you like a puppy dog, we supposed to talk about the weather?”

You use more effort than you’ll ever move on to not let your eyes widen, let your voice squeak Dean was doing what?

It doesn’t matter. He left.

“I-“

“And,” Bobby adds, leaning forwards. “You still ain’t explaining to me what happened. That wasn’t a normal fuckin’ stab wound, kiddo. I had to break out that fancy holy water you’d been cookin’ in the basement.”

That makes you sit up a little straighter. “Oh, did it work?”

You haven’t had a chance to test that stuff. Another random, strange dream in the middle of the night, another idea for something scribbled in a notebook by your bed, almost a week spent tracking down everything you needed until it was perfect. The wings of a heart-broken butterfly weren’t easy to find, but you’d managed, and sugar from a cane by the Nile sounded insane, so you’d settled for sugar bought in Grocery store in South Dakota and hoped you could offset the difference with wine made from Egypt, curtesy of a creepy old man in Chicago.

If it didn’t work, you’d have to figure out why. Maybe the priest you’d gotten to bless it hadn’t been lustful of the heart. You could find a more lustful priest. You could be a more lustful priest, because you’ve had very detailed dreams about pretty green eyes, scarred and tanned skin, and a cocky grin between your thighs-

Bobby snaps your name, and you blink at him.

“Stop thinking while we’re trying to have a conversation.” He snaps, and you flush. “And the water worked alright. Got you up and stopped that weird infection the knife left. I been lookin’ at the thing, no poison or curses on it-“

“It’s iron.” You mutter, and Bobby frowns at you.

“And why would that be-“

“Iron, it’s- It’s bad. It hurts.”

“Hurts.” Bobby repeats, words slow. “Who, you?”

You nod, and Bobby shakes his head.

“Kid, I seen you touch iron-“

“Pots and pans don’t count.” You mutter. “Not pure iron.”

“Pure-“ Bobby cuts himself off, narrowing his eyes. “How long you known that iron can do that,” he nods to your stomach. “To you.”

You raise your palm, scar up, in a silent answer, and Bobby understands.

“Shit.” Bobby sighs, scanning over your face. “Any reason you been keepin’ that from me?”

“Didn’t want to worry you,” you mumble, and Bobby scoffs.

“You ain’t half as smart as you seem if you think I’m not already worryin’ about you.” He snaps. “I see what you do to yourself, kid. Saw it when you came back, you’ve been-“

“I have to.” Your voice is almost a plea. You don’t want to talk about this, because you don’t have a choice. This is what you have to do to keep the Darkness down. “I- Nothing else works.”

“I know, but we don’t exactly live a pina colada and sunshine life,” Bobby grunts your name, and you think his gaze is going to sear into your skin. “You still haven’t told me what the hell happened, and just lookin’ at Dean’s little bitch sad face told me it wasn’t good.”

“I-“ You sigh, fully tucking your knees to your chest. “I don’t want to talk about Dean right now. Please.”

Bobby’s brows raise. “Anything I need to shoot him for?”

“No!” Your answer is too fast. Bobby hears it. “I- We just had a fight. Before the attack.”

“You two fight a lot?”

You shake your head, twisting the skin on your finger, and Bobby sighs.

“Fine then. What kinda fight we talkin’, then? I, uh, I ain’t sure how close you two got, and if it was a sorta spat-“

“Bobby?” You grimace, running your hands over your calves. “Please shut up.”

“Alright, just, if you’re doin’ that, be sure to use protection-“

“Bobby!” You gape at him, shaking your head. “He’s- we’re not-“

“I’m not judging you, kid, I mean, you’re young and I known that boy his whole life, he-“

“I- That’s not- You are judging! You were judging like, five minutes ago!”

“‘Bout the hunting. I’m no prissy uptight church gal, I know what people your age get up to, and if you’re, ya know, gettin’ up-“

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bobby,”You shake your head, scrunching your nose in disgust. “Please, shut up before I pour bleach in my ears. I’m not- That’s- Dean’s my partner. No room sharing, remember?”

“Don’t have to be in a room-“

“Bobby-“

“Alright,” Bobby relents, raising his hands, and you’re pretty sure the heat in your face could be felt across the room.

“Thank you.” You mumble, and Bobby just nods.

“See.” He gives you a close-lipped smile. “I worry about you.”

“Yeah, in all the wrong ways.” You return the smile, and take a long breath. “And it’s really not like that. I mean, I don’t- It’s complicated.”

There’s a pause, and Bobby frowns.

“You gonna say how it’s-“

“I- You know how it,” You gesture around yourself, then the air, and Bobby understands. “Has been getting worse?”

Bobby grunts in acknowledgement, and you take a long, deep breath.

“He makes it better.” You whisper, and Bobby’s jaw twitches.

“Dean?”

You nod, and Bobby huffs, shaking his head.

“What are we talking, better.”

“It’s- the pain. It’s not as bad when we don’t-“ You sigh. “When things are good.”

“And when they ain’t?”

“I think made a tree fall,” you mumble. “After the- that last fight.”

Bobby hums in a low agreement, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me what that one was about?”

You shake your head, and he sighs.

“Well, when they get back, don’t expect Sam to have that same grace. Kid was biting my ear off about gettin’ Dean to say somethin’ about it.”

You frown. “They’re coming back?”

Bobby shrugs. “Seems it. John called them to work another case on that asshole that got Mary, but from what I hear he doesn’t stick around long after. They’ll be heading back here after.”

Here. Dean didn’t leave forever. He’d come back here. Where you’d be.

Maybe.

If he didn’t see you be you.

“I-“ Your head shoots up, the thought only striking now. “Bobby, what did you tell them about me, and just my- the-“

“Nothing.” Bobby grunts, and something loosens around your throat. “But they’re gonna have questions. People don’t walk around getting attacked by demons every day-“

“Not every day.” You mumble. “And as far as they know it was just that one demon-“

“But it’s not.” Bobby snaps, his eyes darkening slight. “You’ve got demons rooting up your ass like the damn TSA, and knowin’ you it’s probably worse than you’ve been telling.”

“It’s’- not by much-“

Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “Any demons are too much. Hell, you got fuckin’ green demons that I ain’t ever even heard a whisper about-“

“I’m sorry-“

“No, you’re not. And I’m sayin’ nobody’s heard of a green-eyed demon.” Bobby rubs his jaw with a hand, shaking his head. “I worry about ya’, kid, cause I can’t find a damn soul who’s gonna be able to help that won’t also put a bullet in your temple.”

“They know.” Your fingers dig into your skin, and your eyes drop to the floor. “That last one, it said it knew what I was. And it’s- it’s really been getting worse, Bobby.” Your breath is shakier than you’d like it. “It’s just more. All of it is more, and I don’t understand it, and it still really hurts. Everything- it hurts.”

Bobby’s expression softens, and he must be able to see it on your face—how even when there’s no wound to heal or screams to choke on—it always just fucking hurts. When there’s noise it’s always too loud, and when there’s air it’s too heavy and sticky in your lungs, and every movement chokes you on this phantom, rootless pain that’s born only from you. There could be nothing in the world but you, and it would all be pain because that’s what you’re made of. Erosive and infectious pain.

It’s only better when you’re not alone in the world. When there’s a grinning, smug asshole next to you that somehow knows how to make all this just a little better, that never even has to do anything to be some kind of fucked up cure. One you’d never asked to take, one you’re addicted to, and one that doesn’t even know how the White has dictated that you simply need him—just Dean, as close as possible—to not be in this much fucking pain.

Bobby must somehow read that over your face, because he clears his throat.

“You said Deans been helpin’-“

“He has. But I- I don’t know why. He just does. But when it’s bad with him- It’s-“ You swallow, curling into yourself. “It’s like something sets off. I- I can’t control it, Bobby, I can’t ever control it, but with Dean it’s so much worse and I don’t know what I am-“

“Hey.” Bobby rises out of his seat, grabbing the blanket from the side table and draping it over your body before dropping at your side. “Breathe, kiddo. In and out.”

You do. And it gets better. Not good, but better. Bobby sitting next to you with his arms on his knees, steadily and firmly here. He hasn’t given up on you.

He’s still here.

“I-“ You choke on nothing, and force a small smile onto your lips. “I know how breathing works, Bobby.”

He chuckles. “Coulda fooled me. Amazed you managed that long without me telling you.”

You smile—and it’s small, but real—and silence settles over the room in a long, heavy moment.

There’s more you haven’t told him. Small details you’ll need to save for later, when this isn’t raw and you can think out everything you’ve been hiding. Exactly what you’ve been up to with Dean. Just how bad it’s all gotten. What the plan is now, when stupid, adorably oblivious Sam and Dean are going to tell John that you were raised by Bobby.

But you’ll work that out later.

And you think Bobby already understands most of it.

So all you can do is rub the scar on your hand and take a long breath, your words soft and measured.

“I don’t know what I am,” you whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

Bobby sighs, patting you on the back. It’s half rub, half burping a baby, and it’s always awkward, but it’s always the same, and it always works.

Your body relaxes slightly, and you can hear Bobby’s words without any ringing in your ears.

“I know you ain’t gonna like it,” he mutters. “But listen to me, kiddo. You need to slow down ’till we figure this out. You’re a danger to yourself.“

You shake your head. “I haven’t hurt anyone-“

“Yourself.” Bobby repeats, shooting you a stern look. “It’s you that needs to not get hurt. And we’ll figure this out, but you gotta slow down. Stop running around and stretching yourself till you damn snap. Least until we’ve got the demons down.”

“I-“ You let out a long breath, and there doesn’t seem to be any skin left on your nails to pick at. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be thinkin’ about it on bedrest.” Bobby mutters, shutting down your sound of protest with a firm glare. “I don’t care what magic shit you pulled on yourself with that,” he nods to your stomach. “You still got fuckin’ stabbed.”

“But-“

“And,” he narrows his eyes. “You been runnin’ around with the one person I told ya’ not to. Consider it being’ grounded. No hunting for two weeks.”

You gape at him. “You can’t ground me, I’m not five-“

“You can still be dumb, and need a lockdown. No jackin’ one of my cars and running off, no getting newspapers and looking for something that’s gonna get you stabbed again-“

You scowl. “I wasn’t trying to get stabbed-“

“But you did,” Bobby snaps. “And now we’re sleeping it off.”

“It’s supposed to be walking it off.” You mutter, glaring at the floor. “You’re supposed to tell me I need to go on another hunt.”

“Well, that ain’t what’s happening here. No hunting. You can use the time to try and figure out what the hell is going on with all these fuckin’ demons popping out of the woodworks.”

Bobby grabs a random book off the side table, places it in your lap, and you frown at him.

“This is a cookbook, Bobby.” You raise your brows. “Should I try baking the demons into a pie?”

His mouth twitches, and you’re pretty sure he’s just trying to act like he’s still mad at you. “If that’s what works to sort this out, yeah. Get to work.”

“Can-“ You look down to the obviously useless cookbook in your hands, then back to Bobby. “Can we have dinner, please? Before I get stuck on book duty?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ya’ ain’t stuck on book duty-“

“You just told me to use my time to study the demons-“

“That don’t have to be books. Could be some of your fuckin’ dream shit. A ritual that pops into your head, tellin’ us exactly what these sons of bitches want.”

You shake your head. “That’s not how they work-“

“How am I supposed to know that.” Bobby mutters, pushing himself to his feet. “I dream about loosin’ my teeth and gettin’ chased by a vamp in a dress.”

You grin, shrugging as you uncoil your body to follow him. “Why is it in a dress?”

“Fuck me if I got a clue. What are ya’-“

“Pasta?”

He grunts. “I got stiff ass spaghetti.”

You nod, trailing after Bobby into the kitchen, forcing down every spiraling thought into focus on what you can see. What you feel can’t be everything right now, and later—when you go to bed, and it’s just you and the Darkness once more—you’ll have plenty of time to take your every thought and strangle them until you’re a little more sick and alone. But now you just need to sit in the kitchen and eat shitty spaghetti with Bobby.

And he isn’t angry with you. He’s not happy, but he’s not wrathful. He didn’t really yell, and he didn’t tell you that you were a disappointment or problem—he did call you dumb a few times, but you deserved it—so you’ll be alright. You can see Bobby. You can see that he’s not mad, and you can see that he’s here, and that’s more than you can say for other people.

Because the day does pass, and the Darkness is still weighted and painful in your body, but it’s not trying to be more than that. Nothing is easier, melted into Silver or in soft and simple harmony, but nothing is worse. The Darkness is rooted in the White, and the White is loud and lonely, and that’s everything.

It’s horrible.

And it’s tolerable.

Nothing breaks, you don’t explode, and when you shuffle off to bed that night with a mumbled promise to Bobby that he won’t wake up and find both you and one of his worse cars gone, that’s when it all gets bad.

Because now there’s nothing to hold you down or distract you. Through the day you could see things. Read a pointless, fun fantasy book and not think about the pain. Talk to Bobby about the latest random lady at a grocery store he won’t be asking out, and not think about Dean. Keep moving—even when you were curled in a chair—and not worry about what’s next, because you were home.

But now you’re alone, and all you can do is feel.

The pain isn’t worse. It really just is as it’s always been. And it’s probably not good that it’s always been like this—stabbing and pounding and biting at your organs and something deep in your body all the fucking time—but it’s better than before. It’s better than its worst. You can get through it. It’s only pain. It’s only twined with the Darkness, and it’s only as sick as you always are.

Because the Darkness is still growing. Not at the rapid pace that happens when everything is too much, but in the slow, steady, weed-like way that’s been happening over the years. You’ve really started to feel it. Feel how it seeps further and further into the White, and with every passing moment you grow sicker, and the Darkness becomes more feral. Every moment it’s leashed and muzzled in your body it seems to become furious, and it’s not sustainable. It’s choking the White. It’s choking you.

And you still really don’t know what you are. You know that this isn’t fixable, but you don’t even really care to try it right now.

You’d just really like to know what you are. What you’ve done or what you’ve become that makes these demons track and hunt you like you’re nothing more than a prized deer.

If there are others like you. If they’d know how to control this, to keep the Darkness down so nobody ever gets hurt but you. If there’s some new type of pain you haven’t tried that will keep you in check.

If they can also feel the White. If it’s glowing in them as well, or if that’s just another way that you’re something no one understands.

But if they do feel the White, they must feel the pull. Their White must have staked a claim on something without reason or right, they must have someone that the White whines and bucks until they touch, this can’t just be you, alone and wrong in the whole world.

You have too much time to pass. And you don’t want to be benched, but you’re tired of not knowing. Of being reckless and dumb and dangerous.

So—just until Bobby stop glowering at you every time you move to the door—you’ll use this time as you always have at home.

Reading.

You’ve been through every book in Bobby’s house at least twice. You’ve scoured every page for just a clue to what you are, why you’re like this, and always found nothing at all. But Bobby always finds you new books, and you always go in with the same blind determination for something. Even if it’s worse than what you imagined, you’d really just like something. Anything to point to and say that’s me.

Any solid reason that will drive you away from Dean forever—just for his safety, if you learn you truly are just a monster—or offer you a chance to tell him. To say what you are—because you’ll know—and not have him leave you because there would be nothing to leave.

So you read. And read and read, and take notes and come up with nothing, and keep reading. At some point—after a few days and a phone call from Sam—Bobby officially demotes you to book duty, and when you’re not reading about strange myths and rare monsters, you’re helping Dean.

He doesn’t know you’re helping him, but you are. They’d asked Bobby for what he knows about demons, if he has any ideas about what got their mom, and Bobby asked you to help find answers. Sam had said they wouldn’t be back for another week or so, and Dean hasn’t called you, but that doesn’t stop you from really wanting to help. To be more than a wasteful, spoiled girl to him, to prove him wrong and give him one single reason to not hate you.

You really need to get a handle on this. Not now—when you’re stuck on half house-arrest and Dean needs your help—but after. You need to beat it into yourself that you cannot hinge your every action on making Dean Winchester not hate you. On convincing him to stay, when he’s made it clear he doesn’t really have an interest in staying for you.

It’s another thing you’ve decided to put off. It’s another thing you’ll work out later, when you have the time. Right now your whole life is sitting in your bedroom and trying to work out what you are, or sitting in the library and trying to help the Winchesters.

Specifically helping Sam and Dean. John can eat glass, and he’s lucky you don’t know how to not care about Dean, or you’d let that demon do whatever the hell it wants to the old fuck.

“You ever seen a red demon?” Bobby asks from across the table, and you frown up at him.

“I- maybe?” You glance back to your own book—covered in coffee stains to the point of being almost impossible to read—and chew on your tongue as you think. “This one doesn’t have anything about red demons, though-“

“That one’s all theoretical shit,” Bobby grunts, sliding his own book across the table. “I heard of red-eyes before, but ain’t ever seen one.”

“So why-“

“Winchester’s demon don’t sound like average black eyes. I’m lookin’ for alternatives.”

“Could it be the green-eyed demons?” You suggest, making another note about possession in the margins, next to a line that reads any living thing, bound to earth by a human soul, can be victim to demonic possession if unguarded. “The one from last week seemed to know Dean.”

“Don’t seem like it.” Bobby grunts. “Nothin’ to rule out, but this demon sounds like it’s got a vendetta.”

“My demons seem to have a vendetta.”

“You got demons.” Bobby gives you a pointed look. “Bunch of ‘em, all scouring for you. From what the boys have said, this seems like one sorry asshole.”

You shrug, grinning at your paper. “Maybe I’m just more important than the Winchesters. And they need more demon-power to track me.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “That ain’t funny, kiddo.”

“I think it’s hilarious.”

“Course you do. Find anything on fire?”

You shake your head. “I mean, demons very famously like fire. I think that lead might be a dead end, at least until I can get a sulfur sample-“

“The hell you mean a sulfur sample?”

“I, uh-“ You swallow, giving him a sheepish look. “I had another idea.”

Bobby sighs, his voice dry. “You don’t say.”

“It’s a good one! I think I could track it, or summon it with the right ritual, I would just need some of the demon’s sulfur-“

“What’re you meanin’, the demon’s sulfur-“

“I mean I think their sulfur is like their fingerprint. And I could, uh…” You trail off for a second, and you hate when this happens. When all these theories and ritual that appear in your brain against your will make you sound downright insane. “Track it?”

Bobby pauses, scanning over your face with a frown. “You think it’d work on any demon?”

“I guess.” You shrug, tilting your head at him. “You believe me?”

“I’m past worryin’ about belief,” Bobby mutters your name, looking back to his book. “Next time I get a call from Sam, I’ll ask him to start lookin’ for sulfur.”

You nod, and look back to your book. There’s no guarantee your theory will work, but they almost always do. Like your brain is just wired to know this shit.

That’s another lead you have on yourself. Another route to chase that will likely come up at a dead end.

But you have time to chase it. Because when Sam does call again—you haven’t heard Dean voice in almost two weeks, and it would be amazing if the White would stop being a whiny little bitch about that—it’s to say that they’re in Iowa, looking for a gun, and that they need to know more about how to exorcise a demon.

Bobby tells them. He explains everything about demon traps, and vessels, and most of what you’ve found. He doesn’t mention the green-eyed demons. You’re thankful for that, because you don’t want the questions right now.

Sam says they’ll be gone a little while longer. That there’s another demon—Meg is a really fucking dumb name for a demon—who’s working the one John’s been hunting, and they just wanted to know how to deal with her when the situation arises.

You won’t be getting that sulfur sample.

And you’ll keep spending long nights alone in your room, trying to just find something on what you are, and coming up empty handed.

Night after night passes, and you have nothing. You sort through boxes in the basement, trying to find a book you haven’t read or that doesn’t have your notes already scribbled over the worn pages, but it’s useless. You’re not a demon, or an Alpha monster—whatever that is sounds worrying, but it will have to wait—or a Nephilim, or an angel.

You’re not even sure angels are real.

And you’re running out of ideas.

When Bobby unceremoniously drops a book on your lap, you blink at him. It’s leather-bound, with yellowed pages, and you’ve never seen it before.

Bobby doesn’t have any books you’ve never seen before. You’ve even seen the romance books he keeps in his room.

“What-“

“Went after a few witches last month with Rufus.” He grunts. “Nasty bitches, been usin’ animal bones to try and reanimate their kids. Found this in their attic.”

You wrinkle your nose. “You got me a dead witch book?”

“I got ya a dead witch book we ain’t ever seen before, smartass-“

“I’m joking.” You give Bobby a grateful smile, moving the book into a small pile to your left. “Thank you.”

Bobby grumbles something that’s probably a little rude but likely justified, and shuffles back to the kitchen.

It takes you another few nights to get to the dead witch book. You had other books to comb through, other notes that became dead ends, and barely enough sleep to properly function. But regardless—after a long night of failed attempts at sleep—you end up with the book in your lap under the covers, a flashlight one hand and a pencil in the other as you scan over the pages.

You don’t know how you developed that habit. You’re a grown woman who’s well within Her right to be reading at three in the morning, and it’s not exactly smart hunter instinct to hide under bedsheets, but you’ve never been that bothered by it. It feels safe, and warm, and helps you focus. You do it at home, and in motel rooms.

And it helps you pretend that nothing could ever be that worrying. You’re under the covers, reading about witches like it’s never been that important, underlining the pages like you’re studying for a test rather than trying to figure out if you’re human or not.

The book is long. And old. And complicated. Every sentence seems to double back and turn over on itself, and every spell and ritual is needlessly convoluted to the point that you don’t think half of them will work. There’s a whole chapter about familiars that you don’t make it through, a series of pages about forbidden magic that you only can skim, and a section devoted to ass-kissing a group called the grand coven.

It’s not useless. If your eyes weren’t itching with sleep and your head wasn’t heavy with how everything is a little fucked right now, you’d probably find it interesting. But now you flip between pages, mindlessly looking for anything at all that could point you where to go. There seems to be a witch government, and you don’t really care about their social civics. They have history that will be the same in a few months when you have the brain power to study it, and different magic classification, and different study classifications, and different witch classifications-

That makes you pause, doubling back over the index to find the exact words—witch classification, pg. 683—and flipping to the sections with your pencil between your teeth.

It’s mostly useless nonsense. Most witches learn magic via study, and others borrow it from demons. You only seem to learn magic against your will—and it doesn’t feel like just magic—and you certainly didn’t make any demon deals that would result in you being… you.

You seem to fall closest to the last kind. People born into magic, who have an affinity for it.

And that’s when you lean forward, chewing on the pencil as you read. As something starts to stir in the White, and every word feels important.

Natural witches have a predisposition to the practice of magical arts. They have an innate ability to harness the universe within the confines of their practice, and require less exertion to perform any spell, ritual, or curse.

You don’t require any exertion. Most of the time you’re suffocating yourself trying to not perform.

But it’s closer than anything you’ve found before. So you keep reading.

A weaker natural may have an affinity to certain form of magic. It is unknown why this may be-

Not helpful.

Curses are known to be disproportionally cast by naturals-

Useful to remember, but not what you need.

Many natural witches come from a bloodline in which the trait has appeared before. A longer, stronger bloodline will often be connected to a stronger natural. Most powerful witches date back to pre-first century, however there is only one bloodline that has survived since the beginning of witchcraft, often theorized have proceeded or created the very practice itself. However many scholars debate its existence, calling it a witch-tale to create reason for the beginning of the art. As such it is lost to history, whether there was ever even the existence of the-

You can read that word.

Sort of.

Not really.

It looks different than every other word on the page, but you can still understand what it says. Like a shifting mirage you know shouldn’t make sense, but does. And it seems to be one word, but your mind insists it’s four.

Women of the high.

You re-read the sentence. Once, twice, a third time. It still looks like one word. It still says women of the high.

Lost to history, whether there was ever even the existence of the women of the high.

You didn’t know there were witch scholars. You didn’t know witches had tales. And you scan over the whole book, but all you find is one last paragraph in the history section.

There is little known about these very first witches, often called-

There it is again. Women of the high.

They are said to be far more powerful than any other witch, their harmony with the universe extending beyond that of even the most powerful natural. However, there is little to no historical evidence of their true existence, and it is a more commonly held belief among scholars that witchcraft is and always has been an evolving discipline.

The page goes on.

You stop reading, caught like a scratching vinyl on that phrase. Women of the high.

Harmony with the universe.

That could be one thing to call it. A heavy, involuntary harmony with everything around you, whether you like it or not. But these women, whatever they are, don’t seem to be real.

It could explain why you’ve never had a lead.

It may be the reason for the scar on your hand.

It would make you human. It would make this truly just a thing of your blood, or affinity, or whatever, and you’d just be a strange human the universe likes more.

Really nothing more than a witch. It would be really nice if you were nothing more than a witch. Not a monster. Not sick.

But the Darkness has started to spread, the longer you think about it. Focusing on it makes everything worse, and you can feel how the flashlight is burning, and the sheets feel swollen with you presence, and the pencil in your mouth-

There’s a snap, and a heavy taste of graphite as you chew right through the pencil.

There’s nothing left to do here but make yourself more than you are, and spin around this thing that doesn’t have an answer. You could be this.

You could still be nothing.

And you still really do feel sick. So fucking sick. With every passing it feels like air is being ripped through your lungs, and every breath is too thin. Your body feels rotten. Your heart feels like it’s been seized and thrashed and shredded and sown with something thin and bright.

You can feel those pieces again. Those fractured things Dean left deep in your body that haven’t be splashed with anything but agony since that fight. They hit somewhere deeper. Not quite critical, but closer to it. And they’ve been like dull knives along your spine that you’d retaught yourself to tune out, simply because there was too much other pain to spare them a thought.

But they’re powerful. They’re covered in grime and still trying to grow over your body—reconnect and mend and crystallize—and they fucking hurt. All of this fucking hurts, if you’re whatever that women of the high shit is, if you’re supposed to be in harmony with the universe, why does this always fucking hurt. Why do theses strange pieces Dean scattered through your body unravel your heart more than any stain of the Darkness, why do they blister over your gut worse than the demon’s knife, why are they sunken and smoothed and washed out like they’d been drowned when you’ve become so practiced at ignoring them, and why does it fucking hurt-

Your phone rings, and it almost makes you jump out of your skin.

It’s four in the morning. Bobby’s a floor up and a room over, if he wanted to talk to you, he’d come downstairs. If Rufus wanted to speak to you, he’d yell at Bobby to make you visit him. If Dean wanted to talk to you-

That’s what makes you scramble for the phone. This is exactly what Dean would do if he wanted to talk to you. Call with no warning in the dead of night with nothing to say, just because he didn’t think past calling and you always pick up the phone.

But it’s not Dean that’s calling.

It’s Sam.

You pick up, because Sam never calls you when you’re not on a hunt. Even on those two hunts, he’d wait until Dean called you before yelling in the background.

But the little, robotic letters on your phone say Sam Winchester.

And you pick up.

“Hello?”

You could swear you hear a breath of relief. “Shit, good, you’re up. Sorry, I didn’t think you would be, but I figured better to try and call in the morning if you didn’t. But you- You picked up. So now I guess I, uh, I have to say it.”

“Say-“ You frown into the air, sitting a little straighter in bed. “Are- Sam, is everything okay?”

“Uh…” Sam swallows through the speaker. “No. It’s bad.”

“Sam-“

“It’s Dean. He’s really hurt.”

You don’t think you heard him right. You couldn’t have heard him right. The Darkness is suddenly and meaninglessly rocketing out of your body, and it’s making the blood pound in your ears, so there’s no reason for you to hear him right. Bobby’s house has shit reception, and your phone is basically a fancy brick, and you’re unbelievably tired, so you didn’t hear Sam right.

Sam says your name, and he sounds cautious. Like he’s worried you’ll explode from just his words. “Are you-“

“Yeah, I’m uh, I’m here.” Your voice is unsteady, and you’re not sure why. You misheard Sam, so nothing’s wrong. “I didn’t- I’m not sure I heard you right, so-“

“What did you hear?”

“I- I’m not sure.” You swallow. The room is suddenly far too dark, and the pain is back. You’re not sure how it hasn’t reduced you to nothing but a stature, frozen and cold from nothing at all. “Can you repeat it?”

You don’t want him to repeat it. You want Sam to say he called you because Dean broke his phone, or because he lost a bet, or because they’re hunting something strange and there’s no one help them but you.

But Sam says something, and this time you really don’t hear it. It’s just a numb sound your brain seems to tune out, and the White feels like it’s being burned and frozen all at once.

“Sam-“

“I- Dad doesn’t know I’m calling you,” Sam continues, and you don’t think he knows you didn’t hear him again. “But Dean would want you here, I think.” He pauses, his voice a little lower. “I’d like you here. I- I think you should be here. For him. Just in case.”

You can’t really breathe. You’re not sure what’s happening. “In case of what?”

“In- Just if-“ Sam pauses, and the static through the phone is like a toxin over your skull. “I- I don’t want to say it. You know, it’s-“ He lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “One of those things, right?”

“I-“ Your nails are drawing blood on your skin. You don’t really feel it. “Sam, I don’t-“

“If you don’t want to, I get it. I know you guys were fighting or something, but I- I really-“ You can hear Sam’s long, deep breath. “Please come. For me. I- I don’t really want Dad to be the only other person here. Please.”

“What- what was-“

“Demon.”

You didn’t mishear Sam.

You can’t really breathe.

“How bad?” You whisper, and anything would be better than this long silence before Sam answers.

“Bad.”

“Where-“

“Jefferson City.”

“That’s-“ You think you’re choking on nothing. Everything hurts. “Sam, that’s like eight hours-“

“He’ll hold.” Sam mumbles. “Please.”

You swallow, and glance around your room. You can pack fast.

You can drive faster.

“I’ll be there in seven.”

It’s faster to hang up without saying goodbye. You don’t really want to say the word goodbye at all right now.

Because it’s easier to move without thinking about why you’re moving. You’re getting out bed because that’s what you have to do. You’re grabbing your bag like you’re going for a hunt, because there’s really no difference. You don’t know how long you’ll be gone. You don’t know when you’ll come home again.

So you need a bag.

Your usual one is still filled with clothing from the kelpie hunt. Half dirtied and crumpled shirts and pants, as whichever Winchester packed your bag hadn’t really bothered with being neat.

You understand that.

You’re not really bothering with it either.

All you need is clothing—you don’t really bother with style, because that doesn’t really fucking matter right now—some toiletries that you don’t trust motels with, a notebook just in case, and your knife.

The knife Dean gave you. Perfectly weighted in your hand, proof that he at least thinks of you, and no better than any other weapon but soothing. Like a baby blanket that can stab someone and always grounds you in something a little stronger than gravity that reminds you of Dean. Silver, sharpened blade glinting in the low light of dawn, already starting to break through the sky.

You need to go.

You’ll allow yourself one last combing of your dresser for cleaner socks and bras, but if you can’t find any then you’ll just have to trust that wherever Sam and Dean are will have laundry. And that bra’s covered in blood, and those sock stains don’t really look like something you’d want to touch—again—and there’s something shiny at the bottom of the drawer-

That’s not a sock, or a bra.

It’s a ring. Dean’s ring. The one that your brain has never given note, because it’s always seemed like just as much a part of him as his hair or nose or amulet.

And it’s lying at the bottom of your sock and bra drawer.

He wouldn’t have just left it here. You’ve never even seen him take it off, let alone set it down. But there’s no reason to set it down in a dresser. No reason for him to leave it with you-

He’d left you your jacket. He’d kept your jacket, then left it for you to find. The same jacket you’d shrugged on only a second ago, and had understood to be a silent promise that he’d been here. That he wasn’t here now, but he hadn’t just turned to air and vanished into the margins of your life once more. That he was keeping himself written all over you insides in the way he always did, still never grasping how the marks he left over your spine and heart were more like tattoos than stains.

The ring felt like a promise as well. Dean would never just leave it. If it was goodbye, he would’ve just left the jacket.

But he left the ring.

He’d meant to come back.

You don’t have time indulged the sting behind your eyes or the lump in your throat. You shove the ring in your pocket, grab your bag, and go. You’ll call Bobby later, and explain why you’d left in the dead of night and stolen one of his better cars—you can’t afford to worry about breaking down on the side of the road right now—when you’re not choking on your own lungs. When the Darkness doesn’t feel wired, and those fractured pieces in your body aren’t shaking and sparking and neon.

The drive is eight hours. You’d told Sam you’d be there in seven.

You’re pulling into the hospital lot in six.

There’s a long moment where you just sit at the wheel, your hand threatening to strangle the metal and your eyes squeezed shut. You need to move. To climb out of the car and find Sam, because he’d asked for you to be here and you’re just sitting the parking lot.

But the Darkness doesn’t feel containable. It’s stretched over everything, you’re stretched over everything, and you feel like you’re about to split in two. The engine of the car is exhausted from the strain you put it through. The seat is tired of your taut weight. The pavement of the lot is distressed from wear, and the telephone wires over your head are strained and tensed.

You drag yourself back together with a firm bite of your hand, and it leaves a mark. You’ll have to keep your hand in your pocket.

Sam has enough to worry about.

You realize two things when you walk into hospital lobby. First, Sam isn’t expecting you for another forty minutes, so he’s not going to be waiting. You’d probably have to call him.

Second, you won’t need to call him. Because hunched over the front desk, hissing low words in the face of a poor receptionist with pinned-up hair, is John Winchester.

In the blurring numb of everything, you’d forgotten he’d be here. Sam had even mentioned it, but you hadn’t really registered it until this moment, when you’re staring at the man himself.

You should run. He’s going to kill you. You can make out the shape of a gun tucked in his pants, and he’s going to press it to your temple and fire. You’ll bleed out through your brow, and that will be the end.

But you don’t move. A force like gravity is trying to move you forward, and all your willpower is put into being rooted in place. Stiller than a statue to that—maybe when John turns and spots you—he’ll think you’re nothing more than an odd decoration. You’re so fucked.

The receptionist sees you first, and her eyes widen in relief, like you’re a savior from whatever John’s been hissing at her. Before you can shake your head or look away—pretending you’re just wandering or pacing, nothing to mind or speak to—she’d opening her mouth.

And you don’t run.

“Do you need any help, ma’am?”

You cringe a little—being called ma’am is weird—and shake your head. “No, I’m- It’s nothing, thank you.”

You’d made your voice soft, and an octave higher than usual. Like some docile creature John would never need to bother glancing at

But he still recognizes you. You can see his back tense and his hands curl into fists on the desk, and when he looks over his shoulder there’s already hatred in his eyes.

You wish you were more certain he wouldn’t actually shoot you in a hospital.

“It’s alright, ma’am, whatever you need I can take care of now.” The receptionist waves you forward with a sweet, almost hopeful smile, and all you can do is wander forward with small steps. “How can I help you?”

“Um…” You swallow, forcing your gaze not to move to John, right at your side. His eyes are searing into your skin, but not in the way Dean’s do. When Dean looks at you it’s like he can see under your skin, and he’s trying to work out what’s inside of you. It’s hot and branding because he seems to be seeing more than what you are.

John’s gaze is painful. He sees exactly what you are, and he hates it. He hates you.

“Ma’am-“

“Sorry, I’m-” you clear your throat, forcing your voice to steady. “I just- I’m here for- I-“

Words feel far away. Everything feels far away. All that you’re certain of is that you need to be here, and you have to leave. John won’t let you near Dean. If your brain had been processing things right when Sam called, you would’ve told him no. That John wouldn’t just not want you here, he’d loathe your presence. You’d be putting everyone in danger, because you can feel the exhaustion of the receptionist’s big, blocky computer and the tension of the scrubbed and sterilized walls, and it’s all too much-

When Sam shouts your name, everything doubles. It’s all too much. You’re everything and nothing and you’re going to die and you’ll never see Dean again and that shouldn’t be your biggest worry but you can see him all over this hospital in gold, just like in your room, and it’s all pain-

Big arms wrap around your shoulder, something tugs you forward, and Sam’s hugging you.

It takes you back down. It’s doesn’t make anything hurt less, and nothing is in the Silver harmony that Dean gives you, but you’re you again. The Darkness is a little more on edge than usual—it is Sam, and that just seems to be something he does—but you’re nothing more than you.

And you take a long breath, and hug Sam back.

“Thank you for coming,” he mutters in your ear, and you just nod. Of course you came. You didn’t really even think about it, you just did, because it’s Dean.

You don’t know how to not do something for Dean. You only know how to follow him down.

“Yeah.” You whisper. It’s all you can really think to say. “Is he-“

You don’t know how to finish that sentence. Sam seems to understand that.

“It’s-“ He pulls back, giving you a tight, close-lipped smile. “I think it’s better if you see.”

“There’s no chance in hell she’s goin’ in to see Dean.” John snaps from behind you, and you flinch. Visibly flinch, enough for Sam to notice and frown at you. “I don’t even know what the fuckin’ Christ you’re doing here, girl-“

“I called her, Dad.” Sam’s defending you. You’re not sure why. “She deserves to be here. Dean would want her here.”

John’s eyes narrow. “She doesn’t fuckin’ know Dean-“

“Yeah, she does. They’re friends, Dad, and Dean probably never told you because he knew you’d be an asshole about it-“

“Watch yourself, son.” John hisses, and you feel caught in the center of something. You’d like to run. You still can’t. “Dean knows that she,” John points to you. He still hasn’t actually said your name, like you’re nothing more than an object. “Isn’t the sort I want you boys associating with. And he doesn’t lie to me-“

“Apparently, he does.” Sam snaps. “They’re friends dad. We’re friends. I want her here.”

“You don’t know what you want-“

“I’m not seven, Dad. This isn’t a toy we can’t afford. She’s here for Dean, and she’s staying.” Sam raises his chin slightly, and he needs to stop talking. If John keeps pushing he’s going to reveal your relationship with Bobby, and how you and Dean are…whatever you and Dean are, and Dean might get in trouble for associating with your sort.

But your brain is too caught on the idea of John didn’t know. Dean didn’t just keep you separated, he fully lied. To his dad. To stay near you. And you’re Sam’s friend too. That’s two friends.

You’ve never had two friends.

And your friendship with Dean has always been more complicated. At least to you, it’s been confusing and consuming and a little dangerous. Like it sinks deeper into your body than where a friendship should stop, and you’ve thought about Dean in ways you don’t think friends should think about friends.

But being Sam’s friend sounds easier. The Darkness may find him to act as an odd, untraceable trigger, but the rest of you likes him. He’s sweet. He wants you here, and you believe him.

It gives you enough of a spark to clear your throat, and meet John’s glare with a neutral, passive gaze. You’re staying. And if John wants you gone, he’ll have to call you what you are—whatever he thinks that is—to your face, where Sam can hear it.

“Sam’s not lying.” You say, and your voice is stronger than before. You’ve always been in pain anyways. What’s a bullet to the brain on top of your own body tearing itself apart. “Dean’s my friend. I’m not going.”

You’ve never had someone look at you like that. Like they hate everything that you are, with no exception or ideas for your use. It’s unnerving.

You’ve survived worse.

“You and Dean are friends?” John’s voice is a vile and poisonous sneer. You force yourself not to flinch. “How long you been friends, girl?”

“Years.” You shrug. He doesn’t get the satisfaction of more.

“And she’s staying.” Sam adds, but John barely looks at him. He seems to be trapped in staring at you.

You think he can see everything inside of you. All the Darkness and pain and torture you inflict on your own body. That he can see exactly where Dean’s marked and shattered and dulled you, and he’s trying to pry those pieces away from you. You can see it all over his face, how he doesn’t think you’d deserve any piece of Dean, even if it was offered and not created or stolen.

You’re almost certain that, if he could, John would fashion his hatred of you into a blade, and drive it right into your body. Carving out the White so it can never call you to Dean again.

But he hasn’t killed you yet. So you stand your ground.

“Only way you’re getting in that room,” he hisses at you. “Is over my goddamn corpse.”

You hum, and nod. “Alright.”

John blinks, and before he can speak again, Sam’s grabbing your shoulder and looking at you with wide eyes.

“But you said-“

“I’m not leaving, Sam.” You give him a small, tight smile. “But I’m not going to fight in a hospital. Are you hungry?”

Sam nods slowly—his expression weary as he looks between you and John—and you loop your arms together

“You know where the cafeteria is?” You ask, and Sam blinks at you.

“I, uh- Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.” You shoot John a flat, passive smile as you walk away, and that’s it. He doesn’t get to see you fall or crumble. He doesn’t get to know that you’re torn between a desperation to find Dean and make sure he’s still real—do whatever you need to in order to fix this—and an overwhelming sense of relief that you don’t need to see Dean yet.

You can’t really stand the idea of him being in pain. You’re not ready to witnesses it, not when you can remember the horror of all the worst hunts. You’d be too tired to control yourself, if the Darkness got out of hand.

Right now eating lunch with Sam is all you can really do.

He doesn’t try to talk to you. You walk in silence through blue and white tile halls, Sam pays for two shitty sandwiches, you pay for coffee, and neither of you say a word until you’re sitting on a plastic bench, staring with slightly glazed attention at the cup of off-brand greek yogurt in front of you.

“He gave you back your jacket.” Sam breaks the silence, and when you look up his expression is unreadable.

“I-“ You glance down to your sleeves, and nod. “Yeah. You knew he had it?”

“I saw it in his bag.” Sam shrugs. “He said he kept forgetting to give it back. Glad he remembered.”

You nod slowly, unsure where this is supposed to be going. “Yeah. It’s- yeah.”

There’s another long stretch of silence, and Sam might be the only person you’ve met who chews as loud as Dean. It’s not as obviously obnoxious—with purposeful vulgar sounds and pouted lips that have always been incredibly distracting—but it’s still loud. You think he’s waiting for you to try and make conversation. That’s fair.

“Thank you,” you mumble, poking at the yogurt with your spoon. “For not… for defending me with your dad.”

“Don’t worry about it. Dad’s just… he’s paranoid.” Sam sighs, frowning at his plate. “It’s been a long few weeks.”

“I guessed that.” You mumble, and Sam gives you a tight smile.

“How’s your stomach?”

“Fine. Bobby patched me up.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

You grimace, and shake your head. “I’m gonna call him tonight.”

Sam nods, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “It’s- Bobby told us most everything, by the way. So you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Most-“ You clear your throat, forcing your voice to remain even. Bobby had said they’d have questions. You’d been practicing what and what not to tell them. But Sam sounds like he just knows. “What do you mean?”

“That he found you when you were a kid. And that he had to keep you away from everyone, cause of the sick thing.” Sam gives you an odd look. “I’d guess there’s more, though.”

You give a small nod, your voice soft. “Yeah. Kind of.”

And Sam doesn’t push. He just nods, and goes back to his food.

More long silences, all suddenly scattered with small talk. Your drive was long. Sam read a good book he thinks you’d like. This food is shit, and the coffee is worse.

Sam misses the coffee at the country club.

You visibly sit up straighter.

“Did-“ Sam glances down at his plate—like he’s debating just taking another bite to shut himself up—then back to you. “Something happened, right? When you went to go get Dean?”

You only stare at him. And as Sam pushes on, his words are slower.

“It’s- You don’t have to tell me everything. But you vanished, and Dean was freaking out, and you- you know him. He doesn’t freak out.”

He doesn’t. Dean gets angry and bites hard enough to scar over your bones and muscles, but he doesn’t panic. His head is level, until it’s not, and even then there’s a white-hot rationally to it.

“I’ve tried to ask him,” Sam mumbles. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“I- I don’t really want to talk about it either.” You whisper, giving Sam an apologetic look. You don’t even know how to talk about it. How to explain that nothing is ever more real than Dean, which means that no pain is ever stronger than when he inflicts it, and no anger is ever as loud when he hates you. You say that, you won’t make it obvious that it’s more than an addiction or additional sickness, how you fall into every beautiful and ugly part of Dean, never with any will or desire to drag yourself back up. He’s like a cure that thinks it’s the disease.

And you’d sound insane if you said that aloud.

“Okay.” Sam lets out a long breath. “Sorry.”

“No- It’s-“ You don’t really want to look at him, so you focus on peeling the skin around your nails as you speak. “We had a fight. That’s it.”

“I kinda worked that out.” Sam says your name, his voice soft. “I just- I’ve never see Dean lose it like that. I think he flipped a boulder.”

You flush slightly. “Oh.”

“You’re good for him, you know.”

You blink up at Sam, shaking your head. “I don’t-“

“I mean, everything’s been insane. And the kelpie hunt was- It was the easiest I’ve seen him, up until the end.”

You just stare at Sam, and he sighs.

“I just think you should hear it, you know? I- I get the feeling Dad’s going to be kind of a dick to you. So I’m saying it now.”

“Okay.” Your voice is quiet, but the small smile you give Sam is real. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Sam returns your smile, his voice somehow more cautious as he continues. “Do- Are you ready? To go see him.”

You’re not. You won’t be.

But you nod anyway, and walk behind Sam in shuffled steps to clear your trays and leave the cafeteria.

Your breathing is shallow as you move back through the halls. It’s an effort to keep the Darkness in your body, an effort to let Sam bring you into the room without running away. You don’t want to see this. You want to believe that everything Sam says has been exaggerated, that you’ll walk through the chipped-paint blue door and Dean will be sitting up in his bed, shifting through the channels on the shitty hospital TV. That he’ll see you and say hey, Princess, didn’t think Sammy would be able to get a hold of you. That he’d wink at you or yell at you or tease you.

That he’d do anything but what’s so painfully and obviously before you.

Nothing.

He’s just lying there. He’s been stripped of whatever he was wearing during the attack, but damage isn’t just tattered and dirtied clothing in a pile on a chair. It’s bruises and gashes and swollen parts of his face, how even as he breathes through a tube it’s not a steady movement. How there are cuts on his knuckles and a line of stitches near his neck.

The White is screaming. It’s rioting inside of you as all you do is stare, and Dean just keeps lying there. Why won’t he move. He’s supposed to move. He’s supposed to be any annoying, bouncing ball of insufferable charm, bumping into you and saying every right and wrong thing every second. But the only sound you can hear is the beep of a machine, and where the White is supposed to be tugging to towards him, it’s tugging you slightly off to the side.

The Darkness is oddly docile. It seems to be cowering, scratching and clawing at your skin but not trying to break out, just shredding you apart from within. Those fractured pieces are freezing and breaking a little further, and when your legs start to carry you to the side of the bed, you’re too tired to fight them.

You manage to stop yourself from touching him. You don’t know if he would want you to touch him, and it feels wrong to do it without him knowing.

You wish he’d wake up to tell you, even if the answer was no. Even if he hissed that he wanted you to leave forever, even if he never apologized for your fight and even if said things worse than before, you’d really just like him to wake the fuck up. If he wakes up you can hear his voice, even if it’s laced with hatred. If he calls you a bitch and tells you to go, at least this time you’ll learn to hate him, and it will be justified.

Right now you can’t do anything but stand here and stare, your hand hovering at your side as you keep yourself from running fingers over his face. He’s sweating, and his hair is stiff and muddied, sticking his scalp, and if you ran your fingers through it maybe he’d let out one easy breath.

You don’t know why he would.

But the White is convinced that it’s what you need to do. And you can’t, you have to reign it in and keep it together, just for Dean’s sake, because he wouldn’t want you to-

Something grabs your hand and moves it forward, and before you can yank it back your nails are scraping Dean’s scalp with a feather-light touch, and there’s mud on your hands as you comb through Dean’s hair. It’s still soft, just wet and dried with something you know is dirt and another, darker thing you can’t bring yourself to say aloud.

You should pull your hand away. You can’t. It’s like a force really and truly outside of your control—not the White or the Darkness—is moving it for you, and whenever you try to move back it holds you here.

The White still isn’t calling you further down into Dean’s sleeping body. It’s trying to make you fall back into nothing but air.

And when you hear John clear his throat in the doorway, you still don’t move.

“Sammy, I told ya-“

“Dad, you make her leave, I leave.” Sam says from behind you, and there’s a long silence as John weighs his words.

You’re not sure what you did to earn Sam’s loyalty.

You’ll never be able to thank him enough for it.

When you finally drag your gaze away from Dean’s beaten face—your hand still held delicately on his head—John’s sitting in one of the hospital chairs. Holding a paper cup of coffee and glaring at you like he’d like to hack off your arm for daring to touch his son.

If you respected him more, you’d explain that you can’t stop touching him. The invisible force won’t allow it.

“You look like fuckin’ shit,” John grunts your name, scanning over you with a scowl. “You ever sleep when you’re runnin’ around, invading proper hunter’s work?”

“No.” You shrug, turning a little bit of Dean’s hair between your fingers. You could swear he makes a small sound of content. “Usually I don’t sleep because I’m doing proper hunters jobs for them.”

John’s eyes narrow, and Sam’s voice is nervous as he pipes up.

“Dean mentioned you guys went after a demon together, before the one in Colorado-“

John shoots Sam a sharp look. “What demon in Colorado-“

“Not him, Dad. I exorcised this one.”

You look between Sam and John with a frown. “Him?”

“The demon that killed our mom-“

“Samuel.” John hisses. “I don’t want you poking her into our fuckin’ business-“

The force on your hand tightens, and you raise your chin slightly.

“I’m not going to do or say anything.” You snap. You could say you already knew, but you don’t want to. Not when you think the backlash would fall on Dean. “And you don’t have to tell me-“

“We figured out a way to kill it.” Sam pushes on, ignoring John’s glare. “Have you heard of Samuel Colt?”

“Samuel Winchester-“

“Yeah.” You nod. “I’ve read about him.”

“He made a weapon that kills demons.” Sam says, looking back to John’s furious expression. “Dad, can you-“

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’-“

“She could help.” Sam’s voice is almost pleading. “Please, Dad, she’s a really good hunter-“

John lets out a loud, dry laugh, and it twists in your stomach. “Sammy, I don’t know how you’ve forgotten-“

“About my family?” You cut in, raising your brows and holding John’s shocked expression. “The one you figured me out with?”

“I did figure you out,” John sneers. “You’re nothing more than a spoiled brat, raised by a bunch of soft fuckin’ pussies-“

It’s your turn to laugh. “The same soft pussies who gave me this?” You raise your palm, your other hand remaining on Dean’s brow. “The one’s I haven’t seen since I was eight years old?”

John tenses, and you give him a sickly sweet smile, your voice growing cold.

“You don’t know me, John Winchester. You don’t know who I am.” You raise your chin, holding his gaze. “Don’t think for one second that you’ve figured me out.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and it’s like stone around your lungs. You’re almost sure that John is going to lunge out of his seat as rip your theory out, or stab you, or just shoot you and get it over with, because he may not have you figured out, but you remember his warning from the poltergeist. You haven’t forgotten that he knows you’re… whatever you are, and he well within his right to hate that-

“Show her the Colt, Dad.” Sam breaks the silence, his voice soft. “For Dean.”

John scowls, but reaches behind his body and pulls out a thin, well-detailed revolver, placing on the side table with careful hands.

You blink at it. “It’s a gun.”

“No shit, girl-“

“Dad.” Sam mumbles. “Please.”

John lets out a long, slow breath. “It’s a demon killin’ gun.” He mutters, his words pushed through his teeth. “And it’s fuckin’ ours, so don’t you even think about trying to take it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you drawl, ignoring John’s glare as you scan over the gun.

You wouldn’t dream of it. You don’t need a gun to kill a demon, that something your body seems to be able to do all on its own. That could be another women of the high thing. It could just be a you thing.

Because you still don’t feel fully human. And usually the Darkness balks and roars at threats. Lashing and spreading when there’s a monster that could hurt Dean on a hunt, when someone says something that it perceives as a threat, whenever John Winchester walks into a room.

It has no interest in this gun. It’s a gun, in John Winchester’s hands, and it feels like nothing more, and nothing less.

You’d like to hold it, to study it, but your hand is still trapped against Dean.

And you certain John wouldn’t take too kindly to you crossing the room and trying to pick it up. So you remain where you are, and only hum.

“Okay.”

You’re getting really sick of all these long silences. Sam keeps trying to make more small talk—and he hasn’t gotten better at it the last hour—as John refuses to acknowledge you any further, and you just stay next to Dean. You think the sky could fall and the earth could shake and you still wouldn’t be able to move. Not as that invisible force keeps you there, and you can’t feel anything wrong with it. It’s almost calming. Almost natural, keeping you where you’re supposed to be in spite of any fear or feral instinct to run from where John Winchester could decide that Sam’s pleading isn’t enough, and make good on his promise all those years ago.

But he never does. Eventually John—after a long, strange moment of just staring at Dean’s body—excuses himself with a mutter.

Sam gives you an odd look and shrugs it off, saying he’s going to get some more coffee, because you could all use it.

And you’re left alone with Dean. Dean’s body. Not Dean himself.

Dean would smile and tease and joke with you. Dean would be shoving away your hand with a grumble of I’m not a freakin’ dog, Princess, before teasing you about petting him at all.

Right now he’s just a shell. And it’s horrible. It’s mold in your body and over your eyes, and you don’t want to look at him but you can’t look away.

You pull his ring out of your jacket and place it on the side-table. It’s his. He deserves to have it back.

And when you swallow, you know this might be your only chance to tell him something, even if no one but you hears it. You have to tell him something.

“Dean- I-“ You’re choking on nothing. You have to be able to push through this. “I- Stop. Stop sleeping.”

He’s not sleeping. You know he’s not sleeping.

You can’t find it in you to say the truth.

“Just- Stop.” You take a shaking breath, bowing your head to stare at your hand, still tangled in his hair. “Please.”

Something feels like it’s squeezing your hand, a warm wind ghosting over your knuckles, and then the force is gone.

You move your hand away slowly, like you’re not sure you’re allowed to. And when you look at your palm, it’s tainted in gold.

In Dean.

Your head shoots up, your mouth opening to call his name, but the door swings open.

You stare at John Winchester. He stares at you.

“What-“

“Need that.” He grunts, pointing to the Colt, still on the table. “Shouldn’t have left it here with you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, clearly a terrible choice, given it’s still here.”

John just scowls, grabbing the Colt and tucking it back into his pants. “Stay here until Sammy gets back, and have him call me if Dean starts to move. Got it?”

“Where are you going?”

“Not your-“

“And before you refuse to tell me,” you snap, standing a little taller. “Remember that I am not your kid, and I have no reason to do what you tell me to.”

John’s jaw ticks. “It ain’t telling you, girl, that’s-“

“An order?” You raise your brows. “I don’t take your orders. Where are you going.”

John scans over you with a scowl, his voice low when he answers, like he hopes you just won’t hear him. “I’m fixin’ this. Stay here.”

“Fixing-“ You pause, glancing at the gun. At the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket, right next to a stick of chalk. You can’t read the paper.

You recognize one of the symbols on it. You’d seen it just a few days ago, pouring over a book in Bobby’s kitchen.

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it-“

“I can help.”

John scoff. “I don’t need your help, girly-“

“John.” Your voice is flat, but it’s all you can bother with right now. “I know what you’re doing. And you don’t have to do it like that.”

You nod to his pocket, to the demon summoning ritual printed on torn paper, and his eyes narrow.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re getting at-“

“I can help.” You repeat. You will help. You don’t know what John’s plan is, but you know that if Dean doesn’t stop sleeping, you’ll…

You don’t know. All you do know is that the pain is drowning you, you’ll to anything to make it stop, and everything in you wants Dean. It’s all washed out and colorless without him.

And you can help.

“He’ll come for me.” You rub your thumb over your palm, shrugging like what you’re saying is nothing at all. “Demons always do.”

You don’t know exactly what about your words convinces John, but you don’t really care all that much. Because he glances at Dean, looks back to you, and nods.

And you follow him into the boiler room, hugging your body like you can hold the Darkness in your body as it starts to stretch once more.

John says the demon’s name is Azazel. It’s a proper demon name.

It makes everything too big.

And when you say it, when you call for him, you know why you hate the word before he even appears. It tastes like as, and the world goes gray, and this was a mistake.

But it’s too late to run now.

Azazel smiles at you like he has before. It would never matter what body he was occupying, you’d always recognize that smile. It creeped over your skin and haunted your nightmares, the same way Dean’s winning smile followed you into every dream.

The shade of yellow in his eyes is sickly. You’ve only seen it from afar, twisting and rotting in body.

It’s worse up close.

“Hello,” He says your name, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. “Pleasure seeing you here. Wish I could say I’d been knocked out of my boots, but,” he sighs, clicking his tongue, nod it almost sounds like he’s disappointed in you. “I seen you with the smaller one? Bigger one?” He laughs. You’re going to vomit. “The one that’s wasting away as we chat. Dean.”

“Stop talking to her.” John grunts. “She’s just the caller, you’re here for me.”

Azazel attention flicks away from you, and his grin grows. “Well, if it isn’t old Johnny Winchester. Didn’t think I’d ever see you two pairin’ up. She’s a little above your pay grade, don’t you think-“

“She’s just a girl-“

Azazel laughs at that. You can’t really remember how to speak.

“Just a girl?” He cackles again, and the Darkness feels like it’s going to shred you apart, staring in your lungs and ripping up your spine. “Oh, you have no idea. We’ve been watching you, darling, and you are so much more than you let on. More than any spirit or monster, more than sweet Sammy Winchester and the others, more than me.”

You blink at him, your voice hoarse. “I don’t- Sam’s-“

“Oh, he’s a little more than he seems as well. John knows what I’m talkin’ about, ain’t that right?”

John expression is firm. Unreadable.

The room is sort of spinning.

“That’s not her business.” John says, and Azazel laughs again. You wished he’d stop.

“Oh, it’s more than her business. Do you really know, John? The grand hunter himself having damnation right under his nose, not able to sniff it out.”

You swallow. “I- I’m not- damnation-“

Azazel shrugs. “That’s fair, you haven’t quite hit that milestone yet. And you could be salvation, but I don’t you will be. You seem to like the pain too much, don’t you.”

John looks between you and Azazel with a frown. “She’s nothin’, and this isn’t-“

“Wrong, Johnny! She’s everything.” Azazel shoots you a wink. “Might end up more, if she lets herself. But she’s a righteous little witch-“

You pray John heard it as bitch.

You’re not that lucky.

“She’s a what.”

You thought he’d know. But he’s shaking his head like he doesn’t believe it, and you realize that he didn’t. That he’d only hated you, not what you are.

But he certainly knows now. He’s walking away from you, looking at you like you’re a bomb set to go off any moment. It’s terrifying, and you can’t worry about it right now. Azazel’s wasting time.

Time Dean doesn’t have.

“She’s an obstacle,” Azazel sneers. “Smart, pretty thing. Got Dean wrapped around that finger of hers-“

“She doesn’t have Dean-“

John’s snap is cut off by Azazel’s shrug.

“Not now. But that’s just cause the boy is dying, and nobody’s got him. Nobody but you, John. You’ve always got your sons, always keeping them nice and safe, comfy and hidden from the truth-“

“I’m protecting them.” John grunts. If you weren’t falling and burning from the inside, you’d press about what the fuck the truth is. “And we both know what we’re building up to-“

Azazel sighs. “Well, I was hopin’ you’d try to kill her.” You must visibly go pallid, because he waves you off with a hand. “Don’t worry, darling. John’s gonna take care of Dean first, then deal with you. For now, we’re gonna cut to the chase. I can save Dean, but I don’t just want that gun in your pocket.”

John’s eyes narrow. “What-“

“I want you, John. Damned down in hell, like you shoulda been long ago. Gimme you and the gun, and Dean wakes up like nothin’ ever happened.”

“I want to see him. Make sure you follow through.” John holds Azazel’s gaze, and the demon shrugs.

“Seems fair. We got a-“

“And.” John jerks his head to you, and the Darkness recoils and explodes. Still trapped in your body. “I want her gone.”

Azazel sighs. “That might be a little outside my jurisdiction, I’m afraid-“

“Demons don’t got jurisdictions-“

“With her?” Azazel laughs. You wish you could remember how to scream or speak or move. “We all got jurisdiction. But,” he raises his brows. “I can kill everyone she cares about and make her life worse than hell, if she gets near your boys again. Deal?”

John doesn’t hesitate. He nods, shakes Azazel’s hand, and that’s it.

You don’t get to scream or protest or fight or explode. Your fate is sealed and it’s out of your hands. John doesn’t look at you as he leaves you in the boiler room, Azazel smirks at you again before he evacuates his vessel, and it’s… over.

You won’t get to say goodbye. You don’t doubt Azazel’s promise—if you go near Sam and Dean again, Bobby will probably die and you’ll live a life worse than hell–and you can’t fix this. You won’t even get to say goodbye.

But Dean will be okay. Azazel will heal him, and he’ll be broken by John’s death but that’s not your problem, because you have to go.

And you’ll have to get through this. Alone.

You will get through this. You’d say you’ve gotten through worse, but if it really does feel like this is something a little lower than low, and that can’t matter.

You’ll get through it. You have to get through it. You always get through it, and you don’t have any other choice.

And then color burst along your vision and over the White, and there’s silver harmony in everything, and Dean’s okay.

But you still don’t get to stick around. You’ll never get to shout at him for almost dying, or fight about how you did the same to him only two weeks ago. You won’t get to know what the gold is. You won’t get an apology, or another chance to try and hate him. You’ll have to learn what you are alone. You’ll tell Bobby you’re searching for a cure—one that isn’t Dean, even if you can’t really imagine there being anything else that could even compare—and you’ll figure out how to not be damnation.

You don’t really want to be salvation either.

But you’ll have to learn how to be nothing more than you, alone.

And those pieces Dean left over your body aren’t shattering, or eroding, but freezing. It feels like a stasis. Permanent light trapped in your body, gravity calling you back to Dean’s side that you can fight against because you still have that iridescent light lining everything inside of you.

You don’t get to say goodbye.

But you’ll get through this.

You always do.

End Note: John Winchester you should be glad you’re dead and also not real or I’d kill you with my bare hands for what you did to my husband. Also I’m SORRY but you have to TRUST I’m doing something!!! I’m cooking!!

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish @ghosth0ney

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blackleatherjacketz · 1 day ago

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Dreams

Aaron Hotchner x BAU Female Reader

Summary: Hotch calls you out on being distracted and won't let you leave the office until he gets to the bottom of it.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Mature Content, Power Dynamics, Sex Dreams, Profiling, Daddy Issues, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Spanking, Finger Sucking

Word Count: 2.9k+

Read More Criminal Minds

Hotch’s stone cold gaze burns into you from behind his desk, his lips pressed into a thin fine line as he smooths his hand down the length of his tie before settling into his seat. That harsh, judgmental glare is usually directed at the unsubs he’s interrogating or even family members he thinks might be hiding something important, but tonight it’s directed solely at you.

This can’t be good.

“May I ask what this is about, sir?” You sit down in the leather chair in front of his desk, keeping your spine as straight as possible in hopes of masking your growing anxiety. He’s never asked you in here alone after your initial interview, and you always assumed that that was a good thing; staying off his radar, out of his scrutinizing gaze. But then again, he had often asked Rossi and Garcia into his chambers on a regular basis, but that was only during business hours. Had you done something so terribly wrong that it warranted him keeping you here after closing time? Were you in trouble? Did Derek actually tell him that he saw your Tinder profile and that he matched with you as a joke? Was that allowed? Was he going to fire you? Because of something as menial as that?

He nods stoically, armed to the teeth with his classic unreadable expression as he takes you out of your anxious spiral. “Your paperwork from the last case we worked on was messy, to say the least, agent.” He opens the case file and slides it across his desk toward you, pointing to a handful of your mistakes underlined in bright red ink. “This is unlike you.”

The heat of embarrassment flushes your cheeks and warms its way down your neck as you lean forward to take a look at your sloppy paperwork. They were simple mistakes that could be easily remedied, but a lot more than you would normally make in a single week, let alone all of them clustered together into one single form.

Shit. He was right, this was unlike you.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll fix this immediately. I don’t know where my head was at.” You offer instinctively, attempting to collect yourself and stand up before he quickly motions for you to sit back down.

“That’s not all, agent. You’ve been distracted these past few weeks, showing up late more than not, unable to focus or be fully present on our cases. I hired you because you’re one of the best, and I don’t feel like I’m getting that version of you lately.” His tone grew soft but remained slightly wary, like thunder rolling off in the distance before a heavy storm approached. “Do you mind telling me what’s got you so distracted?”

No.

You’d been attracted to your boss from the very first moment you saw him, but it was something you had hoped would fade away over time, not build immensely with every second you spent within his orbit. You’d been able to manage your draw to him for the first six months under his wing, burying yourself in case work and impressing him with your extensive medical knowledge, but there was something about the way he looked at you on the plane that night. It was as if he knew what you were trying to hide this whole time, as if he was delighted by the knowledge that he kept close to his chest along with everything else. There was something about that glimmer in his eye as everyone else dozed on the jet that made you believe he felt the same way, but he would only let it slip just long enough to instill a delusion in you so great that it haunted your dreams.

Dreams that left you aching for his touch, yearning for his sweat to melt into your skin as he hoarsely moaned your name before nipping at your skin. Dreams that were so vivid, you had to convince yourself that they were fake, taking inventory of what interactions had actually happened, and which had been fabricated by the melatonin in your brain. No wonder your work has gotten sloppy.

“Nothing, sir.” You lie, fearing the worst if he finds out that you have some stupid school girl crush on him.

He exhales slowly, disappointment weighing on his breath as he leans forward in his chair to silently close the file. “Whatever it is that you’re dealing with is affecting your work, and I’d be remiss to ignore it. The last time I let something like this slide, another agent’s life hung in the balance.” He paused, no doubt referring to Prentiss’ ordeal with Doyle. “Now, why don’t you try again and give me the truth?”

You’re not getting out of this, are you? He’s going to find out the truth sooner or later, no matter how hard you work to cover it up. He always does. That’s his job, for Christ’s sake. How could you have been so arrogant to think that you could keep something like this from the best profiler in the country? From your own boss? How could you think that he wouldn’t catch on to the blatantly obvious signs you’ve been so desperately trying (and failing) to hide from him for months now?

“I just…” it pained you to start. “I just haven’t been sleeping very well lately.” It wasn’t a lie, per se. Your suggestive dreams had forced you to stave off the sandman as long as possible for fear that you might say his name on the jet or in the hotel room you shared with JJ while you slept. There were no secrets amongst profilers, especially in slumber, and he was so close to finding out yours, you just couldn’t risk it.

“No? And why is that?” He raises his eyebrows as he looks you over, pushing the file to the side. “Are you having nightmares? It took Reid a few months to adjust to this job, too, but eventually the nightmares faded. We have an excellent therapist I can refer you to if that’s what you need.”

“Not nightmares, sir, no.” You knew that if you lied to him outright he’d know immediately, his trust in you lost forever. You weren’t exactly sure which fate was worse, him losing respect for you or him finding out that you have feelings for him.

This was going to be more difficult than any case you’d ever worked on.

“Then what is it?” His expression remains neutral as he stares you down, patiently awaiting your answer.

You sigh heavily as you realize you’ve run out of time and euphemisms . Here goes nothing.

“I’ve been having … dreams about someone on the team, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it, how many times I’ve tried to bury it down, these dreams, these images have stirred something inside me that I can’t quite shake.” You look down at your feet as you nearly confess the whole truth, your voice wavering the closer you come to revealing yourself.

“Someone on the team?” He repeats back to you after clearing his throat, his tone a little more husky than normal. “What kind of dreams?”

As if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Sir, I…” you stammer, unable to form your lips around the words as that infernal heat returns to your cheeks, making you feel as if you’re about to catch fire right here in his office.

“Are these dreams… sexual in nature?” You’ve heard him say that word about a thousand times before, referring to the motives and orientations of the unsubs that you chased, but this time it was different. This time it was laced with something personal, as if he had suspected it all along, but couldn’t quite bring it to your attention until he had a solid case of irrefutable evidence.

Always the profiler.

“Yes, sir.” You swallow hard as he gets closer to the truth, beads of sweat forming at your temples as you watch the puzzle pieces click into place in his mind.

“And who are they about?” He keeps his eyes on you, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“It doesn’t really matter, sir.” Another lie, your sense of self preservation still fighting for its life in the recesses of your mind.

“No?” He tilts his head with a hint of a smirk as if your answer gave him everything he needed to know. “I think that it does. I could be more cautious about who I put you with in the field until we get all this figured out, keep you two separated in the office.” He leans forward onto his elbows, eyes sparkling with a scoldingly delicious sense of judgment. “Now, I want you to tell me who you’re dreaming about, agent, and know that if you try to lie to me again I’ll know.”

Shit.

“It won’t make a difference, I have to see you every day no matter who you pair me with.” You let the truth slip out a little quicker than you expected, surprising even yourself as you prepare to be berated, fired, or worse yet, laughed at.

Only that doesn’t happen.

The silence that follows your confession is monumental, hanging in the air between you two like a cloud collecting moisture from the seemingly calm bodies of water below it, growing darker and heavier with each passing second. It weighs you down, pushing onto your chest and almost paralyzing you until he says something… anything at all to break the silence and let the rain fall from the sky to wash away this painfully awkward moment of vulnerability.

“The bureau frowns on interpersonal relationships between its team members, especially those involving an agent and her superior officer.” He spouts off the official statement the FBI has ingrained into him since he joined, his usual robotic tone returning briefly before he takes in a slow, deep breath.

“I know that, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, you just…” you start rambling in a hurried attempt to take the focus off what he had just discovered.

He raises a hand to get you to stop, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in his throat before finally speaking again. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

What?! What did he just say? Are you still dreaming?

“What?” You blink a few dozen times in order to reorient yourself, attempting to decipher if this interaction is, in fact, real or imagined. You dig your thumbnail into your palm just to be sure, inflicting a flash of pain into your skin to ground you in this reality. You’re definitely not dreaming.

“If that’s something you actually want.” His words pierce that heavy cloud looming between you, releasing a steady stream of rain sprinkling down as the dark gray color fades to a sheer, translucent white. “If not, you should tell me now.”

You can barely catch your breath, barely find the words to express all the emotions you’d kept under lock and key for so long.

“No, of course I do. Of course I want it, I want you.” You can’t believe that he’s actually interested in this, that he’s entertaining the idea of being romantically involved with you at all. If he had felt the same way about you this whole time, harbored these forbidden desires along with you, then his stoic nature had definitely served its purpose in keeping it close to his vest. “You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” His mahogany eyes hold your gaze through thick, onyx lashes as his lips curl into a soft smirk. “Do you think I haven’t noticed all those stolen glances from across the briefing room, or how long they linger on my face and hands? That I’ve been blind to the way your pulse races whenever I touch you, or the way your breath hitches when I say your name or give you even an ounce of praise?”

Oh god, he’s good. He’s had you figured out this whole time, hasn’t he?

“How long have you known?” You finally manage to ask, straightening your spine in an attempt to regain some composure as that heat starts to spread from your neck and chest down into your core, forcing the muscles in your abdomen to clench.

“I’ve suspected it for a while now, but I had to be sure.” He leans back in his chair, that disciplinary look in his eyes replaced by something far more dangerous. “Tell me more about these dreams. What are we doing in them that keeps you so distracted?”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, your heart suddenly galloping in your chest. “Tell you… more, sir?”

“Do you call me ‘sir’ in these dreams, too?” He asks almost immediately, raising an eyebrow in eager curiosity.

The rest of the moisture that resided in that metaphorical misty cloud suddenly pours down in thunderous sheets of rain, nearly soaking you both in a layer of desire in the process. That heat inside of you is barely assuaged, though, and only continues to grow in intensity as his words taunt you to take the lead.

“Yes, sir, I do.” You respond breathlessly.

“Good girl.” He watches your face as you react to the term, as if he’s waiting for an unsub to fall into one of his traps that he’s so expertly laid before them, grinning from ear to ear when your blush only deepens.

“You’ve been profiling me,” you defend yourself as he clocks your daddy issues with little effort, trying to slow the rapid beating of your heart as you take the bait. “That’s not fair.”

He stands up from his seat and slowly walks around his desk, each step slow and deliberate until he’s standing in front of you, gently leaning his hips against his desk so that they’re now level with your eyes. “What isn’t fair, agent, is that you hid this from me when we could have done something about it months ago.” He folds his arms across his chest and looks down at you. “I don’t intend on letting you leave this office until we’ve fixed this problem, is that understood?”

“Yes.” You stare at his hips, eyeing the growing outline of what lies between them before shifting your gaze back up at his face through heavy lids.

“Good. Now, tell me more about your dreams.” He leans back just a little, the confidence of kings emanating from his newly relaxed posture. “Am I praising you or punishing you in them?”

“Punishing me.” Your stomach flips as you look down at your feet, still somehow ashamed of your subconscious desire.

“Punishing you, how?” He reaches out and grabs your chin, not allowing you to hide from the truth as he tilts your face upward, forcing you to look at him.

“I…” Your lip quivers as he squeezes your chin a little tighter, forcing that moisture to collect between your thighs as you rub them together.

“Use your words, agent,” he orders.

Goddamnit. Had he actually seen the content of your dreams, somehow? Or were you just that easy to read?

“You had me bent over your desk with my skirt up around my waist, your tie shoved in my mouth and your handprint on my cheeks,” you finally oblige him, letting your mind wander to the delicious details of your most recent dream, watching his breath hitch ever so slightly before he clears his throat.

“Did I, now?” He raises an eyebrow at your confession as he searches your face for any signs of deception. As if you would lie about any of this. “And the other times?”

“Other times?” You whisper as he lifts his thumb off your chin to brush it across your bottom lip, slightly tugging on it to view your teeth before letting it bounce back into place. You can see his pupils expanding with each passing second, those different shades of chocolate and mahogany blending together into the darkest shade of espresso you’ve ever seen. He’s looking at you the way he had in each and every one of your fantasies, only this time it isn’t some salacious trick of the mind; this time it’s real. “The other times I’m going down on you on the jet while everyone else sleeps, or you’re fingering me underneath the conference table while Garcia briefs us on a new case.”

He grins and pulls on your bottom lip again, watching in awe as he tugs it halfway down your chin, stretching it enough to smear some of your spit across your chin. “You've got quite the imagination… fantasizing about me degrading you on government property, right here in my office.”

“Mmm hmmm.” You hum as he slowly glides his thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue before you instinctively wrap your lips around it, tasting the salt of his skin for the very first time.

“Is that what you want? You want to be punished?” His voice is hoarse now, that last bit of control he has slowly evaporated away into nothingness. “Do you think you deserve it?”

“Mmm hmmm,” you repeat, sucking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle, stroking it with your tongue to show him what you can do.

“We’ll see about that.” He leans in close enough to whisper into your ear. “Now get up and bend yourself over my desk.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #thomas gibson #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fan fiction #criminal minds fan fiction

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nightplvmes · 2 days ago

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*.⊹˚ ZAYNE | before midnight (valentine's day)

── ◜zayne x fem!reader — ◜short special | specials from the rest of the LIs on my profile

A part of her had to admit that she had expected to do something more tonight—maybe go out for dinner or at least eat together. Having lunch in his hospital office didn’t sound like the best plan, according to her best friend. But to her, it had been sweet, even romantic.

Maybe she had let her best friend get into her head too much, because now she was starting to wonder if it had really been enough. But either way, Zayne was working late, and surgery wasn’t exactly a quick task. Even if they had wanted to do something, they couldn’t.

When she got home and slipped under the sheets, it wasn’t hard to distract herself. Her favorite movie and a box of chocolates—stolen from her sister—were enough. Maybe she and Zayne could do something together the next weekend when he was free.

Her eyes started to close not long after. Even though her favorite movie was playing, keeping her eyes open felt almost impossible. Her body relaxed, and seconds later she almost fell asleep.

A pair of arms wrapping around her made her jolt up. She gasped, trying to pull away, but whoever was behind her held her in place.

“It’s me. You’re okay.”

Zayne’s voice made her instantly relax in his arms. Carefully, she turned to face him, still pressed against his chest. She had to be dreaming. She had to be. Zayne was supposed to be in surgery tonight—there was no way he was actually here. Holding her.

"Zaynie…” Her fingers brushed over his cheek, as if making sure he was real and not just another dream. A smile crept onto her lips when she confirmed that, yes, Zayne was actually there. “What are you doing here?”

His arms tightened around her, bringing her closer to him until there is no space between them. His familiar scent enveloped her. She had already made peace with the fact that she wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s Day with him, but somehow, here he was.

"I asked someone to could cover my shift at the hospital and tried to cancel my surgery tonight,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair—a habit he’d picked up recently. She made a mental note not to change her shampoo anytime soon. “My patient wasn’t too happy about it, though. She refused to let another doctor perform the surgery and she was not happy to spend another night without eating.”

When he pulled back slightly to look at her, a small smile played on his lips.

“And she let you go?” she asked, genuinely surprised. She knew how dedicated Zayne was to his work. He had already considered rescheduling her surgery earlier in the week, but his patient had been waiting so long that he just felt bad.

“Well, I told her I had a girlfriend waiting for me at home,” he said, his voice softer as he slowly shifted over her. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and she felt his fingers tracing gentle patterns along her thigh.

Zayne talking about her to a patient? That was new. Not that their relationship was a secret—everyone at the hospital knew. It was kind of hard not to when she spent most of her lunch breaks hanging around just to eat with him.

“And what did she say?” she asked, curious.

She knew his patient. An older woman—sweet and chatty. They had spoken once by accident, and she had actually liked her. Though the woman had never known she was dating Dr. Zayne.

“Let’s just say she gave me a whole speech about how spending time with my girlfriend was way more important,” he muttered, his lips trailing soft kisses from her cheek down to her neck.

She giggled, unsure if he was telling the truth or just making something up. Maybe it wasn’t a complete lie. She had met the older woman, after all, and she was incredibly kind.

For some people, Valentine’s Day didn’t mean much. But for her, it did. And she had told Zayne that, probably with way too much detail. She had decided she wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t take it seriously, but maybe she had been wrong. He had tried to cancel a surgery just to spend the night with her.

“I brought food from your favorite restaurant.”

Those words snapped her right out of her thoughts.

She pulled back slightly, eyes wide with excitement before letting out a small squeal. Her favorite restaurant. It was nearly impossible to get takeout from there, let alone a dinner reservation. She had so many questions. How had Zayne managed it? Had he waited hours just to get their order?

She was about to get up when she felt his firm grip stop her. A second later, he was lifting her into his arms, carrying her toward the kitchen.

They were going to have their own little Valentine’s dinner at home. And honestly? She couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night.

#love and deepspace #zayne #lnds #lads #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne x female reader #zayne love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace zayne x reader #lads x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace one shot #zayne fluff #lnds zayne #lads zayne #love and deepspace x reader

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jessicafangirl · 19 hours ago

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An Arrow To The Heart

Oh I made it before Valentines Day! Whoo hoo here's the nearly 15K word monster I birthed. This started as a ficlit idea that just became this. Copia is a wordy bitch when he's doing the deed. And I love writing for him.

I also love dark Copia and him being just super protective and a touch evil...but evil in a good way. I hope you like this. I went smutty. There's smut. There's some Special Ghoul Phil. There's a dark ending. It's super self indulgent and I don't care. He's my comfort boo.

This is you and Copia. You who haven't joined the church but have fallen in love with your friend who is now Frater. You've become head of the Ghost Projects PR Department and there's some siblings that like to spread rumors you got the job because you are banging the boss and they don't like you. BOYYY does Copia not like this. So yeah...enjoy this Valentines Day Frater fest.

You can also read it here on AO3. Please share if you like it. Let me know if you like it. Let me know if this made your V day (HE'S COMING) brighter. Viva Ghost.

It wasn’t just the week, it had been an entire month, almost two of non-stop disappointments and feeling like nothing was going to work. You felt yourself drowning in work, in expectations you had created for yourself, and you were never going to meet them.

At one point the flu had decided to attach itself to you and you had barricaded yourself away from everyone working through it remotely with a 101.00 fever. Copia had nearly broken your door down when he’d discovered this, already angry about being denied the opportunity to take care of you. But you weren’t going to let him get sick too. As it was, a Facetime call that was filled with glaring, darkened eyes and a loud Italian voice saying, “YOU TURN OFF THAT CAZZO OF A MACHINE AND GO TO BED!” made you do just that. The Frater had then had a number of Ghouls show up with medicine and food that you ate some of until you were recovered.

After the flu incident Copia was still angry at you but he’d just have to deal. He wasn’t the one having to prove themselves to every other person at the Ministry and the Ghost Project. Not being a member of the church but working for it AND dating the head of the church put more pressure on you than the lowest level of the ocean, the parts with those creepy fish with the teeth and glowing eyes. Everyone doubted you had what it took to handle the PR for the project, to get more eyes and ears on things, including the new guy. It was a massively important time and….you didn’t know if you had it in you. And you damn well knew that Sister Phyllis and the other siblings whose glares followed you as you walked down hallways on phone calls or glanced into your open office door actually knew you didn’t have it in you.

The only one who seemed confident you did was Copia. And he just was too soft hearted to admit it, you knew. Everything was so new between you and Frater Imperator Emeritus that he would never admit you weren’t worthy of your position or him. Your relationship had become more than friends after the death of his mother and his ascension…you’d been there when he needed you because Copia had always been there when you needed him. And when it had become public knowledge the already tenuous acceptance you had with the siblings and others of the church turned completely to something else.

Copia didn’t know this or hadn’t heard of it, at least not from you. You weren’t going to have him go storming off to protect your honor. You would do your job well and earn your place, you wouldn’t let him down. He had enough to deal with. So it was you and Phil and the other Ghouls you had to help you became a team.

The beginning of the new Papa’s tour was going to be the death of you, and you knew it. But by god you would make this work before you rattled out your last breath. 14 hour days of prep, of planning, booking interviews for not only Papa V but Copia too. The stress was a living thing but at least the Ghouls could go for days without sleep…even if you couldn’t. Sadly that become evident on your 60th hour of being awake when Phil saw you nearly fall out of your chair. He called your name and then came running over as he saw you blinking tiredly around out of it. On your computer screen was a half-finished email to Metal Edge setting up some photo shoots. Phil’s gloved hand grabbed your shoulder. “Hey, hey are you ok?” He asked.

You rubbed your eyes, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was nearly time for your next meeting with marketing. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine Phil…sorry just sort of dazed out there.” Beneath his mask, Phil’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. The scent of exhaustion surrounded you, burning embers and wilting flowers. You were barely hanging on and he knew it. He’d been watching it unfold. He knew why you were pushing yourself this much and it pissed him off. Not anger at you, but the siblings. Phil liked you. You were loyal to Copia and that meant you were loyal to Copia’s Ghouls. Copia loved you like a lunatic which meant his Ghouls felt that same dedication….though sadly for some of them not with the benefits.

Copia was a lucky Frater.

But this was concerning. He’d not witnessed you nearly falling into the floor before. He was going to have to narc, and he hated that…but he knew you were too thick headed to listen to him. So he’d have to get Copia to get involved. He seemed to be able to get you to listen if the flu incident was any indication.

Sister Constance arrived just as you were leaving for your meeting. The older woman gave you a smile which was rare. “I just wanted to let you know that the art you approved has started being printed on the merchandise.” Constance said. “And I have to commend you for the choices and the colors. It looks brilliant.”

You nearly ran into the door jam. “Oh…thank you!” You were flustered, not used to hearing praise from any of the siblings. You’d never had a problem with Constance though…you’d just never had much time other than design meetings to speak with her. “The artist is one of my favorites and she’s just got an eye for the Ghost style.”

Constance nodded, her habit falling gracefully over her shoulders. “Well, good job and good eye. Satan bless you.”

You gave her an awkward smile as you hurried to the meeting room. At your departure Constance turned to Phil who was working at his desk. “She looks like she’s made of ash and has Frater’s eye make-up…but that’s just her skin.” She said to him.

Phil let out a sigh. “I know…it’s getting worse.”

The sister sat down opposite him. “She can’t keep this pace.”

The Ghoul reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a half full bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He filled them each with a shot, handing one to Constance. “I’m going to talk to Frater. He’s not going to be happy, but something has to be done.”

Constance drank down the shot in one go, barely wincing. “Phyllis is a bitch. She’ll keep her running until she falls over.”

Phil lifted his mask enough that his grey tinted lips were visible and drank his own shot. He hissed at the mention of Phyllis. “I really want an accident to happen to that one.”

Constance raised her eyebrows. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Phil stood, putting away the bottle. “Don’t tempt me.” He said.

“That’s part of my job, isn’t it?” Constance laughed.

The Ghoul took hold of her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “I’m too old for you gorgeous.” He said, his tail wrapping around her lined neck in a light embrace. “Pray to Satan I make it through the melt down he’s going to have when I tell him about this.” He said as he let go of her hand and brought his tail into line.

Copia’s new office was larger and on the same floor as his new apartments, which were also larger. Being Frater had benefits. Phil stopped at the office’s carved wooden door with the shiny new plaque stating “Office Of Frater Imperator” next to it…in case the large, ornate Grucifix that had been chiseled into the dark wood along with the Latin phrasing “Father of Darkness, Leader of the Faithful” wasn’t enough.

Phil took a deep breath and then hit the button that buzzed letting Copia know someone was coming in.

“Hellooo?” His muffled voice called out.

Phil took that as his okay to enter and pushed open the door. Copia was seated at the large desk in front of his computer. His black suit was pristine, the jacket hanging on the coat stand. His black rhinestone collar was removed and setting on the desk next to the remains of two juice boxes and a half eaten cheeseburger. You could upscale the title, but Copia would always be Copia.

Copia finished typing up a response to one of the other abbeys regarding a visit in the next few months and turned to see Phil standing patiently, his hands behind his back. “Ah! Phil! What can I do for you?”

Copia’s mismatched eyes held a bit of concern in them the Ghoul noticed. He didn’t come here often so he knew Copia would realize something had to be up. “Frater, I feel I need to speak to you regarding some things, may I sit?”

Copia’s brow narrowed. Okay, something was definitely up. He tried to remember if you’d mentioned anything in the last few days that might have spurred this visit. And then Copia realized…he hadn’t really seen you in the last few days more than a couple of minutes. That hurt suddenly. He’d been so busy he’d not thought about the fact that he’d been neglecting his amore. What a horrible moment to have that realization.

“Of course, si si. Mi dispacia I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to visit the publicity team in the last few days. But you all do such a good job eh? I don’t feel like you need me as they say…micro managing.” Copia quickly cleared away his now very cold lunch to try and be a little more proper.

Phil nodded. He really did like Copia, strange quirks and all. He sat down, “That’s alright Frater. What I need to discuss is a little more personal in nature though.”

Copia paused, his heart thudding in his throat. Was this it? Was this when he would find out his cara was leaving him for a Ghoul or just leaving in general because he was a horrible excuse for a paramour? Was it Phil? Satanus….was it Phil?

“Oh…eh…okay…please go on.” Copia turned, giving his full attention to the silver masked Ghoul. Under his desk his gloved hands were gripping each other in a death grip. He didn’t know what he’d do if Phil said “We’re in love Frater. She’s mine and she says I’m three times the man you are…and I’m not even a man.” Copia had never gone to blows with a Ghoul but…never say never.

Phil leaned back in his chair. The scent of paranoia was strong in the room now with an underly of jealousy. Copia had no idea what he was about to say. “Frater this is about…”

At the mention of your name the sound of the leather gloves fingers clenching harder could be heard. Copia’s heart started slamming in his chest. He was right…this was it….he was going to be left alone by…everyone.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Go…go on.” He managed to say.

Phil took a breath. The things he did for his faith…not that he had a choice, he was a summoned Ghoul…but even then there should be limits, right?

“Frater, she’s working very, very hard.” He said.

Copia felt a tiny bit of tension leave him. “Si, I know, she’s a very hard worker.”

“No Frater, I mean she’s working too hard. She’s working herself sick and well…I felt you needed to know the reason.” The Ghoul’s voice was kind, like he was talking to a child.

Confusion crossed Copia’s face. Working herself sick?? He flashed back to when you had walled yourself away, when he’d had to basically yell over a phone screen to stop and rest. He had expected that to be enough to get you back on a healthy mindset but…cazzo…he’d been so caught up in being head of the church and in his own head he hadn’t realized where yours was. But that last sentence…the reason?

“Phil, what are you saying? What is going on with her? What is the reason?” He asked, his voice taking a tone that not many had witnessed. Steady, steely.

The Ghoul laced his fingers together and prepared for the aftermath of what he was about to say. “She nearly fell off her chair today from exhaustion. I could smell it. She’s been awake for over 60 hours Frater.”

A look of horror crossed Copia’s face. “Satanus…what…”

Phil continued. “It’s the siblings Frater. It’s the way they treat her like an outsider and the jealousy. It drips off them like acid. Not all of them…but there are some that feel she’s got her position because she’s…well…you and her. She feels she has to prove herself. I’ve seen it and I’ve tried to get her to realize she doesn’t need to prove anything but you know…you know how she is. She won’t listen.” Copia hadn’t said anything so Phil decided to just keep going. “She also feels she needs to prove she’s good enough for you.”

Copia felt like he’d been slapped or stabbed with that last sentence. A sharp pain cutting through his heart. “Good enough…for me?” He said, latching onto the words.

“Yes…she…well…all of this has built up over the last few months. She knows what they are saying and it’s made her feel this way.” Phil shook his head, his tail whipping back and forth in anger. “I couldn’t stay silent anymore Frater. She’s my friend and she deserves to know she’s got nothing to prove.”

Copia’s mismatched eyes looked down into the polished wood of his desk. The green side darkening to a near black, the white so bright Phil thought for a moment it might blind him if he looked directly at it. His jaw was clenched tightly, his lips a thin line and his breathing was heavy.

When he spoke, his voice was not the usual lighthearted and joking tone many thought of when Copia was mentioned. No, this was heavy with a barely contained anger that was going to find a target very soon. “Il mio amore…feels she has to prove her worth to me…because of some petty bastardos who think she fucked her way into her job…who dare disrespect her…my girl…my love…they think they can do this and not suffer for it…”

The fury within him was so bright hot, so sudden that he couldn’t comprehend it. Phil actually felt a little afraid as he watched the emotions play out in the other man’s face.

“I’m…sorry Frater.” The Ghoul said, not knowing what else to say. “I just…she’s my friend and she deserves better. She needs a break honestly.”

Copia turned, glancing at Phil. A break. She needed a break. 60 hours….Satanus he was useless. How was he supposed to be head of the church when he didn’t even realize the woman he loved was drowning in despair? The person that was supposed to be closest to him and he hadn’t seen it.

The Frater sighed, unclenching his fists. He would deal with this in stages but the first was you. He needed to take care of you, he needed to love you, to show you just how much he loved you. “You’re a good friend Phil.” He finally said. “To both of us. Grazie for telling me.”

Copia stood then, turning to face the window that looked out over the courtyard. It was starting to get dark. “I need you to bring me a list of those who have sown the seeds of this doubt in mi amore. They will be dealt with…soon.”

Behind his mask Phil’s eyes widened…well he knew that was probably going to happen. “Yes Frater.”

“Also, she’s going to be taking a few days off starting today. She doesn’t know this yet.” Copia bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, his dress shoes making a clicking sound on the marble floor.

“We can manage for sure. She’s got everything so planned I think a toddler could do it.” Phil replied.

Copia nodded. Of course she did, she was brilliant. The anger flared to life again. “Si si, bene. Don’t mention anything to her if you see her. I’ll let her know.” He turned and glanced at Phil who nodded.

“Yes Frater.” The Ghoul stood. “I’ll head back to the department then unless you needed anything else.”

Copia turned and gave a slight nod to the Ghoul. “No nothing else. Again, thank you for letting me know. I expect the list as soon as you can provide it.”

Phil gave a slight bow and left the office. He almost felt bad for the names that would be on that list…then he thought better of it. Let them burn.

Copia’s brain was a strange place sometimes. Years of neurosis, fear, abandonment issues were there of course. How could they not be when you’d lived so long to only realize sheer months before she died your mom had always been there and just not told you…and your dad’s ghost never had bothered to either. Plus said father was a prick and…a ghost. Then there was the possible imminent death thing.

But with all of that Copia had learned to survive. He’d dealt with the harshness of growing up an orphan, an odd one at that he’d admit, in the ministry. Ratboy, Ratman, other names nowhere near as kind. He’d lived through it all and eventually got his payback for the treatment. Copia could be nefarious when he wanted to be, dangerous when the mood struck him.

Again…look who his parents were.

This situation was a new one. Firstly he’d not had a paramour like you before. One that was real, that mattered, that wasn’t there to advance or use his position or name. The irony wasn’t lost on him that this was literally what everyone he was going to happily destroy thought was the case. No, you had proven your heart to him many times over and that was exactly why he would, very much so, destroy those that had driven you to this level of torment.

But before that happened he needed to show you what you truly meant to him, to remind you of what you were to him. This feeling that Phil had mentioned, that you felt the need to show you were worthy of him…it both angered and confounded him. How could you think such a thing? How could you doubt your worth when you had saved him from an abyss of sorrow that had nearly drowned him? That you, only you, were able to make him laugh again, to find happiness.

Even before that fateful night when he’d finally given in to the tender feelings he’d been so afraid to dare show, to even hope you would feel as well, you had always been there. You were the friend he needed, the confidant he could trust, the one who would drag him from his blankets and make sure he ate something and would then stay up all night playing his old games with him, giving him a run for his money on who would win. No one else, not even his Ghouls had been so kind, so patient, so caring. Only you…and he had no idea why. But then you’d told him, after he had confessed his love to you, when he’d asked you why you would ever put up with him. “Because you’re you Copia. You’re the one who tells everyone how life can be filled with ups and downs but you should keep going. You care. You’re kind. You deserve to be loved Copia, you deserve to be happy. And if my dumbass can make you laugh when you’ve had a bad day then I did my job.”

Copia had managed not to cry like a complete idiot at your words…but there may have been a tear that he’d quickly wiped away. That night the video games were forgotten and he thought just maybe he made some of his ancestors proud. He was fairly certain the Ghouls in the dens under the abbey proper probably heard you both…judging from the way many of them were giving him a thumbs up the next day.

But this doubt…this doubt that had been sown in your heart against yourself…this would not stand. He would not allow this to continue. If your job was to ensure he was happy then his job was exactly the same when it came to you. His job was to make sure that any doubts about your worth, your love, were stopped. He really wanted to maim someone as he thought about it. The Emeritus violent streak definitely continued with him.

Copia was a romantic at heart but life hadn’t given him many opportunities to pursue that or act on it. There were some of his songs of course, moments on stage where he got to live out a little role playing as a gothic, satanic prince serenading a sorella from the audience. But none of those were you. Although he did know or noticed you did have a glimmer in your eye when he’d still been performing and had worn those costumes. You’d also mentioned a few times about envying the mic stand and also a fondness for the lace up jeans that had, as you described, “wrapped up his thighs like a second skin.” He turned away from the window and chuckled to himself, a plan forming.

He double checked the calendar. Copia knew St. Valentines Day was coming soon and sure enough it was only two days away. He wasn’t going to wait for Valentines Day though which would make this even more of a surprise. He picked up the phone and called up one of the Ghouls and quickly gave him some instructions and to make it snappy. Then he turned off his computer and locked up the office.

Copia headed to his apartments down the hall and after feeding his bambinos made his way to the large closet in his bedroom. He flicked on the light and sighed. Along one wall were his concert suits and costumes, all wrapped up in thin plastic to keep them safe. He missed it far more than he’d ever let on. Papa V was doing his thing of course, different style and all that…but Copia couldn’t help but think he did a better job. I mean…out of the last four he was the one who wasn’t under glass.

The ex-Papa strolled along the hanging mementos pondering for a moment which would be the thing that would make his amore the happiest. He grabbed a pair of his tattered jeans with the lace up front of course and then one of the puffy sleeved black lace shirts that would have been at home on a pirate. His eyes alighted on the perfect thing. “Ah ha…” He said and pulled it from the closet bar.

The black leather vest with the gold embroidery was one of his favorites and if he wasn’t mistaken one of yours as well. He remembered coming off stage wearing it one night near the end of the run, before you had both realized your friendship had become something far deeper. He’d asked you “Did I make their asses wobble or what??” laughing and clapping his gloved hands together and he’d noticed you hadn’t replied, just looked at him with big eyes and an even bigger grin. There was a glimmer he’d not noticed before in your gaze, something that made a warmth start in his tummy and spread out along every nerve. “Hey, hey, am I just performing for myself here?” He’d waggled his fingers in front of your face and you’d snapped out of it.

“No! Yes! No!! You…you did great! Not an ass unwobbled.” You’d replied.

Copia chuckled. Yep, this should do it. He may not be allowed to do up the paints like the old days, but no one said he couldn’t work the suits like he used to. Walking out of the closet he hoped he could still fit in these. Since he’d become Frater there wasn’t as much ass wobbling to be done but there was a lot of eating at his desk. He didn’t think he’d changed that much…and you certainly hadn’t mentioned anything. So…with a short prayer to the dark lord Copia slipped off his jacket.

The day had ended much later than you’d anticipated. You had managed to slam down a Monster to get through the last few hours but you were dragging yourself back to your office and it was nearly 7 o’clock. Phyllis, that bitch, had stopped you after your meeting to complain about changing the printers for the band shirts. Apparently she “had a relationship” with the last group who were using the shoddiest material you’d ever seen. The chat had ended with a snide comment about how you thought you had the right to overstep…even though you were actually in charge of decisions like this now and could totally make those decisions.

The lack of sleep and desire to not start drama…something she apparently didn’t have…left you to just slink away. You hated that you let her run over you like a steam roller but you just didn’t have any fight in you at this point. As you came to your desk you saw a sticky note in Phil’s handwriting in the middle of your monitor “GO THE FUCK TO BED.” Was in bold letters with a little heart and a devil face at the end. “Love you too buddy.” You muttered with a smile. The note was right…you needed to just go pass out.

You grabbed your bag, turned off the lights, and locked the door. You leaned up against the door frame for a moment and sighed, running your fingers through your hair in the hopes you wouldn’t look like you felt. For a moment you wondered how Copia was doing. You missed him having not seen him for the last few days as everyone was going 100 mph. He had enough on his plate to deal with being Frater and you didn’t want to distract him. He was having to deal with things you could never imagine all while giving up playing to a crowd he loved.

You didn’t think you’d be great company that night anyway. You didn’t even know if you had it in you to microwave something before passing out. With a sigh you pushed away from the door and headed upstairs to your apartment. Maybe you’d text him to see how he was doing. You were just getting ready to pull your phone from you pocket when you glanced up at your door. Stuck to the wood was a black envelope with your name written in silver. You recognized the handwriting. “What….?” You said aloud, pulling it off the door and opening it.

Inside was a black piece of stationary and in the same silver script were the words “Come to my rooms now. – C.”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. This wasn’t a request…that was written as an order. Lord, what had you done now? How had you managed to piss him off too after not even seeing him for most of the week. Maybe this was it, maybe he was done with you and you were fired and dumped in one fell swoop. Maybe you had fucked up…well…everything.

You sighed heavily, felt like crying, but held it back. You unlocked your door just enough to place your bag on the floor then closed and locked it. You then headed to the next floor where the leadership’s rooms were and found yourself at Copia’s entrance. You took a breath, hoped you weren’t crying, and knocked hesitantly.

There was no response. When your realized that you tried the door knob and it turned easily. With more than a little trepidation, you stepped inside. You glanced around in awe. The room was dark other than probably 20 or more candles lit and standing around along with the blazing fireplace. On the dining table were more candles and on the coffee table was a massive bouquet of black and red roses. The scent mixed with that of the candles, something spicy and elegant, filling the room with a heady fragrance.

Copia was nowhere to be seen but as you glanced down you saw a trail of black and red rose petals leading to his bedroom. You raised an eyebrow. Unless this was some really evil trick maybe he wasn’t mad at you? Well…it would seem the roses were leading the way so you headed that direction.

Moving the partially open door you were met with more candles, more roses, and his giant bed covered in more petals. It was absolutely beautiful…Copia had the bed made up with red satin sheets. Frilly black pillows set up near the carved head board that was dark stained wood. Images of devilish cherubs and little rats were carved in the design. The black sheer fabric that hung from the four posts of the bed were pulled back with ribbon. Near the bed on one of the night stands a bowl of strawberries sat next to a dish of thick whipping cream. On the other night stand was an ice bucket holding a bottle of what looked like champagne with two etched crystal glasses.

Okay…this…this felt like a trap or you’d actually fell asleep and were dreaming. There was still no sign of Frater Emeritus, the man who had to have put all this together.

And then you heard the door shut.

“Mi amore, you have been away from this bed for too long.” Copia’s voice was soft, nearly purring as you heard him behind you.

You turned and your eyes widened at what you saw, unable to help it. Oh…oh this was a trap. Copia stood there, hair perfectly coiffed, brushed back from his forehead with his beautiful eyes surrounded in black. His upper lip was flawlessly painted.

He was wearing…THE pants. The ones that looked like they’d been attacked by a swarm of razors or rat teeth, laced up the front. They hugged his thighs perfectly and left nothing to the imagination along with the very obvious fact that underwear was nowhere in the equation. He’d donned a flowing-sleeved black shirt that was buttoned up his throat and fell in lace at his wrists. His fingers were encased in black leather gloves and over the shirt was THE vest. Gold trimmed black leather and fitting him like he'd been born into it. Copia Emeritus could still rock the suit…and you knew you were doomed.

You knew he knew what this was doing to you by the way his green eye darkened and somehow glittered at the same time. You noticed then he was holding a single red rose in his hand, twirling it in his fingers.

“Uh…wow…Uhm…you look…great.” You managed to speak but only just. “This…this is all…nice.”

Copia’s gaze narrowed as he looked at you. Even in just the candlelight he could see you were exhausted, worn out. You were paler than normal and you were always pale. Your eyes, usually so sparkling and lively were faded, circles setting in beneath them. There was the slightest tremor to your fingers. You’d been drinking those cazzo energy drinks again. Oh there would be words…but right then he had a mission.

“You seem nervous dolcezza.” He said softly, taking another step closer. “You’ve been here before…many times…”

You swallowed, mouth going dry. Why were you suddenly wanting to bolt like a scared rabbit? Why was this making you feel like you were prey suddenly? Because he looked like panther a bit…that’s why. You hadn’t seen Copia dressed like this and with this…intensity…in a while…or ever.

“Uh…yes…but it’s not looked so…” You looked around. “Beautiful.” And you didn’t feel like you belonged here at all right then. You felt like a slug compared to this gorgeous man who was looking at you like that and all this atmosphere. You needed to crawl away. It was too much.

Copia could read you like a book and right then what he saw made him want to find the ones on Phil’s list and take them down to the lower levels of the abbey…the ones with the torture devices that no one spoke about. The time for that was later though…now was the time to fix what those fuckers had broken in his love.

“Yet not as beautiful as you amore.” He replied smoothly, stepping in front of you, the pointed toes of his shoes brushing close to your sneakers. You weren’t meeting his eyes, glancing anywhere else and that wouldn’t do either. He lifted his gloved fingers to your chin and tilted your face up to where you had to look him in the eye. “I’m here cara, not in the corner.” He ran this thumb along your jaw.

“I…I’m sorry…I’m not…I’m not good company right now Frater.” You said, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. His white eye was glowing in the candlelight and it was lovely and unnerving as always. You felt like he could see whatever he wanted inside your head with that eye.

“Frater?” He cocked a brow. His title? Really? “In this room, in this bed I’m Copia. Your Copia. Always cara mia. You know this do you not?”

He stroked your other cheek with the petals of the rose as he spoke. They were soft as velvet and smelled divine and you felt like you couldn’t do anything right. You closed your eyes and took a breath of the perfumed air. “Ye….yes I know Copia.”

“Hmm.” He hummed. Copia carefully placed the rose behind your ear. “I do not think you do amore. I think you’ve forgotten.” He replied, his fingers trailing along your cheek to rest on your shoulder.

You looked at him in surprise at his words with more than a little embarrassment. “No, no I haven’t forgotten.”

Copia raised his head slightly, looking down his nose and studying your expression while he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you from running away…because you looked just like a deer who’d seen a car coming right at them. “Perhaps not completely cara but there’s something missing, something crushed I think that had blossomed like the roses here. And I must tend to you la mia dolce rosa so that it blooms as it should. Beautiful, sweet, and mine.”

He kissed you then, capturing your mouth with his before you realized what he was doing. His gloved fingers were at the back of your neck, twining into your hair as he held you in place, enjoying the little muffled sound of surprise in your throat.

You’d been caught up in what he’d been saying and how true it was though you didn’t want to admit it. You did feel crushed, trampled under the simple meanness of the siblings who never seemed to tire of treating you like garbage and whose job it seemed was to remind you of how you didn’t deserve Copia.

But right at that moment you were finding it hard to think on their words, their glares. The only thing you could think of was how he tasted slightly of strawberries and chocolate, how his lips were so warm and how you’d missed how he kissed you like he was savoring some sort of delicacy. His tongue swept along yours, lapping at you and your knees grew weaker. Don’t fall over…you thought to yourself, don’t fall over.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you closer, one hand moving to the small of your back. You heard him make a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl as he felt your own tongue dance with his, slowly, enjoying the feeling of Copia’s kiss after having missed it.

He pulled away reluctantly but he knew you needed to breathe. Copia leaned his forehead against yours, noticing how your skin was growing warmer. He felt some pride in that.

“Mmm…that’s a start amore.” He said softly, brushing his nose against yours.

“Copia…” you said his name, breathless after his attentions. “What…what is all this?”

He brushed his lips against yours once more, pulling back a ways so he could look into your eyes again. He’d missed the way you looked at him, the tenderness, the affection that he could always see peeking out. The way your eyes grew a darker shade when he’d touched you a certain way…like now for instance…that might be his favorite. “All of this amore? This is all for you. You deserve to be cherished and I have been remiss in that duty which it is my honor to have.”

Something was up and even though he was doing a hell of a job distracting you this, it was a lot all of a sudden. Silver tongued kisses and words aside…he was up to something. You let your fingers trail down his jaw, the freckled skin smooth as could be thanks to a recent shave. “Copia you don’t have to…mmph!”

He cut you off with another kiss. He wouldn’t hear another word of what he didn’t have to do. He would not hear you say how you didn’t deserve every romantic gesture in history if he could provide it. After a moment he pulled back. “You were saying cara?”

Your eyes were still closed. He was making you light headed, which wasn’t hard with the lack of sleep. You opened your eyes and tried to glare at him. “You’re up to something.” You finally said, head fuzzy from the taste of dark chocolate, strawberries and Copia.

Copia gave a naughty smile, his eyes glittering. He let the thumb of his glove run along your bottom lip, enjoying the site of the black kiss marks that colored over the pink lushness of your mouth. “What I am up to la mia rosa spinosa is seducing you into my arms. And it would appear its working.”

You let your fingers trace his chin, stroking the dimple there. He was far too handsome and you were so slap happy from exhaustion you almost laughed. “You don’t have to work this hard to seduce me Copia.” You said with a grin, placing a kiss on his chin and letting the tip of your tongue leave a tiny lick in the indention.

Copia shuddered at the sensation, fingers flexing against your back. He wanted you naked on the rose petals immediately. That was his goal at least. He made no apologies for it. But he could still sense the doubt there. “Mmm…cara it is not work.” Copia placed a kiss on your cheek, then started a trail of them along you jaw to your neck. “It’s a pleasure and I want to spoil you…” He started nipping at your skin, suckling at your pulse, feeling it start to speed up under his lips.

“I want you to realize how much I am in love with you, si? I want you to never want to leave my side dolcezza.” He bit at the point where your neck met your shoulder, a spot he knew was one of your most sensitive. He wasn’t going to play fair at all. When he heard the gasp come from your mouth he smiled while sucking the sensitive skin between his teeth. It would be a lovely bruise in the shape of his bite. He released you a moment later, placing a kiss there on the reddened patch.

His mouth trailed back up your jaw, planting a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “I think you forgot what you mean to me amore. What you do to me. And I’m going to remind you and show you.” He purred, fingers trailing down your side to rest at your hip and pulling you closer.

You and Copia were nearly the same height, granted he was a little taller now with the dress shoes and their heels. But even with that added height his hips were flush to your own and his hardness was pressed into you perfectly, hitting your core through your jeans. He growled, the sound animalistic and rough as it rolled from his throat. “Do you feel it la mia tentazione?” He managed to say, the words a heated breath against your ear. “The desire for you…it is almost painful…the most beautiful pain I have known.”

You were only a woman. A woman in love with this man who seemed beyond just being a man at the moment as he ground his laced up length into you with hips that belonged on a dancer. Copia was overwhelming you with all of this and you felt like you had actually fallen asleep at your desk and dreamed yourself into a gothic romance straight out of Dracula. He probably had the wings somewhere in his closet truth be told…he’d probably put them on if you asked. But that would be another piece of clothing you’d have to tear off him…and you didn’t think you had any patience left.

“Copia…” you sighed his name as you felt his teeth scrape your earlobe, his fingers now slipping up under your shirt. The soft, warm leather of his touch made you tremble as it found your lace covered breast, his thumb rubbing your nipple.

“The way you say my name amore…you sound like you are praying.” Copia started walking you back towards the bed, the need to surround himself in you was becoming unbearable. “But it is I who are worshipping you tonight.”

You felt the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. By that point you’d pressed your nose into his neck, drinking in the smell of his cologne that was always mixed with the scent of the incense used in the church’s services. It was as though it was always a part of him now, which made sense as he was Frater Imperator, leader of the Ministry. It was in his blood of course.

You lifted your face to look into his. His pupils were wide, the deep black swallowing all the forest green and nearly eclipsing the white. You reached up and tugged at the buttons of his vest, undoing them in quick succession as he watched you, gaze lowered and burning. You started on his shirt next, letting your fingers linger on the exposed skin of his neck before taking on the smaller buttons of the blouse. For a moment your gaze fell to his lips, already kiss swollen, the black nearly gone and you were sure you were now wearing it. He said nothing, just watched you with lust blown eyes.

“But I want to worship you too il mio bel diavolo.” You said softly, using that bit of Italian you’d been learning over the last many months. It had the desired effect as you watched his face tense, his jaw twitch, and his eyes somehow reflect every flame in the room.

Copia’s cock became so hard suddenly, jerking at what you said, he thought it might actually rip through the laces of his jeans to reach you. He wasn’t joking about the pain…right then he ached to the point of madness. “Lift your arms…now.” He managed to say, the words bitten out in a gruff timbre.

You actually looked a little scared as you did as he asked. His voice was intense and while you’d heard him get stern before this was something new. You liked it…but it was…intimidating. In the next instant he had your shirt removed, tossed behind him to the floor. He gazed at your black lace covered breasts and it was a look of pure hunger…you nearly covered them with your arms for a moment and you didn’t know why.

“Bene…” Copia breathed out the praise and with a slow and deliberate motion pulled one glove off with his teeth, tossing it behind him where he’d thrown your shirt. His now gloveless fingers ran down your cheek, along your throat, thumb tracing the bite he’d left there as his eyes widened a little at the sight.

“Keep going tesoro.” He said and you moved to begin undoing his shirt once more. As you did so his fingers slid down your side, slipping along your hip to rest at your back. They moved in slow circles against your skin and it was distracting but you had a mission. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Copia lift his other hand to his teeth and pull the glove away to toss it into the darkness of the room.

You’d reached the last button and his shirt fell open to reveal the dark hair that covered the expanse of his chest. Like little pieces of treasure mixed in with the darker strands were silver ones that you adored. He may not be as lean as he used to be but Copia was still fit and you could happily spend hours racking you nails over him. You pressed your nose and cheek against the patch over his heart, letting your lips touch him, kissing against the beat beneath his skin. The scent of incense was stronger here, and you fantasized it was due to the heart of the ministry being there beneath his breast.

You heard him make a noise, a sigh maybe, or a whimper. It reverberated in his chest and against your ear. You smiled at the sound and kissed your way over to his right nipple, giving it a lick which caused him to tremble beneath you. It happened again when you teased it with your teeth and you felt his fingers grip you harder where they had come to rest on your hips. More bruises you were sure, and that was fine.

You glanced at the Omen inspired tattoo. You’d heard the rumors he’d been born with this…you knew better. During a drunken night of film watching (he’d seen the original Omen as many times as you’d seen Horror of Dracula…which was a lot) he’d admitted he’d gotten it as a rabid fanboy. The mystique it had garnered after it had been noticed was just icing on the cake.

You kissed each six in the circle, giving a little lick after each kiss. Your fingers slipping up his stomach and along his sides, nails scratching and leaving red trails. “All for you Copia.” You murmured with a grin as you reached his collar bone and looked up into his half closed eyes. “It’s all for you.” Then you nipped him, teeth worrying the skin over the bone.

“Ahhh…” Copia couldn’t stop the stuttering noise that came out of his mouth. You’d bewitched him. He was the one that was supposed to be doing the seducing here, not the other way around. But…but you’d said you wanted to worship him so prettily and you…you were weaving a spell with your touch and your tongue. And now your teeth…oh Satan your teeth.

He gasped your name, pulling you from his chest to kiss you again, lips clashing together in a messy dance. You pulled at his shirt until he let go of you just long enough to nearly rip it off and toss it aside. His hands immediately went to the hooks of your bra and with a life of study in the art of removing them, he had it off you in less than a second. He made a point of remembering where he tossed that piece of clothing for later.

In the next instant he had you pushed onto the bed, rose petals raining down as you fell onto the blankets. Your now bare breasts beckoned him, beautiful and full. You looked like a gift from the dark lord and Copia vowed thanks to him for such a treasure. Your glossy eyes gazed up at him, petals falling into your hair and his next thought was that this nights worship would do the devil proud.

Copia climbed up onto the bed, making his way between your legs. He hooked a knee behind your left leg, pushing it out of the way to settle himself there. “And I will take all of you.” He promised as his mouth latched onto your left breast.

You gasped as his hand found the right, massaging, squeezing, his fingers plying your nipple with the finesse of a man who truly loved women’s breasts and had spent years on how to appreciate them. He was leaving marks on you, the way his teeth bit and the amount of suckling…the sound was pornographic as it mixed with his moans and yours. “Copia…please…” What were you asking for? You had no idea…you didn’t want him to stop but…it was so much.

He licked a trail to your other breast, lips surrounding that nipple, teeth starting to suckle again as his hand slowly trailed along your stomach, fingers kneading the soft flesh there, leading to the button of your jeans. Your tits were a playland for him. Not too big, not too small. If he wanted he could fit the whole of one of them in his mouth but he’d never do such a thing. He wanted to savor you, tease you, claim every inch of you.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, his heavy lidded eyes taking in how very, very pink he’d left you and the trail of red marks that he could follow like a map of where he’d been so far. “What is your desire cara? What do you want?” His fingers moved to start stroking you through your jeans. He pressed against you and you nearly bucked off the bed.

You couldn’t think anymore, everything was just simple need at this point. “Please…please…” You managed to say.

Copia knew what he wanted and he felt it was the same thing you were pleading for. “I will drink my fill of you mio dolce amore…then I will fill you till you sing for me.” He made quick work of your shoes and then your jeans, tearing them away along with your underwear until there was nothing between you and him.

His eyes, already devouring you with a look, stared down at the cleft of your legs. His tongue licked the corner of his lips and you knew you were going to be hoarse come morning. His fingers trailed down along your stomach once again, warm and pressing against your skin. You moved, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him to your mouth for a kiss. He happily acquiesced, tongue tracing your lips while his fingers found your wet slit, causing you to gasp against him, nearly biting his lower lip in the progress.

Copia hummed in pleasure as he stroked you, not quite slipping his finger inside your sweet cunt but making you writhe just the same. You were so wet, so warm, so pliant for him. Made for him. He sent yet another prayer of thanks to the dark lord for bringing you to him, for gifting him such an exquisite partner in crime as you.

“Copia…please…just…” you were begging at this point. This was cruel, this was heaven…this was hell. With him maybe hell was heaven. You buried your face in his neck, breath hot and panting against his skin. “Ti amo…please.” You whispered.

The words undid him. There was no more delicious waiting, he pressed two fingers into you, sliding in easily. You moaned into his ear and he pressed his lips to your pulse as he began moving them nearly all the way out then back, crooking them every so often, hitting the spot he knew would make you sing. He knew when you were close because your arms tightened around him, your breathing was quick, and when you came your voice cried out his name like a beautiful Nema at the end of a benediction.

“Yes mi bella…such a lovely song.” Copia’s voice was rough, deeper. He pulled his fingers from your heat and licked them clean. “The wine of ecstasy, our sacrament…so warm cara…so delicious…I could live off your pleasure and never hunger for anything else.”

He didn’t give you a chance to recover. His mouth was on your cunt in the next moment living up to what he’d just said. You nearly screamed as his tongue delved into you, his arms slipping under your legs and holding your hips in place while he lapped you up, his slightly pointed tongue giving him an ability that was almost supernatural. Your fingers were in his hair, destroying any semblance of order while you tried to not die of a heart attack.

“Copia, my…god…” You gasped as you felt his lips sucking on your clit suddenly, almost positive he was actually grazing it with his teeth. Then he was back to lapping at you the sounds making you blush on top of the fact your body felt like it was on fire.

Copia looked up at you from between your thighs, lips glistening in the firelight, eyes glowing, debauchery personified. “God is not here amore…I’m the one bringing you paradise tonight. Sing my praises cara…I want to hear you sing.” Then he was drinking you again, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, the taste addictive. One hand moved to your stomach, and he felt your body tensing. Yes, yes again…he wanted to feel you break while his mouth was on you.

He wanted you to scream so loudly the Ghouls would hear you again and know what he’d done to you. Let them all know what he’d done to you, especially the ones who had tried to destroy your love. The ones who dared to make you doubt you were worthy. Oh Satan let them hear your screams and know that he was yours and you were his. With that thought he latched upon your clit once more, suckling the nub of nerves till he felt the release against his tongue, heard you cry his name like a hymnal sung by one of hells angels. Now…now you were ready for him.

You felt like every limb was boneless as the second orgasm rocked through you. He was relentless and you were dizzy with it. You were trying to catch your breath when you saw him stand up just long enough to unlace his jeans and toss them aside.

To say he was ready was an understatement. His cock was gloriously standing proud, engorged, and you believed it, that he’d been in pain. You didn’t know if you were going to survive this night but you’d die happy you supposed. He was stunning in the candlelight and you felt that little bit of doubt come back to you that you’d never be able to keep such a magical being like Copia for long.

He saw it…he saw it in your eyes that had been so beautifully filled with lust and love and pleasure. Glossy with it, glowing with it. He saw the doubt sneak in. No. No this was not allowed and he would be doubly damned if he would let it ruin this for you and for him.

Copia quickly moved back into the bed, pulling you into his arms, settling himself against you, and then grasping your chin in his fingers. “I see you amore. I see you pulling away. You are here with me this night and for all the others that follow.” He kissed you, warm and soft then moving to keep your eyes locked to his. “You do not get to hide from me. You do not doubt yourself cara mia, you are mine because you are magic. Ti amo. I am the lucky one. And any who tell you different will know my wrath. I protect what is mine, and that amore, is you.”

You felt a tear fall from the corner of your eye then, not even realizing you were crying. How did he know? How could he tell? Maybe he did have supernatural powers. He brushed the tear away with his thumb, kissing you again so softly in comparison to what you had been doing just before.

That one tear was all they would get Copia thought to himself. No more. No more stolen pain. He kissed you again, vowing silently to himself that would be the last pain they would cause you. “Now cara, I’m going to ruin you wonderfully for any other man before I die from how hard you’ve made me…”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. Because it was not only true but after such sweet words to go right to the uncouth truth of his raging hard on was so Copia. He gave you a smile, his nearly fang like incisors catching some of the candlelight, joy in his heart that he’d made you laugh and forget your tears.

You reached up and pulled him down for another kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue and not minding. “You’ve already ruined me for anyone else Copia.” You muttered against his lips.

He pressed the tip of his cock against you, pulling away to look down into your eyes. “Mmm…I know amore, but it’s so much fun to do.” He said softly, his expression a mix of heady lust and pure affection. “Your petals are lovely as all the roses here amore…now I shall pluck them.” He raised a dark brow at his own pun and before you could comment on it he slid into you to the hilt making you gasp as he stretched you out completely for him.

Your nails latched onto his shoulders as he buried his face in your neck, drinking in the scent of your perfume and the roses that surrounded you both. Copia gave you a moment to get used to him again and then he pulled his hips back, nearly parting from you completely before slamming back in. He couldn’t make himself be gentle, he had built himself into a frenzy and now…now he just needed to fuck himself into you until nothing else remained.

Sweet Satan you were so tight, so hot around him. He barely could hold on. How many days since he’d taken you, buried himself in your warmth? Too many…never again. He wouldn’t allow this to happen again.

He refused to let himself reach a release before you, no…even if he’d brought you to breaking twice already he would take you to a third exquisite peak and fall with you. Fall down as far as Lucifer if you asked him to. He didn’t care as long as he was joined to you in bliss.

He was nearly bruising you and you knew you’d be sore tomorrow but it was so sweet. He was muttering something, his face buried in your neck, were those…prayers? It was Italian and muffled but you couldn’t tell and your brain was short circuiting with how deep he was within you, in and out, the slick sounds making it even more obscene…and you wanted all of it. Every thrust hitting that spot that only Copia seemed to be able to reach, to make you sing as he called it. And tonight he’d turned you into an Opera star.

“Amore…fall with me…please bella I…I can’t…I can’t hold on any longer…fall with me my love.” He begged you, the lovely sounds of your gasps and sighs were clawing him over the edge. Your song leading him to oblivion.

He knew then what to do, the thing that would push you over with him. He sank his teeth into your neck and you screamed as you came, your nails embedded in his back as you each drew blood and ecstasy from the other. Copia felt himself fill you as waves of pleasure raced through his body. He sucked your skin between his teeth as he felt you tremble from your own orgasm, your breath hot and fast against his shoulder, his name over and over again on your lips.

When it had abated, Copia laid there on top of you, barely able to move. He’d released your neck of course. The first thing he did when he could think clearly was lift his head to see the damage he’d done to your throat. Cazzo…he had drawn blood. “Oh cara…mi dispacia…I…got carried away.” He licked the little drop of blood that had formed there, placing a soft kiss against the bruise.

You moaned something in response. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say. Your brain was mush. Copia was a heavy weight on top of you and you could feel his now softening cock inside you, filling you still. You didn’t want to move even if there was a now cooling sticky mess between the two of you. It wouldn’t be the first.

“What was that tesoro?” Copia asked, lifting himself up on his arms. He looked down at you and saw how your eyes were still closed, your hair was a mess of petals and locks and your lips were reddened from kisses. You were a goddess. He did not want to move but he knew it couldn’t be too comfortable for you.

“I said…s’okay.” You managed to mumble. “Next time wear the bat wings.”

Copia raised a brow at that. Hmmm…an idea for another night starting to form in his head. He lifted his fingers to brush some stray hair from your forehead. “Did I hurt you amore? I…could not be as gentle as I wished…”

You shook your head no, still not able to think too clearly. You managed to open your eyes and found him mussy haired and gazing down at you, an expression equally filled with worry and love. You reached up and touched his jaw, tracing along his chin to the dimple there. He moved and kissed your fingertips.

Copia rolled over bringing you with him, laying on his side, raising another storm of the remaining petals. He pulled the blanket around the two of you like a flower filled burrito. His legs were still entwined with yours. He knew he needed to tend to you as he was always honored to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to let you go just yet. He was happy, content…but he also needed to make sure you knew you were going to rest for the next few days. He had plans.

You gazed up at him, surrounded by satin and roses and a satanic pope that had stolen your heart. You noticed a few red blooms were now nestled in his chest hair and so you set to clearing them away. “You know…” you said as he stroked your back with his fingers. “I’ve been well and truly plucked.” You glanced up at him with a grin. “But I get the feeling you are still thorny.”

Copia chuckled, brushing his nose against yours. “Always for you la mia dolce rosa.” He kissed your cheek. You picked that moment to yawn, much to your chagrin. And then remembered you had to set up a meeting with one of the promoters for LA in the morning. With a sigh your head fell back against the bed. “Ugh…”

“Cara what is it?” He asked, looking surprised. What had he missed? What happened?

“I have to finish some work…I completely forgot.” You were getting ready to sit up and start the no doubt fruitless hunt for your clothes but Copia tightened his hold on you immediately. “Copia I need to…”

“No.” He said, voice going into full Frater mode. “No, you are not going to go back to work.”

You looked up at him in shock. “I have to, it’s my job and it’s important. Too much is riding on…”

He cut you off again. Copia took a deep breath. “Cara, you are taking the next few days off. If that needs to be an order then so be it.”

“I can’t just…” You tried to explain without getting into everything. You didn’t want him to know the reasons you had to do this.

Copia shook his head, sitting up and pulling you up with him. He grasped your chin, glancing down to see you were holding the blanket around yourself almost like a shield. That hurt a bit, but he would let it slide. “Listen to me cara. I know what’s been going on. I know of the words, the slights, the eyes that have been following you. I know what’s been said and why you feel you need to work yourself ill to convince insects that you are worthy.”

You felt the tears again…the damned things pooling in the corners of your eyes. How did he even know this? You’d been so careful, you thought. “Copia I just want to earn the spot. I’m not…not part of the church, I know that makes me an outsider to people but I love you. I want to be enough, to help you succeed.” Your voice cracked a little but you managed to be steady when you said it.

Cazzo bastardi, she was crying. He’d sworn the final tear had been shed, but here more pain from their words, their actions. Oh…they would pay. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace as if he could shield you from what had already been done. “Dolce you are enough for me, for everyone that matters. You’ve more than earned the spot and you’ve already improved so many things. Cazzo, even Phil knows it and he’s the most pain in the ass Ghoul I know.” He tried to get you to laugh and he felt a smile and heard a weak little chuckle from where your face pressed into his shoulder.

“Listen to me tesoro.” He lifted your gaze back up, still holding you close. “I will take care of this problem. You will be respected as you have earned the respect of all. Aside from this, you are my love. No one is allowed to cause you pain. Not while I breathe. What they have done goes against the tenants of this church. I am Frater Imperator…it is MY job to ensure our rules are followed, si? And I will do my job as well as you’ve done yours.” He kissed your forehead. “And you will take a break so you can keep doing your job well. And that means you rest, you relax, and for Valentines Day I get to wine and dine you…with other…activities…comprende?”

You chewed on your lip, nerves raging at this entire scenario.

He bopped your nose, bringing you eyes back front and center. “Comprende?” he asked again.

You sighed. “Understood…I…thank you Copia.” You said, throwing your arms around him and hugging him tight.

Copia closed his eyes and held you tightly in return. You were a stubborn creature but you were his and he would fight every demon in hell for you if he needed to. A handful of siblings were nothing. A grumbling noise caught his attention and he pulled back enough to glance down. You were hiding your face. “My love, was that…your stomach?”

You squeezed your eyes shut hoping to turn into something the size of a mite. “Maybe…” You mumbled against his shoulder.

He sighed. “Dare I ask you when you last ate?” You didn’t respond. “You don’t remember do you?” Still no response. A string of Italian poured forth, most of it asking the dark lord for patience, some that would have made a sailor blush. “I will keep you well piccolo idiota, even if you don’t think to keep yourself so.”

You looked up at him. “Did you call me an idiot?”

“Si, I did. At least your Italian is improving even if your self care is not.” He replied with a haughty glare. You narrowed your eyes at him and it was adorable even though you looked like you might kill him. That was part of the appeal actually. He quickly kissed your nose. “Here viper.” He reached over and grabbed the bowl of strawberries. “Eat some of these and I’ll order some dinner from the kitchen.”

You bit into one of the strawberries even though you were still pouting while Copia grabbed his cell phone off the stand and called down. He spoke quickly and in Italian so you didn’t know what all he was saying, though you did catch something about rigatoni. Hopefully he wasn’t trying to feed you his rat. While he was talking one of the berries fairly erupted with juice and you managed to catch it on your fingers but mostly your chin. Before you could react he reached over and caught it on his thumb, brining it to his lips and sucking it away with a fiery glance at you. Seriously…always thorny.

You went to grab the bottle of champagne and he clicked off the phone and grabbed it from your hand. “Not yet tesoro. You need real food in your belly before you drink the devils nectar.”

“Seriously…you are denying me booze?” You asked him with a pout.

“Food first, then bubbly.” He put the bottle on the nightstand. “Now I take care of you before dinner…and no more pouting.”

Copia took all the care of you, cleaning you up before smacking your behind and making you take a shower with him in what you’d started calling Satan’s Hot Springs. When you got out Copia had had one of your pajama sets delivered, the Star Wars one that had Darth Vader stating he was your daddy. You knew he’d made them pick this one on purpose. You ate your fill of pasta and bread and finally got your glass of champagne.

By then it was close to midnight and you were barely functioning. A full belly, the effects of the alcohol and having been up for nearly 3 days and being ravished into oblivion caught up to you. You barely made it back to the freshly made bed. “When…they do this?” You managed to mumble as you settled down.

“Ghouls are quick and sneaky cara, never forget that.” Copia replied. He was weary as well, but he planned on having you sleep here tonight and every night he could.

Decked out in the Dawn of the Dead pj’s you got him for Yule the previous year he looked adorable and the minute he laid down beside you, you had curled up against him and nestled up close. “Mmph…body pillow.” You muttered, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Copia smiled, kissing the top of your head. “Si, Frater Pillow, that’s me…hehe.” He snuggled in and clapped his hands, the lights going off.

You sighed. “Really…need to get you…an Alexa.”

“Shh…you’ll hurt mio amico Clapper’s feelings. Go to sleep.” He replied.

You slept…a long time. At some point Copia had left but you were in a near coma, not even noticing or missing the fact that your normal alarm wasn’t going off. When you did wake up it was to your shock and surprise 3 in the afternoon. You sat up in shock, completely disoriented and needing to pee like a race horse. After taking care of that business you came back into Copia’s bedroom to find a letter on the nightstand. It was written on his personal rat and heart stationary.

“My baby, Rest, relax, EAT. I’ll see you tonight. EAT. <3 C.”

Well, that was clear enough. You headed back to your own rooms and changed into some comfy, not PJ clothing and headed out to do…well…nothing. You hit a book store, grabbed a couple books and a coffee that was three times normal price. You ate a very late lunch of a giant cheeseburger and fries that would have made the devil weep they were so good. You weren’t used to this sort of ease anymore and it made you a little weirded out. You kept looking at your phone and there were no messages from anyone. No fires to put out. The only message you got was one from your satanic boy toy that read “I need proof you are eating” You sent him back a picture of the cheeseburger and fries. His response was the single word “ENVY.”

You got back to the abbey at around 7pm and went to Copia’s rooms after changing into your Incredible Hulk pj’s, deciding whoever saw you could deal with your love of the big green. You knocked on the door and he immediately opened it and pulled you into his arms, peppering your face with kisses.

“You already look happier my baby.” He said. “How do you feel?”

“It was weird to relax and not get calls…but…it was nice.” You replied liking the way he filled out his faded Stryper shirt. The story behind it and how he got it and why he wore it was hilarious. It paired well with his black sweat pants.

“Bene, it is good for you. And that cheeseburger!” He made a chefs kiss gesture. “You’ll have to take me there, I must have one.” He gestured to his couch. “Now, I must sadly murder you as only Sub Zero can.”

“Ah, it’s a Mortal Kombat night?” You asked raising a brow.

“Si, it’s always a Mortal Kombat night somewhere.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you along.

“Kitana is going to wipe the floor with you, you know.” You told him, grabbing a controller and noticing the ice bucket from last night now filled with various juice boxes. “Confidence is important amore.” He raised a brow while taking a sip from his own juice box and draining it.

You managed to not laugh but only just…that stance wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he thought.

The two of you played for a couple of hours. Enjoying each others company was a phrase but the curse words and faux insults that were thrown back and forth would make someone wonder exactly if that was the right description.

In the end it was a tie and Copia admitted that Kitana was an equal to his favorite ninja. He planted a kiss on your cheek. “Come la mia principessa della lame, let us rest our warrior bodies for another day.”

You nodded, feeling sleepy even though you’d already slept so long. Your body was apparently not agreeing with the assessment. You got into bed and told Copia to turn around.

“I…I get to be little spoon?” He asked excitedly.

“Si…” you replied, kissing his neck. You curled around him and pressed your nose into his hair. You felt him relax almost immediately, fingers sliding into your own and hold your hand to his heart. It’s steady beat lulled you into slumber.

The next day was Valentines Day, and you woke up again with Copia having left you with a breakfast tray on the nightstand. It was 10am so you weren’t nearly as unconscious as before. You sat up and dug into the blueberry muffin, warm coffee and fruit bowl. He was earning all the points, and you were hoping he liked his gift you would give him later that evening.

You headed back to your apartment on the lower floor and showered. You had almost a full day till he would be free to as he said, “wine and dine.” So you grabbed your book that you’d purchased and settled onto the couch to read. You fought the instinct to check in with Phil. If he needed you, you know he’d call.

It was noon when your phone went off with a text message alert. You grabbed it quickly and saw it was from Copia. “Important matter, please come to my office.” It read. Your eyes widened. What was this about? Was it some sort of Valentines Day rendezvous? His office wouldn’t really be an appropriate place for that. You’d always told him you wanted to keep the offices as work and business only, it just seemed right. Though he’d tried a couple of times of course…because he was Copia. But if it was some sort of naughty time idea, he wouldn’t have been so…dry in the message.

You were overthinking. Just go to his office. You changed out of your t-shirt into a dark red button down and grabbed your black cardigan to give some appearance of propriety in case this was that sort of situation. Checking your hair and giving a quick make up touch up you headed to the Frater’s office.

You knocked on the closed door and Copia’s voice called out “Please, come in.” You took a breath and opened the door. Immediately you saw them. Along the wall were five chairs, the basic ones from the dining hall. And sitting in them were Phyllis and the rest of your tormentors. Your eyes widened in surprise as Phyllis’s gaze burned into you. The other four, three sisters and one of the brothers, wouldn’t even look up. They looked pale, terrified in a couple of cases.

“Ah, Sorella, please sit.” Copia gestured to the free chair near his desk, the comfortable one. His voice was all business.

You swallowed thickly and took a seat. “Frater, hello…uhm…what can I do for you?” You asked, making sure to use his title in front of these siblings.

Copia stood, his suit immaculate down to the rhinestone collar. He looked dangerous as you watched him move gracefully from behind his desk to stand next to it and you. His gloves had what appeared to be black claws on them. You’d not seen those before.

“I believe you know these siblings, si?” He gestured to the five sitting opposite you. “Sister Phyllis especially.”

You nodded. “Uhm, yes, we…we’ve worked together on some projects.” What was he doing…

“Si, si.” Copia could hear the nerves in your voice. He wouldn’t let you be affected by these insects anymore. “It has come to my attention sorella that these individuals have been defying the core mandates, the beliefs of our church in regards to you.” He stepped away from the desk to stand just in front of you and facing the five now even paler faced siblings, shielding you from them. Phyllis looked ready to rip his eyes out and he only prayed she’d try.

Copia turned to you. “For that sorella you have my deepest apologies. The Ministry is a place of acceptance, respect, we do not ridicule anyone. We do not harm anyone lest they harm us. Even if you have not joined us as a follower in our dark lord, you are still a sister to us. You help us, you serve the ministry as a valued member of our family. For that you deserve the respect of all.”

Here he turned back to the five siblings. You didn’t see his eyes change, the green turning into a near black and the white flare like a star, a haze almost surrounding it. “To break those commandments, those core beliefs set by our dark lord is to defy him. To defy the ministry. To defy me.” Copia’s voice was like ice, sharp, piercing.

You shivered for a moment, thankful that this wasn’t directed at you. What were you witnessing?

“For these transgressions you will hereby be removed from the ministry.” He spoke with finality, gloved hands clasped in front of him and his gaze heavy as it fell on the siblings. You heard a couple of them gasp, one started crying. Phyllis glared, her eyes finding you and if looks could kill you’d be dead.

Copia noticed and stepped to the side to block you from her view. She would not be allowed to even look at you anymore. He turned slightly to speak to you. “I wanted you to know that you will not need to worry about these five again. The ministry protects its own and we will not allow such acts to take place here.”

You nodded, still in shock. You hadn’t expected this…especially this quickly. “Thank…thank you.” You managed to say.

He gave you a slight bow and offered you his hand. “Thank you for your patience and grace while dealing with such behavior sorella. Allow me to walk you out.”

You stood and before you took another step Copia turned to the siblings. “I’ll be back in a moment, stay there.” His voice changed again to that icy tone. He walked you to the door, opening it and gesturing you outside, he closed it behind you while you stood in the hallway.

“Copia…what…what is this?” You gestured towards his office, voice more than a little frantic.

His gloved hand touched your now flushed cheek, the little black claws tickling your skin. “I promised you that you wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore. I wanted you to see that it was taken care of amore. They deserved to see you and know you are protected.”

He ran one of the claws down your jaw, tapping you on chin. He smiled and it was just a touch sinister. “I’m Frater tesoro. I told you I protect the commandments of our dark lord and the ministry and that’s what I’m doing. This is the core of our belief. We accept everyone, no judgements unless you do harm to others. If you harm those protected by our church, by me…you will have to deal with the consequences, si? You won’t have to see them again my baby. Never again.”

The look on his face was one you’d not really seen. His eyes were steely but burning as they looked in your own. His jaw tight and determined. You could only nod in response. “I understand. I just…it was a surprise.”

Copia smiled, seeing the nerves start to leave you. He glanced around, checking to see if you were alone and quickly leaned down and kissed you gently. Pulling back he wiped away the black lip print with his thumb. “It’s Valentines Day dolcezza, you’ve got a couple more surprises later. But for now, go enjoy the day and I’ll join you tonight. Wine and dine, remember?”

You smiled and he felt it in his damned soul. “Wine and dine…cheeseburgers?” You asked.

“Temptress.” Copia replied. “Now shoo, relax.” He turned around and before you could think better of it you slapped his behind. He turned back to you with a shocked face, to see you backing away quickly. “Oh…payback cara…so much payback.” He growled.

“Promise?” You asked grinning.

“Threat.” He replied with a snapping of his teeth at you. He watched you walk away and took a deep breath. Yes, you were happy, you were well. You were protected and loved. He was doing his job.

Copia opened the door to his office where the now slightly shaking siblings sat. He turned, back facing them as he closed the door.

“So…do we get to leave now? Do we even get to pack our things?” Phyllis’s shrill voiced asked, bravado in the words.

Copia’s head raised, cocking to the side. The sound of metal clinging shut echoed as five pairs of metal cuffs were closed around the hands of the siblings, seemingly from nowhere. They gasped, finding they couldn’t move from the chairs.

“I told you sister; you were to be removed.” Copia turned then and from the shadows of the room four Ghouls appeared, one of them Phil, his tail twitching happily. “I never said you were leaving.” Copia continued.

As the siblings watched in horror each of the Ghouls pulled a large, red jeweled knife from a sheath on their hip. Phil handed Copia his own and the Frater looked at it, letting the light bounce off it’s blade for a moment, the red reflecting in his white eye. He turned to the siblings and smiled and for a moment, the room grew darker. Copia’s shadow almost looked like it had horns as it stretched out on the wall.

“You do know it’s Valentines Day, don’t you?” He said, stepping towards Phyllis who now had tears streaming down her face. His voice echoed in the office which felt so cold suddenly. “It’s a day you give away your heart.”

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